#mr and mr editing tips

[lavalamps-and-ladydoors]

despite everything its still you.

[5-pp-man]

the mangaka of zettai bl posted this on twitter and i was like. awesome. finally a comprehensive list of every character. i finally know who everyone i- who the fuck is that guy on the top right.

we just got introduced to that guy on the left and you're telling me there's already ANOTHER new character? 😭

EDIT; I have since learned that this is Koga, the unfortunate bad luck guy who's only been in like 3 chapters so far. he actually showed up before SSR-kun but i forgor.

[seaborgium-dazies]

Mr. sandman, bring me a dream~ ♡mdni

part 2 of mha characters having their first wet dream about you pt.1 cw: brat taming (dabi); public sex if u squint (hawks), thigh riding (aizawa) 🌊: shigaraki, dabi, hawks, aizawa, all might

shigaraki:

In his dream you were grinding against his cock, your bare wet pussy creating delicious friction against him. With every motion your clit collided with the tip of his dick and both of your were writhing in pleasure. But he was only able to enjoy this dream for a hot minute before he was woken up by banging on his door. He woke up with a mouth drier than the desert and having leaked through his boxers. He jerked off like 5 times before coming out of his room still horny.

dabi:

Dabi dreamt that he was drilling into you mercilessly and you were trying your hardest not to give in. His piercings dragged along your walls and you stifled your moans, trying to remain having the upper hand. He loved the challenge, seeing how long you would be able to spout bratty things. And just as he saw your facial expression falter, your resolve crumbling his alarm blared. He woke up with a boner so painful he couldn't control himself. But he kept grinning all throughout the day when the dream crossed his mind.

hawks:

Keigo dreamt that you had walked into his office as he was in the middle of doing paperwork and bent over to expose your bare pussy. Your actions led to him being knuckle deep in your pussy and you biting back moans. Your juices were coating his hand and when he started circling your clit, your eyes widened and keigo got woken up by a stack of papers falling from his desk onto the floor. When he realised that he had dozed off in his office and that none of that was real he went beet red.

aizawa:

Shota dreamt that you were moving against his thigh with nothing between your pussy and his bare skin. And when your rhythm started to falter, your body slightly falling forward, he cupped your cheek making you meet his gaze. "Eyes on me pretty thing", he whispered but before he saw your reaction his alarm ripped him from his dream :(

All might:

Toshinori dreamt that you were a complete mess beneath him. Sweat made your hair stick to your forehead and with every thrust you were moaning his name. The bounce of your boobs accompanied by a neverending mantra of 'toshi, toshi, toshi~' had him gripping the headboard. He woke himself up by cumming in his pants TwT

masterlist

©️ seaborgium-dazies 2025 do not reupload, edit or translate without permission

[astonmartinii]

you're (govern)mental

pairing: alex albon x fem prime minister’s daughter reader

there’s a new family in downing street, the home of british politics, but one member prefers the home of british motorsports.

MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

autosport

liked by landonorris, alexalbon and 189,034 others

tagged: yourusername

autosport: there’s a new family in ten downing street, and rumour says they’re big motorsport fans

view all comments

user1: deadass are we going to get the prime minister at an f1 race

user2: spending tax payer money on the prime minister watching lando norris bin it turn one at silverstone?

user3: valid imo

landonorris: omg royalty loves us ???

user4: stay in school kids

georgerussell63: lando surely you know the prime minister is not in the royal family

landonorris: there was an election?

alexalbon: we helped you fill out your postal vote?

landonorris: i thought that was my tax form

georgerussell63: we did help you with that as well

alexalbon: we live in monaco?

alexalbon: real question - how are you still alive?

oscarpiastri: i ask myself that everyday

landonorris: is it national bully lando day today?

user5: that’s everyday for user5

user6: is now a good time to confess that me and y/n y/ln used to be f1 twt mutuals

user7: excuse me?

user8: holy lore drop

user9: please tell us who she roots for

user5: let’s just say she was in the trenches for a certain red bull driver in 2020

user10: alex albon stan? her dad has my vote next election

user11: that’s not a good reason to vote?

user12: a better reason that some others lmao

olliebearman: DO I GET TO GO TO DOWNING STREET?

kimiantonelli: i don’t think that’s how that works

olliebearman: well if y/n y/ln likes f1 then she has to like me right?

kimiantonelli: okay mr big head

yourusername: i saw your sprint win at silverstone kimi, very impressive

kimiantonelli: SUCK ON THAT OLLIE

olliebearman: not fair I’M THE BRIT

user13: the prime minister’s daughter mediating a fight between rookies?

user14: oh baby she’s instigating

yourusername: also for all interested - i will be paying for my own ticket and transport for any race i go to! i’m a big girl with a big girl job, i pay my taxes and not yours

user15: omg queen

alexalbon

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 569,023 others

tagged: williamsf1

alexalbon: so happy to announce that i’ve extended my contract at williams, you can't get rid of me that easily

view all comments

user16: we won

user17: suicide CANCELLED

user18: *postponed just in case the williams isn’t any good

yourusername: woooooooooo 🥳 let’s go alex!!!

alexalbon: why thank you ma’am

yourusername: you don’t have to call me ma’am alex

yourusername: in fact it makes me feel quite old

alexalbon: can i call you mine instead?

yourusename: 😊

user19: what on earth just happened?

user20: chat are we seeing this

user21: hold on, let me get my notepad out

maxverstappen1: happy for you brother! hopefully you’ll be back up near the front this season

alexalbon: thank you max

maxverstappen1: okay now that’s out of the way

alexalbon: ???

maxverstappen1: what the fuck is happening in this comment section sir?

alexalbon: what?

maxverstappen1: you’re not seriously flirting with the prime minister’s daughter?

alexalbon: trust the process

maxverstappen1: is he going to get himself put on a list?

user22: how has this celebratory post descended into alex albon being put on a government watch list

yourusername: i can assure you the only watch list alex is being put on is my own personal one

user23: can she say that?

user24: well we definitely don’t doubt she runs her own instagram now

landonorris: i have many tiktok edits saved of alex if you want me to send them to you

user25: okay now that’s a comment that gets you put on a watch list

landonorris: i am just trying to be a good friend!!!!

georgerussell63: i am electing to ignore the mess in this comment section as we will go through it slide by slide over dinner tomorrow, but congrats alex, williams are lucky to have you

alexalbon: what if i’m not free tomorrow?

georgerussell63: what do you mean? we ALWAYS have dinner together on tuesdays :(

alexalbon: maybe i am busy?

yourusername: hhehehehehe

this comment was deleted

user26: she got sniped by the uk government lol

georgerussell63: good.

alexalbon: ???

yourusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,209,577 others

yourusername: back in the big smoke but still a busy woman

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user27: does that include being busy with a certain tall, handsome, funny and charming thai formula one driver who races for williams

user28: you know she’s got like a big deal job

user29: alex albon is a bigger deal (idk what she does)

user30: part time editor in chief full time alex albon enjoyer

liked by yourusername

georgerussell63: if that is the bottomless lasange spot in bank we will be having serious problems

yourusername: are you threatening me?

georgerussell63: i’m telling you to BACK OFF

yourusername: @carmenmundt are you seeing this nonsense?

carmenmundt: i just have to let him get it out, all these formula one boys have strange attachments to each other

georgerussell63: I DON’T HAVE ATTACHMENT ISSUES - ALEX IS MINE

alexalbon: do i get a say in this?

georgerussell63: we shared a throat infection? i can’t believe you’d just cast me aside after that 😞

yourusername: george you are rich enough for therapy, please get some

user31: i came here to appreciate the outfits and have seen people absolutely throwing hands with y/n in this comment section

user31: they’re all verified?

user31: THEY’RE FORMULA ONE DRIVERS?

lewishamilton: they’re really making us look bad in front of the wrong people

alexalbon: please do not rope me into this

yourusername: can you send me toto’s number, i have a complaint to make

georgerussell63: ALEX DON’T LET HER CALL MY BOSS

alexalbon: she’s not calling toto

georgerussell63: oh good

alexalbon: WE are

georgerussell63: i will never forget this

yourusername: i can live with that

user32: also this joking about alex’s flirting getting him on a watchlist but it’s george who might be fucked?

landonorris: @yourusername hey if you come to a race will MI6 kill george?

georgerussell63: why would you ask this?

landonorris: curious…

yourusername: you guys know i don’t have command of like all security in britain right?

alexalbon: and who needs that when i’m right here?

yourusername: exactly

kimiantonelli: george has told me to inform you all he’s going on a social media detox because of your ‘negativity’ and wants to make sure you feel bad

kimiantonelli: no don’t put the end bit

kimiantonelli: stop

kimiantonelli: no i don’t want to tell them to feel bad they should just feel bad

kimiantonelli: why is it still commenting

kimiantonelli: it’s writing what you told it?

kimiantonelli: why are you using text to speech?

kimiantonelli: HAS IT COMMENTED ALL OF THIS

yourusername: how are you people trusted with formula one cars

f1

liked by kimiantonelli, maxverstappen1 and 2,450,287 others

tagged: charles_leclerc, alexalbon, yourusername & landonorris

f1: the first race of the season is here and we’ve got company!

view all comments

user33: someone check on george

user34: i know it was confirmed by them and the literal UK government but holy hard launch

user35: the people have yearned for a real f1 power couple

kimiantonelli: @georgerussell63 look who’s here!

georgerussell63: do you mind?

kimiantonelli: oooooooh you’re so angry she destroyed your homoerotic friendship you’re getting alex withdrawls - you want to let me past

georgerussell63: STAY BACK

kimiantonelli: worth a try

georgerussell63: just you wait until someone worms their way between you and ollie

georgerussell63: then you’ll know how it feels

user36: so how long until alex gets to become a sir

user37: points i think!

yourusername: i think we need bigger stakes than that

user38: TELL US WHAT YOU KNOW

user39: ARE WILLIAMS COOKING?

williamsf1: why bother trying to create hype when we can just leave it to y/n

user40: @yourusername if alex gets a win can we declare it a national holiday?

yourusername: i don’t think you guys know how the british government works

yourusername: my dad is prime minister i am not the queen

alexalbon: you’re my queen

landonorris: take this shit elsewhere some of here are lactose intolerant

user41: 2025 is just a simulation at this point

user42: i’m honestly scared at this point

yourusername: thank you for welcoming me to the paddock, i’m so excited to see alex kill it this weekend!

alexalbon: can’t wait to show you what i’m good at

yourusername: you’re good at a lot of things…

landonorris: NOT PARKING

yourusername: that’s not what i was talking about

landonorris: well i can guarantee i am better than alex at whatever it is

alexalbon: i don’t think so and thankfully we’ll never know

landonorris: nuh uh i challenge you

yourusername: ABSOLUTELY NOT

oscarpiastri: btw he has no idea what you’re referencign and is unaware he’s challenging alex to a bedroom activities competition

landonorris: WHAT

alexalbon

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 782,091 others

tagged: yourusername, georgerussell63 & landonorris

alexalbon: best finish ever for williams, got to show off my day job to my lady and gained the prime minister as my dad - do NOT fuck with me on track or you’ll be arrested on entry at silverstone

view all comments

user43: alex albon you have to stop, your swag too good and your girl too pretty THEY’LL KILL YOU ALEX ALBON

user44: red bull knew, they tried to clip his wings

yourusername: alex… we can’t do that

alexalbon: so you don’t love me?

yourusername: i do love you, but that’s not how the government works…

georgerussell63: LOVE ???

georgerussell63: wait i’ll let you guys have your moment (begrudgingly)

yourusername: thanks?

alexalbon: i love you too 🥰

yourusername: you going to let me buy you a drink pretty boy?

alexalbon: only if you let me buy you one right back my gorgeous girl

yourusername: what a gentleman

alexalbon: well i’d do anything for you sooooooo

yourusername: right back at you handsome

user45: is george seeing sense for once

user46: i think it’s the podium haze that knocked him out of his psychosis

user47: he needs to donate his brain to science when he dies

albon_pets: sooooo when do we get to meet larry?

maxverstappen1: always asking the right questions - can my pets come too?

user45: i love how everyone else has lost their minds and max is trying to organise a meet up with the downing street cat

user46: i’d argue he’s gone just as insane, he’s talking to alex pretending to be his cats

lewishamilton: there’s nothing wrong with that!

user47: god i have seen what you have done for others

user48: @alexalbon how did you pull it off?

yourusername: more like how did i pull it off

alexalbon: nuh uh you’re the prize here

yourusername: how bout you get on the podium and be my actual trophy husband

alexalbon: @ everyone watch ur backs in china

yourusername: when he’s determined 😮‍💨

alexalbon: well i got you didn’t i?

yourusername: you’re mental pretty boy

alexalbon: you could say i’m govern-mental

alexalbon: am i right?

alexalbon: i think i have a chance in comedy, right?

yourusername: sure!

georgerussell63: she doesn’t believe in you like i do alex…

yourusername: SHUT UP

fin.

note: yes, yes two alex fics in two days but P5? ummm yep that needs to be celebrated!!

[rafesteddy]

𝓻𝓪𝓯𝓮𝔂𝓼𝓬𝓾𝓻𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓫𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓼

𝙽𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚒𝚜𝚝 | 𝐊𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐦𝐚𝐬 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞𝐬

𝔻𝕒𝕪 𝕊𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕖𝕟: 𝕂𝕖𝕖𝕡 𝕄𝕪 ℍ𝕒𝕥 𝕆𝕟

𝙲𝚘𝚠𝚋𝚘𝚢!𝚁𝚊𝚏𝚎 𝚡 𝙱𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

warnings: cowboy!rafe, mutual pining, kissing, teasing, swearing, older!rafe, drinking, unprotected p in v, car sex, semi-public sex, soft!rafe, grumpy!rafe x sunshine!reader, gets in a fight with jj, teasing, mentions of blood, wet and messy, rafe is huge

📖 This is based on an ask by littlelamy for Cowboy!Rafe. Thank you for your ask, bb! After a messy breakup with a bartender at a rival bar, Cowboy!Rafe needs to find a new place to grab a beer. Turns out you were the sunshine he needed all along. This is also loosely based on my favorite TikTok edit LINK ♥️

Reader’s POV:

Copperhead Road looks beautiful tonight… Well, it's as beautiful as any dive bar can look. It has its charm—dressed up for the holidays with string light and shimmery garland. The scratch of classic country Christmas songs plays over the speakers, marrying with the regulars as they sip on their Coors Banquets and whiskey neats.

It wasn’t much, but it was yours. Most days, you didn’t mind working doubles, especially around the holidays when money was tight. It paid the bills, and the regulars were sweet enough.

“Sweet pea,” Bonnie calls, stepping behind the bar with a smile. She’s an old-time bartender, a “lifer” at Copperhead— ‘too old for this shit’ or so she would say through a cigarette-rasped laugh. “Thank you for stayin’ late for me tonight.”

You give her a nod and a smile, tipping your head on her shoulder as she pulls you in for a hug. “Of course. How was the concert?” You ask.

She smiles brightly, digging her flip phone out of her pocket to proudly show pictures of her granddaughter singing at the Christmas service.

You look around the bar; just a few people hanging out. A younger crowd’s gathered in the corner, nursing some mixed drinks, waiting for the party to start.

“You stayin’ tonight?” She asks as she ties an apron around her waist

”Of course, Mrs. Bonnie… It’s Tuesday night,” you say through a smile as you take off your jean jacket, showing off your rest sparkly tank top. The older women ohs and aws, and you smile and giggle, already knowing that that’s the reaction you were gonna get. Your friend Max holds the door open to the person behind him, and a man grabs it, bringing the cold December wind with him.

He walks in slowly, eyes locked on the rack of liquor lining the wall— his energy letting you know the last thing he was here to do was dance. He tosses his gaze to the ground, walking the rest of the way up to a bar stool, his Carhartt Jacket zipper up and his hat blocking his eyes.

He pulls off his hat as he approaches a chair, revealing his caramel-colored hair, brushed back slightly, just a little fringe hanging down on his forehead. He’s handsome in that rugged cowboy way—in that way that would make any woman in the place swoon.

“He’s cute,” Bonnie coos as she steps behind you, whispering over your shoulder with a grin.

“He looks grumpy,” you chuckle as you loft the rag into the sani bucket, flicking the water off your hands.

“Maybe he just needs a beer and the company of a beautiful young lady,” she teases as she shakes her shoulders and smiles, making your cheeks warm up at the challenge.

“I don’t know… He looks like he doesn’t even want to be here,” you mumble as you grab a bar napkin and a pen.

“He just needs a little holiday cheer, Sweet Pea.”

You draw a deep sigh as you make your way down the line to him, feeling your excitement rise as you get closer. “Evenin’. Can I get you a beer?”

“… Obviously,” he mumbles as he fiddles with his rough hands.

You chuckle and tilt your head slightly, hoping he’ll come to the conclusion that he was an asshole on his own, but he might need a little help. “Well, aren’t you charming?”

His eyes lift at the sound of your voice, like he’s hearing it for the first time. That got his attention. His baby blue eyes lock on yours, sharp features softening fast.

His brows furrow as he looks back at you like he’s trying to figure something out. “Jesus, m’sorry,” he mutters, rubbing his big hand against the back of his neck. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. That wasn't polite…”

“No harm done,” you assure.

He hangs his hat on the hook and unzips his jacket. Your lashes flutter as he pulls it off his shoulders, showing off his white t-shirt underneath. You can see how fit he is under his shirt: his big biceps straining the fabric, leaving nothing to the imagination.

”You okay?” He chuckles. Your eyes tear away from his body, flickering to his as heat pools in your cheeks.

“Uh-Umm… Yeah. Of course. Bud Light?” You ask nervously, guessing his drink of choice.

“Bud heavy,” he sighs, it’s been a long day. And a shot of BV if you have it.” You pop open a bottle of beer resting it in front of him before draining a double-shot of Black Velvet whiskey in a glass.

He reaches into his pocket, grabbing his wallet, but you wave him off. “On the house,” you smile as you set the bottle back. “Are you okay?” You turn the question back to him as you pull out a different spirit for yourself.

He lets out a dry, tired laugh, hanging his head again just like he did when he came in. “Uhh… No. Not really,” he grabs the shot glass, tossing it back. “I broke up with my girlfriend a few days ago.”

“Oh,” you say gently as you search for his eyes. “That’s always rough. M’sorry to hear that…”

“Rafe,” he fills in the blank as you hold out the word, waiting for his name. He extends his hand, and you wipe yours on your skirt, resting yours in his. “Rafe Cameron.”

You introduce yourself as well. The contact between you lasts a little longer than normal, making your heart flutter. “It's nice to meet you.”

“Well, it’s nice to meet you too, sweetheart.”

His pretty blue eyes follow you as you step around the bar, walking toward him. The corners of his lips curl into a smile as you get closer, pulling up a seat next to him. He turns toward you, making the gesture a little more intimate. “Sorry about before,” he mumbles again as he goes for his beer.

“Seriously, don’t worry about it,” you smile. “I’m used to crabby cowboys,” you tease.

“Well, I prefer brooding, but I deserve that,” he laughs against the lip of his bottle before taking a sip. “She’s a bartender too, down at Little Angie’s. Been going there for years. And honestly, it was my bar first, but I guess I can’t go there now,” he huffs, taking a long sip of beer before wiping his hand across his lips. “She cheated on me.”

“On you?” You ask as you cock an eyebrow, lifting your voice in disbelief, genuinely surprised but stroking his ego nonetheless; the man obviously needs it.

“What do you mean ‘on me’?” He drawls, half-hiding his smile with his hands before taking another swig, fishing for the compliment he knew you were feeding him.

“You’re very handsome, Rafe Cameron,” you smile. “Gotta fix that personality of yours, though,” you taunt as you poke him in his muscular chest, making him scowl jokingly.

“I’m a ray of fuckin’ sunshine, princess. The hell do you mean?” He asks, his voice sweet and raspy.

“She sounds like an idiot. I’m sorry,” you say earnestly, resting your hand on his blue jeans, giving him a sweet squeeze before pulling away. You watch a blush creep across his cheeks in the light of the neon moon.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he hums as he looks back at you. You bite back a dizzy smile as you glance at him.

“Well, lucky for you, Copperhead has better beer and better people,” you smile sweetly as you lean in a little closer.

“Mmm… Mhmm?” He chuckles, trying to fight back his wide smile. “Suppose you are one of those people, huh?” He asks.

“She is,” Bonnie adds as she sets down two more drinks, clearly delighted for you over this turn of events. “N’dosen’t she look stunning tonight?” She raises a question as she grabs two new bottles off the rail.

“Gorgeous,” Rafe croons. “Thank you.” He gestures toward the bottle before shifting in his seat, moving even closer than before. “Hear that? Said ‘thank you’ and everything.”

“Like gentleman,” you coo.

“That’s right,” he grins.

The music around you starts to turn up, you look over your shoulder, so lost in your conversation with Rafe that you didn’t notice the large crowd that had filled the space. You glance back toward the booths—your friends waving wildly as they catch your attention, eyes widening in approval of Rafe as well, making heat bloom in your cheeks

“Umm… I’m not sure if you’re free tomorrow, but if you are, I’m doin’ a breakfast with my friends at my place. You’re welcome to stop by.”

“Yeah?” He asks as he quirks an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“‘Course. Holidays suck alone.”

He bites his lip, contemplating your offer, the corners of his eyes creasing with the smile he’s holding back. “Might take you up on that, sweetheart.”

“Perfect,” you whisper. “What are you doing right now, cowboy?”

He throws his gaze away, laughing lightly at the title before returning his eyes to yours. “Nothin’. What do you have in mind?”

“Line dancin’ starts at eight…”

His face twists slightly, body turning away from you, toward the bar as to say ‘no.’ “Dancin’ is not really my thing,” he chuckles, nodding at Bonnie to come back down the line for another drink.

“Suit yourself,” you sing as you step off the barstool, leaning in slightly. “Enjoy your beer, handsome.”

The music shifts to something upbeat as you make your way toward your friends. The familiar rhythm takes over, and you go from one high with Rafe to the next. You shift your hips, moving your body to the beat.

One of the regulars steps in, Pope, a handsome rancher from down the way. He pulls you into his arms, whirling you around as he usually does.

You feel the heat of Rafe’s gaze from the bar. You glance over your shoulder for a moment—his eyes on yours, watching you with an unreadable expression. Before you can think about it much more, Pope twirls you under his finger, stealing your attention.

You feel a hand rest on your lower back, guiding you away, and you follow, slipping into Rafe's strong arms. He pulls you in close, arms wrapping around your body, lips curving into a grin.

“You dance?” You smile sweetly.

”Absolutely not,” he mumbles, his hold on you letting you know there was no way he would let you dance with anyone else tonight.

The music slows to something smoother. Rafe pulls you in close, the warmth of his big body sending shivers down your spine. You breathe in his scent—enveloped in his rich cologne, warm vanilla, and a hint of tobacco.

He matches your movements, shifting effortlessly with you as his rough hands roam your curves. “You’re pretty good at this,” you smile as you rest your hands on his chest, feeling his heart bang underneath.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he mutters through a smile.

The space between you gets closer and closer; the heat of Rafe’s breath on your hot skin makes your heart race. And just like before, the two of you were lost in your own world, yanked out by a large hand on Rafe’s shoulder.

“You fuckin’ kidding me?”

You look around Rafe’s as JJ’s wild blue eyes dart between the two of you, narrowing on his fast.

“The fuck is this?” JJ asks as he pulls Rafe off you, shoving him back.

“Back off, JJ,” you hiss as you step between the two of them.

“Is he botherin’ you?” JJ asks, looking around your shoulder, focusing more on the new man trying to take you away and less on the fact that you wanted him to go.

“No, JJ. You are. Just fuckin’ leave.”

JJ dismisses you again, stepping around you to get in Rafe’s face. “You think you can just walk in here and take what’s mine?” JJ spits and swings his fist, nailing Rafe in the cheek. Rafe returns a blow, landing square on JJ’s jaw fast, sending him stumbling back with his face clutched in his hands.

You grab Rafe as the bouncer grabs JJ, pulling the two men apart as they shout over the music. “That’s enough, JJ,” you shout, JJ’s darkened eyes never leaving him—Rafe, glaring right back at JJ with a smirk on his face. “Not fuckin’ leavin’, cupcake.”

“You're done,” the bouncer warns as he tightens his grip on your ex, dragging him back.

“Let go of me, Shoupe,” JJ grunts as he fights against him.

“Come on, baby,” you whisper, the name pulling Rafe’s focus back to you in a second. He smiles down at you, his cheek gashed and bloodied as he wraps his big arm around your shoulders, following you to the office.

Rafe crashes down on the chair, kicking out his boots, shaking his hand, eyeing his swollen knuckles with a groan. “Let me see,” you whisper as you move closer, setting the first-aid kit on the desk before sitting on his lap.

You hook your finger under his chin to get a better look as Rafe wets his lip and smiles, his twinkling eyes finding yours. ”It’s nothin’,” he hums, but you clean it anyway, the tough guy only letting a hiss slip past his lips as the alcohol soaks his skin.

“You’re not the only one with an asshole ex,” you whisper as you lean in a little closer, Rafe’s arms finding their way around your waist again.

“Guess we got that in common, princess,” he breathes as his eyes fall down your body in his arms.

You cup his cheek in your soft hand, and he shuts his eyes, melting into your touch. Before you know it, his lips are on yours, deep and deliberate, slow and sensual, sending sparks straight through you as his tongue rolls with yours.

He groans into your mouth, and you moan into him, savoring the taste of his sweet lips. His big hand inches up your body, but you grab his wrist, guiding his hand to your tit. “Fuck, baby,” he moans as he squeezes. Your hand rests against his chest as your tongues reel, your nails scratching down. “Lower,” he rasps and smiles against your lips, your slight hand pushing against his stiff dick in his Levi’s, making your pussy ache.

“Wanna get out of here?” You whisper as you draw a breath, lips quickly finding him again. Rafe smiles against your mouth, taking your bottom lip between his as he sucks off slowly.

“Your place or mine?” He asks through a smile.

The two of you not so much as get to his truck before he’s on you again, kissing you passionately, your fingers finding the handle of the back seat, pulling him inside with a smile. And for the third time tonight, the rest of the world fades away. The dark parking lot is crammed with cars—your ex presumably close, but none of it matters but Rafe.

He pulls you on to straddle his lap, his big hands cupping your face as he strokes your soft skin; Rafe’s beautiful blue eyes stare back into yours as you breathe deeply together.

"Baby,” he stops you as you lean in for more, his rough thumb tracing your plump bottom lip. “Is this alright?” He asks sweetly as his eyes fall to your lips, catching the slight space between you, staring at your lips hungrily, desperate for more, but the well-mannered man in him forces him to ask.

“You really are a gentleman, aren’t you?” You tease as he takes off his hat, resting it on your head. You run your fingers through his soft hair as he tips his head back, melting into your touch.

“You can keep my hat on, princess,” he hums as he pulls you closer, his warm lips pressing against your neck, moving higher. “You hear me, sweetheart?” He asks needily as your hands trace down his broad chest, fingers falling to his belt.

“Think I owe you for takin’ care of my ex.” You bite your lip as you tug the leather belt through the loops.

“I don’t think so, baby doll,” he hums as he rubs his thumb across your shoulder, lowering one strap and the other. “I was just payin’ you back for the beer,” he whispers through a playful smirk. You reach up, pulling your shirt and bra down around your waist, making Rafe release a deep groan.

He leans in, pressing his lips against yours— hungry and possessive. Your tongue tangles with his, separating briefly to tear him out of his thin white shirt as his hands cups your chest, thumbs brushing across your nipples.

You wrap your hands around his neck, grinding into the rock-hard bulge in his jeans. He quickly reaches down, tugging them down his thighs. “Keep going,” you whisper and chuckle lustfully against your lips, pulling his boxers down as well.

Rafe slides down in the seat, slightly guiding your arousal-pooled panties right on top of his dick, taking his lip between his teeth, rocking your body onto him as his mouth devours yours.

His hands wrap around your back, slipping under your skirt to grip and knead your ass, pulling moan after moan from your lips. His stiff cock rubs against your clit, making you toss your head back at the delicious friction between your thighs.

Rafe buries himself in your neck, his warm breath hot against your skin as he breathes you in. “Fuck, I need you,” he mumbles against your neck before sinking his teeth into you growing impatient.

“I’m so wet for you, Rafe,” you sigh as you taunt him further, squealing as he slaps your ass roughly with a laugh.

“I know, baby,” he chides. “Goddamn, I fuckin know. Just give it to me—let me have it. Yeah?” Your hips continue to rut shamelessly against his pulsing cock, making him take what he needs himself.

Rafe reaches under your skirt, ripping one side of your panties and then the next, tossing the soaked lace to the floor with a sigh of relief as he grips his heavy cock with one hand, lifting your body right where he wants you with the other arm making you gasp.

Rafe’s lidded eyes connect with yours, lips falling open with his as he pushes inside you entirely. Your grip his shoulders, hands trembling as a deep groan thunders in his chest, feeling your warm, wet cunt wrap around him tight.

“All that teasin’ for what?” He pants with a smile as he leans into your lips, capturing your mouth in a tender kiss.

“Told you I was wet,” you whisper, and he chuckles as his work-worn fingers find your clit, making you gasp.

“Told you I knew,” he drawls as his soft lips brush against yours. “You gonna let me cum in this pretty pussy, sweetheart. Make you even wetter?” He asks as he grabs your hips again, guiding you to roll your body just like you were before.

“Sh-Shit,” you shutter shakily, never feeling something quite this deep. “Mhmm, daddy… You gonna take me home?” You ask as you feel his big cock fill you to the brim.

“Callin’ me daddy? Shit… You’re gonna get a lot more than that, princess,” he smiles as he lifts your hips, fucking up into your soaked hole. “You’re not gettin’ rid of me.” You throw your head back; his hat tumbles off, skin slapping against the skin as the windows of his truck start to fog up.

Your lips crash against his, kissing him with deeply, feeling yourself about to lose control. “Fuck, Rafe… M’close,” you whimper against his lips.

“Yeah?”

”Yeah,” you pant. Rafe grabs your body, using his hold and his muscle to bounce you on his cock, again and again, pounding your pussy with his thick dick. Your thighs tremble uncontrollably, warmth tightening around him. “Cum for me, pretty girl,” he groans. “Make a mess for me.”

Your pussy gushes and flutters around his big cock wetting his lap and his fingers.

“Atta, baby… Shittt,” he mumbles, hot against your skin. “Good fuckin’ girl,” he praises between rough thrusts, his orgasm coming fast and hard as he adds to the wet mess. The slick sounds of sex fill the cab— Rafe rocking to a stop between gentle kisses. He buries himself in your neck, pulling you into his heaving chest.

Rafe kisses your forehead—then your nose and your lips. “Goddamn,” he mumbles. “Let’s get you home, huh? Get you cleaned up.”

“Yeah, cowboy?” You ask breathily. Rafe kisses you again, lingering while your breathing slows together.

“Told you you’re not gettin’ rid of me, princess?”

[mazeeelabyrinth]

♡♡♡ Project Bunny ♡♡♡

Chapter I: Live - PixelBunny.exe

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

♡■♡■♡ Pairing: LADS MLIs x afab camgirl!reader

♡■♡■♡ Plot Summary:

By day, you're just a broke barista with a caffeine addiction, with a useless degree and a student loan nightmare, and a customer service smile stitched over your burnout. By night, you're Pixel Bunny—a bratty, cosplay-clad camgirl with a shy voice, a pastel aesthetic, and a growing fanbase that keeps your lights on and your legs open.

Except… your five most generous patrons are a little too devoted. Each a stranger with a username and a hard-on for control, slowly bleeding into your real life.

♡■♡■♡ Tags: 18+, multichapters, second pov, eventual poly, eventual orgy, dark romance, reverse harem, shameless smut, porn with plot, explicit, gradual shift into darker themes, voyeurism, praise kink, porn, ooc, canon divergence au, sex toys, clothing fetish, cosplay, breeding kink, ddlg (daddy dom/little girl), pet names, live masturbation, power play, strip tease, sex work, camgirl au, streaming culture, orgasm denial, parasocial relationship, obsessive parasocial behavior, dirty talk, stalking tendencies, reader is not mc, reader has a day job, reader is addressed as "Bunny" or "PixelBunny" on stream, masked identities

♡■♡■♡ Word Count: 7.2K

A/N: Finally dug up an old idea and use it for another LADS fanfic. I was debating whether I use an oc or just follow my usual "x reader", guess what I did? Please take this "you" persona impersonally.

A/N2: holy shit, I thought I saved it up as a draft 😂 I wasn't done editing it lmfao

MASTERLIST | AO3 | FOR TAG LIST, INTERACT HERE. | NAVIGATION

Your screen flickered to life with the soft, ambient glow of neon pinks and cool lilacs. Lo-fi beats hummed low through your headset, a curated loop of calming bass and synthetic purrs you’ve fine-tuned to make every viewer feel like they were lounging right in bed with you.

The room behind you was an aesthetic fever dream: plushies, pastel LEDs, posters of vintage anime girls with glassy eyes and lollipops too large for their mouths.

You're perched on the center of your bed, legs curled just right, clad in a baby-pink cropped cardigan that technically covers your nipples—but just barely, plaid skirt strategically rumpled that showed off your panties you’d pretend were modest if they weren’t riding a dangerous line between “cute” and “cam site terms of service violation.”

The bunny-eared headset—your signature look—bobbed slightly as you adjusted, lips glossed to a cherry sheen and parted with practiced nervousness.

A delectable morsel wrapped in pastel and lust. That’s you, PixelBunny. A camgirl rising on the other side of the internet.

Just shy. Just bratty enough.

Innocent. Dumb. Deceiving.

Click. You're live.

The chat was already rioting. A thousand hearts bloomed in the corner of your screen. Familiar names lit up the chat like a twisted bouquet of usernames you knew better than your actual friends.

Syl.Draconia 💎 has joined the stream 🐇

R.tist!c tipped 1000 credits: angel, that lipstick shade is killing me

X-Devoted upgraded to SUGAR DADDY - ULTRA VIP 💎

Mr. WhiteCoat tipped 500 credits: Don’t overwork yourself.

C.Pilot: you're late. I've been waiting Bunny. ;)

3009 more viewers have joined 🐇

You smiled sweetly. Blushed. Looked away. A beat too long, just to make them ache for it. And then, your voice—high, breathy, a porcelain teacup too full of heat—spilled into the mic.

“H-hi, everyone. Welcome back to my... super cozy Friday stream. I—I missed you all so much... I was sooo lonely today…”

A flurry of small donations exploded with the flood of emotes. Bunnies. Eggplants. Hearts. Claws. One name after another. Each one hit your account like a loaded promise. A private ping dinged—five times, exactly. Direct messages, encrypted, VIP access only.

You ignored them. For now.

The camera zoomed slightly—auto-focus tracing your thighs as they shifted. Your skin was glossed, powdered, glowing under artificial moonlight. You stretched your arms overhead, the croptop sliding just enough to show the soft curve of underboobs, a calculated ‘oopsie’ perfected by months of practice.

C.Pilot: you know you missed yesterday right?

X-Devoted: Uve been a veeery naughty bunny…

Mr. WhiteCoat: I’m monitoring your dopamine spikes in real time. They’re inconsistent.

R.tist!c: is that the cardigan i sent you? unbutton it slowly

Syl.Draconia: Shes hiding something tonight. Increased blink rate. Deviated gaze.

“Y-you all are so mean… I’m shy, y’know. I’m not just here to be your toy…” You purred, same curated high-pitched tone matched with a sickly sweet giggle. “But thank you, Daddies.”

You giggled, again, hiding your face in your hands. A perfect little bunny. Tempting fate like it was a game. Innocence so carefully curated it could only be filthy. Just a girl in your safe little pastel den, alone in your apartment, with predatory men watching you burn.

You shifted, thighs parting slightly, your voice rising just a note.

“I m-might’ve been a little mean… I didn’t respond to some DMs. I went live without private previews tonight... I guess I was just feeling bold.”

X-Devoted: U will learn sweetheart

Syl.Draconia: Already running your own script. Dangerous.

Mr. WhiteCoat: This requires corrective conditioning.

C.Pilot: youre gonna make me break my keyboard Bun.

R.tist!c: keep talking, your shame is muse enough

The camera light pulsed. You leaned forward, intentionally framing your cleavage with your forearms as you pouted at the lens.

“You’re all so strict with me lately,” you murmured, voice full of mock-pout and something that wasn’t so mock. “But I know how much you missed me…”

You reached for a small heart-shaped plastic on the nightstand.

“A-and I think I’m ready to be your good bunny again.”

Then—click.

You pressed the first tip-button. The sex toy that was already inserted before the stream purred to life inside you, humming quiet and wicked.

“A-ah—mm! T-that’s... oopsie.” Well, at least the moan that slipped from your glossy lips was real.

X-Devoted: Dont play shy. U wore that choker for me.

Syl.Draconia: Zoom. 140%. Enhance the thighs.

R.tist!c: such soft curves, let me paint you like this

Mr. WhiteCoat: Keep still. I’m running diagnostics.

C.Pilot : bet she soaked the sheets already.

mr.unknown: oh yes, moan for us more 😩

zeronut: show pussy plz… 💦

"Oh... Oh Daddy..." You murmured into the mic, your eyes glazed over as the vibrations from the toy X-Devoted had chosen for you resonated through your body. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks, a blush that surely painted your face in a way that made the camera love you more. The chat was a whirlwind of lewd comments and generous tips. Each one of your patrons had a piece of you, and you knew it. You reveled in it.

You leaned back into the plush pillows, your hands sneaked under the cardigan, fingers dancing over your chest, tracing the edges of the pasties you knew R.tist!c had picked out from the last set of gifts he'd sent. His taste was always so... exquisite. You could feel your heart racing, the decorative adhesive tickling against your skin with each breath.

"Thank you for the tips, Daddy..." You breathed into the mic, a soft smile playing on your lips as you scanned the chat for X-Devoted's name. His tip had triggered the toy, and the pleasure was already pooling in your stomach, threatening to spill over. "You're all so generous tonight."

The screen was a blur of usernames and donation amounts. You bit your bottom lip, letting the anticipation build as you slowly unbuttoned the cardigan. The cool air hit your bare skin, and you shivered dramatically for the camera, knowing it would drive them wild. The room was a symphony of virtual praise, each note hitting a different chord of your arousal.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Thats what I like to see

C.Pilot: let’s see how much you’ve been taking care of yourself Bunny.

R.tist!c: more little bun, show us everything

With a devilish smirk, you leaned forward, giving them the show they were dying to see. The cardigan fell away, revealing the purple, starfish-shaped pasties that covered your areola—nipples already peaked out and were begging for attention beneath the adhesive silicone.

The cold lens of the camera was the only thing touching them as you whispered, "Look at what you do to me, Daddy." You gave your torso a gentle shake, watching your breasts jiggle before the eyes of your devoted audience.

The chat exploded with emojis and messages. The numbers on the side of your screen spun upwards like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. You felt a thrill of power, a heady rush of adrenaline, knowing that these men were all watching you, all wanting you, all willing to give you anything to satisfy their desires. You were the puppeteer, and they were your marionettes, dancing to the tune of your siren's song.

"Would you like to taste my tits, Daddy?" You whispered into the void, watching the screen as your words sent a shockwave through the chat. The vibrator in your panties buzzed in time with your racing heart every time someone tipped, a symphony of need and greed. You cupped your breasts, your thumbs flicking over the covered areola, teasing the silicone away from your sensitive skin.

X-Devoted: Yes baby. Take off the starfish. Let us all admire ur pretty nipples

Mr.WhiteCoat: Use the adhesive fabric next time if the silicone irritates your nipples.

R.tist!c: i wish those pasties were my mouth

R.tist!c: soon you will be mine

C.Pilot: make it quick, I can feel my cock pulsing already.

Syl.Draconia: Watch yourself Bunny. Watch how beautiful you are.

You bit back a giggle, feeling a thrill of excitement at their commands. You knew they were all watching, all waiting with bated breath for the moment you'd give in. Your fingers danced along the edge of the silicone, the tension building as you paused, just for a second, to let them beg for more.

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: Take it off let the breeze kiss those pretty nipples of yours.

Your heart skipped a beat as you read the message from Syl.Draconia. His requests always sent a shiver down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement. But you had a show to run. You had to keep them all on the edge of their seats. So, with a flick of your wrist, the pasties came off, revealing your bare breasts to the camera. The coolness of the room kissed your skin, making your nipples peak even further. You leaned closer to the camera, letting them get a good look at the prize.

But amidst the flurry of tips and messages, one stood out. C.Pilot’s text was simple, but the implication was clear. "you know I wanna fuck those tits Bunny." The chat went wild, a mix of excitement and anticipation. This wasn't the first time he'd made such a bold statement.

You looked into the camera, eyes wide with feigned shock, "Oh my... Daddy's being extra naughty tonight." You giggled, playing coy. But inside, you felt a thrill of danger. It was all part of the game, but you knew it was one you couldn't ignore for much longer.

The tips continued to flood in as you played with the strings of your skirt, tugging it down just enough to reveal the sheer lace of your panties. The camera zoomed in, capturing the wetness that had already begun to soak through. You could feel the fabric sticking to your skin as you teased them, the anticipation building. Each user's kink reflected in their words, a silent bidding war for your attention.

X-Devoted: Spread ur legs for us baby. Show us ur sweet little cunt

Mr.WhiteCoat: I can see your heart rate increasing. Keep going.

R.tist!c: imagine its my tongue licking you clean

C.Pilot: you know I’d shower those tits with my cum.

Syl.Draconia: Take off the skirt. Give us a show.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of their eyes—or rather, the screens—on you. It was all a game, a dance of power and desire played out in pixels. But you were good at this dance, weren't you? You'd been doing it for some months. You leaned back, letting your legs fall open just enough to hint at the lacy treasure beneath. The toy in your panties buzzed louder, the intensity of the vibrations making you gasp.

"M-maybe later, Daddy. I-I’m getting shy now…" you whispered, batting your eyelashes at the camera in practiced timidity. The chat erupted again, the sound of keys smacking screens echoing in your mind. The thrill of control was intoxicating. You were the queen of this digital realm, and they were all just pawns in your game.

The vibrations grew more intense, and you couldn’t help but squirm. You reached down and slipped your hand into your skirt, your fingers sliding over the drenched fabric of your panties. The toy buzzed against your clit, and you let out a soft moan, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment. The room grew hot, the air thick with lust.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pulse is racing faster now. Tell us how it feels.

X-Devoted: Ure mine tonight bunny

R.tist!c: i can almost taste you through the screen

C.Pilot: give us a better look.

Syl.Draconia: Yes show us how much you want it.

Your cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink, and your breathing grew heavier as you read the messages, feeling their eyes on you—or rather, the screens that served as their windows into your private world. The vibrations grew stronger, and you could feel yourself getting closer to the edge. But you weren’t ready to give in just yet. You had to keep them wanting more.

"But not yet, Daddy," you murmured into the microphone, your voice a sultry whisper. "I want to save the best for later." You pulled your hand away from your panties, leaving them wet and exposed. The camera zoomed in, and you watched the chat light up with excitement. You had them hooked, and you were the master angler reeling them in, inch by inch.

With a practiced brattiness, you stood from the bed.

"Oh... so cold!~" You gasp, hugging yourself in a manner dramatic enough to tease your audience.

You turned to face the camera fully, your eyes scanning the chat for any signs of the five high-rollers you knew were out there. You strutted over to the clothing rack, the soft thud of your feet echoing through the quiet room. The outfit was a surprise, something you'd picked out just for them. A devilish smirk played on your lips as you pulled out the hanger, the fabric gliding over your fingertips like silk.

"Alright, everyone," you announced, the sound of you unraveling the garment garnering a slew of eager messages. "It's time for the main event!" The anticipation in your voice was palpable as you held the outfit against your body, obscuring your nakedness with the screen of fabric. "Tonight, I've got something extra special for you. Who's ready for a surprise?"

The chat exploded with excitement, a barrage of suggestive emojis and filthy messages.

C.Pilot: can't wait Bunny.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your secrets are the best part of the show.

R.tist!c: show us little muse

You took a deep breath, the anticipation building in your chest as you held up the lingerie set. "I've got something that's gonna knock your socks off, Daddies!" You giggled, feeling the excitement of your digital audience pulse through the air. The pastel colors shimmered under the soft light, a perfect blend of innocence and desire.

You turned around, giving them a glimpse of your bare back, the tension building as you slowly untied the strings of your skirt. The skirt softly rustled as it slid down your thighs like silk, leaving only your sheer panties that barely covered your dripping cunt and the vibrator thrumming inside you.

"Oopsie daisy!" You exclaimed, feigning clumsiness, making sure the camera captured every inch of your exposed skin. "Looks like I need to get changed!"

The chatter in the chat grew louder as you began to peel off your panties, the fabric sticking to your wetness before finally sliding away. The toy remained in place, a silent sentinel of your pleasure.

You stepped into the new set, a pair of lace g-strings that barely covered your curves, and a matching sheer bralette that left nothing to the imagination. Each movement sent waves of pleasure through your body, the vibrations syncing with your heartbeat.

"How does this look?" You asked, spinning around for them, giving a full view of the new ensemble. The chat went wild, a cacophony of lewd comments and tips. You could feel the power surging through you, a heady rush that only grew as you watched the numbers climb.

X-Devoted: Perfect. Just like I knew it would be

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your obedience is... commendable, PixelBunny.

R.tist!c: a masterpiece worthy of my canvas

C.Pilot: fuck baby. you're driving me wild.

You leaned closer to the camera, your breath hot against the lens. "Does Daddy like it?" You whispered, your eyes sparkling with mischief. The chat was a blur of eager responses, each one more eager than the last.

Syl.Draconia: Youre a vision, my sweet bunny. I could rip that in one flick of my fingers.

You winked at the camera, the toy inside you buzzing in response to the thrill of their words. "Good, because I got something extra special for you all." Your breasts bounced slightly as you turned, giving them the show they craved. "Who wants to see what I've got planned?"

The tips—smaller amounts this time—poured in faster than you could read, the screen lighting up like a Christmas tree. Your heart raced as you felt the eyes of your devoted fans, the vibrations inside you reaching a crescendo. "Alright, Daddies. Let's get this party started!"

You slid the toy out of you with a wet pop, ensuring the camera caught everything, the chat exploding in a symphony of virtual pleasure. The toy was replaced with something new, something they hadn't seen before. It was a custom-made dildo, the girthy shaft covered in bumpy, tiny lights that matched the color scheme of your room.

"This little guy is gonna light up the night," you said with a wink, turning it on. The lights flickered in time with your racing pulse, a silent promise of what was to come.

Strutting closer to your desktop, you straddled the fuschia pink-white gaming chair, posing your back against the lens. You took a moment to appreciate the view on the screen—the way the lights played off your curves, highlighting the view of your asscheeks in the air, your drenched cunt peeking through the scant g-string. Turning you into a living work of art.

Then, with a sultry smile, you placed the tip of the dildo against your entrance, the coolness sending a shiver down your spine.

"Ready for the main event, Daddies?" You teased, tapping the toy playfully against your asscheeks. The chat was a sea of anticipation, a mix of eagerness and greed. You spread your legs wider, giving them a perfect view of your glistening pussy, the fabric of your g-string the only barrier between you and their hungry eyes.

You leaned further into the chair, the cold leather against your skin a stark contrast to the heat building within you. The lights from the dildo reflected off the chrome of your gaming chair, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. The plastic frames bit into your knees as you settled into the position, a slight discomfort that only served to heighten the thrill of the moment.

The chat was a blur of excitement, a cacophony of usernames and tips flying by as they watched you, rapt and eager for your next move.

X-Devoted: Slowly baby. Make it last

Mr.WhiteCoat: I’m taking notes of how many pumps you’re going to do tonight.

R.tist!c: oh i wanna sketch this

C.Pilot: fuck bunny. you're so wet, I could almost feel it.

Syl.Draconia: Use the lube I sent.

With a seductive smile, you took the lube, never breaking eye contact with the camera’s lens as you lathered it around the girthy artificial phallus. The squelching echoed to the mic as your hands pumped in a tantalizing rhythm, giving your audience the fantasy of you touching their cocks instead.

You began to rub the tip against your swollen clit, the lights flickering in time with your movements. The sensation was electric, sending a jolt through your body that made your eyes roll back in your head.

"Mm, Daddy likes it slow?" You murmured, your voice a breathless purr. "Alright, let's see if I can be a good girl." You slid the toy down, teasing the folds of your pussy. The chat was a flurry of commands and compliments, each one feeding the fire of your desire.

With a deliberate slowness that was as much for show as it was for their benefit, you brushed the string of your panties aside and pushed the dildo inside your cunt. The lights flickered in time with the strokes, creating a mesmerizing pattern across your skin. You moaned, the sound carrying through the quiet apartment, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo back at you from the screens of your devoted fans.

"Oh, yes... just like that," you whispered into the microphone, the vibrations from the dildo making your voice shake slightly. "Daddy's got me feeling so good."

Your eyes remained locked on the camera, watching as the tips continued to roll in. Each one a little victory, each one a validation of your power. You began to move the toy in and out, the lights casting a rainbow of shadows across your vaginal walls. "Tell me, Daddies," you gasped, "How does it look when I'm being such a good girl for you?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Your pussy looks so tight around that new toy, PixelBunny. You’re taking it well.

C.Pilot: oh fuck. that's so hot. like you're begging for the real thing.

R.tist!c: like a painting baby, a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Tell me you wish it was my cock Bunny.

X-Devoted: Ure mine Bunny. Remember that

Their reactions varied, a symphony of desire played out in digital text. Some praised your obedience, others painted vivid pictures of what they’d do to you, while another whispered dark promises of possession. Yet, none of them knew the truth behind your shy demeanor, the cynical smirk that tugged at your lips as you read their words.

With each stroke, the lights of the dildo grew more intense, painting your face with a rainbow of pleasure. Your body began to respond, your hips moving in a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with each passing moment. You knew the act well, the dance of a siren luring sailors to their doom. You were their obsession, their escape from the mundane.

The sound of your wetness filled the room, mingling with your soft moans. It was a symphony of lust, each note a declaration of your power. You watched the chat, eyes flickering from one message to the next. Their words were a drug, a sweet poison that made you feel alive.

You began to rock your hips, the toy sliding in and out with increasing speed. "Is Daddy proud of me?" You whimpered, your voice a siren's call. The chat exploded, each tip a declaration of their adoration. You felt their desire, a palpable force that seemed to tighten around you, squeezing out every last drop of your inhibition.

"Oh, Daddy," you moaned, the pleasure building, the lights from the dildo casting a glow across your face. "You make me feel so... dirty." The words were like honey, sweet and thick with meaning. You watched the chat, the screen a blur of tips and messages, each one more desperate than the last.

The toy slammed into you now, the plastic thud echoing through the room. Your hands were a blur, moving in a rhythm that was almost violent. The sensation was overwhelming, the lights pulsing with your heartbeat. You could feel yourself getting closer, the orgasm a tidal wave just beyond the horizon.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, PixelBunny, take it another inch deeper.

C.Pilot: so good baby. take it all for me.

R.tist!c: like youre riding my cock baby

Syl.Draconia: Mines bigger than that silly toy Bunny.

X-Devoted: Make sure u wont hurt urself

Their commands fueled you, pushing you closer to the edge. You took the toy out and licked it clean, the taste of yourself making your eyes roll back.

"Daddy, I need more," you whimpered, dropping the dildo to the floor. Slowly, you turned around to face the camera and present yourself on the chair. Your hand snaked into your g-string, your fingers finding your clit. "Is Daddy going to make me cum?"

Mr.WhiteCoat: Play with yourself more, BunnyPixel. Show us how much you want it.

C.Pilot: spread those legs wider, let me see everything.

R.tist!c: i want to see that pretty pussy swollen with desire for me

Syl.Draconia: You know you want it bunny. Take it all.

X-Devoted: Ure so greedy, arent you, Bunny? But Daddy loves that about you

Their words were a siren's song that you couldn't ignore. You spread your legs wider, the fabric of your g-string stretching tightly over your swollen clit. You watched the chat as your fingers began to dance across your folds, the wetness of your pussy glistening in the soft glow of the lights.

"Look at how wet I am for you, Daddies," you breathed into the microphone, the sound of your voice sending a shiver through your body. Your thumb circled your clit, the sensation making your toes curl. "Do you like watching me play?"

The chat erupted in a symphony of affirmations, their digital applause filling your ears. You felt a strange sense of belonging, a thrill that came from being the object of their desire. It was a power trip, one that you were all too eager to indulge in.

With a wicked grin, you picked up the dildo again, the lights pulsing to the beat of the music that played in the background. "Alright, Daddies," you said, your voice a mix of sweetness and seductive challenge. "Who wants to see how fast I can make this little toy disappear?"

The chat went wild as you positioned the dildo at your entrance, the coldness a stark contrast to the heat that had built up within you. You pushed it in, the lights dancing on your skin as you took it all in one go, the tip brushing against your cervix. You gasped, the sensation intense and overwhelming. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips and messages, each one more eager than the last to claim a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Bravo, PixelBunny. You’re so good at taking what you’re given.

C.Pilot: fuck yes. just like that. you're mine baby.

R.tist!c: a true masterpiece in motion

Syl.Draconia tipped 1000 credits: If its my cock filling you up, youd scream louder than that.

X-Devoted: So obedient. So perfect

You watched the tips climb, feeling a thrill at their desperation. "Is Daddy proud?" You asked, your voice a needy whine as you began to pump the dildo in and out of yourself. The lights reflected off the sweat that had begun to form on your skin, casting a glow around your body.

The chat was a blur of usernames and dollar signs, a testament to your power over these men. You felt a twinge of guilt, a tiny voice that whispered they didn't know the real you, that you were playing a role. But the rush of power was too great, the thrill of their desire too potent to resist.

You began to moan, the sound echoing through your headphones. The camera captured every inch of you, every bead of sweat, every gasp of pleasure. It was a dance of seduction, a performance honed over countless nights in front of the lens.

The chat was a furor of commands, each one more demanding than the last. But you were in control. You knew just how to play them, how to keep them on the edge of their seats. With each stroke, you felt their eyes on you, their thoughts wrapped around your body like a second skin.

"Oh, Daddy," you whimpered, the dildo moving faster now, the lights blurring together into a rainbow of ecstasy. "I'm so close." The chat exploded in a frenzy of tips once more, each one a declaration of war for your pleasure.

You felt yourself getting closer, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand moved faster, the dildo a blur as it plunged into your pussy. Your other hand gripped the arm of the chair, knuckles white with the effort of holding back. Its creak was a silent protest against the relentless pace of the dildo, creating a lewd harmony along with the squelching of your pussy around the glowing, bumpy, glass phallus.

"I'm... I'm gonna cum," you whispered, your voice shaking with need. The chat was a sea of fire emojis, a digital inferno of desire. You could almost feel their eyes on you, their hands moving in time with yours, imagining it was their cocks that filled you so completely.

The lights grew brighter, pulsing in time with your heartbeat. It was as if the room was alive, a living entity that feasted on your pleasure. Your walls tightened around the dildo, a silent plea for more, for harder, for deeper. The glass felt like fire in your hand, a tool of your own making that you wielded with expert precision.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby, keep going. You’re on the 496th pump and counting.

C.Pilot: that’s it slut. give it to me.

R.tist!c tipped 1500 credits: youd be more beautiful painted with my cum

Syl.Draconia tipped 300 credits: Youre so pretty when youre full of me.

X-Devoted tipped 500 credits: Ure perfect… my little whore

You threw your head back, your mouth open in a silent scream. The chat was a blur of lewd comments and demands, a symphony of desire that seemed to crescendo with every stroke. You felt their eyes on you, their hunger a palpable force that pushed you closer to the edge. The room was spinning, the lights a kaleidoscope of pleasure that painted the walls of your reality.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you with the force of a thousand suns. You screamed into the microphone, the sound echoing through the room. The camera captured every twitch of your body, every spasm of pleasure that racked your frame. The chat exploded in a cacophony of tips and messages, each one a declaration of victory.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, PixelBunny. Drink water to hydrate.

C.Pilot: I’d breed that little cunt like the bunny you are.

R.tist!c: fuck youre an artwork

Syl.Draconia: Good girl.

X-Devoted tipped 750 credits: Look how swollen your clit is

As the wave of pleasure receded, you slumped in the chair, panting heavily. Your body was a wreck, a plaything used and discarded. But there was no regret, only satisfaction. You had done your job, played your role to perfection. The tips kept rolling in, a testament to your power, to your ability to manipulate and control.

Mr.WhiteCoat: That was exquisite, PixelBunny. You pumped twenty-three times more tonight than the last stream.

C.Pilot tipped 2000 credits: you're so fucking perfect, you’re gonna make me cum on my keyboard.

R.tist!c: i want to capture that moment forever

Syl.Draconia: You never disappoint pet.

X-Devoted: Such a good little bunny letting us watch

You took a moment to catch your breath, the sweat cooling on your skin as you surveyed the chat. The room was bathed in the glow of the pastel lights, a soft symphony of colors that seemed to pulse with the aftermath of your climax. The usernames swirled like a kaleidoscope, each one a reminder of the men who had claimed a piece of you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Take off the g-string. Let us see you completely bare.

C.Pilot: you’re so responsive baby. I bet you’d scream if I was the one fucking you.

R.tist!c: i wish i could paint the way you look right now because your pussy is an art form

Syl.Draconia: Youre so open, so inviting. It makes me want to take you right here, right now.

X-Devoted: Good girl. Show me whats mine

With trembling hands, you slowly pulled the g-string to the side, fingers gliding to spread your swollen labia—exposing your clit to the cool air. The chat erupted in a symphony of desire, a crescendo of tips that sang your praises. You felt a thrill, a dark pleasure in knowing you had them all at your mercy.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Perfect. Just like that.

C.Pilot: so wet, so needy. who’s going to fill you up next?

R.tist!c: thats the look of a well-fucked muse

Syl.Draconia: Your pussy is begging for it.

X-Devoted: Remember, ure mine

You began to toy with yourself again, the dildo forgotten on the floor. Your hand moved with a newfound confidence, a silent challenge to the men watching you. You knew they were all thinking of themselves, of how they'd make you scream if they had the chance. But you were the one in control here, the one pulling the strings of their desires.

Mr.WhiteCoat: I want to see those breasts bounce, PixelBunny.

C.Pilot: play with those perfect tits.

R.tist!c: the way your titties jiggle is like watching a masterpiece come to life

Syl.Draconia: Show us your tits slut.

X-Devoted: Only for me my greedy little bunny

You leaned forward, your tits spilling out of the lingerie. Your nipples were hard peaks, begging for attention. You pinched them lightly, watching the chat for their reactions. The messages grew more frantic, a silent battle for your focus.

Mr.WhiteCoat tipped 300 credits: You’re shaking, PixelBunny. Just relax.

C.Pilot: pinch them harder, make them beg for mercy.

R.tist!c: oh baby thats the picture id sell for a fortune

Syl.Draconia: I want to feel those nipples between my teeth.

X-Devoted: Ure such a good slut for me

The room was a whirlwind of lewdness, a tornado of desire that you were at the center of. You felt a strange mix of fear and excitement, knowing that any of these men could be watching you from the shadows of your real life, and could be closer than you ever imagined.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Make yourself come again, PixelBunny. Show us how many times you can come tonight.

C.Pilot: I want to see you squirt for me baby.

R.tist!c: youre like a living, breathing fantasy

Syl.Draconia: Imagine its my tongue on you licking you clean while you squirt.

X-Devoted: Ure going to come for me arent you?

With a shiver, you focused on the task at hand. You began to rub your clit in slow circles, the sensation sending shockwaves through your overstimulated body. Your nipples tightened further as you pinched and twisted them, the pain adding a delicious edge to the pleasure.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Faster, Bunny. Make it count.

C.Pilot: so pretty when you're desperate.

R.tist!c: i want your juices mixed with paint

Syl.Draconia: So close bunny. Give us what we want.

X-Devoted: Be careful not to fall on the floor

The second orgasm built slowly, a crescendo of pleasure that you couldn't ignore. Each touch of your fingers was a declaration of war, a battle for dominance that you were determined to win. The chat was a blur of praises and commands, but you were in control. This was your show, your performance, your moment of power.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Yes, baby. Just like that.

C.Pilot: I can almost taste you Bunny.

R.tist!c: your body is a masterpiece

Syl.Draconia: Soon youll be screaming for me.

X-Devoted: Ure mine to use little slut

With a final, desperate push, you came, your body arching off the chair as your juices arced in the air—subsequently soiling your chair and the floor. The camera captured every twitch, every shiver of pleasure. The chat exploded in a flurry of tips, each one a declaration of victory. You panted, your chest heaving as you watched the numbers climb, the power of your own sexuality laid bare before you.

Mr.WhiteCoat: Beautiful, baby. Simply breathtaking.

C.Pilot: that was so fucking hot. you're incredible

R.tist!c: the way you come is like watching the universe unfold

Syl.Draconia tipped 1500 credits: Thats my slut. Ill give you a taste of my cock soon.

X-Devoted: Good girl

As the waves of pleasure receded, you couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. These men didn't just want to watch you; they wanted to own you. The thought sent a thrill down your spine, a mix of fear and excitement that you couldn't quite place.

You knew you had to keep them at bay, keep your real life separate from this digital playground. But as the tips continued to flow and the chat demanded more, you couldn't help but wonder if the line had already been crossed.

If they had already claimed a part of you that you couldn't take back.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You overslept.

The kind of oversleep that left mascara smudged in the corner of your eyes and thigh-high sock marks ghosting along your skin. Your alarm had gone off four times—each one silenced by a sleepy, swollen hand that still smells faintly of coconut oil and shame.

You’re not sore exactly. You're ruined.

Tender. Overfilled. Buzzing like your favorite toy never turned off. Your vibrator still under the pillow—taunting you like the whore you were last night. Your apartment smelled like artificial strawberries, lube, and desperation.

And your phone? Oh, bunny.

47 unread messages.

Syl.Draconia: Your audio peaked at 2:14:37. I liked that sound.

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should ice your thighs today. Hydration report pending.

X-Devoted: Still think about how u moaned my name last. Be good today

C.Pilot: saved the vod. watching it again before my morning meeting.

R.tist!c: i want to paint you mid-climax ill need the raw footage

You deleted none of them.

Your thighs stuck together as you rolled onto your side, squinting at the soft morning light bleeding through cheap blinds.

7:48 AM. Your café shift started at 7:00.

You groaned, dragging yourself out of bed. Your bunny headset laid discarded on the floor like a casualty, tangled with the cord of the bullet toy that made you scream so loud you had to bite the pillow. The heart-shaped toy from last night was still blinking faintly on the nightstand—taunting you. Judging you.

You’re still wearing the cropped cardigan. Nothing underneath. Just a smear of dried gloss on the collar and a suspicious hickey where your neck met the webcam’s frame.

— ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ —

You yanked on your barista apron with the grace of a drunken octopus, hair still smelling like body spray and cum-adjacent perfume, cheeks flushed with residual shame. The “CUP O' SUNSHINE!” logo stared at you like a passive-aggressive middle finger. A wrinkled pair of jeans hugged your thighs fine—inside out. No time to fix it. No bra.

Your thighs sticked slightly as you walked, the aftermath of being toyed open for hours, edged to oblivion and backed by faceless men who knew the sound of your moans better than your coworkers knew your name.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket with unread messages. The same five names.

X-Devoted: Did u eat yet baby?

Mr. WhiteCoat: You should’ve hydrated more. You lost a lot of fluids.

C.Pilot: when’s your break? I’ll call you.

R.tist!c: sketching the way your thighs shook

Syl.Draconia: You looked perfect on your knees.

You groaned and shoved it in your boring, beige, canvas tote bag.

Outside, the bus screeched past your stop without a single care for your state of existential hangover. You missed it by six goddamn seconds.

"Fuck you, rush hour,” you panted, trying to speed-walk without waddling. Your thighs screamed. Your lower back protested. You're ninety percent sure there was still some faux hickey ink blooming under your collarbone in the shape of a painted thumbprint.

Then the subway ride was hell. You shifted on the plastic seat with a soft hiss, cursing your post-stream sensitivity. The train lurched and your sore cunt clenched involuntarily. You could only bite your lip and pray no one noticed your discomfort.

When you clocked in, the coffee shop was already packed. You're over an hour late and reeking of vanilla lotion and unsanctioned orgasms.

Your workplace was aggressively normal. Neutral-toned hell. A cozy café chain squashed between a vape shop and a dentist’s office. The fluorescent lights buzzed like judging aunts. The espresso machine wheezed like a dying horse.

“Nice of you to join us,” your manager—Lysander—muttered, tossing you a stained dish towel and a name tag that read PIXEL. You didn’t bother to correct him. You were too busy hiding the fact that you forgot underwear.

You forced a smile. The same one you used on camera. “Sorry! Long night.”

As you staggered toward the counter, last night kept crashing back in wet waves.

After the ‘normal stream’—you on all fours, bouncing on a glass dildo while holding a printed-out chatlog to your chest like a script from hell.

“I-I’m gonna come again if you keep saying that, please—please don’t make me—!”

And them—ULTRA VIP chat exploding, all five usernames watching you fall apart like a perfectly wound toy snapping loose.

Syl.Draconia: Youre not allowed to finish until I say so.

X-Devoted: Slower. Hold eye contact. Now beg

Mr. WhiteCoat: Apply pressure to your clit. Precisely three fingers. That’s right.

C.Pilot: fuck, you’re gonna make me blow in my headset.

R.tist!c: cry for me, let me paint it from memory

You had collapsed into a moaning mess while the private chat was filled with tips, voice notes and possessive claims. You came so hard you nearly dislocated your mic stand.

And now here you were—Pixel Bunny’s shadow, stripped of pastel lights, lace, and fake moans. Fresh graduate, still buried in student debts, living alone, half-fucked out, and working the register for caffeine-deprived Karens and stoners.

Taking someone’s half-skim oat milk latte with a fake smile and shaky hands, your body still twitching with phantom overstimulation, your panties still sitting in a tipped-over laundry basket, and your cunt still slick from ghosts of last night’s sins.

You slapped a paper cup onto the counter like a half-dead soldier. Your bones ached. Your legs felt like overcooked noodles. You were seconds away from collapsing into the espresso grounds when you heard it:

“Medium latte. One pump vanilla.”

You didn’t look up at first. You were too busy auto-piloting through your camgirl trauma, but something about the voice made you pause.

It’s… calm and smooth. Measured.

You glanced up and your breath caught mid-exhale.

He was tall. Easily six feet. Fair-skinned and silver-haired, the kind of anime-protagonist-just-transferred-to-your-school handsome that would normally make you roll your eyes. His white sweater looked soft, expensive, the kind of thing someone would wear just to make you think about how good it would feel brushing against your thighs. His pants were dark, tailored. Hands tucked casually into the pockets.

And his eyes. Blue. Not icy—glacial.

Like he sees straight through you, and hasn’t decided if you’re prey… or his.

You swallowed. “N-name for the order?”

His head tilted slightly as he studied you for a second, gaze lingering for a beat on the upside-down nametag stuck above your chest.

“…Xavier.”

Your hand trembled around the Sharpie. You barely managed to scrawl the name on the cup, your brain already conjuring the worst possibilities.

X-Devoted. No. No. It’s just a common name. It’s fine. You’re fine, you’re just sleep-deprived and overstimulated.

You slid the cup toward the espresso machine and forced your voice steady. “It’ll be right up. Um. X-Xavier.”

His lips twitched. Not a smile. Just a flicker—barely there.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly.

Xavier turned to wait at the other end of the counter, hands still in his pockets. Posture straight. Like he was listening.

You sneaked one more glance as you started the order. He was staring at the pastries now. Or the board. Or maybe the reflection in the glass. You couldn’t tell.

But the prickle on the back of your neck said: be careful.

[queers-gambit]

Adore Her, Dior Her

prompt: ( requested ) what good is having all that money if he can't spend it on the woman he loves?

pairing: Mafia!Bucky Barnes x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Marvel

word count: 4.3k+

warnings: author foams at the mouth for Mafia AUs, overwhelming fluff, cursing, not edited.

"That's the one. That's one we should get!"

"You've said that about the past three dresses, Buck!" You groaned, smoothing your hands over the skirt. "We need to narrow this down, okay? The wedding's in a month!"

"Why did we even agree to go?"

You glared, "'Cause we love my brother and we're supporting him."

"But she's just so - "

"Jen. Her name's Jen."

Bucky nodded, leaning back on the cushioned chair, "Well, Jen's just wrong for him. Literally the definition of toxic."

"Does it count if they're toxic together? To each other?" You sighed, standing on the pedestal and turning to look in the three mirrors beside the dressing room.

"Of course it does," he stood, buttoning his suit jacket out of habit. He approached you, head cocking as he looked your body up and down to get the full view of the gown you tried on. "You're really okay letting him marry her? Turn this way a bit, baby, lemme see the front."

You scoffed, but took his offered hand and twisted on the small platform towards him, "You were there at Christmas, he doesn't listen to reason. So, if Daniel's convinced Jen's for him, as his sister, my only job is be supportive."

"They literally abuse each other," he pointed out.

"Well, he's not changing his mind. Okay? It's been three years, he won't budge, whenever someone brings up them breaking up, he goes into hiding - so, I don't know what else I can do," your hands slapped your thighs when you shrugged, "except just be there for him. Now, focus, please, help me narrow a dress down."

He shook his head as you turned to face the mirrors again, "Actually, you know what? I don't think anything in this store is for us."

The attendant perked up and scurried over, rushing, "Oh, well, we have a much larger selection in the back, Mr. Barnes - "

"That won't be necessary, Barbra, thank you, though," he nodded. "Doll," his hand planted on your waist, head over your shoulder as you still looked yourself over in the mirrors, "go get changed, I know where we need to go."

"Bucky, no, there's plenty of options here," you argued, twisting on the wee little pedestal to face him again. "We don't need to drop a stack on a dress - "

"You let me worry about the price tag," he smirked, leaning in to peck your cheek. "Just go change, pretty girl, c'mon. Step-to!"

You offered Barbra, the attendant, an apologetic smile as you shuffled back into the changing room; quickly stripping from the dress. When you exited in your street clothes, Bucky was tipping the aged woman for her effort in gathering your options, but the moment he saw you, his hand was extending to hold yours tightly.

"What was wrong with that store?" You asked when you stepped onto the noisy and busy street to approach the sleek, tinted car Bucky drove for day-to-day errands.

"We're not shopping at David's fucking Bridal."

"You literally drove us here," you laughed.

"Yeah, and then I had a much better idea," he smirked at you, unlocking the car and opening your passenger door. "C'mon, princess, just gotta trust me."

"Last time you said that - "

"That wasn't my fault," he groaned, cheeks flaring red in embarrassment. When you opened your mouth to retort, he rushed, "Aht, nope, don't say shit. C'mon, I'm taking you somewhere special so get that pretty ass in the car."

He grinned when you laughed and did as bid, feet safely inside when he closed the door after you were settled. Bucky easily jogged around the back of his car, New York busy this time of year as traffic flew past on the street and forced Buck slow. He dropped into the driver's seat, sniffling slightly.

"Reminds me," Bucky smirked as he pulled onto the street, "how would you feel about us going to Aspen this winter?"

You sighed, "Why?"

"You wanna stay in New York for Christmas?"

"Well, yeah! It's so magical."

"Okay, so, we can go over New Years?"

You sighed, "You know, we don't have to go anywhere..."

"Sweetheart," he cleared his throat, "I actually have some business in Aspen, this will just help determine when I schedule the meetings for."

"Oh," you nodded slowly.

He sighed, "I know my job isn't orthodox, but business is business, right, sugar?”

"No, yeah, yeah, I get it. It sounds kinda nice, maybe we can go skiing."

"You know how to ski?"

"No, but I'm sure someone in Aspen could help teach me."

Bucky grinned. The drive was full of easy conversation, neither you nor Bucky dwelling on his business dealings, always feeling as if it was taboo given his station in the Mafia. So when he pulled up in front of a designer store, you gawked. "Now, if we can't find something here - "

"Um, absolutely not," you laughed. "Bucky, I can't even afford to walk into a place like that!"

"Good thing I'm paying," he smirked. He assisted you out of the car, tossing his keys to one of his security guards who had been following in a separate, tinted vehicle. When you both entered the dimly lit store, you were blown away by the gorgeous minimalist design; warm lighting, open floor space, and racks of different clothing options.

"Ah, Mr. Barnes! Hello, hello, hello!" A new attendant greeted with more enthusiasm than you would've greeted any of your clients, approaching you two. She shook your boyfriend's hand vigorously, "To what do we owe this pleasure?"

Bucky wrapped his arm around your waist, "Looking for a dress to wear to a wedding."

She offered you a forced smile, telling your boyfriend swiftly with her teeth on full display, "You came to the right spot!"

"See?" Bucky smirked at you. "All right, Valeria, what's first?"

Valeria waved you both onward to a private changing room, offering complimentary sparkling waters, coffees, teas - even offering to go retrieve anything you two would want from the Starbucks down the block. Valeria took your measurements and dress size, making idle chit-chat with Bucky and making it obvious he was a regular in the store, then scurrying off to collect an armful of options.

"This is - wow," you nodded in impression, petting the material of the display dresses hung along the wall.

"Like it?"

"It's growing on me," you eased with a small shrug, hearing Bucky chuckle and for his phone to chime. You perused the place as he became glued to the little device, sat in front of the dressing rooms.

Valeria returned with another attendant carrying coffees. "Right this way, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria directed you into a changing room, missing the giddy look you sent Bucky over your shoulder at being called his wife. "All right, so," she sighed, hanging up the dresses she selected, "I think these are modest enough for a wedding, but still glamorous to turn a few heads."

You hummed, "They're kinda short, don't know if that's the energy I want to be giving off at my brother's wedding."

"They'll fit differently once on but we can always accommodate," she assured, pulling one from the hanger. "Here we go," she assisted you, zipping you in and looking you over. "Oh, it's just darling on you! Look at that, not a single hair outta place, right?"

You giggled lightly, "It's certainly pretty."

"Shall we show Mr. Barnes?"

You nodded, following her out to reveal Bucky sitting on a plush loveseat, sipping his coffee. His eyes widened when he saw you, nodding, "Oh, yeah. This is what I'm talking about."

"Hush, we're only buying one."

His eyes rolled, "I'll buy the whole damn store if I want."

"You don't own it already? Hm," you teased, perking your brows.

"Keep sayin' shit, I'll cut a check right now - "

"Bucky," you tisked, moving to the runway mirrors. "It's a little tight, isn't it?"

"It's snug," Valeria agreed. "Is there a color scheme for the wedding?"

"Um," you paused, "I'm not sure - I just know it's in winter, like, in a month."

"Maybe a pretty powder blue?" She looked to Bucky, who nodded. "Or how about a pale green? Like an olive tone?"

"She looks gorgeous in anything," Bucky smirked from behind you, taking another pull of his coffee.

"What about that brown number?" You asked, ignoring the way his compliments made you feel like the only girl he's ever seen in the world.

"You have a very good eye, Mrs. Barnes," Valeria nodded. She asked her coworker to go find your size, taking you back into the dressing room. You narrowed down the options without changing again, not wanting anything black or dark since it was a wedding and not a funeral. Though, you knew Bucky would disagree.

You showed your boyfriend a pretty little green dress, but he shook his head. "I thought the black was nice," he told you.

"I'm not wearing black to a wedding," you laughed lightly. "It screams bad luck to me, don't you think?"

"Think it's more of a statement, sayin' the entire event is a sham and they shouldn't be doing this," Bucky snickered, the other attendant, Laura, returning with a pretty brown dress. "That satin?" He asked, rubbing the material when it was presented to you both.

"It's very fashionable now," Laura nodded, "and it's not too dark."

"Since when is it a rule to not wear dark colors to a wedding? I miss the memo?" Buck leaned back to his seat.

All three women offered him a small look, you chuckling under your breath before Valeria was leading you back into the changing room. "If I may, Mrs?" She spoke softly, "I've known Mr. Barnes for a number of years but he's never brought anyone into the store. Then, one day, he tells me he needs a new suit because the 'girl of his dreams' had agreed to a date, and every time since then?" She smiled softly at you, "He's sang your praises. I'm very honored you're trusting me with helping you today."

"Oh," you blinked in shock, giggling nervously, "well, thank you very much, Valeria, now I know why his suits are always top of the line." She waved you off, making you add, "And for the record, I'm not Mrs. Barnes, guess that'd be his mother, wouldn't it?"

"Oh," her eyes widened, gasping softly, "oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I just - he talks so highly about you - "

"No, it's okay, it's okay," you rushed, patting her arm. "I actually kind of like it..."

She hummed, zipping you into another dress, "You know, he's the reason my girl and I are together."

"Really? How'd that happen?"

Valeria chuckled, "He's very bold, your man. We were getting coffee one day, discussing his wardrobe for a business trip he had in Hong Kong, when my lady walked in. I went all silly and stupid, and Mr. Barnes just," she shook her head with a fond smile, "brazenly asked her out for me, in front of the whole shop."

"Oh, Jesus, yeah - sounds like him."

"Well, luckily, it worked, else I don't think he would've come back for my assistance. I was so embarrassed, you have no idea, but my lady - Charlie - thought it was charming and cute. Mr. Barnes hasn't let me live it down since. Says he demands an invite to the wedding." She met your eyes through the mirror, offering, "And I'd be really happy to give him a plus one, hmm?"

"You're so sweet," you whispered, turning to survey the dress. You spent the better part of three hours there, trying on dress after dress, nitpicking almost everything as you just weren't sure what to wear. Bucky wasn't much help, he just approved everything.

So, it was up to Valeria and Laura to help you; bringing out iPads and design books, trying to piece something together that best fit your comfort and the vibe of the wedding. You didn't want to look like a walking money bag since your family wasn't by any means wealthy, thinking it would be a slap to their faces since your boyfriend could spend his money without ever thinking about it. You didn't want to give your family any reason to talk behind your back.

"I like the brown satin," Laura offered softly, looking you over in the mirror. "But the blue is just wow, it really looks like it was made for you, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but I think the green compliments her eyes more," Valeria cocked her head in thought. "Are you wearing your hair up or down?"

"Up," you answered, trying to mimic the look by pulling your locks off your shoulders, "with thin jewelry, I think."

"Diamonds?"

"Pearls, if I can find a dress that looks nice with it," you smiled, seeing Bucky's reflection in the mirror watching you with a soft smile on his face; head titled in thought before his phone chimed again and warranted his attention. "Maybe we could try the pink dress?" You looked to the two women for an opinion.

"No," Valeria shook her head, "it washes you out. And pink in winter? Oh, sweetie, I'd lose my job if I let you leave here with that. Guess that means you'll have to come back in the spring, right?"

You grinned in response as Laura chimed in, "The green's actually really nice, but the brown looks much better with your body type." Then she turned to Bucky, prompting, "Mr. Barnes? Final decision - which dress?"

Bucky paused, musing, "Lemme see them all again, get one last taste. It's between the green and brown numbers?"

"Or the blue," Valeria nodded. "C'mon, sweetie," she offered her hand to help you off the wee runway you were perched on in front of the magnificent mirrors.

"You look sensational in them all, doll, how the hell am I supposed to choose just one?" Bucky teased, his canines on display from the broad grin that stretched his lips.

"You'll find a way," you answered.

"Awh, telling me Mr. Big-Tough-Manly-Business-Man who makes impossible decisions everyday can't choose a simple piece of fashion?" Valeria tacked on.

"You guys can't pick either!" He laughed, "And you do a helluva lot more shopping than I do!"

Laura, Valeria, and you paused to exchange looks, you pointing at Bucky and relenting in a drawl, "Touché."

When you were escorted back into the dressing room, Laura waiting outside the door for your privacy with Valeria, Bucky sat back on the plush loveseat and extended his one arm over the back of the seating. He smirked to himself, shaking his head as if in disbelief - but he was. Bucky was in disbelief.

How did a rugged Mob boss find himself here? Watching his girl like a private fashion show?

His whole life, all he knew was turmoil, pain, drama, and fear. He knew he would inherit his father's well-built organization after he passed and knew what this life would entail; having no preconceived notions about a quiet life. He knew he would have to be tougher than tough, adaptable, intelligent, and confident in his role as the head of the 3-6 Brooklyn Mob. Knowing the idea of a family was farfetched, knowing he'd never know the simple pleasures in life, that he would constantly be on the move - in-able to form real, sentimental, emotional connections. He knew, in this life, he'd remain alone for everyone's best interest and safety, indulging in a series of flings and one-off relationships that couldn't haunt him.

Yet they did. These encounters reminded Bucky how alone, how stranded, how isolated, how different he was. Instead of satisfying an unquenchable thirst, these fleeting partners became heavy anchors to Bucky's reality and reminded him that there was no such thing as love - nor was there any room or logic.

And then... He met you. Bucky's lips silently spread in a grin as he remembered meeting you at a bakery; purchasing the last slice of coconut cream pie to your absolute chagrin. He thought you were gorgeous, something ethereal and unobtainable; authentic, raw, and unfiltered - things his one night stands could never measure up to. So, he offered you the slice of pie if it meant giving him your number as currency.

After that, it was impossible for Bucky to consider ever being alone again because you were the sun; center of the universe that drew everyone into your orbit. He was smitten, content, excited to date you, turned on by the fact you had no idea who he was - a rare occurrence in the city. You were pure as fresh snow; sweet, kind, affectionate, attentive, and borderline overly empathetic.

Bucky knew he was in love with you after only a few weeks when he had shown up at your apartment, dripping in blood. You didn't panic like he feared you would, just checked up and down the hallway before yanking him into your home. You cleaned him up, tending to wounds, offering a safe space for him to relax in; making mindless conversation to help distract him from the pain he endured.

And now? Now, Bucky was sat in Dior, giving his opinion on your wedding guest dress; wondering how he allowed himself to get to this point of being domestic. Bucky wasn't a man to give his opinion on dresses, what color nail polish you should use, to send fresh bouquets of flowers every other week. Yet here he was, sipping too-expensive coffee, deciding between brown, green, and blue dresses that he never would've batted an eye at.

However, that was just the domino effect you caused in his life. You were sweeter than apple pie, becoming Bucky's one tether to reality that saved him from losing himself in this dark, criminal mindset he adopted. You didn't know it, but you had transformed Bucky from a brooding asshole into a boyfriend; someone you were proud to claim and never hid from - never shied away from. He admired the way you came to terms with his job, knowing it was a hard pill to swallow and yet noting the way you just accepted him as he was.

Bucky realized in that moment that he adored this new aspect of life after thinking it was impossible to obtain. He adored sitting here, offering opinions on dresses, his security left outside instead of hovering over him like a brutal reminder he was seedy. He loved having you to come home to, he loved being part of your mundane world - a person who went to weddings, who drank Starbucks, who asked her boyfriend his opinion about how she looked in dresses. Who thought bouquets of flowers were romantic, who baked him homemade cakes for his birthday, who worked overtime in order to afford his Christmas or birthday presents, who walked to the takeout place instead of paying for delivery.

All that you are, Bucky adored deeply; falling in love with you each and every single day. All he wanted to do was protect you, share his life with you, even pick out outfits for weddings you would attend. He knew if any of the men in his organization knew the extent of his affection, they'd surely weaponize it against him... Or at the very least, tease him relentlessly. Yet he never cared, knowing you wanted to be loved out loud instead of hidden away in a storage closet; but did care if it meant his enemies could use you to get to him. It was a risk, an occupation hazard for loved ones to become targets, but that only made Bucky so much more protective of you.

Laura glanced at Bucky and saw the fond smile soften to let his teeth trap his bottom lip, smiling at the Mob boss looking soft, content, smitten being there. She knew most boyfriends would never put this much effort into helping their girlfriends in the fashion department, thinking he must've been truly in love to look so at-ease. Plus his enthusiasm through the entire ordeal assured her that Bucky was genuinely enjoying himself.

Once again, you slipped into the blue dress and showed Bucky. He hummed and snapped a photo, asking you to turn this way and that. Then you tried the green dress, him taking another photo, and finally, you changed into the brown satin dress, facing Bucky for his final verdict.

Bucky hummed in contemplation, swiping through the photos. "You know what?" He asked, looking at you with a grin. "You look delectable in everything, I can't decide - so, let's just get them all."

"Bucky, no - "

"We'll take all three, Valeria, please," Bucky interrupted you.

You waited until the attendants left you alone with a knowing look shot in your direction to ring up the desired purchases, hip cocking and hands to your hips. With an underlying exasperation, you questioned, "What the hell, Buck?"

He grinned and stood, again, buttoning his suit jacket, "C'mon, princess, this is fun, right? Being spoiled?." His arms wrapped around your waist, looking down at you as if you hung the very sun that sucked him into your orbit. "What's the point of all my money if I can't spend it on you? Huh?"

"You can save it for a rainy day?"

He shrugged, "Not necessary."

"Maybe pay to send some underprivileged kids to go to college?"

"Well, there's a thought," your boyfriend mused, "but I already do that through the Stark Foundation. I sponsor a few scholarships."

"Okay, well, buying all three still doesn't help me decide what to wear," you chuckled, you mimicked his action and wrapped your arms tightly around the base of his ribs. Due to his height, your head had to tip backwards to meet his eyes with a small smile.

You could look at this gorgeous man all day, everyday if God ever permitted such an act. Why wasn't dating a paid activity? You'd be the top earner with the way you were absolutely enthralled with all Bucky Barnes was. And what an honor it was to earn his mutual adoration.

"We'll figure it out at home. Gotta get you moving in the material to make an honest judgement," he offered softly. "But you look gorgeous in all of them, baby, seriously. Like, drop dead gorgeous that makes every girl brim with jealousy. Shit, doll, you're gonna run the risk of outshining the bride."

You sighed, "Look, Buck, I appreciate what you're doing, but three designer dresses? Where the hell am I ever gonna wear them? What kinda event calls for overpriced fashion statements?"

Buck eased with a soft expression, "Guess I'll just have to take you out so you can put them all to good use, huh?"

"That's not a solution!"

"Is to me," he let a hand drift to roughly palm the meat of your ass cheek over the brown satin; another symptom of him being whipped, his comfort over public displays of affection. "Seriously, doll, how the hell did I get so lucky?"

"Hmm?"

"Just look at you, my girl," he chuckled lightly, "radiant in anything you put on. It's almost unfair, makes me wonder what I did so right to have someone like you I can call my own. I can't wait to show you off in those dresses, just look so Goddamn tantalizing. I mean, damn, baby, I'm gonna have to fight off men with my gun and the jealous women with a stick."

"You do realize we're already dating, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

"And you do realize being with you makes me the luckiest bastard in the city, right? Least I can do is spoil you, I've already got everything else I've ever wanted."

Your heart swelled at his words, sighing gently as your chin rested on his chest to keep your head tilted. Softly, you admitted, "I don't think you're the lucky one, pretty sure the honor's mine. I couldn't ask for anything more in a man - in a partner. I'm so fucking in love with you, Bucky, it honestly doesn't make sense."

He nodded, asking, "Know what else doesn't make sense?"

"What's that?"

"You refusing those dresses, I mean, c'mon!" He laughed, you groaning and releasing your hold; making his tighten to prevent you from escaping. "Those dresses look phenomenal on you, you really gonna reject my gift? C'mon, you know the rules, doll, if you adore her, you Dior her." You were ready to retort, but Bucky smiled, "For the record, I think you should wear the blue dress to the wedding."

"Blue it is," you smiled, lifting onto your toes and hooking a hand around the back of his neck to meet his lips in a scratchy kiss. "Thank you so much, baby," you whispered, feeling his lips spread against yours before he brought you back in for a much-more passionate kiss. "Hm!" You hummed, pulling away to scold, "But no more, all right? You spend too much money on me - I mean, who the hell needs three designer dresses?"

"You do," he whispered, "you deserve all of this, sugar, and I'll do what I can t'spoil you the way you should be. Might as well get used to it, I got no plans on stopping."

Your eyes rolled in good faith, excusing yourself, "Yeah, yeah, all right. Lemme get changed and we can - "

"Nah," he shook his head, petting the skin of your back exposed from the brown satin dress with his fingertips, "know what? Stay in the dress, I wanna take you out and show you off."

Your lips found his in a breath-sucking kiss, trying to convey your appreciation and giddiness over never having been spoiled like this in your entire life - feeling grateful, refreshed, and privileged for a man like Bucky in your life. Whatever greater force there was in this world, you thanked repeatedly for choosing you to love this man and for this man to love you. There was no telling what you did to deserve him, but blessed be those heavenly powers.

requesting rules and masterlist

MCU masterlist

[dearly-somber]

hyunga’s sleeping | l.mh

-> pairing. idol!minho x non-idol!reader (f)

-> genre. Established relationship, domestic fluff.

-> rating. 13+

-> w/c. 1101

-> warnings. None!

-> a/n. This was fueled by pure, unadulterated Minho & Soon-Doong-Dori (SDD) brainrot.

-> skz ficlets, oneshots and series m.list

-> started. Feb. 23rd, 2024 @ 16:51

-> fin. Fri., Mar. 1st, 2024 @ 19:40

-> edited. Sat. Mar. 2nd, 2024 @ 15:40

-> divider credit. @plum98, @saradika-graphics

“Eomoni!”

“Y/N, darling, come in!”

Minho’s mom wraps her arms around your shoulders, pulling you inside with a big smile on her face. She waves you off as you slip out of your shoes and into a pair of bright pink Hello Kitty slippers Minho bought for you as a joke years ago, forcefully prying the bag of goodies you bought on your way here from your fingers.

“I hope I’m not intruding—?”

“Hush!” Mrs. Lee chides with a smile, “Stop worrying so much.” Her hand hovers by the small of your back, guiding you up the last step into the living room.

“Is Minho here? He said he was coming home today…”

“Yes, he’s here. He’s in his room.” Minho’s mom sets the plastic bag on the counter, and you naturally go to help her unpack what you bought, shelving things like you live here.

“I—hello, abeonim.” You bow at Mr. Lee, closing your eyes contentedly when he comes around the counter to give you a fatherly side-hug that squishes you against him.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, ruffling your hair as he lets you go in favor of helping his wife unpack.

You shrug, walking around to the other side of the counter. “Thought I’d pop in to say hi. I missed the kittens very much.”

Mr. Lee laughs, shaking his head at you. “Of course, the kittens.” He wiggles his eyebrows teasingly.

You can’t help the grin tugging at your mouth, clearing your throat to speak. “Speaking of, where are the babies? I haven’t seen any of them since I got here.”

“Last time I checked they were all with Minho in his room,” his mom says, putting away the bottle of red wine you bought for dinner later tonight.

“Great! I can kill two birds with one stone.” You wiggle your eyebrows.

She snickers at you, shooing you away with a fond smile. “Go say hi and then come sit with us—we found a documentary we thought you’d like.”

“Okay, eomoni.” You smile at her and hope your pure love and adoration for her isn’t written too clearly on your face, afraid she might tease you. You walk with light steps in the direction of Minho’s room, unable to wipe the smile off your face.

“Minho-ssi,” you sing-song, rounding the corner with a light and airy step-a-step you’re pretty sure you saw somewhere in Thunderous’s choreography.

Mreow?

“Doong-Doong-ah?” Your lips jut out in a surprised pout, looking down at the talkative orange tabby with a tiny furrow in your brow. Following the lump of white sheets behind him, you finally make out Minho’s all-black clad body hidden under all the fluff.

You smile.

“Is hyunga sleeping?” you whisper, walking over on the tips of your toes before crouching in front of Doongie, scratching behind his ears with a soft smile. He mrews, his eyes fluttering closed as he leans his head into your hand. To your right, Dori hugs what you think is a bottle of lotion between his white socked-paws, his tail flicking with each nibble he delivers to the hard plastic.

You let your hand wander over Dori’s side and chide him with a half-hearted hiss when he clamps his teeth around your knuckles, shaking it off with a smile when he pauses a second before giving your hand a couple of licks.

You give his side one last pat before walking around Minho’s feet, only noticing Soonie as he’s cuddling into your boyfriend’s duveted stomach.

You can’t stop the smile tugging at your lips, crouching next to the sleeping cats to card your fingers through Soonie’s fur, feeling a familiar sense of pride swell in your chest at his appreciative purr.

And then you’re looking up at Lee Minho, your body tingling all over at the serenity on your sleeping beauty’s face, unable to help but reach out and let your hand run over his hair; a little frizzy at the ends but otherwise straight; he must not have been sleeping for very long.

You drag your hand over Minho’s head with an inexplicable softness constricting your throat, wishing you could lean down and kiss him without running the risk of waking him up.

You jump a little when Minho lets out an adorable grunt as he slowly pries his eyes open.

“Jagi?” he mumbles.

“Did I wake you?” you coo, combing your fingers through his fringe.

“Mmm.”

You chuckle, letting the pads of your fingers brush over his forehead, over his eyelids. “Ever the truthman.”

“Truthman?” he grumbles, bringing a hand up to loosely hold your wrist between his fingers.

“When did you get home?” You let your hand wander over his cheek.

“A few hours ago…”

“From practice?”

He guides the palm of your hand against his lips. “Mmm...”

He kisses your hand, turning onto his back (much to Soonie’s dismay) and throwing the duvet around his hips before tugging on your arm with surprising strength.

You yelp, practically falling on top of him. He lets out a back-of-the-throat kind of giggle that sends tingles down your arms, using his hands on your hips to shift you higher up his abdomen.

Minho lets out a satisfied hum-sigh against the top of your head, his fingers massaging the skin at your waist before hooking his fingers under the waistband of your trousers, letting the elastic keep his hands in place.

“Baby,” you say, softly—knowing his parents are waiting for you downstairs but feeling so tempted to sink into his warmth and stay there until the end of days.

“No,” he huffs, nuzzling your temple. “Lay with me for a bit.”

You can’t help but laugh, subtly shaking your head. Of course he knows. “Okay, but only for a minute. Your mom invited me downstairs to watch a—“

“Shh, jagi, I’m trying to sleep.”

———

“Y/N, sweetheart, we’re—“

Mrs. Lee stops in her tracks, right outside Minho’s room. The sight she comes across brings an immediate smile to her face, and she can’t help but take her phone out and snap a picture to give to her son later:

Minho, his arms wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, legs intertwined. And surrounding you, Soonie, Doongie and Dori; the youngest of the trio laying by his hyung’s head. Doongie lays by your feet, and Soonie sleeps just off to the side, his legs stretched out in front of him.

As she sits back down with her husband, Mrs. Lee can’t help but think: she can’t wait for the day Minho asks for her mother’s ring.

[harryspet]

well kept [epilogue] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, kidnapping, NONCON/DUBCON, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: a little wrapup of the story!

word count: 3.7k

In which you begin to question whether submission is the only escape.

well kept masterlist

8 months later …

Monotonously, you brought a wet rag across the large, rough-hewn wooden dining table that dominates the space of the dining room. It took you nearly thirty minutes to clean it thoroughly, wiping away every speck of dust before meticulously arranging the plates, napkins, and glassware with care, making sure everything was just as it should be.

It’s perfect when you get done. With a soft sigh, you flick off the chandelier of large glass lanterns, letting the natural light filter in through the tall windows, casting a gentle, golden glow across the room. You turn toward the kitchen, pulling off your cleaning gloves, ready to move on with your routine.

Then the doorbell rang.

You make your way through the downstairs of the expansive cabin, towards the front entrance. Glancing through the floor-to-ceiling windows as you make your way to the front door, you spot the culprit: a gray van parked down by the lake road. The sight feels out of place, a reminder of the outside world you rarely encounter.

Unlocking the front door, you huff as you pull the large piece of solid wood open. It always feels like it weighs a thousand pounds though you can’t recall Rafe ever having any difficulty with it. Still catching your breath, you greet the grocery delivery man, Connor, with a small smile. Before you, four-hundred dollars worth of groceries sits in plastic bags and you place a hand on your hips as you examine the challenge before you. 

“Let me help you carry them inside,” Connor offers kindly but you’re already shaking your head, “Mr. Cameron always tips so well, really, it’s the least I could do.”

“N-No worries, this is mmm-my workout for the day,” You reply, momentarily, taking in the fact that this was one of the few contacts you had with the outside world. Truthfully, Rafe had never explicitly said that Connor wasn’t allowed to carry the grocering inside but everytime you imagined Rafe coming down the stairs and spotting the two of you together.  If the young man wanted to keep receiving handsome tips from Mr. Cameron, he’d keep his interactions with you brief.

“Okay,” He seemed to shrug, confused, “I never see you in town … you work from home too?”

“Yeah,” You lie without hesitation, voice steady, “We’re just … homebodies.”

“What do you do for work? … Sorry if that’s intrusive. It’s just … this house is insane. You guys must be loaded.”

You laugh, and Connor shifts on his feet, smiling shyly back at you. To anyone else, the house in all it’s grandeur and isolation, must seem like a dream come true, “I help manage some stuff for Mr. Cameron’s business. I just help out where I can.” You hope it’s enough to end the conversation.

He still looks impressed, gaze wandering back to the cabin’s towering windows. As the silence stretches, you grab a few bags from the ground. He doesn’t immediately notice your discomfort, “I get it,” He adds, “Ya’ll are living the dream up here. Away from all the craziness.”

“Something like that,” You keep your face neutral until it falters. The slightest creak of floorboards from upstairs. Your heart skips a beat and you force yourself to grab a few more bags of groceries, “Well, I should get the ice cream inside before it melts. Thanks again, Connor.”

“I’ll get out of your hair, Mrs. Cameron,” He replied, though there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, “See in you two weeks. Take care, alright?”

You nod silently, turning on your heels, determined to keep your focus on the task at hand. The rhythmic thud of footsteps descending the stairs grows louder, but you force yourself to keep moving, your eyes locked on the kitchen ahead. With a small grunt, you heave the bags onto the kitchen island, the plastic crinkling as you place them down.

Just as you spin around to grab the rest of the groceries, you collide hard with a solid wall of muscle, Rafe’s chest, unyielding like a brick wall. The sudden impact knocks the breath from your lungs, and you stagger slightly, instinctively looking up to meet his piercing gaze.

“Everything okay?” He asks, most likely taking in your wild eyes. 

Wearing a button-up checkered shirt that tucked into well-fitted trousers, you assumed he’d been taking some video calls and wanted to look presentable. 

“Yeah … groceries,” You said, gesturing to the kitchen island, “Uhm, C-Connor just dropped them off.”

“That kid knows how to linger, huh?” Rafe placed his hands in his pocket, tongue poking at his gums as he thought something over. 

Kid. Rafe was probably only a handful of years older than him. “He’s just doing his job,” you said quietly, your heart racing as you busied yourself with the grocery bags, hoping to avoid further scrutiny. Rafe followed closely behind, a silent reminder of his constant presence, his need to control even the smallest interactions.

It wasn’t like Rafe was resistant to helping around the house. He cleaned after himself for the most part. Honestly, you’d expected just being a house wife to be easier than being a personal assistant, especially easier than being a barista. However, Rafe’s mountain estate was enormous, and Rafe decided against keeping the full staff he had at his Charlotte mansion. It was like he wanted you to handle all of it, to be completely busy, and maybe you wouldn’t get any ideas about wanting more for your life. 

He hadn’t realized that you stopped wanting more for your life when you woke up, drugged from whatever he had slipped you, and found him tucked between your legs, mouth wet from tasting you. The memory hit you as you leaned down to grab the next load of grocery bags. 

Not able to separate you dreams from reality, you weren’t immediately sure whether Rafe was really in between your thighs. Eyelids heavy, only your mouth opened, a strangled moan left your lips. Lifting your head, you looked down with blurry, hooded vision. You never slept in anything silk yet underneath your fingertips you could feel the fabric covering your chest. Your right thigh was hooked high over your hip, Rafe’s hand firm in the crook of your knee, holding your leg in place as he kept you open. 

Even in your weakest state, his touch was commanding, and controlling. You were barely awake and the pressure he was creating didn’t fully register until you were close, the orgasm fully bringing you to consciousness. 

Reality came crashing donw like it always did when you woke in the morning. Your life wasn’t your own anymore. Usually, you’d at least have a moment alone, a moment that was still yours before you were back on his routine. But now, even sleep seemed like a choice you no longer controlled, another thing he had taken from you.

You started to register your own breathing, the way your chest rose and fell rapidly, just as he crawled on top of you. Shirtless, his eyes still sleepy but focused enough on the task at hand. He easily pushed inside of you, and as your breathing calmed and you came down from your orgasm, he pressed his chest into yours. Your noses touched together as he sheathed himself inside you further, “You’re getting so good,” He murmured, voice smooth and full of praise, “Taking all of me. Squeezing me so tight.”

You had no choice but to meet his gaze, your eyes locking with his, accepting the intimacy forced upon you.You wouldn’t cry this time, you’d remain stoic, and numb. Mentally, you could try to feel nothing, no matter that you felt him across every nerve on your skin. His praise hung in the air, and his presence consume you. 

It occurred to you then that you had no idea how you’d gotten here. Sure, you knew the mistakes you’d made that led up to this point. You knew the lengths Rafe was willing to go to, the power he was willing to yield, lives he was willing to ruin. 

You turned your head to look around the room just as Rafe settled into the side of your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your skin. Your lips parted to yelp at each deep stroke, each time he pushed against your cervix, but your eyes darted around the space. You’d been here before, your crotch pressed against a pillow, when Rafe forced you for the first time to make yourself orgasm. 

Usually, Rafe was relentless. But as soon as you could put together that you were in his house with no idea how you’d gotten there, his thrusts became sloppier, rushed, and he nestled against the side of your face. His lips brushed your ear, his breath uneven as he spilled inside of you. The intimacy of the moment felt strange, almost out of place, as if he was in a hurry to finish before you fully pieced together what was happening. His weight sagged against you, and for a moment, the room felt suffocating. 

He collapsed beside you, though he kept an arm draped over your stomach. Slowly, you lowered your leg until you were laying straight. 

You didn’t dare move. 

Rafe’s hand brushed against yours and you turned your head quickly to see a concerned look on his face, “Here, let me do it,” You felt that numbness that had been clouding you ever since you realized you controlled nothing. He easily procured the bag from your grip and you watched as he easily took the rest of the bags into his arms. 

When you both retreated back inside, you heaved the massive front door shut again, locking yourself back into your gilded cage. Surprisingly, he helped you unpack the groceries. It would’ve been faster to do on your own, you had to direct him a few times about whether certain items belonged in the fridge or pantry but you tried to be thankful for the help. 

You were putting up the canned goods in the grocery, neatly stacking them on the shelves of the bedroom-sized pantry, when you felt his eyes still watching you, “He sure does talk a lot though, doesn’t he?”

Better not to use his name, “The grocery guy?” You swallowed, speaking slowly in order to keep your voice steady. 

“Connor,” He said, voice dripping in malice. 

“He’s j-j-just being friendly,” You said, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Friendly,” He repeated, his tone mocking, “... You know, I don’t like him talking to you.”

“I-I didn’t encourage it,” You said softly, knowing whatever words you had would be a mistake, “If you don’t like him …I-I c-c-could g-g-go to the store from now on.” 

For a long moment, Rafe didn’t respond, and you found yourself just trying to maintain your composure, canned goods forgotten in your hands, as you waited for his verdict. 

“What do you want me to say, sweetheart?”

You were forcing his hand, asking for too much when you knew he couldn’t give it to you, “Thh-Thhh-That you’ll think about it?” 

Lately, you’d been testing his boundaries. Not answering everytime he called. And when you did answer, your tone was flat and indifferent. Wearing clothes from your wardrobe you knew he’d deem unflattering. Yoga pants or shorts were okay, never sweatpants. He wanted to see your every curve. Every inch of what he believed belonged to him. You were his wife after all, he’d paid a handsome price to get you here. 

Your obedience occurred in waves. A few weeks on and a few weeks off. It was the best way your brain could cope with the control. He’d grow happy, content with your behavior and that’s when you decided to flip a switch. Sometimes, Rafe was almost reluctant to punish you. 

A thought crossed your mind. A way to gain a small ounce of control. Though it came at the high cost of satisfying his urges. You decided to beg. He loved to hear you grovel and degrade yourself. It’s one of the only ways he gets himself off.

“Please,” You whispered, your voice trembling. In your baggy flannel and sweatpants, braids tied back in a messy bun, you stepped forward. You wanted to sound weak. Even weaker than your stammer usually made you sound, “I’ll go with a bodyguard. I-I’ll wear my ring. I won’t t-t-talk to anyone.”

It surprised him. You saw it in the way he shifted on his feet and his head tilted to the side curiously. It was in the way he watched you carefully, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. The words were poison on your tongue but it didn’t stop them from filling out. 

“Is that right?” His voice was low and dangerous, how it usually was when he was calculating a devious plan in his mind. 

When the silence decided to stretch again, you filled it, “I’ll be better. I-I know I–I-I’ve been dissapointing you,” You closed the distance until you were inches from him, letting him look down at you, as you turned your eyes downcast. 

“Hmm,” You felt his hand raise and press into the side of your neck, large thumb caressing your jaw, “Then you know that’s the kind of privilege like that you’ll have to work towards?” 

Being trapped here with him felt like you’d fallen to the bottom of the totem pole. Somehow being his assistant, hanging on his arm like arm candy, and keeping his cock warm underneath his desk was better than what you were now. At least then you could see your friends. You could interact with people other than Rafe, Topper and Eleanor. Then you had a job. You were a real human.

“Yes,” You began, “I’ll d-do anything.”

Rafe’s eyes turned down as you reached one of your hands into the waistband of your sweatpants and then beneath the fabric of your underwear. 

“Y/N…” His voice deepened and you looked up at him with big, wanting eyes. 

“Can I please touch myself, Sir?” You asked, “I-I want to shhh-shhhow you how good I can be.”

He kept as still as he could. His eyes were answering your question. He didn’t need to verbally give you permission.Maybe he stayed silent because if he spoke, the desperation in his voice might betray him. Rafe didn’t need his own release in that moment—what he craved more was the sight of you undone, vulnerable, completely under his control. Watching you touch yourself, watching your eyes roll back in pleasure, was enough to satisfy him. 

You bit down on your lip, moving your fingers over your soft folds. Gently, you rubbed yourself, teasing yourself. His gaze didn’t waver, but you saw the the way his nose flared, as he tried to keep his composure. 

“Please,” A soft moan escaped your lips as you worked yourself up, the motions becoming smoother as you grew wetter, “P-Please, Sir?”

Rafe inhaled sharply and watched as you reached further, towards your aching hole. He couldn’t see it exactly but you showed him with your eyes, with your parted lips and soft expression, that you dipped a finger inside of your aching hole. 

Despite how you feared him, how he’d ruined your life, you couldn’t help but enjoy the twisted way that you could control him. The tension in the room was thick and you saw the way he was fighting against exerting his control over you, over taking over. Even in a small way, you could make him bend to your will, you saw it in the way his fist clenched at his side. 

Your pace quickened in a way that brought you closer to the edge, the friction sending waves of pleasure over your skin. 

He reached out suddenly, grabbing ahold of your arm, his grip strong but not painful. He pulled your fingers away from underneath your waistband, “You don’t get to finish until I say so,” he murmured, his voice low and authoritative. You kept your expression neutral, though every muscle in your face tensed with the effort to hide your frustration, resisting the urge to press your lips into a thin line, “Take off your clothes for me, sweetheart.”

Your body frustrated, you hurriedly pulled down your sweatpants, exposing your lacy black underwear. Next, you removed the flannel, Rafe’s eyes fixed on your newly exposed skin. You would never admit it, but deep down, you always felt comforted by the fact that never seemed to bore of seeing you. Though you’d never had a traditional honeymoon period, now that you’d lived together for so long, you thought he might lose interest at some point. Everytime he saw you it was like he was seeing you for the first time. 

Every glance he gave you was filled with that same insatiable desire, as though you were still something to unravel. The thought made something flicker inside you, a mixture of fear, and something far more complicated.

You hesitated when it came to your bra and underwear, suddenly hyperaware that Rafe was fully clothed. There he stood in his work attire and part of you wanted to hold onto those inches of fabric, “All of your clothes,” Rafe added, sensing your hesitance, and he didn’t let you stall any longer. You yelped when he grabbed you by the waist, swinging your body onto the cold, marble countertop of the kitchen island. Determined, his fingers pried your underwear down your thighs and you watched them fall to the floor. Your thin bralette was next, and you raised your arms obediently, letting him tug it over your head. 

As soon as you were bare and freezing, Rafe’s lips curled into a devious smirk, “Finish,” He said, “Go ahead, sweetheart.”

His eyes were dark and hungry, watching every movement, every breath you took. Your instinct was to resist, to deny him, but you were too far gone. This is what you wanted in the first place. A trade. Your submission for a chance at freedom. You didn’t test his patience, knowing this was a better option than being bent of the counter. You complied, your hand slowly sliding down your stomach, until they were back between your legs. 

Slow, deliberate circles. 

You were so used to the feeling of shame, the heat you’d feel in your cheeks, the tears that would sting your eyes. Freezing, like a puppy out in the rain, you trembled. The shame was almost ritualistic, something to expect everytime you were intimate. Your body always seemed to respond, anyways. Maybe it was time for you to fully accept your part in this. Maybe you were beginning to crave that feeling. 

Your pace quickened, your fingers moving in urgent circles, and you felt your release building. 

“That’s it,” He said, “You’re already close, aren’t you?”

You nodded, fully aware of the smugness in his tone. Your fingers worked and your moans became louder, “Please,” You begged, that pressure between your legs growing unbearable.

“Please,” You heard yourself say over and over, feeling yourself come undone. His hands slowly move to rest on either side of you, trapping you between the cold marble and his towering figure, “Please, Rafe.”

“Come, sweetheart,” He finally said, “Let me see you fall apart.”

A whimper escaped your lips as your orgasm hit you almost painfully. Your release was inevitable, you’d practically perfected getting yourself off, and your body responded to his commands like a pupper on a string. Your body tensed, your back arching, as you gasped over and over. Your fingers faltered, slowly, but soon there were fingers brushing against that sensitive area again. 

You tried to scoot your body away but Rafe pressed your thigh with his large palm, keeping you pinned. Slowly, he moved his fingers, prolonging that sensation, drawing out your orgasm, “There it is,” He whispered, “Such a good girl when you want something from me, huh?”

You nodded weakly, agreeable. 

As you realized he was trying to work you up again, you panicked, “P-Please.”

“Hmm,” His fingers pressed harder, “Look at you. You know what? If you give me one more, I’ll let you go shopping next week. How’s that sound?”

“I-It hurts,” You whispered, voice braking. A tempting offer that you were now too overwhelmed to even consider. His fingers didn’t relent, rubbing against you harder now, dragging you toward another release whether you wanted it or not.

“That’s not an answer,” Rafe teased, his tone almost playful. He leaned down, his breath hot against your ear, “Come on, one more. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Your body betrayed you again. The buildup was slower than your first orgasm, so torturous that tears began to fall down your cheeks. When your body was convulsing again, it was not as sweet as the first, but just as powerful. You came for him again despite how much it hurt, how raw and exposed you felt.

His grip on your thigh relaxed and you body went limp against the counter. You throbbed between your legs, so much so you weren’t sure if you would be able to walk without a limp. You felt his thumb brush over your cheek, wiping your tears, “Good girl. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Too tired to do anything but lay there, Rafe finally stepped back, leaving you shivering on the cold countertop. A coldness returned to his expression. You’d asked for this. Wanted something from him. Somehow, it felt like you hadn’t won anything at all. Now you were realizing this was a punishment, most likely for your behavior over the past weeks. 

Rafe turned his back on you, as if he hadn’t just pushed your body and mind to the brink, “Maybe I’ll take you shopping after all.” 

The promise of being let out of the house felt hollow. A reminder that your independence was something he could grant, or take away, on a whim. 

You lay there, motionless and speechless, trapped in the swirl of shame, regret, and anger. Then, without warning, a dangerous thought crept in, slipping through the cracks in your resolve: Maybe if I’m good enough, if I do everything he asks, I’ll get more freedom. More moments of escape.But before you could push that thought away, another surfaced, darker and heavier: Maybe I deserve this.

i hope you enjoyed this series!!

[lavalamps-and-ladydoors]

tit mv this tit mv that...

never forget the original 🙏

[posh--bee]

Aaron Hotchner x Reader blurb

cw: smut (18+ only), handcuffing Hotch to the bed because that's what he deserves

a/n: just a little blurb that comes from a guest lecture I had the honor of holding over on @ssa-dado 's blog. Edited just slightly for this post. Enjoy ;D

masterlist(s)

Hotch is by no means a mean or unfair lover. Sure, he likes to tease you sometimes, move just out of reach so your desperate hands pull him back, slow down just to prolong your pleasure (and hear you whine a little). But he would never make you beg for him. Your pleasure is his pleasure too and his goal in the bedroom is, first and foremost, to make you feel good, feel cherished and satisfied.

But you suspect you might be.

There is no other explanation for it when you have him lying completely naked on your shared bed and bound to the headboard with his own government-issued handcuffs. He’s so beautiful like this, his strong arms and hands rendered useless above his head, his whole body on display for you, miles and miles of tempting naked (hairy) skin and it’s yours to stroke and caress and play with. Your hands and lips probably touched and tasted every single inch of him by now, except for the one part that is the happiest and most excited to see you. Your hand ghosts down his stomach, your fingers just barely avoiding his length that desperately jumps at the almost-touch, begging for attention, stimulation, anything.

It’s so cute you have to giggle, but the deep groan forming in Aaron’s chest is not nearly as happy. His brown eyes are fixed on you, silently pleading with you to finally stop teasing him. But you’ve decided that tonight you’ll only react to verbal requests, making him use his words and ask for it.

Is that a little petty of you, bordering on cruel?

Maybe. (Yes.) 

But a little taste of their own medicine never really hurt anybody and until now you haven’t heard him tell you what he wants, what he needs yet. So you wait, patiently. You have all the time in the world and you made sure Aaron also has nowhere else to go tonight as well.

His arms strain futilely against the restraints and for a moment you’re worried that the cold and hard metal leaves marks on his wrists that take days to fade. But then he opens his mouth and you actually want the handcuffs leaving marks on his skin, having to hide them underneath the sleeves of these stupildy tight shirts he wears to work.

“Fuck, stop teasing and just touch me already.”

You look down at him, unimpressed, one eyebrow raising at his tone. You tut at him, slowly rising from his lap and kneeling next to him on the bed, your hand trailing up his chest where you can’t resist the temptation to pinch one temptingly pink nipple. The groan that follows goes straight to your center, your thighs clenching involuntarily but you stay strong, disappointment dripping from your words when you reply.

“That wasn’t very nice, was it, Mr. Hotchner? I told you I’d give you anything you want, you just have to tell me what that is exactly, and nicely.”

You don’t miss the way his pupils dilate at your words, but it’s replaced by a dark look overcoming his eyes and you’re pretty glad that he’s currently incapacitated by his own handcuffs. Because otherwise he’d probably have you under him in .5 seconds at most. (Which isn't an unpleasant scenario at all, you just have something very different planned for tonight.)

But like this, all he can do is uselessly struggle against the handcuffs, and you playfully tap the tip of his nose with one finger before getting up from the bed.

“You know what? I think you need a few minutes to rethink that tone of yours.”

You see his eyes widening in what can only be described as utter and pure panic but you ignore him which is probably one of the most difficult things you've ever done.

With your hips swaying seductively, showing off the delicate lingerie set he got you (well, you got it for him, using his credit card), you simply leave the bedroom without looking back, not heeding his desperate voice calling after you.

Patience, after all, is a virtue.

[delicatebarness]

You Need Me Now? | Chapter Four

Summary: After her one night with Bucky is interrupted, Miss Stark needs to cool down.

Warnings: This series will be 18+, Minors DNI | MCU Spoilers | Thunderbolts Specific Spoilers | Fluff | Smut | Ice Play | Oral (F) | The lightest bit of choking

Word Count: 1671

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A/N: I’ve uploaded this from my phone, and I haven’t proofread once again (Edit: I have now proofread it)… that’s what @lanabuckybarnes is for ♡ - Please leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue; this is just as much yours as mine. - B

You Need Me Now: @carrotlove | @seenthroughmia | @stell404 | @imaginecrushes | @lilulo-12 | @sebbymybaby21 | @rattyfishrock | @danzer8705 | @troubledsoul-black | @sexyvixen7 | @wintrsoldrluvr | @athanasiascourtesy | @baw1066 | @gh0stdyn | @mrsnikstan |

Everything: @hallecarey1 | @pattiemac1 | @uhmellamoanna | @scraftsku35 | @ozwriterchick | @sapphirebarnes | @rach2602 | @thetorturedbuckydepartment | @lanabuckybarnes | @ruexj283

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Bucky’s Apartment—Washington, D.C.

Hunched over the kitchen island, Bucky stood reading the documents Mr. Gary sent, brows furrowed in deep concentration. You stood beside him, hip brushing against his thigh, and feet bare against the cold tile.

You scooped up some fallen chilli with a torn piece of your bun and took a bite. A low hum of approval escaped your throat as you sucked residue from your thumb.

“This is better than sex,” you muttered, chewing thoughtfully.

Without glancing away from the page he was reading, Bucky bumped your shoulder. “That’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

A grin tugged at your lips. “I guess it depends on who the sex is with.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, shaking his head toward you. Then, like a graceful trash panda rummaging in the night, Bucky leaned forward, tipping his chili dog toward his chest. A splash of meat and sauce hit his white shirt, and onto his vibranium arm.

“Aw shit.” he groaned, looking between his shirt, and the chili dog.

“What happ—” You tried not to laugh as you looked up at him.

He sighed.

Your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, your eyes flickering between the tick of his jaw and the flex of his arm as he peeled his shirt. “How hard is it to get grease out of this?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Did you just ask me a laundry question?”

With a soft click, he popped off his vibranium arm, reaching in front of you to open the dishwasher. You watched as he set the arm on the bottom rack, like it belonged among the plates.

“You do that often?”

Now, in just his undershirt, he turned back to you. “What? It’s sustainable. And I thought you’d approve since Stark Industries' focus is cleaner energy.”

“No, I mean, I do approve. I just—” you chuckle softly. “I wasn’t expecting it.”

With that, he wrapped his right arm around your waist and gently tugged you toward the open space of the apartment.

“What are you doing, congressman?” you asked, a grin already etched across your lips.

Music that had been softly playing from Bucky’s sound system faded into something slower, and he rocked side to side a little. “Dancing. Isn’t that obvious?”

You rested your cheek against his chest, leaning in and following his lead as he slowly swayed you both.

After a few minutes of rocking, Bucky took a half-step back. There was a mischievous glint in his eyes before he spun you into a twirling circle. You laughed as the hem of your dress lifted slightly around your ankles. As you turned, you felt his hand leave your body—until he caught you, pulling you back to his chest.

“Show-off,” you laughed, breathless from the spin.

He placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head, and a smirk tugged at his lips. “Even with half the hardware, I’ve still got it.”

There were no words for a while. Just the music and the hum of the dishwasher. Your fingers traced absent patterns against his chest, feeling the rhythm of his chest rise and fall.

His hand slid from your back, up your side, and reached your cheek. His thumb brushes along your jaw, ghosting beneath your chin before tilting your face up. Only barely hesitated, his eyes flickering between your lips, then back to your eyes.

Slow and sure, he leaned down, his breath mingling with yours.

Your lips brushed against each other—

Then, as if on cue, a low vibration hummed from across the kitchen. Bucky’s phone.

At first, he didn’t move. Maybe he hadn’t heard it—or he didn’t want to. But it came again.

“Don’t answer it,” you whispered against his lips.

He didn’t pull away, yet he sighed. “I have to.”

“I know,” you nodded.

Bucky slowly stepped back, his eyes full of something unspoken.

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Still at Bucky’s Apartment—Washington, D.C.

The whirr of the dishwasher and the music had faded into silence. The only sound carrying through the apartment was your feet against the hardwood flooring and Bucky’s low voice. Firm but quiet. He stood back at the kitchen island, phone on speaker in his hand.

His vibranium arm, clean and dry, was now back in place. His white undershirt clung to him, and his shoulders were tense, and his jaw was tight.

You had changed out of your evening dress, now leaned lazily against the kitchen door frame in a black silk sleep gown, lace decorating the hem that brushed your mid-thigh.

At first, you stayed silent. Just watching him.

“I can,” he said, quiet and clipped. “But I don’t do that anymore.”

There was barely room for a pause before the unmistakable voice of Mel came through the receiver, cheerful and rushed: “Thank you, Congressman. Have a great night.”

Then, the line went dead.

Bucky exhaled, taking a moment before lowering the phone. He sensed your presence behind him, lips twitching into a half-smile as he turned to face you.

He saw it in your eyes—the fire—before you even spoke. You didn’t ask what she wanted. You didn’t have to.

“I need to leave in the morning,” you gave him a polite smile, keeping your voice even. “I’m gonna head to bed.”

Without waiting for his reply, you turned and disappeared down the hallway. As you moved, the slip clung to your skin, the dim light of the bedroom catching the black fabric.

Bucky exhaled heavily through his nose as he reached for a glass and opened the freezer.

He soon followed after you. The sound of Ice clinking against the glass echoed through the hallway.

“I’m not going to pretend like that call didn’t piss you off,” he said, setting the glass down on the bedside table. “And I would never insult you by acting like I didn’t notice.”

You shifted under the covers, your back still to him. The way you clutched the sheet to your collarbone showed him the tension you held. “It’s fine,” you muttered under your breath. “We’re not—you don’t owe me anything, Bucky.”

A metal hand moved under the sheets, around your waist, black and gold plated fingers spreading across the silk. Then, he twisted you over onto your back.

When you looked up, he leaned down, speaking directly into your ear, through gritted teeth. “I owe you a lot more than anything, sweetheart.”

You felt the sharp, biting, cold first. A piece of ice trailing from that sweet spot under your ear, down your neck, and over your collarbone.

You gasped. “Bucky—”

A drop of condensation rolled down your chest and between your breasts before evaporating. Only giving you a moment of soothe, before Bucky chased the chill with an ice cube between his teeth. Your back arched for him, the edge of his teeth grazing your sternum.

The sheets were gone, exposing your body. You hadn’t even noticed Bucky pulling them back. Too busy trying to keep your breathing regulated as the silk and lace of your gown began to bunch around your hips.

“Does that feel good?” he asked, brushing the ice over your ribs.

You couldn’t answer.

Clink.

Another cube met your hot skin.

Bucky traced a circle around your nipple. His cold breath fanning over your breast, his eyes darkening at the sight of the goosebumps forming.

You cried out as his lips closed around your nipple, the cold ice pressing against the skin. Your thighs clenched, the temperature contrast leaving you dizzy. You flew a hand to his hair, using him to anchor yourself.

The ice melted quickly.

His tongue became merciless, lapping you like he was trying to claim every inch of you. He gave a quick pinch with his teeth—you inhaled a hiss—before he moved lower down your body.

Clink.

The wetness of the next cube trailed along your stomach. You inhaled sharply as it dipped past the waistband of your underwear.

“Don’t—” you breathed.

“Don’t what, sweetheart?” he asked. “Don’t make you forget the way her voice sounded coming through my phone? Or, don’t make you come so hard that the only thing you remember is my name?”

“Asshole,” you rasped, your chest heaving under him.

He chuckled, sliding the underwear down your thighs, black lace gliding off your legs. He pressed his lips hungrily against the top of your thigh. Then another. Higher. Until the flat of his tongue pressed a slow strip against your core.

Clink.

The ice.

Your body relaxed when it came into contact with you.

Again, Bucky held it in his mouth using his tongue to roll it against your clit. His vibranium arm wrapped around your thigh, hand pressed into your lower stomach. Locking you down tight as you squirmed against his touch.

Began to alternate.

Tongue. Ice. Tongue. Lips.

His mouth never left you, devouring you. He only adjusted to ensure you felt everything. Every swirl. Every pulse. Every flick.

You fought against the tightening coil. Gasping, one hand clawing at the mattress cover, the other tight in his hair.

“Fuck—James—don’t fucking—” you moaned. “Don’t stop, please, James—”

That did it.

The heat of your body melted the ice cube til it was nearly done, but he didn’t need it as he went all in. His flesh hand reached up your body, wrapping around your neck as you began to unravel.

Your thighs trembled against his shoulders, your breath stuttering in pants. Then, with a strangled cry, you came.

He didn’t stop.

His tongue continued to work, letting you ride out the aftershocks. It was only when your body was oversensitive, and began to twitch against him that he relented.

Placing gentle, reverent, open-mouthed kisses against your inner thigh, he eased his grip. Rising slowly and crawling over your body.

You blinked up at him, dazed. His face was wet with you. A smug smile played on his lips, and his blue eyes darkened with lust.

He leaned down, faintly brushing his lips over yours. “Was that better than chilli dogs?”

You didn’t answer.

But your smile—that was enough of an answer.

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Remember, I have a praise kink; I need validation and attention to survive. Please leave feedback. ♡

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Villain Monologue

Villain Monologue - a long speech by an antagonist, antihero, or “bad guy”.

Villain monologues may reveal the speaker’s inner humanity or be an opportunity to showcase the bad guy’s wickedness.

Strong performers can bring these characters to life, but movie monologues start with a great screenwriter.

How to Write a Villain Monologue

Define the purpose of the monologue. Monologues can progress the plot, delve into character backstories, and much more. Understand how your monologue operates and how its placement fits into the architecture of your script. Ensure you are intentional with each word.

Hear your monologue read aloud. When you have a draft of your monologue, read it aloud and then hear an actor or peer read it. Assess how natural the speech sounds and ask yourself if your specific villain would speak this monologue.

Instill truth in your villain. Though your character is fictional, their wickedness may be more symbolic than realistic. Ground the villain in reality. Villains should have goals, reasons for their actions, band a three-dimensional personality beyond their malice.

Play with different forms. Villain monologues come in many different styles. There are origin stories (in which a character explains why they behave the way they do), torture descriptions (in which the villain tells what violence they will enact), and calls for sympathy (in which a character expresses remorse for their wrongdoing).

Revise your monologue. After drafting and hearing your monologue, edit as you see fit. Some parts may be unclear or overwritten—edit your writing until it comes across as you intend.

Tips for Writing Villain Monologues

Counter your protagonist’s traits or speech patterns. If your protagonist speaks cheerfully and quickly, give your villain a dark, measured cadence. Villains can be foil characters to your main characters, and monologues can show off this contrast.

Position your villain monologue toward the end of the narrative. In some stories, but not all, the villain is the supporting character, not the protagonist. For this reason, you must give the audience or readers time to get to know the character. Only after that point, and often during a final confrontation, should your villain finally get their shining moment to change the audience’s mind or confirm their notions of this character.

Try giving your villain a catchphrase. Sometimes writers utilize the power of threes: Repetition is a helpful tool, and repeating a phrase thrice in a story can help audiences track a beginning, middle, and end. If your villain has a catchphrase, let them speak it toward the start, the rising action, and the climax.

Examples of Great Villain Monologues

Apocalypse Now (1979): Colonel Kurtz details the horrors of war in his monologue, sharing that he poisoned children with polio. Kurtz deduces that the best soldier is the one who cannot feel and instead transforms into a killing machine devoid of empathy.

The Matrix (1999): In the cyberpunk movie The Matrix, Agent Smith interrogates a captured Morpheus and tells him of his plan: to destroy Zion, the underground city where those who have escaped the Matrix go to be free. The monologue underlines how Smith is Morpheus’s antithesis: The former has chosen to live within a planned system, and the latter wants to break free from it.

The Incredibles (2004): Even an animated movie can feature a fantastic villain monologue. In The Incredibles, the character Syndrome shares his origin story: He was a fan of Mr. Incredible and wanted to be his sidekick, but Mr. Incredible rejected him. This embittered Syndrome, who then manifested artificial superpowers to wreak havoc on the Incredibles.

The Dark Knight (2008): The Joker gets a few famous supervillain monologues in this Christopher Nolan film, which sits between Batman Begins (2005) and The Dark Knight Rises (2012). First, the Joker tells Bruce Wayne’s love interest Rachel how he got his scars, and later, he tells Batman just how similar the two are.

Inglourious Basterds (2009): Anti-Semetic SS officer Hans Landa delivers a monologue disparaging Jewish people and the police to hawks who have to search for rodents to keep the circle of life going. Set in World War II, this movie, and Landa’s monologue, showcase the ideologies that led to the persecution of countless lives.

Game of Thrones (2011–2019): Cersei Lannister is a power-hungry character who gets many monologues across this hit HBO drama’s eight seasons. Toward the end of the series, she torments Ellaria Sand, who poisoned Cersei’s daughter. Cersei explains the equal vengeance she will seek on Ellaria’s imprisoned daughter.

The word “monologue” derives from the Greek roots for “alone” and “speak,” and it is the counterpart of the word “dialogue,” which comes from the Greek word for “conversation.”

Monologues can address other characters in the scene or be one character talking to themselves or the audience.

Monologues serve a specific purpose in storytelling—to give the audience more details about a character or the plot.

Used carefully, they are a great way to share a character's internal thoughts or backstory or to give more specific details about the story.

Source ⚜ More: Notes & References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[rqbossman]

hi Mr. Newall! I was just wondering if there’s any things-that-you-wish-you-knew/lessons from say s5 of The Magnus Archives that you’re taking into account for The Magnus Protocol? whether that’s writing tips, editing, the planning and plotting etc. I’m interested in the whole ordeal.

have a good day!

Some people don't like change and some people don't like repetition. Just tell the story you want.

[freedomfireflies]

Jealous*

Summary: The fourth part to 404*

The one where Harry's even more annoying when he's jealous.

But he's kind of cute, too.

Word Count: 5.6k

*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*

(Note: This edit is not mine!! I believe the @ is on it, but full credit to the incredible creator! It's so perfect!!)

“Head back, tongue out.”

Quickly shifting onto your knees, you glance up at the man before you. Watching eagerly as Harry’s large hand strokes the hardened cock that lingers near your lips.

His other palm reaches out for your neck, slowly sliding up into your hair before tugging you back even further. “Like this,” he murmurs, only satiated when you oblige. “Good girl. Show me your tongue, Tink. Come on, not gonna ask you again.”

Quickly, you rush to obey, presenting it to him willingly as you scoot closer and silently plead for his offering.

He gives you a rare, pleased smile that makes your insides jump before he brings his cock closer to your mouth, tapping it twice. “Gonna swallow it all, yeah? Like a good little cumslut?”

Nodding fervently, your lashes flutter in a somewhat desperate attempt to coax him closer to release.

To this, he exhales an amused breath, smirk growing until you see that familiar and infuriatingly charming dimple. “You’re a lot less annoying when you’re desperate, you know that?”

You swat at his thigh. “Shut up and cum in my mouth already.”

“Eager, are we?”

“The fuck do you think? Just do it, come on.”

“See, there you go again. Don’t know how to romance a guy, do you?”

“And why would I ever want to romance you?”

He laughs and sweeps the tip of his cock along your bottom lip. “Because deep down…you like me. Don’t you, Princess?”

And before you can reply with another quippy retort, he’s sliding himself along your tongue, and filling your mouth completely.

It doesn’t take long for that warm, salty tang to go slipping down your throat. Effortlessly coating your taste buds as Harry tightens his grip on your head and releases a rather lascivious groan.

“Fuck…there you go, that’s a good girl,” he murmurs, using his other hand to brace himself against the wall to keep upright. “Take it…fucking take it, Tink, good. Feel so fucking good, don’t you? Such a tight little mouth, yeah?”

He’s babbling, a string of nonsense and praises falling from his tongue, but you revel in it. Indulge in the way you’re the only one on his mind, the only one to make him fall apart so quickly.

And you imagine you’d both like to stay here in the lobby coat closet for at least a few more minutes (or a few more rounds), but before you can entertain the idea, your phone is going off.

The shrill alarm cuts the moment in two, slicing it right down the middle as you pop off his cock and reach over to turn it off.

In turn, Harry blinks, breathing still a tad ragged as he steps back. “What…what is that for?”

“Oh, I have a meeting with Mr. Prescott in five.” You straighten up onto your feet and swipe the back of your wrist across your mouth. “This was fun, though. Thanks.”

Harry blinks. “Wow. Way to dine and dash.”

“Funny,” you snort as you head for the door. “Anyway, I think I’ll be good for a while, so…no need to keep dragging me in here.”

“I didn’t drag you,” he argues with a huff while yanking his jeans back up. “I casually suggested it and you jumped at the opportunity.”

“Mm…wrong.”

“Mm…right. Face it, Princess, you can’t stop thinking about me.”

“Actually, I think about everybody but you,” you tell him. “Seriously, just the sound of your name kills my libido. It’s quite sad.”

His eyes roll. “Fucking go already, I have shit to do.”

“Fine, but you have to wait at least three minutes,” you remind him as you slip out into the hallway. “I mean it. Cassie almost saw us last time and I was mortified. So be less suspicious this time.”

“Come on, do you really think I want people to know we’re shagging?” he retorts, crossing his arms as he leans against the wall in wait. “Getting seen with you at the bar was already bad enough.”

“Yeah? Is that why you stuck your hand down my pants in front of everybody?”

“Okay, you know what—”

“No, I don’t. Bye,” you call before swinging the door shut.

Harry’s muffled grumbling follows you all the way to the elevator.

You can’t help but grin as you step inside and hit the button for the fifth floor, flashes of his hands and practiced fingers flooding the forefront of your mind.

You might still hate him, but you suppose you don’t mind his company as much anymore. He’s not as irritating as he was when you first started this little arrangement, and you’ve noticed his technique has gotten better. He’s always been good, but recently he seems to be trying incredibly hard to make each time the best. 

Not that you’d dare complain. After all, it’s not like you’ve really—

“Wait, hold the door!”

Quickly, you reach out and press your palm against the sliding entrance, keeping it inside the frame as the stranger swiftly slides through.

You watch as he gratefully slumps against the railing, seemingly out of breath as he nods his appreciation and allows you to release your hand.

“Thank you,” he exhales, head dropping back against the wall as the elevator takes off. “Thought I was gonna have to take the stairs.”

“No problem,” you return before gesturing toward the buttons. “Which floor?”

“Fifth,” he answers, smiling when he notices it’s already been selected. “You, too?”

“Yeah, I work in the lab.”

Curious, the man straightens up. “No kidding. You’re one of the engineers?”

“Mhm. For about four years now.”

“No fucking way,” he replies, studying you with interest. “Do you like it?”

“Yeah, actually. Pay is good, hours are better.”

“Ah, very nice,” he muses. “In that case, do you think you’d be able to show me to Prescott’s office?”

“Sure. I’m headed there now, actually.”

“Yeah?” His head tilts. “Wait, shit…you wouldn’t be working on the Keaton Project, would you?” 

Surprised by his knowledge on your current work, you blink. “Uh…yes, actually. How did you…?”

“I’ve been hired to help with your development operations,” he tells you. “Just for a couple weeks, see where you’re at.”

“Oh, that’s good. Harry and I could use the help.”

The mystery man smirks. “Good. S’what I like to hear.”

With that, the elevator comes to a stop and the doors open, allowing you and the stranger to begin down the hall and toward the main office.

After a rather interesting discussion with Mr. Prescott, you learn a bit more about Lucas, your new project partner. 

He’s incredibly smart and well spoken, he’s got some wonderful ideas for the website, and he’s absolutely going to drive Harry up the goddamn wall.

You’re practically giddy as you lead Lucas back to the lab to help him get set up. Already imagining the scowl on Harry’s face when he learns he’ll be sharing a space with someone else. Someone arguably much better suited for the position and with much fresher ideas. 

Unfortunately, Harry has already left for the day by the time you return. And while you’re somewhat disappointed that you’ll have to wait on the introductions, you use the rest of the shift to get acquainted with Lucas.

Turns out, he’s delightful, and you laugh harder with him than you have anybody else in a long time. He’s rather flirty, too, you notice, but you don’t mind. It’s nice to have such forward attention and you revel in his sneaky smiles and playful remarks.

You leave the lab that afternoon with a large grin, laughing when he calls, “Goodbye, Duchess,” as you walk out the door.

Come Monday morning, Harry is in a foul mood. You notice it before he’s even set foot into the room, the exasperated expression on his face visible from the parking lot.

He walks differently when he’s upset, you realize. With his hunched shoulders, clenched fists, and heavy footsteps that echo through the halls.

Everyone within a hundred-foot radius takes notice, shooting him odd looks as he strides by, but he pays them no mind. Instead making a beeline for his corner of the room where you reside before throwing his things down with a huff.

“Morning, Sunshine,” you call, turning in your chair to watch while he slumps into his. “What the hell is going on with your hair? It looks…well, like shit.”

A venomous glare is shot through the dark frames of his glasses. “Blow me, Princess. I’m not in the fucking mood today.”

“I can see that,” you reply calmly, hiding a smirk behind the rim of your coffee mug. “Hope you’re at least a little nicer to the new guy.”

Harry’s frazzled and irritated shuffling stills. “What new guy?”

“The new guy,” you say, nodding toward Lucas who’s beginning to make his way through the lab. “Prescott told you, right? He’s working with us for the next couple of weeks on development operations.”

Harry’s attention follows the tall, lanky figure as he moves between the tables, a frown beginning to form. “What the fuck?” he scoffs quietly but full of repulsion. “I’m sorry, since when do we need a fucking babysitter?”

“He’s not a babysitter, Harold. He’s just extra help—”

“We don’t need extra help,” Harry bites back. “Okay, I had it covered—”

“Clearly, yeah. Is that why the simulation kept glitching—”

“It wasn’t glitching, the code was just off. But I had it handled—”

“Sure, yeah. Obviously. That’s why Prescott hired someone else—”

“Duchess,” comes a new addition to the conversation, forcing you and Harry to lean back as Lucas approaches. “Hey, listen. Thank you again for showing me where to set up my shit, I really appreciate it.”

“Of course,” you return with a smile. “Seriously, anything we can help you with, just let us know.”

He nods. “Perfect, yeah. Most of it is just working on the HTML, but eventually I’d like your input on the file transfer.”

Peeved, Harry’s eyes flitter across the man’s face. “Right. And you are?”

“Lucas,” he replies brightly, offering you both a charming smile. “Yeah, sorry. Met Duchess here the other day on the elevator. You must be…Harry, right?”

Harry’s eyebrows begin to weave together, broad shoulders straightening up ever-so-slightly. “Why the fuck were you in our elevator?”

“Well, Duchess was showing me up to the lab," Lucas says, nodding his chin at you while you share a smirk. "Helped me set up, which was really sweet.”

You wave the compliment away while Harry slowly turns to you and subtly mouths, “Duchess?”

You shoot him a pointed look. “Yes. Well. Anyway, Harry and I are really excited about working with you. Aren’t we?”

Harry merely returns your stare with a glare of his own before gritting his teeth. “Fucking ecstatic.”

If Lucas picks up on the charged air between you, he doesn’t comment on it, instead grinning again as he steps back. “Perfect. I’ll see you around, yeah?”

You nod. “Absolutely. Oh, we’re still on for lunch, right?”

“Of course,” he calls before returning to the hallway, leaving you with a very displeased partner. 

You blink.

“Lunch?” Harry repeats, almost incredulously. “You’re having fucking lunch with the babysitter now?”

You snort. “It’s lunch, not an orgy. Relax, Harold—”

“And what the fuck is with the degrading nickname?” he continues, nodding his chin in the direction Lucas disappeared to before nudging his glasses back up. “He sounds like a fucking twat.”

“For your information, Duchess means queen,” you tell him haughtily. “And I love it. It’s a lot nicer than anything you call me.”

“I call you the same fucking thing—”

“No, you call me Tinkerbell,” you correct. “And Princess. Which is nice. But Queen trumps Princess. Sorry.”

He makes another noise before spinning around in his seat, turning his back to you. “Fucking ridiculous. Fine, have your fucking tea parties and your fucking nicknames while I get some real shit done.”

“It’s not a tea party, it’s lunch—”

“Oh, my apologies, your Royal Fucking Highness.”

You smirk.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Got it stuck right up there. Poor thing had to go to the emergency room just to get it removed.”

Lucas laughs – a loud, infectious laugh – while glancing down at his plate with a shake of his head. “Shit. I bet he enjoyed that.”

“No. No, not at all,” you chuckle. “And he wouldn’t speak to me for about a week afterward. Honestly? It was the best week of my life.”

“I imagine.” He runs a long finger around the rim of his glass in thought. “So, he’s always been like that, then? Kind of…sullen? And moody?”

Smiling to yourself, you run through your memories of the brooding man you’ve known for years. Remembering the first day you met, and the way you instantly became enamored by those bright green eyes and chestnut curls.

“No,” you admit. “No, he used to be…fun. Nice. Shy, even.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, he was…I mean, he was nervous, I think. It was one of his first jobs out of university, and I think he just wanted to do a good job.”

“Makes sense,” Lucas replies. “From what I’ve seen, he’s quite good at what he does.”

“He is,” you agree, almost begrudgingly. “Always has been, which is really annoying.”

He smiles. “So, what happened? What made him switch?”

You release a heavy sigh and shrug your shoulder. “Honestly…I don’t know. There was a bit of a dark period. He stopped talking to people, stopped going out. Got a motorcycle of all things. And then he just…wasn’t the same.”

“And he never talked about it?”

You snort. “No, Harry doesn’t…talk. About personal things. At least not with me. And asking never gets me anywhere.”

A quiet pause settles over your small table before Lucas leans closer.

“I think he trusts you, Duchess,” he says. “And I think he’s scared of how much.”

“That’s quite an observation from someone who just met him.”

“What can I say, it’s my superpower,” he teases. “But I mean it. His hostility felt…forced. Like he was putting up a wall to save face. And if he really didn’t like you…he wouldn’t spend so much of his time trying to be near you.”

It’s a nice thought. Sweet, even, and you’re almost tempted to entertain the idea.

But you know Harry. You know his cruel jokes, and his pensive demeanor. You know that he fucks to drown out the rest of the world, and that he’d rather spend the rest of his life alone than in someone else’s company.

So, you simply sigh, and offer Lucas another shrug. “Yeah, well. If that were the case, I’d hope he’d at least—”

“The fuck is all this?”

The two of you turn toward the sound of Harry’s huffed remark, smirking to yourselves when you see that familiar frown.

“Uh…lunch,” you reply calmly, raising an eyebrow. “Like I told you.”

Harry comes to a stop just beside the table, flicking his glare between you. “It takes you a fucking hour to eat?”

Your eyes narrow. “It hasn’t been an hour, and we were talking.”

“So you were wasting time?”

Lucas grins, and you catch the way he glances down at the table to hide his amusement.

You straighten up and direct your displeasure toward Harry. “We were not wasting time, we were eating and getting to know each other. Is that all right with you?”

“No,” Harry says simply, and it infuriates you. “You don’t get paid to talk shit.”

“We were not—” You suck in a sharp breath, silently commanding yourself to remain relaxed. “Do you want something?”

“Yes, actually. Prescott wants to see us.”

You blink. “Why?”

“Don’t know.”

You look to Lucas, confused and slightly annoyed while Lucas leans back curiously.

“I’ll come with you,” he offers as you both stand. “If it’s about the project, maybe I can help explain—”

“We don’t need your help,” Harry interjects bluntly. “And he didn’t ask for you. He asked for us.”

You shoot another peeved look his way. “Harry—”

“Really, it’s no problem,” Lucas tries. “I probably need to get caught up, anyway—”

“Then catch up on your own fucking time,” Harry nearly snaps, large hand outstretching to snatch onto your upper arm. “If we need you, we’ll ask for you.”

With that, he begins to drag you away from the table, leaving Lucas and his mystification behind.

Stumbling along, you begin to fight against Harry’s firm grip, already wildly annoyed. “What the fuck is your problem—”

“Your car is fixed, right?” is all he says, keeping his eyes forward as he leads you through the lobby and toward the parking lot.

You hesitate. “Uh…yeah? Why?”

“Where is it?”

Your lashes flutter as you look from him to the array of vehicles before you. “Um…there. By the tree.”

With a short nod, he yanks you forward, guiding you to your car without so much as an explanation. 

Still irritated, you slip yourself free right as he stops beside the trunk. “The hell are you doing—”

He opens the backdoor. “Get in.”

“What?”

“I said get in,” Harry repeats, “Duchess.”

You frown. “And why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m gonna fuck you.”

And you almost want to laugh because you can’t believe where he got the nerve. “You’ve got to be kidding—”

“I’m not,” he says, rather assuredly before guiding his glasses back up. “Get in.”

“Harry…this is so fucking—”

“Don’t care.” He nods his chin toward the backseat. “In, Princess.”

You reckon you should stand your ground and refuse him. Tell him how childish he’s being, how vulgar, how rude. Make it clear that he doesn’t get to stomp his foot and demand you do as you’re told just because he’s upset.

And yet…your legs urge you forward until you’re slipping inside the car and settling on the other side.

Harry follows suit, yanking the door shut to close out the rest of the world before facing you. “Take off your jeans.”

However, your expression is menacing as you begin to fumble with the zipper on your pants. “You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?”

“Yeah,” he says simply, but he’s beginning to smile as he tugs off his own belt. “But I’m not as pathetic as whatever the fuck that was.”

“What was? A harmless, friendly lunch?”

“Please,” he snorts. “He was clearly flirting with you, and it was hard to watch.”

Your eyes roll as you tug your jeans down your legs. “He was not flirting with me, he was just being nice—”

“Guys aren’t nice,” he retorts. “Not for nothing. He wanted something from you, and I spared you from having to pretend you were interested. You’re welcome.”

“Oh, really? And what did he want? To fuck me? Like you so desperately want to do?”

He scoffs, but he’s smirking. “I fuck you to make you feel better.”

“Right, okay.” You wiggle your underwear down your thighs. “Who’s to say he wasn’t gonna do the same?”

“He wasn’t,” he replies simply. “Trust me. Get up.”

With a huff, you oblige, turning around so you can settle on your hands and knees while Harry gets situated behind you. Strong hands melding to your hips to keep you steady.

His fingers move to smooth between your cheeks and down to your cunt, stroking it softly to prepare you.

Then, he chuckles. “And who is this for, hm?” he taunts, dipping into your arousal to spread it around. Ignoring the way you inhale a sharp hiss. “Me or him?”

You brace yourself against the seat of the car, chin dropping to your chest. “Him,” you grit. “Obviously.”

Harry hums, thumbing at your clit. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

Suddenly, there’s a sharp smack to your left ass cheek that makes you reel, the pain instantly dissolving into pleasure as you whine. 

“Try again,” he tsks before slipping a practiced finger inside. “And this time…be honest.”

“I’m always honest,” you argue, already breathless from the feel of his touch. “How could it ever be for you?”

You can’t see him, but you imagine he’s smiling, entertained by your bratty behavior as he adds a second digit. Curling and pumping at a deliciously slow pace. 

“You’re right,” he finally answers. “You hate me. You’d never get wet for me.”

You swallow another noise. “Exactly.”

“And if I fuck you…you’ll moan his name. Won’t you, Tink?” 

“Yes.”

“Think about him the whole time. Beg him for what you think he can give you.”

“Shit—”

“Imagine his tiny, soft little cock. Too small to get you off. Probably wouldn’t even feel it, would you?”

He’s cruel. Sadistic and outrageously annoying. But he knows exactly how to play you, and you damn him to hell for how well it works. 

He reaches around your body to tug your shirt up, pushing it over your tits until he can take a nice handful.

You love his hands. Love the way his skin feels against yours. The way he tweaks your nipple and rolls it around.

“Like that, don’t you?” he coos, the rhythm of his strokes through your pussy ever steady. “Know you do. Cause I know your body, Princess. Better than he ever will.”

You try to ignore the pleasure that ripples across the deep of your stomach, keeping your focus on the stitching beneath you. You hate when he’s right.

Suddenly, and without warning, he rips his fingers out, leaving you empty and dripping while you groan.

“Easy,” he tuts, now tugging his cock free. He shifts some, propping his leg up onto the seat while his other foot remains on the floor. “Gonna have to be quick, aren’t we? Since you wasted so much of our lunch break with him.”

You exhale a scoff at this, glancing back just long enough to glare.

He grins.

“Stay still,” he instructs, dragging the tip through your folds. Spreading you gently and moaning when he sees his cock glisten with you. “Just like that, s’a good girl. Gonna make it better. Gonna fuck you right.”

The first push in is heaven. It always is, and you aren’t sure why. Like adding the final piece to the puzzle. Complete, in a sense.

Your nails curl into the seat below, a futile attempt at finding some stability as his thick cock stretches you open. 

You hear him hiss through gritted teeth, his hands once again finding your waist to hold you in place. “Breathe,” he suddenly calls, smacking your leg once. “You’re not breathing.”

“Sorry,” you gasp, forcing air back into your lungs. “Don’t…don’t know why I do that.”

He makes a small, entertained noise before allowing you a moment to adjust. “Feels that good, yeah? Do I take your breath away?”

“Blow me,” you retort, but you can’t help smiling. 

Finally, he settles himself all the way, sinking into your warm cunt rather comfortably as you both release sighs of relief. 

“There it is,” you hear him murmur, his fingers curling into your side before he pulls back. “Okay, easy. Easy, Tink, yeah? Shit—”

The rapid but hard pace is addictive. Perfectly full and pleasurable with each thrust and snap of his hips against your ass. 

Despite the somewhat small space, Harry finds a way to bend your body to his will. Keeping you below him as he drives himself faster and faster. Uncoordinated and unrhythmic. He’s merely chasing the feeling, chasing the way your pussy pulls him in. Clenches around him, soaks him, keeps him warm.  

“You know what?” he suddenly seethes, surging forward until he finds a new angle. “I think you were right…think you should have gone with him.”

You want to respond – want to make any other noise besides these strained whimpers, but it’s useless. Your voice forming around his name yet again as your toes curl.

“You were better before he came along,” he says, hand coming down to slap against your ass. The sound echoing around the tiny constraints of the vehicle. “Tighter. Needier. So fucking easy.”

Your lashes flutter, eyes rolling back. He’s feeding into the part of you that likes to be degraded, and you feel a chill dance down your spine.

“Did anything I fucking wanted. Took my cock like a good girl,” he continues. “Let me stretch you. Let me train you. Break you. Have my fucking way with my fucking pussy. Behaved so well for me.”

Another spank is had to your tender skin, and you cry out as you bury yourself into the seat below.

“Now, well…now you're just useless to me. Aren’t you, Princess?” His movements get sloppier. Faster. “Now you waste your time with him.”

In any other moment, you’d refute his comments. Play his game, egg him on.

But in this moment – a moment where your singular focus is him and only him – you find that you can only shake your head quickly and with misery. “No. No, just you.”

You hear him chuckle, and it makes a new wave of arousal rush between your legs. A type of praise you thrive on. “Just me, huh? But you’re not my whore anymore, are you? You’re his—”

“No,” you whimper, writhing when he reaches down to press his fingers to your clit. “Yours…you…only you.”

“I don’t know, Tink. Seemed awful smitten with him. Same way you used to be smitten with me—”

You can do nothing but whine pitifully as you push back into his touch, ass raised and spread in front of him.

Another smack ripples across your cheek before he kneads the flesh with his free hand, circling your clit with the other. “What? What do you wanna say, baby, hm? Wanna beg me to let you cum? Is that what you want?”

You try to nod, but your cheek is pressed firmly to the seat of the car. 

“I know you’re close,” he murmurs, shifting some so he has a better position to fuck himself into you quicker. “God, you’re so fucking close. Can feel your pretty little walls clamping down on me. You’re fucking shaking, baby, come on. Come on, let go. I’ll let you cum. Go ahead.”

To accompany his instruction, he begins to rub the sensitive nerves in a harder fashion. Pressing them down as he forces your body to comply.

It happens all in the same moment. There’s no time for preparation or warning as you release a strangled gasp that disappears into his equally fervent moan.

Instantly, he releases your clit to take hold of your hips with both hands, and slam his cock into you – sheathing himself completely as he releases his load.

It’s familiar and incredible. The car is hot and filled with the sounds of your ecstasy. You’re drowning in it – drowning in him. In the way he makes you feel, in the blinding pleasure that still travels down the back of your neck all the way to your toes.

It’s deep and it’s full and it’s endless. One of the best you’ve had, and you can’t help but smile as you work to catch your breath.

You begin to slump forward as Harry chases after you. Slipping his arm beneath your stomach to keep you upright and turn you toward him as his cock slips out. 

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, glancing over the part of your face he can see. “You all right? You breathing?”

You nod weakly. “Mhm. M’good. So good.”

You catch his soft smile. “Good.”

He reaches for your panties, gently dragging them back up until they settle around your hips. Keeping what’s left of his cum inside of you.

“Just in case Lucas gets any ideas,” he teases, shooting you a wink before helping you sit up. 

You both begin to wrangle your clothing back on, redoing belts and buttons as you work to catch your breath. 

Oddly enough, Harry doesn’t rush to exit the car, and you find yourself somewhat surprised. Instead, he merely readjusts his glasses, runs a hand through his hair, and slumps back against the seat.

And for some reason, the sight of his flushed cheeks and dilated pupils makes you grin. And you find that you can’t resist moving closer and crawling onto his lap.

Once you’re straddled across his thighs, you dip down, and take his lips with yours. Kissing him hard and with everything you haven’t been able to give him before, ignoring his look of his surprise. 

But he kisses you back, exactly the way you knew he would. Taking hold of your body once more to keep you close.

Tongues and teeth clash – it’s messy and rushed, yet effortless and easy. And you can’t help but smile giddily as you tug on his bottom lip.

When you finally pull back to breathe, Harry is wearing a similar expression, seemingly dazed and amused as he holds you on his lap.

Chuckling, you swipe your thumb across his mouth. “God, you’re so fucking annoying.”

He nips at your finger to make you squeal. “I know.”

A quiet moment settles then as you study him, feeling entranced and relaxed by the soft green behind his crooked glasses.

With a gentle smirk, you push them back up, and whisper, “Were you really jealous?”

His snobby scoff makes you laugh. “I was not fucking jealous, Tinkerbell. You just don’t know him.”

“Neither do you,” you retort. “He’s really nice. He just wants to help.”

He groans again, letting his head drop back. “For fuck’s sake, Princess. You’re so goddamn trusting—”

“Yeah, I am. After all, I trust you.”

His eyes fall to yours. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles again, and you feel your heart flutter. Reminded yet again of the way things used to be – a time before the hostility and angry comments.

You think back to what Lucas said. His inquiry on the shift, and while you’re sure nothing good can come from your prying, you find yourself asking, “What happened?”

Harry blinks. “What?”

“To you. To us, I guess,” you ask, growing oddly nervous under his confused stare. “When you first started, you were so…nice. And happy. And sweet, even.”

His expression falls, settling into a chilling frown.

“And then…I don’t know, something happened,” you continue, now a bit quieter. “You changed, you got…angry, and tense, and you just…you hid yourself away, you know? And don’t get me wrong, I like bickering with you, I just…I guess I’ve always wondered what…went…wrong?”

You feel him tense beneath you. The way his hands tighten and the way that soft green turns into a raging storm of indifference and spite.

Almost within the blink of an eye, he disappears into another version of himself. One that refuses to participate in this discussion and one that desperately wants to remove himself from you.

You can feel him slipping away. Can feel the drop in your stomach – a pit a mile deep. Normally, you like to piss him off. But this is different, this is…this isn’t what you want.

He swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing once. “Why does it fucking matter?”

“I don’t…I guess it doesn’t,” you stammer, shrugging once. “I just wondered, is all. I don’t mind, or anything, I just…I was thinking about it—”

“Why?”

“I…I don’t know. Lucas asked, and I thought—”

“Lucas?” It’s a venomous scoff that makes you jolt. “Let me guess. He was just trying to help—”

“No, he just…he asked what you were like, and I said that you…you—”

“I what?”

“That…fuck, I just said things used to be different,” you huff, but your cheeks feel warm. You’re embarrassed. Disappointed in yourself for pushing. For ruining the first calm moment the two of you have ever shared. “And it made me think about it, so I…I wanted to ask—”

“Well don’t,” he seethes, releasing your waist as if trying to get away from you. “It’s none of your fucking business.”

“I know,” you agree, sliding off his lap to give him a bit of space. “I know, I’m sorry, I just…I thought maybe I could help.”

He shoots you a look that splits right through you. It’s cold and it’s incredulous and it makes your throat run dry. 

“Why?” he says again, studying you closely. “Why the fuck would you want to help?”

Truthfully, you aren’t sure. “I don’t know. Maybe because there’s a part of me…a very small part…that doesn’t totally hate you? I guess?”

You wince as you say it. You hate the way it sounds. Hate what it implies because you do hate him. 

But not enough to leave him when he needs you.

Harry’s lashes flutter at your response, and he watches you for a moment more before he leans back, and his expression twists.

“Yeah, well…it doesn’t matter,” he mumbles, almost to himself as he reaches for the handle on the door. “So don’t fucking worry about it.”

Confused and somewhat dejected, you lean forward. “Har—”

“I don’t want to do this anymore.”

“…what?”

He sighs, looking down toward the floor. Refusing your eye. “I can’t do this anymore, I can’t…I don’t want to do this. With you. It’s too fucking…there’s too much extra shit. All right, it was fun, but I don’t…I’m done.”

There are a hundred things you want to say. A hundred excuses, a hundred pleas, a hundred retorts.

But none of them feel fitting as you watch him push the door open and step out. 

He hesitates, almost as though expecting you to stop him. To argue and call him back.

Yet you don’t. Because you know that nothing you say will ever be able to change his mind.

He’s already decided.

“Fine,” you whisper, offering a short nod. “Yeah, fine. Whatever you want.”

He looks at you. Finally. Expression filled with a solemn sort of goodbye before he nods as well.

And the door slams shut.

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[cherryredstars]

good morning cherry!

may i please request a nsfw miguel x fem reader where miguel is a business ceo (or any sort of high ranking position) and reader is his personal assistant? miguel gets hard while doing paperwork, calls in reader, and bangs her from the back 💗

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Little Plot, Degrading, Masturbation, Unprotected Penetrative Sex, Hair Pulling, Slight Fingering, Choking, Creampie

Summary: You might need to buy a new blouse and a pair of panties.

A/N: Screamed and kicked and yelled when I saw this!!!

Word Count: 2.2K (Barely Edited)

It was extremely unprofessional.

That’s what Miguel thought every time you came into his office, a cute little button down blouse and a too short pencil skirt hugging your thighs. He had to grit his teeth whenever your big doe eyes blinked at him, asking him if there was anything else he needed in the most innocent, seductive voice he has ever heard. Hates the way he had to grip onto the armrest of his office chair whenever you turned around to leave, his eyes wandering to your ass all the way down your long legs to the pretty heels you wore. He wonders if they were a gift. If you bought them just for work, just for him. Wonders if some lousy guy bought them for you in a show of affection. I can do better, he thinks to himself, I can buy you a hundred pairs of designer shoes if you want me to.

He shakes the thought away, scoffing at himself. He shifts in his seat, trying to get comfortable with the semi he’s now sporting. He grunts as he opens the file you had given him, picking up a pen and trying to get to work. But it’s so annoying. The sound of your voice keeps floating through his wooden door as you talk on the phone with whoever it is. Probably someone wanting to set up a company meeting with Miguel. He’s trying to focus on the words on the business proposal in front of him, trying to remember where he was and what he’s supposed to be signing on, but he just can’t. Not when the syrupy sweet business voice of yours keeps distracting him and each little giggle you let out goes straight to his cock. 

His grip on the pen tightens and he lets out a stressed breath as he leans his head back on the chair. He sits there, eyes closing as your voice continues going on and on about whatever you won’t shut up about. He fidgets with the pen in his hand, his other hand coming to undo his pants. He reaches into his work pants, groaning as his hand pulls out his painfully hard cock. His thumb pushes into his tip, his hips bucking into the pressure. Slowly, his hand pumps his length, hissing at how good it feels. 

It’s so dirty that he has to chuckle at himself. Here he is, scary CEO to one of the biggest science corporations in Nueva York, getting off to the sound of his pretty little assistant’s voice like a high school boy. He wonders what your voice would sound like if he slid into you. Would you still try to keep your work voice on as he thrusted into you? Would you still call him Mr. O’Hara or would you call out Miguel? The thought of you just moaning for him has his cock twitching in his hand. 

Right when he feels the pleasure build up, right when he starts speeding his hand up, your voice stops and he hears the phone click. A curse leaves his mouth as his eyes snap open and looks down towards his weeping cock. His head is red and swollen, angry that he’s stopped jerking himself off. A vein on his neck twitches in irritation as he presses the button on his desk. Instantly, a speaker clicks and your voice returns, “Mr. O’Hara?”

“Get. In. Here.” He grounds out, releasing his finger off the button.

In less then a few seconds, your shy face peaks into his office, slowly walking in and closing the door behind you. You fidget with your fingers as you stand in front of his desk. He has to keep down a moan as you bite your lipstick-stained lips as you blink your eyes at him.

“Is there anything I can do for you Mr. O’Hara?”

“Yes. Get over here.” He instantly responds, pushing his chair out slightly. 

With a confused look, you start to round his desk before you stop. A scarlet blush covers your face as you see his hard erection out in the open. Your eyes can’t look away from it, your mouth dropping open slightly. Miguel’s chuckle pulls your eyes away bashfully, a smirk on his face when you look up at him. He makes a little come here gesture with his hand, and you hesitantly start walking towards him again. When you get close enough, his hands grab your waist and pull you in between his legs. 

A small yelp leaves your mouth and your hands shoot up to hold onto his shoulder so you don’t fall over. You look down at Miguel with widened eyes, looking like a deer caught in headlights. One of Miguel’s hands leaves your waist, reaching up and playing with one of your curls. The strand coils around his fingers, and he gives it a slight tug that has you gasping. 

“You know, you’re such a fucking tease.” Miguel chuckles out, a lazy smirk covering his face.

“Always wearing these practically see-through blouses,” His hand leaves your hair and he comes to unbutton the top button of your shirt. “No use wearing them when they don’t cover anything up.”

A sharp gasp escapes your lips as he grabs the top of your blouse, tugging hard so it rips open and buttons can be heard flying and falling to the ground. The cool air causes goosebumps to rise on your exposed skin, looking down to see your white bra revealed to your boss. Quickly, your hands reach up to try to cover yourself up again, but you’re stopped by Miguel gripping onto your wrists. You’re eyes snap up to him as he growls at you. 

He pushes your hands away, staring intently at you. Your bra pushes your boobs together, almost offering them to him. He lets out a groan as his mouth wraps around where your nipple would be. A startled sound leaves you and your hands instinctively fall to his hair as your face drops down to him. Miguel’s eyes are closed as he sucks and licks the fabric of your bra, pulling away to reveal a spot wet with his saliva. 

Impatient, Miguel grabs your hips and spins you around. You trip on your heels, your chest falling onto his desk. Your hands grab at the ledge for support, causing objects to be pushed off the edge and fall to the ground. Your body jolts further onto the desk as you feel Miguel push up against you from behind.

Miguel grabs your hair, pulling your chest off the surface of the desk. His warm breath meets your ear and you shiver. “Mr. O”Hara! W-we can’t do this. You’re my boss.”

The little chuckle he lets out makes you feel small and it causes warmth to rush to your core. A nervous breath escapes your mouth as Miguel pushes your skirt up to your waist. Your knuckles turn white as your grip on the desk tightens, body tensing as Miguel’s fingers brush over the damp spot on your panties. 

“How dirty. You like this don’t you, dirty little slut wanting to get fucked by her boss’s cock.” Miguel’s voice is teasing, pushing your panties to the side to feel your pussy lips. 

“We can’t…” You try to voice again, your voice is small as your body pushes itself more into his fingers. 

“But we can, it’s in the job description, remember?” Miguel replies simply, finger slowly pushing into you. “You’re supposed to meet my every need.”

A soft moan leaves your mouth as his fingers curl slightly, pressing into your gummy walls. You bite your lip, squinting your eyes at the door in an effort to stop more noises from surfacing. You can taste coppery blood on your tongue, teeth biting through your lip. You look away from the door, looking over your shoulder the best you can with Miguel’s hand still in your hair. “Yes, but this isn’t… this isn’t part of those needs.” 

Miguel hums, ignoring your small gasp as he slides his fingers out to rip your panties off. He shoves them into his pocket for safekeeping before his hand spreads against your back, pushing you back onto the desk. “Huh, guess you just missed it then.”

A sharp gasp leaves you as he thrusts into you unexpectedly. Miguel lets out a deep moan, watching the way your entrance swallows him perfectly. Your walls pulse around him and he grits his teeth. He pulls back to the tip, snapping his hips into you again. Your body slides up at the force, and his hands grab your waist to pull you back towards him. He continues the action, pushing himself deep into your throbbing cunt. You lose hope in trying to stop yourself from moaning, your noises filling his office. 

“Such a pretty little whore, yeah? Lettin’ me use you like this.” Miguel laughs, watching as your body squirms under him. Your moans are absolute music to his ears, encouraging him to speed up his thrusts. Your body keeps pushing into him, desperate for everything he’s giving you. 

“Can’t with those pretty fucking voices. Had me fucking my hand earlier to the sound of your slutty little voice.” His confession causes a broken moan to leave you. You can’t really think clearly, too consumed in the way his hands hold you tightly and how his cock brushes up against that sweet spot inside you. 

Miguel lets out a curse as you clench around him, his hand coming down to play with your clit. It has you jolting in his hands, your mouth mumbling incoherent words. His other hand reaches up and grabs the front of your neck, applying slight pleasure that causes you to whimper. He bends over you, causing him to push deeper and for your walls to spasm. You’re close, you don't know how long you’ll last with him hitting your g-spot and his hand pinching and teasing your bud. 

“Yeah? You like that, nena? Gonna cum all over my cock?” His words are cooed in your ear and you can’t help the small nod your head does in response. 

Your agreement causes Miguel to grunt, quickening his fingers to press tight circles to your clit. Stuttering gasps leave your mouth, eyes rolling back as you feel that pressure about to explode. With a sharp flick of his fingers and his hold tightening on your throat, you cry out his name as you explode. His hand leaves your throat, your head slumping forward to rest on the desk as he continues to thrust into you. Your body spasms as he doesn’t let up on your clit. You don’t think he even hears your sobs, begging for him to stop as his thrusts turn sloppy. Your pleads are drowned out by his heavy moans as he snaps his hips into you desperately, hand wrapping your hair around his fist as he desperately tries to finish. 

With a grumbling grunt, his hips snap forward and still. A weak moan leaves your lips as you feel his warm seed fill you. Miguel’s heavy pants mix with yours, trying to catch his breath as his hands slide to your hips. He pulls out of you with a hiss, collapsing onto his office chair that groans with his sudden weight. He watches with a soft moan as a mix of cum follows after his cock, white liquid leaving your entrance and running down your thigh. A small whimper leaves you as you feel it, looking over your shoulder to watch Miguel’s hungry eyes. 

After a few minutes, Miguel grunts and reaches for a few tissues from the tissue box on his desk. He wipes off the cum from your skin, throwing away the napkins and pulling your skirt back over you. Hesitantly, you stand back up again, fixing your hair quickly while clearing your throat. You don’t meet Miguel’s eyes right away, looking at your heels on the floor before trailing up to his face. He still has a cocky smile on his face as he tucks his cock back into his pants. He gently guides you to the side of his desk, grabbing the file and pen that fell. 

You watch in shock as he opens it, beginning to work as if he didn’t just fuck you over his desk seconds ago. He chuckles at your shocked expression, not looking up from his work. “Be a doll and get me a coffee, yeah?”

Your mouth falls open more at his casual request. You blink at him, before straightening up and fixing up your blouse the best you can. You reply with a curt ‘yes, sir’, before you begin walking towards the door. The breeze between your legs makes you stop before you exit, warmth flooding your cheeks as you slowly turn around. 

“Um, Mr. O’Hara,” You don’t look at him as you clear your throat, “Can I have my panties back, please?”

Even with his face turned towards his desk, you can see the small smile on his face, “Don’t know what you mean, I’m afraid.” 

Your eyes widen and you resist the urge to stomp your foot like a child. You nod, letting out a deep breath as you clench your hands. As you open the door and are about to close it, your annoying ass boss calls out: “Two sugars.”

Reverse AU Part 1.5 Part 2

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