#sigh drawing mobs.. (╥_╥)

[emeraldoodles]

Shigeo is asking Reigen for advice on asking out a special boy!

I really love @pearliegrimm fic "Sometimes That's Better". It's hilarious and I was literally laughing out loud while reading it. I hope to draw more comics from the fic (adding to my long list of WIPs).

This is a scene from the very first chapter, so if you enjoyed it go check out the fic!

[night-drawz]

Rainstorm

[mangysah]

terumob (EXPLODES)

[confused-beany]

You'd think I'd be good at making art about the things I'm most obsessed with

[undiscovered-horizon]

[Mihawk prefers to keep work and his private life separate. On one rare occasion when these two have to comingle, Mihawk is rather upset at the attention you attract.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

When Mihawk said "It will be just a moment, my dear", you didn't think the issue would take more than half an hour. Yet here you are, two hours after he had left you in a fussy lounge in the back of Midnight Grove...

...and not a Dracule Mihawk in sight.

You let out an exasperated sigh and take another sip of your mai tai. The band is playing yet another song that sounds vaguely identical to the previous one. Similarly, the mob of other patrons seems to be merging into one, murky background of blurry figures in your eyes. Being used to the peaceful yet refined companionship of Mihawk, the aura of Midnight Grove is beyond unbearable.

Mindlessly playing with a coaster featuring a howling wolf, you don't notice a Marine cadet approaching you.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest you, my lady."

The unexpected and, frankly, unwelcome comment makes you look up from the devilishly fascinating coaster. Your eyes fall on a well-built man with long hair and a smug expression. The glint in his brown eyes makes you tense up in discomfort.

"Excuse me?" you ask him, not understanding the meaning behind his words.

The cadet gives you a bad parody of a flirtatious smile. "You look too beautiful," he purrs out.

You can't help but laugh. Somehow, you're undecided whether his pick-up disgusts or amuses you or maybe both. Perhaps his audacity forced a laugh out of you - the ring on your fourth finger is neither modest nor simple. Considering how the large gem in the golden band shone in the low light of the Midnight Grove, even a blind man could tell from a mile away that you are anything but single.

"Anyone waiting for you at home?" he continues his rather poor attempt at flirting.

With a casual flick of your wrist, you toss the coaster on the table. Feeling both curious and entertained, you decide to play along - for now, at least. "Why are you asking, sailor boy?" you question before taking another sip of your drink. The ice has melted and the diluted drink now tastes mostly of old freezer.

"He must be mighty jealous about you. And considering the gold you're wearing," he makes a point of staring at your cleavage, "a millionaire, too."

"Oh, this?" You look down at the necklace of jewels and pearls. A memory flashes before your eyes, suddenly remembering Mihawk's face, barely visible in candlelight as he clasps the jewellery around your neck, telling you sweet things only men in romance novels tend to say. "Yes, it's a gift from someone. I'm sure you know him," you tell the Marine cadet in a casual tone, already imagining how hilarious his face of terror will be when he realizes whose spouse he's been trying to woo. "Tall, yellow eyes, a rather large sword and...

"Awfully annoyed at your impertinence, boy."

The low, guttural voice laced with withheld anger makes both of you look away. There, standing right behind the cadet, is Mihawk himself. Part of his large physique blocks the scarce lighting, making him look significantly more insidious. In the twilight of the Midnight Grove, with fury burning in his eyes, Mihawk appears closer to a demon than a man.

Although the room is dark, you can clearly see the way the cadet's blood draws from his face and the way his eyes are suddenly bigger than an owl's. He scrambles to his feet, almost falling off his chair. Then, muttering apologies and promises of better behaviour, the young Marine runs off only to disappear in the crowd of Midnight Grove's patrons.

Mihawk's eyes follow the youngling for a moment.

"I should have him strung up and killed," he says more to himself than you.

"Or," you speak up, a playful smile curling your lips, "you could sit down, have a drink with your beautiful wife and gloat about the fact that you're the only man to undress her."

You might just be a witch because the change in his demeanour is instant. There is still something wild in his bright, yellow eyes but it's not bloodthirst or anger anymore. You notice how he glances at the ring and the necklace, admiring his own signs of "ownership". One would think they're big enough to send the message. Alas, some people just refuse to receive it.

"You have me convinced," Mihawk says as he sits down next to you.

[pucksandpower]

Roll the Dice

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: You and Charles throw your own private celebration after one of the best races of the season

Warnings: 18+ content

The roar of the crowd still rings in your ears as you make your way through the paddock to find Charles. Your heart is bursting with pride after watching him fight his way to a hard-earned P2.

Las Vegas may be a new circuit but Charles drove it like he had been racing here for years. He made the Ferrari dance in ways you didn’t think were possible, squeezing every last hundredth out of each corner.

You spot him up ahead, finally free from the mob of reporters and post-race press conference. He’s leaning against the wall near the media pen in a rare moment of solitude, eyes closed and head tilted back, no doubt mentally replaying each complex sequence of braking points and apexes.

You take a moment just to look at him — the way his damp curls cling to his forehead, the zipper of his race suit undone and its sleeves tied at his waist to reveal soaked fireproofs that cling to every contour of his chest. He’s breathing heavily, a post-race flush still clinging to his cheeks.

He’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

As you draw nearer, his eyes blink open and immediately lock with yours. Relief, affection, and something more primal flash through them as a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Y/N!” He shouts, hurrying over to sweep you up in a massive hug.

You squeeze him tight, not caring at all that he’s drenched in sweat and sticky with champagne. “I’m so proud of you!” You beam.

He sets you down, his hands lingering on your waist. “I couldn’t have done it without my good luck charm.”

You playfully smack his shoulder. “Oh stop, this was all you! I can’t believe the drive you put on out there. You were incredible!”

Charles glances down shyly. “Thank you, mon cœur. It was a good race tonight.”

“A great race,” you correct him, “You drove incredibly. I was on the edge of my seat the whole time, watching you battle with Max and Checo like that. It was the best thing I’ve seen all season.”

Taking his hand, you lead him away from the crowds. “Come on, let’s get you out of here. I think it’s time we celebrate!”

A flight in the early afternoon means you both decide to forego the wild Vegas parties and instead make your way straight to the hotel. Once you’re in your suite, Charles heads for the shower while you pour champagne. When he emerges in a billow of steam, you hand him a glass.

“To my champion!” You declare, clinking your glass against his.

Charles smiles graciously but you catch a flash of disappointment in his eyes. “I’m hardly a champion finishing P2.”

You fix him with a serious look. “That was the drive of a champion tonight. You left you heart on the track out there. If it wasn’t for that safety car, you would’ve won. I would have bet my life on it.”

He looks thoughtful as he takes a sip. “You really think so?”

“I know so! The way you managed to regain the lead from Max? And then from Checo? The move you pulled in the last lap to take P2? Incredible. My only regret is that you don’t have a car that would give you an opportunity to compete like this all season.”

Charles sighs. “The team is doing their best with what we’ve got.”

You set your glass down and rest your hands on his bare chest. “I know and you’re so patient with them. But a driver like you? You deserve to be fighting at the front in every single race.”

Looking into your eyes, Charles brushes a strand of hair from your face. “We’ll get there, I know it. This result today, it shows progress.”

“You’re right. It does,” you smile up at him. “And when you do get a car worthy of you, the rest of the grid better watch out. Because you are going to do great things, Charles Leclerc.”

Charles gazes at you tenderly before pulling you in for a kiss. Your lips move together unhurriedly, his hands trailing down your back.

When you finally break apart, breaths mingling, he gives you a mischievous look.

“You know, I never did properly thank you for being my good luck charm today.” His fingers toy with the hem of your shirt.

You bite your lip coyly. “I think the good luck charm wants to properly congratulate her driver on the podium. I want to make you feel good. You more than earned it.”

Charles grins and tugs your shirt up over your head. His lips find your neck as he backs you towards the bed, hands roaming your newly exposed skin.

You fumble with the ties on his sweatpants, shoving them down as the back of your legs hit the plush mattress. He gently lowers you down, hovering over you.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmurs, eyes dark with want.

You pull him down for another heated kiss, reveling in the feel of his solid weight above you. Your hands grasp at his back, nails digging in slightly to leave crescent marks on his skin.

Charles groans into your mouth at the sensation, pressing his hips down firmly against yours. You can feel his arousal even through the thin fabric still separating you.

Breaking the kiss, you trail your lips along his stubbled jaw to his ear. “I want you so much,” you whisper hotly.

He shudders in response, hands gripping your waist. “Take what you want, mon amour. I’m all yours.”

You slip a hand between your bodies, palming him through his boxers. He hisses in pleasure, bucking into your touch.

“These need to come off. Now,” you demand.

Charles obliges eagerly, stripping the last barrier between you away. You waste no time to wrap your legs around his waist, gasping as he enters you in one smooth motion.

You move together unhurriedly at first, simply reveling in the feeling of being joined so intimately. Charles peppers your face and neck with tender kisses as your hands caress every inch of his back and shoulders you can reach.

As the pleasure builds, your hips pick up speed, chasing release. Charles shifts his angle, hitting that sweet spot inside you that has you seeing stars.

“Just like that! Don’t stop!” You cry out, nails digging into his shoulders again.

He increases his pace, pounding into you relentlessly. You feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter within you.

“Charles, I’m so close ...” you gasp.

“Let go, mon cœur. Come for me,” he growls breathlessly into your ear.

His words send you tumbling over the edge with a wordless cry. Your vision goes white as intense ecstasy washes over you. Distantly you’re aware of Charles following right after, your name a reverent sigh on his lips.

As you float back down, Charles collapses on top of you. You hold him close, heart threatening to burst from the love and pride swelling within you.

Charles presses his lips to your forehead. “Have I mentioned that you’re the best girlfriend ever? I don’t know what I did to deserve someone as wonderful as you. But I’m so glad you’re here with me through all of this. I love you so much.”

You grin and pull him in for a kiss. “You deserve the world, Charles Leclerc. And I plan on spending every day of our lives proving that to you.”

[marvelfanfics1]

If you're not swamped with requests, is it possible that you could write a mob! daddy Bucky x fem! little reader fic where he takes her to his office and she gets to sit on his lap? And maybe she colors and he pretends she's writing documents? She mirrors him and pretends to be on the phone? Thank you!

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

Bucky usually tries to avoid to have you involved in his work but today he just doesn't have another choice because Steve wasn't available to babysit you for the time being and Bucky doesn't trust anyone else with you alone.

He reluctantly decides on taking you in his office for today, so he could get some paperwork done he was already due for and Natasha will beat his ass if he doesn't has them finished by tomorrow.

You actually surprise him with how good you are behaving, keeping yourself busy with coloring or watching cartoons on your ipad with your white headphones that had little cat ears on the top.

Sometimes you would get a little restless, demanding some loving from your daddy as you're not used to being in the same room with him but him not giving you his whole attention.

To prevent a possible coming tantrum Bucky pats his thigh and you giggle, rushing over to him with a couple of papers in your hands. You sit down on his lap with your back to his chest, placing the small stack of papers on his desk.

"Daddy you gotta sign these." You say pointing at the empty spaces he had to 'sign'. "'s important business." You tell him with such seriousness on your face Bucky has to refrain from chuckling at your cuteness.

"Alright. If it's important I can't say no, can I, baby?" He asks and you shake your head handing him your glittery gel pen.

He quickly signs the documents and contracts while you watch carefully, making sure he scribbles where he should be. "Fank you." You nod placing the papers aside and reach for Bucky's phone, looking up at him for approval and he nods.

Instead of unlocking it as Bucky thought you would you instead held it to your ear, talking about 'cancelling meetings' or that 'daddy hasn't time right now for a tea party' all that while you keep drawing random shapes on a blank sheet, pretending to write down information.

When you were done with your 'call' you sigh leaning your head against Bucky's shoulder. He chuckles and kisses the side of your head. "Guess I have a new secretary, huh?"

"Nuh uh, bein' dat is exhaustin', daddy." You sigh again, smiling when you felt the rumbling from his chest as he laughs. "Dunno how Natty does this evewy day."

"Me neither, bunny. Me neither..."

                             ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ♡ ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

(taglist below the cut)

Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Bucky:

@almostcontentcreator

Crossed out are the ones I somehow can't tag!!

[jobean12-blog]

Bandaged with Love

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader (Mob/Mafia AU)

Word Count: 687

Summary: Bucky’s a powerful and busy man but he always has time for you. 

Author’s Note: A friend shared this tik tok HERE and I could not resist writing more soft Mob Bucky because I just love him so! Hope you enjoy and thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️ Divider by my sweet Daisy @firefly-graphics thanks lovely 🥰

Warnings: soft and sweet fluff, mentions of a small injury

You tiptoe down the hallway, hovering near his office door with your fnger wrapped in a paper towel and tears stinging your eyes.

The sound of raised but muffled voices is all you can hear on the other side and with trepidation you lightly knock.

You get no response and sigh, lifting your free hand to knock harder this time.

All the noise stops and you go still.

The door opens to reveal Bucky, his broad shoulders filling the frame as he looks at you with soft eyes. His hair is mussed and the first few buttons of his shirt are open.

Your eyes drop to his exposed skin then to the floor.

“Out. NOW!” he says gruffly.

You take a step back and start to turn on your heel, trying to hide your injured finger from Bucky’s view but you stop short when you hear the shuffling of the other men in the room as they make their way out of his office and down the hall.

“Come ‘ere angel,” he murmurs, crooking his finger at you.

He holds the door open for you and then walks over to sit in the large leather chair behind his desk, gently patting his thigh.

“I’m so sorry Bucky,” you say quietly, standing just inside his office.

“I said come here,” he repeats, still softly.

You walk between his spread legs and he immediately has you in his arms and on his lap.

With a gentle touch he presses his fingers under your chin and lifts your eyes to his.

“You never apologize for being anywhere that I am. You hear me angel?”

You nod with watery and wide eyes.

His eyebrows draw inward and he cradles your cheek, brushing his thumb across your lips.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

You lift your hand between your bodies and show him your wrapped finger, the paper towel now stained red with a patch of blood.

“Oh angel,” he coos. “What happened?”

You sniffle.

“I was making dinner and slicing the peppers and I accidentally caught the tip of my finger with the knife,” you explain as the first tear slides down your cheek.

He swipes it away with his finger before carefully unwrapping the paper towel.  He studies the cut and delicately places his warm lips to your skin.

“I don’t think it needs stitches but we better clean it up and bandage it.”

“Ok,” you say. “Do we have to put the stingy stuff on it?”

His features soften and he gives you a boyish smile.

“We do angel. Have to make sure it’s clean, ok?”

“Ok.”

“Don’t worry. It’ll only hurt for a second.”

“Ok.”

“Ok,” he says, now grinning playfully.

You stick your bottom lip out in a pout. “You’re making fun of me.”

“You’re too cute not to,” he answers, gathering you in his arms. “Come on.”

Once he has you in the bathroom and seated atop the vanity he collects the bandages and first aid supplies.

“Are these spaced themed band aids?” he asks as he turns over the box.

You giggle. “Yes. I saw them at the store and thought you would like them.”

“I love them,” he agrees. “But we might have to put one of these bigger and boring ones on first then a space one.”

“That’s fine,” you smile.

“Give me your hand angel.”

You hold it out over the sink and he kisses your palm.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he instructs, waiting until you’re looking at him before pouring the antiseptic over the cut.

You wince but don’t look away.

“Done!” he says happily then turns on the water to rinse it.

You watch him open the band aid and place the medicine on the pad, his large fingers handling the materials skillfully.

Once it’s dry he carefully covers the cut and secures it with a starry band aid, kissing the tip of your finger when he’s done.

“There ya go angel. Good as new.”

“Thank you Bucky,” you whisper as you slide off the vanity and into his arms.

“I’ll always be here to take care of you angel.”

@book-dragon-13 @dreamlessinparis @hiddles-rose @goldylions @flordeamatista @randomfandompenguin @justkinsey @sstan-hoe @lookiamtrying​ @loki-laufeyson-1054​

[sommerregenjuniluft]

@jegulus-microfic april 1 - spring - 1340 words (of domestic bliss with little harry)

Sundays are slow in the Potter household.

One would think James doesn’t like the pace of it, always having to do something usually, always active, moving around or talking, tugging at his loved ones or caressing their skin, but he does. It hasn’t always been this way but with getting older and especially since they’ve become parents James had noticed how his body and mind welcomed the one break in the week to just shut off and recharge.

They’ve fought their way through a cloudy March and with the arrival of April, spring is finally here. 

James loves spring. People always assume it’s summer—and credit to them, because he does—but there’s just something about the rebirth of everything that comes after the long gloomy fall and icey winter period. The birds chirp with their return and in search for a mate, insects buzz lively and everything brightens with colour. 

Like clockwork, Harry appears in the threshold of the master bedroom at around 7 am, deer plushie in a tight grip by the antlers, his dark mob of hair messy as anything. He drowsily rubs the sleep from his eyes, face squished and James sometimes thinks he might die from how adorable their four year old is.

He grabs his glasses, pushes back the sheets and plants a gentle kiss on Regulus’ cheek where he’s still knocked out like the dead and smushed into his pillow.

Harry pads wordlessly into the living room, James hot on his trail. Though while Harry goes in search of a children’s book for James to read to him, James makes a detour to the kitchen. He fills them two bottles with the tea they let out on the counter overnight, preparing one for Regulus as well for when he wakes up. He cuts up some fruit and vegetables and grabs the packets of rice cakes and crackers from the pantry, loading it all on a tray before he sets on to the living room.

Harry is already curled under the big fleece blanket they keep there, grinning when James rounds the corner with their pre-breakfast.

“Morning, dada,” he greets, sweetly.

James’ chest swells. “Morning, pumpkin,” he returns, pressing a kiss into Harry’s hair, setting down the tray. Before he takes his place next to his son he walks over to open the big terrasse glass doors. 

“How’d you sleep?” James asks, plopping down next to Harry who immediately snuggles closer, plushie still in hand.

“Good,” Harry sighs contently and James can’t help himself when he brushes some of his hair back from his forehead and kisses him again. “Can you read to me?”

It’s a hidden object book but James knows what he means. He grins, “’Course, Hazza.”

They do just that for a bit, James describing what’s going on on the pages, creating a story for recurring characters. Skipping back and forth with Harry randomly pointing out another happening of the drawing while he’s munching away on his rice cakes and cucumbers and the occasional grape. 

It’s still mildly cool, especially when a faint breeze picks up, moving the grass outside and swishing inside but Harry’s still wearing long pyjamas and James knows he’ll tell him if he’s too cold. He simply burrows further under the blanket and into his father’s side. James runs hot anyways.

When Harry decides they’re done with books James puts on a nature documentary for them.

They’re teaching about the strength of some rainforest ant species when Regulus shuffles into the room, arms wrapped around himself and eyes nearly closed.

“Morning, Papa,” Harry whispers excitedly, already wiggling out of James’ embrace even though he knows Regulus will join them there in just a moment.

A smile tugs at Regulus’ lips as he blinks his eyes open, dark lashes fluttering agonisingly beautifully and giving way to soft grey. James swears they get a little more blue every time right around his birthday, like Regulus is just another subject to the changes of spring.

“Mornin’,” Regulus sighs happily when he squeezes Harry against his chest, peppering the side of his head with kisses until he pulls away, tugging Regulus along to James.

His eyes are already closed again when Regulus nuzzles into the crook of James’ neck, pressing a kiss there before he gets comfortable.

“Morning, love,” James murmurs, voice thick with adoration, audible even to himself, and he strokes Regulus’ exposed arm softly.

The spell of Sunday is thick in the air, heavy in their bones. 

Harry, usually the most lively child, always animatedly talking about something or the other, giggling, making jokes or doing mischief, is quiet now too. It’s routine, the way he grabs for Regulus’ arm and squeezes between his two dads, waiting for James to absently card his fingers through their hair and send them back to their slumbers.

It doesn’t take longer than five minutes before Harry’s breaths are deepening and it’s marvellous. Magical in the way that Regulus’ presence seems to calm him so much it pulls him back into another nap.

James smiles so wide, looking down at them like that for so long that his cheeks start straining.

He watches a bit more of the documentary, snaps a few obligatory pictures of them on his phone and sends them into their family group chat. Monty sends back a pixelated picture of a zoomed in shot of Effie in the garden, Sirius replies with a shaky snapshot of him running with the dogs and Remus answers with an aesthetically pleasing picture of what seems to be the breakfast he’s preparing for the two of them.

James’ belly growls hungrily at the reminder and when his gaze falls on the lone grape sitting in the bowl on the tray he decides it’s time for breakfast. 

It’s nothing short of artful the way he extracts himself from besides Harry and Regulus without rousing them before he heads for the kitchen.

He grabs flour and sugar, eggs and milk for pancakes, as well as the bacon, bagles and cream cheese. It’s meditative to put together all the ingredients, set the table and assemble syrup and blueberries and chocolate chips. Halfway through James remembers the leftover quinoa in the fridge and between placing patches of batter in a sizzling pan he whips them up a quick salad as well. 

The smell in the kitchen is divine and James has already made acquaintances with the joyful bluetit in the tree by the window by the time Regulus comes into the kitchen with Harry on his hip. He’s babbling now, talking Regulus’ ear off by the looks of it and Regulus hums and nods and gasps at all the right places, looking ridiculously endearing with his curls mussed and an imprint of the couch cushion lining his cheek.

“Morning, champ,” James teases, smacking a loud kiss over the line in Regulus’ cheek.

Regulus growls quietly, grinning despite himself, “You’re lucky I love your cooking so much.”

“Yeah, you’re lucky,” Harry parrots, grinning widely.

James tuts with faux affront, “What kind of sentiments are you teaching our poor child, Regulus. I’ve been standing in this kitchen for hours now. How about a ‘Thank you, daddy’?”

“Thank you, daddy,” they both reply in unison though Regulus’ has a decidedly different tone to it that makes James point the spatula at him in warning.

Regulus just smirks before he leans heavily into James’ side and rips a piece of pancake off of the ones already on a plate, blowing on it before dividing it in half and feeding it to Harry and himself.

James tasks them with setting out glasses of water and orange juice, mugs for tea. On Sundays coffee is banned in the Potter house. Regulus thinks he can wind himself out of his caffeine addiction that way.

When everyone is done and everything is in place they all sit down together, legs tangled under the table, smiling warmly at each other over their plates of delicious food, the spring breeze ruffling their hair and clothes pleasantly as it drifts through the open window.

[navybrat817]

Around Your Throat

Pairing: Vampire Mob!Bucky Barnes x Gifted!Female Reader Summary: Bucky has the perfect accessory to go around your throat. Word Count: 1.9k Warnings: E/xplicit s/exual content, f/ingering, b/iting, p/ossessive behavior, b/lood, feel (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he’s a warning, okay?). Graphic talent and thanks: Banner - @sgt-seabass, Divider - @firefly-graphics , Moodboard - yours truly A/N: Set before Lay Me Down, we're visiting our vampire to kick off Hot Bucky Summer challenge hosted by @buckybarnesevents! Theme - "What should I wear?" ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stood in front of the full length mirror, a frown on your face as you looked over yourself. The black and gold gown you wore was beautiful, the v-neckline and fitted bodice drawing attention to your chest. Bucky had it designed for you, with your approval. He wanted only the best for his bride-to-be.

The fact that he had a matching suit almost put a smile on your face.

But you couldn’t figure out why you weren’t happy with your look. You thought for a moment that the dress was too much for a dinner, especially since you would be one of the only people at the table eating an actual meal. As Bucky’s future mate and your father’s daughter, however, it was the expectation that you’d look your best.

At least I won't have to create an illusion since I'll be amongst Bucky’s friends for the evening.

“I'm not sure about this,” you told your fiancé since he insisted on being in the room as you got ready, admiring your side profile with a sigh. "Should I change into something else?"

"Why would you change when you look good enough to eat?"

You spun around to face him, your breath catching when he stood from his chair and straightened his tie. He slicked his hair back for the evening and you longed to run your fingers through it to make a mess of it. This man managed to steal your heart and he would be the reason you took your last breath.

He was both your ending and your new beginning.

"Just what every girl wants to hear when she goes to feast with vampires," you teased, turning back to the mirror.

"If you sensed something was wrong, we wouldn't attend," he pointed out. He wouldn't risk your safety. He assured your father of that. "Should I tell Steve to play host while we skip it?"

"No, my love, because nothing is wrong," you assured him. You trusted his friends and the only gut feeling you sensed was that your evening would end happily. You looked forward to it.

"Then what's the matter?" he asked as he crossed the room and placed his hands on your hips. Though you couldn't see his reflection in the mirror, you imagined his blue eyes either darkened or glowed at the sight of you. Both stares always set the blood on fire in your veins. “Do you not like the dress? Should I rip it to shreds?”

“Don’t you dare,” you answered, narrowing your eyes when he chuckled. “I love this dress.”

“If you won’t let me tear this gown from your body, at least let me lift the skirt and bury myself in your pussy again,” he said, making you gasp when his cool lips brushed the shell of your ear. Your core throbbed at the idea, tempted to let him bend you over in front of the mirror as he took you apart. Once he turned you, you wouldn’t see your reflection ever again. “And if you love it, why have you stood here for the last two minutes, spinning and frowning at every angle?”

“As much as I’d love for you to ravage me, I don’t think we have time,” you said, gesturing to yourself. “And something’s missing. I can’t figure out what.”

Bucky hummed, gripping your chin to turn your head toward him. “I can get you off quickly," he said, which was true. "And you're missing an accessory. You need something around your throat.”

“Of course,” you smiled softly. Such a simple solution to a ridiculous problem. “What should I wear?"

He moved his hand to your neck before you could go to the armoire, making you moan when his fingers tightened. “I have something perfect in mind.”

“As much as I love this type of necklace,” you said, wetting your lips with your tongue. “I can’t go the whole meal with your hand around my throat.”

Bucky chuckled again, spinning you and pinning your back against the mirror with lightning speed. You trembled when his eyes began to glow, your blood rushing through your veins at the sight of his fangs. The mix of pain and pleasure whenever they pierced your skin brought you to a euphoric state. It was no wonder some begged to become a blood mistress or paramour.

You were lucky enough that you would belong to Bucky forever.

“And just because I can’t ravage you with my cock right this second doesn’t mean I can go through an entire meal without having a taste,” he whispered, pushing the skirt up so his cold hand could slide up your inner thigh. No tights and no underwear so he could have access to what belonged to him. His rule for the evening. “I need your blood and your cunt so I can behave myself."

“You better satisfy your craving then,” you whispered, knowing he’d want more before the sun came up. "And we'll see how well you actually behave."

Vampires had no shame when it came to sex or anyone who witnessed it.

Your wet, warm folds welcomed the cool feel of Bucky's expert touch. Before you could grip his arms, he pinned your hands above your head. His strength turned you on more, which you didn’t know was possible. You were almost in a constant state of arousal around him. “You'll beg for my cock long before you finish dinner,” he whispered against your lips, teasing your entrance as he kissed down the pulse in your neck. “Don't fucking move."

“Yes, sir,” you breathed, closing your eyes to brace yourself for what was coming.

Which would be you coming all over his fingers.

“Mine,” he growled, drawing a cry from you as he sank his fangs into your soft skin and slid two fingers inside your wet walls. You did your best to keep still as he slowly thrust and moaned against your neck. A submissive position he put you in to assert his power, yet you didn't feel weak. Even as he took your life essence and pleasure as his own he empowered you.

Because in return, you’d get every part of James Buchanan Barnes.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged when his thumb toyed with your clit. You wanted to grind your hips down, but he told you to stay still. If you had more time, you would've pushed to see what kind of punishment he'd dish out. But you knew he wanted to get you off quickly, like he said he could. "Please."

“So needy, darling. One of the things I love about you,” he said when he stopped drinking, blood running from your neck down your collarbone and chest as his fingers curled. He pulled back so you could see the red fluid around his lips. The feral look in his eyes as he licked them clean, your head spinning as you teetered on the edge. “Come for me.”

Your body seized up as you gushed around his fingers, your moan of ecstasy lost as he covered your mouth with his. You tasted your blood on his tongue as helped you ride out your orgasm. Days from now you would know the taste of him. Pleasure, eternity, love.

Your new life.

It took a moment for you to realize you were no longer against the mirror as you recovered. Bucky moved you to the bed to rest for a moment and catch your breath. the pinpricks in your neck closed and your dress straightened out. “Thank you for letting me have a taste,” he said, sucking his fingers into his mouth. “Didn’t think anything could make your blood sweeter, but your pussy does the trick.”

“Best combination,” you smiled.

“My favorite,” he agreed, helping you stand once your head stopped spinning. Lust still lingered in his gaze, but you couldn't ignore the concern that shone through. "Are you okay? I didn't take too much?"

"I'm okay," you assured him. He never wanted to lose control and take more than what he needed. No matter what, you were his number one priority. "And you won't have to worry once I you turn me."

"I'll still worry," he whispered. Loving you meant having something to lose. It also meant he had something worth living for. "One more thing before we go."

You smiled when he held up an onyx pendant surrounded by diamonds, like he pulled it out of thin air. Perfect to go with your dress. "It's beautiful," you said, allowing him to put it around your neck. "How did you manage to hide that from me?"

His fingers traced the delicate, gold chain as he smiled. "Because you aren't psychic, but you get feelings. Which is probably why you felt off when you looked in the mirror. You were waiting for me to give you this."

"It's like you know my gifts better than I do," you smiled, touching the pendant before you noticed there was still blood on your neck. "I should clean myself up."

"No," he said firmly, pulling you to his chest. You suspected his heart would race only for you if it could still beat. "You'll wear my mark with the necklace I gave you and your blood on your skin. You're going to be my wife and my mate. I want everyone to see that you belong to me and that there's no shame in my want for you."

You'd wear every brand and claim of his with pride.

"This won't show them that?" you asked, holding up your hand with your engagement ring.

"Vampires don't look at hands," he said, taking yours and kissing it. "They look at throats. And anyone who sees yours will know you're mine."

And I will be until the end of time.

"And when you turn me?" you asked, brushing your hand along his cheek. "Will I get to leave my mark on you and show everyone you're mine, too?"

"You can make an entire path of bites around my throat if that's what you desire," he offered, his icy hand covering yours. "I'll wear them proudly."

Bucky loved with his entire being. Not only were you strong and willing enough to accept it, you'd give him the same love in return. You would always be in each other's care.

My eternal partner.

"I might take you up on that," you smiled, feeling how hard he was through the fabric of his pants. Tempted to drop to your knees and return the favor, you asked, "Do we have time for me to take care of you?"

"We're already running late," he said, giving you a gentle kiss. "But maybe you can keep my cock warm at the table. No one will mind."

"I thought you were going to behave at dinner if you had a taste," you said, your walls clenching with the need to surround him, like he hadn't brought you to orgasm moments before.

"I will behave," he said innocently, but his eyes flashed as he showed his fangs again. "But we'll see how long you last before you try to ride me in front of everyone."

"Well, you did say I'd beg for your cock before I finished dinner."

And you suspected his hand, the necklace, and your blood would be the only things you wore around your neck once he took you to bed for the night.

Who wouldn't want an eternity with Bucky? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: E-Vite 4/20 [A New Hire interlude]

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Mob!Ari Levinson x Naive!Omega!Reader

Word Count: 4,382

Summary: Ari’s mate finds herself invited to a brunch featuring more than just bottomless mimosas. 

Warnings: 18+ Only, Drugs, Recreational Drug Use,  Mob AU, Age Gap, A/B/O Dynamics, Alpha!Ari, Darkfic, Breeding, Smut, MINORS DNI, Dead dove: Do not eat

A/N: i’m so sorry this is so late! but (i hope) it’s worth it! takes place roughly a week or so before reader and Ari leave for Paris. a little character development i think you’ll all enjoy. divider by @firefly-graphics​. dedicated to @cocobutterqwueen​, who prompted this work ❤️

This work is entirely unbeta’d, and unedited. Though I don’t own any of Marvel’s characters, this work and the plot contained inside are entirely mine. I do not consent for this work to be posted anywhere else by anyone but me. Enjoy 😘

You purse your lips, your brows drawing together critically as you stare at yourself in the mirror. You heave a dissatisfied sigh, brushing imaginary dirt from the hem of your white tennis skirt. 

 “Too much?” You mutter, rocking back and forth on the heels of your matching ivory sneakers. “It’s too much, isn’t it?” The silver charms on your bracelet jingle softly as you begin wiggling out of your skirt, trying to undo the hook-eye closure on the back. You aren’t expecting to see your mate there, leaned in the doorway of the walk-in closet with an amused smile playing at the edges of his full lips. 

 “Third outfit in fifteen minutes, Sweetheart. You nervous?” There’s a teasing note in his voice that makes you pout, shaking your head even though it’s obvious he’s right.  

“No, I’m not nervous.” You continue fiddling with the zipper until Ari closes his hands around yours. It’s silly, to be this anxious about meeting a bunch of people you’ve already been talking to for weeks, but you are. Joining Moms of Riverside County had been a whim. At most, you had expected to find new dinner recipes, maybe a few fun things to do with Liam. Instead, you’d found… a community? 

 Some of the members were a little out there, but there were far more good apples than bad. People posted pictures, shared memes— not pronounced “may-mays” as Ari had pointed out, to your embarrassment. There was even a group-chat, which you had recently been invited to—✨🔥 Cool Moms of Riverside County🔥✨, which had given you a good laugh. You weren’t particularly active yet, but even so you had been tagged and invited to a private brunch being hosted by one of the members you actually talked to with some regularity. 

  Come if you can! We’d love to see you! Sabrina’s casual message outside of the group chat had left you scrambling to respond last night, typing out at least thirty messages and showing them to Ari before deciding on one. 

  Okay! Thanks for inviting me, I wold love to come!

 “I-it’s just a facebook group thing.” You mumble, and he chuckles, kissing your forehead. 

 “It’s okay to be a little nervous about meeting your internet friends for the first time.” He must feel it in the bond, the electric apprehension running through every one of your limbs and down to the tips of your fingers and toes. “Just be yourself, Sweetheart. Trust me, they’ll love you.” He turns to exit the closet, but pokes his head back in. “And I like the skirt.” 

 An hour later, you’re in the Jeep on your way across town, Sabrina’s address punched into your phone’s GPS. You’re trying to think of potential conversation topics in your head, drumming your fingers against the steering wheel. You’d already checked the list of people in attendance—only ten, including you. 

  Exclusive.

 Sabrina’s house is half an hour outside of the city, nestled in the rolling hills off the highway. The private drive is blocked off by a wrought iron gate that you have to pull up to an intercom to get open. You lean out of the window, jabbing your thumb into the button. 

  “Yes? Who is it? Shh, Adrian!”

 You lick your lips nervously. “Um, it’s uh, it’s—”

  “Oh wait, I know who you are! I can see you on the camera. Come on in, girl!” The intercom buzzes loudly and the fence slides smoothly out of the way. It takes a full three minutes to get from the gate to the house, and when you pull up, there’s a line of expensive looking cars parked along the side. You take up the rear, taking a deep breath before hopping out. Gravel crunches under your feet, and as you’re heading up the stairs the front door opens. 

 “OhmyGod Hi!” You recognize Adrian from his pictures, his long dark hair piled up in a bun on top of his head. “How are you? Come in, come in,” he motions you forward with a wide smile. In one hand is a half full glass of wine, and he hugs you with the other. Underneath his rather fruity cologne is a distinctly Alpha scent, and when you pull away, you spot half a ring of teeth marks on the skin beneath his collar. 

 “Good, thanks,” you sputter, stepping over the threshold. It’s a monster of a house, the ceiling looming far above you. The air is heavy with the scent of warm sugar and brown butter, like someone’s baking. You cast a look around the foyer, there are pictures of Sabrina with her children, her husband—who just so happens to be the headmaster of Liam’s school. You toe off your shoes in the entryway, and Adrian scoffs. 

 “Oh, you don’t need to do that. Sabrina doesn’t give a shit about mud on her carpets,” he laughs. 

 “Habit, I guess,” you say, your own nervous laughter ringing awkwardly in the air with his. “I, um, have-have you been in the group long?” The questions you practiced in the car tangle confusedly together on your tongue. 

 “Like three years, I think?” He waves his hand as he shrugs. “But it got a lot more fun when Sab starting modding. Way more jokes.” He fixes you with a sly smile.  “Let’s go  get you a drink!” You tail Adrian through the house, and the sound of voices gets louder and louder as you go. The long hallway opens up into a massive kitchen, and a gaggle of people surround the marble island in the center of it, only a few of whom you recognize. 

 “Ladies,” Adrian claps his palm against his khaki-clad thigh, holding his wine glass aloft as he raises his voice to get their attention. “And gentle man,” he giggles, placing his palm against his chest, “Our last guest has arrived.” You duck your head in embarrassment as a little cheer ripples through the rest of the attendees.

 “Sorry I’m late, I think the e-vite said 4:20—”

 “Girl please.” You recognize Keisha’s fiery orange locs from her profile picture. “I just got here ten minutes ago. Sabrina! Girl where are you? You know I don’t know where you keep the glasses in this maze.” By your count, there are about seven people here, eight, including you. “Are you sure she’s the last one, Adrian? I thought Barb and Hannah were coming, too?”

 “Kayla’s got chicken pox, they cancelled this morning,” Adrian replies. “They’re fine, though, said she’s holding up well. Marathonning every episode of Bluey, apparently.” As the two of you join everyone else at the counter, Sabrina appears in the opposite doorway. 

 “Sorry, I went to get a lighter. Glasses are above the sink—hi! I’m so glad you could make it!” Sabrina is tiny, strawberry blonde curls piled on top of her head and secured with the biggest, pinkest bow you’ve ever seen. She reminds you of a Malibu Barbie—mansion and all. Sabrina rushes over to you, quickly depositing the tray of what looks like cigarette papers and lighters on the counter before hugging you tightly. 

 “Thanks for coming!” Sabrina looks genuinely happy to see you. They make room for you around the island. “I just moved here like a year and a half ago and it is so hard to make friends.”

 You let out a relieved breath. “I know exactly what you mean.” You had been nervous about coming, about whether or not you were actually going to fit-in . It feels like there are huge holes where general knowledge should be about how to act, what to say. All the culturally relevant gossip you know hit it’s expiration date a decade ago—but surprisingly, you don’t feel as terrified of that as you had been before arriving. 

 The conversation flows easily, and you finish your first glass of wine with a comfortable, warm buzz. Adrian makes it his business to serve the cooled cookies, and when you take two, he laughs. 

 “Okay, girl, I see you!” You blush as you bite down, gooey chocolate coating your tongue. 

 “I didn’t eat before I came,” you admit, polishing off the first cookie and starting on the second. “These are so good,” you add, and Sabrina preens. 

 “Thank you! I baked them myself.” Sabrina ducks down beneath the island countertop, and you hear the sound of a drawer rolling open, and then shut again. “I will admit I found the recipe online, though.” As she stands, she tosses a plastic bag of—

  Oh my God.

  Your eyes widen as the baggie of weed lands on the table, and they dart worriedly to the faces of everyone else there. No one seems surprised or upset, in fact, Keisha claps excitedly. 

 “Good,” she chirps, plucking a single paper from one of the packs on the silver tray. “I’ll roll.” 

 You shift nervously on your feet, unsure of what to do. You’ve never smoked before—the most you’ve ever done is drink alcohol, and even that you don’t do with any regularity. Ari’s beers in the fridge at home remain mostly untouched by you, and the occasional glass of wine is the extent of what you generally allow yourself. Not that you mind, really—

 You tap jittery fingers against the granite, and Adrian clucks his tongue at you. 

 “What’s wrong, babes?” His eyebrows crease with concern. “Not a joint person?” 

 “N-no?” You force yourself to calm down—these are all adults, and it’s not like it’s… illegal here, per-say. “I um, I haven’t actually ever… smoked. Marijuana.” 

 “You haven’t?” Sabrina’s gaze moves worriedly from your face to the half-eaten tray of cookies and back again. “Are you… kidding?”

 You sigh, dragging an embarrassed hand down your face. “No. Ugh, my… my parents were um. Really strict. Sorry. I’m not a narc or anything, I just, um, never really—” Sabrina grabs your hand with a soft smile and the rambling word vomit screeches to a halt. 

 “You don’t have to explain yourself at all. I just, well, I kind of thought you knew, to be honest.”

 “Knew?”

 “Yeah, it’s said 4/20 brunch, on 4/20,” she looks at you with a leading expression, but whatever reference she’s trying to make flies entirely over your head. You raise an eyebrow. 

 “That wasn’t… the time?”

 “420 means weed girl!” Adrian yelps, doubling over with raucous laughter. He rests a hand on his hip as he gasps for air. “This was a weed brunch!” You pinch the bridge of your nose, groaning. “Oh my God the cookies! You ate two of them!” Cold realization crosses your face as you turn to face them in horror. 

 “There was weed in the cookies!?”

 —

 Ari is waiting for you in the kitchen when you call—he’d been expecting you home half an hour ago, and though he wasn’t worried, he was beginning to get antsy. The bond is open—wide open, in fact—and your hazy amusement permeate it like smoke. 

 “Hi, Sweetheart. You okay?” He asks, and you giggle. 

  “ I’m good. I’m so-oo-oo good, ” you sing, drawing out the syllables. There’s a loud splash, and Ari raises an eyebrow as you gasp loudly through the receiver. 

  “Don’t drop your phone!”

 “I’m not gonna dro-op it,” you hiccough, and Ari can practically hear your pout. “She said I was going to drop my phone, but I’m not going to drop it—”

 “Kitten. What is—”

 “Can you come get me?” You say, cutting him off in a dreamy, small voice. “I don’t think I should drive. The floor is moving.” Ari pulls away from the phone, staring at it with confused, narrowed eyes.

 “The floor is… moving.” He repeats your babble, just to make sure he’s hearing it right. You heave a relieved sigh, as if he’s validated some previously held suspicion. 

 “Yes. And I really don’t think I should drive. I’m all wet.” 

 “Okay baby. Can you send me your friend’s address? I’m going to call Martine over in case Liam wakes up, and then I will come and get you.” 

 “Okay.” You hang up with no warning, leaving your confused and exasperated mate staring at his phone. It takes several minutes—and quite a few nonsensical strings of emojis—before the address comes through. 

  She’s drunk, he thinks to himself, shaking his head. A little wry smile plays at the edges of his mouth as he buckles himself into the Bentley. She has to be. He’s not upset as he turns out of the driveway, skirting generously around Martine’s car. He’s glad you’ve made friends—the tight fist your father had kept around your life has left a lasting impression, one Ari is eager to erase. 

 The traffic choking the highway eases as he circles around the city, the exit dumping him out into the rolling foothills on its outskirts. The address you’d sent him is one that takes him into familiar territory, and when he pulls up to the gate, it buzzes open before he has a chance to push the button on the intercom.

 Ari exits the vehicle, taking stock of each car lined up in the driveway—including yours. He pauses at the front steps, listening, before making his way around back instead. The sounds of music and laughter grow louder as he rounds the side of the house. Your scent is here too, cut with others and diluted by the smell of chlorine and charcoal smoke. The yard opens up before him, carefully manicured green surrounding the deeply set in-ground pool. 

 “I don’t remember inviting the mob.” An amused voice makes Ari turn, before he scoffs. 

 “You wouldn’t have to, Sabrina, you married it.” He replies, shaking his head before reaching down for a hug. “It’s been a while.” Sabrina tokes long and hard on the joint in her hand before she laughs. 

 “You’re telling me. What are you doing here?”

 “My mate is here.” Ari peers over Sabrina’s blonde head, squinting at the pool. “The one on the pizza floaty.” 

 You’re sprawled on the double-wide rubber float, chatting animatedly to a man sitting on the pool steps up to his waist. Sabrina claps her hands, loud, animated laughter escaping her grinning mouth. 

  “That’s your mate? Oh my God. I think—I think I’m gonna pee.” She doubles over, while Ari frowns down at her. “Sorry. Sorry. I just—Odd couple. In my defense, she is the sweetest person on earth, and you’re… you.” Ari purses his lips.

 “Yes, well, you’re related to me,” he says dryly. “I still don’t think you’ve forgiven me for putting worms in your hair.” 

 “I haven’t. It was disgusting.”

 “I was eight.” 

 Sabrina ignores him, flicking a honey-blonde lock over her shoulder before making her way over to the pool. She wades in, waving to get your attention. You look utterly relaxed, your limbs draped loosely across the floaty. Your fingers and toes trail in the water as a you drift. You sit up as Sabrina approaches, and for a moment, your wild hair is framed perfectly in the light of the setting sun.

  Little lioness.

 The words she speaks to you are snatched away by the wind as Ari approaches, squatting by the edge of the pool. You’re wearing a swimsuit you no doubt borrowed from Sabrina, a bikini he suspects is at least one size too small. Sliding off the edge of the pizza-shaped float, you wade over to him, a dopey smile on your face. 

 “Ari!” 

 “Hi, Kitten.” He leans down when you reach wet hands up to hug him. Ari doesn’t mind, drawing his fingers affectionately over your bare shoulders and back as he presses his face to the side of your throat. He can’t help but check. Underneath the heavy scent of the chlorine—and a light coating of weed-smoke—is your true scent. Just yours, like he’d known it would be. He kisses your forehead. You giggle. 

 “I did what you said,” you whisper loudly. “It worked! I just said, um, that I never smoked, but then I ate the cookie—two cookies, I think. Maybe more?” The story devolves into meaningless ramble that leaves Ari laughing. 

 “I’m glad you’re having a good time, Kitten.” 

 “So this is the mate.” A lanky Alpha with a joint in a rather fancy looking cigarette holder appraises Ari, his other hand resting on his hip. He offers it to shake. “Adrian. The pleasure is yours.” Ari shakes it. “We did try to keep her out of the pool but she made some very convincing arguments.” 

 “I see,” Ari replies, chuckling as you give a stout nod from the pool. “She does have a habit of getting her way.” The resulting pout that forms on your full lips is worth the half-truth. You make your way toward the pool ladder, slipping once before finding your footing. You’re sopping wet, water running in rivulets down your soft skin. Up close, the swimsuit you’re wearing is even smaller, the fabric straining to hold back the supple flesh of your breasts. 

 Ari clears his throat, and Adrian snickers. He shoots the other male an irritated look, but Adrian only grins. 

 “I packed you a to-go bag, chica. It’s in your purse. You crazy kids have a good night.” He winks, and you wave absently.

 “You too, Adrian!” You turn back to Ari. “He’s nice, right?”

 “Yeah,” he replies, dragging his eyes up from the curve of your hip where the tie is sinking sinfully into the soft skin there. “Nice. Where did you get this?” He fingers the spaghetti thin strap at your shoulder. Sabrina sidles up next to you with a knowing grin, looping her arm around your shoulders. 

 “Well, I couldn’t let her just jump in, Ari.” He levels an annoyed glare at her. “What kind of cousin would I be if I let your mate ruin her nice clothes?” You gasp exaggeratedly. 

  “Cousin?”

 “First or second, or something like that,” Ari grumbles. She laughs.

 “Remind me to tell you the worm story,” she replies conspiratorially, clapping you on the back. “You go get your clothes.” 

 “I’ll be right back,” You press a kiss to Ari’s cheek. He can’t help but watch you walk away, the damp fabric wedging itself neatly between the cheeks of your ass. God-fucking-dammit. 

 “It reeks out here,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “You’d better not be turning my mate into a pothead. I don’t want to have to get into weed distribution, you know how messy that is.” Sabrina waves a hand dismissively. 

 “Nonsense. Thad’s got a great thing going on with Rogers and Barnes on the east coast. He can cut you in if you want.” She winks. “I like her, you know. Genuinely had no idea she was, um. Yours.” Ari smiles, in spite of himself. 

 “It’s hard not to love her.” 

 Ari opts to wait out front, and he isn’t out there long before you stumble out clutching your purse. Your shirt is unbuttoned and untucked from your skirt, exposing the swimsuit you’re still wearing underneath. You look up at him apologetically through your lashes.

 “Thank you for coming, Ari, I’m sorry—”

 “Don’t be, Kitten,” he chuckles, helping you down the steps toward the car. “I’m glad you had a good time.” 

 You loose a high pitched giggle. “I had so-oo much fun. S-Sabrina’s so nice! She said she wants to hang out more. And—” You gasp, turning to him with a suspicious glare. “She said you put worms in her hair.” Ari laughs, shaking his head as he opens the passenger side door. “How could you do that?”

 “I’ll bet she didn’t tell you she dumped cat litter on my head the week before,” he replies, shutting the door before you can respond. He can see that you’re talking anyway, chirping brightly to yourself as Ari rounds the front of the car. He’s not quite sure why, but the sight of it makes his heart swell, even as he shakes his head. 

 “—gross!” You finish, looking at him definitively. 

 Ari slides into the drivers seat, nodding. “It was.” 

 “Will we come back for the Jeep?” You ask in a small, guilty voice. “I like the Jeep.” Ari nods, chuckling.

 “I promise.” The stoned, dopey smile you shoot him in response makes Ari wonder just how many “cookies” you’d eaten. You slump lazily in the passenger seat, stretching like a cat as he pulls out of the driveway. You sit there, blissfully unaware of the way that fucking bikini is eating away at his nerves. You drag a hand across your bare midsection, absently playing with the loose bikini strings.

 Of course you can’t see the way the edges of your dark, puffy nipples spill just over the edges of the triangular scraps of fabric. Sabrina’s attempt to help you maintain your modesty has done exactly the opposite, leaving you so indecently exposed that Ari finds himself wondering how the soft, plump lips of your cunt even fit in the bottoms. 

  God-fucking-dammit.

 Ari knows he should be focusing on the sparsely populated road, on the hour long drive it will take to get you home— not on the way he can see the pebbled outline of your perfect fucking nipples through that flimsy excuse for a bathing suit. Ari dares to glance in your direction again and groans quietly. You’re running your hands along your bare thighs, giggling and gasping at the sensation of your palms on your own skin. 

 “Ari, I didn’t know I was this soft,” you mumble, your eyes wide and pupils dilated. “Did you know that?” 

 He scrubs a hand down his face. 

 “Jesus, Kitten, you trying to kill me tonight?” He moans, dropping his head back against the seat. You lean over the middle console, an apology already on your trembling lips. 

 “I’m sorry.” It’s like you’re completely unaware of it, the thrall you have him in as you rest a warm little hand on his thigh. “How can I make it better?” 

  Martine’s fine at the house with Liam, right?

 —

  “Oh-oh God!” Your face is hidden, pressed against the hood of the car. Ari has your trembling legs spread as far apart as he can manage, his cock disappearing between the cheeks of your ass. “F-feels— oh— ” You’re even less articulate than usual, your sopping, needy cunt squeezing down around him like a vise. 

 Ari’s got your little white skirt rucked up around your waist, and the offending bikini pulled to the side so he can watch you take him. Seeing your pussy stretched open wide and straining around the veiny length of his cock is almost as good as feeling it. Ari doesn’t resist the urge to crack the palm of one hand against the cheek of your ass. You squeal, and God the way you fucking clench down is almost enough to make him bust right there—

 “Ari!” His name sounds like a desperate prayer on your lips. You’re practically writhing underneath him, your hands forming little fists on the hood of the Bentley. “G-God, feels—” He loves you like this, the words all gibberish on your loose tongue. “Fuck!”

 He especially likes it now that you’re high, hoarse curses falling from your lips as you raise yourself up onto your tip toes trying to meet his thrusts. It’s like some of your carefully crafted filter has come apart, allowing through the Kitten that isn’t afraid of judgment or reprisal. 

 “M’so full,” you whine pathetically, peering over your shoulder at him pleadingly. “More?” He isn’t expecting your breathy, perfect little plea, and the softly uttered request seems to go straight to his cock, and it throbs hard inside you. Ari groans, his head lolling back on his shoulders as he stares unseeingly at the night sky. “More, please.”

 The knot at the base of his cock is already starting to swell, and Ari clenches his teeth. Bracing one hand between your shoulders as he anchors the other to your hip. 

 “More, Kitten?” He asks, chuckling darkly. “Greedy girl. Can you even take more?” Ari draws back until the head of his cock pops out, and he slaps it wetly against your cunt. Slowly, he presses himself into the fucked-swollen mess of your pussy. He doesn’t stop when you begin straining against his knot, murmuring dark words of encouragement. 

 “You asked for this,” he reminds you, grinning when your forehead hits the hood with a thunk, and you let out a muffled cry. Ari joins you, a harsh growl tearing from his throat as his knot pops inside. “That enough, Kitten?” He asks through clenched teeth. “Your hungry fucking pussy finally full, Sweetheart?” 

 You push back against him, a lewd squelch filling both your ears. That’s enough of an answer for Ari. He growls, clamping down on the back of your neck with one hand as his fingers sink deep into the meat of your hip. His thrusts are shorter now, but fuller , and each one leaves you mewling and crying.   His whole world is condensing down to a single point. You’re all that matters, you, this moment, his cock buried in your slick, sweet core—

 “Oh f-fuck, God, Ari, c-cumming—” The nonsense that you manage to string together only barely precedes the way your cunt clamps deliciously around him like a hot wet fist. The pleasurable buzzing in the back of Ari’s skull becomes unbearable, traveling down his spine and shooting like electricity to the base of his cock. 

 Ari groans, bending over your back to sink his teeth into your shoulder, holding you still while he cums. He still doesn’t know how to explain how right it feels to press inside you and let go—like he’s supposed to. Fuck and the feel of you—Ari groans as you shift, your velvet walls shifting against his still hard cock. He leans back, releasing you so that he can stare appreciatively at your cunt.  Lips bulged out from the heavy girth of his knot, a mixture of both your fluids leaking out around it. 

 You peek over your shoulder at him, your hair sticking to your sweaty forehead. Your eyebrows are creased together, your glassy eyes shining with real worry. 

 “Ari?”

 “What’s the matter, Kitten?”

 “I think I left my phone.” 

  end

Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library​ for updates. ❤️

Likes and comments are amazing, but reblogs are golden! Please consider sharing my work so that others can see it too!

[personne-reblogs]

AUTISTIC SWEEP

The shouts of the crowd are fading into white noise. 

The curtains are closing. 

The lights are dimming. 

The air still feels filled with static, though. 

This is a fight Donatello had known he couldn’t win, logically. The competition had been all fun and games, but this challenger was another story. No amount of support or hype could make up for such a gap; the bone deep certainty didn’t leave room for hard feelings. 

Struggling to catch his breath, battle shell against the wall, Donatello looks up from where he’s been getting some rest - not passed out rest, mind you. More like a beauty nap.

He lets out a genuine chuckle. 

Shigeo Kageyama is simply standing there, as he has been for most of the fight. 

“Sweet Marie Curie,” he puffs, keeping his voice level. The roar of the crowd hasn’t entirely died down, but he knows he is heard. “You don’t even have a scratch.”

The one they call Mob is giving him a stare. He still seems a little out of it. 

“You fought well,” he states calmly, and Donnie giggles. 

“Oh, please. I’ve been losing tournaments at home for as long as I can remember. You don’t need to feel sorry for me.”

At that, Mob flashes a grin. “I’m not sorry,” he says bluntly, coming over in lazy steps. “But it hasn’t been easy, either.”

He sits down, legs stretched out in front of him, and Donnie can now see that his breathing is a little heavy. He feels himself get cocky. 

“Well, I wasn’t about to just let you win. If I had to go down, might as well give ‘em a show, right?”

Mob sends him a sideway glance. “You really are all about dramatics.”

“What can I say?” Donnie sighs theatrically, proving his point. “This whole competition is about being swag. I could hardly disappoint.” 

“I don’t think you could," his opponent utters. “You’re very expressive.”

Donnie raises a perfectly drawn eyebrow. This is something he hasn’t often been told. He looks over to Mob, and the tension in the boy’s shoulders makes him hum in thought. 

“I don’t know who’s next, but you are going to crush them,” he provides. When Mob gives him a nonplussed glance, he goes on. “And even if you don’t, it’s still the last one. How good does that sound?”

“... it has been getting a bit much, to be honest.”

“Yeah, this is wild,” Donnie agrees. “Anyway, what are you gonna do with your trophy once you get it?”

Mob’s smile is a little shy, but he seems happy with the distraction. “I don’t know, actually. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten one. What would you do?”

“Well, you see, there was this one time I won the Lair Games…”

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

In the next room, a very proud sensei and three worried brothers are getting impatient. 

The student and the sibling don’t seem to care at the moment. 

The crowd is gone. 

The curtains are closed. 

The lights are off. 

For now, making small talk with a former rival is just enough.

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

EDIT: there is now a sequel!

YOOO IT'S BEEN SUCH A WILD RIDE

Disclaimer: I have never read/watched mp100 and I deeply apologize for making him probably very ooc. Just wanted to celebrate this beast of a match in my own way, which is wishing I could draw and deciding to heave words on a doc instead lol

CONGRATS ON MOB!! The final match between mp100 and undertale is gonna be soooo funny but I think Mob's gonna win this thing like it's nothing tbh (he has my vote at least)

@autismswagsummit thank you for reblogging all that Donnie propaganda, I genuinely think he never would've made it this far without the signal boost!

All my thanks to the Rise fandom for these past few days! You guys have made such powerful content and there's been so much hype I'm shocked. SHOCKED I TELL YOU

[shewrites444]

earned it [thomas shelby x mafia/dominant reader smut]

word count - 3k

[ summary - the reader, the current head of the sicilian mob, meets with thomas shelby to discuss an issue that intervenes with both of their organizations. despite their mutual disliking for one another, thomas takes an interest to the business woman before him, and doesn’t seem to realize how powerful she may be. ]

[ warnings - mentions of violence, strong cursing, dirty talk, dominant female, oral (f & m), praise kink, unprotected sex ]

-

“and if we get ‘rid’ of him and his members, how are we going to go about that?” thomas shelby asked me from across the obnoxiously long dining table, lighting a cigarette and sinking into his chair.

i shrug nonchalantly, resting my arms against the table as i chew the steak his supposed aunt polly cooked for us. we’d be discussing this matter for so long my food was starting to get cold.

“we can handle that, all i ask is for you and your family to do the talking. get them out of birmingham and into italy. i know it’s a far stretch, but we can make it work. when someone is offered a lot of money, they’ll travel. the last thing their organization wants is no protection. i think they’d trust the mob’s word over a group of drunken, horse-betting brothers.”

thomas scoffed, moderately offended but also carrying a tone of impressment, taking a sip of his whiskey and gesturing the glass towards me. “you italians have a mouth on you, eh? you crawl around europe like the coppers, thinking you own the cities, only you’re not afraid to take out your guns, hm, mrs. [y/n].”

“i’m not married.” i mutter, once again taking the steak knife in my hand as i begin to cut the tender meat.

he quirked his brow, setting his glass down. “my mistake. i assumed that a woman who ran one of the most dangerous gangs in italy was wedded. i should’ve looked at your ring finger before i commented, miss [y/n].”

“we’re not here to discuss my marriage status, mr. shelby. this group of communists pose a real threat to both of our families. i can get back in my carriage right now and send my men in here to shoot you in the fucking head for all i care, if you don’t cooperate, or we can get back to information that actually matters, and your life goes on.” i look him in the eyes, a blank expression on my face.

he stood up, walking over to the bar cart and pouring himself more whiskey, taking another glass and filling it with a new bottle of red wine after popping the cork. he set it beside my plate, pulling out the chair next to me and sitting down.

“you can get pissed off all you want, dear, but i’m the one with a gun in my pocket. i could kill you, and your men, in a matter of seconds, so don’t think your words even draw a nick of blood on me.” he threatened, sipping his drink, enough to nearly empty the glass. “we can agree to disagree all night, or you can change your temper and we can figure out a neutral solution for the both of us.”

i chew my steak, watching him speak with a smirk on my redly tainted lips. i take the glass of wine and drink it slowly. “you are quite charming, mr. shelby. it almost offends me that you think i walked into your home unarmed, too.” i take my napkin and dab it on my lips before standing up, dusting off my black dress. “do as i say, and get them to italy. we can discuss the specifics after you speak to their leader. walk me to my carriage, won’t you?”

thomas stands up, pushing both of our chairs in before walking me to the back doorway, his whiskey glass still in hand, only a few ice cubes left inside and not even a shot’s worth of alcohol. i glance down at the purse in my hand, looking through to find my lipstick, confused if i had dropped it when i stood up from the table. i sigh, looking up to the peaky blinder who stood before me as he opened the door for me.

“give me one minute, i think i dropped my lipstick by my chair.” i set my purse down on the table aside their coat rack and walk back to the dining room, hearing his footsteps trail behind as he followed.

i lean down, seeing the lipstick on the floor and pick it up, turning around to bump into thomas, our faces not even two inches apart as he lightly pushed me against the table.

i roll my eyes, both hands planting against his chest and pushing him off. “i don’t think me saying i was unmarried was a suggestion, mr. shelby. not every woman becomes a whore when you have them over for dinner.”

“do you ever freely sleep around, miss [y/n]?” thomas asks, looking down to meet my eyes, then averting to my lips. “surely, a woman like you, can get whoever she wants. you run apart of the bloody world, for what it’s worth. do you ever fuck anyone on your level? someone as powerful as you are?”

“that’s none of your concern.” i say, glancing down at the light erection that was intruding his black slacks. “although, i definitely don’t fuck men that rudely come onto me when i make it clear i came over for strictly business.”

he grinned, one of his hands gently sliding onto my back, the other setting the glass on the table, one ice cube sliding onto his fingertips. he pressed it against my collarbone, sliding it down my skin softly.

“oh, but you definitely do. i think this says otherwise, don’t you think?” thomas tilts his head teasingly, gesturing to my hardening nipples as they protruded my dress.

i blush, shaking my head in disbelief. “you have a cold substance near my chest, that’s a natural reaction.”

“it’s not even near them, dear. i’m still pressing on your shoulder. it’s not a bad thing to admit you like this, miss [y/n].” he slides the ice cube further down my chest, his pinkie pushing my dress back, the v-neck fabric tucking itself underneath my right breast through his manipulation. he slid the substance over my nipple, causing me to sigh heavily. he couldn’t help but grin at my reaction.

thomas leaned down, dropping the ice cube back into the glass and licking my erect nipple, sucking lightly on the bud before pushing me against the table and sitting me down. i moan softly, looking up at the ceiling, my body now in a heat at his teasing touch.

“i think you choose not to fuck. from what it seems like, it may be a distraction for you. you’re a busy woman. perhaps there is no time for any sort of play.” thomas says, reaching over to expose my other breast. “you really don’t let anyone in, even physically. you and i, miss [y/n], are probably more alike than you realize.”

“don’t even try convincing me of that. i know you fuck, mr. shelby.”

“oh, really? you know that, how? because of how wet i already have you?” he asks, reaching his hand down and into my knee-length dress, pressing his fingers against my warm panties.

i hold my mouth shut, breathing heavily through my nose as he pushes the fabric to the side, lightly tracing his fingers against my wet folds.

“a woman like you wouldn’t like to be fucked like a whore, though. you expect much more than that. you’d like to be praised, as if you were a crown jewel in terms of your status. you’re someone who is clearly unfazed by most men, i can see that. you don’t give a fuck about them unless they worship you.”

“do you think you could possibly do that, mr. shelby? worship a woman?”

“not just any woman, no.” he begins, reaching his arm across my waist, snaking it around me to pull me up and into his chest, where he held me up and guided me to the bedroom next to the dining room. “it takes someone who knows who they are and what they can do to make me feel like they even deserve that type of treatment.”

he helped pull my dress off, leaving me in only my panties as he set me on the bed. i chose to oblige, partially due to the pleasure he was sinking me into, but also because i found it interesting he thought he would even have full control over the situation. thomas was right about me choosing to not fuck, but that didn't mean i fell at the feet of a man who knew what he was doing. thomas shelby was a powerful man, sure, but he could never climb the ladder high enough to reach my level.

“but you, you know what you can do. you do what has to be done, miss [y/n]. you threatened to put a gun to my head, what kind of woman does that? a fucking powerful one.” thomas nearly moans at his own words, leaning down to kiss me before he began to undress.

i return the kiss, my legs still shut, as thomas began to unbutton his shirt, glancing down at my waiting body. he undressed himself fully, standing naked before me as he climbed into the bed and leaned down on his knees, sliding off my underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he hovered above me, planting a passionate kiss against my lips, leaving red residue from my lipstick on his own lips while he slid his tongue into my mouth. i feel his fingers slide inside of me, my legs spreading in reaction as he began to finger me. his lips trailed from my neck to my breasts, sucking my nipples back and forth as he pumped his fingers in and out of my pussy.

i close my eyes, my mouth hung open as i moan in pleasure from his touch. i could feel his eyes on me, watching nothing but my expression. the mental part of me hated giving into thomas shelby’s advances, but the physical side of me could care less. he knew what he was doing, it seemed like, but frankly, so did i.

“oh, you’re so fucking wet, love. you’re practically dripping onto my fingers, onto my bed..” thomas cooes, pulling himself out of me and into his mouth, licking my juices. “and you taste just as good as i imagined. how did i get so lucky to touch you?”

i lightly sit up, leaning over to pull him back into a kiss as i climb off the bed, thomas now sitting at the edge. i get on my knees and take his cock into my hand, spitting on his tip and beginning to lick his cock, up and down, pressing light kisses against his skin as he watched, his expression showing nothing but lust, as he grinned from cheek to cheek at my actions.

“fuck,” he mutters, resting his hands on the bed. “you look beautiful when you play with my cock, love.” he moans as i slide him into my mouth and down my throat, still looking up to meet his eyes. he reaches over to hold my chin in one hand, gently guiding my head up and down. “that’s it, please keep taking my cock. you’re so pretty when you do so, love. i can’t wait to fuck you, you’ve got me nearly finishing at the thought of it.”

i pump him inside of my throat, feeling his orgasm nearly reach the surface as he groans at the build up of it all. i pull away, taking his length in one hand as he cums onto my face, his seed coating all over my mouth and cheeks.

“oh, fuck, you look so fucking good, [y/n]. your mouth felt so fucking good.” thomas praises, watching as i lean back, tracing my finger across my cheeks, licking his cum off and into my mouth. he stares in awe, reaching his hands over to help me stand up and get back onto the bed. he presses a hard kiss against my lips, laying back down as i lay on top of him.

“i don’t think you understand this, thomas.” i smirk, cupping his face with both of my hands. “you don’t just get to fuck me, you know that, right? you have to earn it. i’m the motherfucking leader of a mob, after all. i don’t fuck just anyone, not even thomas shelby, no matter how good you may be at fucking.”

he tilted his head, grabbing me by the hips and pulling me back down. “is that so? your cunt is practically begging for me to fuck it. we don’t have to play this game, love. please, let me touch you further.”

i roll over and out of his grip, laying down next to him and spreading my legs, gesturing for him to get in front of me. “then fuck me with your tongue, and we’ll see what i think of anything further than that.”

he chuckles, seemingly surprised by how bossy i could be, but leaned down anyway, adjusting himself to wrap his arms around my thighs, his face stuffed between them as his tongue attached to my clit, flicking the bud of sensitive flesh. i moan softly, watching thomas lick between my folds and back up to my clit, back and forth, which only drew a pit in my stomach, as my orgasm slowly began to build. i was more surprised by his efforts more than his experience. of course thomas shelby knew how to fully pleasure a woman when she demanded it.

“fuck, thomas..” i moan softly, reaching down to hold his black hair with one hand. “just like that, baby, and you’ll be fucking me so soon. god, that feels good.”

he quickens his pace a bit, my back gently arching up in reaction to his action, my free hand gripping the white bedsheets as he helped me very quickly reach my orgasm, my fluids releasing onto the sheets and his lips. i dripped down his chin but he didn’t seem to care, taking me by the hips and moving one leg on top of his shoulder, sliding his hard length inside of me with one slow stroke, both of us moaning at the sudden stimulation.

“oh, fucking hell, [y/n], my god, dear, you’re so fucking wet, you feel so good, fuck,” thomas groans, leaning down to kiss me, his free hand taking my breast into his his palm and squeezing harshly, earning a moan from me into his mouth as our tongues fight for dominance.

i pull away from the kiss, looking down to watch him pump his thick, wet cock into my pussy. my tits bounce at his thrusts, my core feeling every single touch. thomas held my ankle to keep my leg up, his other hand pulling away from my breast and down to my hips, holding the side of my waist to further his steady grip.

“you take my cock so well, [y/n].” thomas compliments, glancing down to meet my eyes as i look away from our bodies. “i could watch you forever, fuck. the way you look right now is absolutely stunning, no one can ever fucking compare to your cunt.”

i lean up slightly, resting on my elbows, grinning at thomas as he fucks me. “you really think so, thomas? then why don’t you fuck me harder? make me cum again, baby, i want to so badly. make me cum with you.”

“if you want me to fuck you harder, [y/n], you’re going to have to turn around for me.” thomas suggests, lightly pulling himself out of me and also wiping the sweat from his forehead, assisting me as i turn around, all fours against the bed as i arch my ass up, feeling tommy’s hands play with it by squeezing the flesh and slapping it lightly.

“you’re perfect from behind too, fuck. is there anything about you i can dislike? you italians may have bloody mouth, but you take me so well in yours, love.” he says, pushing himself back inside of me.

he holds me by the hips, starting to fuck me, but much harder than before. our skin slaps together as he pushes himself in much deeper, so much so that i was gasping at his touch, grabbing the sheets and holding them as hard as i could, despite the sweat that was collecting on my palms.

“f-fucking hell, tommy..” i moan into the sheets, my head resting against the pillow. “you fuck me so good, baby, keep going like that, fuck! fucking fill me up, tommy, fuck!”

he leans down to grab my neck, pounding inside of my walls before our moans begin to sync, our orgasms releasing a matter of seconds after as we finish together, his warm seed filling my insides and my own cum dripping from between us, tricking down my now shaking legs.

thomas pulls out of me, turning me over to lay beside him. he wraps one arm around me, but glances down to meet my eyes, and kisses me tiredly.

“next time, you’re going to be the one begging me to fuck you.” he says in a more demanding tone, a small smirk on his lips. “i don’t like to ask nicely.”

i sigh, rolling over onto my stomach so i could face him completely. “then you’re fucking the wrong woman, thomas.”

he shook his head, cupping my cheek and kissing me once more. “oh, believe me, i think i’m with the exact woman i need to be fucking.” he sits up, rolling out of the bed and to the dresser, grabbing a pair of underwear.

“let’s discuss this communist issue one more time, work out the details.” he says, slipping his boxers on. “and if we come to an agreement tonight, i’ll ask nicely again in the morning, unless you need to get back to your people?"

i stand up, picking up my underwear and sliding them on, as thomas hands me a larger white shirt to put on. “i think i’d rather you ask again tonight, mr. shelby. my people can wait overnight if it's for a good cause.” i tease, opening the bedroom door before walking back out to the dining room table, grabbing the half-empty glass of wine and taking it down in one sip.

thomas stands behind me, taking the empty glass and setting it back on the table, pressing himself up against me, placing his palm on my back to push me down on the furniture. "let's push our meeting back a few more minutes then. here's me asking, miss [y/n]."

he begins to kiss my neck and i reach between my legs, pushing my panties to the side as i hear his boxers hit the floor. this was going to be an unexpectedly long night.

[writingpastmybedtime]

Happy Accident

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader

Summary: Bucky and his daughter decide to paint together, but what happens when the little one retells her dream to her dad a little bit too enthusiastically?

Word Count: 690, I know it's short, but I really wanna start writing more about mob!Bucky and his family.

Warnings: None.

Request: Yes.

It had been raining heavily throughout the day, which ruined Bucky’s and his daughter’s plans to go to an amusement park that had just opened up in town. He sighed, looking at his little girl, who was currently slightly snoring, and started thinking of other fun things to do. He suddenly looked towards his daughter’s desk, when a great idea came to him.

Taking out the different coloured paints and a few pieces of paper, he sat on the floor, placing everything neatly next to him. 

“Daddy?”

Bucky glanced at his baby girl, who had just woken up from her slumber. 

“Hey there, little one,” he said, walking towards her and picking the little one up. “How’d you sleep?” 

She hugged Bucky and yawned, obviously still in the middle of waking up. Bucky chuckled and placed her on the floor, next to the paints and brushes. 

His little girl meant everything to him. She was his pride and joy, and he had hired more than enough security in and out of the house the moment he first laid eyes on her. 

The little one smiled up at him and like always Bucky was mesmerised by how someone could look so perfect.

Well besides his wife, who the little one looked like more with each day that passed. He smiled at the thought. Thankful that the world, even though cruel at times, had blessed him with a loving headstrong wife and an adorable daughter, who he could spoil till the end of time.

“Oh, are you going to paint with me?” The little girl squealed, as Bucky nodded.

She automatically turned more zealous, pushing a brush into the blue paint, and drawing a random line on the paper. 

“You know, Daddy,” she began, whilst adding more haphazard objects to the painting, her brushstrokes becoming more erratic by the second, “I had a really funny dream.” Bucky watched his little child in awe, listening attentively to her story, and at the same time doodling an obnoxiously fat cat on a separate paper.

“You were battling a big dragon, who was trying to steal Mummy.” She continued her story, taking hold of the small container for the blue colour. 

“You had this big sword and then you pushed it into the dragon's stomach-” She suddenly jumped up in enthusiasm, making the blue paint in the container fall straight onto Bucky. 

“I’m sorry, Daddy.” The little girl said, trying to hold back her laughter, but failing. Bucky was speechless, looking at his hands and clothes, which were all blue due to the incident. 

“You two look like you’re having fun,” Y/N spoke, looking at the mess in front of her. If only Bucky’s employees could see their mob boss right now, covered in blue paint from head to toe and looking completely helpless. Y/N tilted her head and smiled at the sight of her dear husband.

‘Mummy,’ the little child squealed and ran up to her mum. “I accidentally spilled the blue paint on Daddy, but I didn’t mean to, I swear.” Y/N laughed, looking at Bucky, who was still trying to comprehend what had happened, albeit with an amused expression appearing on his face. Y/N lowered herself to come face to face with her daughter and kissed her on the cheek.

“Go to the kitchen, sweetie, I brought ice cream,” Y/N instructed the little one, who smiled widely and ran off towards the promised dessert. Y/N took another glance at Bucky, who was now laughing uncontrollably, looking at himself through the mirror on the wall. 

“I look like a smurf,” he smiled, looking at Y/N, who just shook her head at him. 

“And to think I married an idiot,” she said to the man who was now walking up to her. 

“You could be a smurf too, you know.” 

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows, but before she could understand what he had meant, Bucky had already pressed his lips on hers, pulling her as close as he could. 

Just to make sure, she’d be stained with the blue paint as thoroughly as possible.

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Hi! I love love love the other half. After the last chapter I hope Bruce does something nice for shop girl (and for himself to ig). Them being sweet just makes me screech.

Previous Part | Masterlist | Final Part

Some sweet Bruce comin' riiiight up

Warnings: Very light angst; mostly fluff

Not beta-read

“Are you awake?” Bruce’s breath brushes against the bare skin of your shoulder. You grunt softly, shifting where you lay on your belly. The sheets are soft and warm beneath you; you can see sunlight beginning to creep in between the curtains of the master bedroom of the mansion. 

“...No,” You finally mumble, voice grumbling and thick with sleep. Bruce chuckles, pressing a sweet kiss to your shoulder as his palm brushes over your back, dipping beneath the covers. You hum softly, arching up into his touch and sighing through your nose. 

“Why are you awake?” You counter. “What time did you get in?” 

“A little after two.” 

“Oh, wow. Early night for you.” 

“Moderately.” 

You roll onto your back, gently dislodging Bruce’s hand. You scrub the sleep from your eyes with the heels of your palms before you finally tip your chin up, getting a better look at him. He does look more well-rested than he has in a while: his eyes are bright as he smiles down at you. 

Christmas and New Years had passed with little to no incident. Your Christmas celebration had been small; the most tense point had been a short video call with your parents. Conversation overall had been stilted, but not as bad as pulling teeth. New Year’s had been spent at Liz and Grant’s for their blowout celebration, but your night with Bruce had ended early when the signal had shown in the sky. 

Still, despite your bumps and hurdles, you feel like the two of you are slowly inching toward where you had been before your break-up. Some of the buoyancy is coming back to both of you. With your relationship no longer Gotham’s best-kept secret, Bruce openly picks you up after work. Sure, you’re still mobbed by the press, but you’re so used to it that it hardly makes a dent anymore. You aren’t tip-toeing around one another. If you have a disagreement, Bruce stays to talk it out. Now and again he may step out of the room to get his head together—but he always comes back. 

It isn’t perfect—it will never be perfect—but it feels more solid, and safe. 

You raise your hand, sweeping it gently across his cheek, and giggling softly as he tips his head to press a kiss to your palm. 

“Someone’s in a good mood.”

“Well someone,” Bruce leans closer, brushing his nose against yours, “Has plans for you today.” 

“For me? Little ol’ me?” 

You hardly have a chance to get the tease out before Bruce captures your lips in a tender kiss. You sink back into the mattress as he presses closer, looping your arms around his shoulders and smiling as his tongue gently probes between your lips. You hum at the feeling, shifting your hips as Bruce’s hand skims across them, then down your thigh. You pout as he draws back just a little, dropping another peck to your lips before his forehead rests against yours.

“What are these plans, exactly?”

“I don’t want to ruin any surprises.” 

“Surprises?” You lean into it as your brows raise. Plural?” 

“You’ll see.” Bruce gives you one more quick, warm kiss before he leans away. “Shower, get dressed. I’ll get you some coffee.” 

You push yourself up onto your elbows, an intrigued smile curling your lips. “What the hell are you up to, mister?” 

“You’ll see!” 

-- 

Bruce doesn’t let a single tip slip throughout your shared coffee, or on the way out—not even when you crowd him into an alcove by the stairs and nibble on his earlobe. He nearly crumbles for a moment, but he rests his hands on your hips and gives them a lusty squeeze before reassuring: “There’ll be plenty of time for that later.” 

You narrow your eyes slightly as Bruce steers you out of the dim space, a smile curling your lips as you take in the rising flush in his cheeks. 

“Looking a little flustered there, Mr. Wayne.” 

“What ever gave you that idea—Alright,” He chuckles as you lean in, pushing cool air over his earlobe. “You can’t get secrets out of me that way.” He curls his arm around yours, steering you toward the front steps of the mansion. 

“Mm, but I was this close. What would the sinister of Gotham think if they found out that Batman needed so little teasing to crumble?” 

“Why do you think the helmet covers my ears?” 

You snort, bumping your hip against him before the two of you slow at the sight of Alfred standing in front of one of Bruce’s cars. 

“Go on,” Bruce urges softly when you meet his eye again. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“At one of my many surprises?” 

“Exactly.” 

You pucker your lips, and grin as Bruce leans in for another indulgent kiss. 

“Love you.” 

“Love you, too.” He pats your lower back, urging you forward. “I’ll see you later.” 

You grunt, jogging down the front steps. 

“Morning, Alfred.” 

“Good morning, miss.” 

“I take it you’re in on these shenanigans?” 

“Shenanigans may be a rather harsh word for the day ahead.” He shoots you a wink as he opens the door for you. 

“Any hints?” 

“I’ve been sworn to secrecy.” 

--  

Alfred leaves you at the front door of Grove, one of your favorite restaurants, at 11:30 AM on the dot, and tells you that your name is on the reservation. You linger in the reception area as the waiter prepares your table. 

“Ugh, tell them to hurry up, I want a fucking mimosa.” 

You shriek at the familiar voice, whirling around from the reception desk and right into Michelle’s arms. She cackles, and the two of you hug one another tightly for a long few moments. 

“What are you doing here!” You ask, reeling away to get a better look at her. 

"Moneybags offered to fly me in. No way was I turning down first class, a free brunch, and…Some other stuff.” 

“Ugh, not you, too,” You whine. You let it drop just long enough for the waiter to show the two of you to a quiet table at the back of the restaurant. You let Michelle order the two of you a round of mimosas before you lean across the table. “Come on, not even a hint?” 

“Well, I’m going to be around for a few hours, but that’s all you’re getting.” 

“When did he reach out?” 

“Like…I don’t know, sometime during gooch week?” 

“During what?”

“Gooch week—you know, the week between Christmas and New Years? Like the bit between the asshole and the—” 

“Okay, I got it, I got,” You wave her off as the waiter sets down your mimosas. “What did he tell you, at least? That made you come down here.” 

“He said that he wanted to do something nice for you.” 

You hum thoughtfully, narrowing your eyes as you consider what that could possibly mean. Bruce does nice things for so often.

“I think he still feels like he needs to make up for the whole…Situation.” 

“Well, he does,” Michelle mutters, taking up her glass and taking a deep swig. You fight back a chastising frown. 

“...He’s been getting better. We’ve been better,” You insist. 

“Do you think he’s going to propose tonight?” 

Her question stuns you, and for a moment, you can’t say anything. The prospect makes your head spin, and you actually lean back in your seat with the weight of it. 

“I…” You shake your head, “I don’t…” 

Michelle’s lift with interest, and she leans in. 

“You don’t…what? Know how big the ring is gonna be?” 

“I don’t think he’s going to ask,” You laugh. “I mean, at least, not right now. He and I haven’t spoken about it in a long time.” 

“Not even after the attack?” 

“We’ve talked about a lot of things, but that’s not one of them.” 

Michelle grunts softly. “If he proposed tonight, what would you say?” 

“He’s not going to.” 

“But if he did?” 

“Knee-jerk reaction? Probably yes. But we’ve still got a lot of crap to sort through.” 

“Like what?”

“Like…” You flub for a a reasonable answer before you manage: “He’s an insomniac.” 

Michelle's expression is rife with disbelief, and you couldn't blame her. To a reasonable person, it's probably not a great reason to end a relationship.

“That’s a deal breaker for you?” 

“I know it sounds kinda petty, but it makes more of an impact than you’d think.” 

“What else?” 

“I mean, I’d kind of like him to make peace with my parents before any of that. Not like, go to them and ask for my hand—I don’t care about that and they don’t, either. But if he’s going to be family to them, I just want all of that bad blood from Thanksgiving cleared up.” 

“He wasn’t given the green after the office?”

“I mean, they appreciated it, but my mom is convinced that bad luck just follows him.” 

“Maybe it does.” 

You purse your lips, swirling your mimosa a little. 

“Maybe.” 

The two of you consider it for a few moments before Michelle reaches out, patting your hand and pointing to your menu. 

“Let’s order. I don’t want to miss our spa appointment.” 

“Spa?” 

She winces. “Just act surprised when we turn up so Lord Fancy doesn’t report back to the billionaire that I spoiled anything.” 

-- 

“Are you kidding me?” 

Bruce smiles smugly as he watches you nearly double over in laughter. You don’t care that the entire floor staff of Chef du Roi is looking at you like you’re insane. 

“I figured we should try the food here at least once,” Bruce insists as you calm, steering you by the arm toward your table. You swipe a few tears that had gathered from your eyes, chuckling still as he draws your chair out for you. 

“Thank you.” Your smile widens as Bruce leans in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek before he rounds to his seat. You take the proffered menu from the waiter, flipping it open. You wait until the waiter is out of earshot before you comment, “You know, I’ve been dying for Chipotle lately.” 

“Ha-ha.” 

You giggle, wriggling your foot out of your new pair of pumps and gently brushing your toe along his calf. Bruce’s gaze flickers to yours from beneath his lashes, and you fight back a devilish grin. 

“So, the spa, the shopping spree, flying in my best friend…May I ask what triggered such largesse?” 

“Well, it’s not every day that I have to scramble to make up for missing our first anniversary by bringing you back to the scene of our first date,” Bruce comments, glancing between menu pages. It feels a little like a goad—especially considering the fact that he’s the reason you’d missed your anniversary, and you both know it. You just hum thoughtfully, glancing over the entrees. 

“...Technically the scene of our first date was the diner near the store I worked at,” You remind him. “This was our second date—And we didn’t even eat here.” 

“Nitpick nitpick nitpick.”

“I learned from the best.”

“Michelle?” 

“Alfred.” 

Bruce chuckled, setting his menu aside. “How is Michelle?” 

“She’s doing pretty well. Still adjusting to Keystone City, obviously, but she said that she enjoys how quiet it is by compairson…Thank you, by the way.”

“I know how much you’ve been missing her.” 

“...She’s worried.” 

“That I’ll do it again?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Are you worried?” “Should I be?” 

You don’t look up from your menu for a moment. You can feel him watching you heavily, but you don’t let it bow or shy you back from the question. You feel the table shift as he leans forward a little. 

“Baby.” 

“Mm?” 

“If for some reason I lose my mind and do that again, I want you to take everything out of the mansion that isn’t nailed down.” 

You bite back a smile, nodding. “Do me a favor and jot that out on a napkin. Alfred can notarize it when we get home.” 

“Alfred can notarize it tomorrow morning. He has the night off.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Bruce’s foot hooks around your ankle, tugging a little closer beneath the table. You can’t help but wonder what sort of picture you make to the staff—Bruce, watching you so closely, you, studying your menu as if the waiter’s going to quiz you on it, and your feet hooked together, visible just beneath the end of the tablecloth. 

“Because if you’re amenable, our plans don’t end with dinner.” 

“What do they end with?” 

“That is up to you.” 

“Do I get to know my options?”

“I think you know your options.”

“Mm.” You make a show of turning the page of your menu, stalling and trying to weigh your words. “...So is this going to be an evening on the…Earlier side?” 

“Not if I can help it.” 

“...But if you can’t help it?” 

“It’s going to take a lot to get me away from you tonight.” 

“You know if you changed one word and omitted another, you would’ve been quoting Toto’s Africa.”

“That wasn’t on purpose.”

“Wasn’t it?” You cast him a glance from beneath your lashes.

“No.” 

Your brows tip up, and his stern insistence melts before he shrugs. “Heard it on the way over.” 

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s catchy.” 

“It’s very popular.” 

“I mean it.”

“...I know.” 

“You know?” 

“I know it’s catchy.” 

He laughs softly, and you reach out, curling your hand around his. 

“I know you mean it,” You reassure gently. Bruce smiles, raising his hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“...How long do you think the staff is going to linger over there?” He asks. 

“I think they’re afraid to come over.” 

“I don’t bite.” 

“Sure you do.”

“Not with an audience.” 

Final Part

[crackedpumpkin]

Hiiii!!! How are you?? I was wondering if you could write a Hiro hamada x fem!reader who’s a kinda famous teen actress?? (Also with tadashi still alive if you don’t mind…In my brain he didn’t die in the movie 🥲)

Hello hello!! I'm doing okay, thanks for asking! Just a bit dead tired from work. I adored writing this, and that rizzed up line hit me outta nowhere i swear i might just be boyfriend material in the wrong vessel bro.

Warnings: Aged Up! Characters, lil Tadashi appearance cause mans not dead in my eyes.

|| ᴜɴᴅᴇʀᴄᴏᴠᴇʀ || ʜɪʀᴏ ʜᴀᴍᴀᴅᴀ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ||

[ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ]

You enter the cafe, glancing at the display case filled with pastries and doughnuts. Your mouth waters, your stomach rumbling hungrily. You notice the small chatter around you and become self-conscious. 

In retrospect, someone wearing a broad-brimmed hat and sunglasses with a mask covering the bottom half of their face is bound to draw some looks here and there.

But today’s your day off from work, and you intend to enjoy it fully without being mobbed by the paparazzi. You had decided in the morning to wander around San Fransokyo, maybe even catch a glimpse of the superheroes everyone’s been talking about, when you decided to stop at a cafe for lunch.

You join the short queue of customers, trying to decide what to get as you scan the menu. The big breakfast looks incredibly appealing, and the photo beside its name almost makes you drool. You could really use some coffee to energize yourself as well.

You’re finally in front of the cashier, having waited patiently for the person in front to count their change before they leave. The cute boy in front of you looks to be around your age, and the way he runs a hand through his fluffy hair makes you smile. 

“What can I get you?” He pauses when he looks up at you, slightly caught off guard by your getup. You clear your throat, fighting back the embarrassed flush that blooms on your cheeks. 

“Hi, could I get a large latte and a big breakfast combo?” You request, though your voice is slightly muffled through the mask. 

“Yeah, sure. How would you like your eggs?”

“Scrambled, please.”

“Your total will be eleven dollars and thirty cents.” He tells you. Your wallet is already pulled out, but in your haste to grab the money, your sunglasses slide off your face with a clatter on the counter. 

You freeze, a twenty dollar bill in your hand as he picks it up for you. You take it back from him with a thankful nod, accidentally making eye contact before quickly sliding them back on. 

Your breath hitches in that second, scared that he had recognized you and would call the paps to spread the news that you’re here. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. He probably hadn’t gotten a good look at you, considering that your hat might’ve blocked most of his view.

“Where do I collect the food?” You ask, picking up the change.

“It’s okay. I’ll bring it to you.”

“Oh, do you do that for all the customers here?” You’re surprised, though it’s very nice of them to do so.

“Only the pretty ones.” He smirks slightly with a shrug as he waits for the small printer to spit out the receipt.

Your lips part, trying to find a response after his words render you speechless.

“And I don’t usually give discounts either.” He adds with a small smile, handing you back your receipt. You take it with a shy smile and bashful nod, scurrying to an empty seat next to the window. 

You pull out your phone, already buzzing with messages from your manager telling you to return quickly for a new reading of a script that’s been offered to you. You sigh, not opening any of them before pulling out a book and headphones. You connect the wireless headphones to your phone, slumping back in your secluded corner and pressing play on the music.

You open the book, starting off from the page that you left off. It’s your favourite book, smiling fondly at the dog-eared pages your thumb brushes against. You read for a while, removing your hat and sunglasses and placing them beside you for better lighting. 

You’re interrupted when the smell of coffee hits you, looking up to see the cute cashier that had flirted with you earlier. Your eyes immediately widen, heat blooming on your cheeks as he looks down at you with a grin, placing your coffee and plate of food on your table. 

You try to help him arrange the things on your table, your hands brushing against his when you reach for the salt shaker at the same time. He chuckles nervously, and you also spot a faint red on his cheeks when he averts his eyes with a shy smile. 

“Thanks,” You manage to say, your lips suddenly dry when your gaze meets his.

“No problem, hope you enjoy. I’d love to hear what you think of the Lucky Cat Cafe’s food.”

You nod, filing away the name for any future visits. He leaves with another quick glance over his shoulder, and you tear your eyes away from his retreating figure. You start to eat, glancing up every now and then to see him interacting with other customers. 

When a group of people enter the shop, he greets them with a warm smile, making your stomach flip as you clear your throat, looking away. Your eyes unintentionally settle on his figure again, only to inhale sharply when you notice he’s also looking at you.

Your gaze drops down to your food, feeling hot as the blush creeps up your neck to your cheeks. You’re an actress, for goodness sake, you scold yourself, so act!

You focus on your food, but hushed whispers attract your attention. You look back up, noticing that his group of friends are watching you with wide eyes as recognition fills their eyes. You stiffen, trying to finish your food more quickly. 

You hear the whispers die down, glancing up again curiously to see him frowning and saying a few words to his friends with his hand on his hip, and they glance back apologetically with bashful nods. You quickly nod back with a flustered wave when he smiles at you again.

Once you finish your food, you leisurely sip your coffee, watching the cute guy occasionally. He seems to do the same, sneaking small glances here and there. He’d be talking to a customer, only for his eyes to wander over to where you’re sitting.

You’d know; you caught him doing it a few times.

He finally settles one more customer before walking over and taking your empty plate. “So? How’s the food?” He asks, his friends having wandered upstairs to hang out with someone that looks like his brother, the older one giving him a noogie you chuckled at.

“It’s delicious. And,” You hesitate, “Thank you.” 

It’s genuine, and you’re sure he can sense what you’re referring to when his eyes flicker over to you with a hint of surprise before his lips curve upwards into an attractive grin.

“Anything for a cute girl like yourself.”