#but rest assured when he tilted his head a bit to look up

[lunart-06]

Kamukura with emotions doesn't make him weaker than before, just because he's in relationship with Makoto doesn't mean he's gone completely *soft*. He's only gone soft in just one angle, the rest is still pretty much still the same except now he perfers to rest his head on Makoto's lap than anything else that was already available for him to simply just lean his head against.

The first thing he feels when being around makoto isn't *love*, it's simply the same feeling he always felt which is *boredom*. And the second that came along wasn't the first thing mentioned, it's *interest* (from the form of the prespective of boring normalcy that differs his own) that slowly by time turned into *obsession* (realizing this whole thing is much better than when being stuck in the tight room in his lab) and by then began to be sticking around the guy instead of the other way around and it'll be a surprise to Makoto one day and to Makoto that will only be taken as an invitation to be closer. A progress.

All in all *love* will be the LAST THING appeared even AFTER they were in a relationship because it is something that Kamukura HAS to come in terms or accept himself, or realising too late to stop it cause he only accept to be "in a relationship" (with the entitlement of 'lovers' or 'partners' and everything) with Makoto simply in a way so Makoto can stay close to him (knowing the guy's unyielding loyalty and used that to his gain), because Makoto continues to make himself intriguing to Kamukura in his own boring, simple ways because Kamukura has grow to hate and berated normalcy of the untalented by his teachers and developed it through there. Plus he never gets to experience or learn a lot more of it other than the lab staffs' explanation of how "boring" it is and it's seem to also be the reason *he* became Kamukura in the first place as well.

(So the beggining of their relationship itself, the "love" part was one-sided. Kinda. In a way)

Sure it *is* boring. The whole "normal lifestyle" thing is sure sucked away his life source (if he even had one) and it's already just as he expected even when he lets Makoto around for at least a few days, he only let the guy around cause his luck is unexpected at most times but then of COURSE Makoto would use those times to shimmy his way into Kamukura's life. Shortly yet slowly. A very strange pace it is but it worked well with both of them.

His sickening optimistic, motivating nature to upbring Kamukura's gloomy, unmotivated one to pull him in the most boring of activities eventhough he had stated either directly or indirectly that those are, obviously, *boring*.

But Makoto's other traits that has first caught him just *slightly* off guard (which is. Rare and almost to never) was his undeterred determination to prove someone wrong (either in a morality sense in what was naively generally right). Perhaps he has been too assuming of Makoto's commonly pushover antics, or maybe Makoto's usual everyday and everytime genuine optimism has put his guard down just a bit that it made him passed by the fact that Makoto- no matter how positive and hopeful- *can* get mad or bothered if being triggered in certain ways. Certain ways as in if it involves someone else or views of things morally in a negative sense (the reaction made Makoto look more.. real. Something along that line).

Im also thinking how at some point, that *stubborn* determination that *always* butts in whenever Kamukura try to state or refuse. To try and always attempting to change his mind and at some point it led to another breaking point leading to the next change and that would be Kamukura- in his still usual bored tone yet out of character dialogue, said, in *annoyance*; "can you shut up." And doesn't THAT caught them BOTH off guard.

Silence followed when both were lost in their own thoughts in trying to process it before Makoto snapped out of it first to apologise for crossing the line and in promise to not do it again. Which, Kamukura is fine with but at the same time- "no" he would say, "keep talking". Cause sure, Kamukura has a fair share of being annoyed sometimes, but THIS is different, because just *how* can he be so easily annoyed over something so... *simple* as Makoto to be able to *blurted out* the moment of thought? It's something worth to explore more. To *experience*. Because it's new and when it's new, it's usually *interesting and unexpected* to someone like Kamukura.

And sometimes it's not just usually some new emotion just popped up at certain times, it's also the fact how constant it is of how the emotions he had experienced off kept *shifting*. He'd be bored then suddenly feeling intrigued in something then suddenly be slightly fluttery-ish? ('Amused' he noted) or suddenly feeling heavy in his chest ('sadness' he thought), heck, even the feeling of something clawing his insides when Makoto almost get a brick crushed his own head ('fear' he whispered to himself) then suddenly sometimes shifts back to being bored, then intrigued, then over and over in an out of order cycle. It either shift back to the same things or it develops something new.

It was never just one thing everyday just like how things are before meeting Makoto- like continuously be bored of everything and that's what makes things both overwhelming and underwhelming at the same time.

I also think that another thing that pulls Kamukura to Makoto is that just from Makoto, wanting to hang out and stick to him, to befriended him, with the payment only be *spending some time with Kamukura* and not to use him for his talents and abilities alone. Is one thing Kamukura unmanaged to just *understand* or fully grasp. In the end though he resolved by thinking that perhaps this is just a Makoto thing. That Makoto is being too good or cared too much of others in a way. But it does put Kamukura in a good "hm..." moment though.

I have a funny imagery that Kamukura just seem to be more often being put *slightly* off guard more by Makoto (wether intentionally or unintentionally which is usually the latter) than anyone else does. To which he be more on guard than he is before and to not jump to the most obvious conclusions or assumptions on some people because, of course, the Makoto situation and all. To which also means it made him statistically *more* dangerous than before (congrats Makoto! You made him more cautious or more thoughts in than usual of what was around him!).

His obsession in wanting to keep Makoto close to him by time will become apart of his own conciousness that *I* believe to be the case. Because after everything?? Everything that happened for the last few months?? Wether before or after being together (though I believe the moment they are together is the moment where the feeling became more hecticly stronger)?? It would only be obvious that he would, for once, *accidentally* (cause really, since when does being with Makoto Naegi means anything gone as planned?) Putting the obsession from wanting Naegi close because he is the first and often only source of interest for Kamukura's own bargained to wanting Makoto close because suddenly he was in too deep in the pit he had been *still* continuously dig himself in and finding that he doesn't *like* it when Makoto was out of reach.

(Going from trying to keep the guy around for selfish reasons by means to keep himself out of his usual bored state [cause let's face it, Kamukura isn't a good person, nor a bad one either, heck doesn't even attempted in search to at least *try* to quench his boredom just because he lacks any sort of motivation. But if the interesting thing were to suddenly presented dangling just in sight he WILL grab onto it tightly.], to obsessively trying to not get the guy lost out of his reach figuratively or metaphorically sense cause he *knows* that he will never *feels* something like this again, to feeling just *right* to have Makoto close to him and not letting go just because he doesn't *like* it)

I doubt Kamukura even realised the moment he had been *attached* to Makoto, simply because he had never experience emotions in the first place other than just knowing the basic theories to diagnose others in. And when he did, it's too late by then (it won't be him unable to escape Makoto. No, no, on the contrary, Makoto will be unable to escape *him*).

So anyways. Love isn't the priority to Kamukura since the very beggining in the start of their relationship, because the other foreign subjects that is emotions (twinging sadness, light amusement, flickering annoyance, poisonous jealousy, and dare he not admit the clawing fear) *are* the foundations that build his own *version* of what was the concept of 'Love' is.

Love is different to everyone afterall, so far what Kamukura has learned and see, if there was anything the same about all of it is that; love is a form of passion, and the connection of the bonds, it can be different from others, but Kamukura *doesn't* feel anything a lot WITH anyone else in general more than he is with Makoto. So essentially to him, it was different. It's not love that was viewed *generally* but it was his own version nonetheless.

This is just *my* insight of how I see Kamuegi *in* Kamukura's prespective. Cause he is my favorite character to write. You can do so many things to him in certain situations no matter how impossible it seem to try and not break his character. But that's the thing. You NEED to break certain characters, but as long as you didn't break the fundamental core of their characters then trust me, it's more of a scratch or a rather small crack on a ceramic vase than it looking all smashed up.

Sometimes you GOTTA make a scratch or heck, added something on it, without it losing it's shape or material as a ceramic vase, in order to make it slightly more jazzam get it? Or to make it work for the theme of the room you placed it in. (Not me using the vase metaphor for all of this)

[saetoru]

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ GETO SENSEI — GETO SUGURU.

contents. based on this drabble and this drabble, post hidden inventory arc, healing suguru agenda !!, fluff + established relationships, suguru wants to become a teacher :,) bc teacher suguru is what we deserved

“mwah,” you press a wet kiss to suguru’s cheek. “there,” you said proudly, “another kiss for my sugu. want more?”

“i think i’m okay now, baby. thank you—”

“mwah,” you kiss his forehead, giggling, “i have a lot more where that came from, y’know.”

“i believe it,” he shakes his head, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, “you don’t seem to run out.”

“my sugu needs all the kisses he can get,” you gasp, “they’re good for his health!”

suguru smiles softly at that, closes his eyes and leans into you as you brush back his bangs from his face and thread your fingers into his hair, scratching gently along his scalp as he sighs. you watch him relax, content with the way his under eyes seem to be less dark as of late. you brush a thumb under his eyes, feeling the soft skin before gently stroking along his cheek.

“don’t you have a mission tomorrow?” he asks quietly, letting his head droop into your hand as you cup his cheek.

“i do,” you nod, “but i have some time to kill before i go to bed.”

“you should rest,” he mumbles, “you don’t want to be tired while you’re out there.”

“i’ll get rest, suguru,” you assure with a roll of your eyes, “your hair’s a bit longer, don’t you think?”

“yeah,” he tilts his head as you reach to grab at his bun, pulling the hair tie to let his hair fall freely down to his shoulder. “i guess i should cut it.”

“i like it,” you pout, “‘s pretty like this.”

“yeah?” he grins, cracking an eye open to look at you in amusement, “should i keep growing it for you then?”

“you should,” you nod, “i’ll braid it.”

“yeah, as if,” he raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “satoru’s never gonna let me hear the end of it if he sees.”

“he won’t see!”

“you said that last time when you put my hair in space buns, remember? and then you showed him a picture.”

“baby,” you gasp, “what happened to forgiving and forgetting? that was me of the past—i’ve grown! i won’t betray you like that again.”

you hold a hand up as an oath, nodding seriously to prove your point. he looks at you unconvinced before chuckling and leaning in, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“today wasn’t so bad,” he mumbles, “i liked today.”

“yeah?” you smile, letting his head fall to the crook of your neck, shuffling closer on his lap as your arms wrap around him.

he nods into your shoulder, “yeah.”

“good,” you murmur, “you’ll be okay. even if it takes some time.”

“sometimes it doesn’t feel like it,” he admits, cheek pressed against your shoulder as he speaks into your skin. your fingers are in his hair—they seem to never leave, and he hopes they never do. your hand rubs up and down his back, slowly, like it’ll snap in two if you go too fast.

“you will, baby,” you say sweetly, kissing his head as you twist his hair into a messy bun, tying it with his hair tie as you speak.

suguru is healing—you like to think so. he smiles more, sometimes they even meet his eyes all the way. he sleeps better, eats more healthy, seeks you out when things are crushing on his shoulders. there’s something lighter about him, something less heavy and tormented and even if he’s still empty sometimes, you always find him at the right moments.

sometimes, suguru is lost—and maybe you can’t always guide him out, but you can be lost together.

sometimes that’s enough.

“i think…” he starts, trailing off hesitantly. your hand hikes under his shirt, rubbing the bare skin of his back—it’s always calmed him more that way, feeling you without the barrier of fabric in the way.

“you think?” you encourage, letting him take his time to process his thoughts.

“i think i want to teach,” he mumbles, “here, at jujutsu high. but…but do it better. i think i’d do it better, y’know? the way kids deserve.”

you smile at that—proud, a little heartbroken deep down. people have failed suguru, they’ve failed you too. and satoru. and shoko. and nanami. and haibara too—and it’s up to you all to piece yourselves back together. maybe you can all do it together, one cracked, sharp little piece at a time.

sometimes the edges will slice your skin, will reopen old wounds and make you bleed all over again just when you thought you were done bleeding. but suguru has you to bandage the cuts, and you have him too. and everyone else, as well.

you pull away, cup his cheeks and press a soft kiss to his lips as you close your eyes. his hands lay over yours, and he thinks, for a brief moment, you’re right.

maybe he will be okay—maybe he won’t be the same, but he can be new. and that’s not always so bad.

“i think that’s a great idea,” you whisper, “i think you’ll be amazing. what kids will need.”

“well, i’ll try,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours, “and who knows, maybe you can call me geto sensei here and there.”

“we’ll see about that,” you snort. he pouts, making you lean in and kiss those jutted lips of his with a quick peck.

“i’ll convince you,” he says confidently, “you’ll be the only one i let get extra credit.”

“oh i’m honored,” you giggle, “i’ll stay in school just for you.”

“how sweet,” he grins.

you kiss him after that, and he kisses you back. your lips taste like strawberry chapstick, and your arms are warm and tight around him, and even if curses taste vile and the world is coldly unforgiving, suguru can make it through each day with at least one real smile with you by his side.

it’s not so hard when you’re around.

“i love you,” you breathe. it’s enough, he thinks, you’re enough.

“i love you too,” he kisses your jaw, “i’ll love you more if you call me geto sensei, though.”

yes this is my own version of canon. u can’t take it away from me. in MY world (the only world that matters) suguru heals and becomes a teacher <3 and fucks me over his desk

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

≡;-꒰ 𝐙𝐀𝐘𝐍𝐄 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒘𝒐𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒕𝒐𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕

╰┈➤ ❝ zayne x afab!reader | smut nsfw 18+ mdni

tags : pwp (with very little plot), softdom!zayne, reader feels a little low, kissing and making out, heavy petting, grinding/dry humping, marking, cuddle sex, comfort sex, soft and slow sex, mention of belly bulge, holding hands, vaginal sex (unprotected), creampie, slight cockwarming, praise, use of pet names "darling" "sweetheart". lmk if i missed any tags!

wc : 3.1k

an : i've been so...... very much....... in my zayne feels..... i don't usually write zayne bc he's so difficult for me to write but omfg 😭 i needed this for me LMAO

taglist : @spotted-salamander @darlingdummycassandra @milkandstarlight @thoupenguinman @valvinny @rafayelsheart @jellyroom2 @theanbitchless @hunters-association (SIGN UP HERE)

"Are you certain you can fall asleep like this?"

The question made you pause.

There was a slight shift in movement, the faint clicking sound of his glasses being set on his nightstand. And though you'd barely tilted your head back up to look at him, you felt an arm rest gently over your waist, subtly guiding you to cuddle closer against his chest. You knew, then, that the book he'd been reading had been set aside, as well.

You closed your eyes.

In this position, he held you securely against him, your ear pressed up against his chest to hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"What d'you mean?" you murmured. Your voice was slightly muffled.  "I'm okay, I told you I just wanted to be comfy... Why? Are you done reading?"

He didn't answer immediately, and it made you glance up.

His gaze was fond.

He took a moment—his thumb caressed your cheek, a warm gesture he knew worked to soothe you. It did exactly as he'd hoped, of course; your head lulled to the side, a content sigh leaving your lips. It was this that made the corners of his mouth twist up into a little smile.

"...Mm, it's enough for today," a soft chuckle fell from his lips. "But... it just feels as if something's different tonight."

This time, you felt his other hand trail over your back, moving in a soft, soothing rub.

Your gaze fixed on his.

His words stirred up a puddle of guilt, but it wasn't something you wanted to talk about.

"Something's... different? Zayne, I can assure you that I—"

"Please."

The excuse died on your lips.

The way he said it—such a simple word—was soft. Softer than usual. Enough so to get you to notice the way his eyes would search yours, that shade of hazel you'd always loved so dearly... The concern in his eyes was genuine, and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

"I... want to know what's been on your mind today. And it feels like you've been... thinking, quite a lot."

When he spoke again, you found that it was you who couldn't answer right away. And for your silence, you were met with another little smile, a chaste kiss placed into the crown of your head.

Zayne always had a way of compelling you to be more honest than you usually were.

You shook your head.

"M'just.... Not been feeling myself today, that's all," you said quietly.

Your eyes closed again, and you rest your head back down on his chest, finding comfort in the way his hand would start slowly massaging circles into your back.

"I see," he murmured. And there was something about the timbre in his voice that had you vocalizing your contentment with a little hum.

He didn't really say anything else.

You knew he wanted to, but this was just how he was—somehow he knew when you wanted to leave things as they were, and that his presence was, in this moment, simply enough.

You shifted to curl into him a little bit more, allowing your eyes to meet yet again.

"I don't want you to worry," you started.

"I know," he nodded.

"It's really just something trivial. It'll pass."

"...I know."

You smiled again, a little bit.

"I just... It feels like one of those days, you know? There's no real reason I've been feeling like this, sometimes it just happens, and..."

"And you don't want to concern me over it."

He finished it for you.

And this time, it was his turn to smile, his eyes settling into a soft gaze.

"I was simply... making sure," he murmured. A finger found its way beneath your chin, tilting it up a little, until his lips met yours in a kiss so gentle that it sent butterflies flurrying into your stomach. "If we're to sleep, I don't want you to go to bed upset."

"M'not upset..."

He chuckled a little, and you had to give him another ppout

"Really, I'm not!"

"I know."

He reached over to hold your thigh, gently guiding it to rest over his leg, before leaning in to kiss your forehead. You blinked. Trying to search his gaze would prove fruitless, but there was a hint of a tease that you could recognize in his tone.

"I believe you," he hummed, "but... would it be alright to hold you like this for a moment, anyway?"

Your eyes widened.

There was nothing too... much, about how close you were to him, certainly. Yet the more you looked at him, the more you could feel yourself drawing closer. You could only watch as his eyes closed, and he sighed, nuzzling his nose against yours.

"I'm not good with words." A shiver ran through your body as he leaned in to whisper into your ear, hot breath pricking at your skin. "But... If you don't like the person that you are today... then I would like to show you that I like her very much."

His arm slid beneath you to lock you into a tight embrace, pressing himself more insistently against you. His head dipped, lips attaching to your shoulder.

"Zayne..." you sucked in a breath as his teeth nipped at your skin.

The only reply you received was a soothing lap of his tongue against the mark he'd just made, and it was enough to draw out a quiet whine from you, raising your leg to wrap around his waist. The skirt of your nightgown rode up—it was near-immediate the way he reacted, then, a hand gliding down your back to gently grip at your soft flesh.

He smiled at your skin and pushed you slightly upwards. The erection poking against you was unmistakable.

"Z-Zayne!" you gasped, yet your hips moved nearly involuntarily, and he let out  a slow breath at the instigated friction.

"Shhhh."

His lips ghosted over yours, hazel eyes peering into your own.

"Let me take care of you?"

It was a question, still. He would never do anything you weren't up for, and you knew that—there was something about it that made your heart flutter. Add to it the fact that there wasn't even a need for him to cater to you like this; you knew this was nothing but a temporary feeling of yours. It wasn't necessary for you to receive any more affection him than you'd gotten that day. Yet... here he was, willing to offer just that.

You felt him lean in forward for another kiss—still gentle, still soft, your eyes closing into the sensation.

It was nice, like this.

Truly, you didn't have any complaints—he was being so sweet with you, and now, of all times. How could you refuse?

"...M'kay," you murmured against him. Your arm wrapped around his neck, and you felt him smile.

"You know that I cherish you, sweetheart, right?" he sighed contentedly.

Again his lips found yours, his hand stroking the side of your arm in a comforting motion. And for a while, it continued just like that—having you pressed up against him, his hand slipping beneath your down to leave goosebumps across your skin. Just soft, light, gentle caresses, your lips moving in sync enough to bring your bodies into a slow rocking motion.

Otherwise quiet, it was the kisses and soft panting that echoed in the room, having your hands gliding up to thread through his hair. Zayne could only pull you close, closer than close, his own hand returning to rub circles into your skin before resting on the small of your back. Every so often he would give a light squeeze, allowing you to grind yourself onto him, eliciting soft gasps that he would only swallow back into his kisses.

When your eyes opened, hazy and half-lidded, you could faintly make out the glowing outline of his silhouette. His cheeks were flushed by this point—they no doubt mirrored yours. The dim lighting of the lamp on the nightstand did nothing less than paint a soothing, ethereal image before you.

"...I love you," you murmured.

You'd said it without thinking, but they weren't particularly words that felt foreign to you.

Zayne chuckled, and it seemed that your confession had earned you another kiss.

"I know. And I love you."

Quiet, shuffling motions had your gown and his robe both discarded, and you groaned as his lips trailed down over your body. His head dipped, tracing your every curve, peppering kisses wherever he went, his hand stroking lovingly at your skin.

You curled into him—wrapping your leg back over his waist, wanting to feel his warmth all over you. You could hear the soft moans emanating from his lips, so busy suckling at your skin and leaving proof of his love everywhere that he possibly could. The harsher nips blended soothingly with his gentle caresses, hands kneading at your flesh as if to distract you from the slight sting of his marking.

"Oh, Zayne..." you moaned, rutting your hips against his bulge once more in an attempt to bring the both of you back into that slow, rocking rhythm.

Gradually he trailed his lips back up your body, from the dip or your hips, to your navel, to the valley of your breasts. Another mark beneath your collarbone that had you gasping, before kissing up your neck to meet your lips once more.

You could feel it; the satisfied smile etched on his lips as he kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you. He wasn't saying it with words, but you could feel it—every kiss meant I love you.

"Feel better?" he whispered. His breath tickled the side of your neck as he gripped your thigh and held you around him, rocking his hips into yours. But he didn't wait for you to reply before he reached over to push your panties to the side, running a finger through the wetness that had pooled.

"Mmnh..." Your eyes closed, your hips bucking at the direct contact.

A chuckle and a few more kisses peppering your face before he spoke, "Are we okay with this?"

His finger ran up over your slit another time, collecting your slick before circling your entrance patiently.

You bit your lip.

It was just like him to ask for your consent again, even though you'd already been grinding against each other like this, even if he could already feel how wet he had gotten you.

But...

"Can we just... Can I have you, instead?"

Your voice came out a little shy, but the directness of your request remained punctuated by the way your hand drifted down to palm him through his boxers.

There was a certain surge of pride you felt, knowing your actions had gotten him this hard, had caused the shaky breath that he released, unable to stop his hips from jerking against you. In response to you, again your lips were captured into a kiss—and though he was keen on keeping the gentle atmosphere, there was a hint of desperation in the way his lips moved against yours.

"Mmm," he moaned quietly into you, hands making quick motions to free himself from the confines of his boxers.

You couldn't see it, too lost in the kiss, hands sliding up his body to cup his face for more of it—the sounds of lips smacking together became louder, more insistent, more heated.

But you felt it.

A hand on your ass, rubbing motions to keep your folds parted for him as the tip of his cock dipped teasingly into you. His legs slid against yours with the shallow thrusts he would give you, allowing you to get used to the feeling. And it was a stretch, nonetheless—no matter how many times you'd felt him inside you, you couldn't help but moan into the kiss, patiently waiting for him to ease himself in.

Your hand moved down to grip his back, almost hoisting yourself over him to spread your legs a little wider. "Mmh, Z-Zayne..."

You were panting, eyes steady on his, mouth slightly open. And with every thrust he made, he slid further and further into you, causing your breath to hitch.

"Does it feel good, sweetheart?" He brushed a few strands away from your face, placing soft kisses all over your face yet again. "I love you. You feel wonderful, darling."

A quiet moan left your lips as he squeezed your ass up once more, allowing you to take him in.

And it was a moment before either of you moved.

Quiet, hushed huffs of breath as you clenched around him, eyes heedy with desire with how closely you focused on the feeling of being full again. And his own gaze remained fixed upon yours. A hand rest on your cheek, thumbing at your skin, eyes so fondly looking into yours that you could melt.

There was no other place you could feel so loved than with him.

"Look at you," he murmured. "Darling, you look wonderful."

Your heart swelled, enough to have you drawing in a sharp breath.

It was so silly to think that this all started on the slightest inkling he had that you weren't feeling your best. And yet, he would never fail to make you feel loved. Whether you asked for it, or you didn't—he had his way of making sure you didn't feel unloved.

And it meant so much to you.

With a smile, your hips began to rock, and you cherished the groan that fell from his lips.

"You look wonderful, too, Zayne," you whispered back.

His head buried into your neck as you cradled him, his own hips moving in time with yours. Every languid pump of his cock pushed him deeper into you, bodies pressed so impossibly close that you could feel the head radiating off of the both of you. Flushed and heedy, you rolled against each other in a sensual waltz—it was the lamp on your bedside table that had your shadows dancing across the wall.

Gasps and pants permeated the air.

Slow, and deep, and steady... the slick sounds of your sex would mix in with the hushed moans that would slip from your lips, your vision already blurry in the haze of how deep he would fuck into you. The burn of his length dragging inside you was elating. You could feel each throb of his pulse inside you, his hand sliding slowly over your thigh, massaging your flesh.

"Zayne..." you breathed, "Zayne."

It was all you could say.

"A-ah... Ah~ Zayne..."

Muffled against your skin, his lips had resumed its attack on your neck, littering bruises that you knew you'd have trouble covering up the next morning. He would leave your skin with red marks all over it, a line of love bites from your nape up to your jawline—

But he wasn't rushing.

It was tender; affectionate, the way he made love to you.

You felt it.

He kept up the pace. Just slow, easy fucking motions as his lips latched back into yours. And everytime he sunk into you, you could feel your eyes roll back into your head, every listless thrust a reminder of how you could feel every inch of him inside you.

"Sweetheart," he whispered against your lips, "you're so good for me..."

It was only then that he made the subtle shift, rolling you onto your back and pressing his body onto yours. Your legs wrapped fully around his waist, and you could feel his weight push down on you, allowing him to sink even deeper and causing your eyes to widen with a gasp.

"Zayne!"

This time his hand found yours, fingers intertwining. With another kiss to your forehead, you felt him slide your hand over your body, pressing lightly into your lower abdomen enough to have your body arching into him.

"I'm right there, sweetheart," he murmured.

You could feel the faint outline of his cock moving in and out of you. He was pressing so deep into you that your head threw back, lifting your hips into him for more. Moans swallowed into more of his kisses, the room echoed with that soft sound of skin slapping against skin with a quiet, rhythmic, pap, pap, pap.

Your hands clawed at his back, his pace stuttering almost immediately at the sting from your nails. You could have delighted at the muffled curse he moaned into you, hips pressing you deeper into the mattress.

He detached himself from your lips, already red and swollen, and his breath fanned over your face. With his forehead resting against yours, you could clearly see that mixture of lust, and desire, and adoration swimming in the depth of his eyes—it made your heart jump.

His thrusts began to pick up the pace slightly, eliciting soft, staccato pants from you. He reached over to take your hands into his, pressing them up against the pillows and curling his fingers into you.

"Going to cum..." he whispered, a word of warning that had you nodding your head.

"Okay," you breathed. "Inside."

His eyes widened.

It was easy for you to use that opportunity to lock your legs around his waist, paying back the marks he'd left on your body by dipping your head to latch onto his neck.

With a gutteral groan, you felt it—hot streams of his cum painting your insides, the pulse of his cock a delight that sent you trembling over your own high. Moans muffled against your skin, you clung to him tightly, hands gripping his until your knuckles nearly turned white.

"Haah... haah... D-darling, you're..."

He panted into your ear, pulling the both of you back onto your sides as he rode you through your orgasm.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurry. Again you found your hand resting on his cheek, pulling your gazes up to meet each other.

"Zayne..." you whispered, trying to catch your breath.

Slowly, he churned the juices inside you, the wet noises nearly turning your face even more flushed than it had been.

Another kiss... and another, and another.

"Tired?" he murmured.

Still his hils continued to rock gently against yours, lighter, shallower thrusts as if to soothe you.

Your eyes fluttered closed.

"...Mhm."

You felt an arm wrap around you, bringing you back into that embrace of his that you loved so dearly.

"Feel better?"

You smiled.

"Mhm."

This time, he placed a kiss onto the top of his head, hips stilling inside you as he held you close.

"Good," he nuzzled into you. "Go to sleep, sweetheart. I'll clean you up after a moment."

His soft strokes of your hair were enough to lull you to sleep.

The last thing, then, you heard, was a small, quiet mumble:

"I love you."

© rose-tinted-kalopsia. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[jo-com]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ Mine

Charles Leclerc x fem!reader

Summary: He's yours, and you're his. That's how it should be.

Tw: DARK, implied smut, obsession, manipulation, possessive behavior, branding, angst, jealous charles, some grammatical error, not proofread, google translated french cause i can't speak french and sorry if i wrote it wrong i just started writing again so idk if this is good or not.

words: 1.1k

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ➛ My Masterlist (Part 2)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ───

From the start, Charles was nothing more than amazing—he would give you endless adoration and assurance, and overall was the perfect boyfriend. He would worship you like you were some kind of goddess—well,  in his eyes, you were. 

But Over time, his once pure love became a crazy obsession.

The need to always be by your side and not let any other guys come closer to you, talk to you, or even breathe the same air as you intoxicated his mind and clouded his judgment.

And you start to see changes that would never occur in the past—changes that weren't good. Like that time when you and Carlos were just casually talking and catching up—that sight alone was enough to make his once-puppy dog eyes become piercing ones. Burning a hole in both the backs of your heads, from across the room you could see how tensed he was, his jaws clenched and his hands gripped the seat making the texture of the seat all crinkly.

At that time you only shook it off as a "concerned gesture" and never said anything about it to him.

But then it was constantly happening; he would always get riled up whenever someone would just approach you, whether it was a girl, boy, kid, or even animals; he was getting jealous over almost everything. 

You started to worry that things would get even more complicated as they continued. So you stood your ground and got up the courage to voice your concern to him. 

...

"Charlie?" you said softly, entering the room, where he was reading. Your eyes scanned around the room then stopped when you spotted his figure.

There he was, sitting by the fireside with a book in his right hand and the other resting on the armrest. He looked like one of those guys that were sculptured to perfection, but you knew that, underneath that godlike demeanor was one possessive beast that was hard to tame.

Hearing your voice, Charles looked up from your direction and immediately lit up. "Oui? Mon chéri," he responded with his thick French accent. 

You smiled half-heartedly and slowly walked to where he sat. From your action, he could tell that something was bothering you. 

His face scrunched up with a frown as he stared intently at you as you sat down on one of the armrests. 

"Is there something bothering you, Mon cœur?" he asked, lowering down the book he was reading and then slowly snaked up his free hand to rest on your waist.

You let out a deep sigh before answering, "You'll tell me when something's up right?"

He didn’t answer but just tilted his head and stared at you blankly. At that moment there were many questions running through his mind, but one particular thought stood out: Why would you ask something out of the blue when everything has been perfect? not unless someone put thoughts into that pretty little naive head of yours. 

He let out a low chuckle—the grip on your waist tightened as he sucked out a breath—your eyes met his. Seeing the lack of emotion as he stared back at you, sent shivers down your spine, and what scared you even more was when he gave you a calm but menacing smile.

"What makes you think that there's a problem sweetheart?"

You bit your lower lip, holding back the urge to just blurt out your thoughts.

That small gesture was not left unnoticed by Charles. He raised his other hand and touched your lower lip, softly grazing his thumb to where you sunk your teeth. "You know you can tell me anything, right? Mon cœur? he assured.

His expression didn't change; the loving eyes that you once knew were now an emotionless void. With that look, you knew he was getting impatient the longer you stayed silent.

Breaking the silence, you slowly nodded your head and smiled lightly. "Yeah, I know baby, it’s just that you’ve been off lately and you get so riled up easily, mon amour—I know that you mean no harm, but it’s just too much and i-"

“Do you think I like being that way? ”Charles cuts you off.

He gazed at you—eyes filled with rage from what you just said. You squeaked at his burning glare and were quick to look away. The hand that used to rest in your waist was now at the bridge of his nose, pinching it with frustration. 

"You know i wouldn't be that way if not for you, y/n. I am just keeping you safe from all those disgusting men at the paddock, tu ne sais pas de quoi ils sont capables y/n (you don't know what they are capable of)."

You kept your head down and stayed quiet, not wanting to say anything further that might ignite more of his anger. 

Charles stared at your weak state and sighed heavily. 

He stood up, standing in front of you. His hands are cupping both your cheeks, forcing you to stare at him. Charles rubbed your rosy cheeks soothingly, making you lean in on his touch.

"Everything I do is for you, mon chéri, okay?"

You looked at him through your eyelashes and smiled. Charles just wants you to be safe and there's nothing wrong with it, maybe your just overthinking it?.

Charles smiled and kissed your temple; hugging you close to him as if you'd leave once he let's go.

Only a fool would believe that Charles's "just wants you to be safe".

Y/n was a fool

...

Your body jolted at the sensation, your hand moving to your mouth as you bit down the urge to moan out loud.

The two of you were inside a closet room in the pit. Charles decided to pull this stunt the moment he laid eyes on you and Max talking. Like usual, he got riled up and dragged you somewhere secluded to "teach you a lesson".

Tears swell up your eyes, making your vision go blurry. Your other hand was pushing his head away and attempting to stop him from diving into your cunt and eating it like there was no tomorrow. 

"Stop," Charles hissed, grabbing both your wrist and pinning it above your head—restricting your movements.

"What did i tell you about talking to others?"

You gulped down the lump in your throat and shook your head. "I am sorry, mon amour" your eyes pleading for him to stop.

Charles scoffed, gripping your jaw tightly. "espèce de salope (you slut), you just want everyone's attention, don't you?"

"Charlie, no, it's not like that," you begged, your voice shaking as his grip on your jaw tightened.

"Oh, I'll give you attention alright, Chienne (bitch)," he cussed, his accent making his aura more frightening.

...

You lay emotionless on the table, tears falling down your face—your clothes on the ground, your hair a mess, and your body filled with his markings.

In the corner of the room, Charles was fixing his clothes. Acting as if nothing had happened. 

He then went over to you and pulled your body towards him, crassing your hair and kissing your temple. "Je t'aime tellement mon amour."

...

Should i make a part 2?? Btw hope you like this idk if i did it okay i just wanted to write again and like always my request are open!!

[heich0e]

you wake when you hear rustling.

it’s not that the noise is particularly loud, or even disturbing, it just so happens that it’s the thing that rouses you from your slumber.

“tobio?” you speak his name before your eyes are even open, calling out for him before you’re fully conscious. searching for him before you've properly greeted the day.

the rustling stops.

as the morning comes into focus, your gaze finds him standing at the other side of the bed, pulling on his running shorts with a pinched look on his face.

“i was trying to be quiet,” he murmurs softly, as though he’s disappointed. like he somehow failed.

“you were being quiet,” you placate him with a hum, stretching out in bed underneath the covers. your muscles twinge in a pleasant way. your body tender and tired from the night before. there’s a mark at the base of tobio’s throat which the collar of his navy blue hoodie doesn’t quite cover—a reminder on his body of just what had kept the two of you up so late the night before and left you so achy. you blink slowly as you watch him tie a double knot in the drawstring of his shorts. “what are you doing?”

his blue eyes peek over to you. “going for a run.”

you blink again, but this time it’s a bit more incredulous.

“what time is it?” 

“6:07,” tobio reads from the smartwatch on his wrist once he frees it from the cover of his sleeve.

“six am?” you repeat bewilderedly. “tobio, come back to bed. we only went to sleep a few hours ago.”

you push yourself up in bed and wince at the unexpected protest of your body. tobio is quickly dipping near, moving as you move, placing a hand on your shoulder to keep you from rising any higher from where you lay. “don’t do that, it’s too early.”

“it is too early,” you agree pointedly, emphasizing his own argument. “so come back to bed.”

“i have to go for my run,” he replies, a pinch of confusion settling upon his brow.

you huff indignantly. “tobio, i promise you got more than enough activity in last night.”

he purses his lips, but doesn’t otherwise seem swayed by your words. 

“well, if you insist on getting up then i’m getting up too,” you say when he doesn’t reply to your remark. 

“but you need to sleep,” tobio objects, his hand still gently keeping you down even as you press against it.

“if i need to sleep, then so do you,” you counter his point, reaching up to twist your fingers in the material of his sleeve.

“i have much better stamina than you do,” tobio reminds you. not in an unkind way—tobio has never said anything to you unkindly, even though his words may occasionally seem callous. it’s just the way he is. “i’m an olympic athlete.”

as though you could have possibly forgotten.

you roll your eyes and tug his sleeve. “i’m well aware of that, tobio. and i promise you that your fitness will not suffer from taking a single morning to sleep in with your girlfriend. come back to bed.”

tobio hesitates. 

because that’s another thing about tobio: he’s never unkind, and he never denies you anything.

“but i have to—“

“you can go for a run later,” you assure him, tilting your head to the side to rest your cheek against the hand he has on your shoulder as you bat your eyelashes at him. “come back to bed.”

“but i need cardio before—“ 

using your grip on his sleeve, you pull him further into bed until he’s kneeling upon it with both knees, holding himself up over you. he's stronger than you are, and bigger, but he moves willingly. he lets you pull him closer with no resistance or complaint. there’s a pretty pink blush that sits high on his cheeks as he stares down at you from this position, his eyes fixed intently to your face. you watch as they dip slightly to your lips when they curl in a smug little smirk.

“i may not be an olympic athlete, but if you insist on needing cardio, then maybe i can help with that.”

[drabblesandsnippets]

Confidence, Part 1

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 2

Pairing: Sex Worker!Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “What should I call you?” | [Master | Alpha | Pet] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (7k) AU Bucky is a full-service sex worker who enjoys helping women become more confident in their sexuality.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Mention of an ex-boyfriend. Mention of insecurities/body image. Pet names (sweetheart, baby). Lots of asking for consent. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praise. Issues climaxing. Oral & fingering (f receiving).

---------------------------

The end of a long-term relationship had led her here. Years of unhappiness. Years of feeling unsatisfied by her ex. Years of wishing things would change. 

After she finally found the courage to end things, the breath of relief she thought would come never did. Instead, she was left feeling lost, insecure, and unsure about what she wanted or who she even was.

That’s when a friend referred her to Bucky. 

A full-service sex worker who came highly recommended. A man who believes that there’s something inherently beautiful about everyone.

“I’ve worked with all types of women,” he assured her, “and I’ve found every single one of them attractive.”

It sounded like a line, but all the evidence pointed to the contrary. 

Bucky’s not just doing this to make money. He truly enjoys what he does. The physical part of it, sure - he wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t - but, it’s the emotional aspect that keeps bringing him back.

There’s nothing like the rush he gets from watching a woman find her confidence and blossom under his guidance. That moment when they finally feel comfortable enough to let go of their inhibitions and learn to trust themselves.

It’s a heady feeling, knowing he’s changing their lives forever, and it’s not something he takes lightly.

Over the last few weeks of emails, texts, and phone calls, she found it easy to talk to Bucky about what she wanted out of this experience. Sex is supposed to be fun, and she wants to be able to enjoy herself without worrying about how she looks or if she’s doing the wrong thing.

Even during the more personal topics, like when they discussed what her sex life was like with her ex, Bucky never made her feel ashamed or judged. Her lack of experience and seemingly lack of enthusiasm for certain acts, due to her ex, didn’t make him blink an eye.

If anything, it made Bucky more intrigued to work with her. She was a puzzle he was going to enjoy help figuring out.

Despite his intimidating appearance - his well-defined muscles and the abundance of tattoos, his entire left arm covered in intricate designs - his charismatic personality keeps her relaxed.

His easy-going nature helps her open up as they sit on the couch in the beautifully decorated hotel room, giving her the courage to blurt out a question, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks when she does.

“What should I call you?”

During their last conversation, Bucky had asked her something similar, curious if she would enjoy being called something other than her name. She settled on a few things, but they never discussed what - if anything - she should call him.

With a tilt of his head, and a warm smile, he tells her, “You can call me whatever you’d like.” 

The hand that’s been resting on the back of the couch finally moves closer to her, his fingers just inches from her shoulder, making her breath hitch.

“Try not to overthink it,” he continues, his hand drifting closer as his smile turns playful. “Let the throes of passion guide you. I’m good with anything, really. ‘Bucky’. ‘Baby’. ‘Sir’. ‘Daddy’, if that’s your kink.”

She immediately laughs, the pink on her cheeks darkening as she shakes her head at him. She’s just starting to figure out what she might like with a partner, she’s not ready to even consider the last two options. 

Bucky’s grin grows and he nods his head in understanding, happy to see that his teasing tone is helping to relax her a bit more. It encourages him to shift a bit closer, his knee just barely brushing against her thigh. 

Their layers of clothing do nothing to dampen the rush of arousal she suddenly feels, and she waits with baited breath as his hand hovers over her shoulder, his fingertips almost close enough to touch her shirt.

“Can I touch you?”

It’s such a simple question, but it’s in this moment that she finally understands the phrase ‘consent is sexy.’

There’s something so incredibly intimate and arousing about Bucky asking for permission, despite the obvious reason he’s here. 

He accepts the slight nod of her head and the soft whisper of ‘yes’ for now. Eventually, he’ll help her find her voice and figure out how to ask for what she wants.

Until then, he needs to find a balance between her obvious desire for more and showing her that it’s okay to go slow.

She deserves to have someone take their time with her, to learn her body, to help her figure out what brings her pleasure. 

She knows what she likes when she’s by herself - that’s never been the problem - it’s allowing herself to be vulnerable with someone that’s the issue. She’s always struggled with being able to fully enjoy the moment, and she’s trusting Bucky to help her learn how to do that.

Goosebumps spread across her skin at the first brush of his thumb along the soft curve where her shoulder meets her neck. A soft exhale and a flutter of her eyelashes tells him all he needs to know, but he still asks, his voice a low murmur.

“Is this okay?”

She’s quick with her answer. A slight nod before she tilts her head, wanting him to keep going. He’s more than happy to, his eyes roaming along her body as he caresses her neck, taking in all the subtle ways her body responds to her touch.

“Does that feel good?”

It shouldn’t make her laugh, but it does. Bucky doesn’t take offense though, just watches her with a grin on his face, his hand never leaving her. 

“Why does it turn me on when you ask questions like that?” She’s surprised she manages to get the words out, but any nerves that threaten to consume her are immediately alleviated when Bucky’s smile grows.

She can practically feel how proud he is of her for asking.

He was already excited about working with her, but this just solidifies it. He can’t wait to watch her come out of her shell even more. 

As his thumb dips down to trace over her collarbone, he tells her, “I think it’s because it shows you that I care about what you want. That your pleasure is important to me.”

After an audible swallow, and a steadying breath, she admits, “I think I just also like hearing your voice.”

Her confession makes Bucky laugh, the smile reaching his eyes, and he nods his head, “Good to know.” He shifts just a bit closer on the couch, his leg resting against hers, his thumb slowly following a path up to her chin. “Does that mean you wanna try some dirty talk?”

She immediately blushes again, but with his thumb caressing the curve of her throat, she’s forced to keep her head held high. 

It manages to give her a boost of confidence, and she lets out a soft laugh, confessing, “Oh god, I’d be terrible at it.”

Bucky chuckles along with her but shakes his head. “Oh don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to say a thing.” His thumb brushes over her chin, almost close enough to touch her lip. “I’d enjoy just watching your reactions.”

He always seems to know just what to say to ease her worries before they can even start. The moment his eyes glance at her mouth, her lips part, and she leans in, just a fraction of an itch. 

The smile on Bucky’s face brightens, and he shifts again, mirroring her movements, but he’s not going to kiss her just yet, wanting the anticipation to build a little more. Instead, he repeats his question, softly asking her, “Do you want me to talk dirty to you?”

The slight shudder that rolls through her would make her feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the hungry look he’s giving her. Her reactions are turning him on, and it helps her find her voice again.

“Yes.” 

With a tender touch, Bucky tucks her hair behind her ear, and all her senses are suddenly flooded by him - the smell of him, the heat of him, the sound of his voice whispering in her ear.

“Do you want me to praise you?” The question catches her off guard, but she’s suddenly aware of the way her nipples tighten, especially when he asks, “Can I tell you how good you’re doing?”

She wants his attention. She wants to be comfortable with someone complimenting her and praising her. So, with a slow nod of her head, she whispers another soft, “yes.”

But, Bucky hears the difference this time. The word just a bit louder, a bit more confident. She’s trying her hardest to allow herself to face her fears, and he wants her to know that he sees her. That he’s proud of how far she’s already come.

After getting her permission to touch more of her, he takes her hand in his, stroking his thumb across her palm, listening to the change in her breath. Without ever pulling away, he keeps talking, his mouth almost close enough to touch her ear.

“You’re doing so good for me.” 

The praise makes warmth pool in her belly and the softest noise of pleasure escapes her. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, his touch sliding higher, the pad of his thumb tracing the inside of her wrist. “I like that sound.”

She feels like she’s dreaming. Bucky’s barely started touching her, and she can already feel the wetness between her thighs, the ache for more.

“Let’s see what other kind of noises you can make for me,” he says, his soft beard brushing against her jaw. With one hand stroking up her forearm, his other hand slides into her hair to support her head, giving him better access.

She’s sure her heart is beating loud enough for him to hear, but she makes no move to pull away, not wanting to give him any reason to stop. Her head is flooded with thoughts of what he’s going to do, how he’s going to touch her, but he still takes her by surprise.

Just the softest brush of Bucky’s lips against her cheek before he’s asking, “is this okay?” and she’s a mess. 

She doesn’t even recognize the sound that comes out of her, and without thinking, she reaches for him, her fingers trailing over the front of his shirt.

Bucky rewards her confidence with another soft kiss along her jaw, and she suddenly decides to jump in with both feet, asking him, “Will you kiss me?” 

The question’s been building all evening, trying to work its way out of her, and his reaction to it makes her wonder why she was hesitant to start with.

“Absolutely.” The way he says it, like he’s just been waiting for her, makes her laugh softly, and he grins as he pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. “I would love to kiss you.” 

And the way he kisses her makes her believe him. His mouth soon coaxing hers open, his tongue seeking permission to deepen the kiss, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest in response to the taste of her. 

It’s all so new and exciting, but somehow Bucky’s able to make it feel familiar and comfortable. And for the first time in what feels like forever, she’s not in her head about what’s happening or what she’s supposed to be doing. 

She’s just living in the moment, making out with an incredibly hot guy, welcoming his weight on top of her. 

If there was ever any doubt that he was enjoying himself, it’s erased when he settles between her thighs, letting her feel how turned on he is.

The moan she makes in return just makes him harder, and he leans up, meeting her gaze, a soft smile on his lips. As much as Bucky's enjoying kissing her, he wants to hear her, watch her as the pleasure takes over. 

She’s not sure who moves first, but with a slight tilt of her hips, the hard length of him is suddenly pressed right against her clit, eliciting a soft gasp from her. 

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the two of them still completely dressed, but the moment he starts to move against her, her back is already arching, her body seeking out more.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of her, watching her closely. She doesn’t even realize it, but she’s the one setting the pace here. He’s just following her lead, matching her movements with his own, wanting her to show him what feels good to her.

When he can see the attention he’s giving her is starting to overwhelm her, he closes the distance, placing soft kisses along her jaw, giving her time to relax all over again. 

With a soft moan right against her ear, he tells her, “You feel so good like this.” His fingers tighten in her hair at her reaction, her tense thighs and lift of her hips causing his cock to throb between them. “Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Oh god,” she breathes, grinding harder against him, his words sending a burst of pleasure straight to her clit. With her hands pressed against his back, fisting his shirt, she quickly nods her head, whispering, “Yes. Please.”

That’s the word he’s been waiting for. 

Please. 

Bucky’s free hand travels down to her thigh, guiding her to lift her leg just a bit higher. The new position makes her gasp and he groans against her neck, asking her, “Please, what?” 

Her body shudders as he starts moving again, the increased pressure between her thighs making her breath catch. She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for. She just holds onto him, her hips moving a bit faster, the pleasure building inside of her.

Bucky still wants an answer, but he doesn’t pressure her for one. He follows her lead, listening to her gasps and moans get louder with each thrust of his hips against hers. He’s pretty sure this might be enough to make her come.

The same thought is running through her head, but it’s not long before the moment starts to catch up with her. 

The way she’s starting to sweat underneath her clothes, the way her heavy breathing has caused her throat to go dry, the way her foot keeps slipping off the edge of the couch as she tries to find purchase.

This time it doesn’t surprise her when his voice interrupts her thoughts, asking her, “Can you tell me what you need?” All he wants is for her to be comfortable, and if she’s not feeling this anymore, he’s more than happy to find something that works for her.

She knows what she needs. The only problem is that it’s the one thing that’s been giving her the most anxiety about this night. 

Being naked with him. Being vulnerable. Having to trust him to prove to her that she deserves to have someone bring her pleasure.

Bucky is more than up for the challenge though. His entire goal for the night is to show her how good it can be to have someone take care of her. To show her how much pleasure someone can bring her, if she just allows herself to connect with them.

Soon, he’s leading them to stand at the foot of the bed, taking his time to get her to relax against him, drawing her into a kiss that leaves them both breathless. 

And with just a bit of encouragement, she’s makes the first move, slowly lifting his shirt over his head. While her hands start exploring his newly exposed skin, tracing the lines of the tattoos that cover his shoulder and left arm, he pulls her into another kiss, groaning against her mouth. 

She doesn’t know what’s come over her. She’s never felt this confident before, refusing to overthink how she’s touching him, letting her desire for him guide her. It’s opening her up to so many possibilities, the memory of their conversations about boundaries and kinks suddenly flashing through her mind.

As she encourages him to help her out of her shirt, she softly asks him, “What if I change my mind about something we’ve already discussed?”

It’s clear to Bucky that she’s not asking about things she’s already said she wants, and he takes a moment to consider her question, appreciating the way her nipples strain against her bra.

It’s not lost on him that she makes no move to try to cover up or hide herself from him.

After he gives her another kiss, he meets her gaze, watching her as his finger traces along her bra strap, the back of his fingers brushing across the swell of her breast. 

He smiles when her lips part, her breath quickening, and he whispers, “Then you tell me. Tonight’s about learning to ask for what you want.”

She nods her head slowly, but her voice leaves her for a moment. Her entire focus is on his touch, his fingers teasing along the edge of her bra, the occasional brush of his skin against hers making her dizzy with need. She’s not sure she’s ever been this turned on before, especially not during foreplay.

“What is it you think you might want?” 

Bucky remembers everything she said no to - everything she knew she wouldn’t like, or didn’t want to try - and he can’t ignore the rush of excitement at the thought that he’s made her comfortable enough to try something she wasn’t sure about before.

It’s not until she’s helped him out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxer briefs, that she finally figures out how to voice her desires. It helps that he chooses the same moment to kneel in front of her to undo her jeans, the soft brush of his fingers against her stomach bringing her nothing but pleasure.

“I did what you suggested,” she begins, her hand resting on his shoulder as he starts to lower her jeans, his eyes briefly looking up at her, a pleased smirk on his face as he reveals the matching panties to her bra. “The other night,” she whispers, watching as he slowly undresses her, helping her step out of her jeans. “I tasted myself.”

Bucky doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it’s not that. 

His hands immediately reach up to hold her hips, his thumbs dipping underneath the waistband of her panties as he lets out a soft groan. The image of her alone in her own bed, touching herself, tasting herself for the first time has him silently praying that this is going where he thinks it is.

He somehow manages to keep his composure and looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire, but his voice steady. “What did you think?”

She’s the one that brought this up, but her skin still grows warm and a soft laugh comes out of her. She’s trying so hard not to overthink all of this - to not let her insecurities start to overwhelm her.

Bucky helps her through this moment, like he’s done all evening. Still kneeling in front of her, he slides his hands down her thick thighs and gently asks, “Do you like the way you taste?” 

Her first reaction is to give him a slight shrug, her eyes looking past him. But he quickly gets her attention, finding a sensitive spot along the back of her thigh, the graze of his fingers causing her breath to shudder out of her. 

It has the desired effect, and she nods her head, whispering, “Yes.”

Bucky continues watching her as he caresses the back of her thighs, marveling at the way it causes obvious pleasure to ripple through her, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Do you think I’d like the way you taste?”

There’s no doubt in his mind that he will, but this isn’t really about him. Bucky needs her to get there on her own, to believe that someone wants all of her. 

She wants to shrug again. To brush off his question and keep her eyes closed, pretending that he’s not watching her right now. But, she can’t. That’s not why she’s here. That’s not why Bucky is here. 

After she forces herself to take a slow, deep breath, she finally opens her eyes and looks down at him. The confidence she wishes for isn’t there yet, but she’s able to answer him honestly. 

A soft whisper of, “I’m not sure.” And then, a barely audible utterance of, “Maybe.”

Without hesitation, his hands slide up the outside of her thighs, returning to her hips, his fingers tracing along the edge of her panties. “Do you want me to taste you?” 

She forgets how to breathe, air getting trapped in her lungs as she tries not to look away. She just needs to ask for what she wants. It should be easy by now. She’s already standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, letting him see the bits of her that she’s uncomfortable with.

But, for a moment, the words still don’t come. Her hands remain on his shoulders, her nails lightly scratching along his tattooed skin as she tries to refocus. This time, Bucky remains quiet. He just continues to look up at her, giving her as much time as she needs to show him she’s ready for this.

This is something her ex never volunteered to do, and she was always too shy to ask, but she doesn’t want to be shy anymore. 

She wants to own her sexuality. She wants to be able to ask for what she wants in her next relationship, even new things she might not even know she wants yet.

With a slight nod of her head, and another trembling breath, she tells him, “Yes. I want… I want that.” 

Bucky doesn’t move yet. The look he gives her conveys how proud he is of her, but he wants to hear her say the actual words. Instead of just expecting her to know what to say, he asks her, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

She swallows the nervous laughter that threatens to spill out and takes a moment to close her eyes, trying to compose herself. How can such a simple term of endearment cause her so much pleasure? 

That’s not what she says though. When her mouth opens, the words come before she can overthink them. “I want you to taste me.”

“Oh, good girl.” Bucky’s growl of praise almost has her collapsing into a puddle, but his hands on her hips keep her steady. Not wanting to lose the momentum she’s building, he slides his hands up her back to her bra, asking her, “Can I take this off?”

She’s already made it this far, the intensity of her insecurities starting to lessen each time she reveals more of herself to him. With a nod of her head, she gives him permission, unable to look away as he slowly unhooks her bra, his fingers immediately rubbing along the indentations left behind.

The soft moan of relief she makes has him grinning up at her, and he slowly slides the straps down her arms, giving her a moment to adjust to this new level of vulnerability.

With his gaze still on her face, he tosses her bra aside to join the rest of their clothes and softly asks her, “Can I touch you?”

“Yes, please.” The words come easily this time, despite her nerves trying to get the better of her. She’s insecure about her breasts, gravity having caught up to her before she thought it would, and she finds herself wanting his approval.

In reality, it doesn’t matter what he thinks of her body, but he’s more than happy to help her see what he sees.

Matching his pace of the entire evening, his fingers brush along the sides of her breasts, the feather-light touch causing her nipples to pebble.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells her, unable to tear his gaze away from the way her body immediately arches towards his touch.

Bucky’s given her no reason to doubt his words, and the moment he cups her breast in his hand, her fingers slide into his hair as if to guide him closer.

He doesn’t make her ask for it this time, and she barely registers his breath on her skin before his tongue flicks out to lick her nipple.

The sound she makes causes his cock to twitch and he wastes no time trying to bring more of those noises out of her.

With his heavily-tattooed arm wrapped around her to support her, he immediately closes his lips around the erect bud, his free hand moving to her other nipple. 

It’s like he’s on a mission to see just how loud he can make her get before she demands more from him.

It doesn’t take long, her body trembling against him, both her hands in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“Bucky,” she moans, meeting his gaze as he switches sides, his fingers now playing with her saliva-slick nipple. 

All he does is grin at her in return, the gentle scrape of his teeth giving her the last push she needs. He can practically see the last of her walls starting to crumble, and as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, she manages to surprise him yet again.

“Please,” she pleads, unable to hide how breathless he’s already made her. “I want you to taste me.”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groans against her breast. He immediately pulls back and slides his hand up to wrap his fingers around her throat, his tender touch adding to her pleasure. “Is that what you need, baby? You want me to lick your pussy?”

All it takes is a quick confirmation from her and he’s guiding her onto the bed, more than ready to show her what she’s been missing out on. 

Within just a few moments, he has her naked and writhing underneath him, his mouth starting at her neck, taking his time to kiss down her soft curves.

By the time he’s placing kisses along her inner thighs, she’s forgotten about all the reasons why she almost didn’t ask for this. All thoughts about her ex-boyfriend are gone, as are her insecurities, and she runs her fingers through his hair, whining softly, “Please.”

Bucky will never tire of hearing that word. And with one last glance up at her, he helps her push her thighs back a bit more, giving him the perfect view of her pussy. 

“Mmm.” The groan that leaves him makes her pulse, her hips shifting underneath his hold, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “Eager, are we?” he teases, taking a moment to give her thigh another soft kiss, his beard tickling her pussy.

The question should make her blush - and any other time it would - but Bucky’s good at what he does. He’s somehow made her comfortable enough that not only does she not blush, she actually laughs. With a grin on her face, she quickly nods her head and tells him, “Yes. I am.”

Bucky’s so proud of her. She’s already come so far, and he quickly praises her with a soft rumble of, “Good girl.” 

And then he’s rewarding her, the slow swipe of his tongue along her slit immediately reducing her to a low whine of, “Oh my god.” He repeats the action, licking her from her dripping entrance up to her clit, teasing the bud with just the tip of his tongue.

“Oh my god.” She’s not sure she knows how to say anything else right now. She’s barely breathing at this point anyway, her entire body tense with anticipation.

And then he has the nerve to pull away, giving her another grin to tell her, “You were right.” 

She blinks, her hands fisting the sheets, her legs already shaking. All she can think about is having his mouth back on her pussy. She has no clue what he’s talking about.

“You taste so fucking good.”

Oh.

She’s not sure she even says anything, but it doesn’t matter because he dips his head back down and gets back to work, tasting her again.

Bucky alternates between long, slow licks and sliding his tongue deep inside of her, wiggling the muscle along her walls. He’s paying attention to all the ways she reacts to what he’s doing, repeating every action that makes her moan or shudder.

She gets lost in the moment, unsure of what to do with her hands, one gripping the sheets while the other holds her ankle, keeping herself spread for him. 

She can feel her pleasure building, but the longer he’s between her thighs, the more her insecurities start to resurface. Maybe this isn’t going to happen. No one’s been able to make her come before.

She’s always been responsible for her own orgasm, and while Bucky seems confident in his abilities, her doubt is starting to creep back up. 

When he returns his attention back to her clit, Bucky dragging the flat of his tongue over the bundle of nerves, she whispers his name. She feels compelled to apologize, like she’s wasting his time, but the only thing she can get out is, “I can’t.”

He pauses, but doesn’t pull his hands away, his fingers slick with her arousal as he looks up at her. Recognizing the confusion and embarrassment on her face, he realizes one crucial mistake he’s made. 

Bucky indulges himself with one more lick before he sets her at ease, explaining, “I’m not trying to make you come yet, baby. I just wanted to taste you, see what you like first.” His thumb teases over her clit as he kisses the soft skin of her inner thigh and asks her, “Is that okay?”

Just like that, he manages to get her back into the right headspace.

After a slow nod of her head, he’s bringing her pleasure again, exploring every inch of her pussy. He's enjoying taking his time, finding all the ways she likes to be touched, learning her body so he can give her what she needs. 

He’s also teasing her. Using his knowledge to make her more desperate. He hopes to get her to the point where she can ask for everything she wants without having to get this overwhelmed.

After his mouth moves away from her clit to lick across her entrance, he hears the change in her breathing. His quick glance shows him that her hands have moved to her tits, her fingers tugging at her nipples, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

Bucky returns his tongue to her clit, slowly circling the swollen bud before closing his lips around it, the soft suction causing her back to arch and she quickly nods her head, whispering, “oh god, please.”

But he pulls away again, her soft gasping whine proving he’s on the right track. She’s almost there. Just another quick tease of his tongue sliding inside of her, then back to suckling on her clit. That’s all it takes.

Her hand comes down to his head, fingers gripping his hair, as she breathlessly begs him, “Yes. Please. Just like that.”

This time, Bucky doesn’t move or pull away. He groans against her, unable to stop his hips from grinding against the mattress, her words sending pleasure straight to his cock. 

With each flick of his tongue, her noises get louder, the coil in her belly growing tighter.

She might actually come from this. Bucky might actually be able to make her come. 

That’s all she can think about. 

One hand in his hair, the other back to white-knuckling the sheet, using it for leverage to grind herself against his mouth. She can feel the pressure building, her muscles growing taut, her legs shaking uncontrollably. 

She’s going to come.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, seemingly unable to say anything else again. But Bucky still doesn’t change anything he’s doing, staying exactly where he is, his tongue never stopping. “Oh my god,” she repeats, nodding her head, desperate for this to happen.

It’s her downfall.

Just when she thinks it’s finally going to happen for her, the feeling suddenly starts to fade. The whine that leaves her, coupled with the frustrated, “No” has her quickly covering her flushed face.

The last thing Bucky wants is for her to think she’s done anything wrong. Or, even worse, that there’s something wrong with her. Because, there isn’t.

“Shhh,” he soothes her, peppering kisses along her thighs. His thumb returns to her clit, Bucky wanting to keep her pleasure building towards that peak again, and he tells her, “It’s okay. Sometimes we can get in our head. And sometimes... it’s just because we need more.”

She’s able to lower her hands away from her face to look down at him. It’s obvious he’s still enjoying himself, and all he wants is for her to be right there with him. It still takes her a moment of slow breathing for her to finally nod her head at him.

“Can you tell me what you think you need right now?” His slick thumb glides over her clit again before dipping down between her folds, teasing across her entrance. 

Her body immediately responds, her hips seeking out more, wanting him inside of her. 

Bucky tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at her, the smile on his face growing. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” 

It does the trick. With another shift of her hips, and more teasing pressure from his thumb, she nods her head. She doesn’t know how, but the words spill out of her without a second thought. “Fuck me, please.”

It takes every once of his control not to immediately let his thumb sink inside of her. She’s so wet, just begging to be filled, but it’s the perfect time to get her to verbalize her needs.

Bucky sits up on his knees just a bit, circling his thumb against her entrance before sliding it back up to her clit. He interrupts her needy whine with, “How do you want me to fuck you?”

She knows what he’s doing. And she’s incredibly grateful for it. Between quick and shallow breaths, she tells him, “With your fingers. Please.”

He tests her resolve, watching her closely as he starts to rub his thumb against her again, almost pushing inside of her. She immediately shakes her head and he pauses, a grin lighting up his face.

Bucky doesn’t even have to ask, she’s more than willing to tell him exactly what she wants. Her words coming quickly. “Please. Fuck me with your fingers. Two of them.”

His growl of praise immediately floods her brain, causing pleasure to radiate from her core. “Oh good girl,” he tells her, more than ready to give her what she wants,  “I’m so proud of you.” 

The cry that comes out of her as he fills her is unlike anything she’s ever made before. Her back arches and she reaches for him, grabbing his tattooed hand as his two thick fingers immediately find the spot that always seemed to allude others.

Bucky has every intention of tasting her again, planning to make her come with his mouth on her clit while he fucks her with his fingers.

He just wants to take a moment to watch her, enjoying the way the curl of his fingers causes her to gasp. His own body throbbing with pleasure as he strokes along her front wall, drawing more noises from her.

“You are so fucking hot,” he moans, interlocking their fingers as his gaze travels along her body from her thighs to her face, his cock leaking pre-cum at the sight of her.

When she’s able to accept his compliment without looking away, he increases the pressure, listening to the sounds of her wetness fill the air. 

She’s finally at that point that he promised she’d get to. Where she feels nothing but pleasure, able to bask in the connection they’re sharing.

“I wanna come for you.” There’s nothing quiet about her request, even as she struggles to get the words out between her soft gasps and moans.

“You really are incredible,” he tells her, eagerly returning to his earlier position, his head between her thighs. 

With his fingers still deep inside of her, he presses his tattooed arm against her thigh and places his palm flat against her lower stomach, using his fingers to spread her, exposing her clit.

She welcomes his touch, not a care in the world about how exposed she feels or how his hand digs into her soft belly. In fact, she doesn’t care how she looks at all. All she cares about his how close his mouth is to her pussy again, the feel of his warm breath making her whisper, “Please.”

Bucky glances up at her, a serious look on his face, quieting her pleading for the moment. 

“There’s no rush here, do you understand?” He accepts the slight nod of her head before continuing, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “If I need a break, I’ll tell you. Until then,” his raises his eyebrows in excitement, “let’s just enjoy ourselves, yeah?”

She’s quick to agree, forcing herself to relax, resting her head against the pillow. She doesn’t even try to keep her eyes open anymore, the return of his tongue to her clit practically making her forget her name. 

With the pressure of his fingers inside of her, rubbing against her g-spot, there’s suddenly not a doubt in her mind that Bucky’s going to make her come.

It still rushes up on her quickly, her senses completely overloaded - the obscene noises his mouth makes against her clit, the slight scratch of his beard on her pussy, the smell of sex lingering in the air.

“I’m gonna come,” she gasps, one hand on her breast, the other on his head, gripping his hair. “Please don’t stop.”

He actually has the audacity to laugh against her, but he has no intentions of stopping. The rhythm of his tongue never changes, Bucky already knowing exactly how to lick her to get her there. 

She allows herself to be consumed by the pleasure he’s giving her, and the moment her hips start to move faster against him, her thighs threatening to close, the groan he makes causes her to fall over the edge.

Bucky keeps her held down, even as her body bucks against him, using his strength to keep his mouth on her clit and his fingers buried inside of her. 

She’s so tight, barely allowing fingers to move at all, but it doesn’t matter, he just keeps stroking her g-spot, prolonging her pleasure as long as she’ll let him. 

It feels like it lasts forever, her body riding out the waves until she’s left a wrecked, trembling mess, incoherent words escaping her lips.

Once Bucky’s sure she’s had as much as she can take, he quickly kisses up her body to pull her into his arms. She wraps herself around him, clinging to him, burying her face against him as he soothes her with soft words of praise.

“You did so good for me.”

“Such a good girl.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

As her body starts to relax, she welcomes his mouth on hers, moaning at the taste of her arousal on his lips. It makes her want more and it’s not long before her hips move underneath him, grinding herself against his covered erection.

Bucky rests his forehead against hers and lets out his own moan of pleasure, his neglected cock wanting nothing more than to fuck her and feel her come. He won’t do anything unless she asks for it though.

The look she’s giving him tells him she knows exactly what’s going through his mind. But, she doesn’t ask him to fuck her. Not yet.

First, she asks for something else - something she thought she wouldn’t want to do, her request catching Bucky off guard, causing his hips to thrust against her.

“Can I suck your cock?”

---------------------------

Next Part

Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[1-800-c3dr1c]

GIRL I NEED A SMUT OF CORIOLANUS SNOW BUT LIKE IDK HOW TO EXPLAIN BUT A SEX POLLENNNNN

YOUNG! CORIOLANUS SMUT ONESHOT.

submissive! reader. dominant! coriolanus snow. female reader. reader is shorter than coriolanus. established relationship (boyfriend and girlfriend). aphrodisiac used in drink unwillingly (reader getting drugged because of it). consent (but technically not because the reader’s under a drug?? ..would’ve consented even if not under a drug). fingering. unprotected sex. mean! coriolanus snow (if you squint). overstimulation. ANOTHER WARNING, NSFW IS AHEAD.

requests are: open! please look at the pinned post for characters i will write for. <3 let me know if you’d like to be in my tag list for whenever i post anything related to young! coriolanus snow under this post as well, or in my inbox!

i hope you like this, anon!! i did change it up slightly, so that it’s an aphrodisiac instead! i hope that you like it, but if you don’t, i can of course rewrite it to fit the request completely! <3

word count: 2,431

your boyfriend, coriolanus snow, was stressed. you could tell, even by the slightest of things. the pull of his eyebrows going downward, or the small crease of a frown on his mouth. you knew.

you wished you could help him, you really did. and at times, you’d pipe up and ask if he wanted help. disappointingly, he always denied your offer to help him, brushing you off while trying to sound nonchalant about it, letting you know that he could deal with it all by himself.

your boyfriend was a terrible liar, but you chose not to press on whenever he’d deny you of your help. however, it had startled you quite a bit when he had come into your room, a steaming cup of your favorite tea clasped in his hands.

“hello, darling.” he said softly, kissing your cheek and setting the cup down beside you. “i made you some tea.”

“oh! thank you, corio.” you turned to him, a bright smile on your face. “do you need help with anything?”

“no, i’m quite alright. thank you, though.” he lifted a hand to ruffle your hair, smiling back at you.

you found his actions genuinely surprising. he was never one for affection, especially due to how busy he always seemed to be. the problem was, you had no idea how he had gotten so much supposed free time. first he’d made you tea, and he was even talking with you?

“are you going back to work?” your voice was soft as you asked the question.

“hm? no, i have a few hours to spare. i finished what was most important, the rest can wait.” he told you, watching you pick up the cup of tea, softly blow on it, and then drink some of it.

you didn’t pay attention, but if you had, you’d notice that a slight smirk had formed on coriolanus’ face. he was up to something.

“..is something wrong?” you asked, noticing him staring at you.

“mm? nothing’s wrong, love. everything is fine, no need to worry.” he assured you, his head tilting just slightly as you continued to sip the tea. perfect. that’s exactly what he wanted.

“whatever you say, corio.” you shrugged, unbothered by it. after all, he usually kept to himself, and you knew that. it was fine with you, he would tell you if something was wrong when he was ready, and if there wasn’t? that was even better.

he simply put his hands in his pockets, watching you as if he were waiting for something. but what could he be waiting for? as your gaze wandered to his lips, you asked yourself this question. was he waiting for something from you? if so, you didn’t know what it was.

“are you waiting for something?” your voice was low, way lower than you had expected it to be. however, you figured it may just be sleepiness starting to catch up with you. and yet still, your gaze couldn’t help but linger on his lips. how peculiar, but it wasn’t very uncommon for that to happen, so you thought nothing of it.

“mm.. no. i’m not waiting for anything. i was hoping i could spend some time with you, though.” he sounded calm, way calmer than you’d thought he’d be. he seemed so sure of himself, as he always did. but for some reason this felt different. he carried himself slightly differently, as if he was on top of the world.

maybe he was. maybe he wasn’t. but coriolanus had told you plenty of times. snow lands on top. he had also told you that someday, if you’d ever want it, you’d be a snow, too. his wife. but you two were just getting into university, perhaps after your studies were over. for now, all you could focus on was work.

you had told coriolanus that before. that you weren’t thinking of marriage, or hell, even having children. however, for some.. unknown reason, these thoughts began to fade away. those thoughts became fuzzier, obscuring your thought process and no longer claiming it as your own.

..had coriolanus put something in the tea? no, he wouldn’t. he’d never do that to you. right..?

“corio..?” your voice was quiet, barely even audible to your own ears.

“yes, my love?” he replied, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

you couldn’t think clearly. disregarding your former question, which had been right on the tip of your tongue, waiting for you to ask it, you caught him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him down to your height and kissing him roughly.

you couldn’t tell, but he was smirking against the surprising kiss, before placing his hands on your waist and pulling you closer. he let out a low groan, a guttural, almost animalistic sound emitting from the back of his throat. “fuck, love.” he murmured against your mouth, his breath catching in his throat.

“i- i’m sorry, corio. i dunno what came over me..” you whispered after having pulled back from the kiss in an attempt to catch your breath.

he didn’t say anything, cupping your cheek. “it’s alright, love. promise, it’s okay. tell me what you want.” he murmured, his lips right beside your ear.

you swallowed thickly. “i need.. need you.” you could barely think clearly now. your head was spinning, your thoughts running miles a minute. frankly, you didn’t quite understand what was going on.

coriolanus snow had put something in your tea. that much was obvious by now, but what? you didn’t know. it could’ve been anything. you were fighting with yourself, knowing that it was a losing battle.

give in, give in, give in. your mind was screaming, and your hands balled into fists as you clutched his shirt. “corio.. please.” you were nearly whining.

“whatever you want, love.” he said quietly, carefully guiding you to your shared bed. despite not being engaged, you two did live together. it was much less expensive, especially with the plinth family paying off nearly all of it for you anyways.

he carefully sat you on the edge of the bed, humming to himself. “what d’you want me to do, darling?” he questioned lowly.

“f- fuck me. please!” you couldn’t keep your hands off of him. frantic, you tangled your fingers in his soft, curly locks of golden hair. he smiled at you, and if your head were clear, you would notice that it was more akin to a smile of which showed that he’d won. as if this was a prize for him, something he’d rightfully deserved.

“sh, shh..” coriolanus soothed you, tracing patterns on the back of your hand with his fingers as he hummed, using his other hand to begin sliding your shirt off of you. “i’m right here, ‘m gonna give you what you need, i promise. alright? just be patient,” it was nearly as if he was mocking you.

he knew that you couldn’t be patient. not in these circumstances. what a fucking tease. you thought it unfair, pouting at him like a child would when they didn’t get what they wanted. “but corio..” you whined out, evidently needy.

“don’t say a word. i’ll take care of you, darling.” he said softly, finally slipping your shirt above your head and smirking at you. “you’re so gorgeous.”

you couldn’t think of a coherent reply to that. your head was fuzzy, and it was obvious that your thoughts only consisted of one thing in its entirety. coriolanus snow.

he busied himself with removing your shorts next, before your hand shot out and caught his wrist. “not fair.. that ‘m gonna be undressed and you’re not.” your voice was quiet, slightly slurring due to what’d he’d put in your tea, which still remained unknown to you.

he laughed, such a startlingly genuine laugh. he hadn’t expected that from you whatsoever. “alright, love. go ahead and off my shirt if you want. unless you want me to do it?” he offered, his tone suddenly seeping with an utterly surprising warmness laced in his words.

“i wanna do it,” you murmured absently, already unbuttoning the shirt. he didn’t say anything, didn’t move away from you. sometimes you’d pause, smiling giddily as you traced one or two patterns on his chest when it was exposed to you. after a few minutes of you fumbling with the buttons, you were able to get the last one unbuttoned.

he helped you this time, and thank goodness he did. you didn’t know if you could handle not being able to feel him. he slipped the shirt off of himself, letting it fall to the floor in a heap behind him. he caught your chin with two fingers, tilting your head up so that your lips met his own in a heated kiss.

this distracted you, making him able to slip off your shorts and underwear without much difficulty. after he’d done so, you shivered at feeling his finger beginning to trace patterns on the inside of your thighs.

“corio, please don’t tease.” you whimpered against his mouth. he smiled at you, as if a kind smile, before carefully slipping one of his fingers past your folds. this allowed for a gasp to escape your lips, and you broke off the kiss, resting your head in the crook of his neck. he used his vacant hand to pull you nearly impossibly closer, that you hadn’t even realized you two could even get any closer until he’d done so.

“tell me how much you need it, darling.” he cooed softly, evidently teasing you with how his tone was. however, this fact slipped past your mind, and you didn’t hesitate.

“need it so badly—need you so badly! corio, please.. please, please, please, please, please..” you whimpered, letting out a squeak when he slipped another finger into you, carefully thrusting them in and out.

if in any other circumstances, you’d be blushing in embarrassment at how lewd the noises of coriolanus thrusting his fingers in and out of your pussy were. this time, it was quite the contrary. you didn’t care, your body trembling as you moaned out, pleading for more.

“need you, need your cock- please!!” you sobbed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. this felt so good, so so good!

“nuh-uh. ‘m gonna have you come on my fingers first so that you’re ready, mkay? don’t wanna hurt you, y’know.” if you hadn’t known any better, you’d think he actually cared a lot about that. but he’d fucked you plenty of times in the past, this was just his way of teasing. of edging you on, making you beg until he finally decided that he’d fuck you once he thought you’d done good enough for him.

it seemed like your lucky day, however. he seemed just about ready to fuck you, and before you could tell him you were going to come, the feeling of emptiness in your core suddenly fell over you. you gasped, looking up at him with half-lidded eyes. “wh.. what was that for?” you choked out, shaking. you needed him! he knew that! why hadn’t he let you come?!

“i think that you’re quite ready, love. i thought you wanted me to fuck you?” he grinned at you, a mischievous grin thar showed he fucking knew what he was doing.

you nodded, desperate. you couldn’t let your orgasm escape you, nor could you even think about not having his cock inside of you. in fact, it was all you could think about. it consumed your mind, leading you to be even more frantic than you had before.

you tried to take of his pants, but he’d already beat you to it. he was teasing you. he was making sure to take his time, slowly slipping off his pants before slipping off his boxers just as slow. it was excruciating, and you whined every time your need for him got even a bit worse.

he leaned over you without warning, pressing his cock against your folds, opening them slightly with his tip, but not pushing in. “tell me if it’s too much, yeah?” he murmured.

you nodded again, unable to speak clearly, and that’s all he needed. with a deep breath, he slowly pushed his cock into you. inch by inch he sunk into you, and it felt like heaven. you let out a moan, and coriolanus groaned out.

he slowly pulled back, keeping his tip inside, before he thrusted back into you at a somewhat faster pace. he continued this until he found a good pace to set for himself, a sheen of sweat adorning his face. he was concentrated, letting out breathy grunts and groans. to shut himself up, he leaned down and bit at your neck, beginning to suck on a specific spot.

you knew what he was doing. he was marking you, creating a hickey on your neck. showing everyone that you were his. you were coriolanus snow’s, and he wanted everyone to know. not that you minded in this state.

you were a moaning mess, sobbing as tears rolled down your cheeks. you were shaking so bad, and to stop you from shaking any harder, he pulled you closer to him, whispering sweet little nothings against your neck from time to time.

over time, his pace became utterly relentless. it was nearly inhumane, and it felt so fucking good. you were panting, chasing the orgasm that he’d denied you of from before, and chasing back the air you’d lost.

“oh, fuck.. oh fuck.” coriolanus gasped into your neck, and you knew what that meant.

he was close, and so were you. “love.. love, please. come with me.” he groaned out, his thrusts becoming sloppier, his pace speeding up to the point where you hadn’t even thought was possible to begin with.

all you could do was nod, shaking as you let out a high-pitched moan, your orgasm crashing over you as stars blurred your vision.

coriolanus didn’t stop, however. he thrusted into you, helping you carry out your orgasm and allowing him to reach his own. with a loud groan, muffled by his mouth pressed against your neck, he came hard, pushing his cum into you.

slowly, your thoughts began to clear up. you could think a bit more clearly, and as he lifted his head to look at you, coriolanus spoke.

“are you alright?” three simple words that formed a commonly asked question, and yet you knew the answer to that.

you were perfectly fine.

[navybrat817]

Hollow

Pairing: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky touches on memories from the past and wants to start a new tradition with you.

Word Count: Over 2.3k

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal fingering, dirty talk, slight use of knife, established relationship, feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Fic #7 for Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! Newlywed Mob!Bucky won the poll.❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

A different side of Bucky came out when the leaves began to change. Subtle, but different. It wasn't noticeable to most since he showed people what he wanted them to see. It was a skill he perfected over the years, almost as if he wore a mask to hide his true self. What you saw, however, was ice in his eyes, the same that no doubt ran through his veins. Something weighed on his heart and mind.

You were determined to get to the bottom of it.

As his partner, it wasn't just your job to chase his demons away, but a need to protect him from whatever haunted or hunted him. You wanted to soothe him and let him know he wasn't alone. You knew if the roles were reversed that he'd eliminate anything or anyone that removed the light from your eyes. To have someone that loved you that much was still a bit of a dream.

How thin is the line between love and obsession?

“I can hear you thinking from here, Printsessa,” Bucky said. He knew you were watching him as he sat in his study, even as he focused on something else in front of him. He didn’t turn his back to anyone, except for you. He knew you would never put a knife in it. That was how much faith and trust he had in you. “Don’t want to join me?”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” you replied, walking further into the room so you could get a better look at him. He had the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up, giving you a moment to admire his metal left arm and the tattoos on the right. He commanded the room without standing.

“It's never an interruption if it's you,” he reminded you.

He twirled one of his signature knives between his fingers before he went back to work. The love of your life was an expert in many weapons, but had an affinity for knives. While it didn’t surprise you to find the head of the Bratva with a weapon in hand, you hadn’t expected to see a pumpkin in front of him. “Pumpkin carving? You’re just full of surprises.”

He snorted a little. “I like that I can surprise you.”

Watching him start to carve a pattern in the pumpkin with ease, his eyes narrowed in concentration and hand moving with care, was like a dance. He led with confidence and control. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

“Do you know why some people carve pumpkins?”

You finally took a seat beside him on the sofa, resting a hand on his thigh. His muscles relaxed and you wondered what had him so tense. “I think most do it today to decorate, but some do it to ward off evil spirits,” you said, moving your hand in slow, circular motions as he hummed in acknowledgement. “Is someone haunting you? Do I need to scare them away?”

He tilted his head, a glimmer of pride flickering in his blue eyes as he smiled. “You’d scare them away? You don't think I can handle them myself?”

“I have no doubt you could handle them on your own,” you said with complete certainty. He more than earned his Winter Soldier nickname. “But if something or someone is after you, I want to help.”

He studied you as he lowered his knife and covered your hand with his, holding it like a lifeline. Some protected and fought for him because it was their sense of duty. Others did so out of loyalty to his bloodline. You did it out of love.

Because you did love him.

“No one is after me. At least not today,” he assured you, bringing your hand to his mouth to kiss it. “But thank you.”

“Then why are you holding my hand like you can't let go?”

The look he gave you melted your heart a bit. “Because I don't want to let you go.”

It was almost as if he was worried you'd bolt if he released you. The only time you'd run would be when you wanted him to chase you. Or maybe he imagined someone would try to take you away from him. He'd never let anyone get you. “What's on your mind then?”

And how do I help?

“My family,” he admitted, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “My mom used to carve pumpkins. I haven't done it in years.”

You didn’t speak for a moment. His family wasn’t a topic he discussed much, so you didn’t want to say the wrong thing. “Did she teach you how?”

A faint smile appeared and fell just as quickly. “She did,” he said, admiring his handiwork. “I thought it was strange at first, you know? Encouraging me to pull out the insides and leave it hollow. And to carve a face? It almost seemed like a form of torture. Probably why dad demanded I use a decent knife.”

He didn’t hide the hint of anger when he mentioned his dad. You turned your hand over so your palm connected with his, letting him squeeze it to ground him. “But that’s not why your mom did it. She was teaching you to do something beautiful instead of harmful.”

“That's exactly what she did,” he agreed, leaning forward to pick up the knife. “It also encouraged my critical thinking skills. You can’t just dive in without a plan. You have to think it through.”

Bucky sometimes teased that his best friend, Steve, was the man with a plan. The truth was, they both were. Each brilliant in their own way, there was a reason they stayed in power and why so many feared them.

“And I felt proud when she displayed them. Valued,” he continued, his voice a little choked up before he cleared his throat. “It was a tradition I didn't realize I missed.”

Maybe the nostalgia was the reason his eyes looked a bit colder in the fall. “Sounds like a beautiful memory,” you said.

“I hadn’t formed beautiful memories in years until you came along,” he said, his lips skimming your temple. “But you're my family now.”

Tears didn't fill your eyes, but you felt them in your throat. The man was ruthless when the occasion called for it. Terrifying in his rage. You were the lucky one who would never be on the receiving end of it. Only his love. His need. But you could take his rage if you had to.

Like his old memories, you could make it something beautiful.

“You're my family, too,” you told him. You hadn't expected that of Bucky when you met and part of you wanted to stay away from the dangerous world he helped rule, but how could you not want a life with him?

His gaze softened, which warmed your heart. “And I would feel very proud if you helped me finish this,” he said, moving further back against the cushion and opening his legs for you to sit between them. “Maybe it can be the start of our own tradition.”

Your heart raced as you stood up and took a seat on the edge of the cushion, exhaling as he pressed himself against you. “I’m not good at this,” you said, closing your hand around the handle as he placed the knife in it. You didn’t want to ruin the intricate design he already worked so hard on.

His warm breath tickled your ear as he whispered, “We’ll do it together.”

“Guide me?” You asked.

“Of course, Printsessa.”

At the root of everything, Bucky was a man who didn’t want to walk this earth alone. Power and money meant nothing if he didn’t have someone to share himself with. It would’ve left him as hollow as the pumpkins he worried about carving as a child. And if helping him finish this one would make him happy, you’d do just that.

Time passed as he helped you cut into the pumpkin and urged you to follow the stencil, the smell from the pumpkin seeds off to the side bringing a pleasant layer to Bucky's woodsy cologne. There was something intimate about him having you close, his hand directing where yours should go. Like when he taught you how to properly shoot a gun. He said you didn't need his help, but he gave it to you all the same.

Your hold almost slipped when his metal hand snaked between your thighs, softly rubbing your pussy through your underwear. It barely covered your mound, just like your flimsy nightgown. “How am I supposed to concentrate?” you asked, arching as he firmly pressed his palm against you.

“You asked me to guide you. I will,” he said, the light scratch from his scruff making goosebumps rise on your skin.

“You're distracting me,” you whispered, trying to keep your breathing nice and steady.

“Would distracting you be so bad?” he whispered back close to your ear. “We're almost done.”

His fingers gently played with your clit through the fabric, drawing a breathy sigh from you as you squirmed. His almost feathery touch made you all the more determined to finish up, especially since he refused to let you close your thighs to get any friction. You were on the edge of release and he was relentless in loving you.

But he didn't let you come.

“Good girl,” he praised once you finished carving, stopping his fingers as you set the knife down. You bit back a whimper as the rising pleasure faded. “It's beautiful.”

“It is,” you breathed. Instead of a smiling face you saw on so many pumpkins around Halloween, he designed a merged sun and moon. “It's us, isn't it?”

“It is,” he replied, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before he gestured for you to hand him another knife. “You're my sun.”

“That makes you my moon,” you said, stiffening when you felt the blade at your shoulder. “What are you-”

Bucky sliced through your strap and kissed your bare skin. “I'm starting a new tradition,” he said, doing the same to the other side before he slid your nightgown down. He dragged the knife across your exposed breasts, taking great care not to cut you. “Carve a pumpkin. Cut your clothes off. Make you come.”

“You mean tease my pussy without getting me off,” you said without much bite.

He chuckled, a deep rumble as he set the knife aside. “I always get you off. I’m going to make you feel so good, Solynshko.”

With gentle kisses along your jaw and neck, his large hand slid up to fondle your breasts. The rough pads of his fingers teased your nipples as you gasped and reached back to grasp his hair. He moaned as you twisted your fingers in the strands, his hand sliding down to your wet heat again. Thankfully, he didn't tease you through the fabric this time. His fingers dipped into your underwear and you knew he was eager to feel your arousal.

Everything in your core tightened when he caressed your folds. You met his gaze as you tilted your head back, wanting him to see your desperation as his gaze darkened. “Make me come, please.”

“People beg me for money. Power. Mercy,” he said in a low voice, nuzzling your cheek as he sank a finger in, your walls contracting around him. “Not you. It's only pleasure you ask for.”

“It's you I'm begging for,” you admitted in a whisper. Even when you pushed or questioned why he wanted you of all people, you gave him your love. You yielded only to him and you would never bend your will for anyone else. To deny him would be to deny yourself.

He brushed his lips along your jaw and dipped another finger in as you shuddered. “You begging for me to fuck your pretty pussy with my fingers? Make you ruin this couch before I give you my cock?”

Your head fell back against his shoulder as you bit your lip. “Yes, I am. Ruin me. Love me,” you moaned.

“I love you more than anything,” he promised as your eyes slipped shut, dots of white dancing behind your eyelids.

He gripped your jaw to turn your head back to him, seeking out your lips with his. There was nothing tentative in the kiss, his ice meeting your fire and creating an explosion of need within both of you. Your body hummed as you felt the peak of your impending climax, ready for him to tear you apart.

“Come for me, Printsessa,” he demanded against your lips.

Your pussy clamped around his fingers as you lost yourself to the daze of your orgasm, shamelessly crying out his name. Your juices dripped down his fingers as he helped you ride it out, praising you in your ear and guiding you the way he did with the carving. He was telling the truth before: He always got you off.

“Are you okay?” you asked once you caught your breath, the question you meant to ask the moment you entered his study. He seemed more at ease, though lust now clouded his eyes.

“I'm okay,” he said in a rough voice, slowly pulling his fingers out as you sagged against him. He pulled you closer, enveloping you in his strong arms. It was safe. It was home. “But I think you need my cock.”

“I think I need it, too,” you smiled once you caught your breath, knowing his cock likely twitched in his pants as he tasted you on his fingers. “And you owe me a new nightgown.”

“I ordered you a new one before you came in here,” he said, his expression smug as you turned your head to stare at him. “Now sit on my cock. We have a long night ahead of us.”

“Bossy Pakhan,” you teased.

But if giving you orgasms, ruining your clothes, and making new memories brought the light back in his eyes, you wouldn't complain.

Oh, to belong to him. Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[acewritesfics]

Baby No. 4? | Tommy Shelby

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Wife!Reader

Request: no.

Warnings: I wouldn't call it smut but it does get a tiny bit heated. Mentions of kids, pregnancy, sweet Tommy.

Word Count: 952

Tommy Shelby Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Tommy is laying on his back, propped up by the pillows on the bed. One of his arms are curled around Y/N, tracing circles along her bare shoulder as her head and arm, that isn’t tucked under her, rests against his chest. Her fingers tap lightly against his skin to the rhythm of his steady heartbeat. 

Turning her body, she plucks the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag from it and hands it back to him, blowing the smoke from the corner of her mouth. She props herself up on her elbow, her head resting on her hand as she gazes at him. Her legs remain entwined with his when he places the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and tilts his body slightly towards her so he can run his fingers up over her thigh, hip and waist before trailing back down to her hip. He flattens his palm against her hip, digging his fingers into her soft flesh as he massages the area. 

“When is the last time we went dancing, Tom?” Y/N questions her husband as she drags her fingers up and down his arm that’s holding her.  

"It's been a while," he says thinking back to the last time he took her dancing. It was not long after they found out that she was pregnant with their third child, their only son. He's now 9 months old and every bit of his father but with his mother's eyes.  

"We should go again," she says, a lazy smile on her hips and her hands moving up his arm, to his cheek. Her thumb running along the sharpness of his cheekbone.  

"Right now?" he quips. 

"Not right now, maybe tomorrow or next week. I'm sure Polly would love to look after the children for a few hours," she suggests. 

"Who says we have to go out," he lets go of her and slips out from underneath the covers of their bed. After pulling on his boxers, he makes his way over to the gramophone sitting in the corner of their bedroom.  

Sitting up, Y/N watches as he turns the handle and lifts the needle on to the record that was left there the last time it was used. As the music begins to play, his picks up her slip off the floor and helps her back into it. He then takes her hand as she gets out of bed and leads her into the middle of their room. 

Wrapping an arm around her waist, settling his hand on her lower back, as the other takes her hand in his, he pulls her close and starts swaying to the music.  

"I'm sorry I haven't taken you dancing in a long time," he says softly after a whiles as she rests her head on his chest. 

"We've both been busy with work, the baby, the two girls and the rest of the family," she assures him. "But if it helps ease your guilt, starting tomorrow, we take some time out of the week and have it be just us, for a few hours. No work, no family, no kids."  

"What if we start now," he suggests, kissing the back of her hand and places it on his shoulder.  

"What did you have mind, Mr Shelby?"  

“Well, Mrs Shelby, I was thinking we could go back to bed,” he starts, leaning his head forward to dot kisses along her shoulder and up her throat to her ear.  

Tommy's large hands slide from her back to her buttocks, giving them a firm squeeze and pulling her flush against him. Moving his hands lower to the hem of the chemise she’s wearing, his fingers toy with the lace edges, before raising the silk garment up and over her head. Dropping it to the floor, he attaches his lips to hers in a hungry and desperate kiss as he moves his hands back to her thighs and picks her up.  

One of Y/N’s hands remains on his shoulder as the other moves to the back of his head, running her fingers through his hair where it was a bit longer now.  

Tommy breaks the kiss as he lowers her into the bed. He climbs over her as he trails kisses up her body while her hand runs through his dark hair again. Her other hand moves to his face as she grows impatient and brings him into another kiss. 

“I’m beginning to think that you’re wanting to try for baby number four,” she quips in between kisses. 

The thought of getting her pregnant again has crossed Tommy’s mind many times this past month. He liked seeing her belly swell as his child grows inside her. He wouldn’t object to seeing it again. 

Ending the kiss, he lifts himself up to look down at her. “Would it be so bad if I wanted to?” 

“So soon after Henry?” She asks not agreeing or disagreeing with him. The age gap between the two girls, Emma and Lily is three years, and the gap between Lily and Henry is a little over two years.  

“If it happens it happens,” he shrugs saying the same thing he had said six-seven weeks before finding out she’s pregnant. It happened with all three pregnancies. She was beginning to think that saying was a spell that gets her pregnant. 

“Now you’ve gone and done it,” she chuckles pulling him back into a kiss.  

Six weeks later the morning sickness started, and just like she expected, Y/N confirmed with her doctor that she’s pregnant with their fourth child. Seven and a half months after that, little Cora Shelby was born early hours of a midsummer morning, completing their family of six. 

[kinardsevan]

when it comes to you

here, have the entirety of that oneshot @station18908 inspired. i feel more satisfied now after adding to it.

-

Evan’s hand is dug tightly into the collar of Tommy’s t-shirt as their tongues tangle, Tommy lapping into the inside of his mouth with a hand grasped firmly around the inside of Evan’s thigh as his thumb brushes dangerously closer to the height of his pelvis, feeling like a weight on body. He can’t even express exactly what it is about this moment, just that he needs. 

“Evan,” Tommy tries to murmur against his lips, but the younger man is fervent, pressing himself closer if it’s possible, clinging tighter to the collar of Tommy’s shirt. 

Still, Tommy’s experience in all things outweighs Evan’s needs, because his hand leaves Evan’s leg, drawing a soft whimper from the younger one as Tommy’s hand comes to wrap around his hand and gently peel his fingers from his shirt, tilting his head forward and pressing his forehead against Evan’s as he breaks their kiss. 

“Tommy-..” 

“We should slow down,” Tommy whispers hoarsely. He leans back just enough to catch Evan’s gaze, and Evan stares back at him with the saddest expression he thinks he’s ever seen on his face, one that he doesn’t want to see at all. 

“I don’t want to stop,” Evan assures him, leaning forward and ghosting his mouth over Tommy’s, hot breath colliding—he can still smell the sweetness of the wine from dinner from Tommy. 

“Evan,” Tommy replies, his tone hedging a gentle warning. They’re playing in dangerous territory, and Tommy knows his own limits, and even though Evan Buckley really loves to push every single one of them, they’re still not there yet, and he won’t push him. But also, he can only handle so much. 

Evan gulps, looking up at his boyfriend, lifting his hand from where Tommy still has it against the collar of his shirt, until he rests it on his cheek. His eyes skate over the surface of Tommy’s face, from the three-day-old stubble on his jaw, the curve of his lips, the angle of his nose, and those ocean-blue eyes, and something in his chest cracks. 

“I-I know we’ve talked, and I-I’m not really ready yet, b-but…” He doesn’t know what else to say. They have talked, extensively, about how he’s not ready to go all the way yet. But he needs to feel Tommy’s skin under his fingers. He needs to touch parts of him far too covered by clothing. He just needs.

Tommy takes a breath, his own gaze skating over Evan’s body and face as he tilts his head slightly, slips his tongue between his lips to wet them, and it makes Evan growl lowly in his chest. Tommy’s nose twitches slightly with a smirk at Evan’s reaction. 

“Are you open to oral sex,” he asks. 

A grunt escapes Evan’s mouth before he can even reign himself in. Tommy’s mouth? On his dick? Oh holy fuck. He doesn’t even have the words in that moment, and all he can do is nod hurriedly, having to remind himself to keep swallowing from how dry his mouth just got. Tommy’s smile widens briefly, and then he leans forward and pecks him quickly before he pushes up off the couch and extends a hand to Evan. The younger man watches him with curiosity, taking his hand a bit apprehensively. 

“Where are we going,” he rasps, letting Tommy pull him out of the living room after turning off the TV and singular lamp on the side table. 

“To the bedroom,” Tommy responds, leading him around the corner into the small hallway. Inside Tommy’s bedroom, the lamp beside the bed is already turned on, emitting a soft glow into the room. It’s one of those lamps with touch settings, and it’s set to the lowest option, only lighting the room up enough to what could definitely be considered mood lighting. 

Once they’re in the room, Tommy turns back toward him, letting his gaze trail once more before he looks back up at Evan. 

“How do you want to do this? I can undress you, or if that’s too much, you can do it,” he offers. 

Evan stares at him for a time, his brain taking far too much time to process the question and then even longer to decide. He’s already so overwhelmed by the implications of what’s about to happen that his fingers are shaking as they wrap around the hem of his polo and start to pull up. Still, Tommy is not blind to his plight—he never has been—and he steps forward, sliding a hand around Evan’s neck and kissing him tenderly, his fingers delicately sliding beneath the navy polo on the younger man. They rest gently against his abs, not moving any further for a time, and it pulls the anxiety from Evan’s body as he relaxes against Tommy. Tommy, who is so protective already of him, even so early on in this thing they’re doing together. Tommy, who worries about Evan’s comfort above anything else, who puts all of Evan’s needs before his own, and who would rather stop something in pursuit of his own pleasure than risk hurting Evan. 

Tommy’s sandalwood cologne is all around him as he reaches up for his boyfriend’s calloused hand and gently pulls it down. Evan holds it in his own for the briefest of moments, against his chest, letting Tommy feel the hammering of his heart inside his chest before he slides it down to the bottom of his shirt, encouraging Tommy to continue. 

Still, ever the gentleman, he doesn’t rush it. When Tommy’s right hand joins his left underneath Evan’s shirt, he moves slowly, letting his fingers learn the angles and curves of Evan’s hips and ribs slowly until Evan finally takes half a step back, breaking their kiss and lifting his arms over his head on purpose. He stares at Tommy wantonly, and this time it’s Tommy who gulps before he lifts the shirt away before tossing it to the floor, letting it be forgotten. 

In the seconds after, they stand in the same spots for a time as Tommy’s gaze moves over Evan’s body and takes him in. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other stripped down; they’ve already had several sleepovers, and Tommy showered at Evan’s loft after Maddie’s wedding. But this feels different, probably because it is. This is overtly sexual in nature, and there’s a war happening inside Evan’s chest between the excitement over what’s about to happen and the ever-present fear of rejection, of being not-enough. But if those fears think they’re going to gain a foothold, Tommy is quick to squash them, wrapping his large hands around Evan’s ribs and pulling him back with a devouring kiss. 

Tommy’s fingers are expert as they peel Evan’s jeans open, shove them to the floor, and then he works him backward until Evan’s calves hit the bed. 

“You have far too many clothes on now,” Evan rasps against his mouth, staying upright when Tommy tries to nudge him down. The older man chuckles against his lips as Evan’s fingers slide inside his flannel. 

“Need to level the playing field?” He asks. 

Evan hums in affirmation, and Tommy moves with him as Evan shoves the layering piece off before his hands are underneath Tommy’s t-shirt, feeling every inch of his boyfriends washboard abs rippling beneath his fingers until he reaches his pectoral muscles. Tommy steps back the same way he did several minutes before, and he lifts his arms, letting Evan peel away the t-shirt and toss to join Evan’s own shirt on the floor. 

“Feel better,” Tommy asks him, that same playful smirk on his face as his fingers trail along the band of Evan’s briefs. Evan nods, his lips slightly parted as he smiles back at Tommy. 

“Good,” Tommy replies. He steps forward and kisses Evan lightly, quickly a few times, tilting his head a bit more each time. He leans forward, up against his ear. “Can you lay down for me?” 

The question causes a sharp intake for Evan, reminding him why they’re doing this to begin with. When Tommy leans back, there’s concern on his face, but it’s that expression that tamps the anxiety for Evan, reminds him that Tommy is only moving at his pace. He steps back again until he’s flush against the side of the bed, and then eases down onto it. Tommy follows him, resting a knee on the side of the bed next to Evan as he kisses him through until Evan is flat on his back while Tommy’s hands trail up and down his chest, never one to be over presumptuous. Instead, it’s Evan who guides Tommy’s hand down to his briefs, squeezes their palms over his hardened length, moaning at the feeling of Tommy’s fingers on him. 

“Okay,” Tommy rasps against his lips, stealing a few more pecks before he starts trailing kisses down Evan’s chest, wet and languid. He bites gentle nibbles into spots long his way, making Evan twitch beneath him as he gasps into the darkness of the room until Tommy is off the bed, kneeling on the floor and his fingers are sliding inside the elastic of the briefs, pulling them away from Evan’s body. 

Evan’s breath stutters as cold air hits him fully, but Tommy’s hands are quickly on his hips, thumbs brushing against his pelvis while he trails kisses over the insides of Evan’s thighs. Evan sobs softly at the torture of having every other part of his body showered with attention, the fervent need inside of him reigniting like a wildfire. 

“Tommy, p-please,” he begs softly, his hand finding the curls of his boyfriend’s hair, trying to pull him away from where he’s kissing over his left thigh. When Tommy turns his head to look up, Evan’s head is only bent high enough off the bed to catch his gaze. 

“So beautiful,” Tommy murmurs back to him, kissing his thigh once more as he stares back. “Alright, Gorgeous. I’ve got you.” 

Tommy’s hands move to the back of Evan’s calves, gently tugging him forward a few inches on the bed until they’re framing Tommy’s body. He reaches one hand back up to a hip while the other wraps around Evan’s cock, and Evan whimpers just at that contact, letting out a long, broken moan when Tommy starts to stroke him. He stammers curse words, lifting a hand to his mouth and biting at it in an attempt to quiet himself. 

Tommy frowns, pulling his hand away and reaching up for Evan’s arm. 

“Baby, don’t do that,” he murmurs when Evan looks up at him. “Don’t think you have to be quiet.” A dry, silent sob caves through Evan’s chest at the unspoken nature of what that gesture even means. Tommy stares at him for a moment with that gaze he saves just for him, and then he’s leaning forward Evan’s eyes widen just the slightest as he watches Tommy watching him while he takes his cock into his mouth. Tommy is still holding his hand as he starts to bob down, using just enough suction to drive Evan absolutely insane. His head hits the mattress again, completely overtaken by everything Tommy. The smell of his cologne mixed with his natural scent, the comfort of his black blanket beneath Evan’s body, the feeling of his naked torso against Evan’s legs, and his hands on Evan’s body. 

Moans fall out of him faster than he can think, and Tommy’s determination to keep them coming and get him louder seems to be heightened with each new lap of his tongue, bob of his head. Before long, Evan is bucking his hips, keening breathlessly as Tommy still holds his hand in one hand while the other gently presses Evan’s abdomen back to the bed, working him over even more fervently until suddenly, all too quickly and unexpectedly, his orgasm hits him like a freight train and he wilts against the bed breathlessly. Tommy works him through it, only letting up when the tension starts to ebb out of Evan’s body. 

Lips trail up Evan’s abs, his ribs, a few dropped in the center of his chest over his heart, to his collarbones into his pulse point, his jaw, and then Tommy finds his lips again, a pleased smile on his face as he drops a few pecks on Evan’s still open lips. 

“F-fuck,” Evan stammers, his pupils still blown as he looks up at Tommy hovering above him. He finds the ability to move his fingers again and slides a hand up the other man’s chest to the side of his neck, moving his tongue several times until there’s saliva in his mouth again. 

“So that was okay,” Tommy asks him, a little too cheeky if Evan has anything to say about it. 

“Fuck off,” he rasps back. He swallows, his eyes trailing over Tommy’s face, catching on his lips—swollen and oh so pink, and they were just wrapped around his- 

“Mm- not tonight, sweetheart.” He presses down on the bed, kissing Evan so softly that it makes the younger man moan into his mouth again, the tiniest whimper falling into Tommy’s mouth. All he can think is fuck fuck fuck because he knew he liked Tommy, he likes him a lot, but this is edging into some really dangerous territory and it’s not just the hormones from that orgasm, he swears. This feeling is the same one he had in his chest that morning on the ship when he stopped Tommy for those three seconds, only amplified by six billion degrees. His hand slides around to the back of Tommy’s hand, keeping him close as he licks over Tommy’s bottom lip, into his mouth. He wants to keep him this close forever, live inside their own little infinity where this man always seems to know how to take care of him and put him first, never pushes him to do more than he’s comfortable with but still manages to raise their limits in a comforting way. Its way too soon to think it, but Tommy Kinard might be it for him. 

“Hmm,” Tommy hums softly, finally pulling up a moment later, looking Evan over. 

“I had no idea it could be like that,” Evan murmurs to him, brushing his thumb over Tommy’s lip. The older man grins down at him, dropping another quick peck onto his lips. Evan lets out a long breath and then runs his hand down the expanse of Tommy’s chest, toward his own pants, which are apparently unbuttoned now. Evan furrows his brow. 

“Sorry,” Tommy rasps at him. “Got a little uncomfortable.” 

“Do you need some help with that,” Evan asks, trying to reach lower. Tommy’s face flushes a little, but the smirk on his face remains. 

“I think I had enough help already,” he admits as Evan’s fingers slide inside the pants and he comes into contact with wetness. Oh. Oh. Evan smirks back at him, and then leans up on an elbow, kissing Tommy again. He brushes his fingers gently over Tommy’s softening length, and the older man jolts above him, a hand quickly coming up and grabbing Evan’s arm tightly, but he quickly loosens his grip. 

“S-sorry,” he stammers.

Evan smirks, pecking him again. “A little sensitive?” 

Tommy growls against his lips. “Don’t push it, or I’ll show you overstimulation.” 

Evan just chuckles against his lips as he slides his hand back out of Tommy’s pants and around his back, gripping him by his ass and pulling him flush down against him as he trails kisses along Tommy’s jaw. 

“I can’t wait."  

[shalomniscient]

“are you sure you have everything?”

lyney huffs a bit of a strangled laugh, but nods. he’s somewhat used to your fussing, but it still feels a little… not exactly embarrassing, but a warm heat makes its way from his chest to his cheeks nonetheless. he holds the magic pocket bag closer to his chest as you fix the fastenings of his fatui cloak yet again, fiddling with the clips and ensuring they’re secure and not about to fly off in the harbor wind as it blows freely around them all.

“i’m all set,” he assures you, then glances over at lynette. she’s still a little woozy—it is the break of dawn, after all, since father prefers moving under the dense cover of darkness, and though lynette is awake she’s certainly not ecstatic to be awake. as a result, she’s the next target of your fussing; you gently pat her cheeks to wake her up a little more, and she lets out almost a small, mewling noise before snapping out of her drowsy daze.

“you can rest a little more on the ship, lynette,” you say, and the young woman nods. “if you get seasick, i packed some medicine. and i made some food if you get hungry; it won’t last very long on a ship, so remember to eat it, okay? oh—i also packed earmuffs, be sure to wear them if it gets too cold, alright?”

“understood,” lynette answers, leaning into your touch as you pat her hair. she’s always been more physically affectionate with you, though she tempers herself when the familiar sound of boots and metallic heels on stone tiles echo behind all of you.

“i take it everyone is prepared to set off?” comes father’s calm, even tone. behind her is freminet; he isn’t dressed for travel, since he’ll be staying in fontaine, but followed along to see them off. she’s dressed somewhat similarly, but unlike lyney and lynette who seem to drown in their cloaks, father wears it like a mantle—the fur broadens her already broad shoulders, and she looks more like a king than ever. and yet despite that, you simply turn and stride over to her, your hands reaching out to smooth down the lapels of her cloak.

“just double checking,” you hum, though there’s a little bit of a sigh in your voice. “i think i packed everything.”

father offers you a mild look. “the children know how to pack their own things.”

“i know, but i wanted to help,” you reply, and lyney swears he sees the hard lines of her face soften imperceptibly. there’s a slackness to her normally tense posture as you do all your last minute checks—cufflinks? i have them. hand cream? yes. ID? all settled, dearest—and lyney has to marvel on the sway you have over their typically unshakeable father.

“we should head out,” she says gently, taking one of your wrists in a tender, dark hand. a brief flicker of stubborness flashes across your expression, before you sigh.

“ah, before i forget…” you produce a tiny pouch, and then place it into father’s open palm. she regards it curiously, tilting her head. there’s a rustle of plastic inside, but also the clack of a few hard objects hitting each other. “coffee candies,” you explain, “for when you feel sleepy.”

“thank you,” father says, her tone as warm and soft as it always is with you. she accepts the pouch, and slips it into one of her cloak pockets. “i will remember to have them.”

you huff. “you better. i’ve already told lyney and lynette not to let you skip meals, as you’re so prone to do.”

“is that so?” father asks mildly, glancing at them both, and it takes quite a bit to not shiver under her questioning gaze. lyney truly has no idea how he’ll convince father to eat later on this trip, but he figures dropping your name a few time should do the trick. he hopes.

“it is,” you say firmly, and then your tone softens again. you look up at father, and lyney cannot see your expression from here, but he knows the same is reflected in father’s—loving, with a hint of departure’s sorrow. “be safe. come home.”

“alwaus,” father answers, and lyney, lynette and freminet have the sense to look away when she leans down to kiss you chastely. they only look back up when father steps over to them, leaving you and freminet on the other side of the dock. she levels freminet with a look. “do not forget your duty, freminet.”

he nods resolutely, hugging pers a little tighter. “of course, father.”

(just a few moments ago, she’d pulled him to the side and gave him a direct order, as the fourth fatui harbingers and the knave.

“you will protect the house with your life,” she had said, her tone brookering no argument, though it wasn’t as if freminet was looking to argue. and though father has said ‘the house’, freminet had lived long enough there to know the truth of her words.

“yes, father. i won’t let anything happen to mom.”)

and then, with the bellow of a horn, their little ship sets off into morning light. lyney watches father’s face carefully as the dawn breaks, casting the harbinger’s expression in shades of warm gold. she’s uncharacteristically unguarded in this brief flash of a moment—not that she would ever admit such a thing, even upon threat of death. but lyney knows love is most felt when it is leaving, and so even as she turns on her heel to enter the cabin, he knows she’s already counting down the days before she can return home—return to you.

[haikyu-mp4]

Catching feelings, part 2

word count; 761 – f!reader, read part 1 first for the best experience

The game was amazing, you had no idea volleyball could be this exhilarating! You had cheered your heart out, and even though you didn’t know many proper volleyball terms, you quickly caught onto the nice receive!!

As you descended the stairs once the game finished, you looked around for the sign that led towards where Sakusa said he would meet you. There was a slight skip in your step as you were still so pumped up from the game, excusing yourself from anyone you had to push past.

“Sakusa!” you called out when you finally emerged from the crowd, spotting him in a far corner at the end of a less crowded hallway. “You were amazing!”

You were greeted with the familiar blush on his cheeks as he huffed stubbornly. He hadn’t put on a mask after the game, probably coming right over to meet you, so you took a moment to appreciate his full face in real life instead of on the metro ad. “Thank you.”

It looked like he was about to say something else, presumably letting you know he just needed to shower and would meet you outside, but his shoulders shot straight up at the sound of an agitating voice. “Oh my gosh, it’s Sakusa’s girlfriend!” Hinata yelled, before speeding over to greet you. You pulled the mask up on your cheeks but smiled at his excitement.

“She’s not-” but Sakusa’s low voice didn’t stand a chance against Hinata’s selective hearing. He was just thankful Bokuto and Atsumu were already headed to the showers.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you!” he said, jumping up and down like a star. “You’re really pretty! Did you like the game? Did you see my last spike? I didn’t even think I could pull that off, honestly. It just went woosh and I had to do a wham, didn’t think it would go in at all!”

Sakusa blinked in disbelief, wondering what he could have done to deserve this intrusion, but then his eyes shifted to you and how your eyes crinkled with mirth as you nodded along to everything. One might say it made him feel… warm.

“I did see that, you played so well!” you said, clapping your hands a little to emphasise. Then you held your hand beside your mouth as if to hide your next words from Sakusa, even though you said it loud enough for him to hear. “I was mostly looking at this one though,” you half-whispered, nodding your head towards Sakusa.

Hinata giggled, patting Sakusa’s arm harshly, which made him coil away and accidentally bump into you instead. At this point, he could have qualified for a fever with how his cheeks burned. “That’s enough of you two, you-” Sakusa pointed at Hinata, then over his shoulder. “Go clean up. You-” He turned to face you, but his face was slightly tilted downwards to hide behind his curls. “Please wait for me here, and if you see someone else from my team, do not engage.”

You held your hand up like a soldier to salute him, making him shake his head and walk away so you couldn’t see the fond look on his face. I thought the black jackals would be the death of me, but she might get to it first.

When Sakusa came back out, surprisingly fast, you tried to focus on what he said even though he smelled so nice. “Huh?”

“Should we go? There’s a nice restaurant close by,” he said, to which you nodded.

The two of you walked side by side outside into the fresh air. You kept glancing sideways at him and he would do the same, so when your eyes accidentally met, you’d quickly look back to the front. “That orange-haired guy was nice,” you said. “What’s his name?”

“Hinata,” he said sharply, wondering if you would mention the rest of that incident. “Sorry about him.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him, walking a bit closer to him. “He said I was pretty,” you cooed in a childish tone.

“You are pretty,” Sakusa said, and you almost tripped over a tiny gravel rock from the surprise.

You eyed the side of his face, seeing how his ears lit up in red. “He said I was your girlfriend,” you continued with a leading tone, then chuckled when he huffed, which was a short laughter by his standards.

He glanced down at your hand, wondering if he should hold it but deciding against it for now, settling with giving you a little smile instead. “We’ll see about that.”

masterlist

//wanna thank @cottonlemonade for inspiring me to write a part 2 and thinking up Hinata's rant<3

[murdrdocs]

coming back from hibernation cause i saw your reblog about void stiles and…….. just thinking about being friends with scott and stiles but being unaware of the supernatural. they were both planning on telling you eventually—but things have taken a turn to worse lately, and none of them seemed to find the right moment to shatter your reality as you know it. void thought you knew— so imagine the pleasant surprise he has when he shows up at your place and he realizes that you—precious little you, who’s name often was at the forefront of stiles’ mind, who scott seemed to hellbent on keeping safe— doesn’t know a thing about the ancient evil standing before you.

and as void leans closer to you, there is a smirk you haven’t seen before on stiles’ lips. void tilts his head. this should be fun.

- 🍒

typical void antics; darker content; MDNI 18+ w/ VOID

void clocks the confusion on your face first. he steps into your room and you wreak of naivety. the scent permeates your room, your clothes, your everything. it sinks into his skin, but it feels good. because he knows that something can and will come out of this.

"stiles?" you say, sitting up from your position on your bed. you're wearing nothing but a sweatshirt and tiny shorts, and every thought stiles has ever had about you comes rushing to the forefront.

void can hear the weak human speaking to him now, begging him to leave you alone. he's trying to negotiate, but stiles doesn't have anything void wants. well, except you. but void is stiles now, and what's stiles' is void's.

void steps closer, wondering if he should disguise himself, if he should pretend to be your best friend. would the payoff be bigger that way? but the initial fear in your body would give him the rush he needed. yes, he'll take that route.

he doesn't say anything and your face contorts into confusion. you rest your book off to the side, standing and rounding the bed to face void.

"what's wrong? are you sick?"

void just blinks down at you, his lips pursed and his arms clasped behind his back. he can sense the fear settling in your body. he's getting you there, but this isn't nearly enough.

you lift your hands to void's face with assurance, as if you've done this before with stiles. void lets you push the dark hair off of his forehead, analyzing his face for any scratches or bruises. and when you come back empty, you're pouting, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead.

"you're freezing, stiles. what happened?"

void tilts his head a bit. "you really care, don't you?"

you seem surprised, either that he's finally spoken or that this is what he asks you.

"of course i care. why wouldn't i?"

your phone rings from on your bed and from where void stands he can see the contact name. it's no surprise that scott's calling you. he's likely trying to make up for lost time, intending to warn you of events that are already beginning to transpire.

void doesn't even resist scoffing, nor does he resist wrapping his hand around your elbow when you try turning away. he pulls you into his chest, holding you there with a hand on your lower back.

his head dips, eyes looking in yours. there, he finds shock, fear, and excitement. he smirks, big and broad, and continues dipping his head down until his lips trail over the side of your neck.

"don't answer it," he tells you.

you're rigid, not even attempting to push him away from you.

stiles is still pleading with void, begging him to not force you into anything. stiles doesn't even know that void won't have to force you, you've been dying to sleep with stiles. it's obvious. void can't see how stiles hadn't noticed.

"why not? what if it's important?"

void lifts the bottom of your sweatshirt, pressing his hands into your sides. you jump at first, but then melt into the contact.

"probably just your little friend scott warning you about me. nothing he can do now, isn't that right?"

there it is. void can feel the fear in your now. the feeling is as close to a home as he'll ever have.

"warning me about you? what do you mean, stiles? what's going on?"

you're worried and scared, but you still let void run his hands down to the waistband of your shorts. he wonders how long it'll take for you to put an end to this. there's only one way for him to find out.

[mockerycrow]

KARMA (Soap x Fem!HockeyPlayer!Reader)

soap masterlist

summary; you’re a hockey player, but you’re also johnny’s girlfriend. johnny comes to a realization after watching you get into a fight. 1.2k words!

authors note; this is not exactly what i envisioned, but it’s what i wrote. enjoy :-)

[WARNINGS: reader is implied to be a buff woman, violence, light blood and gore, suggestive content at the end.]

You and Johnny first met at a pub whilst he was on leave. He saw you from across the bar counter, looking up at a TV mounted above the bartender and sipping on something he doesn’t care to remember. What he does remember is you. 

God, Johnny never believed falling in love at first sight and he still doesn’t, but holy hell did you stir something within him. Sitting there, back straight with your eyes glued to the TV, fidgeting with something circular, perhaps a coin, between your fingers. The way your bicep is bulging from the tight circumference of the short t-shirt sleeve… 

Johnny wasn’t sure what exactly prompted him to talk to you, he definitely already came to the conclusion that you were likely going to just turn him away but holy shit, he’s damned if he left without trying to strike a conversation. Johnny ends up tilting his head, downing the rest of his drink for confidence before slipping into the seat next to you.

That day, Johnny learned that you were a pro hockey player for the professional women’s hockey team back in North America. Honestly, Johnny was surprised but more so by the sport and not the fact that you played one. You told him you were visiting someone here in Scotland, a friend—helping them move while your contract was being figured out. The more you talked, the more Johnny assured himself that it was absolutely a requirement to know you on some level. 

Your voice captured his attention, your smile made his stomach tighten and bloom with warmth—even if he couldn’t convince you to go on a date with him, Johnny honestly would be just fine with being only friends. As long as he has a female hockey player in his contacts list, he’d be alright. You find out Johnny likes a bit of hockey himself, mostly paying attention to the international ice hockey federation. After learning that, to Johnny, he could see the way your eyes lit up.

Yes, you did agree to a date with this grinning man. Maybe quite a few dates.

Johnny found himself on his phone way more often whilst waiting with his team to be deployed. Constantly texting you, calling you, the whole nine yards. It earned him some glances and teasing from Ghost and Gaz, even his Captain—but he could tell his boys were happy for him. Johnny seemed more relaxed, laid back instead of his pent up self.

A couple months into the relationship, Johnny was finally able to file for vacation related leave. He was excited—secretly so was Price, as Johnny doesn’t really file for leave often—and you were ecstatic. It took a second to figure out arrangements, at the end of the day you insisted for Johnny to stay with you. Why stay in a hotel room when your spare bedroom is free? He was so reluctant, but you were so insistent with it. 

“I have a practice game in a few hours,” You informed Johnny as you opened your refrigerator, taking out two cold water bottles stuffed somewhere in the door. You let the refrigerator door close by itself, and you tossed one of the bottles to Johnny. “Was thinkin’ you could come and watch?”

Johnny grinned, his lip curling ever so slightly where it exposes his top gum near his canine. “I would love to watch ye practice!” Johnny was enthusiastic with it; he’s being truthful, he’s been wanting to watch you in person. Johnny spent a couple nights binge watching the recorded games you played in on YouTube, which honestly was a slight mistake. You are a good player, great actually—but it always stirs something deep in his gut. Something about you bodying another player, even if it warrants a penalty… Gets him hot and sweaty, honestly.

That’s how Johnny found himself sitting in a seat right by the glass, a few feet away from your team’s bench. Tension filled his veins, making his shoulders rise to ears watching you, your team, and the practice enemy team skate around on the ice. The sounds of shouts, sticks slamming against each other as well as the ice, the collisions are harsh. Johnny’s been watching you for a while, keeping his eyes on that jersey of yours and he’s been noticing you’ve been slamming into this other woman.

Before bringing him to practice, you gave him a rundown of your team's roster, as well as the opposite teams. You overall had good things to say about nearly everyone, a smile on your face as you point to different people’s faces on the league’s website. Johnny watched the way your face contorted when you got to this one woman, though. He understands most beef stays on the ice, but the way you spoke about her? Johnny could tell there was something that remained on and off ice. You told him she’s “female Tom Wilson” which made him wince a bit.

So, when he witnessed you collide with that woman for the third time in one practice match, he wasn’t too shocked to see your gloves fly off. “Holy–” Johnny swears, standing up from his seat. His hands shoot to his head, holding it as he hears shouts and whistles blowing. Your hand is crumpled in the woman’s jersey, both your helmet and hers missing. Johnny’s heart is pounding in his chest, his arms feeling heavy as both you and the woman slam into the glass right in front of him. 

He reaches forward and bangs on the glass, his eyes widening as he watches your fist make contact with her face square in the middle. Johnny winces as he nearly swears that he could hear her nose crunching under the weight of your fist through the glass. He’s not surprised when drops of blood splatter against the glass, but he still yells your name nonetheless. Part of Johnny is worried, knowing you’re against the woman who usually starts and wins fights, but.. You seem to be holding your own just fine.

Your fist pulls back and makes contact with her face over and over, blood smearing and snarls until a couple of your teammates pull you away from her by your arms. Johnny’s eyes are glued to you as your teammates skate you backwards from the woman, following the curve of the arena. The woman is on her hands and knees on the ice, a couple of her own teammates checking on her. Johnny just barely glanced at how there’s a dripping puddle of blood forming underneath her face because he can’t stop looking at you.

A feral snarky look on your face, your nose bleeding and bashed, blood dripping from your nose to your teeth, from your lower lip onto your jersey. Your left eyebrow is torn open and so is your upper lip. There’s blood splattered across your knuckles, which are surely broken open and bruised themselves.

 Johnny hits the glass, his heart pounding but it skips an entire beat when you make eye contact. His breath stutters in his chest and Johnny’s cursing himself under his breath because his job must have caused wires to cross in his brain. 

You look so.. Fucking hell. Johnny feels himself chubbing up in his jeans, a hot shot of arousal shooting down his spine. Your ferality is making his head spin and he shouldn’t be as turned on as he is from the way you spit a mixture of blood and spit onto the ice, being skated away and into the locker room, followed by your team’s medic and an angry coach. 

Johnny presses his forehead against his palms, trying to calm his racing heart, his lewd mind, and his cock.

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[mypoisonedvine]

more robert fischer please!!!!!! need to know if he's a freak or not bc I feel like he is 👀

oh we KNOW he a freak and since I've already written him as a subby freak it's time to see his dom side I think

warnings: free use, public sex, dom/sub, possessiveness, sir kink, oral m receiving and fingering, come eating, shoe licking (um i can't explain myself im sorry)

"Is this good, sir?" you asked as you peeked your head out from under the desk.

"It was, until you stopped without permission," he frowned without even looking down at you, still messing with the papers on his desk.

"I'm sorry, sir," you mumbled before getting back to it, focusing on his tip with your mouth as you stroked the rest-- already soaked with your spit from serving him for quite some time now while he worked. It probably hadn't been that long, but it felt like a while considering how sore your jaw was... but that was just a side effect of his size, even when you should've been used to it after being his 'pet' (as he called you) for this long.

He let you go on for a while longer, almost long enough that you worried you were doing something wrong that he hadn't come by now, until eventually leaning back in his chair and sighing as he looked down at you. "So obedient," he praised as he met your needy gaze up at him, petting your head for a moment. "Choke on it, pet."

You took your hand away and held his thigh instead, dipping your head down until your mouth had taken him as far as you could go and your lips were brushing against the patch of reddish-brownish hair at his base. You hummed proudly around him when he moaned quietly; as hot as it was to pleasure him while he was focused on something else, you preferred to get a reaction as a sign of a job well done.

"Fuck, that's good," he praised, "keep going-- I'm close."

You hadn't realized he was already on the edge, but you were more than happy to oblige; you did it again and again, still looking up at him even when he shut his eyes and tilted his head back with another deep moan.

"F-fuck, like that, god yes, gonna come--"

You would've begged with a please, sir, if your mouth wasn't full...

A moment later, as his grip on your hair tightened, he filled your mouth with come. You slowed down your movements but kept going, using your hand to stroke him again and ensure you'd milked every drop that you could. He took another heavy breath before looking down at you again, his face more flushed than before. "Show me," he ordered, but you knew the drill by now: you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out, letting him see everything he'd given you.

He nodded in approval to let you know you could swallow, but you were a moment too late and a drop of come rolled off your tongue and landed on his shoe. You whimpered slightly, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand as you swallowed the rest. "I'm sorry, sir--" you began.

"Jesus," he sighed, "you know how much these shoes cost?"

"No, sir," you shook your head, "how much?"

"I'm not actually trying to talk to you about the economy of Italian leather shoes," he frowned, rolling his eyes condescendingly. "I'm telling you to clean it up."

You nodded and knelt down, kitten-licking at the drop of come on his shoe, making sure to get it all before using your dress to wipe up the remnants of your spit from the polished leather.

"That's better," he sighed.

"I'm sorry for making a mess," you offered again as he stuffed himself back into his trousers and zipped up.

"It's alright, pet, you did very well," he assured, and you bit your lip as you smiled slightly. "I think you deserve a treat after that."

"O-oh, your come is enough," you promised, "you don't have to--"

"Get up on the desk, sweetheart," he ordered, and you quickly crawled out from under the mahogany to take a seat on it in front of him. He moved the papers out of the way for you, and rested his hand on your thigh as he smiled at you slightly. "What do you think you deserve as your reward?"

You weren't sure how to answer that, looking away nervously. "U-um..." you stalled. "A present, maybe?"

"A present," he repeated thoughtfully, "like what?"

"Maybe... a collar!" you suggested. "'Cause, you know, pet and all that..."

He smirked a little. "Cute," he said as he tilted his head, "but I like the necklace I got you more. A little more subtle, don't you think?"

You reached up and held onto the diamond-encrusted R around your neck-- you hadn't spent a moment without it since this arrangement first began, a constant reminder of being his. "I like it, too," you hummed, "I love it!"

"I know," he smiled, but in that sort of way that made you feel a little silly for being so eager-- but you like feeling silly, too. "Spread your legs, honey."

You did quickly, feeling his hand run up between them and tickle you through the lingerie he'd picked out.

"Do you think this is a good reward?" he offered, watching you with darker eyes. "Letting you come on my fingers?"

"Yes," you sighed, whimpering as you felt him pull the lace to the side. "Yes, sir-- thank you, sir--"

He teased your clit only for a moment before slipping two fingers into you-- you were plenty wet enough, he knew damn well what getting on your knees for him did to you. "God, you're dripping," he pointed out anyways, burying his fingers in you to the knuckle and curling them as he pressed his thumb to your bud.

"O-oh god," you gasped, tilting your head back.

He just watched you, and pumped his fingers in and out of you-- he was methodical about it, almost clinical if it weren't for the look in his eyes. "Good girl," he breathed, making you clench on his thick fingers.

A knock at the door startled you both-- but the way Robert instantly replied "Come in!" made your eyes widen most.

"S-sir," you whispered harshly, but he shot you a look that shut you up. You tried to cross your legs as you heard someone enter Robert's office, but he used his free hand to pull your legs open again.

"Don't mind him, pet," Robert told you quietly, "everyone here knows what you are."

And yes, they knew, it wasn't exactly a secret when you were showing up here in these slutty clothes he picked out, wearing his initial, hanging on his arm at corporate events and conferences. But no one had ever seen you in such an intimate moment before, and you nervously looked over your shoulder at the man on the other side of the desk-- who nervously met your gaze before darting his eyes away and adjusting his glasses shakily (though it did nothing to cover a red face).

"Uhm, we need your signature on these, Mr. Fischer," the man explained, voice cracking.

"Right," Robert agreed, "bring them here."

He stepped forward once, but stopped.

"Here," Robert repeated, and the man finally relented and finished approaching the desk as he set the papers down. Robert didn't even slow down his fingers movements inside you, and you tried not to moan aloud as he roughly rubbed your spot-- inside and out.

"I-it can wait," the man said nervously.

"No, no, now's as good a time as any," Robert shrugged, and you felt your face burning hotter than ever. "Sign these?" he confirmed.

When the other man nodded, Robert pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to your lips-- you dutifully sucked them clean of your arousal, even if you felt terribly ashamed and incredibly turned on like you never had before.

You caught the man looking at the way you sucked on Robert's fingers, even taking them all the way to the knuckle without gagging, but he glanced away a second later. "Good," Robert nodded as he took them away from your lips, wiping the last of the wetness off with his pocket square before grabbing his pen and signing in a few different places. "There you go," he offered the papers back to the man who snatched them up quickly and seemed to dart out of the room as fast as he could.

Robert's fingers were inside you again instantly, and his lip curled slightly as he fucked them into you faster.

"Good girl," he growled at you, "all fucking mine. Don't care who sees, you understand? If I wanna play with my girl, that's what I'm going to do. The fucking Pope could walk in here and I wouldn't stop-- you hear me, pet?"

You moaned loudly as you realized how close you were to coming on his fingers. "Yes, sir!"

[hom3landr]

Homelander has a very merry Christmas

18+

Homelander shakes his head in disbelief as he lounges in his chair at the head of the Seven table. It’s been a year…a whole year since the day you entered his life. He still has the ribbon from that first package, tucked discreetly into his waistband. It’s frayed now and soft from running it through his fingers. He’ll touch his hip softly sometimes, right where he knows it rests, when his ears ring and his eyes begin to burn. Countless lives have been saved just from a little piece of fabric. It was the first gift he’d ever truly been given that didn’t have dozens of corporate strings attached. He wonders if you’ll bring him more candy, now that Christmas is right around the corner. He can still perfectly remember the taste a year later.

But your hands are empty when he sees you, and there’s a nervous stiffness to your shoulders that he’s not sure he enjoys. You’re fiddling with your fingers as you approach. He’s disappointed, he really was looking forward to some candy. But you give him a shy smile and he pushes down the sullenness rising in his chest. You hop up on the table in front of him, a bad habit you’ve picked up ever since that day you brought him the cake. He supposes that’s on him for encouraging you. He ignores the urge to tug you into his lap instead.

“Sooooooo…I don’t have anything for you today but I did want to ask you something.” You look down at your hands before pausing, trying to spark the courage to continue. He tilts his head and waits, somewhat impatient and still annoyed at being denied. He doesn’t like the way you don’t meet his eyes. Surely your fingers can’t be more interesting than him. You take a deep breath.

“IwaswonderingifmaybeyouwantedtocometomyplaceforChristmas?” The words come spilling out uncontrollably and you stiffen up a bit once they’re out, bracing yourself for a denial.

Homelander’s heart stops.

“I know you’re probably really busy and you have plans and other people you’d rather be with.” He doesn’t. “But I was going to make gingerbread and watch some Christmas movies. I don’t have any family close by or…or friends really, so I usually spend Christmas on my own. It won’t be anything fancy but I’ll let you lick the spoon.” You let out an awkward laugh, obviously insecure about the simplicity of your plans. After all, how can your humble apartment compare to Vought’s glitz and finery? How could Homelander be content spending Christmas with a nobody like you?

If you only knew how much the offer wiped away any of the disappointment he felt about the candy. If only you knew how much he’s been longing to join you in the sugar-sweetness of your kitchen. He wants to leap up and take you in his arms. He wants to agree and whisk you away to start the holidays early…and privately. He’s never had a proper Christmas before. Just Vought’s pretty, sterile, fake, holiday bullshit. He found it cruel the way they’d let him watch movies on Christmas when he was in the lab. He still can’t watch A Christmas Story without feeling sick with want. But maybe…maybe this year will finally be different.

But reality sets in. He has the Vought Christmas party. He can’t skip it, as much as he’d love to. He’s been dreading it honestly. She’d always been there before, guiding him, leading him, making sure he got through the event with his shiny grin firmly in place. But that was gone, ended by his own hand. The last fucking bit of Christmas cheer he could have possibly had. He clenches his fist and he watches you shrink back, mistaking his grief for anger at your boldness. He wants to say yes…but he can’t

“We have the company Christmas party, remember? Surely you wouldn’t want to miss that. I get the honor of lighting up the tree” He beams, hoping it assures you that you are not the target of his ire. Sure he’d prefer to be tucked away with you but the party won’t be too bad if you’re there. If you’re there then her absence won’t matter.

But his hopes are quickly dashed.

“Oh I’m not high enough up on the totem pole to be invited, for business or pleasure.” You shrug, clearly not bothered by the corporate snub.

Oh

“Well…I can’t exactly miss it.” Your face falls at his reply and the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“But if you don’t mind staying up a little later, then maybe I can swing by real quick after to grab a cookie or two.” He reaches out to lay a hand warmly on your knee

You return his grin despite the disappointment in your eyes.

“I’ll wait up for you then”

~~~~~~~

It’s late by the time he’s finally released from his shiny decorated prison. He’s sick to death of Frank Sinatra and mistletoe. He barely resisted crushing the hand of every asshole who felt entitled to his attention purely due to the holiday festivities. He gritted his teeth while he was forced to kiss the asses of board members and politicians. He barely avoided lasering A-Train’s head clean off his body when he wrapped his arm around him for a photo op. He’s so overloaded that he’s halfway to his penthouse for some much needed rest when he remembers your offer.

He pulls aside some tipsy asshole for the time, annoyed that no one seems to have remained sober. It’s not long until midnight and he worries that maybe you’ll already have given up waiting. He worries that he’ll get to your apartment to find you already snug and sleeping in your bed. He reminds himself that he can always wake you up. After all, he’s seen you bake until the wee hours of the morning. He remembers when he’d watch you bake till not long before you’d be needing to rise for work. Surely…surely, you haven’t forgotten to wait for him.

The night is frigid as he flies towards your apartment. The cold doesn’t hinder him but it isn’t exactly pleasant as the sharp wind stings his cheeks. He’d always wave away Maeve’s complaints but he reluctantly admits to himself that she had a point about freezing over the Atlantic. Luckily it’s a far shorter path to your apartment building. So he ignores it. The thought of you keeps him warm anyway.

What he can’t ignore is the distinctly human shaped figure waiting on the roof. He knows your form intimately and he’s clocked you the moment he sees you. You’re shivering, wrapped only in an old threadbare bathrobe over some red pajamas. It’s far too cold to be loitering without winter wear and an exasperated concern grows in his chest. Couldn’t you at least have grabbed a jacket? It wouldn’t do for you to catch hyperthermia before he even gets to celebrate Christmas with you. You haven’t seen him yet and he makes sure to land behind you as quietly as he can, lip twitching mischievously.

“Are you cold? You look like you’re freezing” He calls out from the other side of the roof. You leap into the air and stumble a bit too close to the edge for his liking so he rushes to steady you. Even through his gloves he can feel how chilled you are. You look back at him, disbelief on your face but surprised delight in your eyes. You shake in his arms and before his brain consciously makes the decision to, he swiftly detaches his cape to wrap it warmly around your shoulders. Your cheeks heat despite the chill and he’s deeply pleased by the way you look and the way his scent mixes with yours.

“I’m alright. I was waiting for you! I was worried that you wouldn’t be able to make it.” You clasp his cape tighter around you, teeth chattering. He pulls you closer so some of his heat can seep into you. He realizes that you may have been too focused watching for him to realize how chilled you are. He tuts at you, both flattered by your devotion and annoyed that you were so careless with your health.

“Would it have killed you to grab a coat?” He rubs your frozen hands between his gloved ones. Your answering smile is sweet and he’d blush if he could (He can. He did.)

“Are you worried about me?” You tease him lightly, eyes soft.

“I was promised gingerbread. If I’m promised something then I expect it to be delivered” He gives you a stern glare that’s tempered by the slight twitch of his lip as he fights a smile.

“Well, I can’t possibly deny you, can I?” Your lips quirk into a cheeky smirk. Your lighthearted words settle warm and heavy in the pit of his stomach. Suddenly, you feel so beautifully fragile in his grip, a small precious light that he keeps warm between his palms. You’re his. You’re so wonderfully his in this moment and deep within him, so deep he doesn’t even realize it yet, he’s become inescapably, completely, ineffably, yours.

You gesture for him to follow you down the fire escape to your floor. He follows behind as though he doesn’t have the way to your apartment imprinted in his mind. But your legs are stiff from the cold and after you slip slightly on the slick metal of the fire escape, he scoops you into his arms. You cling to him, stunned at the quickness and ease at which he gathered you up against his chest. You’re disoriented and wrap an arm around his neck to steady yourself.

“Don’t drop me!” you squeak and he laughs in response. You’re light as a feather to him and he’s not hindered by you at all. He would never, could never drop you.

“I won’t let you go, ever.” He reassures you and you relax against him, trusting him. You tuck yourself into the crook of his neck, and all of a sudden he has a sharp regret that his collar rises so high on his neck. He longs to feel your softness and your eyelashes brushing against the sensitive skin of his throat. He can’t resist leaning his head against yours as he climbs effortlessly down the thin and rickety steps.

When he reaches your apartment, he assists you in finding your footing and guides you inside. You don’t question how he’s able to navigate your apartment with ease. Stepping into your kitchen is like getting reborn into another life, a life that he had been cruelly denied. You’ve decorated every inch. False snow lines the top of your cabinets and it charms him to see tiny figures and miniature buildings tucked into the fuzzy winter wonderland. Mismatched bowls of ingredients line the counter, and deep red liquid smelling strongly of spice is steaming on the stove. It smells heavenly. It’s the same scent he normally loathes, the artificial scent burning his nose and giving him headaches, one of the few pains that he can experience. But there is nothing faked or imitated here and the rich smell makes his head swim pleasantly. His mouth waters and his jaw aches at the sweet spicy deliciousness in the air. It’s lovely and warm and you immediately shake off the shiver as you enter.

He blinks back sudden tears at the sight of a brightly lit tree twinkling merrily in the corner of the living room, a yule log crackling on the television. It’s perfect. Your tiny crumbling apartment that he would have scoffed at in any other time, is suddenly finer than any palace. His chest tightens almost painfully.

“It’s not much but I did my best to make it festive! The cookie dough is chilling in the fridge and there is as much eggnog and mulled wine as you could want. Help yourself.” You nod at the pot on the stove, hands on your hips, looking as confident as he’s ever seen you now that you’re in your domain. It’s not normally the response he gets when someone sees him in their home. He takes a brief scan of your fridge.

“Just milk for me, thank you.” He responds and you shrug and take a glass out of the cabinet. You fill it up full and hand it over. He takes a big chug. 2%

Perfect

“Well, I’m gonna have myself some mulled wine.” You grab another glass and fill yourself up a healthy serving. A tiny sip has you sighing deeply in pleasure and he wants nothing more than to lick the remnants off your lips. Your temperature is rising by the second and when he’s satisfied that you’re sufficiently warmed he relaxes a bit, wandering around your kitchen to look at everything.

You busy yourself taking a large bowl of dough out of the fridge and lining the counter and a baking sheet with parchment paper and a light dusting of flour. He’s distracted looking through all your cabinets. Nothing of yours is very fancy and it’s all a bit mismatched which he finds charming in a quaint kind of way. He rifles through your dish towels, smelling them to see if your scent still lingers. Then you tap him on the shoulder. He turns to find you with your head cocked and your arms wrapped around a large bowl, eyes shining and bright

“I promised gingerbread but first you have to help.” You wink at his baffled expression before turning around to begin scooping out the dough onto the parchment paper. “And take off your gloves! This stuff can get sticky.”

He’s still standing there frozen when you hand him a rolling pin. He frowns at it disdainfully before raising a skeptical eyebrow. This is so…beneath him.

“C’mon, let your inner kid out a little. I promise it tastes better when you’ve helped make it.” You shake the rolling pin at him.

Inner kid

You don’t have a single fucking clue.

He grumpily removes his gloves. He feels naked without them. He feels so raw, the Christmas cheer welcome but also a painful reminder of everything he was denied. He wants to be here but he feels unsure how to exist in a space when there are no expectations, no predetermined role he can play. Shedding the gloves feels like shedding a layer of skin but he can’t deny you when you look at him like that. You’re still wearing his cape around his shoulders and a sharp possessive pang runs through him.

His

He reaches out to grab the rolling pin.

“Normally people avoid giving me heavy blunt objects” He remarks dryly, although he quickly regrets it. It doesn’t seem to phase you though. You’ve heard the stories.

“You are a heavy blunt object capable of plenty of damage so I don’t think handing you a rolling pin is going to make much difference. Now get to work while I preheat the oven” You reach out to gently push him towards the dough.

He stares at it, frozen.

The dings from the oven ring in his ears.

It’s not that he doesn’t know what to do. The mechanics of a rolling pin are not difficult to fucking grasp. It’s just…none of this feels real. It feels like he’s still back in this lab and this is some cruel dream that will fade away into empty white. It’s like making one wrong move will shatter everything

He can’t lose this.

“Here! The recipe says ⅛ of an inch so you’ll need to roll it like this.” Your breath is hot on his ear as you lean in behind him.

Your hands rest tenderly on top of his as you gently guide him.

fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck

Your touch burns and a ravenous monster wakes in his chest. It howls and wails against the prison of his ribcage. He can smell you, hear your heart racing, practically taste the heavy scent of your soaking cunt into the air. The wood creaks under his grip as your thumb brushes against his. His cock is hard and leaking into the tight spandex of his pants. The ribbon on his hip is like a brand; like your hands are on him there too.

Fuck the cookies

The throb of his cock urges him to devour your brown sugar pussy instead.

But as strong as the sudden rush of his arousal, it pales in comparison to the prickling sting of tears at such a kind touch. The last person to touch him like this was…

Fake

Just like everything else

Except you

Except this.

A quiet sob escapes him but if you notice then you don’t acknowledge it. You just keep pushing your palms against his hands in a steady rhythm, the dough easily giving way. Your body rocks against his and the softness of you warms him to the core. He sees the flutter of his own cape out of the corner of his eye.

His

You’re his.

The whole world narrows down to only the two of you.

He could stay here forever with you. Life with you could be like Christmas for eternity. He’d never be alone. You’d never be alone. Just gingerbread scented air and mulled wine, and your body pressed to his forever.

“Alrighty! That just about does it. We just need to get out the cookie cutters and we’ll be good to go.” You pull back.

Something inside him snaps and he turns and grabs your shoulder, tugging you into him. You blink owlishly at him. He opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He reaches out to caress your cheek, relishing the warmth against his bare hand. You lay your hand over his although you make no move to pull away.

“I…” His breath catches.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask breathlessly

You don’t wait for an answer before shyly pressing your lips to his. It lasts barely a second before you're pulling back with a smug little smile. You point up and he barks out an incredulous laugh.

Mistletoe

A sprig of fucking mistletoe is attached to the ceiling.

“I thought you always spent Christmas alone.” He remarks, lips still burning. He’s dreaming. He’s…this can’t be real.

You chuckle.

“I’m not alone this year.” You respond before giving him another sweet kiss that he eagerly returns.

You taste exactly like brown sugar.

He giggles into the press of your lips

Merry fucking Christmas.