#had to pause and think before describing the outfit.

[on-this-day-mcr]

On this day, September 5

In 2022: My Chemical Romance performed their 33rd show of the 2022-2023 Swarm tour in Toronto, Canada. Gerard Way wore a black bodysuit and jumper with cat ears, black whisker facepaint and a black tail. At this show, "Sure" was written over the previous night's drum writing ("BACK IN The CAGE"). (🖤)

Watch the show here!

Jawn Rocha

[buckymorelikefuckme]

and baby makes three

(the reboot)

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 11.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** friends to lovers, pining, smut, oral (f receiving), breeding kink, pregnancy kink, cockwarming (kind of??), trigger warning for having troubles with getting pregnant. it's still super fuckin soft despite all of that though, i swear.

a/n: okay so it's currently 6am as i'm typing this and i haven't been to sleep yet bc i decided to just heavily edit this instead of rewrite it bc i'm lazy i guess idk. this was posted originally back in 2021 i believe and it's still on ao3 it's just orphaned rip. i promise i'll be writing and posting new stuff soon ok pls have faith in me and cheer me on bc it's hard and scary and i don't wanna disappoint anybody :( ANYWAY, as usual, any and all mistakes are my own. if i've missed anything important pls let me know so i can correct it. feedback is encouraged (pls) and appreciated (i am begging...)

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and very unlikely. Sure, you liked kids well enough, but having one of your own…

It’s a thought that’s sat in a corner deep in your mind, buried beneath a million other impossible concepts; a thought that you’ve only ever glanced over and never gave your full attention, having ruled it out ages ago as something you just couldn’t—or wouldn’t—do.

And then, on a day like any other, it pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, making itself known and unwilling to leave.

You’re going into the clothing store to find a new cardigan after your most favorite one got eaten by the dryer. Usually you’re a single-minded shopper, walking into a store with tunnel vision and on a mission to get what you need and that’s it.

Today, however, you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander on your way to the sweater section. Your gaze just so happens to land on the baby clothes… and your steps falter. It’s there that you see it, a tiny, pink onesie with a sleeping teddy bear printed on the front, displayed on an even tinier hanger. There’s matching pants with teddy bears all over them and ruffles on the butt and all your brain can muster up is cutecutecutecutecute.

Your feet carry you closer and before you realize what you’re doing you pick up the outfit, letting out a coo when you realize the teddy bear is fuzzy, softly rubbing your thumb across it. Somehow, you walk out of the store, not with a new cardigan, but with the cute baby outfit and a bow you thought looked adorable with it.

It’s not until you get home that it hits you, that you bought baby clothes for a baby you don’t even have.

The feeling that rushes through you is hard to describe. Shame? Embarrassment?

...Yearning?

No. Definitely not. Nope.

There’s absolutely no yearning going on here, not for a baby. You’ve never even had that desire before and you certainly don’t see yourself having it now. You shake your head to clear it, telling yourself you’ll take it back tomorrow.

Except you don’t take it back. You conveniently “forget” and it stays shoved on the top shelf in your hall closet. You pretend you don’t pause in front of said closet throughout the following days—weeks—chewing on the inside of your cheek and staring at the door like you can see through the wood at the evidence of your impulsive purchase.

It gets harder to ignore, though, when you start getting ads for baby clothing brands. And baby toys, bottles, handy little gadgets for new parents, nursery decor… It’s endless.

Then, as if it wasn’t already bad enough, all of your childhood friends start popping out babies like it’s a brand new trend. You don't think you've seen your social media this flooded with pregnancy announcements and baby arrivals, ever. Your emotions are mixed; happy for them, and for their excitement, but there’s also a weird discomfort settled in your stomach.

You hesitate to be that person who thinks the universe is trying to tell you something, but you do wonder. Why else would you suddenly have these feelings? Why else would there be baby stuff everywhere you look now?

It brings on other thoughts, as well. In this day and age, it’s not too unusual for women to have babies without being married, or without a significant other at all. There is the pressure, still, to at least be in a relationship, but considering you’ve been practically in love with one of your closest friends for the last two years, it’s safe to say that you’re tragically single, so having a baby with someone is out of the question.

And god, do you even want a baby?

As soon as the thought crosses your mind, with a sudden clarity that hits you like a ton of bricks, you realize you do. It feels like a freight train has slammed into you. Your mind’s eye supplies you with images of a swollen belly and wide smile, a precious baby wrapped in a soft blanket, cradled in your arms, a gummy grin and happy giggle.

Emotion consumes you then, longing like you’ve never felt in your life, chest aching with how badly you want that.

It’s not as if you’re too young. You’re plenty old enough and you’ve got a secure job. You don’t subscribe to that whole biological clock nonsense, but you do feel that if you are going to potentially have a baby, it might be better to do it now while you’re still in relatively good health.

You groan, dropping your face into your open palms, the movie you'd been watching to try and distract yourself long forgotten as it continues to play on the television.

This is a lot to think about, you ponder to yourself. Taking a deep breath in and releasing it slowly, you decide the mature thing to do is give yourself more time to ruminate on it. Having a baby is no small decision. You need to be absolutely certain it’s what you want. It’s going to change your entire life, everything, and you’d be responsible for a new life. So, you’ll have to give yourself a few months to decide and then you can go from there.

***

You’re scrolling through yet another article on your laptop, engrossed in every detail of the process of artificial insemination and the symptoms and side effects that come with it. So engrossed, in fact, that you don’t hear the key turning in the lock, the door opening and closing, and the heavy footfalls that follow.

It’s only when Bucky asks, “Whatcha reading?” that you are even aware of his presence.

You startle so hard that your knee slams into the underside of your table. Ignoring the throbbing pain in your knee and your wildly beating heart, you close your laptop with a snap and turn to Bucky.

“You could knock,” you grouse.

“Why give me a key, then?” he retorts, unapologetic.

You roll your eyes and grumble under your breath, “Clearly, it was a mistake.”

“You didn’t answer me.”

Brows furrowed, you ask, “What?”

He gestures to your laptop. “What were you reading? Your nose was nearly smushed against the screen.”

You blink, trying to think of a reasonable excuse and coming up empty.

“Nothing,” is all your brilliant mind can supply.

Bucky’s eyes narrow for a few seconds, and you pray to every higher power and all that is holy and good that he won’t press further. You remain frozen under Bucky’s suspicious stare, hearing that Old West shootout music playing in your mind.

Thankfully, it seems the deities are feeling indulgent, as Bucky chooses let it go.

He holds up the bags he carried in. “I brought lunch.”

You perk up instantly. “Did you go to that one place—?”

“With the fried rice you like so much, yes,” he finishes for you, smiling.

“You’re the best,” you sigh, stomach rumbling eagerly.

“I know,” he replies, solemn and dramatic like the idiot he is.

He begins taking out the styrofoam boxes and chattering on about something dumb Steve did the other day, and you mean to listen, you really do. It’s just. That article is still lingering in your brain. There’s so many steps and hassles. Plus, it’s not cheap. It would be a hefty investment.

You’d only researched it because, after months of contemplating the pros and cons of having a baby, you determined the pros far outweigh the cons. But then the problem was: how to even make it happen.

Your first thought was that you didn’t think you’d let just any man come inside you, for many obvious reasons. You’d shuddered to think of it. Then there was surrogacy, which is admirable and wonderful, but you’d quickly dismissed that idea as you realized you wanted to actually carry the baby yourself. So that led you to artificial insemination. You weren’t sure how you felt about it yet. There was something a little too clinical about choosing a random man’s sperm to have injected into your uterus.

Bucky’s still speaking as he grabs plates and forks, unaware of your inner monologue. “And then he got Sam involved,” he’s saying, scooping out food onto the plates, “which, as you know, I always think is a dumb thing to do.”

“I want to have a baby,” you blurt, eyes widening at your outburst.

Bucky fumbles with the spoon, sending fried rice flying, muttering curses as he tries to catch it with no luck as it lands with a dull clunk on the table. The silence that follows is loud. It feels like your heart is in your throat as you wait for him to just say something, anything.

“This is… quite a mess I’ve made,” Bucky finally observes. His voice is a bit higher than usual. “Where’s your vacuum? Actually, do you have one of those mini ones? Or would Clorox wipes be better? You know what, I’ll do both.”

He nods decisively then turns an expectant look towards you. His eyes look a bit wild, but you wisely keep that to yourself.

Wordlessly, you direct him to your hall closet. You realize your error a second too late when he opens the closet and reaches for the vacuum on the top shelf, where the purchase you’d made months ago also rests. His fingers get caught in the plastic bag when he grabs the handheld vacuum and its contents spill out. He goes to catch them right away, but once it registers what they are, he lets go of them like they’re on fire and nearly drops the vacuum on his foot.

Heat has been steadily creeping up your neck, but now your whole body feels aflame with embarrassment. The two of you stare at the baby clothes lying unassumingly on the floor for a long moment, until Bucky quietly walks back to the table with the vacuum clutched tightly in his fist. He flicks the switch on and it whirs to life, sucking up the bits of rice scattered around the table.

There’s another lengthy silence after he turns the vacuum off and you're unable to find the right thing to say to break it. Bucky does it for you.

“So… You’re serious.”

You meet his eyes and sigh heavily. “Yeah.”

He blinks a few times before clearing his throat, schooling his expression carefully. “I didn’t realize you were seeing someone.”

You cough lightly and start picking the peas out of your fried rice. “Well, that would be because I’m not.”

“I don’t think I follow,” he admits slowly.

You sigh again, lowering your gaze to your lap. “Look, I’ve thought about this a lot, okay? I’ve given myself months to really make sure it’s what I want. I’m in a good place in my life to have one, Bucky, and I don’t want to feel pressured to wait until I might get married.” You lift your gaze to his. “I want to have a baby,” you repeat firmly. “And I don’t need a partner to have one.”

You’re not sure why you feel the need to defend yourself. It’s not up to Bucky what you decide to do. You don’t need his approval, or anyone else’s. Maybe it’s because, even though you know it's not true, it feels like you're making too hasty of a decision.

After a beat, Bucky amends, “Well, I mean… You do…”

“Oh my god, shut up, you know what I mean,” you groan as you smack his arm, glad that he's not calling you crazy or trying to talk you out of it.

He doesn’t even flinch, the jerk.

“Wait, so what were you reading when I got here?” he suddenly questions, brows furrowed.

“Nothing,” you say too quickly, guiltily.

“Let me see your laptop then,” he counters as he crosses his arms over his chest.

You flounder for a second, scoffing. “What? No!”

“It can’t be that embarrassing, just show me,” he wheedles.

“Absolutely not.”

“Let me see!”

“It’s private!”

“Don’t be a chicken.”

Your eye twitches. “I’m not a chicken.” Bucky smirks and before he can even open his mouth you interject with a finger pointed accusingly at his face, “Do not start clucking at me, Bucky. I’ll kick your ass,” you threaten, though it's weak and you're not the only one who knows it.

You glare when his smirk only widens. Slowly, he moves his arms like he’s gonna flap them like chicken wings.

“Ugh! God, fine! You wanna know what I was reading?” You open your laptop and slide it over to him, turning it to where he can read it. “There.”

Bucky scans the page, then scans it again, eyes flicking all over like it’s in a different language. His cheeks grow redder and redder as he reads and you get a small sense of satisfaction at the sight.

“Wow,” he mutters finally. “You’re turkey baster serious.”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“What?” he asks innocently.

When you make eye contact with him, you purse your lips to keep the laughter threatening to bubble out at bay, but the ever growing smile on Bucky’s face is hard to resist and you find yourself snorting a laugh that leads to uncontrollable giggles. Bucky’s laughing with you, his eyes crinkling on the sides. The tension you hadn’t realized you held in your shoulders loosens and you nudge his knee with yours in silent thanks.

“So,” he says after you've both calmed down.

“So,” you repeat, dragging it out, drumming your fingers on the tabletop. “I’ve been doing research, checking out all of my options, and while artificial insemination seems like the best choice… I don’t know, there’s just something too clinical about it,” you reply, voicing your concerns, “It doesn’t feel right. I know I said I don’t need a partner, and I don’t, but… Having absolutely no connection is weird.”

You shrug, waving a hand as if to say oh well, putting an end to the conversation, and pick up your plate to carry it over to the microwave. You reheat Bucky’s food while you’re up, and then you both start eating in comfortable silence. He gets halfway through his meal before speaking up.

“Have you… I mean, did you think about… I’ve heard that, uh. Some people ask another person…”

He trails off, clearly frustrated that he can’t just spit out what he’s trying to say. You think you understand what he means, though.

“I read up on surrogacy,” you say, biting your lip. “But I don’t think I’d want someone else to carry my baby.”

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean—I wasn’t suggesting, uh, that. Not that there’s anything wrong with it!” he rushes to say.

You tilt your head. “What did you mean then?”

“Well,” Bucky starts, stilted, licking his lips. “For the artificial insemination, have you considered… you know. Asking someone you’re close with?”

You frown, not following.

“For—for the sperm,” he clarifies, shifting in his seat.

“Oh,” you breathe, blinking rapidly, surprised as you think of how to reply. “Um. No? I wouldn’t even know who I could ask, to be honest. That’s quite the request, you know? Who would—“

“Me,” he interrupts, determined and cheeks flushed, “I would.”

Your own face heats. “Oh,” you say again, quieter.

You can say, with full confidence, that not once did it cross your mind to ask anyone to help you, but you especially would have never given thought to asking Bucky.

For a list of reasons, really, with “it’s Bucky” being right at the very top. Like—sure, yes, you’re in love with him, but after two years of no signs of reciprocation you’ve learned to stop dreaming, to stop hoping. If the attraction was mutual he would have shown it by now, right? And on top of that, his friendship means the world to you and you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize it. You'd never forgive yourself if you ever managed to fuck up the one good, constant thing going for you.

“Bucky,” you start, slow and careful, “this… This isn't something you can just jump into. It’s something you should think about for a while.”

He contemplates that for a second. “You’re right,” he concedes with a nod. “But…” He purses his lips, glancing away for a minute before turning back to you, leaning forward. “Okay listen, this is important for you. It’s going to change your whole life. You said it yourself, not having a connection to the sperm donor feels wrong. You’re my best friend, alright? I—care about you. You should pick someone you can trust.”

He clenches his jaw after he finishes speaking. You sort of hate the way your heart both flutters and plummets at his words. It’s nice to know you matter to him, just not in the way you’ve wanted for too long.

And if you’re really honest with yourself, Bucky would be a great choice as a donor. He’s in great health, has strong features that would look wonderful on any gender. But would you be able to handle the repercussions of having his child? Would you be able to look at your baby and see those features without it sending a pang through your chest every single time? You can’t say for certain.

Yet, the chance to have that type of connection with him, selfishly, sounds too good to pass up.

“At least think about it for a few days,” you murmur reluctantly.

It’s the most acceptance he’ll get and he knows it. A smile blooms across his face and you have to swallow down the warring emotions rising within you.

***

With the amount of research you do on the subject now, it doesn’t take long for you to find out that there are at-home kits for artificial insemination that are much easier (and cheaper). It’s easy to settle on that, clicking on the info to order your kit with butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You read through the instructions online and it all sounds simple enough, until you get to the part where it says that having an orgasm after injection helps increase your chances of conception.

Blinking, heat crawling up your neck, you read that step several times, hoping you read it wrong, but it doesn’t change.

You… You can’t masturbate with Bucky’s sperm inside you. That’s a line you refuse to cross.

And besides, he’s a healthy man in his thirties who exercises regularly and eats fairly healthy food! You probably—definitely—won’t need to take that step. It’ll be fine. Probably.

Once the kit arrives, you call Bucky and ask him to come over so you can explain the process to him. Since he’s only across the hall of your apartment building, he’s there a moment later, letting himself in with his key.

“Let’s make a baby,” is how he greets you.

“Hold your horses,” you reply, fighting back a laugh. “I gotta walk you through everything first.”

He plops himself down next to you on your couch. “Fine, fine. Go ahead.”

Squaring your shoulders, you begin telling him how it all works, and what parts he is key for. You speak through your awkwardness, avoiding eye contact, when you explain that he’ll need to masturbate into a clean, sterile cup. You leave out how it’s suggested for you to also masturbate, deciding it’s not pertinent information for him to know.

“When do we start?” he asks once you’re done.

“I have to take an ovulation test first to find out the best days for me to conceive, but once I do that we’ll be able to, um.” You gesture vaguely. “I’ll be able to do the injections.”

He nods. “Alright.” He looks at you then, taking your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here every step of the way, okay?”

“I know,” you say, smiling. “Thank you, Bucky.”

“You’re welcome,” he returns softly.

“No, really, thank you,” you assert. “This is a lot to take on and I can never fully repay you.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I want you to be happy, and I can see that having this baby is going to do that. I’ll do whatever I need to do to ensure it happens.”

You pull him into a hug, willing yourself to not cry. You’re not sure he’ll ever understand what this means for you, personally, or that you’d ever find a way to express it. He’s giving you so much more than just a baby.

***

The first injection time comes and you find yourself fidgeting where you sit as you wait for Bucky to bring over the, uh… sample. You do your best to not think about what he’s doing in his apartment, to not think about exactly how he’s collecting his sperm.

Now is not the time, you mentally scold yourself. Get it together.

A timid knock at your door alerts you to his presence. The fact he’s knocking says a lot about his own level of embarrassment about the situation.

His cheeks are pink when you open the door. “Uh, hi.”

“Hi,” you return.

He clears his throat and lifts the small cup in his hand. “Here’s… well, you know.”

You gingerly take it from him, not knowing what else to say, but when he smiles somewhat crookedly and turns to leave, you find yourself asking, “Will you stay?”

Bucky’s steps pause. “Huh?”

“Will you—I mean… Would you mind staying?” You shift on your feet. “This is a big moment for me. I-I don’t want to do it alone.”

“Are you asking me to…?” He trails off awkwardly.

“Oh! God, no, I wouldn’t—no,” you assure, huffing a laugh, “I’m doing the injection, I just need a little moral support. That’s all.”

Bucky smiles. “Sure, I’ll stay.”

Relief floods through you. You step aside to let him in, closing the door behind him. He follows you to your bedroom and just before entering you stop in your tracks, nearly causing Bucky to bump into you.

“Um,” you mutter, turning to him. “You’ll have to, ah, sit out here,” you explain. “I have to be lying down…”

Understanding dawns on him. “Oh! Right, right, of course. Sorry.”

“I’ll let you know when I’m done,” you promise.

He nods and watches you close the door. You walk over to your bed and sit down, glancing at the syringe you’ll be using and biting the inside of your cheek.

This is it. There’s really no going back after this. Sure, you may not get pregnant the first time, but Bucky’s already said he’d help you for as long as it takes. It’s just… very real now. You don’t feel any doubts, though. You want this.

Inhaling a large breath and slowly letting it out, hands shaking, you take the lid off the cup and pick up the syringe. You remember the instructions, making sure there’s as little air sucked in as possible when you draw out the semen, and getting rid of the few air bubbles that you see. You grab your pillows and lie down, propping them beneath you to lift your hips.

“Here I go,” you mumble to yourself, taking another deep breath and releasing it.

A couple minutes later, the syringe is empty and you’ve got your legs pulled up to your chest. You cover yourself with your blanket and call out Bucky’s name.

“You okay?” you hear through the door.

“Will you come here, please?” you ask.

He walks in cautiously, making sure you’re decently covered before entering fully, wisely not commenting on your position. “Well?”

“I did it,” you whisper.

He stays quiet, letting you parse through your thoughts. You blink when you feel tears threatening to gather in your eyes. He’s beside you in an instant, crawling in the bed and lying down, taking your hand in his.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

“Don’t congratulate me yet,” you reply, sniffing and wiping at your eyes.

“Still,” he presses. “You’re one step closer now.”

He pulls your hand up and kisses the back of it. You give him a watery smile. The two of you lay there in silence for a moment before Bucky breaks it.

“This isn’t how I pictured myself making a baby.”

It startles a laugh out of you and Bucky grins, pleased to have helped ease the tense atmosphere. He distracts you with idle conversation after that, talking about his plans for the upcoming weekend, asking about yours, tells you about the newest stupid thing Sam did; he talks and talks and talks, until your anxiety is gone, and then he stays to cook dinner for you.

Your hug when he gets ready to head back to his apartment lasts a couple minutes longer than usual. Bucky quietly allows it, dropping a kiss on your forehead when you pull away.

“Same time next week?” he jokes, making you crack a smile.

“Goodbye, Bucky,” you reply exasperatedly as you close your door.

“Bye, sweetheart,” he returns over his shoulder.

***

Weeks pass. More injections. Pregnancy tests taken.

But nothing happens.

All of your tests come back negative.

When reading up on artificial insemination, and pregnancy in general, you’d understood that there was a chance it wouldn’t happen right away. You thought you were fine with that, that you’d be alright with the waiting and all. Looking at your growing collection of negative tests, however, has a sense of dread building within you. You do your best to quell it, telling yourself there’s no need to stress over it. Yet.

Besides, your mind supplies in an overly cheerful manner, there’s still one more method to try!

***

The next time Bucky brings over his sample, he lets himself in, like always, and passes along the cup with an encouraging smile. You try to smile back, but it feels more like a grimace. He either doesn’t notice or he at least pretends not to, thankfully.

But when he goes to make himself comfortable to wait, you’re reminded that you haven’t told him about the, uh… change in procedure, so to speak.

You clear your throat delicately. “I don’t think you’ll need to stick around this time.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

“Because…” You trail off, cheeks pinking, yet not finishing the sentence, because how do you explain this?

“I promised you I’d be here every step of the way,” he recalls. “I intend to keep that promise.”

You wince. “I really appreciate where your heart is, Bucky, I really do, but I literally cannot let you be here for this injection.”

“Why not?”

You look heavenward for mercy. “I have to…”

When you don’t finish your sentence again, Bucky raises a single brow, gesturing for you to go on. “You have to… what?”

You huff, throwing your arms out. “I have to orgasm, okay?”

His eyes go a little bit wide, but you can tell he tries to control his reaction. He swallows, shifting where he sits on the couch.

“Oh,” he mumbles. “Have… have you had to do that before?”

“No. Well, I mean, it was suggested, but I never…”

His eyebrows furrow. “Does it help or something?”

You absently scratch your neck. “They say it increases the chances of conception.”

“But you haven’t been doing… that.”

“I didn’t think I’d need to.”

Bucky inhales like he’s going to say something, but then doesn’t.

“Yeah, so, I don’t think you should be here,” you utter, quickly adding, “No offense.”

“No, yeah, that’s fair, um. I’ll just—I’ll head back to my apartment,” he states as he stands. “You can—I mean, if you still want me to—I can come back over? After you… uh…”

“I’ll let you know,” you reply, voice tight and high.

He nods, looking lost and like he wants to say more but thinks better of it. Finally, he mutters a soft bye and is out the door.

Alone now, your stomach feels like it’s tying itself in knots and your heart is doing its damnedest to beat out of your chest. You try to tell yourself that it’s just another injection, that this is the same as any other time you've done this, but you know it’s not. It's really, really not.

Laying down on your bed, syringe in hand, is much more nerve wracking than before. On your left lies a new addition to your routine. You don’t know why you’re acting like such a prude all the sudden. It’s not like you’ve never masturbated before. Though, you suppose the major difference is that you didn’t have Bucky’s sperm hangin’ out in your vagina all those other times while you did it.

“Quit being such a goober about this,” you tell yourself.

This has to be done for a reason. If you want to have a baby—and you do, very badly—then you’re gonna have to deal with the process.

Once you’ve injected the sperm, you reach for your bullet vibrator next to your left hand. The instructions say not to insert anything, only to stimulate your clit. You try to clear your head, think of it as a chore or something, yet it’s hard not to think of a certain someone.

The vibrator buzzes with the press of a button. You adjust your hips, making sure they’re tilted, then bring the vibrator to your clit. The first touch makes your stomach tense and thighs spasm.

You close your eyes, running the toy along your slit. You really don’t want to drag this out, would prefer to get it over with as quickly as possible, but your mind begins running away with images.

Bucky, settled between your spread thighs, one hand resting on one of them, the other controlling the vibrator. You imagine he’d tease you, slowly trail it along the crease of your thighs, over your hips; everywhere but where you wanted it.

Bucky would probably give in once you whine and beg enough, once your desperation bled into your voice, and hold the vibrator directly to your clit, drink in your cries of pleasure like they’re the finest whisky.

He’d mutter soft but firm encouragement, tell you how good you’re doing, how good you sound. He’d start circling the vibrator, going from quick to lazy swirls, then he’d change the setting to a higher one just to hear you whimper. His free hand would run up your torso to pinch at your nipples for added stimulation.

When you imagine him leaning down to add his tongue into the mix, your mind blanks as your climax hits you, a ragged moan forcing its way out of your throat. You’re quick to turn the vibrator off and toss it to the floor, deciding you’ll worry about cleaning it later, chest heaving as you pant for breath after an intense orgasm.

Shame and embarrassment consume you, mock you for using Bucky to rub one out. You’d given in to the fantasy so easily.

Truthfully, it’s not the first time you’ve thought of him while pleasuring yourself, but the context this time is completely different, and you feel immediately guilty. Admittedly, it’s probably irrational.

That doesn’t stop you from cringing at your actions.

***

You’re sure you’ve bought out the entire pregnancy test section from the convenience store down the block. Currently, there are six different brands in front of you, all promising the most accurate results.

Bucky is sitting in your bedroom, quietly waiting for you to pee on all of them so you can both find out what they say. You chug the last bit of your third bottle of water even though your bladder is fit to burst at any moment. Turning the faucet on for modesty, you make quick work of the tests, then wash your hands.

And wait.

You call Bucky into the bathroom with you. The two of you quietly sit on the edge of your bathtub, counting down the minutes. Part of you wishes Bucky would say something dumb to break the tension, like he usually does, but you're also kind of glad he's just here, next to you, a silent comfort.

It seems like hours have passed when you’re finally sure you can check them.

The first one is negative, and so is the second. The third, however, reads positive. Your heart begins racing, clutching at the counter, but before your hopes get too carried away you read the rest. To your dismay, they are all negative. You stare down at them all, eyes falling on the loan positive test multiple times, knowing that it’s likely a false positive, yet stupidly hoping otherwise.

Your chin wobbles. Bucky hugs you from behind, resting his cheek on your shoulder.

“What do I do, Bucky?”

At your broken whisper, he sighs. “I don’t know, sweetheart.”

Neither of you know what to say or do after that. Bucky continues offering quiet support, his solid presence at your back, and you’re grateful. Eventually, he leads you out of the bathroom and into the kitchen, sitting you down at the table as he starts preparing dinner.

When you’re both eating the spaghetti he made, he breaks the silence.

“Do you think…” he starts, pausing to think of how to phrase his question before carefully carrying on. “Are you going to stop?”

“I don’t want to,” you answer, the implied but hanging heavy in the air.

Bucky sits his fork down. “I know you want this, very much.” He pushes his hair out of his face as he leans forward, elbows settling on the table. “But I hate seeing how sad you get when the tests come out negative. I feel so… powerless. Like I could be doing more or something.”

“You’re doing all you can, Bucky,” you assure.

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t think I am.”

You frown. “What do you mean?”

He licks his lips, locking his fingers together. “I think we should have sex.”

Your fork drops to your plate with a clang, eyes going wide.

“I apologize for how blunt that came out,” he states with a wince. “But, I mean, think about it. You’ve only been using my sperm from a syringe, and up until the last time, you hadn’t been, um, orgasming with it.” You look away, bashful. “I just wonder if maybe trying the old-fashioned way would give you better results.”

“Bucky,” you start, opening and closing your mouth a couple times before shaking your head. “It’s one thing for you to offer your sperm, which I’m thankful for, truly, but… Having sex?”

“I’ve already told you I’m willing to do whatever I need to do,” he retorts earnestly. “Your happiness means a lot to me, okay? I hate sitting around and watching your heart break every week. You’ve tried it your way, now I think we should try mine.”

“I-I don’t know,” you hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek, knee beginning to bounce under the table.

His hand slides onto your knee, stilling the movement as he ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are impossibly sincere and your resolve crumbles in an instant.

“It won’t… It’s not going to change anything,” he assures. “I won’t allow it.”

You swallow roughly. He may not, but your heart is going to take its toughest beating yet. It’s going to be hopeless trying to overcome the inevitable emotions that come with sex.

Even so, somehow, your longing for a baby eclipses all of this. Now that you’ve imagined holding your child in your arms, raising them and loving them, you can’t go back. Not anymore.

“Okay,” you allow, softly.

Bucky’s shoulders relax, lips tipping up into a devastating smile.

You’re so fucked. (Pun intended.)

***

Two nights later, you’re pacing in your bedroom, impatiently waiting for Bucky to arrive. You’d been unsure whether or not you should dress up. You didn’t see the point, honestly. Still, a small part of you wondered what his reaction would be if he saw you all done up in lingerie. At the moment, you’re in an oversized t-shirt and pajama shorts.

It’s Bucky, you think, and this isn’t a normal situation, it doesn’t matter what I’m wearing.

You hear his key turning in the lock then and your heart begins hammering away. He calls your name as he enters.

“In here,” you reply, twisting your fingers nervously.

He walks into your room looking just as on edge as you are. He also seems to have had the same idea about his attire, comfortable in his white tee and sweatpants. His feet are bare and for whatever reason that feels way more intimate than it has any right to.

“Hey,” he greets.

“Hi.”

You bite your lip, eyes flitting around your room and coming back to settle on Bucky. He huffs.

“This is ridiculous,” he declares, “It’s just us.”

“Right,” you nod, biting the inside of your cheek.

“It’s not gonna be weird.”

“Nope.”

His jaw ticks. You stare back at him. It only takes a moment for you to realize that somebody has to make the first move, so you steel yourself and turn on your heel, walking towards your bed.

“I’m keeping my shirt on,” you announce as you unceremoniously drop onto the mattress, grabbing your pillows to stuff them under you.

Bucky follows at a sedate pace, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. He pauses next to you, taking a second to roll his shoulders, then he climbs in and settles in front of your bent legs. He gingerly places his hands on your knees.

“May I?” he asks.

Mouth suddenly dry, you nod. He moves his hands to the waistband of your shorts and tugs. You lift your hips to help him slide them down and off, along with your underwear. Gently, he spreads your legs.

Your breathing has picked up considerably, eyes firmly trained on the ceiling. You know you’re already wet and are blessedly thankful he doesn’t mention it.

The first slide of his fingers has you inhaling sharply. He slowly gathers your slick and trails it up to your clit, lightly circling it. Your mind recalls your fantasy, but you quickly shove it back to the depths of your thoughts, lest you do something idiotic like tell him about it.

He spreads your legs more, adjusting his position between them. His fingers move down until he can sink one into you. You gasp, hands shooting out to grasp your sheets. He wastes no time and begins thrusting his finger inside you.

It becomes quickly apparent to you that it’s going to be very difficult to hold back any noise or reactions. Goddamnit, you will try, though!

When he decides it’s time to add another finger, you feel yourself clench around them, and his soft fuck does not go unnoticed, evident in the way your pussy traitorously clenches again.

“Can I…?” he asks, voice cracking, but doesn’t finish his thought, making you have to break your staring contest with the ceiling and look at him.

He’s not even looking back at you, he’s staring at his fingers, watching them pump in and out of you, half bent over with a slack jaw, like he wants to…

He meets your eyes then, licking his lips.

Oh.

Swallowing around the sudden lump in your throat, knowing you’re probably going to regret it, you nod.

He’s leaning over and sucking on your clit before you can even blink. You cry out, thighs trying to clamp around his head, but his free hand shoots out to hold you open. It makes you squirm, fisting the sheets even tighter. His fingers curl inside you as his tongue licks around them and you whine, high and needy, and then mouth is back on your clit, tongue swiping over it, sucking on it with loud, obscene noises.

His hand comes up to grab the hem of your shirt, shoves it upward until it’s bunched underneath your breasts. Those fingers ghost back down your torso, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

He speeds up his thrusts and your hand flies down to grip his hair. You don’t think you’re meant to hear the quiet grunt he lets out, but you do, and it has you panting even harder. Your orgasm is building, fast, and you pull on his hair in warning.

“Bucky,” you say on a gasp.

Using his arm to hold you down, his free hand joins, thumb swiping over your clit now as he dips his head to slide his tongue in alongside his fingers. It draws a yell out of you, the ever expanding pleasure within you bursting into the hardest orgasm you’ve experienced thus far in your adult life. You know you’re moaning, bucking into the sensations coursing through you, and you’d feel abashed if you didn’t feel so fucking good.

Before you can become too sensitive, Bucky withdraws his fingers and sits up. You can’t even really catch your breath, though, because in the next second he’s whipping his t-shirt off and shoving his sweatpants down far enough to free his cock.

Your thighs do clamp closed then, at the sight of how thick he is, and he tries and fails to keep his smirk hidden.

“Oh, shut up,” you wheeze.

“Didn’t say anything,” he counters.

He doesn’t let you argue, choosing that moment to shuffle closer and line up with your opening. Cautiously, he eases himself inside, inch by inch. Your mouth drops open, brows furrowing as he fills you, stretching you so perfectly. When he’s in as far as he can go, the breath wooshes out of him, his head falling back. You know he’s trying to be polite and let you adjust, but—

“Oh my god, move,” you demand, impatient.

He huffs a laugh, dropping his heavy lidded gaze to yours. “Bossy.”

“Did you really expect anything else—oh!”

The grin he aims your way after grinding into you is downright sinful. You mentally tell yourself to kick him for that later.

He grabs your hips and the pillows and settles you closer to his lap, changing the angle, then pulls out and glides back in, creating a painstakingly slow rhythm.

You have to close your eyes. You can’t look at him anymore. You knew he was probably a god in bed, but to now have firsthand experience? There was no way you’d be able to fuck anyone else without comparing them.

His grip on your hips tightens, the only warning you get before his thrusts turn sharp.

“Fuck,” you cry out, your hands reaching up to grip the pillow beneath your head.

The sound of your skin meeting his is harsh in the otherwise quiet room. Well, okay, you’re not exactly being quiet, but you can’t be blamed for that.

Bucky, however, is nearly silent. The only thing you hear from him is heavy breathing. You wonder if he’s holding back, the thought crossing your mind for a split second, and then you’re clenching around his cock, trying to see if you can gain a reaction. And boy, do you get one.

He grunts and sucks in a breath, lips parting as his eyes squeeze shut. His hips pick up their pace and hair falls into his face. You find yourself wishing he was closer so you could brush it out of the way.

Stop it, you scold yourself.

He pauses to grind into you again, your walls fluttering around his throbbing cock, and you both sigh. Bucky leans forward, hooking your legs into the crooks of his elbows, and resumes his brutal pace.

“O-Oh,” you whimper.

The new angle is heavenly, his cock dragging along a spot inside you that you thought nobody else could find. Unable to help yourself, you clutch at his arms, nails digging in.

“Shit,” he groans, thrusts faltering.

He lets go of one of your legs to slip his hand between you, rubbing at your clit and sending you that much closer to your second orgasm. He can tell you’re close, but you’re gonna need something to push you over the edge. He leans down even closer, breath fanning out against your cheek.

“C’mon,” he pants. “Let go.”

You shiver when his tongue flicks your earlobe and sucks it into his mouth, keening as the pressure builds. He thrusts harder, faster, and when you grasp his hair and pull, he growls and latches on to your shoulder, biting down. You gasp from the added pain and then you’re coming, shuddering and whining through your release. Bucky isn’t far behind, raising up and fucking into you savagely before pausing abruptly, groaning as he finally comes. He lazily thrusts a few more times to draw it out, then stops, stilling with his cock inside you.

Your hair is sticking to your forehead, as well as your shirt to your clammy back, breathing in lungfuls of air. Bucky is softly caressing your thighs, letting out shaky breaths as your pussy continues to flutter around him.

It takes several moments for you to gather your wits, for the rest of the world to come filtering back in. You are truly and completely fucked now, in every sense of the word.

“Well…” You trail off, voice scratchy.

“That was…”

“Mhm,” you mumble.

Bucky sighs heavily. “Let’s hope it worked this time.”

You hum. “Thank you for your service,” you reply with a lazy salute.

You yelp when he pinches your hip, kicking at him in retaliation. The jostling reminds you, with a gasping groan, that he’s still buried balls deep inside you.

“Um.” You cough lightly. “You wanna, you know… pull out?”

He looks down where you’re connected like it hadn’t even dawned on him. “Oh, uh. Well, I thought maybe it could, like. Help.”

His gaze stays locked, fingers flexing on your hips, and you feel like squirming again.

“I think it’s good,” you say quietly.

Bucky finally glances back up at your shy tone, cheeks pinking. He clears his throat.

“Right.”

Carefully, he eases his softening cock out of you, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from making a noise.

You can’t hold back yours, though, gasping once he’s gone. You feel unbearably empty, but refrain from voicing that incessant thought.

Bucky’s intense eyes stare at your pussy until you reach for the throw blanket next to you. He watches you throw it over your lap, drawing your legs up to your chest, and takes that as his cue, jolting into action.

“Okay, so.” He starts, then stops, climbs off your bed and pulls his sweatpants back up. “This was—I mean, if it doesn’t take this time, we can… try again.”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “Sounds good.”

He nods, bending to pick up his discarded t-shirt. “Great. I’ll just, um, see myself out, I guess.”

You nod, sending a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes in his direction. He seems to contemplate something for a second, then leans down to kiss your forehead before saying a quick goodbye and leaving.

As soon as you hear your apartment door shut, you let your tears fall.

***

It’s not really like you mean to avoid him after that.

Honest.

You simply become busy, that’s all. You definitely don’t go out of your way by taking the stairs in your apartment building to avoid possibly bumping into him in the elevator. No, you take the stairs because you could use the cardio. It’s important you stay healthy right now. And when he texts you to ask if you want to have dinner, you can’t help that you’ve got boatloads of work to catch up on—all five times he asks.

Okay, so, that’s a lie. You’re totally avoiding him. But what on earth are you supposed to say to him now? You don’t think you’d even be able to look him in the eye anymore, not after the fuck of your goddamn life.

That night confirmed what you already knew for the last two years: Bucky absolutely ruined you for anyone else.

More than anything, though, you were angry with yourself. He’d only offered because you weren’t getting your desired results the other way. You should have been able to separate your feelings and emotions from all of it. After all, none of this was about whatever you feel towards Bucky. This was about trying to conceive a baby.

You try telling yourself to get over it. He’s your best friend, you can’t just cut him off because you’re a spineless pansy.

I just need some time, you reason. You can give yourself a few days to wallow over what could have been and then you can reach out to him and pretend like everything is fine. Because it is.

***

Flash forward two weeks to you attempting to sneak into your apartment, only to jump out of your skin when you turn around and find Bucky sitting on your couch, an unreadable expression on his face.

“Oh, good, you’re still alive,” he drawls.

His tone suggests annoyance. You suppose you deserve that.

“Hey,” you say after a pause.

He stares at you for a moment longer before speaking again. “I thought we agreed we wouldn’t let it get weird.”

You agreed, you almost say, thankfully biting it back. You drop your purse on the entryway table, sliding your shoes off and making your way over to sit next to him.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. You tug your sweater sleeves down and tuck your feet beneath you. “I haven’t ever… I’ve never been intimate with a friend before. It was just… a lot.”

It’s a half truth, at least. You haven’t had sex with a friend before. Or, well, not one you had feelings for.

“You could’ve just told me,” he replies, reaching for your hand.

You nod. “I know, and I should have, I just. Things are all out of whack lately with the whole… trying to get pregnant thing.”

“If I overstepped in any way—” Bucky starts, but you’re quick to interrupt.

“You didn’t,” you promise. “You’ve been nothing but fantastic throughout this whole ordeal. Honestly, Bucky, you’ve done way more than anyone else would have in this situation. I just had a lot going on in my head and let it get the best of me. I’m fine, I swear.”

He searches your eyes and must find what he’s looking for.

“Don’t shut me out again,” he pleads.

Heart cracking in your chest, you can only nod, shuffling closer to pull him into a hug. He buries his face in your neck and holds on tight.

***

Another week passes.

Bucky is with you as you wait for the results of the latest pregnancy test. He’s reassured you that you’ll keep trying until it happens if it didn’t work this time.

When the timer on your phone goes off, you release the breath you’ve been holding. You take tentative steps over to the sink and gingerly pick up the test.

Positive.

Your stomach swoops. It’s positive. You check again, reading the digitized screen, but it stays the same. Positive. Holy shit.

“Okay, wait, no, I need to do more. I can’t get my hopes up again,” you mutter, rushing to open the cabinet under your sink to dig out several more varieties of tests.

You don’t even wait for Bucky to leave before you’re peeing on the other sticks. He’s seen it all at this point anyway, and he doesn’t seem to care, sitting on the edge of your tub with an anxious expression. The downside is that you have to wait another few minutes for these tests to finish and you can’t sit still, pacing back and forth in the small space of your bathroom.

The timer goes off again. You feel like you’re going to throw up when you finally work up the courage to look down.

Every single one of them… Positive.

A shocked, happy laugh escapes you. You cover your mouth, turning to Bucky with wide eyes.

He rises to his full height, coming closer and peering down at the tests, then back to your teary eyed expression.

“Did we…?”

Words failing you, you nod, giggling in astonishment. Bucky’s face breaks into the biggest, handsomest, most gut-wrenching smile. His happiness is palpable and you’re suddenly so overcome with emotion. Your hands are gripping his face and angling it to align your lips to his before you register what you’re doing. He freezes and you hurriedly pull away, taking a few steps back.

“I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know why—”

“Shut up,” he cuts you off, closing the gap between you in a single stride.

He kisses you like his life depends on it, pressing your bodies as close as possible, his hands cupping your cheeks. You clutch his shirt desperately, never wanting to let go. He steals the breath straight from your lungs when he swipes at the seam of your lips with his tongue, moaning happily when you allow him access. A feeble whine from you after he flicks his tongue against yours makes him break the kiss.

“I have a confession,” he breathes into the miniscule space between your mouths.

“What?” you question distractedly.

“I’m in love with you.”

Your gaze shoots up to his, astounded. He brushes stray hairs off your forehead, runs his thumbs softly under your eyes.

“I’ve been selfish this whole time,” he reveals. “I couldn’t let you choose some random stranger to be your sperm donor, to father your child, couldn’t bear the thought of you carrying their baby, because I’ve been in love with you since the moment I met you. I wanted to be the one. And I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, but I’m not sorry I did it.”

You’re hearing the words, yet your brain can’t seem to make sense of them. Surely you’re hearing him wrong. You can’t possibly have this too, right? You can't have Bucky and have his baby…

But he’s here, very real and solid beneath your hands, looking at you like you’re his entire world.

“Bucky…” You trail off, struggling to find the right words, at a complete loss. “I-I’ve loved you for so long now, I didn’t think you…” You shake your head, a giggle escaping you as you stare at him in wonder. “I couldn’t let myself hope.”

He grins, relieved, planting a few chaste kisses to your mouth. “I know this entire circumstance is totally backwards, but I want you, and I want this baby. I meant it when I said I’m not going anywhere.”

Fresh tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “Are you sure?” you still ask.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

You have to kiss him then, uncaring of the tears that trickle down your face. The only thing you are focused on is the way his hands trail down your back, pausing to squeeze your ass, then grip underneath to lift you. Your legs wrap around his waist, arms locked around his neck, as he heads for your bed. He makes a point of throwing your extra pillows on the floor before settling between your thighs and kissing the hell out of you.

He pulls away only to undress you and himself, but he’s always back as quickly as possible, lips pressing kisses wherever he can reach. You impatiently tug at him until his lips are attached to yours again. The way he fucks his tongue into your mouth is nothing short of indecent and it sends a rush of pure want all the way to your core.

When you bury your fingers in his hair, gripping it tight, he grunts, biting your lip. You whimper and he grins as he pulls away.

“You make the most beautiful sounds,” he praises, his hands beginning to sweep down and up, tickling under your breasts.

His thumb and forefinger pinch one of your nipples and you gasp, back arching off your mattress. He repeats it on the other side, just to hear the same noise.

“Bucky, please,” you beg.

“Please what?” he prods. His hands drift further to the creases of your thighs, spreading them open. “What do you need?”

You whine, canting your hips up. “You, I need you, please.”

“You have me, sweetheart.” He tilts his head and you make a noise of frustration. “Use your words, darlin’.”

“Fuck me, please,” you burst out, feeling your pussy clench around nothing.

Bucky smiles, slow and torturous. “Yeah? Want me to fuck you? Fuck this perfect pussy until you’re so full of my come that it drips down your beautiful thighs?”

“Oh god,” you mumble.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he teases.

His fingers slide down your slit, gathering your slick then thrusts two fingers in at once. You groan brokenly, shifting your hips to try and get more friction, but he holds them down with his metal arm. Agonizingly slow, he begins fucking you with his fingers. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s not enough. Not when you know what his cock feels like. He takes his precious time fingering you and you’re sure you’re going to lose your mind before the day is done.

“You have no idea how incredible you felt around my cock,” he tells you in a ridiculously conversational tone. “I was trying to think of any excuse I could come up with to have you at least one more time.”

He shifts until his mouth is directly above where you’re dripping for him, and he waits until you make eye contact with him.

“But now I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making you come apart on my cock any chance I get.”

You hardly have any functioning brain cells at the moment, but even if you could form a coherent sentence you wouldn’t have been able to say it aloud, because then he’s descending and all you can feel is the wet warmth of his mouth.

He definitely doesn’t hold back this time, that much is apparent in the way he devours you, lips and tongue drawing out noises you’ve never heard yourself make, pressing his face so far into your pussy that he has to come up for air. His mouth and chin shine when you chance a look down, and when you clench on his fingers his smile goes smug at the corners.

He plants kisses along your hips, the insides of your thighs, around where his fingers are buried within you. He curls them, in search of the spot he found last time. He knows he found it when you try to close your thighs around his head and cry out. Now that he's found it, he angles to brush it on every thrust of his fingers and attaches his mouth back on your clit.

You chant his name, nearly sobbing as you approach your climax, until finally you fly over the edge. Your vision blurs and you’re not sure if you’re making any noise now, unable to hear past the blood rushing in your ears. Bucky helps you ride it out until you’re shuddering from sensitivity.

He kisses your thighs again, trailing them up your stomach and between the valley of your breasts.

“So good, did so well,” he mutters.

Weakly, you lift your hands to trace them down his toned stomach and around his back, down further so you can cop a feel of your own, smiling at his grunt of surprise.

“That was great and all,” you say, arching your back so your chest presses against his, “but I do believe I asked you to fuck me.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Who said I was done with you?” It’s apparently a rhetorical question, as he continues before you get a chance to reply. “I’m gonna fuck you until you come, and then I’m gonna keep fucking you until you come again, and only then will I come so deep inside you there’ll be zero doubt I’ve put a baby there.”

Your legs are lifted and thrown over his shoulders in a blink, his cock pushing into your pussy, dragging out a high-pitched moan from you. There’s barely a pause and then he’s fucking you, just like you asked. The pace is brutal right from the start, a steady rhythm that has you mewling and writhing in pleasure. Bucky is watching his cock as he thrusts in and out of you, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pants. He hikes your hips up a little higher and you jolt through your startled moan. This angle is divine and the telltale signs of your second orgasm start tingling at the base of your spine.

“Can feel you,” Bucky says through panting breaths, “so close. C’mon, let me feel you.”

He pulls you down on his cock, grinding into you, his thumb reaching to rub tight circles over your clit. You sob through your release, shuddering against Bucky as you clench around him. He groans, still barely moving as you come down from your high.

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Come here.”

He helps you sit up, still seated on his cock, making you both hiss from your movement. Your arms automatically wrap around his shoulders and his around your waist. He kisses you so sweetly, a stark contradiction to the way he just fucked you. When you pull away, resting your foreheads together, he grins.

“Hi.”

You crack a smile. “Hi.”

“Ready for more?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“You think you got it in you?” you tease as you play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The light smack to your ass startles you and you let out a soft sound of surprise, hands tugging his hair harshly. Bucky’s eyes light up.

“Interesting,” he muses.

Another slap, a little harder than the first, and you’re whimpering, your walls clenching around his still hard cock.

“I’ll play with that later,” he promises, voice breathy.

You bury your face in his neck and start shifting your hips. He takes the hint, gathering you as close as he can and thrusts up into you. He can’t pull out as far this way, but the snap of his hips more than makes up for it. You mouth at his collarbone messily, kissing and licking your way up to his jaw, biting marks wherever you see fit. You make it up to his mouth and he kisses you, wet and filthy. You suck on his tongue and a ragged moan claws its way out of his throat. The need for air eventually has you pulling away.

“It’s a good thing you love me back,” you whisper in his ear. “Nobody else could ever compare to you.”

He growls, fisting your hair and yanking your head back to look him in the eye.

“Nobody will ever compare,” he corrects.

You moan. “Yes,” you agree, whining, “No one else could’ve given me a baby.”

Bucky thrusts harder and faster at your words. You’re picking up on a few hints and you can’t say it’s not doing it for you either.

“Filled me up so good, fucked me so well. Gonna be round with your baby soon.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he keens, hurrying to lay you flat on your back so he can fuck into you easier.

The sound of skin meeting skin fills the room, your cries of pleasure mixing in with Bucky’s grunts and curses. His grip on you tightens almost painfully as he chases both your and his orgasm. You’re sure to have bruises tomorrow and you already know you'll be poking at them to remember this moment.

“C’mon, baby, wanna feel you too,” you beg.

His thumb finds your swollen clit once more. It’s beyond sensitive now, feels like a shockwave coursing through you, and without any warning, you come. You spasm around Bucky and he swears under his breath, thrusts going sloppy. With a final groan, he comes inside you, his hips moving seemingly on their own as he draws out both your pleasures. Slowly, he comes to a stop, but he leaves his cock buried in you like he did last time.

You know you’re gonna feel too empty when he does pull out, so you don’t mind sitting like this for a while. Bucky softly runs his hands across every inch of your skin he can touch and you bask in the affection. You card your fingers through his sweaty hair, smiling when he hums happily. It takes only a minute for you to notice the way his hands migrate to your stomach, and when you do you kiss his shoulder.

“Maybe we should go again later,” you suggest faintly.

Bucky grins. “We can do it a hundred more times if you want.”

“Guess I better enjoy it while I can.”

His smile goes soft at the edges.

It’s not lost on you how incredibly crazy all of this is. There will undoubtedly be a conversation, a much needed one that isn’t going to be simple or easy, but it’s necessary.

For now, though, you bask in Bucky’s warmth and loving embrace.

***

Keys jingle as they unlock the door and you perk up where you’re sprawled on the couch. Bucky enters, arms laden with bags from the convenience store.

“They didn’t have the banana ice cream you asked for,” he announces, continuing before your pout fully forms, “but they did have the double chocolate brownie kind you love so much, so I got that, as well as the sour gummy worms, beef jerky, and fried pickles from the deli on your list of demands.”

“What about—”

“And your strawberry Fanta,” he adds with a fond, slightly exasperated smile.

You’re unable to stop your expression from going soft and dreamy.

Ever since you and Bucky figured out where to go with your relationship, he’s been even more attentive and accommodating (and that’s saying something).

You expressed your worry about the possibility of something going wrong, that one or both of you would get bored and leave, or there’d be a big fight that neither of you could forgive. He was quick to reassure you of his commitment, told you there was no way he would ever get bored of you, and that as long as you both promise to talk things out in a calm, mature way, then you’d be alright.

It all sounded so easy when it was put like that. The more you thought about it, though, the more you realized he was right. It wasn’t fair to either of you to already give up before you’d even started. So you’d taken a deep breath and leaped.

Now, you’re five and a half months in, your belly steadily growing and making everyday life increasingly uncomfortable. The changes to your body were physically and emotionally draining, to say the least. Moreso the emotional side. You’d hoped you wouldn’t be one of those pregnant women with strange cravings, and for the most part they were pretty tame, but you do like to dip your sour gummy worms in banana ice cream. Bucky didn’t attempt to hide his disgust over that.

“What did I do to deserve you?” you ask on a pleased sigh.

He places your small cornucopia of goods on the coffee table. You sit up, huffing for breath during the struggle. You go to reach for the ice cream first, but Bucky catches your hand, lacing his fingers with yours and kissing your knuckles as he kneels in front of you.

“You were yourself. Smart, kind, selfless, unbelievably sexy.” You snort at that, but he’s undeterred. “And you’re giving me the best gift I could ever dream of. A family.”

Instantly, you’re crying. He’s grown accustomed to the mood swings by now, taking it in stride as he wipes away the tears with gentle hands.

“Stop being so disgusting,” you blubber through your hiccuping cries. “You’re such an asshole.”

Bucky laughs. “I love you too, sweetheart.”

You sniffle, kissing him. “Love you,” you grumble.

He leans down and plants the softest of kisses to your belly. “And I love you, little lady.”

The idea of you having a child one day always seemed foreign and unlikely, but life has a way of turning out exactly how it’s supposed to… And you wouldn’t change a thing.

[blooming-violets]

private #5 bent over a table while somethings baking in the oven. is it too much to ask for tasm peter parker bending reader over?

[location based smut prompts]

The To-Do List

[tasm peter x fem!reader]

(reader is described as having a ponytail that is long enough for Peter to wrap around his hand and use as leverage)

His birthday cake was nestled happily inside the heated oven. 

She got up early to make it for his special day. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail to keep out of her face while she had prepped and she was still in her pajamas from this morning. She had planned to have the cake in the oven, get her shower done, and place out his presents on the table all before he woke up. 

Peter, of course, had other ideas. 

He leaned against the kitchen doorway with a lopsided grin as he sleepily took in the sight of her. She paused when she saw him there, silent as ever, and crossed her arms. 

“You are not supposed to be awake for another hour,” she chastised. 

Thirty-five looked good on him. Every year he seemed to get more and more handsome. 

His eye wrinkles grew as his smile widened. A strand of dark hair fell down his forehead and he absentmindedly brushed it away. He was shirtless with nothing but a pair of dark boxers to keep him decent. 

She admired how defined his chest was. A hinting of his six pack was peeking out from just under the surface of his lean body. 

“I smelled cake.” His voice was thick and scratchy with lingering sleep. Peter’s morning voice was one the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard. 

She smiled as she rolled her eyes. It had hardly been in the oven for more than five minutes and it was already enough to get him out of bed. 

“The kitchen is a mess. I was going to clean it all up and have your presents out and I was going to be all dressed up and looking extra cute. You ruined it all with your stupid nose.” 

Peter laughed as he strode across the room to slip his arms around her waist. She looked up to admire him and wiped at a staining of toothpaste still clinging to the side of his lips. She caught it with her thumb and shoved it back into his mouth while he licked it off. 

“You already look extra cute,” he mumbled around her thumb. 

“I’m literally wearing your old, hole filled shirt and bright pink fluffy pants. This is not how I wanted you to see me this morning. It’s your birthday. I wanted it to be special.” She tugged her thumb back with a huff. 

Peter stepped back to appreciate her outfit in the morning light. She had already been in bed by the time he crawled through their window last night.

“I like it,” he stated. “It’s hipster.” 

She let out a laugh in response, “I don’t think you know what hipster means, babe.” 

Peter shrugged, “It means you dress like a bum, right?” 

“Oh my god, why don’t you go back to bed and try this again in an hour when everything is all set up, okay?” 

“No,” he whined. He latched himself onto her back, snaking his arms tightly around her stomach to press her against him. “I’m up. It’s my birthday. Say happy birthday to me and tell me you love me.” 

She grinned, snuggling back against his bare chest, “Happy birthday and I love you.” 

“That sounded insincere but I will take it.” His hand slipped up under her loose shirt to cup a warm hand over her breast, lazily palming it while he nibbled at the edge of her ear. He always liked the feeling of her nipple coming to life and growing harder against his hand. He held onto her chest like one might cling to the safety of a favorite stuffed animal. 

She groaned, “Your presents were supposed to be all set out nicely on the table. Instead you’re just greeted with a kitchen disaster of my cake baking. Are you sure you don’t want to sleep for another hour? I know you’re tired from last night. You were out late.” 

Peter began to slowly waddle them back and forth towards the kitchen table, refusing to release his grip from around her waist or remove his hand from her breast, “I know of a present I can unwrap right here…” 

She gasped under her breath, “Peter. This is no time. I’ve got a list of things to do.”

She felt him laugh quietly against her ear.

“Yeah and I’ve got a list of things to do, too. A whole list. Let’s see what the first thing to do is…” he pretended like he was reading off an imaginary piece of paper as he checked it over. “Ah, yes!” 

He slipped his hands out from her shirt and placed a gentle hand between her shoulder blades to bend her over the kitchen table. With a quick swoop, he tugged down both her pants and underwear, leaving them hanging around her ankles. She let out a shocked cry.

“Unwrap presents…check!” He chuckled to himself, giving her bare ass a soft slap. “And what a beautiful present it is. Couldn’t have asked for anything better. Wow, you really know me, baby, I’m super impressed.” 

“Peter,” she whined, pushing herself back up. “Not fair. I haven’t showered. I’ve got to get ready. I’ve-”

He cut her off with a kiss. His lips crashed against her and his tongue forced its way into her mouth to stop her from trying to protest further. She could taste the mint from his toothpaste still clinging to his tongue and she moaned as he pressed his hips into hers. He was growing harder by the second. 

“Shut up,” he mumbled against her lips with a smile. “My birthday. My rules.” 

“Okay,” she said with a dreamy sigh. It wasn’t hard to convince her. Her complaints were more for show than anything else. If Peter wanted her, he had her. “I love you, Pete.” 

“If you love me so much then why don’t you take off that shirt so I can see my second present.”

She did as she was told, stripping it from her body, until she was standing naked before him. The bulge in his boxers twitched which made her smile. She loved the fact that she could make him so hard from sight alone. 

Peter’s hand reached out to brush a calloused thumb across her hardened nipple, “Beautiful.”

He lifted her up onto the table so she was sitting closer to him and he moved between her legs. They wrapped around him so she could feel the heat of him soaking through his boxers and against her pussy. His eyes traveled down to her chest, taking in the sight, and sighing happily. His head dipped down so he could capture the waiting bud between his wet lips. 

She let out a satisfied moan and ran her fingers through the back of his hair while suckled on her. His tongue bathed her breast, teeth nipping at her nipple, and soothing it over with quick kisses and light sucking motions. His mouth was magic. He didn’t even need to touch her pussy for her to already be soaking through his boxers as she ground against him. 

“Feel that?” He groaned, bucking his hips. “Feel how hard I am?” 

She whimpered.

“All for you,” he whispered, finding her lips once more to kiss her deeply. 

All for her. 

It was his birthday. She should probably be getting down on his knees for him and sucking him off or tending to him in some way but she was nothing but putty in his hands. Lost in the feeling of seduction he was casting over her. 

Peter dragged her down off the table, smirking at the wet spot she had left behind, and spun her around. He folded her back in half over the table, scraping his nails down the length of her spine and over the swell of her ass. 

“The next thing on my to-do list,” he breathed, his voice low and deep. “Is you.”

She heard him discarding his boxers and suddenly felt the wet, hot tip of cock slide up her open folds. She was more than ready for him. He never had to do much to have her begging for more. Her hips grinded against the air as if trying to draw him in closer but he only continued to tease her with the tip.

“Someone’s eager,” he commended, giving her ass another slap. 

“Peter, please,” she gasped. 

He kept up his tantalizing torture. Every time his cock bumped over her aching clit, her hips would jerk backwards, and she’d let out a quiet cry.

“Please what?” He asked with an air of innocence. 

She groaned at his teasing, “Please fuck me! I want you to fuck me.”

“Aww,” he cooed. “Does my poor baby need my cock?” 

She whined and nodded. 

“You got up so early, didn’t you?” His nails dragged along her hips, making her squirm, as she humped frantically in an attempt to get at his cock. “You got up early to make my birthday so special. You baked me a cake. It smells amazing, doesn’t it? Smell it, baby.”

Her eyes widened in frustration, “Peter! Fuck me! Please, stop it.”

He ignored her pleas, getting off of them, as his cock twitched between her thighs, “Did you slip that cake into the oven just for me?”

She was nearly sobbing from her own arousal, ready to attack him if he didn’t shut up and fuck her soon. She arched her back to better entice him, wagging her ass and rubbing it against his hips. She pushed herself up with her arms so he could get a peeking view of her tits swaying in wait for him. 

That seemed to do the trick because he had gone silent as he stared.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Happy birthday to me.” 

“I want it hard, Peter. Use me,” she whispered in an effort to finally push him over the edge. “I’m yours.”

He lined up his cock to her entrance and eased himself inside. She nearly doubled over against the table at the delicious feeling that flooded through her body. 

“Yes, yes, thank you, baby, thank you,” she cried. 

“You really love this cock, don’t you?” He breathed. “Do you love this cock more than me?” 

“No, baby, never. I could never-”

He pulled out and rammed the full, thick length back into her with a loud slap. 

She shrieked, falling forward into a flurry of mumbled moans, “I do, I do, I do. I love it more than you. I love it more than anything.” Tears pricked in her eyes from the overwhelming sensations taking over. 

Peter chuckled to himself, “That’s my girl.”

Her ass slapped against his body with each plunging drive of his cock as he took her. Fast and hard, just like she asked. Every thrust felt like it was reverberating through her, waking up all her senses, making her feel more alive than ever before. It was sheer bliss. Anticipation already began to build. He knew exactly how hard to take her. Peter could be rough but he never went past her limits. He knew her inside and out. He knew just where to push her before retreating back to safety. The sounds of her tumbling moans and each inhale of breath was all he needed to direct his path. 

He was filling her body, stretching her, taking her, building her up to that beautiful place of divinity. Her nails clawed at the table, scratching at the wood, trying to find some kind of purchase to steady herself with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Peter!” She cried. 

“That’s it, baby,” he panted. “I got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.” 

He wrapped her ponytail around his hand and jerked her head upwards. She arched her back to accommodate the move as he held her against him. She could feel his ragged breaths against her cheek and listened to his erotic panting in her ear. The sound was enough to almost send her flying straight into an orgasm. 

The hand not keeping a tight hold of her ponytail wrapped around her to grab at her chest. He molded her breast between strong hands. 

She loved taking his cock. Loved it so deep. Thrusting. Hard. Stretching her. Forcing her to take him. Peter was thick. Thickest man she had ever been with. He pushed her walls to their max. His beautiful body and the sounds he made when he fucked her where like heaven to her ears. 

That familiar, sensual pressure began to grow inside of her with shallow waves lapping at the edges of her mind. Soon they would turn into giant swells. Taking her over until it was all she could feel. 

His hand slipped from her ponytail to wrap around her neck. He gave a gentle squeeze. Nothing too forceful but enough to send her flying even faster towards that tsunami of pleasure. She was so close. So ready. 

“Harder, Peter,” she sobbed. “Hard. Please. I’m-I’m…close…need it hard. Take me.” 

Peter was never to deny a request like that. He shoved her back over the table and tumbled on top of her, humping frantically with long, heavy strokes into her cunt. He could feel her walls tightening. He could feel her body changing. 

“Come on, baby,” he urged her. “Cum on my cock. Cum for me. Let me feel you.”

The universe exploded into blinding light. 

She didn’t care how loud she was. Didn’t care if the neighbors would hear. In fact, she wanted them to. She wanted them to know exactly how well Peter Parker could fuck his woman. 

Her toes curled and her legs kicked up as the sensory overload rocketed through her with golden waves of pure dopamine. 

Peter took her straight to the edge and held her there, spasming and sobbing, as he continued to fuck her through the orgasm. Even as the waves slowly receded, they still lingered in tiny aftershocks, due to his relentless pounding. He had gotten her where she needed to be and now it was his turn. 

He reangled himself into her, getting a better grip as he held onto her hips, and switched up his rhythm to slow. Peter liked to feel everything. He wanted to drag it out and feel her body wrapped around him. From fast and hard to slow and steady. His change of pace caused a low, drawn out moan to escape from her throat. 

“You like that, baby?” He panted. “You like feeling every inch of me?”

All she could do was whimper in response as her sex spasmed again around him. This was a man who knew how to lengthen an orgasm. She was completely helpless to him. Her body was his play thing. 

“Let me hear how much you love me, baby,” he whispered down in her ear as his cock buried straight to the hilt inside of her. “Let me hear you.”

She struggled to make any noise besides sobbing whimpers and broken cries. 

He moaned in response, “That’s it. Those are those sounds that I love so much. My poor baby, all ravaged on my cock. Can’t even speak.” 

He gave a small shudder and she knew he was close. She did her best to work her hips to meet his thrusts, squeezing him with her walls, sucking him in, clenching down. 

“That’s good, baby, that’s good.” He moaned, his voice slowly losing itself as he got closer to the edge. “Ooh, fuck, keep that up. ‘M gon’na cum inside ya’kay?” 

She loved it when he filled her. She loved feeling him drip down her leg as she carried him around with her. She would bathe in his semen if he wished it. It was his birthday, after all. The birthday boy could come wherever he pleased. 

His long, slow strokes worked her up as another, tiny orgasm rippled through her. That seemed to be all he needed to follow. 

Peter let out a low groan, his thrusts become more unrestrained with each passing second, and she took him. All of him. 

With the sweetest of cries, he emptied himself inside of her. She could feel him swell and pulse until she was impossibly full. That tiny orgasm grew into something much bigger, taking over her body along with him, as she felt him collapse on top of her, both shaking, as he bit at her shoulders with soft, love bites until he finally calmed down. 

He stayed like that, laid against her back and squishing her into the table, until he cock began to soften and he sadly slid back out. She tumbled back into his arms as they both fell to the spooning position against the kitchen floor. Naked, wet, and breathing heavily. 

Peter’s hand found the comfort of her breast once more. 

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Best present I could ask for. Thank you, baby. You’re too good to me.” 

She grunted in response, still finding words to fail her. Instead, she rolled over in his arms, hooking her leg through his, and leaving a trail of kisses across his face to show much she adored him.  

His eyes closed as he smiled happily at the feeling. 

Eventually she would have to get up. Eventually she would have to shower and get dressed and clean the kitchen and set up his presents and frost the cake…but for now…

For now she was happy to just lay here on the floor in his arms.

[steddiealltheway]

During season 3, there’s a deleted scene (because I said so) of Max and El’s first spin-the-bottle spy attempt.

The bottle slows to a stop right on Steve's name, and the two girls giggle as El puts the blindfold on.

She finds him in his Scoops Ahoy outfits, and El giggles harder as she tells Max, "He's kissing some girl."

Max gasps, "Who is it?"

El starts walking closer, trying to see who it is, but their hair is covering their face. "Some girl with curly hair."

"Nancy?" Max whispers conspiratorily.

El shakes her head. "Her hair is short. This girl's hair is longer." She starts to turn red, feeling like she's been intruding for too long. She starts to reach up for her blindfold when the person pulls back and says, “Ahoy, Captain.”

Just as Steve groans in irritation, El yanks the blindfold off and freezes. Max shakes her and asks, “What? What happened?”

El pauses, thinking back to the time Mike had to explain why he was so angry when Troy called Will a fairy. She didn’t understand why people were upset about a boy loving another boy, but she understood that it wasn’t something people talked about. Just like she wasn’t allowed to use her powers, Will wasn’t allowed to openly like boys.

So, she just lets out a deep breath and reasons with herself that it isn’t a lie when she says, “They started using tongue.”

While Max shrieks with laughter, El smiles at her, trying not to think of the boy Steve was with.

-:-:-:-:-:-

(An added extra part that is WAY longer than intended. Oops. Coming back after editing to add JSKEHDISBEHSH)

The next year, the information seems to come in handy when Dustin urges El to see if his friend Eddie is still somehow alive in the upside down.

The others are all there, trying to describe what he looks like when Nancy and Jonathan volunteer to run to the school and grab his missing poster for a photo. But the descriptions paint a clear picture in El’s head of someone she’s seen before. Briefly. But she remembers.

Curly hair. Wears lots of rings. Big brown doe eyes and full lips - Steve’s very helpful description.

And El can’t help but turn to Steve and whisper, “Ahoy, Captain?

Steve’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush red. His mouth opens and closes asking, “How-? Why-? When-?”

“Is that him?” El asks firmly.

Steve only nods. Brushing off everyone who asks What does she mean? By telling them to be quiet while El puts on her blindfold.

She finds herself somewhere dark and cold, feeling the familiarity of the place as she seeks out Eddie. She walks around, calling out his name, getting more and more desperate as time goes by.

But she suddenly feels something watching her and quickly turns around, finding Eddie as pale as a ghost staring at her from the ground. She bends down and puts a hand on his face. “We’re coming for you, okay? We’re coming.”

Eddie tilts his head and asks, “Who?”

“Steve,” El automatically says, hoping it’s the right person to name.

The name seems to give Eddie a small bit of hope.

“And Dustin,” El adds. “Dustin’s coming for you.”

Eddie gives her a weak smile and mumbles, “I knew he’d miss me.”

El smiles at the joke. She hears the other people in the room begin to ask if he’s alive, to remind him that someone named Wayne is coming.

El squeezes his cold cheek, hoping some of her warmth will bleed through the connection. “Just hang on a little longer, okay? They say Wayne’s coming too.”

Eddie weakly smiles again and murmurs, “Wayne.” His eyes get heavy, and El shakes him. “Mmm awake,” Eddie slurs. El hears footsteps behind her and turns, not seeing anything, but as she turns back she finds Eddie disappearing.

She reaches out yelling, “No! No! Hold on!”

When he’s completely gone she yanks the blindfold off, weeping as someone pulls her into their chest. She doesn’t hear any of the questions around her as she says, “Run to him. Run!”

But finally, Mike gets through to her and asks, “Did you see Steve there?”

El wipes her eyes and asks, “What?”

“Did you see Steve there?” Mike repeats.

El glances around, noticing that Steve, Dustin, Lucas, and Robin are no longer there. “Where-“

“They went to him as soon as you said we’re coming for you. Did you see them there?” Will explains quickly.

El shakes her head. “There were footsteps but… Eddie vanished before I saw anyone.”

Mike looks far off and puts his head in his hands.

They’re too late.

A tense silence passes.

“This is a code green! I repeat this is a code green!” Dustin’s staticky voice rings through the walkie.

The three kids race toward it, Mike grabs it first asking, “He’s okay?”

“He’s alive,” Dustin says, sounding choked up. “He’s alive.”

El sighs in relief and rushes off to the door.

“Where are you going?” Will asks.

“The hospital, come on.”

The trip there is fast, but no one lets them see Eddie yet as he’s still in critical condition. But they all opt to wait as long as they need to get any updates.

El sees Steve eye her for a while before she moves to sit in the chair next to him. She waits for him to talk first.

“So… how did you… know?” Steve asks.

El flushes red and ducks her head. “Max and I were playing this game where we would spin a bottle and-”

“Okay, I know where this is going. Jesus, kid,” Steve mutters.

El glares at him. “We would spin a bottle and see who it landed on to spy on them.”

“Oh,” Steve says, pausing before he suddenly realizes, “You spied on me?”

“Yes,” El replies because friends don’t lie.

Steve flushes red and asks, “So, how much of me and Eddie did you see?”

El leans in to whisper, “You were kissing a lot.”

“Christ,” Steve says, before burying his head in his hands. He slowly looks up at her and asks, “Did you… tell anyone?”

“No.”

Steve sighs and leans back in his chair, staring off.

El can’t help but press on. “Did you love him?”

Steve stops breathing for a second as he considers the question. He turns to her slowly and says, “I did.”

“Did?”

Steve runs a hand over his face. “It’s complicated.”

El pauses and says, “Well, it looked like he really loved you too.” When Steve gives her a look, she adds, “And he looked happy when I said you were coming for him.”

A conflicted look crosses over Steve’s face. “Did he really?”

El nods. “Friends don’t lie.”

Steve smiles and huffs a small laugh. “That’s right.” He hesitates before slinging an arm around El’s shoulder and pulling her into his side as much as he can with the arm of chair being between them. He plants a kiss to her head and whispers, “I’ll give you a lecture later about the spying thing. But for now… thank you.”

El leans into the hug, staying until an older man walks into the room.

“Wayne!” Dustin yells and runs to wrap his arms around him.

El watches as Steve slowly stands up and offers his hand to Wayne when Dustin pulls away. Wayne looks at Steve for a moment before pulling him into a hug.

El wants to ask and know the whole story behind Steve and Eddie and this Wayne person. But she thinks it’s time to look away as Steve breaks down in Wayne’s arms and the older man’s bottom lip quivers. “I know, son. I know.”

-:-:-:-:-:-

They wait for a long time before there’s finally news.

They all collectively hold their breath as the doctor walks into the room. He look over at them all before announcing, “He’s stable.”

A wave of relief floods through the room, but El thinks there’s an added tension when they’re informed that he isn’t allowed visitors yet.

But Wayne follows the doctor out the door and has a very stern word with him before he’s reluctantly allowed to disappear down the hall.

A few minutes later, he comes back to the room and asks, “El?”

El sits up straighter. “Yes?”

“He’s asking for you.”

El glances at all her friends before she stands up and follows (who Dustin had told her is) Eddie’s uncle. As she gets to the room, she looks at all the tubes connected to Eddie’s body, and wonders how he even asked for her.

But as she gets closer to the bed, she sees Eddie’s eyes crack slightly open.

“Lean down so he can whisper to you,” Wayne advises.

El leans closer and hears Eddie says, “I know… how… to get… to Max.”

El leans back and grabs Eddie’s hand. “Show me.”

With that, she’s taken into a vision of horrors, of Eddie dying and coming back. His heart restarted by Vecna for some unknown reason. A vision of all the bodies tied to the tree but Max’s spot is empty. But there’s something there. Something that’s trapped in the empty vines. But just as she sees it, a clock strikes in the distance, and it all begins to disappear.

She gasps as she steps away from Eddie, catching her breath as Wayne asks what the hell is happening.

But she can only run out of the room, heading toward Max’s room knowing where she needs to go to find her and bring her back.

[anikaluv]

I'LL ACCEPT YOU —

❤︎︎ pairing: Miles (e!42) × fem!reader

❤︎︎ genre: fluff

❤︎︎ cw:  suggestive, nudes, Mrs. Morales a lil mean to reader at first (motherly instinct at its finest)

❤︎︎ summary: You were at the dinner table, meeting Miles' mom for the first time, when he excused himself to use the bathroom. As you sat there you noticed a polaroid picture of your breasts on the phone case that Miles had left behind. Now, you had to figure out how to explain this unexpected and embarrassing situation to his mother.

❤︎︎ w/c: 2.1k

❤︎︎ a/n: Everyone describes about how you and Rio would be best friends, but ion know, I feel like she’ll be a little skeptical about you like she was with Gwen in the movie. It's her little boy we’re talking about here. <3

Today was the day you finally met Miles' mother, the most important person in his life.

You wished you could have met her sooner, but her demanding schedule at the hospital made it impossible until now, after seven months of dating Miles. You had plenty of time to think about what to say and do, but it didn't stop the nerves from fluttering in your stomach.

"Baby, you'll be fine," Miles reassured you, rubbing your back affectionately. He knew how much meeting his mother weighed on your mind, but he had no doubt that the two of you would get along. As he rang the doorbell, he placed his hand on your waist. "She'll love you, promise."

Though you nodded in response to his kind words, your mind still raced with anxiety. You understood the importance of this dinner and were determined not to mess things up. Your hands started to rub against your jeans, becoming sweaty from the nervousness.

The door creaked open slowly, revealing Mrs. Morales herself, wearing a kitchen apron around her waist. She immediately looked towards Miles, speaking as if you weren't there. "Miles! What's taken you so long to come home? You know you can't-" It was then she finally realized your presence.

She paused mid-sentence, turning her attention to you, giving you a quick up-and-down glance that made you feel insecure about your outfit choice. You knew you should’ve went with the sweater instead of this stupid T-Shirt. "Oh? Hello there, who are you?" she inquired.

Feeling put on the spot, you started to mumble a small introduction, but she asked you to repeat yourself. Before you could gather your thoughts, Miles came to your rescue. "Mamá, este es mi pareja, [your name]” (Mom, this is my lover, [your name] ). Even after Miles introduced you, you could sense that Rio was still on guard, her protective instincts clearly showing proudly.

You held up the little vase of flowers you had bought as a gift for her, feeling a bit on edge as you offered it to her. She took it with a skeptical look in her eyes. " [Your name], it's very nice to meet you, Mrs. Morales," you greeted her politely, extending your hand for a handshake. However, she merely stared at your hand and didn't reciprocate the gesture. Instead, she spoke with a hint of disdain, "Charmed to meet you," leaving you feeling a little embarrassed as you withdrew your hand.

Miles chuckled uncomfortably at the situation and attempted to steer the conversation in a different direction. “Mama! I can smell something from the kitchen all the way from here! Is dinner ready?”, he said, acknowledging the delicious aroma of the food. Like a switch, Rio turned to her son with a warm smile.

“Yes, mi chulo (cutie). I’m almost finished, come eat.” She started to turn around and walk back inside, but then paused and turned her head, giving you a cold stare that seemed to pierce through your soul. “Ah, and you too, I suppose.” You felt a pang of disappointment as you looked at Miles, realizing that things were going downhill so quickly.

He met your gaze with hopeful eyes and spoke to you, "She just needs to get to know you, that's all." It was meant to reassure you, and while you appreciated his support, you couldn't shake off the uneasy feeling in your heart. You sighed deeply.

This was going to be a very long night.

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, you’ve been eating for 30 minutes and it was just, awkward.

You could sense Mrs. Morales' disapproval lingering. Miles did his best to ease the atmosphere, cracking jokes and attempting to bridge the gap between you and his mother. However, it seemed that no matter what he did, Mrs. Morales remained distant.

You tried to engage in small talk and show genuine interest in her life, but your efforts seemed futile. Mrs. Morales gave brief responses and didn't seem interested in getting to know you at all. You felt like you were walking on eggshells, afraid to say or do anything that might upset her.

Miles held your hand tightly the whole time, providing you with a comforting anchor as you navigated the tense conversation. Rubbing small circles into your hand as you clenched his tightly every time you were being shot down in discussion . Miles was your rock, he supported you and helped you through everything. You were so grateful that he was always there-

“Hey, ill be right back, I have to use the bathroom.”

What the hell?

Mrs. Morales lifted her head from her food and nodded at him, “Okay, honey.”, however, you weren’t so ecstatic at the idea of Miles leaving you alone with his mother.

"Miles, what on earth are you thinking?" you whisper-shouted to him, panic evident in your voice. He chuckled at your anxious tone. "You'll be fine, trust me, mami. Here, I'll leave my phone here so you know I won't take long." Miles placed his phone on the table, but you couldn't spare it a glance, too busy giving him a look filled with betrayal. "I'll be right back," he reassured, leaving a tender kiss on your temple before standing up and excusing himself one last time.

“Well this is just great”, you thought. Your plate was finished 15 minutes ago, so you’ve just been with talking to Miles and trying to include Rio in you two's conversations, but now that he’s not here, you’ve settled at twirling your food on your fork.

Suddenly, Mrs. Morales cleared her throat loudly, catching your attention. Your neck snapped up weakly to meet her gaze. She crossed her arms, her posture becoming more assertive. "So, what exactly are your intentions with my son?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow in a challenging manner. Your posture straightened, and you swallowed nervously, your mind going blank. Desperately searching for something to focus on other than Rio's piercing gaze, your eyes landed on Miles' phone case.

That's when you noticed it.

Sat inside Miles clear phone case was a polaroid of your breasts. You gasped seeing the picture, trying to figure out when Miles even did this. It showed them cupped by Miles hand, nipples erect and outward, with bruises left by him all over your skin. You body instantly flushed, how long has Miles phone been sitting on the table? Has Rio seen it?

"Hey, what's that?" Rio asked, her voice pulling you back to the present moment. You realized you had completely forgotten about the current situation, causing you to hastily flip the phone to the other side and let out a nervous "Nothing!" You hoped to divert her attention, but Rio remained unfazed, her gaze fixed on your phone.

"Is that a picture of you on the back of Miles' phone case? That's… cute. Let me see," she said, her curiosity getting the better of her. Your heart skipped a beat, panic setting in.

You knew you couldn't let her see that polaroid. "No! You can't! It's really… embarrassing," you mumbled, your hand instinctively scratching the back of your neck as you tried to sound as convincing as possible.

In response, you could see Rio's eyebrows raise, her interest piqued even more. You knew things were getting out of hand but before you can attempt to change the subject, Rio stops you.

“Wait, is that what I think it is?”

Your heart rate spiked; did she figure it out? You were certain she'd be furious. The mere thought of not being with Miles was unbearable. These rapid thoughts flooded your mind, each one appearing before the last could finish. Before you could answer, you heard Rio burst into laughter.

"Dios mio (Oh my god)…that's hilarious!" The cold demeanor she once had towards you melted away as quickly as it came. You joined in her laughter, relieved that she didn't seem mad about the situation. The bonding moment between the two of you felt genuine and comforting. You had expected her to be more strict, but her laughter was a welcome surprise.

As the tension subsided, Rio looked into your eyes with warmth, a smile lighting up her face. "Jeff used to do that too, take embarrassing pictures of me hang them up in his room. I can see why you're embarrassed. You probably made a really silly face, huh?" You nodded along with her until she reached the last sentence. She thought the picture on the phone case was of you making a silly face?

You laughed awkwardly, shifting in your chair as you tried to play it off. “Yeah! I was making a really foolish face in there, haha.” Your hands waved around dramatically trying the explain the picture to her, anything you made up immediately coming out of your lips. She chuckled at your dramatic performance.

She shook her head taking a sip of the tea she made, “That boy and his tricks, he reminds me more of Jeff everyday…”. Her face slowly turned toward a framed picture of the three of them. Jeff having Miles in a headlock rubbing his head while they’re both laughing, Rio smiling as she took the picture.

The memory depicted a happy and complete family, and you could see the love in Rio's eyes as she looked at the photo. She turned back to you, her tone delicate, filled with the fear of losing her son again. "My son can't lose another person," she whispered.

Rio placed her hand on the table, leaning forward to speak directly to you. "Just promise me you'll always be there for my boy, and I'll accept you," she said, her words sincere and heartfelt. You placed your hand gently on top of hers and replied, "I intend to be there for him until his last day, Ms. Morales." The seriousness in your voice conveyed your commitment.

Rio hummed, processing your response, and then smiled, sitting back into her chair content with your answer. Maybe you were the one who could make this broken family complete again, she thought.

As Miles walked back into the room after using the bathroom, he immediately sensed the warm and playful atmosphere between you and his mother. He sat back in his chair, casually draping his arm around your neck, joining the conversation. "What did I miss out on?" he asked with a playful tone. Both you and Rio exchanged knowing smirks, teasing him with a simple "nothing," which only made Miles grin even wider.

As you answered Rio's questions about you and Miles relationship, Miles let you and her bond and decided to bring his phone out on the table and scroll through social media, accidentally leaving the back in Rio's line of vision. Suddenly, you heard Rio gasp loudly and choke on her tea, causing you to exchange concerned glances with Miles. Worried about what had happened, both of you turned your attention to where she was looking; realizing what had caused her reaction, you both fell silent.

Rio now had a lot of more questions than before.

EXTRA: You screamed at Miles as soon as you left the Morales home, play hitting him as he chuckled at your rage.

You screamed at Miles to keep going as you clenched the sheets as he layed kisses and bites all over your chest. Every bite harder than the last then met with kisses and whispers of sweet nothings that had you on the edge of losing your mind.

“Miles, how could you do that! You made me so scared!”, you complained. Holding his hand as he walked you home. Pouting as he laughed at you not taking you seriously.

“Miles, how are you doing that? You’re making me feel so good!”, you babbled, mumbling little praises to Miles as he marked you, pinching your nipples as you wiggled in his grasp with your wrists held above your head.

You couldn’t hold in your laughter anymore as he tickled you. “C’mon, ma. Don’t make that face at me. I’m sorry, really.” He bent down and kissed your cheek as you crossed your arms at him.

You couldn’t hold in your moans anymore as he made you his. You were almost there but you felt Miles shift and get up and come back with a object in his hands as you continued to squirm.

“You just looked so pretty mami, I had to memorize it.” Miles flashes his signature grin at you. You couldn't stay mad at him, he was too handsome, you'll just have to get back at home some other way.

“You just look so pretty mami, I have to memorize it.” The camera flashes, capturing your beauty perfectly as Miles grins, carefully placing the polaroid on his desk, for safekeeping, at least for now.

ENDING A/N: I DIDNT MEAN TO MAKE RIO THAT MEAN LMAOOO, but I feel like its also a lil cannon yk? After losing the love of her life, Miles is the only one she has left so yeah, she’s gonna be protective as hell over him. 

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[foxy-eva]

Temptation

Summary: Your new skirt is too tempting for Spencer to resist

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Smut 

Content Warning: (18+, minors DNI) Dom/Sub dynamics (Dom!Spencer, Sub!Reader), teasing, mild degradation, praising, unprotected sex, rough sex

Word Count: 1.5k

Masterlist

Even after months of dating you still got excited when you knew Spencer would walk through your door any minute now. Today your heart was fluttering especially hard, unable to wait much longer to see your boyfriend's reaction to your outfit choice. A final look in the mirror let a wide smile spread over your face.

Spencer had never seen you in a skirt that short and you really wanted to know what he'd have to say about it. 

When you heard the door to your apartment opening, you walked over to greet your boyfriend with an innocent peck on his lips. 

"Are you hungry? I can prepare something for you," you chirped as you attempted to walk over to the kitchen. 

Spencer was quick to grab your arm, hindering you from walking away. 

"Not so fast, young lady," he chuckled as he unabashedly checked out your body. "What are you wearing?" 

"I bought a new skirt!" You announced. 

"I can see that."

You turned around to allow him to take a better look at you, snickering, "Do you like it? I think it looks cute."

"I do like it. But cute is not the word I'd use to describe it," he told you. 

The smirk forming on his face gave away how much he appreciated your outfit. His hands found their home on your waist, pulling you closer until there was no distance to be found between the two of you. You couldn’t hold back your giggles when you realized that your plan of getting his attention with your new skirt had worked. 

Leaning down to find your ear he whispered, "No need to act all innocent when you look so sinful."

"I don't know what you mean," you lied, pressing your body further against his until you could feel the growing bulge in his pants. 

"Are you sure about that?" He purred as he let both of his hands wander down until they reached the hem of your skirt. 

Skillful fingers pushed the fabric up to feel the bare curve of your backside, revealing what Spencer had already suspected. 

"Did you forget to put on panties?"

He squeezed your flesh harder than you'd expected, letting a gasp escape your throat. Any coherent thought quickly left your mind and Spencer was aware of that. 

"My sweet girl," he playfully mocked you. "Not even able to dress yourself properly."

You swung your arms around his neck as your knees became weaker with every second passing. He knew exactly what his teasing would do to you and he also knew that it was the reason for you to wear such a daring piece of clothing in the first place. 

"Did you forget how to use your words, too?" 

"No," you protested and paused as you attempted to come up with a witty response but your head was empty. 

"It's okay," Spencer cooed. "I know exactly what you need." 

He found your lips in a hungry kiss while walking you backwards until you collided with the dining table. Your whole body was burning for his touch and he showed no hesitation to grant you some exactly that. When you attempted to sit on the table he grabbed your hips to stop you. You found his eyes, unsure of what he had in mind. 

That changed quickly once he turned you around and demanded, "Be a good girl for me and bend over."

With one firm hand pushing against your shoulder blades he brought you into the position he wanted you in. Your forearms met the cool wood of the dining table, building a contrast to the heat rushing through your body. Spencer stepped back to take a moment to look at you. 

"You look so pretty," he groaned before his hands made contact with your body once more. 

"Please," you begged him to end your misery. 

Slowly he pushed your skirt over your hips, exposing your skin. One of his hands moved over the curve of your backside, burying his fingertips into your supple flesh before moving them between your legs. When he found that your arousal had already coated your skin, a deep groan left his throat. 

"How are you already that wet?"

His fingertips parted your folds, carefully exploring you without granting you any relief. Instead of responding to his question, only whimpers fell from your lips. Little did he know that you had already been dripping with desire the moment he stepped through your door. 

He removed his hand and demanded, "Answer me."

You turned your head to be able to look at him from the corners or your eyes and whispered, "I was getting excited for you to get home."

You felt him pushing his hips against yours, his clothed hardness pressing into your skin. He knew exactly what you wanted but he still wasn't done teasing you when he asked, "Is that all?"

His hands flew to your waist, gliding underneath your shirt to feel more of you. Despite already feeling light-headed you knew that he wouldn't end his torture until you would tell him exactly what you wanted. 

"I want you to…," you began but were interrupted by a moan falling from your lips when you felt his fingers brushing over your breasts. 

"So desperate," he chuckled. 

After taking a deep breath, you tried as hard as you could to find your words. You were certain you’d completely lose your mind if you didn’t feel him inside you soon. 

"Fuck me, please," you begged. "Please, Spencer. I need you."

The sound of him undoing his belt made you even more desperate. It took him just a few seconds to let his pants drop to the floor but it seemed like an eternity to you. When the tip of his cock made contact with your wetness, you instantly tilted your hips to let him glide into you.

"Here,” he groaned. “Take it like a good girl."

He pushed into you with one swift motion, finding no resistance from your body. You were ready to take all of him in, eager to finally be completely filled out by him. When he reached your deepest point, he took a moment to appreciate the sensation of being enveloped by you. 

Without a warning he began pushing into you at a ruthless pace. Spencer was aware how pleasurable that angle was for you, having no reason to hold back. You couldn't hold yourself up on your elbows anymore, your upper body lying almost flat on the wooden surface of the table. The piece of furniture shook from the force Spencer was displaying but neither of you seemed to care. 

The room quickly filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure and your bodies colliding over and over again. For a moment you envied Spencer’s position. There was hardly anything you loved more than watching his cock disappearing inside your body. You were sure that he was mesmerized by that sight right then. 

Closing your eyes, you focussed on the sensation of him pushing into you. You were at his mercy, unable to move away as he gripped your hips tightly to take you more forcefully than ever. With each thrust he reached your deepest point, stretching your walls in the best way imaginable.  

He grabbed a fistful of your hair, turning your head until he could see the side of your face. His cheeks were flushed and his chest was heaving as he moved against you but you were sure he had never looked more beautiful. 

Without slowing down, he purred, "Is that what you wanted?" 

"Yes," you sighed. 

You wanted to tell him how good he made you feel, how much you appreciated him always taking care of you like that. But no words made it past your lips, the pleasure clouding your mind making it impossible to speak. You hoped that Spencer knew anyway.

"You feel so good," he cooed. "So fucking good for me." 

When he got dangerously close to his breaking point, he slowed down his motions.

"Don't stop," you whimpered. "Come inside me, please."

"Fuck!"

That was the last thing you heard before he began thrusting into you almost erratically until you felt him sharing his essence with you. The sensation of him losing himself inside you pushed you over the edge as well, each of his throbs answered by you pulsing around him. 

When he had nothing left to give, he stepped back, removing himself from you. You whined at the loss of contact but he was quick to soothe you by wrapping his arms around you as soon as you were back on your feet. 

"Are you okay, love?" He whispered before softly kissing your cheek. 

"Yes, just gotta clean up."

Spencer told you to wait for a second while he disappeared in the bathroom just to return with a damp washcloth moments later. He motioned for you to sit down on the dining table, finding your mouth in a sweet kiss before beginning to carefully rid you of the evidence of your shared desire. When he was done, you wanted to get up but he hindered you from moving away. 

He smirked at you and let you know, "I'm not done with you yet."

He grabbed a chair to sit down in front of you, spreading your legs further to make room for him. As he began kissing up your thigh, you knew one thing for sure - you definitely needed to buy more skirts. 

If you enjoyed reading this story you should check out the other fics in my NSFW Masterlist!

Taglist: @nomajdetective @reidsbookclub @spookydrreid @gspenc @justreadingficsdontmindme @samuel-de-champagne-problems @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @malindacath @pauline5525mgg @sanaz1dlol @luredwithpretzels @reidselle @alexxavicry @frickin-bats @spencersprettyslut @s4r4hsblog @sebs-oxygen @beepbooptoop @lovejules888 @liltimmyst @encyclo-reid-ia @lilibet261 @fandomstuffff @spencer-reid-wonderland @happymangospot @conniesanchor @reaux02 @ellamaianderson @cynbx @dashneydanger @melifluorei-d @bitchassbecky691 @iameternallylonely @hotchandspencearedilfs @kobaltdragon @amititties @lover-of-books-and-tea @castiels-majestic-wings @torigorie @emiliaserpe @thenerdthatwrites @reidtopia @velvetthunder93

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[princessaxoxo]

Strangers to Lovers Part 5

Sherlock x reader

Summary: Being Enola’s sitter was an adventure, but not as much as falling for her brother, Sherlock.

Warnings: 18+ Only, NSFW, little angst, fluff, unprotected sex (p in v), oral (f receiving), pet names, fingering, breeding kink, vulgar language

Word Count: 3k+

After escorting you home, Sherlock strolled back to his loft. He noticed the disarray from the previous night as soon as he stepped inside. He began by cleaning the dishes from supper in his kitchen. After that, he began working on his table and counter. He was certain that your presence was the only reason he overlooked the mess. Normally, by now, his apartment would be pristine.

His linens and himself both still carried your scent. Which made him want to stay in his current clothes and avoid taking a bath, even though he knew he should because he was drenched from the pleasures of sex you two shared this morning. All he could think about was you while taking his bath, which was anything but soothing.

Following your return home, you showered and changed into a new outfit. Miranda then asked if you were ready for lunch, to which you said yes. You two rode in a carriage to the nearby café. Sipping on a cup of tea, she sat in front of you.

"I haven't heard from you," she stated bluntly. “Have you considered my advice?” You understood why she had invited you to go to lunch with her. "Yes, I did." She looked at you and asked, "Tell me what happened."

You paused briefly before continuing, "He took me on a date; it was eventful."

"Eventful? "How?" she asked. “The day was going really well. It was lunch at a stunning vineyard; he worked so hard on it. Sadly, though, the day ended poorly.” She gave you a mournful expression. "Have you two seen one another since then?" You nodded in response after taking a drink of your tea.

"I went to see him the following morning. I assured him I would be happy to accompany him if he decided to leave again.” The memory of last night made you smile, but Miranda cut you off. “From what you just told me, it seems that you were the only one to compromise your life to be with him.” You gave me a headshake. "Oh no." It was even foolish of her to say such, and you laughed at her statement.

"I must admit that ever since we were young children, you have expressed your desire to start a family in this very location—where you were raised." She gave you a shrug of her shoulders. "But things have changed apparently," she said, stopping you before you could respond. You received a patronizing look from her.

Following your departure from the café, you strolled arm-in-arm across the town square while she updated you on the drama that had transpired since your last conversation and meeting. "The maid and her husband were having an affair." She described the events, saying, "And the wife was having an affair with the local paper boy."

"How are you certain that this is accurate? Who is the originator? "I heard the maids talking, and they know everything," she said, laughing at your question. You chuckled heartily and shook your head.

"I'm staying, even though I know this was just meant to be a quick trip." What she said shocked you. The place she recently resided, she adored. "Plus, I met someone." The thought of him made Miranda grin. "All right, I'd be happy to have you here. I don't have to fake liking you, at least." Your comment made you both laugh.

She seemed to know practically every detail about you and Sherlock, so you were curious to find out more about her mystery man. “Tell me about the man you recently met, Miranda.”

Her eyes glowed as she spoke about him. She filled you in on every little detail, considering how she was smitten with him. "And what's his name?" She answered, "Benedict," like a schoolgirl. You couldn't judge her based solely on her behavior. With Sherlock, you reacted the same way.

You pondered what she said earlier at lunch for the remainder of the day that you were with her. Were you the only one that comprised? You did, after all, promise to go with him when he left, and he never promised to stay. Of course, you fell in love with a man who traveled constantly, so you didn't expect him to. No, you wouldn't take it too seriously or think about it any longer since you really want the two of you to be together. Ultimately, the two of you were attracted to one another like a moth to a flame.

"What are you thinking about?" You gave Miranda a quick glance.

You answered her with, "What?"

"You haven't really been here since tea this afternoon. Did I say something wrong?” You considered giving her a scowl and responding, "Yes, you opened your big, fat mouth and put in your opinion where it didn't belong." However, you choose to simply respond that you're tired, offering no explanation for your strange behavior.

People began to leave the town square as the sun began to set. You said, "We ought to head home." Miranda agreed. Once inside the carriage, the two of you made your way back to your home. The carriage's coachman assisted you in getting out. "Please take Ms. Hampton home and see to it that she gets there safely." You wished your cousin a restful night.

The next morning, you heard an individual at your door. You assumed that perhaps Sherlock had stayed up all night again and was stopping by. However, the person you least expected was standing there when you opened the door. Mycroft.

For a little while, you stammered, and it was evident that this annoyed him. But you managed to speak again, saying, "Mycroft, it's good to see you. How may I help you?" He smiled, but his lips were tight. "May I enter? I must speak with you." Considering that you didn't trust him, you weren't sure whether to let him in. "I have something to say you won't want to miss." His tone became solemn. "All right," you said as you stepped to the side and opened the door to let him in.

Mycroft and you both entered your living space. You asked him, "What is it that's so important?" His gaze scanned the area, unimpressed. “Sherlock was notified of a case in Paris this morning. And he accepted it.” Mycroft at last caught your gaze. "Meaning," you interrupted him before he could say anything more. "I am aware of its meaning." As Mycroft remained there, trying to make you believe that Sherlock would depart, your chest constricted, and you became aware that you were getting red in the face. "If Sherlock were to depart again, we have put plans in place." You responded to Mycroft with firmness.

"Yes, he informed me of the discussion you two had. To be with him, you are giving up your life and your desires. I can guarantee you that this is the only time he will be with you while he is away handling cases." He used his cane to point to you. "You'll only get to spend time with him when he's not on a case, which is not often. And both of us are aware of that." He persisted in his insulting remarks: "It seems unfair, doesn't it?" You moved away from him as he approached you because you didn't want to be anywhere close to him. "You are giving up the life you want, and Sherlock gets to keep the life he chooses."

It hurt to know that there was some truth to what he said. The need to avoid appearing weak in front of Mycroft forced you to repress the need to cry. You've had enough of him being in your life, and you needed him to leave. All you wanted to do was hurry to see Sherlock and ask him about this.

"Mycroft," he interrupted you as he peered down at his pocket watch. "I must go; enjoy the rest of your day, y/n." He gave you a tip of the hat and walked away.

You hastily grabbed your coat and summoned the carriage.

The night before

Mycroft, his brother, was babbling while Sherlock sat smoking a pipe. "I'm aware of a Parisian case. I wanted to make sure you knew about it.” He glanced at his brother, saying, "It's a big one." For a while, Sherlock remained silent. "Are you planning to leave?" Mycroft asked.

Sherlock sighed, unsure of how to respond. He would have to discuss it with you before deciding. The only response he offered Mycroft was, "I'll think about it." He observed his brother's face taking on what appeared to be a calculating expression as he kept smoking his pipe. However, he must have been mistaken, so he shrugged it off and enjoyed the rest of the evening.

Present Day

"Open up!" you yelled, and Sherlock heard it. "Open up now, Sherlock!" He hastily opened his door upon realizing it was you shouting. The door opened, and you hurried inside. "Is what Mycroft told me accurate? that you agreed to take up a case in Paris?" His eyes were running around her face. She wasn’t giving him time to respond. “He came by and started just saying horrible things," and your voice cracked.

“Calm down, baby." Kindly, Sherlock pleads with you. It seemed impossible for you to catch your breath. But you felt yourself relax when he put his hands on your face, and you raised your head to look at him. Everything seemed better when he touched you. With your eyes closed, you took a deep breath, let it out, and looked to face him again.

"A case in Paris was brought to my attention. I didn't say I would accept it. To be honest, I said nothing to Mycroft about my intention to go." You gave a head nod.

"What he was saying to me, I wish you could have heard. I immediately came here after he left. What he said might actually come true, I fear." Sherlock looked at you with concern.

"My dear, what did he say to you?"

"That bringing me along would not be significant. Since I would be alone and you would be too preoccupied trying to solve your numerous cases, I was afraid because I thought there might be truth to that."

Irritated, Sherlock closed his eyes and wiped his face with his palms. He exclaimed, "Fuck's sake."

"Good morning, Sherlock," Mycroft boldly strolled in and once more tipped his hat to you. You gave me an eye roll. "Y/N, I apologize for asking you for this, my dear. However, kindly head home. I'll stop by and visit you later. I must speak with my brother alone right now."

Sherlock was glaring daggers at Mycroft; he would be dead, for sure, if looks could kill. You wanted to decline and remain. However, you were aware that it was the right choice to leave. The three of you felt suffocated by the thick air in the room. You approached Sherlock; his gaze never left Mycroft. You kissed Sherlock on the forehead, averted his brothers' gaze, and turned to walk out of Sherlock's door.

"It was completely inappropriate for you to visit her home!" Sherlock raged at his older brother. "I would kill you now if you weren't my brother. And I'm still debating whether or not to." He spat angrily at Mycroft, causing his hair to fall in front of his face.

Mycroft had a bored expression. "I was honest with her at least, while you would have avoided the situation."

"You were lying, and I had no intention of leaving. Even before talking to her, I had already made up my mind."

"Are you really sacrificing your career for a woman?" Mycroft mocked. "You'll be sorry."

Sherlock approached his sibling and stood near his face. "I don't require your advice on what I'll regret. In this life, she is the one thing I can be certain of. My future exists with her. You can't mess with my life, and I won't tolerate it. Our life. I'm going to marry her and start a family with her. Thus, this is what you are going to do. After gathering your possessions, you're going to depart. I wish to never see your face again."

Mycroft swallowed, his brother suddenly frightening him. He tipped his hat and walked out, his dignity unharmed. No longer to be seen.

You asked Sherlock, "What happened?" You witnessed the look on his face upon his arrival. In addition to being upset, he was furious.

"Mycroft will no longer cause us any trouble, my dear. I took care to ensure it."

“But I'm the reason you're losing your brother. That bothers me so much for you.”

“Are you kidding me?” With a gentle expression, he took both of your hands in his. "I love you, and I also promise not to allow anyone to stand in the way of our shared future. Not to mention the harm he caused you. Whether it was expressed verbally or not is irrelevant."

He gave your hands a kiss.

"Before I had the chance to speak with you, I had already made up my mind. I have no intention of leaving; I'm not interested in taking on any more mysteries. I want nothing more than to be with you. to get married and start a small family together. That's what I want."

"I love you, Sherlock, and my heart will always belong to you." You two shared a long, passionate kiss.  He kissed his way down your cheek and into your neck, lowering the straps of your nightgown.

"May I remove your nightgown?" he said in a hushed voice.

"Yes, do it, please."

His hands reached the bottom and pulled it over your head. Exposing your body to him, the breeze in your home hits your nipples, making them harden. “Take off your clothes, baby," you told him.

You watched him undress himself, making your heartbeat increase.

He started to climb on top of you as you reclined on your bed. His kisses were incredibly tender and sweet. This kiss was unlike the others, as you hummed into his. His curly hair is intertwined in your hands.

His left hand followed your bare body to meet your moist center. He started rubbing your clit in circles, and you mewled out. His fingers slowly slid downward, inserting one digit at a time, then adding another. His fingers began to move diligently inside of you.

Your face was tilted upward to meet his gaze. "My love, open your eyes. When you come on my fingers, I want to see your face."

It was difficult to keep your eyes open and focused on his face as his fingers grew faster. You felt yourself beginning to grind against his fingertips. He started rubbing your clit in circles once again. You clenched around his fingers as he massaged your clit, his fingers darting in and out of you so quickly. You opened your eyes again at his voice. "Let me see those pretty eyes of yours." You hadn't realized you had closed them.

You moaned louder at the feeling of you coming around his fingers.

His mouth began to flick and suck at your clit shortly after his fingers stopped working. You let out an audible "Oh my god." His locks were tugged by your fingertips. You could feel his groaning against your pussy resonate through you.

As you observed him, his gaze met yours.

You leaned forward and pulled him back over you by grabbing his face. He took hold of his cock's base and ran it through your creases, soaking it in your delicious moisture. The tip of his cock tickled your eagerly anticipated hole. A deep groan filled his chest.

"Oh, baby, you were made perfectly for me," he said as he slowly moved in and out of you.

He moved at a steady, leisurely pace rather than accelerating his movements. Sherlock peered down at the spot where you two met and saw himself repeatedly entering you. Once more feeling up your body, he reached for your breasts. He started to tease your nipples. "Please, Sherlock, go faster."

He leaned in, planted a kiss on your cheek, and then leaned back. "I simply can't say no to you."

His hips snapped forward violently in an instant. In an attempt to balance himself, he reached for the bed frame with his arm. He became ferocious as he raced inside of you, seeing your breasts bounce in his view. "Oh my gosh, sweetheart," you moaned.

His gaze swept across yours. "I'm going to put myself within this belly. I'm going to get you nice and pregnant with our babies."

"Yes, baby." You rolled your eyes to the back of your head.

Feeling his cock move inside of you with each stroke as he put his hand on your lower abdomen. "Ah!" you whimpered. "I'm going to come."

"I love you, shit. You don't realize how stunning you appear at this moment, God."

The way he was making you feel, you were at a loss for words. "I can feel you coming," he said, feeling the walls press him. I want you to cover my cock."

He again massaged your clit with a downward motion of his hand. “I’m coming, baby. Yes!" You then drenched him in your juices. He yelled, "Fuck," as his come flooded your walls from the inside.

He looked up at you and kissed your body, stopping at your tummy. He grinned and said to you, "Soon." And while he lay next to you, you laughed heartily at him. He wrapped his arm over you, drawing you closer to his toasty body, which you loved. You placed your head on his chest and also covered his chest with your arm.

He tilted your head upward to look at him. “Baby, I want you to know that I’m never going to leave you again. I promise.” He said as he grabbed your cheeks together and kissed you. Afterward, you both fell asleep in each other's arms.

Tag list: @chloe92 @juliaorpll78 @nighttimestan

[sturniolo-rat]

Cake Eater’s Delight

Matt Sturniolo X Reader

A/N: here’s your anal fic as promised! I spent way too much time describing yoga positions. For this, I am extremely sorry.

Contains: smut, anal, oral, butt plugs

TW: BEARS! Also, the term "Butt Slut" You give me a simple request, and I will do the absolute most

Y/N is wearing yoga pants that accentuate her ass. Matt is intent on fucking it.

Today is self-care Sunday, and Y/N just finished making a strawberry banana smoothie with extra protein powder for her boyfriend, Matt. It’s seven a.m., and she has the whole day planned, but first, she has to get him up and ready.

“Wakey wakey, My sweet boy.” she chirps eagerly, holding the smoothie to his face. 

“Oh god.” he groans, wipes the sleep from his eyes, and sees how hyped Y/N is. Still very disoriented, he says, “I see you’re having a good morning, Baby, but what time is it?” 

“It’s seven a.m. and I’m super excited for our early morning nature walk!”  

He sits up and sighs. “The fuckin’ nature walk.” Matt was actually pretty enthusiastic about this last night when he agreed to it, but not so much this morning. It’s too early, and he just wants Y/N to come back and be the big spoon for the next two hours. The smoothie, however, is immaculate, and he made her a promise. He summons all of his strength and swings his legs over the side of the bed. He sits facing Y/N and says with a smile, “I’ve never been more pumped for anything in my life!” Y/N gives him a bone-crushing hug before skipping off to get him the outfit she picked for him yesterday. Matt can’t help but stare at her booty as she makes her way to the closet. Those damn yoga pants get him every time.  

Half an hour later, they arrive at the closest California state park. Matt is warming up to the idea of this walk. He really does love nature, and having a little stroll in it is certainly something he would do as self-care. “Maybe we’ll see a bear!” Y/N squeals. 

“I love bears. They're so fucking big and dumb.” He really does hope they see a bear. His excitement over seeing a dangerous animal in the wild isn’t his fault. He has a very serious condition called white man curiosity. Bless him and his family. 

As they walk the dirt trail, Matt tells her facts about all the animals and plants they encounter. At some point, the trail leads them to a very colorful part of the woods filled with flowers. The trail has slowly been getting narrower, so Matt is now walking behind Y/N. “Baby, If I sincerely told you that I accidentally body-swapped with my sister, would you believe me?”

He’s deeply confused by the question, but he has an answer for it, regardless. “I would probably ask you a question that only you could answer first.” he pauses to laugh at how silly she is. “Would you believe me?”

“Most definitely,” she responds with unnatural quickness.

Matt is taken aback. “Why so certain?”

“Well, now that we’ve had the conversation, I don’t think you’d say you were body-swapped unless it actually happened.”

He’s getting very invested in the conversation now. “I’m not worried about it because you only really get body-swapped with people you dislike. So I don’t think there’s any danger of this happening to me and my brothers.”

“I don’t hate my sister, but we are polar opposites, so I see body-swap potential.”

“Be careful not to get sucked into any body-swapping hijinks, My love.”

“I’ll try, but no promises.”

Suddenly, he grabs her arm and stops her in her tracks. Y/N turns around to look at him, but all she sees is a beautiful array of flowers. Matt had been behind her, picking a bouquet of flowers as they talked. He moves the flowers from in front of his face and hands them to Y/N. “It’s a thank-you gift. I truly am having an amazing time today.”

“This is insanely fucking sweet. Thank you so much, Baby.” She leans in to give him a soft peck on the cheek. “I think we should start heading back though. We’re getting kinda far out.” They had gotten lost in each other's company and didn’t notice that they had been walking for an hour and covered at least 2 miles of the 5-mile trail.

Matt tears his gaze from Y/N’s face to take in their environment. “Goddamn, we’re like way out in the fuckin wild!” He can tell Y/N is getting somewhat uncomfortable with the thought of being so deep in the woods, so he holds out his hand for her to take and starts to walk her back down the trail. 

Y/N lets go of his hand and taps him furiously on the shoulder. “Matt. Matt, it actually fucking happened. Look!” she whispers in his ear and points into the distance. 

“A bear!” Matt yells.

“Hush!” she hits him hard on the head. “Don’t be the idiot who gets killed because he screamed at a bear. Just get the camera out.”

He fumbles with his backpack but realizes he didn’t pack it. He was so sure they wouldn’t come across a bear. The pictures and videos he takes on his phone will have to do for their next vlog. Once Matt has all the bear material he needs, they continue down the dirt path, tip-toeing very quietly.

When they finally reach their car, they’re exhausted, sweaty, and gross. Matt, however, is also rocking a semi. He’s been walking behind Y/N for hours now, watching how her ass moves. They’ve just started experimenting with butt stuff recently. He’s been obsessed with her backside ever since. He can't get the image of the pink hello kitty butt plug sticking out of her ass out of his mind. The drive home is pleasant and gives him time to calm down. Matt doesn’t want his horniness to get in the way of the day Y/N has planned. 

They arrive home, and Y/N flops on their bed. The walk was way longer than it was supposed to be. She’s anxious to tell Matt about the next activity she has planned, but she needs a quick break to hydrate. Matt comes in clutch and brings her the Stanley cup she filled up that morning but forgot to bring. She sits up and takes the cup. “Thank,” she says as she takes a sip. “God!”

“Don’t thank God. Thank me, Honey.” he winks as she absolutely chugs her water. There’s water dripping from the sides of her mouth running down her neck and breasts. Fuck she can even make drinking like a feral caveman look sexy. When she finishes, she sets the cup down, and Matt’s dick jumps in his pants. She looks like she could be in a wet t-shirt contest. He’s really fighting for his life right now and needs an activity to distract himself. “Alright! Get up, Baby. It’s time for whatever’s next on the list.” He hopes it's something lame and calming like meditation or maybe some silly facial skin routine.

“Okay, I’ll go get the yoga mats and bring them to the living room.” She hops up from the bed, fully recharged and energetic as ever. “Oh, yay. I’m gonna bring my new yoga ball, too!”

“Oh, good!” he says quite insincerely. He should have seen this coming. She’s wearing the yoga pants she reserves for actually doing yoga. This is going to be torture. He tucks his boner into his waistband and waits for Y/N in the other room.      

When meets him there, she kicks her yoga ball into the corner and gives Matt a big hug before setting up their pink and blue yoga mats. She’s so happy to be spending the day relaxing and playing around with him. Her ponytail whips around behind her as she spins to face Matt. “Did you know it’s actually recommended that you do yoga or stretch after long walks? The walk wasn’t meant to be long, but how lucky it is that my plan works out.” She’s speaking extremely quickly due to her excitement.  She pauses for a breath but begins talking again before Matt can respond. “Are you ready?” she asks expectantly.

“Of course, My love. Your plan is perfect.” 

They stand on their respective mats, and Y/N realizes that Matt has probably never done yoga in his life. “Let me show you five poses you need to know before we start.” He takes a deep breath and prepares for a face full of outstretched booty, but to his surprise, she sits down crisscrossed. “We’re gonna start off with the Sukhasana. Just sit down, touch your pointer fingers to your thumbs, and close your eyes.” 

“Seems easy enough,” He says and patiently watches as she changes pose. 

“Then we’re gonna transition into the Adho Mukha Svanasana. Just get on your hands and knees,” she demonstrates as she talks. “Place your hands down in front of you, shoulder-width apart. Then walk your legs back so your hands are under your shoulders, and your knees are under your hips.”

“That’s a lot of words to explain what I believe is the very simple-looking downward-facing dog.” Yup. This is exactly what he expected. It’s awful and stressful, but it’s also absolutely fucking glorious. Her booty is a piece of art crafted specifically for him by the hands of God. He tears his eyes away and looks at her face as she once again, changes her pose. 

“Oh, shut up. I’m trying to sound like a yoga professional,” she says with a small chuckle. “Anyway, the next pose is the pigeon pose.”

“Yeah, super fancy and professional.” He smirks, and she rolls her eyes.

“Moving on!” she says, letting out an exasperated breath, “From the Adho Mukha Svanasana position, you’re gonna lift your left leg up while keeping your other leg straight and your foot arched.” 

“Jesus Christ,” Matt whispers loudly. The pose essentially looks like she’s throwing it back on the floor. Her bottom is round and cute, and all he wants to do is reach out and squeeze it. That’s a lie, actually. He wants to smack it. Hard, very fucking hard. He wants to grope her fat, meaty thighs and worship her body. She’s talking, but he can’t hear her. He’s in a trance, and he needs to do something about it. “I’m sorry, Sweetness. I really am, but I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Y/N gets up and looks at his face, very concerned. “What’s wrong, Baby?”

He still hasn’t looked up at her face. “It’s your ass.” He licks his lips. “I have to fuck it.”

Y/N moves so that she’s directly in front of him and grabs him by his jaw to make him look at her. She whispers in his ear, “I know.” Matt has been lusting after her all day. There was no possibility that she wouldn’t notice. "Time to destroy my root chakra."

“Fuck yes!” He pulls her into a rough, toothy kiss. His lips are soft, almost silken, and pillowy against hers. His hand reaches up to massage her breast, and she moans into his mouth. She needs him. Needs to see more of him. Y/N tugs at the hem of his shirt. Matt takes the hint, breaks the kiss, and removes it. She puts her hands on his chest and rubs them down his abdomen. He’s so beautiful. 

In one swift motion, he wipes her hands away. She whimpers and gives him a pathetic, needy look. “I know you want to touch me, Baby. I know.” He says as he makes his way over to get the yoga ball. “But right now, I need you to bend over this ball and show me that pretty, pretty ass of yours.” 

Y/N does as she’s told. She loves it when Matt bosses her around. He pulls at her pants aggressively, and she doesn’t understand what he’s trying to do. Then she hears a tearing sound and feels the cold air on her bare bottom. “You just ripped my favorite yoga pants!”

“Quiet!” He barks. “I’ll get you new ones.” He says as he forces her panties down around her knees. His hands part her cheeks, and he can’t believe what he sees. He has been lusting after this woman all fucking day, thinking he was being a pervert. Little did he know that Y/N had her butt plug in the whole time. He takes a closer look. It’s not her favorite Hello Kitty one, but the one with the blue jewel on the end. Matt’s eyes widened; it’s their second biggest one. Y/N anticipated this, and she always comes prepared. 

He kneads both of her cheeks as he asks, “Oh, Sweet girl, did you plan this? Was this part of your little self-care day? Did you need to be a little butt slut for me to feel complete?”

“I do.” She whines. “Last night, I got so horny thinking about you playing with my ass.”

“I can tell, Sweetheart. You used the big blue one. We’ve never even touched that one before. Were you training your ass for me?” He sits on his knees behind her so his face is level with her rear. Matt takes his time biting and kissing her ass. She lets out a hiss when he starts to play with the plug, pulling it out only to put it back in again. Every little movement has her gasping. He keeps going until she’s too loose for the stretch. He slaps her on the ass with so much force he leaves a handprint, and she lets out a wail. 

“I know we haven’t done it before, but do you want to take my cock?” he asks.

“I want to try,” she says in a shaky voice.

“Are you sure?”

“I am. I swear.”

“I promise I’ll be gentle, but first,” He shoves his pants and boxers down and takes his cock in his hand as he walks around to Y/N’s front. “I need you to lube up my cock. Can you do that for me, Baby?”

“Mhmm, I can.” She replies eagerly and opens wide. 

Her mouth is wet and warm around his cock. He holds her hands behind her back so she has to deep-throat him to reach his base. The dirty, sloppy sounds coming from his thrusts in and out of her throat are music to his ears. He needs to hear more. He grabs her by the ponytail and fucks her face harder. He wants to hear her choke and gag. She doesn’t mind it. She’s just happy to be of service. Her mouth is so fucking perfect, but he needs to stop before he cums. He pulls out, and she gasps for air. “You okay? Catch your breath, Baby.” He gives Y/N time to orient herself. 

“I’m okay.” She gives him a big smile. Only sluts smile like that after choking on cock.

“If you want me to stop at any point, just tell me, and I'll stop.”

Y/N nods her head, and Matt takes his spot behind her. He pulls the butt plug out very carefully and sets it aside. Her pussy is so wet and leaking, but he ignores it entirely, except to say, “You’re dripping down your thighs, My love.” he smiles to himself as he taps his cock on her ass. “You’re soaking your new exercise ball,” he says as he slowly pushes his tip in. When he finally pushes in past his tip, it burns and hurts, but she loves the sensation. She keeps thinking that it can’t get any longer, but it just keeps going, and the stretch burns until, eventually, he gives her all of him. Her asshole clenches hard, and it feels so fucking amazing, but then it’s burning and hurting right at the entrance, and she whimpers as he pulls himself out halfway. He’s going so slow, and he wants to speed up so badly. Her asshole feels so much better than he imagined it would. He knew she would be tight, but he didn’t know how deep she could take him. She can’t fit him all the way in when he fucks her pussy. It feels so nice to be able to give her everything he’s got. 

“You can go faster now.”

“Oh, yes.” he bites his lip and speeds up to a respectable pace. 

“No, faster. I need it faster,” she says desperately. He picks up the pace, and finally, he starts to feel like he’s properly fucking her. She’s moaning and whining because it feels so bad and so good at the same time. It’s a very confusing sensation, but all she knows is she wants to cum so badly. Usually, Matt likes to make Y/N cum first, but he doesn’t know if anal will make her cum, and he just can’t resist cumming in her ass. He stands her up so she’s up against his chest and reaches in front of her to rub her clit. This is what she needs, what she’s been missing. He loves the sounds she’s making. He doesn’t even notice he’s been drilling into her faster and faster. Y/N is letting out loud yelps with every thrust. If anyone overheard them, they would think she was in agony. 

“I’m gonna cum, Baby. I want you to try to cum with me. Can you do that?” he says, breathing heavily.

“I can try.”

“What do you need, Love? How can I help you cum?” 

“Please pull my hair.” His hands are around her ponytail before she can even get all the words out. He pulls so hard she’s forced to look up at the ceiling. 

“Like that?”

Her eyes are rolling to the back of her head. “Fuck, yes! Just like that! I’m gonna cum!” 

Matt puts more pressure on her clit and feels her cumming. It feels different from when he’s in her pussy. The thought of having had every one of her holes pushes him to the edge, and he releases himself into her asshole. 

Y/N’s knees buckle, and she collapses onto the exercise ball and pants. He wants to ask her if she’s alright, but he’s distracted watching his cum leak out of her ass. “Fuck,” he leans over to pick he up bridal style. “Let's get you into a bath, okay?”

“You’re not gonna believe this, but that’s actually next on the list.”

“Perfectly planned, My love.”

Masterlist

@rafecameronsbitch @daddyslilchickenfingers2 @mrsmiagreer @lovergirl4387 @gdsvhtwa @ashley9282828 @j-worlds-blog @stephanienwf @achrisgirly @draculaura123 @abbypost @Cind2224 @crazychrisl0v3r @ryli3sworld @bkwrld @pinkishpearls @pepsienthusiasts @stunza @chrattstromboli @sturnssmuts @angelic-sturniolos111 @69isabella69 @maryx2xx @sturniolo04 @bigbeefybitch @klaus223492 @r93339 @sturnzsblog @spotconlon55 @robins-scoop @junovrsmp4 @sturnlover4eva @blahbel668 @lilahnowheretobefound @luxy-nyx @tuffsturns @m0r94n @sturnstvs @pepsicolapussy333 @maddyslifesstuff @dogblof @honeymoonxxz @xplr-sturns-e-m @hayhjelmstad15 @thetriplets3 @y0urm4m @mattyblover07

[clus444]

The Mall

Simon Riley x Bimbo!reader

This is a Simon Riley introduction to my page. The reader is described as black but anyone can read. This took a minute to post because I had work and I didn't know a good situation. But anywayyys...Enjoy! Outfit inspo!!!

"He had the nerve to tell me that I need to get a grip on life," I speak into the phone. My friend Sasha snorts on the line. I roll my eyes a little bit at the sound of her laugh. I'm trying to tell this girl my problems and she playing. I stop and look at an outfit displayed in the window on a mannequin.

"Girl you need to kick this man to the curb. Hang up on you...not in the mood.," She mimics that TikTok sound. I laugh out loud at that as the jean two-piece rings around my mind. There are endless possibilities for outfits that can come out of this. The gold belt really pulls the outfit together. I smile brightly as a decision is made up in my mind. I get ready to text the man-child that is my boyfriend.

"Shit," Is all I here before I run into a goddamn big ass stone wall. My phone falls out of my hand and I try to catch myself. Big rough hands grip my waist and firmly pull me to them then my phone does one 'fuck you' bounce on the floor to me. I shriek when I look up and see a black face mask close to my face. Not expect him to be leaning down on me.

I can swear by the way his way eyes move, there must be a smirk on his face. I quickly get out of his grasp and move to get my phone. "Jumpy little thing," His British accent catches me off guard. I look him up and down, his 6'0+ self with muscles in places I didn't even know could have muscles. His deliciously thick arms that I would let wrap around me any day. "You're British," I state turning my head up to look him in the face.

He stares blankly for a second, "Am I?" I nod to his question and look at him funny.

"Your accent? Did you forget you have one," I question him and lean my weight on my hip and cross my arms. His mask protrudes a little so I assume he's licking his lips. I have no proof but, by the way his eyes flash what seems to be lust for a split second. Maybe he's a murder and he checking to see if I'm a good victim. I scare myself slightly.

His deep scratchy voice blesses my ears again," What's going on in that little head of yers?"

I finick a French curl braid between my fingers and sway my body a little," I'm trying to figure out what they fed you overseas. I've never seen any Brits look like you," I pause," Kinda like... Hansel on steroids."

He raises a brow at me before turning his expression neutral again. This man radiates that he's emotionally constipated. Lowkey kinda my type apparently since I'm still with Chris. That fucking asshole! The audacity, the courage, the-

He pushes the braid behind my ear and I turn shy. A smile creeps onto my face and I hope it doesn't have fuck me written on them. Ugh! Why Do I feel like this man can see right through me? His eyes...they feel different, something I can't quite place my finger on. But I'm not even sure I want to find out.

"Do yuh think of shit like tha all the time," what appears to be amusement in his tone," I'm Simon."

I place a hand on my chest," I'm Y/n."

"I can take yuh out this Saturday," He interrupts my thoughts. His tone is a matter of faculty. I clear my throat as I take in his words. I'm not shallow but this looks like a ain't shit ni-. Damn, this sucks to do but...

"I have a boyfr-" I try to get out but he quickly shuts that down.

"Dont remember askin'. But 'ell you can bring yer, little boyfriend if yuh want, makes no difference to me," he takes his phone out. Which by god I pity. It looks like it doesn't know what brighter days are. The cracks look like they should be slicing his fingers. But as he slides open his lock screen, he looks back at me.

I bite my lip as girly giggles come out and I give out my number," Don't forget to text me the details." What the hell am I doing? I'm not single so why the fuck am I giving my number out. This feels bad- no wrong but I also can't deny the butterflies in my stomach. I really hope for both of our sake he's not a criminal or something.

I bid him goodbye as I walked deeper into the mall. "Hel- motherfucking- lo? Can you hear me hoe," Sasha's muffled voice comes through.

I quickly pull the phone to my ear," Sash? You still here?" She huffs out loudly and I giggle. This is literally my bitch because who else would stay on the phone. "Why didn't you hang up?"

"WELLL I heard a loud ass crack noise and I guess when you picked the phone up, I heard this clear deep...raspy...sexy-" I cut her off.

"Stand up! You don't even know what this man looks like," I say in replacement of whatever she was going to say. She laughs exaggeratedly and annoyingly.

"WHAT I DO KNOW IS YOU BETTA GO ON THAT DATE! FUCK WANNABE ASS CHRISTOPHER," she yells and I hang up the phone.

I'm not finna let her wild ass keep yelling in my ear. She's literally crazy but I guess that's why are friends. My name and sane have never been in the same sentence before.

I continue to shop but with new energy, some would say a slight pep in my step. A new mission added to my list.

-Get a date night outfit.

A little short but thats because I wanted to work on part two and this other thing I'm creating.. I will have a nice little surprise, some would say chaotic. Also let me know if this was bimbo enough or not

Next Part

Masterlist

[cyberg4n]

✧ 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒

paring: neteyam x metkayina!fem!reader

warnings: nothing, reader is tsireya’s sister, fluff

a/n: rip blud, love u gng (ಡ‸ಡ)

summary: neteyam finds you making jewelry, and asks to join you.

definitions: lor - beautiful | irayo - thank you

you sit inside your mauri pod, weaving in shells through the band of your bracelet. you had just finished collecting washed up shells and decided to make them useful. you would find yourself hiding away in your mauri pod rather that socializing with others, especially the sully’s. your father had to beg you to come out to greet them the first time they had arrived. although your sister was eager to show them around the village, you were more distracted by the oldest son in the family — neteyam. he’s a warrior, according to tsireya. you were immediately impressed once you had heard that. tsireya had more interest in lo’ak though, the rebellious teenage boy. even though lo’ak was just as equally nice to you, you only had your eye on his brother.

you continue sewing in silence, the light clink of the shells echoed throughout the mauri. as soon as you reach for another shell, you hear somebody clear their throat. you quickly look up, laying your unfinished bracelet in your lap. neteyam stood in front of you, arms crossed. “what are you doing?” he asks. you freeze up, thinking of a response — but you can’t. he stands there before taking a step closer to you. “can i join you?” he says, pointing to the bowl full of shells. you hesitantly nod, scooting over to make room. he smiles, sitting down next to you. he picks up three pieces of twine, choosing a few different selections of iridescent shells in a variety of shapes and colors. you look over at him, watching as he braids the shells in a pattern with the twine.

you’re surprised with his skill. “you’re very good,” you mumble, continuing to work on your bracelet. he looks up, scoffing a bit. “no, not as good as you.” you jerk your head up, confused how he would know that your any better than he is. “how would you know i’m any good?” you ask. he grins, “everything you wear — you make all of it, yes?” he says, looking down at your outfit. you feel yourself getting hot, you wonder if it’s from the warm breeze, or if it’s from your nerves. you nod in response to his question. “then that is how i know you are better than me, everything you wear is lor.” you can’t help but smile, looking down at your lap. “irayo,” you murmured.

you both continued to get back to work, just enjoying each others company in silence. “what do you think of lo’ak?” neteyam asks, “what?” you question, “do you like him?” he says without looking up. you think he’s joking, so you start laughing. he pauses, looking back up at you. when you realize he’s serious, you throw a hand over your mouth. “no, tsireya’s the one that likes him.” he gives you a look of amusement, nodding before he continues braiding the twine. you keep twisting your bracelet around, the thin blanket of tension settling between the two of you. you hesitate before you speak up again. “why do you ask?”

he shrugs, shaking his head. “it just seemed like you liked him,” he responded. you roll your head back, smiling as if he was playing a joke on you. “please, my standards are higher than that. no offense.” neteyam laughs, settling his arm on his knee. “so who do you like?” when you look over at him, he’s looking at you as if he knows what you’re gonna say. he doesn’t take his eyes off of you until you look away. “no one, just this, uhm.” your voice nervously shakes, “just this boy.” he tilts his head, a smirk on his face. “and that’s all you’re going to tell me?” he laughs. “how about you describe him to me and i’ll try to guess who it is in the village.” you turn your head, pursing your lips. “you know every boys name in this village, already?” he nods in enthusiasm. “of course i do.”

you hum, thinking of a way to describe him. “well, he’s…” you trail off, “he’s this strong war- uh,” you stammer. neteyam cocks his head to the side. “he’s tall, just a tinsy bit older than me, he’s incredible at hunting, he has amazing braided hair, and these gorgeous piercing eyes.” you glance over at him - his lips are parted, squinting at you slightly. “you know, it just sounds like you’re describing your dream man.” you laugh, “i am, and he’s real — i assure you.” he nods sarcastically. he goes back to his woven piece, “do i know him?” he persisted. the tone of his voice sounded more threatened. you hum in agreement, smirking at his expression. his lips are drawn into a slight frown, as he bites the inside of his mouth.

neteyam stops asking questions for a while, mainly just focusing on finishing his piece. you slowly lose track of time, noticing that it’s slowly getting darker out. “oh, neteyam you need to go before my parents find you here with me.” you quickly stand up, clearing the ground area out. neteyam stands up with you, grabbing your arm. “hold on,” he says. he slowly pulls you back down to sit next to him. you seat yourself between his legs, feeling your back pushed up against his chest. goosebumps line your skin as his fingers trail through your hair. he lightly pulls out a piece of your hair, taking his woven accessory and braiding it back in. you hold your breathe, nervously tapping the surface of your skin. he ties off the end of your braid, backing up to look at you.

his eyes crinkled with his smile. he extends his hand out to you, and you accept it. he leads you towards the shore of the reef, pointing to the reflective water. you lean over, looking at your reflection. the side of your head glowed with the slight ripple of the ocean. you finally realize what neteyam had been making the whole time. it was a hair piece for you. “you’re beautiful,” neteyam utters. you turn to look at him, eyes wide. he looks at you in awe, not glancing away. “you’re amazing, y/n.” your breath hitches as you step closer to him. you feel the warmth radiating off his body. you part your lips, kissing him softly. he reciprocates, pulling you closer by your waist. you smile into the kiss, giggling as he he pulls away. he stares at you in adoration, a pleased expression on his face.

“i guess i’m your dream guy, huh?”

please do not copy or repost my writings to any other sites !

[augustinewrites]

miya atsumu knows he’s going to be late.

yet he’s got his phone pressed to his ear, tapping his foot as he waits for the person on the other end to pick up. he sighs in relief when sakusa picks up with a grumble.

“aren’t you supposed to be on a date? why are you bothering me?”

“i can’t figure out which flowers to get,” the setter admits, tugging at the knot on his tie. you’re probably going to text him soon, wondering where he is. he really hopes you’re not pouting, hopes you’re not standing at the door with that concerned crease between your brows that he’ll have to smooth away with his thumb.

“i’m sure any bouquet would be fine.”

atsumu, still peering at the shop’s collection of roses, just scoffs at his teammate. “but it has to be perfect. it’s our first date since making things official.”

red roses would be the logical choice, he thinks. simple, timeless, classic, he’d once heard the shop owner describe them as. in other words, they’re romantic as heck.

but atsumu’s bought red roses for every date he’s gone on in the past. this date is special– you’re special. not just any bouquet of red roses will do.

“then get her favourite flower,” sakusa suggests when atsumu tells him this. “you can’t go wrong with that.”

“that’s a good idea,” atsumu hums thoughtfully, staring hard at the blooms.

“you don’t know her favourite flower, do you?”

a pause. atsumu feels his cheeks begin to warm. “well–”

“just say no, miya.”

“fine! i don’t know!” the setter admits, exasperated. but he knows other things, really! he knows who you’re rooting for on this season of the bachelor. he knows how you like your coffee and that he’s your favourite player on msby.

(okay, maybe second favourite. who didn’t love bokuto?)

he can practically hear his teammate rolling his eyes. “bouquets can be made up of more than one flower, you know. even if you choose wrong, i doubt it’ll affect her opinion of you.”

atsumu shifts his focus to the bigger arrangements. sure they’re a little pricier, but you’re worth it. “thanks, omi. the one with the sunflowers seems nice.” he snaps a quick picture and sends it to his teammate.

“sure. and if i were you, i’d be more concerned about other things.” omi continues as atsumu points out a bouquet and pulls out his wallet to pay.

“oh yeah? like what?”

“like the fact that you talk with food in your mouth. you also inhale food like you’re never going to eat again.”

“hey!” he argues, startling the florist. “i grew up with samu— if you didn’t eat fast, you didn’t eat at all!”

omi, of course, ignores him. “you talk a lot, you’re terrible at directions—”

“i am not,” he huffs, taking the bouquet. “as much as i’m lovin’ this pep talk, i’ve gotta go. i’ll call you tomorrow morning to let you know how it goes.”

“please don’t.”

atsumu spends the car ride to your apartment disproving every one of omi’s statements in his head. he only talked with food in his mouth when he was excited! and sometimes he just had to fire a joke off before the topic changed! and so what if he got them lost that one time they were in sendai? he didn’t know the location he’d picked had been for the north entrance, and not the south one.

he pulls up to the curb in front of your building, checking his phone to see one text from you.

>> on your way?

>> i can meet you downstairs

he shoots off a text telling you to stay put because he’s on his way up, a slight skip in his step as he gets out of his car. he’s lucky enough to catch someone leaving, flashing them his pr smile when they hold the door.

he bounces on his heels in the elevator, going over what he’s going to say when you open the door. a simple “hi” just wouldn’t suffice. should his compliment your hair first? or your outfit?

the doors open on the fourth floor, and atsumu’s heart thumps in his chest as he counts down the doors to yours. apartment 407.

he knocks, taking a step back and attempting to smooth the mess of hair on his head. but when the door opens, he finds that he has more pressing issues.

because he comes to the painful realization that omi was right.

“yes?” the old woman asks, looking him up and down. “can i help you, young man?”

atsumu’s stunned, still hoping that you perhaps lived with your grandmother. “i’m sorry, i—”

“oh, how lovely! are these from my grandson?” she asks, taking the bouquet from his grasp. “i love sunflowers. wait here—” the old woman reaches into her apartment, producing a wallet. “i have to tip you.”

“oh, ma’am,” he starts, taking a step back. “i’m not—”

she just hushes him, pressing a few bills into his hand.

well, if she insists.

_____

when atsumu exits the apartment, you’re waiting by his car, amused smirk on your lips.

“take a little detour?”

“just, uh, visiting my grandmother.”

your brows raise in surprise. “i thought she lived in hyogo?”

he really did talk too much. “okay, so i got a little lost. and i got you flowers, but she took them! they were real pretty too, with sunflowers ‘n daisies! i can show ya a picture—”

“atsumu,” you laugh, resting your hands on his shoulders and pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “it’s fine, really.”

you’re the one smoothing the crease between his brows and you smile up at him, causing a hot blush to creep up past the collar of his shirt.

“now come on, i’m hungry. don’t worry, i’ll pull up the directions to the restaurant on my phone.”

“hey!”

[moeswriting]

mine | 2. we were sitting there by the water

pairing: young!no-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

chapter summary: joel miller is falling in love and you’re learning to love, but joel’s hiding something big from you that might change everything, 

or the first and third date

chapter warnings: panic attack, implied parental abuse, joel is 22 and reader is 20, descriptions of a bad marriage and teenage pregnancy (Joel), reader is described a small amount (has hair, able-bodied, wears feminine clothing, is going to school for secondary english education, has a heavily-detailed background), joel being The Single Dad™, this author HATES sand but loves the idea of the beach, reader’s best friend being horny af, reader walking in on someone having barely-described sex, a thinly-veiled gilmore girls reference that probably no one but me will get, and an OC that the author is pretty sure is just chappell roan with a different name and a country accent

word count: 7.1k

a/n: i actually cannot thank y'all enough for all the love this series has gotten already. i am so excited to show y'all the story i have planned for these two (next chapter we'll get some sarah, and then it'll be three ;) ) . hope you like this chapter! any reblogs and notes are appreciated <3

series masterlist | last chapter -> | next chapter ->

read this chapter on ao3

Do you remember, we were sittin' there by the water?

You put your arm around me for the first time

You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter

You are the best thing that's ever been mine

✦ ✦ ✦

October 1994

“I didn’t know you had it in ya. I’m impressed.”

You’re rifling through your closet, as your roommate rambles in her thick Texan accent from across the room. Joel’s supposed to be here in an hour. You had just gotten out of class and were desperately trying to pull yourself together before he got here. He had told you to dress nice– that he was taking you to dinner and you had left your dorm this morning thinking you had something to wear, but now that you’re standing in front of every piece of clothing you own, you’re not sure that any of it is good enough.

You groan, “Elaine, I will kill you. I won’t hesitate this time.”

“My baby girl is finally gonna get some,” she squeals, jumping on her bed and hopping onto the ground elegantly, her fiery red hair fanning around her perfectly like it always does. Even in her current outfit of a shirt she stole from some frat boy she fucked last week and pink boxer shorts, she was perfect.

“Elaine…”

She prances over to you, hands on her hips, mischief in her eyes. You go back to looking in your closet.

“I need more information,” she pauses, looking you up and down, “What do we think he’s packin’?”

You groan again, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes, “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you about this. I’m going to move out. I am requesting a roommate change.”

She guides your hands away from your face and giggles, “I’m sorry. This is just very important to me. I need to know everythin’.”

“There’s not much to know. We only talked for like half an hour,” you sigh. You pull a white dress and a denim vest from their hangers and toss them on your bed. Good enough.

She throws her hands up into the air when you walk away from her. “Okay, well, at least tell me what he looks like?”

You strip down to your underwear and pull the dress over your head. “Well… he’s tall, muscular. Curly brown hair, brown eyes– pretty, the kind that crinkle when he smiles… God, even his nose was pretty– strong–” you button your vest tightly to your chest, it’s almost like a corset– “I don’t think I’ve seen a prettier man in my life.”

“So… packin’?” She smirks.

You blush, throwing your hands up in the air, “Yeah, probably!”

She squeals, clapping her hands together. The sound almost makes you smile, but you smother it behind a groan.

“Oh my god. I’m so done with this. Tell me if this outfit is cute.”

She walks over to you and grabs your shoulders, face and voice genuine as she whispers, “Oh, baby… You are so beautiful. If Joel doesn't want you, then I might give you a go.”

“Well, let’s hope Joel wants me then.”

Elaine gasps and runs to her bed, grabbing the nearest pillow. You brace for impact as she throws it towards you with a giggle. Hello Kitty flies right into your face and plops to the ground as you squeal.

She pauses her laughter, her expression becoming serious as she stares at you.

“Why do you look like you’re going to puke?”

You glare at her and duck into your closet again for a pair of shoes, “Shut up.”

Docs will do, you think.

“No, seriously. Two seconds ago you made it sound like he was the man you were going to spend the rest of your life with and now you look green. What’s wrong with you?”

You sit in your desk chair and pull your boots on, avoiding eye contact with your persistent best friend when you answer her question.

“Because I’ve spent the past twenty years of my life avoiding being in a relationship at all costs and this guy's nice and handsome and funny and I just don’t want to let him down… y’know?”

Elaine says your name sternly, “You could never let anyone down. You are amazing and way too good for literally any man on earth, but from what you’ve told me, he seems like he might be decent enough.”

She pauses, walking over to you and putting her hands on your shoulders, “You need to get out there. If you never try, you’re gonna be lonely for the rest of your life and as much as I want to try to save you from that– you need to do that all on your own, baby.”

You take a deep breath, or as much of a deep breath as your vest will let you, and let it out, “I know. I just don’t… I don’t want to waste my time on something that probably won’t last.”

Her facial expression drops into annoyance, “You have no idea! You have no idea if this could last. You think that every relationship is doomed to fail, and that’s just not fair! At least give the guy a chance to prove it could work out.”

You pause to think over her words. He’s cute. This could just be some fun, even if it doesn’t last. You toss your thoughts back and forth before you give in.

“Okay. But if this doesn’t work out, we’re going to reflect back on this moment and I’ll get to say, ‘I told you so’ over and over until we die.”

She points a finger at you. “You are pathetic.”

“And so are you.” You stick your tongue out at her and she does the same to you.

A knock at your door alerts you to his presence.

Elaine squeals, jumping up and down, her hair flying everywhere.

You shush her and walk to the door, opening it.

His brown curls are somewhat contained by some gel he obviously doesn’t know how to use and he’s freshly shaven his face. He’s wearing blue jeans and a white dress shirt tucked neatly into a belt that makes his waist look heavenly. He’s wearing the same cowboy boots he wore last time you saw him. He looks beautiful.

Elaine is poking your back and giggling in your ear. You would be giggling too if you didn’t think it would make you look like a weirdo.

He pulls a bundle of white and purple from behind his back and thrusts it into your hands, like they’re going to burn him if he keeps holding onto them. Flowers– carnations and lavender with a hint of baby’s breath.

You chuckle at his insistence and take them from him, “Wow, Joel, they’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“Yeah, 's no problem. Figured you like purple so,” he trails off, stuffing his hands in his pocket. He smiles bashfully, cheeks a burning red. The fluorescent lighting of your dorm hall makes the blush on his face look much darker than it already is. 

You know your face is flushed too.

“Uh, come on in! I’ll find a vase for these and we can go.”

“Okay,” he mumbles, following behind you as you push Elaine to her bed and rustle through your closet for the one vase you keep. You can feel Joel’s eyes on you as you bend down.

Elaine clears her throat impatiently.

You hum and narrow your eyes at her from your hunched over position, “That’s Elaine. Don’t worry about her.”

But, of course, since Joel is a Southern Gentleman and Elaine is a lady he’s never met, he introduces himself.

And it opens the floodgates.

She asks him about his job and his apartment and what size pants he wears and if he’s dated a lot. And, of course, he answers each question patiently, even the pants one (he's a 32, Elaine’s winking at you from across the room).

She’s still talking even as you shut the door in her face and Joel asks if that’s rude and you reply, “Just ignore her. She likes it,”

You can hear her cackling from the other side of the door.

The night goes brilliantly. When you get to his car parked across the street, he holds the door open for you and lets you pick the music station, even though you can tell he’s not exactly comfortable with your selection of pop– he doesn’t say anything though.

He takes you to a Colombian restaurant downtown where everyone knows him and greets him with loud declarations of, “It’s been too long, cariño,” and “you never come here enough, pendejo,” which he waves off with a, “I need a break from you all, sometimes.”

He orders you some empanadas (he insists that the woman who cooks them here is an empanada genius) and himself lechona, which gets him a side eye from the server and he just brushes him off.

You ask him what is wrong with the lechona, and he says that it’s supposed to be for breakfast or lunch, but he likes the rice dish for dinner instead. You smile when the server comes back with your food and flicks Joel on the head.

You talk about school and your favorite books and Joel talks about the diner’s latest gossip (Mr. Cassini and Doreen went on a date the other day, he hears it went well) and his brother who he just bailed out of jail this morning. You ask him why he was busted and he just shrugs and says, “Didn’t ask. All he said was he didn’t want mom to know, so I didn’t tell her.”

You listen to Joel talk about his brother and his “mama” like they hung the sun and the moon in the sky. He avoids talking about his father, you don’t ask.

He asks you about your family and all you can manage to say after a moment to think it over is, “Dad lives back in Washington. I don’t really talk to him much.”

He doesn’t ask anything else about your family after that.

When the server comes over with the check, you go to get your purse out and Joel clicks his tongue, “No, sugar, I got this.”

“But–”

“Put the purse down.”

You put your purse down.

He takes you back to your dorm with a blinding smile on his face, eyes crinkling with the intensity of it, and he walks you all the way back up to your door, even after you insist you can get there yourself.

He leaves you with a kiss on the cheek and a wink, “Bye, sugar.”

“Goodbye, Joel Miller.”

The smile doesn’t leave your face for days, which just makes Elaine smug– “I told ya so,” leaving her lips every time she catches you daydreaming.

You think maybe… maybe this could work.

✦ ✦ ✦

November 1994

“Get in the car, Sugar,” he yells from across the street, his blue pick-up rumbling way too loudly like it always does. He’s got his window down and a Johnny Cash song playing on the radio.

It’s a sunny day, beautiful for a day at the beach like Joel has been planning and waiting for for a couple weeks now. It’s in the low 70s and the air is still. It’s perfect. He’s perfect.

You giggle, “I’m coming; calm down!”

Your lilac sundress swishes between your legs as you run across the street and to the truck, looking both ways before you cross the street.

Leaning against his car door and into the window, he turns his cheek to you and you lean forward to kiss it. He hums in delight. 

His eyes are sparkling a bright honey brown in the sunlight when he looks you up and down. He swirls his finger around and you give in with a smile, spinning for him, the skirt of your dress swirling around you in a silken circle and flip flops smacking the ground almost comically.

“Darlin’, you look gorgeous.” His grin is unmatched in its brilliance.

You resume your position on the door, arms crossed, and smirk, “Oh, really? How gorgeous?”

He hums, his own smirk lighting up his face, “Hm, get in the truck and you might find out.”

You perk up, “Oo, are you gonna buy me a pony?”

“It might be better than that, baby,” he laughs.

You gasp, grabbing his face in both your hands, for nothing except the drama of it all, “What could possibly be better than a pony?”

“Sugar, get in the damn car before I drive away,” he deadpans, but you can see his smile fighting to see the light of day.

“Okay, okay,” you giggle again. You never seem to stop giggling when he’s around.

This is your third date with Joel. The second had gone just as well as the first– you went to see a movie, Forrest Gump. You cried like a baby into Joel’s flannel and he just squeezed your shoulder reassuringly, trying his best to comfort you while the other theater-goers looked at you like you were crazy. He glared at every one of them until they looked away from you.

The night ended with another kiss on the cheek, from you this time, not Joel as it was the time before. You wanted to kiss him for real, know what his chapped lips would feel like on yours, but you were too nervous that you would fuck it up, so you just resorted to what you knew would work.

But, you think tonight might end how you want it to.

You’d seen him since then, going to the diner a few times to study between your dates and waiting up for him until his shift was over so he could walk you home. You offered once jokingly to walk him home, but he had answered with a very serious and stern no. You didn’t ask him again after that.

When you’re on the road, the sweet tea Joel had picked up from the diner for you (“Extra sweet, just how you like it, baby”) in your possession, and the highway rushing past you, you slouch in your seat and sigh, “Music?”

This is the only point of contention between the two of you. Joel liked classic country and rock, you did sometimes too, but you preferred pop music. He knew that.

He chuckles, like he knows you’re dreading the country that you know he’s going to play, but instead he says, “I got something for you, baby.”

He reaches around your front to open the glove box and two CDs sit within the truck's papers.

You gasp, snatching them up and clutching them to your chest, “No way!”

He glances at you and then back to the road, grin broad and sparkling in the sunlight, “Yes way.”

“You got me Like a Prayer and Music Box!” You unbuckle your seatbelt and throw your arms around his shoulders.

You can tell he’s proud of himself as you tuck Madonna into his CD player and hit play. His grin stays on his face as he watches you sing along; you even hear him humming along to the choruses of a few songs he recognizes from the radio.

It’s a three and a half hour long drive to the nearest beach– you curse Texas for being so damn long. But it’s also nice, watching Joel drive you, one hand on the steering wheel and the other holding onto your thigh where your dress doesn’t cover it. He traces circles and random shapes into your skin, eyes fixed on the road. At some point you grab his hand in both of yours and kiss his knuckles gently, before depositing it back where it belongs. He just squeezes your thigh in response.

You’re done with your tea within the first hour of the drive, which means you have to stop to pee by the second hour of the drive, so Joel stops for you in a small town off the highway and stands outside the bathroom in his short-sleeve button-up and khaki shorts (not at all intimidating if anyone asked you, he looked like a middle-aged dad on vacation) while he waits for you after he sees the cashier give you a look. You tell him he can wait in the car, that you’ll be fine, but he insists.

By the time you get to the beach, it’s around noon, so the sun is high in the sky as it shines down on you in a comforting hug of warmth. Joel, as he always does, runs to your side of the truck and opens your door for you. You give him a smile over your shoulder when he closes the door as well.

When you look out to the view in front of you, the breath knocks out of your lungs. You’ve never been to the beach in the South. You’d only gone to the beach once as a kid when your dad was having a good day. In Washington, the beaches were surrounded by bluffs of rock and the water was so cold you couldn’t really swim in them, but it was nice to stick your toes in the wet sand and go shell hunting. That’s one of the only memories that you have of your dad where he isn’t angry, where he smiles.

But the water rolling out in front of you is the bluest blue you’ve ever seen. It’s mesmerizing, watching the waves crash into the shore and each other. Seagulls squawk above you, demanding attention from the people below. The sun watches on in fascination at the beauty of the planet it warms.

The truck door slams behind you and Joel taps your back lightly, urging you forward. He has a small cooler and a couple towels thrown over his shoulder, one blue and the other purple. His free hand takes yours when you start to walk towards the shore.

He lays out the towels next to each other, overlapping slightly in the middle, out on the grains of sand and delicately places the cooler next to the blue towel.

You point to the cooler, “What’s that?”

He flops onto the blue fabric and shields his eyes as he looks up at you, “Momma made us some lunch. Said I’m useless at lunch– says I make a mean dinner, but I don’t know how to make lunch light enough for travel.”

You sit next to him on the purple towel. You wonder if he got it just for you. “Well, what momma says, goes.”

He chuckles, “Yes, it does.”

His eyes meet yours in a stare that’s so intimate and personal you think it might be inappropriate to do in front of all these people. His eyes are the prettiest shade of brown you’ve ever seen, it’s almost like honey is dripping down from his hair and into his irises. They’re soft in that way that only the people who have been through too much can convey. You need to know why their softness matches yours.

You break eye contact and make grabby-hands at the cooler, “Gimme.”

You can feel the pause in the air as he holds his stare, looking you up and down, before he does as you tell him.

You pull open the cooler and in it is a sealed bowl of cut apples (which have browned slightly, but are still beautifully crisp looking), two sandwiches you can’t yet identify the filling of, a couple arepas in a plastic bag, and two bottles of water.

A little note is attached to the top of the cooler, but Joel is quick to pull it away from your eyeshot. You try to ignore the curiosity that takes over you.

“Looks yummy,” you hum. 

He hums back, crossing his legs beneath him. “It is. My momma makes the best arepas in the world.”

“Tell your mom I said, ‘thank you for lunch’.”

“Of course, sugar.”

You fall into a comfortable silence as Joel lays out the food.

You take a bite of the arepa and moan in delight. You tell Joel you’ve never had anything better in your mouth in your life. He makes a joke that makes you choke and he loses it, slapping his legs and chortling so hard that he snorts, which makes you break out into unbridled laughter when you recover from your coughing fit.

It’s simple, easy– this thing with Joel. It feels good. It feels right.

You hear kids screaming and giggling as they run after each other, watching as they kick up sand under their feet. Parents watch on with matching grins on their faces, sitting under umbrellas with towels laid out under them. The kids make you smile too.

You can feel Joel’s eyes on you again. Maybe you just have a sixth sense for when Joel is looking at you. You wish he was always looking at you; inside and out. You wish you could rip your secrets out of your guts and give them to him and say, “Look at me. This is me.” You wish he’d show you his too.

Maybe someday.

When you’re finished with your lunch, you stand up and pull him with you up and towards the shore, leaving both of your shoes behind.

You take your first step into the water, bracing for the cold, but all you find is warmth. And you sigh in relief.

Joel’s arms wrap around your waist from behind you, his chin sitting on your shoulder, his hands gripping yours as you bring your arms up to his.

“Thank you,” he whispers into your ear.

You let out a breath of amusement, “For what?”

He kisses your shoulder, chapped lips on soft, sunkissed skin. “For being here.”

You hum.

“Let’s go find seashells.” You take his hand and drag him back towards the shore. He just nods and lets you take him wherever you want.

You spend the next hour searching the shore up and down for seashells. You find so many, that you have to take multiple trips back to your towels to deposit them. It’s good. You’ll leave most of them here for the creatures that use them as their homes, but you’ll take one home. One for you and one for Joel.

When you decide you’re done, you hand Joel your favorite– a purple and pink shell, one of the classic looking ones– and Joel hands you his– a gray shell with faint brown lines splaying out from the middle. You ask him why it’s his favorite and he says, “It’s simple. Does the job, doesn’t need to be all flashy.”

You have to stop yourself from laughing at the fact that Joel has somehow found the least interesting seashell on this beach and turned it into something beautiful and so him to you. He is so… perfect.

Your day continues, seashells stored safely in the cooler and the leftovers sprinkled back over the shore, except for a pink one that you give to a little girl who tugs on your dress and asks for it. You crouch down and hand it to her with a bright smile and a nod. You get the feeling again that Joel is watching you, observing you.

You and Joel end up in a splash fight at some point, soaked and cracking up at the shock on each other’s faces. You feel something you haven’t felt in a long time; unstoppable joy– joy that feels like it’s never going to end.

You build a sandcastle, which really ends up being more of a sand pyramid without any tools to assist you, but you love it just the same. You poke a stick into the top and call it a flag pole. Joel calls it a masterpiece, but he’s not looking at the sand, he’s looking at you.

The sun is starting to go down when Joel decides that it’s probably time to leave, but you force him to sit on the towels for a few more minutes as you watch the sun set. You can feel the sand all over you, it’s stuck in between your toes and your fingers, catches on the inside of your thighs as you rub them together in an attempt to get warmer. It’s gotten much colder as the sun goes down and your sundress is not very good at keeping in heat.

Joel wraps his arm around you and pulls you into his side. You can’t help but glance down at his lips as you lift your head up to look at him.

The sunset makes him look heavenly. The shadows of the rising night make his features look softer, makes the brown of his hair shine in the dim glow. He is beautiful. What did you do to deserve a man this beautiful to give you the time of day?

He’s looking at you too, lips open slightly and eyes roaming your face. You watch him stop on your lips a few times before you just decide to do it.

You grab his face and bring it to yours in a kiss you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

You knew his lips would feel like an oasis in the desert, despite the fact that they were chapped from a lack of water and his beard is slightly tickling your upper lip, but this is so intense, it feels almost better than that. Like finding the other half of your soul and fusing into one. Like entering heaven and feeling at peace for the first time in your life.

His lips are moving against yours now, tongue sneaking its way into your mouth,, but it’s not desperate. It’s searching, exploratory, like he’s trying to figure out who you are and how to make you his.

You break the kiss, the need to breathe takes over and you look up through your eyelashes at Joel, “That was…”

“Amazing, sugar. Best kiss of my life,” he breathes out.

You feel your face get hot under his gaze.

Not able to stand the feeling rushing through you, you stand and hold your hand out for him. He takes it and you help pull him up.

“Let’s get you home, baby.” He picks up your stuff and makes his way to the truck, but not without another chaste kiss from you first. You hope you’ll be getting a lot more of those in your future.

You don’t want to leave him. He feels like home.

✦ ✦ ✦

It takes a few hours, most of it humming along to the radio and staring longingly at Joel from your seat with your hand in his, but you’re back in front of your dorm. You’ve been sitting in his truck for the last couple minutes, knees tucked into your chest, as you waited for “Material Girl” to end, insisting that he had to let it play the whole song or you’d put him on some kind of hitlist. He would’ve let you do anything you wanted, threat of a hitlist or not, you know that.

When it’s done, he switches the music off and sits in the silence.

He mutters your name, “I– I got something to tell ya.”

You turn your head to look at him, it still laying on your knees. He looks scared, eyebrows furrowed and hand scratching his beard.

“Sure, anything.”

He makes you stew in the sound of the old truck rumbling for a moment while he thinks over what he’s about to say. It makes you nervous, his hesitation. 

“I’ve got a daughter.”

Your heart falls to the ground beneath you. You can’t help but lift your head and scrunch your face up in confusion.

A daughter?

You have a daughter?

Are you like him?

God, please, don’t be like him.

“Oh… Wow!”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah.”

What do you say to that? How are you supposed to respond like a normal human being? 

“What’s her name?” Good enough.

“Sarah. Sarah Esperanza Miller. Gave her my momma’s name. Esperanza, that is. Her first name is Manda’s momma’s.”

“That’s a pretty name,” you reply, mystified.

A daughter.

This young man sitting in front of you is a father. You suspect you should’ve seen it sooner. Seen it in the way he holds himself, like he’s always half-awake, like he is in constant need of a nap. Seen it in the way he shows up for work with applesauce strewn across his shirt. Seen it in the way he doesn’t bother to shave for weeks at a time– lets his scruff grow into a beard before he finally decides to cut it all off again. Seen it in the way he cares so deeply, like he would give all of himself just for the people he loved to have everything they ever wanted.

But, you guess your dad was never really sober long enough for you to notice what a father should look like.

“I’d like to think so,” he chuckles lightly.

“How old is she?”

“Turned four in July. Had a princess birthday party for her. Didn’t stop wearing the damn tiara for a month afterwards,” he smiles, eyes misty like he’s reliving the memory right in front of you.

“Well, if I had a tiara, I’d wear it all the time too.” You let out a little breath of a laugh.

He chuckles, “I bet you would, sugar.”

He looks you up and down, evaluating your reaction to his news. You don’t know what he sees, because if you’re honest, you don’t know what you feel.

He nods once, looking back out to the street in front of you. Guess he found what he was looking for.

“Manda got pregnant when we were seventeen. Stupid– didn’t use protection like we should’ve. We had just graduated high school when she gave birth to Sarah. Got married a couple months after that cause our daddy’s told us we had to, especially hers. He told her she was a whore, kicked her out the house, told her he’d never let her step into his house again if we didn’t get married like we were supposed to.

“Supposed to,” he scoffs, “We should’ve never got married. She was a free-spirit. Never liked being in one place for long. A couple weeks after Sarah’s second birthday, she left us. Nothing but a note and the divorce papers.”

He sighs, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel.

Twenty-two and a single-father. You think he might be the bravest man you’ve ever met.

“Anyways,” he sighs, looking back to you, “Sarah’s my whole life. Everything I do is for her. And I know that’s a lot, ‘specially cause we’re so young and you’re still in school. I don’t wanna put that kinda’ pressure on you. So, this is me givin’ you an out, if you want it.”

You tilt your head to him as he continues, “But, I just want you to know that I’m all in–” he points to you and then him– “this, us– I’m all in.”

This is a tipping point. Whatever decision you made was going to change everything. If you said no, you were never going to see this man again– this man who just gave you one of the best days of your life and respected you and liked you. You wouldn’t even be able to give him a chance to show you how great life with him could be. But if you said yes, you would be committing to a relationship with a man who was already so grown-up, a man with a child. Would that make you… would that make you a mother if it all worked out with Joel?

“This is… a lot,” you mutter, eyes flicking to his hunched frame, highlighted in the dim, flickering glow of the street lights surrounding you.

Your lungs aren’t filling all the way. You can’t breathe.

His face falls, hopeful eyes going misty. “Yeah, it’s alright– I understand.”

Oh no, that’s not what you meant.

“But– I… Joel, this is a lot,” you blurt out, both hands flying out to grab his right hand, “But, I wanna give it some thought. Can I… Can I have some time to think about this?”

The softness comes back to his face, “Of course, sugar. Take all the time you need.”

His hand shifts between yours so it takes your left and he squeezes it lightly.

“Thank you. For telling me.” You squeeze back. Tears are stinging your eyes, desperate to escape their prison, to show the man in front of you that you aren’t ready for this, aren’t made for this. It takes everything in you to keep them at bay.

“Thank you for not bolting,” he chuckles, “I tried dating once since Manda left and… let’s just say it did not go too well.”

His face scrunches up in mock disgust and you laugh lightly. Your chest hurts with the effort. You feel the overwhelming need to bolt.

You hesitate, hand reaching for the door blindly behind you, “I’ve gotta– I’ve gotta go. I’ve got a lot of assignments to do tomorrow. But, I’ll call you. Later.”

He looks you up and down, smile fading, scrutinizing gaze evaluating you. Please, you beg to anyone who will listen, please don’t let him see it.

He nods, face expressionless, “Okay. See ya.”

He saw.

You open the door and climb out. You turn around and grab the lowered window in a last ditch effort to comfort yourself, maybe him too. He is real. He is kind. He is not him.

“This isn’t goodbye, Joel.” You hope that isn’t a lie. 

He nods. You think you might see his eyes glistening when they catch the light. You can’t breathe.

You want to kiss him so badly that it hurts to pull away, like ripping your soul apart and leaving it open and bloody for everyone to watch as you bleed out.

Your hand falls back to your side. And you jog across the street and walk to the door of your building. Walk, not bolt.

✦ ✦ ✦

Joel curses himself as he watches you walk away, dress swaying in the wind of the oncoming rain.

Why didn’t he say something sooner?

Fuck.

He can’t breathe. Can’t even get himself to leave.

He thought he found it, someone who he could let into his life, but of course he had to fuck that up like he always does.

He wasn’t lying when he had told you that he was all in. He thinks maybe he was being dramatic or just trying too hard to get you to stay, but he understands now, breath not quite getting to his lungs, that he meant it. Meant every word of it.

He scared you. He didn’t want to scare you anymore with his self-inflicted hurt, so he made sure you didn’t see it– left his face stoic as you walked away. He hopes that didn’t scare you either.

His chest burns. It hurts. But he needs to get home. Tommy is waiting for him. Sarah is waiting for him.

“Fuck,” he yells, slamming his hands into the steering wheel. And he drives away, tears blurring his vision and raindrops falling heavily on his windshield

✦ ✦ ✦

When you open the door to your room, you can hear moaning coming from Elaine’s side of the room. The curtain around her bed is drawn, a red glow emanating from the pink, strawberry-covered curtain.

You debate turning around, sitting in one of the band practice rooms in the basement and wait for Elaine to page you to say you can come up. You’ve done it before. She hadn’t been very happy with you afterwards, demanding that next time you just subtly announce your arrival and she would stop and send her partner on their way.

Before you can even end the debate in your mind, the door shuts loudly behind you and the moaning stops abruptly.

You wince as you hear rustling, swears and what you can only assume is clothing being thrown. A few moments later, Elaine’s messy hair peeks out of the curtain and she squints her eyes in the darkness to see you. 

“Hey, baby girl. What’s going on?”

You hear a woman’s voice come quietly from behind her, “Who the fuck is that?”

She hushes them, holding a finger up to her lips.

Turning back to you, she sighs, “Are you alright, baby?”

You sniff, voice watery, “Yeah, I just wanted to go to bed, but I can go.”

Elaine’s eyes go wide as she disappears behind the curtain again and hisses, “You have to leave.”

Dread runs down your spine.

You hadn’t meant to ruin her… whatever this was.

You hear them talk to each other in hushed tones, but you can’t hear exactly what they’re saying. It doesn’t matter. You just need to get out.

You turn to leave, heaving breaths only filling your lungs halfway. Fuck, fuck, fuck…

You hear Elaine’s stern voice as she yells at you from behind the fabric, “If that’s you leaving, I will kill you. Stay where you are.”

You freeze.

A woman stumbles out of Elaine’s heightened bed and barely makes it to the ground standing. She glares at you, as she fumbles to put her heels back on. She looks mean. She looks exactly like Elaine’s type.

“I am so sorry–”

“Don’t you dare apologize to her. She is fine,” Elaine cuts you off as she slides gracefully out of her bed and lands with a soft thud on the carpet. She’s got mascara running down her face and she’s wearing a baby tee and men’s boxers like she always is– this time it’s Barbie’s decapitated head on a pink background and gray shorts. Despite the fact that she looks like she just had sex (which she had, or was trying to before you had fucking interrupted her), she looks gorgeous.

“But, I–”

She puts a finger up in the air, silencing you.

Elaine’s blonde is done putting her shoes on and is at the door with a scowl on her face, “E, you cannot be serious.”

“Go away before I punch you in the boob,” she states with a finality that makes the girl turn around and go, but not without rolling her eyes first.

Before the door is even done shutting behind her, Elaine is hugging you fiercely and pulling back before you even get the chance to melt into it, cupping your cheeks in her hands.

“What the fuck happened, baby?”

Your mind is off the blonde already. She holds you while you cry, and you try to take deep breaths that just stop short in your lungs. She cares– she has always cared.

You tell her about the drive there and the CDs that he had bought just for you and the seashells (fuck the seashells) and the way he held you as you watched the sunset together and…

“A child, Lane! He has a daughter. How could he not tell me he had a daughter?”

Elaine is spinning around in her desk chair, chest squished into the backrest, face turned up at the ceiling, her long, curly, red hair bouncing as it swirls around her. This is her thinking position.

You’re pacing back and forth, still in the dress and sandals you wore to the beach. You think you might be trailing sand into the rug below you. You’ll vacuum it later when you’re not absolutely panicking. 

“Well, maybe he was scared.” She gets louder and quieter as her spinning pulls her voice around the room.

You throw your hands up in the air. “Well, now I’m scared!”

She hums, spinning coming to a stop. 

“Is it a good scared or a bad scared?”

You turn to her with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, “What could that possibly mean?”

“It means are you scared that you like him too much, or are you scared you don’t like him enough?”

You blink at her, wide eyes trained on her own.

Slowly, you back up to your bed and jump onto the edge with a huff. Fuck. She knew you too well.

You think of his strong hands and his soft eyes. How he talks so candidly about his adoring mother and his troubled brother. How he lights up when he talks about his guitar. How he held you on the beach. How he so obviously loves his daughter. How you love that he loves so deeply.

Love.

You shrink into yourself, arms wrapping around your bent knees, nose tucking into the space between your legs.

“Too much.”

You can hear her brain working from the other side of the room, her nails clicking together as her mouth tries to catch up with her brain.

“Is this really a bad thing?”

Your head whips out from its hiding place, “What?”

She shrugs, “I mean, I don’ know. You like him and if he has a kid, and is supporting her well, doesn’t that mean he’s mature? That he might be a good person to depend on? To love?”

Love.

You can follow her logic– you’d thought the exact same thing yourself.

“But, that means that I have to mother a child. I don’t know how to be a mother! You know I don’t know how to do that,” you ramble.

She scoffs, getting up from her chair and making her way over to you, “No, it don’t. Baby, you have no idea what this means. You told me that he knew this might be too much, especially since you’re so young. And I know that you don’t do too well with parental figures.”

You nod slowly. She’s right. She’s always right.

She smiles, taking your face in her hands again, “Tell him how you feel. Make it clear to him that you wanna try with him and that you have reservations about the whole ‘daughter’ thing. I think it’s good that he told you before it was too late.”

You search her green eyes for a sign, for something to latch onto. To tell you this is a bad idea. To leave him behind. But all you find is her usual raw honesty and adoration for you. She wouldn’t tell you to do something you weren’t ready for.

“‘Sides, you ain’t even fucked him yet, so that can really determine if he’s worth the time or not.”

She giggles as you push her away from you with your feet on her chest.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t, baby girl.”

You hold a hand out to her and she takes it, soft hand enveloping yours. Pulling her into your chest, you sigh and wrap your arms around her shoulders and your legs around her waist– a common position for the two of you. Elaine jokingly refers to it as your “clingy sloth” hug.

“No… I don’t.”

✦ ✦ ✦

To: Joel

From: Me

i wanna try, but we need to talk

series masterlist | masterlist of all masterlists 🌼 | eras masterlist 🌻

[insuke69]

What's in a name? P2

Part I

2/3

☆ Hobie brown × Rich!Osborn!reader

★ Synopsis: Osborn is almost a disgusting name because of the messed up things it has and the dirty money that holds it up by threads. And here is the child that sneaks out one night and meets a punk that goes directly against her father.

✩ Warnings: cussing, Some more angst, 'crybaby’ reader, misunderstanding, SMUT

★ smut: P in V, unprotected, pull-out-method, oral (F!receiving), pierced pp.

Rating—M

✩ 7,1k words

______

If one word could describe how the next few days of your life was, It’d be bittersweet.

Bittersweet Because of how sweet Spiderpunk was to you. Or rather, how sweet he was to who he thought was Emily.

So sweet while you couldn’t describe how you felt with him, with your own behavior more open and carefree with that dark mask you bare almost every night when you sneak out and ‘accidentally’ run into him. It makes you grin like an idiot when he stands close or when you see him webbing over to you as you chill around the bench.

That bench where you two met, where you always helplessly cried as a little girl now being a place you look forward to going every day. The second the sun sets you tell Roxy you’re going out and you stay out until any hour of the night with not even Roxy knowing about the special punk that makes your heart pound and your body ease with some kind of feeling that makes you want to be close to him physically and emotionally.

Something about how exhilarating and free you felt around him, his arm around you while you held onto him. You two often webbed some nights, to buildings you know inside out since you helped your dad design some, or some simple spray painting in canals, and if you were lucky: You two would end up on some rooftop talking while looking into the night sky with few stars because of light pollution.

One night you’re bent beside your bed with the collection of pictures with you and Spiderpunk, you’re wondering if you should show him who you are: But that's the bitter part.

Spiderpunk loves and is close to the masked street artist he simply knows by her fake name, Emily.

Bitter because he doesn’t care for the actual woman below the mask, yet he enjoys the mask and the personality below. Spiderpunk seems to despise y/n Osborn. He doesn’t make his rebellious habits too known since he didn’t do that for attention and was always his own unfiltered and blunt self. How the hell will you two ever know each other when he wears his mask for anonymity and you wear yours to not end up getting stabbed at every turn.

“I just.. I feel like she's always trying to act as if she’s so much better than her dad, when she doesn’t even leave her house to avoid the people who see her as she is.” you remember Spiderpunk shrugging since the topic had moved to ‘you’.

“Yeah? What a hot take.” You comment sarcastically with a chuckle. You couldn’t defend yourself/who is the true woman behind the mask since he would likely be offended that you would defend the daughter of such a monster.

Your small memory moment cuts short as you hear your door knock in the way you know exactly who is the one behind the door and quickly shove the shoebox full of pictures of Spiderpunk and you with the art you’ve been putting up on most osborn buildings under your bed and sit on the edge of it while the door opens and Roxy walks in.

“Hey, remember to get ready for the event.” She said as she looks away from you and goes straight to your closet. “This is important to your father, he needs his daughter there and he needs you to behave for it.” Roxy continued as she began picking out an outfit for you.

This was a christmas event where your dad made a whole thing just to show off he donated some money to a cause about homeless and unfed people around in Brazil, meanwhile he hates the needy people down in the city less than a ten minute drive away–and actively keeping them ignored.

“What's the.. Uhm..” You begin before pausing to think of the word,

“Schedule? It's from five to twelve.” Roxy chimed.

“What? Dude! I won’t be able to go out w-” You cut yourself off before rewording your words, “I don’t want to go.” you say as you lean back on your hands before adding with a scoff. “It’s a waste of time and we both know I just have to smile for a camera and look pretty like some display model.”

Roxy didn’t know about Spiderpunk, nobody did. You couldn’t let her know about Spiderpunk, it's one thing to sneak out and arrive home late with spray paint stains and smelling like an unfamiliar cologne and musky scent faintly drafting through the air you walk through–mostly because you have to hold onto Spiderpunk as you two swing through the musty camden air.

“Yes, but you also have to understand how important this is to your father, and I’ve been trying my very best to make sure your Mr. Osborn h-”

“My dad, Norman, I couldn’t care less.” you interrupt with a slight grimace, “You don’t have to ‘Mr. Osborn’ him to me.”

Roxy nods and clears her throat, “Norman,” She corrected, “In shorter words, I’ve trying so damn hard to make sure he doesn’t find anything out about whatever the hell you do when you go out, The least you can do is listen to me and miss what you do just this once.”

Her tone is a bit exasperated while still calm as if it were nothing while she rummaged through your closet and took out a sparkly low cut red dress with black edges along with lace over where cleavage would’ve been visible, along with black stilettos. She places the dress and pair of shoes onto your bed beside where you sat and moved over to your vanity for the jewelry to wear with everything, settling on a pearl necklace and a pair of white gold earrings and placing them in the middle of your vanity for you to put them on before makeup.

“I still don’t get why you have to pick out my outfits, still.” You murmur under your breath with snark as you look over what Roxy had set up for you.

“You are still dependent.” She answered bluntly while grabbing tights for you, fishnets to have below the skirt of the dress.

Still dependent.

You go quiet for a moment. So even Roxy thinks you’re a daddy's girl who can’t think for herself. She’s always picked your outfits for you for events, it always pissed you off how she never wanted to teach you about what colors clash or what is too tacky. How are you supposed to know if nobody has taught you anything?

“Your hair will be half up-half down.” Roxy adds as she gestures to what she had set up for you.

At least you had your own abilities to do your own damn hair, how generous. And with that, Roxy had walked out of your room to leave you get changed and ready for the event.

You roll your eyes and start getting changed, you look at yourself in the mirror and take a breath before testing your fake smile while looking at yourself, partially not really recognizing the reflection behind it.

Some dolled up girl wearing things that cost more than most people can wish for, your money that you don’t earn, you can't earn anything. You’re like some little girl who has to rely on the people who refuse to even teach you anything. Your face just feels as if you’re being forced to enjoy and display everything that holds blood and dirt, almost muddily dragged on your skin and collar bone.

You huff and rip your gaze from the mirror and move back to your bed to take out the balaclava and gloves hastily and shove the shoebox back under your bed and hidden away then moving over to your closet and grabbing a black and white purse–shoving in the gloves and mask before spraying on your usual perfume and leaving your room to start being on your way to the event.

_____

In summary:

The event is shit, the event has loud music, loud overwhelming music, the whole time you have to be stood with a smile that barely reaches your eyes and having to awkwardly hug or shake hands with the most random strangers you have to interact with.

There's good food and catering–but you for whatever reason was told to stay by the big decorative tree and some security guards around you since it's the usual thing at events, your father isn’t really loved by all so it's for your safety to have some random big dude hovering your every move and interaction.

“Hey, what time is it?” You ask the taller man who wore dark sunglasses and a serious look on his face that barely glance at you, almost protecting you like you were some safe that has to be observed because of secrets and riches it held.

“It’s..” He changed his statue-like position and checked his watch, “Seven o’four.” He answered while moving back to his earlier position and staring dead ahead as if you were medusa, he was still and cold as stone anyway.

You scoff and cross your arms over your chest at the time. Five more hours of standing beside some man who doesn’t care to at all speak or interact with ‘the goods’ or the product he's protecting? No. You glance around and see some double doors that are labeled with two signs which indicate a woman's bathroom and the dude bathroom with a smaller sign with some writing that you can’t read all that well.

You take a step to walk in that direction before feeling a hand on your shoulder like a chain around your ankle holding you back.

Oh right, the statue-bodyguard

“Where do you th-” The guy began before you shake his hand off of your shoulder and keep walking in that direction.

“Bathroom! Little lady Osborn has to go to the ladies room.” You say sarcastically while walking over to the doors you saw, the bodyguard letting you go after saying something about not wasting time and five minutes–you tuned him out because you already felt so free without him hovering.

You walk towards the doors and read small instructions that pretty much tell you/the one reading that where the bathrooms are.

Turn left to the second hall and third door to the right, follow the hall where the restroom signs are.

-Oscorp

You push the door and walk through to see some big hall where there are other rooms, an untouched area of the venue that seemed to be rooms to take care of kids, like some daycare or classrooms. The hall has a barely yellowish tint and has a hall that goes to the bathrooms. You explore a bit more to find an exit with a bright green sign to indicate exactly what it is.

You grin and clutch your purse as you head to the emergency exit and push it open–the cold air of the night hitting you immediately and you curse at yourself for leaving your sweater to the guard.

You take a deep breath and let the cool air flood your lungs before taking a few steps away from the building to find what part of the city you’re in and start walking more while taking out your balaclava and gloves then putting them on.

You zone out while taking the refreshing walk away from the loud party your dad- well, ‘oscorp’ has thrown, a wasteful event full of music and food to distract people from the ruined lives caused by this large and overrated company.

You then hear a familiar THWAP appear from behind you.

Oh god.

Not now-

Your mask is over your face along with your gloves but that doesn’t hide your expensive jewelry or dress, or heels or anything of the sort that shows you aren’t the lower middle class woman Spiderpunk should think you are.

“Emi’?”

A voice you always want to hear, whether it's asking or telling you something, whether it's called out or whispered in your ear, you love whenever his deep cockney words are directed at you. The nickname he gave you since he often joked about Emily being too much of a hassle to pronounce.

But right now it feels horrifying, heart full of dread at the possibility of him figuring out you aren’t who you’ve been saying you are- hell- your name isn’t even Emily, you just named yourself after your dead mother.

“Emily.” Spiderpunk said more firmly once he recognised that mask, the same mask he sees most nights–and to little of your knowledge..

Really want to see what's below it.

Really wants to see the face of the woman he's growing to love.

You swallow your pride and turn to face him as if you were a kid whose hand was caught in the cookie jar.

The lenses to spiderpunks masks widen a little as if to represent a bit of surprise once he sees the figure below what he usually sees, a worn out hoodie or random tee and some jeans. But now he's seeing a curvaceous colored figure in a dress that's glamorized with jewelry made of pearls and white gold, shining in the streetlight and faded moonlight.

You expect his expression shift of disgust or something at how you’re dressed, rich girl, looking like a classy brat whether there's a mask and gloves to seal something that's already leaking through your image. You’re ready to blink away tears at the feeling of your sinking heart, hands tensing and feeling like you’re holding the world's problems along with your own chained to your palms.

But to your surprise, he starts to shrug off his iconic leather jacket, before you can get a word in he passes it to you and puts it over your shoulders. “Its cold as hell tonigh’, what the hell are you wearing out here.” He says playfully with a chuckle as he looked over at you so the rhetorical question sinks in.

How the hell are you supposed to answer that?

“Uhhhhhhh..” You try to register the warm jacket now over you that had that lingering punk scent that a part of you wanted to steal genuine sniffs but you knew you couldn’t really other than subtle inhales, that scent so comforting for no reason beside the one who radiates it.

“I was at an.. ‘Important’ event but snuck out like usual.” You summarize as you adjust the jacket so you can put on the sleeves and snuggle into its warmth and scent.

His warmth and scent.

“So d’you wan’ to do the usual bullshi’ on rooftops or do you wan’ to jus’ want to fuck around Osborns buildings some more?” He asks with a grin in his voice as he lazily puts his long lanky arm around your waist like he did every night ‘platonically’, ready to tighten his hold the second you say yes for you two to swing wherever.

You smile and nod “Yeah no, I’m fine with whatever as long as it’s with you.” to which he happily shoots a web and you both begin swinging through the well lit streets of Camden, at least the part of town you both were in. The cold air soon felt a bit heavier, indicating the part of town less taken care of and more polluted. You two glide over several streets but Spiderpunk lowers and slows down around an alleyway, a familiar alleyway..

The Alleyway that started it all.

You could see the same gas station a bit down the street, bright and open. The same station where you had bought food for..

“Squaishy!” Spiderpunk greeted that same person as he let go of your waist and left you to come closer on your own accord instead of dragging you into the space, not knowing at all what has happened here for you. Little did Spiderpunk know that ‘Squaishy’ was the one who caused your tears that night. Squaishy seemed to be doing better but still with the worn out jacket but they were happy and glad to see Spiderpunk as they greeted each other with a handshake and small hug, A smile in Spiderpunk’s lenses. But Squaishy’s eyes darken as he looks over at you and recognizes your mask.

But Spiderpunk follows his gaze, not realizing the tension. “Squiashy! This is my friend, Emily.” he introduced as he put his hands on your shoulders and almost pushing you into the conversation.

A knowing amused smirk falls onto Squaishy’s lips as they raise their eyebrows, “Emily?” He echoed.

Fuck.

“I have to go.” You say abruptly before Squaishy can have a quip or comment about your name..

Or mentions that it isn’t your actual name.

Words couldn’t explain how Spider-punk looked as his head whipped to look in your direction as if you said something so appalling that it insulted his whole bloodline, “Wha’?” He asked as the lenses of his mask widened, looking almost like round ovals–but the important thing is that you suddenly feel his eyes burning into yours, as if he was shifting his attention onto you to not leave so soon. Squiashy’s smug expression shifts slightly when he notices how Spiderpunk when from seeming happy and in a good mood, to worried and uncertain.

“I was out on a walk.. You know, from where I escaped-slash-snuck out from, and I don’t want them noticing I’m gone or anything since I’m an ‘important factor’.” you say awkwardly, trying your best to say everything but nothing at the same time.

Hobie isn’t stupid though, he can always tell when there’s more to the story, especially now since your excuses are getting more vague and sloppy.

“I can take you back?” He offers, either wanting to spend more time with you or curious as to what you do or who you actually are. These half truths are starting to make Hobie more curious of the woman behind the balaclava every night. At his offer, trying to know more about you, not knowing that you aren’t the Emily you’re displaying yourself to be.

Emily is bold, playful, sarcastic, sweet, thoughtful and fun. She's the woman spiderpunk wants to hold close at night and would do anything to see her eyes below the mask smile.

But he didn't know the person who you have to keep hidden from him like how you keep ‘Emily’ from your father.

Y/n is quiet, keeps to herself, diffident, rich and spoiled. The woman who spiderpunk feels indifferent about beyond disdain and a grimace when he hears her, or the Osborn name in general.

“No, no. or.. Can you take me where you found me?” You request awkwardly with a small smile, hoping he’ll say yes, half knowing he will but won’t stop asking things. He’s as curious as a cat.. An adorable, tall, lanky punk-cat.

He nods and says a quick bye handshake with Squaishy and turns back to you, putting his arm around your waist firmly and holding your body against his then shoots a web, soon launching into the air and swinging, your arms and around his neck. Palpable tension beyond your face in the crook of his neck to shield your face from the cold air hitting you both. Tension now because of what even started this relationship..

His unanswered questions, and your half answers.

Once you arrive where Spiderpunk found you, when he sets you down he keeps a hand on your shoulder as if to keep you from leaving/running off. “So, would you mind telling me at least wha’ even’ you’re talking ‘bout?” He prompted as he looked into your visible eyes through the balaclava. It felt like he was looking into your soul, making your mouth go dry.

“..I mind? I’m- I’m sorry but I really do have to g-”

“Don’ start with that!” He cut you off with a scoff as he moves his hand off of your shoulder, letting you be able to go if you really wanted to, “You always have to end up disappearing, I understand your need to have your identity secre’, but at this point it's like you don’ trust me.”

He isn’t wrong but he isn’t right either. You do trust him, there's so much you know you have freedom of doubt in him but.. It's the one thing you can’t tell him about, the one thing that you can’t control and that you doubt he’d understand. The filthy name that comes after your first.

Osborn.

Tears make a glossy layer on your eyes, You’re stuck. On one hand, if you tell the truth, he won’t ever see you the same. On the other hand, If you still avoid it, you may slip up and he’ll find out the hard way.

“Not- not yet.” You whisper, “I’ll tell everything you want to hear, but I just can’t right now.” you murmur as you took off his jacket he lent you and passed it back to him before taking some steps back, as much as you didn’t want this argument to end on this sour note, you couldn’t risk anything going wrong with your father.

Spiderpunk watched with furrowed eyebrows under his mask as you went away, disappearing as you turned a corner. He cursed at himself under his breath as he put the leather jacket back on, a faint lingering fragrance of your perfume, conflicted thoughts and emotions circling his mind like a toy train. On one hand, he knows your boundaries and wants you to be comfortable and able to cry on his shoulder, on the other hand: He won’t let himself be manipulated and lied to, whether he's infatuated or not.

He shook his head and clasped his hands over his face.

“This is a breach of her privacy. This is a breach of her privacy, this is a breach of her-” He repeats in his mind as he shoots a web and runs up a building to arrive at its rooftop. He takes off his mask and stands by the edge as he looks out at the street you went down, his mind screaming at him and his heart telling him it's a bad idea.

“She won’t like that you followed her. She won’t trust you, you can just wait..” “But wait how long? What is so bad that she has to keep it from me? How long can she play me as the fuckin’ fool..” His mind debating against himself, but still looking out for you.

He spots you and jumps over buildings while running, his eyes on you to see where you’re going. What you’re doing. Why you are in such a hurry. Watching as you approach the venue, going towards the door you went out from. Osborn’s charity event.

It was dark but he saw your figure, the way your hands moved to first take off your gloves and shove them into your bag but something fell without you noticing, then your mask. It’s like Hobie was watching it in slow motion, your hands raising to the end of your mask and starting to raise it.

In a flash of awareness, he turned around completely before he saw your face. This wasn’t how he wanted it to happen, this isn't how he wanted to see the woman hidden behind that fabric, but the need to know was almost hurting his mind, but he remembered you dropped something so he put on his mask then jumped and webbed closer to where you were and strained his eyes looking at the ground to see what you dropped.

A gold bracelet with the names “Anne-Marie, Emily, Y/n.”

Spiderpunk read the names and recognized Emily of course, so it was clearly yours, he thought. But he also recognized the name of the offspring of the man he despised. He webbed back up to the building he was on earlier and took off his mask to inspect the bracelet a bit more.

Hobies gaze softened as he gently held the delicate gold bracelet in his hand, for as small and thin it was, it was heavy. It really was gold. Hobie didn’t know what to think. Who are you?

The Event ended eventually and he just watched everyone leave, blankly staring at Osborn and his daughter-

His daughter wearing the same thing you were. The same purse hung on your arm.

Hobie felt his heart almost drop.. The woman he wanted to keep safe and protect was the daughter of the man he wanted to protect everyone around them from. He clenched the bracelet in his hand so hard that he bent the gold ever so slightly with his mutated strength. He wanted to laugh at how badly you didn’t want him to figure anything out yet, scream into the sky until it shattered because of the betrayal, the anger, the hatred brewing, the hatred for the Osborn’s moving to ‘Emily’, a girl who he thought was someone humble, who he wanted to have by his side, in his arms, and in his bed. It hurt. The avoidant truths. The way that he couldn’t think straight anymore as his mind and hands were tense.

The car drove off from the venue where the Osborn’s were going home. Hobie was going to confront “Emily”, He couldn’t recognize them anymore. As if he was going to confront a stranger he used to know. He followed the car from afar until it parked, he waited by the forest beside your house, he was about to climb a random tree to get a better view without being seen, but his hand was met with some rough fabric, his first reaction was to clench and pull it down.

He sees that in his hand, is her backpack. The one he looked through naively having little to no idea that she wouldn’t have to be a drug dealer when she can easily buy whatever she wants whenever she wants.

A bedroom window lights up and it catches his attention, he thwips a web to the outside wall and quietly walks on the wall and peeks into the window to see you kneeling down beside your bed in front of a shoebox.

“How was the event, Emi’?” Spiderpunk asked sarcastically as he let himself in through the window, you flinched and eyes shot immediately towards him with your usually smiley and once gorgeous to him eyes as wide as glass dinner plates.

“What- what do.. Shit- I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you bu-” You began as you stood and began walking closer before he cut you off with his voice raised and clear distaste as he spoke to you. You’ve never heard genuine venom in his tone, he always spoke happily with the lenses of his mask beaming.. That was gone, all gone from his hateful gaze.

“Tell me what? That you’re part of a corporation thats forcing Millions of people in poverty? That you-”

“That I have nothing to do with!” You snap, years of verbal abuse from people who have always assumed the worst from you, and now it was even worse since he supposedly knew you internally. “Aren’t you someone who fights against stereotypes? Who fights against things that are unfair?”

“Don’ you dare. Thats differen’, you were actively Lying- Hiding the damn truth from me, Hearing me say all these things about Osborn- Your dad- Ugh.” He groaned while clasping his hand over his face, trying not to yell since he knew about your sensitivity towards being yelled at. “I have been nothing but caring towards you and it feels like you’ve stabbed me in the back.” he summarized, slowly taking off his mask to show his seriousness.. And to show that he still seems to trust you.

He felt betrayed, lied to, his trust was broken–yet.. He would tell you his plans, he would tell you which ones of Osborns buildings he was going to vandalize and on what days he planned to do it, but he’s never been caught.

He’s never been caught, you’ve never snitched.

You were there most of the time, you’ve had every chance to get him in trouble and caught, that means something.

Your expression softens, now wasn’t the time but he was handsome.. Stunning. His eyes shut and his eyebrows furrowed while pinching the bridge of his nose, the scowl showed that he genuinely felt conflicted and you had to know the actual reason why. It almost hurts that you are being the cause of his frown instead of the reason of his smile.

You shake off the pained thoughts and continue as you step closer so he could look at you, “Can’t you see why I never told you? Look at how you’re reacting. You know me, or you at least know ‘Emily’, so what makes (y/n) any different?” you ask with a gesture of your hand, “I’m still the same girl who would spray paint with you, who’d come with you to put up art over my father’s buildings, the same girl you laughed with and the girl you held as she cried.” You tell him as your voice trembles with tears threatening to roll down your cheeks, vision already blurred from them pooling in your eyes, looking away before he could see the effect all of this is taking on you.

He's silent for a second, he wants to yell, he wants to talk, he wants to sob, he doesn’t know exactly what to do for a moment so he swallows his pride and interrupts you right before you were about to break the silence yourself.

“Because I loved you!” He spat as if he never wanted to admit it himself, “I loved the girl who’d spray paint with me,” Hobie takes a step closer to you this, “I loved the girl whose art I’d put up on Osborn’s buildings, and I loved..” He trailed off for a moment as he put his hand on your chin to force you to look at him gently, “..The same girl who laughed with me and who I held as she cried.”

Loved.

“Loved”..

“So what? Not anymore? Because of an ‘asshole’ who happens to be my father?” You ask as you pull back from his touch, upset at the fact that Hobie was blaming you for your dad’s actions, “it’s fucking unfair.” You added under your breath as the crybaby in you was coming back stronger for ever, now the frustration from that night and every hateful interaction you’ve had coming back full force.

“I.. don’t know.” He answered honestly with an empty chuckle as if his own internal turmoil was funny as he looked into your watering eyes, knowing full well he was causing them, and that knowledge felt like a drill to his heart.

The water in your eyes thickens as you feel like he’s slipping from your hands, the one person who saw you as a person at one point now seeing you like a monster like everyone else did, always compared to your dad by everyone else, it wasn’t new.. But this just hurt so much more. So much more.

And Hobie’s heart is torn, this wasn’t how he wanted to find anything out, this isn’t how anything was supposed to go, he never wanted to make you cry. He closes his eyes and takes a small breath once your face scrunches up while choking back a sob, remembering how affected you probably are in this moment, recognizing your own heartbreak as he thought of your words.

Unfair.

It was unfair what your father was doing, unfair how many innocent people like Squaishy now sleep in cold tents in abandoned areas just to not be killed due to the cold or by other not as nice vagabonds. Nothing was fair in this moment, no stars were aligned, no god that smiled upon them, no luck in a single charm..

At this point you were on the verge of fully breaking down at this, everything just went downhill in a matter of moments. But the second you let out a choke sob, Hobie knew what to do. You suddenly felt his hand on your jaw and he pulled you into a kiss, a passionate yet soft one. His plump lips and warm piercing against your surprised ones, you fully thought everything was over and here he was: Spiderpunk/Hobie brown, kissing you with his neck craned to accommodate your height and his other hand moving to your waist to hold your body flushed against his.

He was beginning to regret having kissed you at all since you weren’t reciprocating but those thoughts were wiped once he felt your hand move to the side of his neck and an eager response from your mouth. This felt right. Whether you were some masked street artist, The daughter of a sadistic sociopath, or simply (y/n) Osborn, and if Spiderpunk was some masked Vigilante, a punk squatter, or simply Hobie Brown, this was right.

Hobie was clearly more experienced with his kissing skills, considering the fact he probably had more than quadruple the social life you did: He at least probably had much more than double the sex life too. And it doesn’t take long for the repressed emotions, repressed love and the electric tension when you two swung through the city catches up to you two. Hobie’s tongue mixing into the kiss tentatively and his hand that was on your jaw snaking into your hair and keeping you close in an intimate yet not-forced way.

This feeling was intoxicating, finally having him close and his lips slotted in yours, fitting together like some kind of perfect pieces from different puzzles. Hobie advanced ever so slightly which made you take some steps back until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed, he then gently pushed you back and climbed on top of you before pulling you into another deep kiss, but more greedy and ever so slightly wanton, and this change of pace made your heart begin to beat a bit more quickly with your lips hardly keeping up with his, his tongue dancing an expert tango and yours swayed a newbie ballet. He probably thought you had some kind of experience but you really didn’t, nobody dared get close to you emotionally and much less physically.

And its like alarms went off the second his hands lowered to your hips and thighs, close to the edge of the dress you had been wearing earlier at the stupid event earlier. You pulled out of the kiss and your hands almost slapped onto his in a haste to stop him, quickly muttering a quiet “Oh shit, sorry.” Under your breath as you rubbed his hands where your hand had landed on.

“You alrigh’?” He asked as his eyes looked into yours, ignoring your apology and focusing on why you had moved your hands to stop him so quickly, not wanting to move past your boundaries–he's not that kind of man, no matter how upset he was at you moments or however badly he wanted you in that moment. He was ready to put you first, you and your comfort first.[a]

“I.. I haven’t really done anything like this before.” You tell him bluntly yet a bit quietly as you averted your gaze in slight embarrassment, he was obviously a pro and an expert and here you were: Hardly able to know what to do with your tongue while making out with someone. This information clicked into Hobie’s mind and he nodded, “You don’ have to do anything you don’ wanna.” Hobie assured you as he gently put a hand to your cheek and made you look at him, his eyes boring into yours with raw concern and care.

“No no- it isn’t that I don’t want to..” Its that you don’t want to disappoint him or underwhelm him, but how the fuck do you tell him that after crying in front of him and literally disappointed him earlier when he learnt who you really were. “..I do want to, but.. I’m no model either.” You say half-jokingly to try to lighten the intense mood.

Hobie nodded again before leaning in and kissing you again, he didn’t really mind as long as you could express your limit, “Alrigh’, but if you need me t’stop, just say the word.” He reassured you while practically looking in your soul through your eyes.

He then leaned in and began kissing your neck, his hand moving to your waist while the other moved to your back and slowly began pulling down the zipper of your dress, the feeling of his touch and his lips on your neck like a kind of blue electricity that went all through you. The dress soon lowered to your waist, exposing your breasts that simply had nipple pads due to the dress having been one of cleavage, Hobie carefully peeled them off and set them aside onto your nightstand and began kissing down your collarbone with one hand already massaging your tit and pinching your nipple, his other hand working to lower the dress more. Over your abdomen, past your hips, down your thighs, and off your legs and body.

He carefully let his hands lower and gently hold the band of your fishnets and panties, but he paused as he awaited a yes or no from you, everything was going to be on your terms.

Your heart was pounding in your ears, breath slightly shaking and his hands were calloused yet soothing on your soft skin, but you wanted more and so you nodded in approval and soon enough–Your panties were gone too, your cunt fluttering once exposed to the cold air and Hobie’s hungry gaze. In a moment of self-consciousness your thighs press together, or at least you try to before Hobie stops you with his hands on your knees and easing them apart, not at all forcefully but just enough to show what he wanted.

“Do ya trus’ me?” He asked softly, the exact same way that spiderpunk did all those nights ago, his hand once that lingered too long on your hip now on your knees, showing yourself and your vulnerability.

“Never stopped trusting you.” You answered with a small approving nod.

And with that, Hobie began to pepper small kisses into the plushy flesh of your thighs and slowly inching closer to where you felt you needed him most. After what felt like hours, he finally reached the lips of your glistening pussy and his warm breath touching your puffy clit. He kissed it once before licking a stripe from your hole to your clit then latching his mouth suddenly to your bud, blissfully making out with your lips expertly like he was with your upper ones earlier.

“Oh.. shit..” You moan breathlessly with your hand knotting into his hair. His hand moves from holding you by the knee to keep your legs spread towards the hole of your pussy, easing in a finger that entered with not too much effort due to his spit and your wet arousal welcoming him. Yet your hips squirming due to the intrusion, making Hobie slow down his finger and focus on your cunt.

He slowly pumps a single finger in your pussy while licking his name letter by letter on your sensitive bundle of nerves.. H-O-B-I-E B-R-O-W-N. You quickly feel yourself get more sensitive and your hips squirm, unsure of how to react to this new sensation, his fingers reaching places you never could and much less stimulation at the same time in your hole as it is in your bundle of nerves.

You quickly come undone and your thighs almost press Hobie’s head between them, but his hand remains on your inner thigh to keep it open, lapping up your juices with his tongue flat on your cunt and his finger pumping in and out a little more before pulling it out of you and licking it clean. Something about this lewd display makes you clench around nothing, maybe it was the fact that he hardly took his eyes off of you once, studying your expression for any hesitance or regret.

He pulled up to show his raging hard-on, straining his jeans and creating a beautiful bulge. You watch as he fumbles with his belt and lowers his pants and boxers, his cock springing free and leaking beads of pre-cum, proudly standing eight inches at least, a silver Alberts piercing. He lazily strokes it a few times and aligns it lower to your sensitive virgin hole.

“Please.. Be gentle?” You request softly as you put your hand on his abdomen as if to make sure he had stopped and listened. He nodded before leaning down and kissing your lips slowly and passionately as he slowly eased himself into you with his hands moving to your hips. You felt a slight sting or burn while he pushed himself inside, yet his lips stayed on yours for you to be able to keep your focus and sounds averted while tasting yourself on his tongue. His hips come to halt once he’s fully inside, giving you time to adjust as he separated his lips from yours and waited for your green light patiently.

At the second nod of your head, he slowly pulled out and went in once again, creating a steady rhythm with his hips with pretty groans and praises falling from his lips.

“Fuck.. pretty cun’ sucking me in- tigh’ as hell.. Shi’.” He mumbled beautifully into the crook of your neck while his hips began rutting more into you, as if desperately chasing for more with his piercing stroking your spongey G-spot and his high.

You feel yourself clench around him as your orgasm washes over you once again, Hobie quickly following suit, Pulling out and stroking himself a bit more before finishing and cumming on your abdomen, his hands quickly moving to the sides of your head to stop himself from falling onto you and instead falling onto the space on the bed beside you. He laid on his side with a protective arm around your waist and held you close.

“Emily fuckin’ Osborn.” He mumbled almost to himself as he looked up at your fucked out expression, a small layer of sweat on your pretty face, normally he had fantasized of whoever you were under the mask being an expert at everything including dick and cunt, meanwhile here he was laying beside the daughter of the man he always swore to destroy.

“...Is now a good time to tell you that Emily is my moms name?”

“..wha’?”

___________________________

★| Taglist!:

@craziblondi @fodmdk123 @vinxernica @muffinlovesfiction @jane-3043 @coffeeandtealol @alecmores @azuurr3 @nyumei @noharaaa @alisoncdariel @dailyhobiebrown @malatuadimadre @ziarah @i-want-to-be-hit-by-a-car @malyjohn @horrorcore2002 @jess-fae @bluupen

@eyesxxyou

______

I’m really sorry if this is bad/underwhelming/not as good as the last one, I was really rushed and I felt bad for not getting this out sooner :(((

I love y’all so much <3

[ghostflowerhotpotch]

Gwen's Styles (Part 1)

I remembered I have a video editor that is lets me look to individual frame, at least better than my original method of pause on some media player.

I am going to do individual Images because adding image descriptions to four images cosplaying as one is a headache, so...yeah, multiple parts.

Okay I was planning to not say anything and just show the pretty pictures, but this part distracted me- can she have those hair buns?

Look my head is short, and even when I had it longer I never attempted to do buns, so I don't know. However looking at her hair length, she shouldn't be able to do this, right?

So this may be before she curt her hair, or she has extensions- maybe a wig? Any suggestions pals?

Ok sorry for the interruption, let's get back to your original programming.

Okay so this truly jumps all over the place timewise, because no way in hell I just saw her use such light outfit just for her to pop up the biggest jacket in this entire collection yet.

Aaand that's the limit of the images! We just hit the 30, and want to hear something funny?

This is just like, 2 seconds of footage, I didn't even get to 3 seconds.

G-d what I got myself into.

Anyway! I obviously need to check the rest, but looking at this and trying to describe them, made me realize of a few things in regards to Gwen's style.

Layers, uses layers even when the weather seems to be good enough not to, so even if is not all of them, she likes to be covered. Considering she doesn't use her suit underneath like Miles, I wonder if this is her style, or her trying to hide bruises/scars from battles.

Most of the clothes seem to be loose, this is probably just a style choice. I bring that up because I use loose clothing for sensory reasons, but I don't think she is the same in that regard.

This is probably the animators trying to make the images more distinct, but she hold her hair, a lot; I am surprised she got her hair so short in the previous movie considering how often she does something to hold it in other hairstyle. And I imagine this is about style, because with how often she has hair in front of her face, is not about holding the hair.

Colorwise, she has a varied wardrobe, but I was surprised with how much dark green she uses; the other color that came up a lot was blue; but the dark green surprises me since is not my first thought when thinking of her. Though funnily enough, the original Gwen Stacy is associated with dark green a lot, since it was on her raincloak the time she died...huh.

Ok I may start with the next one soon, but I may take a second to deliver said post because holy shit this was a lot.

Again even if I am not the best, I try to add image description, and bringing up every single frame and trying to name what's important about it is a lot.

Hope you guys like it!

[shalotttower]

Cultivating Flowers

Title: Cultivating Flowers

Fandom: Original

Summary: Marquis is a man of many interests, including gardening. Specifically, his new roses.

Word count: 3500+

Characters: OC!Marquis x Reader (female)

Notes: yandere!OC, manipulation, animal cruelty (not detailed, briefly described), seduction.

The first bloom appears two weeks after spring starts and it's the most glorious flower in all Marquis' garden. Gentle apricot color, like your favourite dress. You were saving for months — a whole autumn — and grandfather grumbled and grumbled about the frivolous waste of money, but once you finally put it on, his scolding didn't matter a bit. The dress made you feel like royalty — elegant, graceful, important.

You wonder if this is how Marquis feels all the time.

Gorgeous outfits, a splendid castle, a life of aristocracy and ease where everything is taken care of by servants and every other weekend there's an opulent dinner party full of refined conversations.

Your envy for him is almost as big as your caution.

Marquis Nicolae is rich. Like many rich people he possesses time. And when one has too much, they become terribly, infinitely bored. That's what grandfather told you in one of his drunken rants: people who are rich, castle-rich, private carriage-rich for generations are bored like nobody else, because nothing is scarce to them and so nothing is precious either. Work for them. Take their money. Keep your head low and remember — they don't see us like we see them.

Grandfather doesn't work in the castle anymore. He's got old hands which shake from years of physical labour and fruit brandy, back-aching hunched posture and swollen feet that need rest. Now he stays at home, waiting for you to return with stories and bread rolls baked by the cook.

He used to serve Marquis Nicolae's father, who was twice as rich, but thrice as wicked, according to grandfather's words.

"I was a stableman, your grandmother was a seamstress, God rest her soul. Sewed all my shirts, this one included," he tugs at the fabric with pride. "She did well on it... Look at those stitches."

For a moment he gets lost in muttering and rubs his index finger on an even patch of stitched fabric, as if hoping his touch can conjure a spectre. "Not like now, where clothes fall apart after just three seasons. Quality... Sturdiness," he smacks the table. "People used to think long term. Made their shirts for decades, strong like this."

Grandfather is forgetful these days, he leaps from one topic to another and loses the main line of thought, especially after a few glasses. But you wait.

"When I worked for Lord Cazimir, you see," he says finally. "He had horses, all strong, sleek, looked like jewels. A new horse each two months, said it wasn't right for a gentleman to have one for too long, but by God, I never saw a man treat them worse than him. Not enough sleep, ridden until bones hurt. If the carriage hit a stone, it was the horse's fault, if the reins got tangled it was the horse's fault, not the bloody driver. He had that whip with metal feathers which could cut through an apple. And before he made the last swish, he'd pause. Look the horse in the eyes. That was the scariest thing, how he stared at them, so calmly."

He glances at you, as if fearing an admonishment. For what? You wonder how it felt, caring for something that looked like a jewel time after time, after time, and knowing the goodbye was certain and inevitable, like a turn of a watermill wheel. Did grandfather mourn the horses? Or did he get used to burying their bodies under the soil? Maybe they fed someone later — people who don't have much are resourceful, they don't bury good meat.

You squeeze the water from the sheet in silence.

"None simply lived past two months, that's why he changed them so often."

"Why didn't you quit?"

"And then do what?" Grandfather snorts. "There was little job outside the castle, everyone who didn't have land or livestock worked for Marquis one way or another."

"It must have been difficult."

"Life is difficult," he answers, and you can't disagree.

Life is difficult, that's a fact, and it didn't get better when you started working for Marquis Nicolae yourself. A good thing is that unlike Lord Cazimir from scare stories he doesn't torment horses and rarely pays attention to anybody in a servant uniform. All of you share the same mindset: a quick "Good morning, m'lord" or "Have a pleasant day, m'lord" and then being gone as fast as possible.

Rumors circulate that Marquis never once had a full smile on his face. Charming chuckles when he's in a good mood, courtly lips stretches for ladies, bemused sneers when he's addressed by those who used to be in favour but now are out — yes, but the genuine and full-hearted joy: nobody has witnessed it.

He doesn't seem unhappy though, nor he is too serious. When you see him Marquis Nicolae always looks like he has eternity at hand and there's no hurry to spend it. To you, he is uninterested in anything and sharp about everything at once.

You can't describe him better. Words fail you when trying to fit him into boxes of easy understanding. But after all, it's not your job to fit him anywhere, your job is dusting shelves and scrubbing floors, and, since recent days — taking care of roses.

It's unusual for the castle to have such plants this early in spring. They're imported, said the gardener, from cooler places and prefer winter over the blooming season of May and June. That's why Marquis commissioned a greenhouse construction weeks prior, to have beautiful flowers which can bloom regardless of the weather. It took an entire month of hard work, people hired from nearby towns and a promise of good money. You watched them build from the kitchen window where you were helping with meals.

Roses arrived next. Seven bushes filled with buds ready to open up any day. And oh they did. Soft apricot colors covered stems like dewdrops, beautiful enough to make one gasp.

One morning you bring your rag and a bucket to the greenhouse a bit earlier to enjoy the fragrance before breakfast is served. Nice things like these are not for maids like you — the petal scent and the gentle touch of leaves — they're for ladies in beautiful dresses who have time and luxury to appreciate them, but nobody will know anyway if you stop to lean down close enough for your nose to almost bury itself in velvety softness. It's a small indulgence which can hardly hurt anyone. Nobody will know if you pretend to be a lady just for a minute.

"They're quite extraordinary, aren't they."

You freeze, nose in the middle of the rose bush.

"I- Yes", you straighten up and curtsy. "They are most beautiful, m'lord."

Marquis' figure, backlit by the morning sun, casts a shadow which stretches far beyond your own feet.

"Do you know why I chose it?" he asks. "This breed."

He's dressed in a dark waistcoat with delicate embroidery on the collar and doesn't have a single hair out of place, not a strand too thick, not a strand too thin; as flawless as a painting which hang on the walls of his library, but not as solemn. Those paintings seem to measure everyone around them. Marquis Nicolae looks more approachable in appearance, and that's where the approachability ends. His eyes, burgundy brown colour you've never seen before, measure people too, in value rather than worthlessness.

You shake your head, "No, m'lord."

"Because," Marquis continues without minding your answer at all, "it's pretty."

His lips stretch in a courtly smile of a gentleman who is amused by his own joke. You don't understand it but smile in return anyway, because you must. Because this is how the world works — nobles are amused and maids fake understanding so the amusement can persist a little longer.

"Go on," he says. "They are meant to be smelled after all."

You nod and curtsy again.

Later he will be served tea at the ornate greenhouse table while you scrub the floors until your fingers ache. Marquis' focus will shift towards letters, and this is how it's supposed to be. Him reading correspondence, you being invisible like dust under the shelves you clean. It feels better when he doesn't look at you with those eyes of his. They pierce through everything they see.

There's something wrong about him. But you can't tell what yet.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Life is monotonous, especially in a place like this, even banquets and events have that homogeneous taste, because there's at least one every three weeks, not speaking of brunches which rotate regularly depending on who's currently in Marquis' favour. You serve dishes full of rich fragrances that make your mouth water but can't ever dream of trying them. Meat dripping with wine sauce, roasted chicken breasts wrapped in crispy bacon and glazed with honey syrup. Fresh fruits coated in powdered sugar. Sometimes in the evening when everyone is asleep you mouth the names of those meals: "Beef Bourguignon," "Veal Piccata", "Chicken Florentine". Those foreign words are hard to pronounce — Beef Boo-gee-nyon, Veel Pick-kata — you do it quietly and mostly in your head so grandfather doesn't hear and scoff about wasting time on useless things.

"You're not starving," he would say. "There's bread, there's soup, you don't need those. Be happy, girl. We used to eat potatoes for months straight during famines."

You've never been hungry enough to know what famine tastes like but suspect that the flavor must be something similar to the dull feeling between the busy hours of work, which gnaws at you and makes your thoughts drift to the lunch break.

Sometimes, in a particularly sour mood he adds, "Don't stuff your head with fancy nonsense you can't have, it's only gonna make you bitter."

True.

You're a maid. A girl. A nobody.

And this is how it's supposed to be.

How to tell grandfather that you don't wish to be fancy? Just to try once the roast duck stuffed with grapes and apples, or fresh sardines baked in butter sauce, which smell heavenly as they're carried up the stairs to Marquis Nicolae's salon where guests are gathered.

How to tell him that it's not about food, not really.

It's about knowing what an apricot rose smells like early in the morning while others sleep. How velvety its petals feel when touched. Delicate things like these you're not supposed to have, but do anyway, because a moment stolen out of monotony pulls you from beneath the apron. You, yourself, not just a pair of hands with tired fingers, exist briefly when roses bloom in Marquis' greenhouse and a little piece of yesterday's cake is smuggled into your pocket.

You understand why he's wary. Grandfather's right: with longing comes bitterness. But you're careful not to overdo it. There's only one stolen minute of appreciation each day, not more, so you remember who you are — someone meant to be seen rarely and unnoticed most of the time — and return behind the apron.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Spring goes on.

Daylight stretches a little longer. Ground gets a little warmer. Marquis Nicolae often spends time in his private study after breakfast, then at noon — in the greenhouse. He strolls there among the greenery or sits by one of the tables with a book. Reading seems to be an activity he favors, and unlike some other gentlemen who grow tired within pages Marquis can stay completely still for hours without once getting restless.

You know because you watch him from the corner of your eye.

What kind of books he likes to read if they manage to keep him entertained for such lengthy periods, what titles do those leather spines hide, which stories are good enough for a gentleman like Marquis? He always seems so politely disinterested. You wonder if there are books that can make even him laugh.

Sometimes he asks you questions which startle you.

"Have you read 'The Castle of the Lady'? It's a novel."

You shake your head. "No m'lord. I can't read."

His eyebrows raise. Not in astonishment, Marquis Nicolae has a face of a man who rarely encounters surprises, his reactions are akin to mild interest bordering on curiosity, as if he enjoys discovering something new, something that doesn't fit into his existing assumptions.

"Can't?" he repeats.

You shift uncomfortably under his gaze, "No, m'lord. Never learnt."

"Who raised you?"

"My grandfather. He's a stableman... was. Now retired".

"I see," he returns to his book.

You fidget with a rag in your hands, why does he care to ask such question? What difference does it make whether you read or don't? It's not that uncommon. Most servants only know the basics, letters which form their names and the ones that stand for numbers. You don't really need the skill. What for?

"You may continue," he adds.

So you do.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Are you the only child?"

"Yes, m'lord."

"Your mother? Father?"

"My mother passed away giving birth to me, and father was a soldier, so he died in a war."

"What a shame," Marquis says, but it sounds like a comment on bad weather.

You're standing with fresh linens in his opulent bedchamber. It's spacious: tall windows and furniture made of rare wood. Old, like the walls of Albastru castle itself. A maid's life story is neither interesting nor important enough to pursue it, at least not in the place like this. Marquis Nicolae is bored, that's the most reasonable explanation to the current arrangement. He's looking for entertainment, but what entertainment can come at your expense, you're unsure.

Grandfather warned you not to draw too much attention, but it's not exactly your fault. Marquis' schedule is well known — he spends evenings in the salon and retires long past midnight. The chamber should've been empty. You should've been able to change his bedding, clean the fireplace and leave without as much as a sound.

Yet here he is, in a high armchair by the fireplace.

And here you are, in front of him, waiting for a dismissal that doesn't come.

On a small coffee table there're squares with simple pictures — a dog, a cat, an apple, made of thin wood with letters engraved in black ink. You step from one foot to the other, the lemon-scented sheets hide the way your fingers twitch.

Marquis traces a square with a rose.

"Sit down," he says and motions to the other chair.

"Your linens, m'lord-"

"They can wait."

No, they can't, you think. The bedding needs to be done, the fireplace cleaned, carpets swept, wilted flowers removed — there's so much to do to linger, and it's already getting late. If you're not able to finish on time-

But Marquis Nicolae didn't give you permission to leave.

You sit and put the linens on your lap.

Grandfather would say that Marquis enjoys the sight of your discomfort behind that courtly smile of his, but he doesn't look amused, he looks the usual. Calm and slightly disinterested. Sharp, despite being relaxed.

"If you figure out what letters stand from this," he points at the apple picture square, "to this one," then moves his finger to the picture with a goat, "you'll get a treat."

"M'lord?" you frown.

There must be something wrong with your hearing, but no, Marquis leans back and crosses his long legs. "A treat."

Treats are for children, treats are for dogs, treats are for horses who are obedient and look like jewels. You stare at him, puzzled, but try not to let it show; nobles have strange hobbies sometimes: races which cost thousands of gold coins for one bet alone, hunting dangerous animals, forcing their servants into duels to pass time. This must be one of those, an entertainment beyond your comprehension.

Still, time is moving forward and the complexity of your situation is becoming more apparent with every passing second; you've never felt particularly powerful — why would you? — but now you're acutely aware of how fragile one's position is when it depends on someone else's whims.

You take the first picture.

An apple. Letter A. Then a ball — B. Cat... So that's what they look like written down.

Marquis' eyes follow your fingers as they slide across the wooden squares, you feel his gaze like a touch, even though there's a coffee table distance between you and a bit more. You quietly mouth each word and letter by habit, unaware of this little detail. His eyebrows raise, this time with a hint of amusement which you don't see, too focused on your predicament.

Dog — D.

The clock is ticking.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

"Well?" Marquis asks later when shadows cross the room. The sun is gone, the fire in the fireplace burns lower but bright enough to illuminate the space. Sitting like this has given you a headache which makes thinking harder.

"I have them figured out m'lord", you say carefully.

"Tell me then."

"This is A," you slide the apple towards him across the table. It feels a little silly. "This is B."

The way you say them isn't quite accurate. It's "bee" instead of "b" and "dee" instead of "d", but he doesn't tell you that. Your voice goes quieter with each following letter, perhaps because you're nervous or maybe simply tired — who knows what time it is by now? Ah, quarter to ten. He watches you struggle with spelling and pronunciation until finally there they are. All squares from Apple to Goat, in order just like he arranged them.

"What about this one?" Nicolae points to the playing cat.

"It starts with 'K', m'lord."

You're quite sure, not that much variation is left after all, and say it with the most conviction you can muster so he would finally be satisfied and end this odd game. Your head hurts and stomach grumbles with hunger — there was no time for the lunchbreak today —both physical and mental exhaustion blur together.

Grandfather must be worried sick by now, he hates when you're late without telling anything beforehand.

Then Marquis covers his mouth, and for the first time since you entered Albastru castle, laughs.

Not chuckles. Not smiles without smiling. Laughs that his shoulders shake, that his eyes crinkle at the corners. You stare bewildered, not knowing what to do. Laugh yourself? Smile politely? Say "m'lord" again?

Marquis' laughter dies down eventually and he collects himself, straightening his waistcoat which doesn't require any adjusting in the first place, he's perfect as always.

"No, that's C."

Your cheeks flush red, how were you supposed to know? It would seem that a gentleman such as Marquis Nicolae should know better than mocking someone's lack of education, but apparently he finds it amusing. You lower your gaze and look away.

"How are you called?" he asks.

After a pause your name rolls off your tongue; small in his bedchamber, it barely leaves an echo.

"Well, I said a treat, didn't I?"

You don't want any treats, or to spend here even a minute longer; Marquis rises and walks towards his desk.

"Come here."

Reluctantly you stand up and follow him. The linens are left on the chair in a crumpled pile, they need ironing now. There's nothing to do other than obeying so you stop next to him where he opens one of the drawers. Inside you can see something wrapped in white paper with a thin ribbon bow around it. He takes the item out and pulls the ribbon off. Delicate scent fills the air, the little cakes, you know their name from the cook ─ macarons ─ bloom inside the wrapping.

Marquis Nicolae picks one up with two fingers and brings it to your lips.

The macarons smell sweet like almonds and look beautiful like roses in his greenhouse. They're not for maids, you think, no, this is...he shouldn't be doing that.

Your mouth waters anyway.

His eyes don't leave your face, "Do you want it or not?"

You do.

"Then take a bite."

The dessert melts in your mouth instantly. Its texture is soft, like petals, like everything else luxurious you've never had but imagined countless times. A little chewy, a bit crunchy, it's the most delicious thing you've tried, better than a piece of cake taken from the kitchen pantry, better than honeyed walnut bread.

"Another one?"

Marquis Nicolae feeds you two more, before you realize what exactly is happening — a bite by a small bite your dignity dissolves into his hand. You swallow the last morsel and quickly step back; you've forgotten yourself, forgot who you were and where, and now there's sweetness lingering on your tongue, while Marquise' fingertips smell faintly of apricot.

What have you done?

He looks amused again.

"Thank you, m'lord," you curtsy, then turn around to gather the discarded sheets.

"Clean the fireplace and change the linens. Then you might be free."

"Yes, m'lord."

It's a dismissal at last.

Marquis sits down and reaches for a book — he's done with you it seems — so you hurry to complete the assigned tasks. The fireplace isn't too dirty fortunately, just some ashes and coal leftovers. Next, the sheets, then the flowers.

Before you close the door and rush down the empty hall he speaks again, "If you still remember them all by tomorrow evening, you'll have another treat."

[lovingtetsurou]

-`｡ cosplay — kuroo tetsurou. ˚ˎ-

cw : smut 1K. established relationship. somewhat pwp. self-indulgent. cosplaying. reader is shorter than kuroo. mentions reader has a slightly foul mouth lol. petnames (sweetheart, sweet girl, doll, princess). a/n : kuroo brainrot. word dump. not proofread. i'm just thinking with my pus– idk how or why but this idea just came to me, popped out of nowhere when i saw this cute elf-ish, cottage-core, fairy-core, outfit in a game that i was playing so... enjoy ig bcs i sure did ;) p.s. reader's not cosplaying a particular anime character!

after losing a bet, you now find yourself changing into an elf costume. it was kuroo's idea. it's a cosplay of a character, but you didn't know who it was since you weren't that much familiar with anime like kuroo was. (ironic, isn't it?)

'hmm, not bad.' you thought to yourself as you looked at the mirror and scanned the outfit.

a lilac themed palette. cinderella-like shoes. a short, ruffled dress that emphasized your waist and long, puffy, loose, chiffon sleeves that are fitted on the wrist. an off shoulder top that showed off the collarbones. daisy flowers tightly wrapped around the neck. crystal-like jewelry hung by the ears. and the cherry on top: a ferronnières.

“knock knock. you alright there, baby? you're not chickening out, are you?” your lover spoke at the other side of the door, the smirk evident in his tone. after rolling your eyes and holding back a smile, you took one last look at yourself and decided to show him what he's been waiting for. “hold your horses, will ya? i'm comin' out. and don't you dare laugh or you'll get kicked in the nuts.”

kuroo always found your vulgar language amusing as it contrasted your demure demeanor. he felt nice knowing you could be honest around him without holding back.

you opened the door and took a step back, letting the man in front of you get a better look at you.

beautiful. ethereal. pristine. elegant. pure. chaste. innocent. divine. heavenly. there were countless words to describe you, yet he could only stare. his mind had gone blank at the sight of an angel. his angel.

well, technically, his elf, right now,

“how is it?” you slowly asked, not knowing why you did. maybe it's because you initially thought that this was a dumb idea, but now that you've tried it, it might not be so bad. maybe it's because at the start, you wanted to just play and get a good laugh out of this, but now you actually wanted him to like it.

your fingers started fidgeting with the hem of the dress, avoiding eye contact at all costs, not wanting to feel more embarrassed than you already were.

“this might not be bad y'know. the dress is kinda nice. though i don't know much about the character so i don't know whether it would've been better if i had put on some makeup or not– mmph” before you could even finish your sentence, he snatched your lips with his, delicately cupping your cheek as he kissed you with much fervor, but at the same time, he was gentle and careful.

after he was satisfied, he pulled himself back to admire you once more since the first time, he got carried away and didn't have much time to take you all in. you normally take him all in.

“did you know–” he paused, eyes finally landing back on yours after engraving this image in his memory. “it's my favorite character because it reminded me of you.” he smiled that adoring smile of his that always got you so down bad.

“and why's that?” you tried to hold back a grin as you got ahead of yourself. kuroo chuckled, pinching both of your cheeks with a goofy look on his face. “because they look so innocent but they have the nastiest mouth.” he kids which earns him a playful (but strong, nevertheless) slap on his arm.

“i do not. i just curse, a lot.” you defensively retort.

“oh yeah? we'll see about that. i'd love to watch you eat your words, or in your case, spit it all up.”

kuroo is a man of his words, and he sure doesn't like to back down.

after the hazy happenings, you're now the one getting slapped on your ass. only this time around, it's kuroo's thighs that are smacking your backside with his length sliding in and out of your gaping hole.

your wrists were pinned above your head by tetsurou who's only using one arm to tie you down as his other is busy toying with your mounds, pinching and pulling. his mouth would alternate between sucking on your areolas, making out with you, and leaving bites on your collarbones, neck, earlobe, everywhere his lips could reach.

it felt hotter because he was fucking you with your clothes still on. your bare skin before was now decorated with blooming red and purple love marks.

despite getting all down and dirty, in kuroo's eyes, you still managed to look so magnificent, so angelic. the sounds you make were another case, however. spewing curses, lewd moans, salacious whines, lustful begging; it's a succubus speaking.

“yes? feels so good that you're finally showing your true colors, sweetheart?”

“ohh fuck me— yesyes right there that's the spot! your cock's going so deep inside me it's like your fucking me to heaven— hnng don't stop please, breed me, wreck my insides and reshape it, fill me up with your cum will you? please please—!”

he twitches inside of you from how horny you get that your rambles get so debaucherous.

“fuck. my sweet girl. every damn time, you still take my breath away.” he chuckles, amused, so turned on, and close to his high which was evident from his sloppy movements.

“shit, so close, doll. come with me, yeah? i'll give you all that i have. gonna fill you up to the brim and breed your dirty, little, hole. you'd like that, won't you, princess?”

“oh my god, yesyes i'd like that a lot— hnngah fuck 'm gonna cum so hard on your dick!” your walls pulsated around him, getting tighter and tighter from the pleasure that was threatening to spill. and after just a single flick, everything crumbles apart.

the aftermath was just as fun, especially for kuroo.

“curse a lot my ass.” he weakly laughs, giving you a kiss on your temple as he tries to catch his breath.

you lightly smack his shoulder, body slumping against tetsurou who instinctively pulls you to lay down on his chest, hands automatically brushing your hair to soothe you and calm you down, all the while giving you loving kisses here and there.

“but it's one of the things i love about you, so don't go holding back on me and just curse me endlessly. knew it was your love language from the start.” he chuckles, giving you a longer kiss to shut you up. not that you're complaining.

© lovingtetsurou  — do not steal, plagiarize, translate, and/or repost my posts anywhere