#the cardigan is only for the outfit she will feel the tingles and throw it off in a minute

[thinkingnot]

making an oc and she’s so cute

her name’s Droop and she’s a fully grown- teenager <- giving her a rebellious phase as we speak

[devilrainbunnie]

Bad, So Bad

Dom!Tomura Shigaraki x Sub!Fem!Reader

a/n: this photo of shig is literally so hot i hate him. i don’t know what it is, but this photo makes me wish he’d throw me down a flight of stairs. tomura shigaraki i would like to ask for your hand in marriage. that’s all. also it keeps switching because i feel like nasty shig would just call you everything— a slut, a pet, a good girl, a brat— he likes it all. idk if that makes sense but, it does to me hehe.

cw: smut, 18+ minors do not interact i check for it, dom shiggy, face fucking, drool, hardcore sex, breeding kink?, jealous tomura, pet play, slight angst

Quite honestly, you were pissing him off a fuck ton since the morning. Tomura had been busy the entire week with planning, traveling, and focusing on a new mission of his that required a lot of thought from his unprepared mind. That week, he had paid you little to no mind. Going about his routine, and brushing you off any time you tried to gather his attention. You’d even put on his favorite set of lingerie, thigh highs, cat ears and all, he just brushed you off entirely. Not caring how sexy you happened to look, he was too busy doing other stuff, and you were simply just in his way. Not once had Tomura denied you like that, he was a raging sex fiend. It was so out of character you almost considered the possibility of him being under the effect of a quirk.

Today however, you reversed the roles. Not acknowledging him at all like you usually do in the morning, instead of your typical ‘good morning, how’d you sleep?’. You just rolled off the bed, and walked into the bathroom. Not even batting an eye at his half-concious state, he found it a bit out of character for you but, maybe you had just simply forgotten to say something, or didn’t notice he was awake. But that also didn’t make much sense to him, you could sense his presence the second he stepped foot into a room. It’s also not like you to still not acknowledge him even if he was asleep, hell, sometimes he’d wake up with you sucking his dick. He’s even caught you talking to him as if he was awake once, you got so embarrassed, you probably did think he was awake. Yes, he did tease you about that, and yes, it is still one of the only things in the relationship that can make you go absolutely mute with humiliation.

Then after that, you walked out wearing the skimpiest outfit he’d ever seen you wear in front of the rest of the league. You were wearing a cute little short dress that rode up midway between your thighs, some soft socks that left an inch or so gap of skin beneath your dress, and a soft cardigan you’d often wear to cover yourself before Tomura was due to come back. You looked sexy, wearing an outfit he loved to see you in, and he knew that it was meant to drive him wild. His jaw was clenched the entire time he was getting ready, he almost gripped the door handle so hard his last finger touched. He hated how often he’d have to replace the door handles around the bar, it wasn’t even funny how much money he’d already spent.

Tomura walked out, about to go to a meeting with Giran, as he headed into the main room of the bar, he saw you on the couch. Posed all innocently, with a lollipop in your mouth, and watching something on your phone. Before he decided to leave, he tried to say goodbye to you, and you simply just got off of the couch, walking into another room, all while you refused to take your eyes off of your phone. His chest felt a little tight after that, and his knuckles were constantly tightly held in a fist. Tomura began to feel a bit insecure, were you losing feelings for him? No, that wouldn’t happen though, then what’s going on with you? What-- oh, oh… you want to play like that? Make him all worked up, angry, and jealous so he’ll pay attention to you? Good luck.

Then the worst happened around when he came back, it was about 12 hours later. The entire night, in the back of his mind he was thinking about what to do with you now. Should he apologize? Should he just start ignoring you back? Should he just have sex with you already? Did you want it rough, or something? Is that why you were being such a goddamned brat? He didn’t know, this was new to him. But his mind was suddenly made as he caught visuals on the horrendous sight in front of him. There you were sat at the bar, cardigan long forgotten about, and replaced by Dabi’s flirtatious aroma. You were obviously drinking a bit, and the patchwork villain took it upon himself to inch closer to you. Tomura stood outside of the door frame for a bit, watching as the two of you conversed. Dabi was practically throwing himself on you, his hand soon closed in on the small of your back, his body turned to face you. Tomura stood practically fuming, so angry in fact he had to hold back from grabbing him by his chin, and turning him away from the league for good— translated as turning him into nothing more but a pile of ash. But a part of him wanted to act rationally to the situation, if we were playing oblivious tonight, Tomura was just going to have to punish you the best way he knows how to punish you. May the heavens be with your poor cunt tonight.

The blue haired man took it upon himself to enter the space, squeezing himself between the two of you. Grabbing Dabi’s filthy paws off of you, making it a point to grab your thigh with his pinkie raised. “I think it’s about time you went to bed, right, Dabi?”

Dabi sighed, running his hand through his raven locks. “Yup.” he turned his attention back to you. “Night sweet cheeks, don’t like crusty over here bite.”

“She’ll be just fine, besides-- she likes when I bite her.” he began to kiss your neck, sucking a soft piece of flesh at your sweet spot while watching the man awkwardly try to exit the scene. The little airy moan that left your lips causing the man to smirk, Tomura’s cock twitching at the sound. “Remember what I told you Dabi. I expect this to not happen again, or else.”

‘What?’ You thought to yourself. It’s true, Tomura had a conversation with Dabi once the two of you practically became official. Well, it was less of a conversation and more of Tomura saying ‘if you touch my girlfriend ever again I’ll disintegrate your limbs and watch you flop around like a fish.’ but you didn’t need to know that. He was just protecting you after all. Just like he was now, fully caging your body under his hold, your back to his chest as he nibbled on your sweet flesh. Absolutely enraged with you, and your recent behavior. Going slow, and soft with you, despite his absolute craving to tear you apart with his cock. Watch you beg, and cry for him.

“You’ve really upset me today, Y/n. You know how much you mean to me, so why must you be so rude with me? Crushed my heart babe. That’s not what good girls do. So we’re going to do things my way, no complaints, no buts, no ifs-- only good girls get it how they want it. You haven’t been a good girl, isn’t that right?” he asked, his lips tickling the shell of your ear as he whispered to you. 

“N-No, you’re right. I haven’t been good. I’ve been bad, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—“ you begged, knowing exactly what was about to happen to you. Not wanting him to stop at all, but enjoying the feeling of his unhinged, sex-driven energy.

“— Aht, aht. What did I say? Good girls get it how they want it, don’t try to save face now.” he chuckled darkly, picking you up from your bar stool, smashing you roughly against the bar counter. Making sure your plump rear was in perfect view of his face. He was quick to lift up your little dress, staring at the lacy f/c panties you had on. Cupping your ass in his hands, roughly squeezing the flesh as he tried to gather the smallest peak at your warm folds. “So pretty, bet it’ll look even more cute covered with bruises.”

You couldn’t even lie, you felt your stomach tingle with desire at his words. There was always something so attractive about Tomura becoming so dominant with you out of jealousy, or just in general. Even though you’d be sore for a couple of days, the whips, bruises, and aching muscles were worth it. Nothing was better than having Tomura absolutely destroy your body after a long while of his touch being absolutely neglected from you, but never had it honestly been from work stress. Mostly due to his longer missions you were forbidden to go on. Needless to say, you were bubbling with excitement and curiosity. Was he going to punish you different from the last times? You’d never ignored him before like this, this was going to be fun.

“I want you to count every strike, out loud. Okay?” he didn’t wait for you to reply. Raising his hand in the air, and swinging it open palm directly against your bare cheek. You whimpered out loud, the slap echoing in the room, and a burning sting against your cheek.

“O-one.” you croaked out, trying to bare with the pain of the slap. Your lacy underwear slowly becoming soaked as you anticipated his next move.

Tomura gave you almost no time to recover, as he brought his palm up to slap your other cheek. You cried out in pain and pleasure, clenching your teeth so hard you swore your jaw was going to fall off.

“Ahh! Two!” you whimpered yet again, feeling tears beginning to prick at the corners of your eyes as he continued his striking. Going until he noticed your flesh become hot to the touch, and absolutely raw. Your face was now covered in salty tears, and your pussy drooled against your thighs at this point.

He must’ve noticed this, as he was quick to make another smack, but much lighter against your clothed sex. “T-Three?” you questioned.

“No, doesn’t count baby.” he reassured. Bringing his hand up again to smack against your cheek, the skin beginning to feel a bit numb. Watching intently as the soft, squish globe of your now heated cheek jiggled with every movement.

“Th...-- three!” you cried out once again, and he striked another time afterwards. Making you count out every single time, until the count reached 30.

You were left a crying mess below him, ass cheeks glowing a bright red, and a strong burning that made the sore muscle grow numb. The man atop of you was grinning wildly at your pain, proud of the way he was able to dominate you, and punish you. Even as your cunt was drooling, and his cock was growing painfully hard, he wasn’t quite ready yet to give into the temptation of absolutely destroying your squishy little insides. You were being a brat, and quite frankly, he wasn’t convinced you deserved to have his cock stretching you out. As he ran soothing hands over your back as you calmed down from your sobs, a plan was forming inside of his head. One for you. If he didn’t feel you earned his dick quite yet, you could always use another hole for him-- you know, since you’re absolutely desperate for it.

“You were so good for me. I know it was hard baby.” he cooed, pressing soft kisses to your exposed shoulders. “But it’s not quite over with just yet, I’m going to need you to get on your knees real quick, okay? Will you be a good girl, a good little pet?”

“Y-Yes.”

“Yes who?”

“Yes m-master.”

He helped you jump off of the bar counter, which would’ve been a kind gesture until he forced you to your knees, ripped off his pants and grabbed handfuls of your hair. “Open that pretty mouth of yours, m’kay?” his hand tapped the soft skin of your cheek, your mouth lolling open for his interest. His thumb running up, and down your pretty pink tongue, watching in amazement at how eager you were. He chuckled at you, pulling his hand away to bring his boxers down to his mid thigh, his large pale member flopping out. The tip flushed a hot pink, and pearls of precum leaking out of it, painfully throbbing in the air, waiting to be stuffed inside of your mouth. 

Tomura was quick to thrust inside of your mouth, his entire length forcing itself down your throat. Groaning at the feeling of your warm throat, he decided to go a bit slow at first, enjoying the feeling of your mouth sucking him in. “Mm, use your tongue baby. Use it.” he croaked, wanting more stimulation and you were happy to give in. Humming happily as you complied, he was quick to grab the back of your head to slam into you a bit more. Despite the tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes, and the fact you were choking around him, you continued to allow him to use your body as he pleased. 

After enjoying fucking your throat at a moderate pace, he began to buck into you wildly. Caring more about his own end than your breathing, as he didn’t seem to notice how you were sputtering, and trying to pull away, digging your nails into his thighs. Breath rapidly trying to fill your lungs, the only sounds filled in the room were his grunts, his dirty talk, and you crying out for him to slow down even though there was a dick shoved down your throat. “God you’re so sexy like this, just my little fuck doll. A-All mine-- fuck!” he moaned, his body beginning to tingle at the feeling of it all. He loved being able to use you like this, despite the small tinge of guilt he felt for the way you were basically begging him to stop his hard thrusts. But it wasn’t about you right now, it was about him, and you needed to be a good girl. A good girl who lets their master face fuck them because they weren’t being a good girl.

“I-I’m close, don’t stop doing that-- if you want to be a good girl, you have to milk master and swallow every drop of his cum. You want to be good, hmm?” he asked, slowing down a bit to let you reply. Eagerly nodding, and looking up at him with teary eyes. “Good, good. So good for me right now.”

His thrusts continued for a while as you both worked to bring him the pleasure he deserves. Your hand wanting to work itself inside of your pretty panties to toy with your clit, as now you felt your arousal begin to seep against the insides of your thighs. Even as you struggled to breathe, you wanted nothing more than for him to fuck you until your entire lower region was sore, and in need of desperate rest. Tomura was beginning to drool down his face as he lost himself in the pleasure, becoming a whimpering mess above you like he usually did when he was close to his end. His stomach tingled with the familiar release of his orgasm, “Oh fuck, fuck fuck fuck-- Y/n, so good-- FUCK! NNGH!” hot thick ropes of cum were shot down your throat, and you continued to suck his cock as he was unable to continue his unhuman pace. Making sure to overstimulate him, and gather all of the milk that seeped through his flushed tip until he grew soft inside of you. 

“Good girl-- open up, let me see.” he demanded, his fingers on your chin, as you opened your mouth to him. Proving that you swallowed all of it, he smiled and hummed. “So pretty, and so good. You deserve a reward, don’t you think baby?”

“Please master. I want.”

“Want what? Use your words.”

“I want you to fuck me. Please? Please, master?” you begged, your eyes glimmering in the dim light of the bar. Which always made him melt at the sight of it, his dick sprung back to life in front of your face.

“Of course, after all, you did a lot of hard work. Get up on the counter.” he commanded of you, which you did so with ease. Plopping yourself to sit on top of the bar counter, your hands at your sides holding on to it as you waited. Tomura walked right up in front of you, leaning into you with a mischievous grin. His hands cupping your face for a moment as he admired your features-- even now, when things like this happened, he still found it hard to believe someone as utterly gorgeous was his. Someone he could fuck, and man handle the way he wanted to, without you ever complaining. You willingly went along with it, and even begged him to do it. He dropped his hands from your face, his lips capturing yours instead. His kiss was dominating, passionate, and a little rough on your end. He could easily sense your agitation in wanting to be stuffed already, and he wanted to help.

Tomura snaked a hand down to your thigh, tracing up the flesh to your panties, and grabbing the fabric with all five of his fingers. Feeling the lace slowly disintegrate between his fingers, his other hand came to lift up your dress. Exposing your bare pussy to the cold air of the bar, he was quick to notice just how turned on you were. Slick was everywhere, he couldn’t wait to dive straight into you. As the kiss continued, and Tomura explored the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers began to toy with your weeping cunt that begged to be stuffed as soon as humanly possible. You whined into his mouth as a finger came to flick at your clit. Visibly and verbally annoyed at his ministrations to please you. He pulled away with a chuckle, grabbing his cock in his hands to pump, and align with your entrance.

The tip slowly began to sink itself into you, the stretch was one to accommodate to as you allowed your walls to relax around him. As he stood still inside you, he removed his mouth from yours, and began to leave wet kisses along your neck. “If you keep clenching around me like that, I might cum before you.” he joked, whispering in your ear. “But you’re not going to cum until I say so. You’ll do that for me, right?”

“Yes master.” you said breathlessly, and he began to rock into you. His thrusts long, and exaggerated. Trying to get you used to the brutal pace he often set for the two of you. The sounds of your skin slapping, and cunt squeal hung with every thrust. A perfect harmony to the sound track of a very upset Tomura.

Tomura was quick to put your legs over his shoulders. Preparing you for a mating press as his hands secured at the bare flesh of your thighs. Revealing at the feeling of your silky smooth skin under his cracked palms, everything about you was absolutely perfect. “Pretty girl.” he cooed, leaning forward to kiss you gently, before he began his attempt at brushing your cervix and pelvis bone.

When his pace began to increase, you mewled. Letting out the heavenly sound you knew could drive Tomura absolutely insane. He smiled with heavily lidded eyes above you, his mouth hanging open, most likely preparing to slobber all over you like usual. “You like that? Master’s cock filling every inch of your hole? Hmm?”

“Yes! God yes!” you whined out, your fingernails digging into the ridges of the wooden counter top. Trying to stabilize yourself as you felt yourself quickly growing close.

“Were you being a bad girl because you wanted this to happen?” you nodded, unable to speak as the only thing that left your mouth was broke moans. Tomura didn’t seem to like this much. “Answer when spoken to, pet.”

“Yes! I-I wanted m-master’s cock! I- I needed your��� cock so bad! I was b-bad! You’re so big, I can’t!” you admitted, his wicked grin appearing for a second and quickly going back to his opened mouth panting.

“Is masters cock the best cock you’ve ever had?” he questioned, wanting to see how far he could push you until you snapped.

“Yes! Masters co-cock is the best cock! Fuck! The best!”

“Who’s making you feel this way?”

“You!” you cried out, his thrusts getting more frantic as you felt the pressure in your lower abdomen begin to build. A coil needing to be broken. Whining, moaning, and mewling your way closer to orgasming for the first time in the past week. It was all worth it, especially to the man above you.

“Scream it out— scream out my name.”

“Tomura! Fuck! Please— god, you’re so good! Fuck! Please don’t stop! Don’t stop! Tomura!” you begged as he continued to rut into you, always knowing how to perfectly supply his eager demands. At this rate, he’s sure you were made for him. Your pussy fit around his cock heavenly, you clenched around him when he wanted you to do it, and never have you failed at being a soaking mess whenever things got heated. He was the only man able to drive you this feral.

The pace of his slamming hips continued, each thrust tapping your cervix with his tip. Making the deep feeling of his long, thick cock even more appetizing. He could tell how well he was doing when he noticed your eyes struggling to look back at him, constantly rolling back into your skull as he quite literally fucked your brains out. His free hand went to your mouth, opening up the wet cavern as he dropped some of the drool that had been forming in his mouth inside. Letting you swallow his taste.

He’s a sick fuck, who likes to fuck. What more can be said?

His slobbering mess didn’t stop there, he latched on to your neck, legs still over his shoulders. Leaving deep bruises in its wake, and enjoying the way you shuddered every time he created a new bruise. His hands sneaked their way to your chest to fondle your breasts, enjoying how they pebbled in the air of the room and especially under his touch. After leaving an array of dark bruises across your neck and collarbone, your chest was his next target. Suckling softly on your nipples, and using a free hand to twist, and tweak the neglected sister. The sway of his hips becoming less rough as he put his attention into his favorite part of you: your pretty titties.

After a while of thoroughly marking you, and covering your upper half with so many love bites people more think you’re permanently dark shades of purple like Dabi. He resumed his focus on the deep strokes inside your tight cunny beginning to piston into you, and toy with your little clit between his pointer and thumb. Panting like a dog above you, and thriving off of watching how hard you tried to restrain, and suppress your pleasure. “I’m getting close— fuck, keep clenching like that babe. Cum when I say to, okay?” he demanded, looking into your eyes.

“Okay— fuck, Tomura!”

You continued to let out broken phrases of pleasure, and his name. Allowing yourself to fully drink in the setting, and his member reshaping your insides to accommodate to him like a perfect cock sleeve. As he pounded into you, he kept demanding you to call out who exactly is making you feel good. At the time you didn’t think much of it, but Tomura wanted Dabi in the other room to hear just exactly everything that was going on after he left.

Soon, the overwhelming knot inside of him came closer, and closer to its release. As did your own, his thrusts because more frenzied, as if he was in a panic trying to get you both closer. “Take it, take it! Fucking slut, my little slut. A-Are you my little slut, baby?”

“I’m m-master Tomura’s s-slut! I o-only live for his c-cock!” you whined, wanting to give him exagtly what he liked to hear.

“Keep saying my name baby. Please. Fuck.” he begged, grabbing your neck to squeeze. “Brat. My b-brat, my bad g-girl, my disobedient pet— so naughty sometimes. Only this cock can set you straight. Isn’t that right?” he teased, looming over you. Breath rapidly fanning across your face.

“Master’s c-cock is s-superior! You’re s-so big Tomura. So fucking big, and good. Tomura please—... I can’t hold out anymore p-please!” you squealed, bringing your hands to the forearms that connected the hands against your throat. Trying to convince him with your touch to let you cum.

“Just a bit l-longer... mm, good girl.” he continued to squeeze at the sides of your neck, not even minding your hands on his arms.

Soon his thrusts became sloppy, and weak as his end was peaking. Your fleshy, warm walls thightly hugging his cock and trying to milk his cock for all he was worth, you were always good at that. Sucking him basically dry out of each, and every hole of yours. Tomura whimpered loudly above you on accident when you clenched tightly around him, you smiled at the sound. “Fuck, Y/n I’m gonna cum. Cum. Cum-baby.” he begged, thrusts continuing their sloppy mannerisms as his seed was shot inside of you. “Take it! Take it! Fucking shit! Y/n!” You released, crying out his name, and clawing at his arms. Your moans turned into screams rather quickly. Hot splashes of cum drowning themselves in your wet womb, your tight hole continued to clench, and unclench as you came down from your high. It was like a floodgate of euphoria had been released, and your body was floating now. The stuffed feeling inside of you comforted you as your cunt tried to relax from the abuse. Tomura wanted to fill you up a million times now, until your tummy got a bulge from how much cum was inside of you. Until you were filled to the brim with his seed, fuck it, maybe he does want kids.

“We’re not done yet baby, still gotta’ let that burnt crisp know who exactly is allowed to touch my pet.” he smirked, member slowly beginning to grow back to life inside of you.

Little did they know, Dabi was outside of the room, cum covering his white tee shirt, and calloused hands. Panting wildly at the sounds you were making.

Tomura was going to make sure now, your only moans were ever of his name.

Even more so now.

You’re his pet after all.

taglist: @bat-eclecticwolfbouquet-love @jojosbisexualbrainrot @hawksxmexdabi

[bybibucky]

Give Me All - Pt. 3

Bucky Barnes Modern AU

     After a series of disappointing experiences with wannabe-doms, you give this last new one a chance and he not only makes you forget every other man you’ve been with but also your own name.

     word count: 4.1k

     warnings: smut (18+ please), BDSM, a slight touch of anal play (f receiving), breath play, daddy kink (discovery), overstimulation, subspace

     A/N: there she goes with part 3. editing this I realised that I am unable to spell the word ‘your’ with the r at the end and I had like 20498324 ‘your’s highlighted, good thing I study English. have fun!

And you didn’t find out what was in the bag until a week later when he invited you to the club a second time. You’d grown addicted to him, you had to admit. He was so good to you, like no one in your past had ever been and you didn’t feel ashamed to say that you enjoyed it and longed to feel more. This no touching rule was really biting your ass.

You felt the need to text him, telling him how much he was torturing you, in hopes that he would be merciful. What a naïve little thing you were.

Begging via text message for days on end didn’t get you very far and you soon realised that he would be the only one to make a move. You should have known. After all, he was calling the shots.

Then, he called you. When you saw the name on the display you almost dropped your phone trying to answer the call but succeeded in the end.

“Kitten, what have I told you?” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at his sultry voice.

“I’m sorry, Bucky,” you whispered. A ‘sir’ almost slipped past your lips.

Bucky made a disapproving sound. “No, baby, that is not what I told you.” He was referring to the countless messages you had sent. He had left most of them on read but the few that he’d replied to all read the same thing: be patient.

“I’m trying to be patient,” you whined, “but you make it so hard. All I can think of is finally having your hands on me again.”

“I have work to do, you know that.”

“Please, I’m sorry,” you said, “just forget I said anything. Call me when you’re ready.” You were about to hang up when he spoke again.

“I could do Friday,” he offered and you heart jumped in your chest.

And Friday couldn't have come by any more slowly. To you, it felt like the minutes were dragging by like molasses, just like your cunt seemed to be dripping constantly now. When it did roll around, you could barely sleep, imagination going at full speed as you tried to think of what James had planned.

:::::

He had you standing in the middle of the room again, fully dressed except for shoes and socks, just like last time.

The only difference was that he casually lounged on an armchair in front of you, a couple of feet space between you.

“Strip.”

You obliged without hesitation, only bit your lip first because you knew he loved it, and started with your cardigan. There was no music playing but you were going to make this a show for him nonetheless. You wanted to be good for him, his good girl.

When the fabric hit the floor beneath your feet, you saw him follow it with his eyes before slowly moving them back up your body, drinking in every detail.

It was the merciless exposure that got your skin tingling as you felt his eyes studying your every move.

Hands on your hips as you swayed them a little, you ran them up your torso, taking your shirt with you until you could pull it off over your head and throw it to the side where it was immediately forgotten.

You could tell he loved the sight. The lace number you had put on just for him gave a nice surprise.

Yet, he remained still in his seat, a hand on either armrest, knees apart in silent invitation but he hadn't told you to go over so you couldn't.

Your hands moved back down to the button of your jeans. You had purposely neglected the bra, wanting to keep in on for a little more show.

Before you could drop your pants, you turned around. This gave you the opportunity to bend over as you worked the fabric off your legs and feet, giving him a nice view of your ass in the process.

When you turned around again, you could just see the tip of his tongue slip back in his mouth, he had been licking his lips. You felt mad with power although he was in charge.

In nothing but your lingerie set, bought specifically for this occasion, you weren't gonna lie, you looked at him, innocent expression a hard clash to your outfit.

His expression, however, remained stoic, words holding barely any emotion. “Come here,” he said, “let me have a look at you.”

You stepped over carefully, trying desperately not to trip over your discarded clothes. When you reached him, he held up a hand so you now stood right in front of.

“Spin.”

You spun and loved the feeling of his eyes ranking all over your body. He stopped you half way.

Then, there were both his hands on your ass, the difference in temperature of them fucking slightly with your mind.

“Mmh,” he hummed, “this all for me?”

“Only for you.”

He gave your ass a little swat as his other hand stroked up your back. Your breath hitched.

“I would love to be proud and say what a good girl you are for me,” he began, “but you've been naughty, haven't you? Begging even though I told you not to.”

You closed your eyes. Of course, this was going to happen. Not knowing what to reply, you remained quiet.

He slapped your ass again. This time, harder and you buckled forward a bit, caught by his metal hand on your hip. “Didn't I tell you to use your words?” Bucky was angry, you could tell. “When are you ever going to listen to me, hm?”

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled.

“What was that?” he prompted, “I can't hear you.”

“I'm sorry,” you said louder.

“I don't think you really are,” he said, playing with the hem of your panties, “but you will be soon.” His words weren't a threat per se and rather sounded like a promise. Though, a dangerous one, judging by the tone of his voice. “On the bed, now.” With the hand that still was on your butt, he nudged you forward.

“Lie down, hands up above your head.”

He didn't follow you as you obliged his orders but instead walked over to where he had placed his bag. When he came back, Bucky was holding the little paper bag you recognised as the one he had when you first met him.

“You wanna know what's in here, baby?”

You nodded as you knelt on the bed, biting your lip.

“Words.”

Mentally, you scolded yourself, knowing it was one of his rules to talk. “I'm sorry. Yes, please tell me.”

The corners of his mouth curled up. “There are a few things I think you're gonna enjoy,” he said, “but I'm gonna take them out one by one. We don't want this to be over so quickly. I have a lot of things planned.”

He didn't blindfold you this time. Though, he did bring ribbons that resembled a blindfold which he used to tie your hands together and up at one of the rings on the bed frame. Then, he started to slowly walk around the bed.

The cold metal of his hand caused a swift shock to run through your bones as you gasped. Bucky was toying with the little ankle bracelet you had braided a couple of years ago before his fingers ghosted up your leg. You spread your legs a little almost on instinct, giving him access to where you wanted him the most.

“Eager, are we?”

You knew it wasn't really a question he expected an answer to but you nodded anyway.

His fingers reached the edge of your panties. “We won't be needing those anymore,” he said and slowly, torturously slowly worked them down your legs. You desperately wanted more but you knew you couldn't have what he wasn't giving you and the only way to get near it was to be patient and follow his demands. So, you breathed in deeply and waited for what he was going to do next.

Bucky looked at you for a minute, drank in every detail of your body before he reached into the bag and pulled out a small bottle. You couldn't read the label but when he let some of the liquid in the container drip onto his hands, you guessed it was massage oil. He warmed it up by rubbing it between his hands while he effortlessly got onto the bed and knelt above you.

Giving you a slightly pointed look as a heads up, he ran his hands down from your waist, stopping just above your pubic mound. “Spread your legs for me.”

You obliged with a sigh, eager to have him touch you but he slid his palms down your inner thighs and avoided your cunt altogether.

Unable to stop it, your hips thrust up into nothing in an attempt to get him closer. You were dripping by now and your wetness mixed with the oil that coated your skin.

“Baby, stop squirming,” he tutted. “Be a good girl and keep still.”

Your movements haltered immediately, though your hips worked again just moments after.

Stopping completely, Bucky wiped his hands on the bed sheets and stood up. In one swift motion, he had you flipped over on your stomach and gave your ass a hard smack that echoed around the room for a split second.

“What did I tell you?” he growled into your ear as he leaned down above you.

You swallowed the moan threatening to escape your lips and instead whimpered, “keep still.”

“That's right. And you disobeyed me,” he said, “again.”

“I'm sorry.”

He flipped you over once more, the restrains he had expertly bound around your wrist allowing him to do so. With a pointed look, he said, “we'll see how sorry you are. Spread your legs.”

From the bag, he pulled out another item and your eyes widened at the sight. Nevertheless, you obliged, careful to do nothing else that would disappoint him.

“You know what this is?”

You nodded but before he could tell you to speak, you whispered, “a rabbit.”

“That's right,” he said, reaching down to cup your jaw as his thumb traced your bottom lip, “open up.” You opened up wide for him to slowly push it down your throat which, yeah, wasn't his cock but you still found the feeling of it stretching your jaw pleasant. Your eyes fluttered closed as you took it all in.

“Get it all wet for me, baby,” Bucky instructed as he pulled it out a bit and pushed it back in. He repeated the action a couple of times before he tapped your inner thighs.

You spread them without hesitation.

“That's a good girl,” he cooed and it weirdly made a bit of pride bloom in your chest. When you felt the tip of the toy tease your entrance, you couldn't help but whine.

“What do you want, baby girl?” he asked, voice already hoarse, “want me to push it into your tight cunt? Get you all filled up with the toy?”

“Please,” you begged, “please, daddy.”

Bucky froze. And so did you. Neither of you had expected the words to come out of your mouth.

“Shit, sorry,” you said, embarrassment taking over. You closed your eyes, not wanting to see the disgust on his face.

“Y/N, look at me,” he demanded and he suddenly wasn't the dom anymore. At least, not for a moment.

You shook your head, eyes screwed shut.

He grabbed your chin and made you face him. “Y/N, look at me,” he said, tone much softer, “I'm not angry. Please.”

Biting your lip, you hesitantly opened your eyes. Breathing was difficult all of a sudden.

With a hand gently smoothing over your hair, he said, “it's all good. You're good. Tell me your colour.”

You thought about it. Then, “yellow.”

“That's okay,” Bucky promised, “you're okay.”

You didn't really want to believe him but with the reassurance he was giving you, it seemed possible.

“Is that something you want?” he asked, “Calling me 'daddy'?”

You averted your gaze, not wanting to be faced with the consequences of your words. But you didn't speak up as Bucky talked to you softly.

“Please, I need to see your eyes.”

Although you felt insecurity seeping through your bones, you looked up at him and bravely whispered, “be my daddy, please.”

“Fuck,” he groaned as his pupils suddenly dilated to the point where is blue eyes resembled the night sky, “we’ll have to talk about this after but fuck yes, baby girl. Now be good for daddy and let me fill you up with the toy.”

He was back on his dominant demeanour in an instant and you whined high in your throat as he finally pushed it in with one swift motion. It touched your g-spot just enough to tease you deliciously and the part meant for your clit was placed on it snugly.

“That's it, baby,” he said, “I love seeing you like this. Colour?”

“Green.”

“Does it fill you up nicely?”

You contemplated your answer for a second before shaking your head.

“No?” Bucky tilted his head to the side.

“Not as good as daddy's cock.”

Bucky chuckled fondly. “That's nice to hear,” he said, “let me turn it on then. See if that helps.”

And it did. The moment you felt the vibrations on your clit and sweet spot, you were gone for. It was just too good to keep still to.

“Sorry, daddy,” you whimpered, knowing you weren't allowed to move.

Bucky reached out to rub his thumb over one of your nipples through the fabric of your bra. “It's okay. Do you need to come?”

You nodded violently, on the brink of an orgasm already but trying your hardest to hold it off. The rule that you weren't allowed to touch yourself had made you incredibly sensitive. “Please.”

“Please what, baby girl?”

You took in a shaky breath, fighting against the wave of pleasure threatening to spill over any second. “Please, daddy,” you begged again, “please let me come.”

“Hmm, I love seeing you like this. Come on, baby. Come for me.”

A scream fell past your lips as you finally felt the sweet release you had been craving for days.

His hands were constantly on you, rubbing soothing patterns over your skin as you came down from your orgasm. A reminder that he was there and you were good.

But after you were done moaning and thrashing around, he didn't turn off the toy as you had expected.

“Daddy?”

“Oh, you're not done yet. You've been naughty. Did you think this was a reward?” he asked, adding, “This is your punishment.”

Your eyes nearly bulged out of your head.

“Now close your legs and make sure to keep the toy in,” Bucky instructed, “I've got to do some work.”

With that, he left you there, oiled up and breathless, with a torturing device between your legs you couldn't do anything about.

He walked up to his bag to pull out a laptop with which he sat back down on the armchair from the beginning.

As he started his work and all throughout, he ignored you moans and pleas, didn't even offer a glance to your suffering form on the bed.

:::::

“Daddy,” you practically screamed, voice broken and hoarse.

“I told you, you can come anytime. You don't need my permission.”

Little did you know that he was counting your orgasms and had to palm his aching cock through his jeans with each one. This was torture for him as well.

:::::

When most of his work was done, he decided that he would do the rest later and concentrate back on you.

Bucky closed the laptop and set it aside.

“Daddy,” you sighed as you noticed him stand next to the bed. “Please.”

He cocked his head to the side. “Please what?” he asked, an eyebrow raised, “what do you want, baby girl?”

Another loud moan left your mouth before you could talk. “Please, make it stop.”

“Okay,” he said nonchalantly, shrugging. Not wasting another second, he reached in between your legs and turned off the device.

Silence filled the room, only broken by a relieved sigh from you as your torture was over. Though, not for long.

“How many times have you come now?”

You had to close your eyes and concentrate really heavily to be able to answer. “Four.”

“That’s right.” He was reaching for the bag again. “I think you deserve a little pause.”

Chest heaving up and down, you trained your eyes on what he was holding in his hands. It was a little plug. Gorgeous metal and a nice blue crystal at the bottom.

“You'll look so pretty with this,” Bucky said, reaching in between your legs. It came back up practically soaked in your juices that he used to coat the toy with. “Spread your legs.”

He knelt between your thighs as one hand carefully circled your other hole. You had never felt anything like it before and you found you really liked it.

As he pushed in, you willed yourself to drink in the pleasure and relax around his finger that he now slowly worked in an out of you, opening you up for the plug.

When you started moaning again, he knew you were ready for another finger. The stretch slightly stung but you loved it.

“Daddy,” you moaned.

“Good?” he asked.

“So good,” you replied and the words got stuck in your throat as he replaced his fingers with the plug. His title slipped past your lips repeatedly as he pulled the toy out once, twice and pushed it back in.

“You're taking it so well, baby girl.” And he turned the rabbit back on. As you suddenly thrashed about in his arms, screaming in bliss all over again, he simply said, “give me one more and I'll stop.”

“Oh God,” you moaned, unable to take any more, “I don't know if I can.”

Bucky smoothed his hands over your thighs in encouragement. “You can. Just let go.”

And you did. Minutes later, you were writhing under his hands, screaming.

“That's it,” he said proudly, “such a good girl for me.”

“Daddy.”

“Yes, baby,” he cooed as he turned off the vibe and gently pulled it out of your dripping cunt. “You look so hot, all wet for me.” His hands went under your thighs, lifting them up a bit for him to gain better access. Humming in content, he began licking up what you had splattered across your thighs and pussy. “So sweet, baby girl.”

When he reached your core and the tip of his tongue briefly ran over your sensitive clit, you back arched off the bed, hips fighting to get away.

“It's okay,” Bucky assured, holding you in place, “I'm giving your clit a break.”

You closed your eyes and sighed as he leapt up your juices from your skin inch by inch. “Daddy.”

It was all you said but somehow, Bucky seemed to understand what you meant. A mutual feeling of understanding stretched out between the two of you.

“I'm so proud of you, giving me all those orgasms,” he began, “but we're not done yet, kitten.”

Slowly and careful not to hurt you, he moved up your body, kissing your skin along the way. Here and there, he stopped to take the time to suck a little bruise, biting playfully, and he had you absolutely at his mercy. When he reached your abdomen where the garter belt and bra still sat, he took care undoing the ribbons and clasps, replacing the fabric with soft kisses and licks. Your nipples he gave tight pinches with fingers and teeth when they were finally free.

All the while, you were breathing heavily and whining above him, the attention an entirely new sensation you couldn't get enough of.

He got to the space an inch or two above your collar bone and when he noticed how much you loved being caressed there, he focused solely on there, sucking a large bruise that had you gasping for him.

“Daddy?”

“What is it, baby girl?” His face appeared in your line of sight.

You didn't really want to say at first, fearing he was going to be disappointed, but you really ached to touch him. “Can you untie my hands?”

Concern washed over his face in a tidal wave. “Did I tie them too tight? Are they hurting?”

“I just wanna feel you,” you said, shaking your head.

He smiled softly and leaned over to loosen the knots. “You've been good so far, I think I can give you a little reward.” Whilst he worked to get them off, his chest and stomach were within your reach and you used this opportunity to press kisses onto his skin. You wanted him to show how much you appreciated him.

Bucky rubbed your wrists to get the blood flow going better and guided your hands down in between you both where his hard cock was straining his pants. With one hand palming him through the fabric, the other undid the button and zipper and worked the garment off his hips.

You reached inside his boxers and your breath got caught in your throat at the feeling him in your hand. You knew he was big, he had been in your mouth before but now you could really touch him.

He encouraged you with a hiss as you wrapped a hand around him.

Looking up at him, you found his eyes closed in pleasure and you licked your other hand to help get his cock wet.

“Ah, baby,” he groaned, “I need to be inside you. Right now.” Bucky carelessly pushed his pants off his legs and threw them from the bed before he hooked your legs around his waist. And without any kind of warning, filled you up in one motion, pulled out again, and slammed back in. He set a relentless pace from the beginning and it had you screaming his name.

“What am I?” he growled, sitting up and pulling your ass into the air with him.

You gasped. “Daddy!”

“That's right.” His hands were gripping your sides tightly. “Fuck, you feel so good around me. Such a good girl for daddy.”

Bucky reached down to wrap his metal hand around your throat. Moaning, your eyes rolled back into your head as you arched off the bed into his touch.

You were completely at a loss for words as you felt the air dragging into your lungs too slowly and it felt so good. It brought you higher and higher until you felt like you were floating. But before you could pass out from lack of oxygen, he let go again and gave you a minute to breathe before he used his fingers once more to constrict your airway.

Your mouth opened in a silent scream, you were so close.

“Come on, baby,” Bucky demanded, “Let go for me. Come for daddy.”

And you did. You came harder than you ever had before. Eyes screwed shut and all you could see was white stars dancing around. Ears ringing and chest heaving. The orgasm rippled over you mercilessly and you welcomed it.

Bucky let go of your throat and pulled out of you. He jerked himself off fast and tightly before he groaned and painted your stomach and chest with white ribbons of come, marking you. You closed your eyes in bliss and when you opened them again, you were cleaned up and covered by the silk sheets. Bucky was lying on his side facing you.

“There you are,” he said, “you were gone for a bit.”

You turned to face him. “Where was I?” Your ears felt like they were filled with cotton and your mouth was dry as you spoke quietly.

Bucky chuckled lightly. “I don't know. I tried to talk to you a couple of times. You answered only with little noises but that's how I knew you hadn't passed out on me.”

You nodded. “That was intense,” you said.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “Good or bad?”

Giving him a pointed look, you replied, “good, obviously. Did you not fuck me into oblivion?”

He relaxed. “There she is!” He laughed and kissed your forehead. Then, his mood changed again. “How come you always pass out?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know,” you said, “I don’t think I actually lose consciousness, I just feel so much at once, you know euphoria from the orgasm, a bit of pain and overstimulation and stuff and I think it just gets a bit much and my brain shuts itself off. Then with you choking me, I don’t get enough oxygen but in a good way, if that makes sense?”

Bucky listened to you intently. “But you’re okay with that? Do I need to be more careful, slow down?”

You shook your head, grinning. “It’s the best feeling in the world. I can’t describe because I usually don’t remember anything after, I just know I feel incredible.”

Bucky nodded and pulled you closer. You kissed for a bit but Bucky didn't allow it to grow heated again. At one point, he started to lightly pamper your face and neck with kisses.

At your exposed neck, he stopped. “You looked so gorgeous with my hand around your throat,” he said, engrossed in thought, “maybe I should get you a collar.”

You inhaled sharply, loving the thought. “Please, daddy.”

[tacitwhisky]

Fic: Tipsy in a Push Up Bra, pt 4

Jon x Sansa - Tipsy high school Sansa in a red push up bra. What could go wrong? / Part 1 / A03 Link

It’s Christmas Eve when Sansa wears the push up bra again.

It isn’t something she plans. She’d been careful picking her outfit for a day with the family, more careful than she had been for that night at Margaery’s: skinny jeans again, but in place of the tank top she goes with a sleeveless top she found on sale, a red cardigan over it, and a plaid scarf looped around her neck. It’s closer to how she used to dress back in the old house, before the crash, before she came to live with Lysa. And it’s why when Sansa looks in the mirror she pauses for a long moment until Lysa shouts something from outside her door, then quickly strips off the top and fits the push up bra under it, replaces the scarf with a thin black choker.

She regrets getting rid of the scarf as soon as she steps outside, but she’s timed it so she’s only left to stand shivering at the foot of Lysa’s driveway for a few minutes before Jon’s battered Chevy pulls up. He frowns at the chatter of her teeth as she opens the passenger side door and slips inside. “I could’ve parked.” He says.

Sansa shrugs and cups her hands around the warmth gusting from the air vents on the passenger side, relishes the tingle through her fingers. Jon has only a vague idea of the horror that is Lysa, and Sansa’s stomach squirms with embarrassment at the thought of him meeting her. She changes the subject with a rosy cheeked grin. “How much did the tires cost you?”

“Too much.” Jon shakes his head and shifts gears. “They’ll get us there ok though.”

Sansa settles deeper into the seat as Jon pulls out of Lysa’s neighborhood, nervous energy thrumming through her. It’s the first time she’s seen Jon since that night weeks ago at Margaery’s party, and she is all too aware of the shape of him in the corner of her vision, the easy way he leans forward and flicks on the wipers as droplets begin to spatter the windshield. You’re going to embarrass yourself, a part of Sansa hisses, and she glances away out the window and to the grey sky whipping by overhead.

The cold had come on early in the week, a chill creeping in from the east coast, and she hadn’t looked forward to riding the train. She tells herself that the feeling that shivered through her when she first saw Jon’s text a few days before offering to give her a ride up to her family was relief and refuses to question it more than that, because she wasn’t that girl anymore, had sworn she never would be again.

Arya always invites me, he’d texted, but I never feel like it’s my place. She says Bran’s inviting a couple of his friends though… It’s not the first time they’ve texted. All day after Jon had dropped her off after Margaery's party Sansa had told herself she wasn’t going to text him, a ball knotting in her gut each time she glanced at her phone’s screen and remembered how she’d embarrassed herself. But the day had worn on, and by ten Sansa couldn’t keep her fingers away from her phone any longer. Thank you, she’d tapped out, instantly regretting it as a little green check mark popped into existence beside the words.

It’d felt like hours but was probably about thirty seconds before her phone chirped. Don’t mention it, he’d texted back, and Sansa had heaved an internal sigh of relief. That was it. They stumbled into each other, she’d embarrassed herself, and now it was done. He would go back to being a stranger from another life, and she could just be the weird clingy girl he’d had to help that one time. And if the feeling that was welling in her chest was something other than relief then she’d swallow that down like she had so much else. She’d tossed her phone facedown on her pillow and tried to focus on the homework spread over her duvet that needed to be done by morning if she didn’t want a B in algebra.

But then her phone chirped, and Sansa’s heart leapt into her throat as she flipped it over. Theon won’t shut up about the girl he hooked up with, it read. She’d worried at her lip with her teeth, a hundred different replies flitting through her mind as she stared down at the phone screen, then eventually typed: guess we’re lucky he didn’t come back with her last night. It wasn’t funny, wasn’t witty, and she’d hated it as soon as she tapped send, but Jon responded a minute later and it was easier after that.

She’s texted with guys since Joffrey but this was different, giddy and exciting in a way it wasn’t with them. Don’t be pathetic, she’d tried to tell herself. Jon would never look at a dumb high schooler like her, and she’d sworn to never be that girl again, the one that threw herself at guys, let them do whatever they wanted to her like she had with Joffrey: but it’s hard not to, hard not to look over each new text a few times to make the most of the giddy thump in her stomach before responding. She’s never been more acutely grateful that the person she’s texting can’t see her face, because if Jon could see hers she’d shrivel and die. They’d spent the night going back and forth until Sansa had fallen asleep with the rectangle of her phone screen shining on the pillow next to her.

“You sure you’re good to ride the train on the way back tomorrow?” Jon asks, startling Sansa in her seat. “It being Christmas.”

Last year a guy who was twice her age had sat next to Sansa the whole ride, close enough for her to smell his rancid breath, eyes sliding over her in a way that made her skin crawl. But Jon doesn’t need to know that. “I’ll be fine.” She pats the overnight bag she’d slung under her seat when she slipped into the car. “I’ve got earphones.”

“You may need them sooner than that.” Jon frowns at the old radio set in the dashboard and leans forward to fiddle with it. Sansa bats his hand away, tries to ignore the tingle through her fingers as they bump his. Don’t be pathetic. “You can stay the night, you know,” she tells him, voice carefully careless as she takes over. “I’ll talk to my mom about it.”

Jon gives her a sidelong look. “Your mom hates me. Really, it’s ok. I know Christmas morning is a thing. I’ll drive back tonight, and I already picked up an extra shift at work for tomorrow.”

Sansa bites her lip as she manages to tease out a trickle of pop music from the worn dial of the radio. Christmas morning is a thing. It had been in the Stark household ever since Sansa was old enough to totter down the stairs as a child. Once she was older she’d always taken special pride in getting up before her siblings and helping her mother heat up steaming mugs of hot chocolate as Robb and Arya and eventually Bran and Rickon came yawning down the stairs. Her father had always been last, and his face would wrinkle in a smile when he saw her. He’d draw her into a one armed hug and kiss the crown of her head as he took his mug. Thanks, sweetheart, he’d say in his warm, gravelly voice. You’re already all grown up, aren’t you?

And even though that girl is long gone, for a moment Sansa can again smell hot chocolate, feel the rough warmth of her father’s arm drawing her snug, and it’s like a knife is carving white-hot through her chest, splitting her breastbone in two, and she can’t shrink from it, can’t run, can’t-

“What about your mom?” Sansa blurts, voice tight in a way she prays Jon won’t notice. “Won’t you miss her if you’re working?”

“I talked her into going skiing with some girlfriends of hers.” Jon shrugs. “I want her to have something of her own. She gave up a lot raising me.”

“It was just the two of you, right?”

“Yeah.” A smile tugs at Jon’s lips. “We used to get that we were brother and sister all the time. It used to irritate me so much, though I can’t remember why now.”

There’s something steady and warm in Jon’s voice, and Sansa latches onto it as she leans back in her seat. “Maybe you wanted them to know. Didn’t want to plaster over what happened with your dad.”

Jon tilts his head to the side and gives her a strange look. “When did you get so wise?”

A pang swells in Sansa’s chest fat as a red balloon ready to pop. She hadn’t been horrible to Jon as a child: that would’ve taken acknowledging his existence in the first place, and the most she’d ever done was feel embarrassed about the weird kid Robb brought with him everywhere. It makes her want to shrivel how shallow she’d been, how self involved, how little she’d known just how hard life could truly be. Would it really have cost her so much to be friendly to Jon? To smile at him now and then without turning up her nose?

They talk for the rest of the drive, an easy back and forth with the radio crackling out pop tunes in the background. Sometimes Sansa dials the sound up when it’s a song she likes (to which Jon will dutifully groan in protest), but for the most part it’s just him and her and the murmur of rain and tires outside. It’s nice, nicer than Sansa wants to admit, the longest she’s talked to anyone in months and leaves her strangely warm and prickly at once, like a cat with its fur ruffled.

It’s drizzling as Jon pulls into the driveway of her mother’s house. It’s smaller than the old house, with a tall oak in the front and an unevenly trimmed lawn. “Arya’s handiwork,” Jon says pointing it out, “she’s constantly whining about it.”

They’ve both barely stepped out of the car before the front door of the house flies open and a dark haired blur is streaking down the steps and launching itself at Jon. Jon laughs and rocks back as Arya throws her arms around him. He steadies himself and wraps her tiny frame in a tight hug. “Careful or you’re going to crack my ribs.”

“You’re such a butthead.” The fierceness of Arya’s voice is muffled by her face pressed into Jon’s chest, and she pulls away with a bashful grin and punches his shoulder. “You never come.”

Jon grins back and something childish twinges in Sansa’s chest at the expression, the fond way he’s looking down at Arya like he’d die for her on a pin drop. They’ve always been like this. You just always thought you were better than them. Sansa reaches back into the car and slings her bag over one shoulder. “Mom inside?”

“Hey Sansa,” Arya says without looking at her, still grinning up at Jon. “Yeah, she’s doing cooking stuff.”

Sansa purses her lips, but tries to ignore the prick of irritation. She closes the car and starts up the path to the front door, Jon and Arya falling in behind her, Arya already beginning to chatter about her soccer team.

Sansa mounts the steps and pushes open the door, and suddenly it’s like there’s a knife lodged in her chest again. It shouldn’t hurt, but it does, a sudden and violent ache. This isn’t the old house, isn’t her home, the one where her father would smile and hug her hello, where Robb would call her little sister: but that only makes it worse, like this is some version of the world where neither of ever existed to begin with.

From around the corner Bran wheels into view, tall and lanky in his chair. “Hey, Sansa. How was the ride?”

“Good.” Sansa leans down and hugs him, tries to push down the clawing ache threatening to drag her down. She tries to think of something to add, but it’s been such a long time since they spoke that she doesn’t know what to say. “Mom says you’re inviting friends this year?”

“Yeah, Meera and Jojen.” Bran gives Jon a pleading look as he steps though the door. “Can you talk Arya and Rickon into not teasing Meera too much that she’s the first girl I’ve invited over?”

Jon grins and shakes his head. “I would if I could, but I’ve been a guest enough times to know teasing is a Stark family tradition.”

“Jon!” Shrieks a new voice, and Rickon slams into Jon’s legs. Jon laughs and musses Rickon’s hair as he falls back onto the couch. A smile plays at Sansa’s lips as she drops her bag behind the table. She should be jealous she supposes, but it’s a relief in a way not to be the center of attention like she was last year. It had been a long pair of days filled with awkward silences with her mother and passive aggressive spats with Arya. Sansa crosses to the door where Catelyn has emerged from the kitchen, a thin layer of flour dusting the same auburn hair Sansa had before she dyed it.

“Hey sweetheart,” her mother says absentmindedly. Her lips thin as she catches sight of Jon wrestling with Rickon, a line forming between her brows, and Sansa can feel something bitter already beginning to well under her mother’s tongue. She’d never liked Jon: not when Robb first brought him tagging along one day, not when he’d hang out after school, not after the crash. “Arya said you’ve already started on dinner,” Sansa breaks in before whatever’s on her mother’s tongue can find words.

Catelyn glances towards her and frowns faintly as her eyes tick over her clothes. The bra isn’t as ridiculous under her current top as it had been under the tank top at Margaery’s party, but Sansa still stares at her mother, silently daring her to comment on it. Catelyn’s lips purse as if she’s going to say something, but seems to think better of it at the last second. “You don’t need a minute to settle in?”

Sansa shakes her head and slips past her into the kitchen, away from where Arya has piled on top of Jon and Rickon. “What are you working on?”

She doesn’t see Jon for the next hour as she works beside her mother slicing pecans and mashing potatoes for dinner. As a child Sansa had loved nothing more than working with her mother, but that was before, and this is now: twice she asks about Sansa’s hair, and twice Sansa has to shrug as though she can’t remember why she dyed it. She tells her about school, about the teachers of hers she can remember the names of, about her progress on the Vale High transfer scholarship, but the list of safe topics is a little shorter each time they see each other and after only an hour silence has begun to seep into the hollows of their conversation.

They put the chicken in to roast, and as her mother changes clothes Sansa pours herself a cup of cider and sits on the couch with her legs folded under her. The drizzle from earlier has turned into a full blown storm, rain beating the roof like a drum. It gives the house a cozy feel like the kind she’d loved growing up, rainy afternoons that were a chance to curl up with a book warm and safe against the gale outside.

She’s sipping the cider and checking her phone when Jon emerges from Arya’s room and flops onto the couch opposite her. “What?” He asks after a minute as she watches him with a faint quirk of her lips over the rim of her glass. Sansa shrugs, the shoulder of her cardigan slipping down as she does. “You look different.”

“You too.” Jon’s eyes fall to the bare curve of her shoulder. His eyes flick up to her face guiltily. “You look… happier.”

Sansa slips the cardigan back up and gives him a shy, defiant smile. “What’s not to be happy about?”

The corner of Jon’s own lips quirk in answer, and Sansa wonders why she never noticed when she was young just how handsome he is. He’s not what she wanted when she was growing up: not some pretty boy with dreamy hair like Joffrey, but now that she’s older she finds it impossible not to notice the scruff shadowing his jaw, the broadness of his shoulders, the faint pearl line of a scar above his eye from the crash she hadn’t noticed at Margaery’s. It’s not breathtaking like in bad romance novels, but Sansa’s chest is tight and she can’t but be utterly and helplessly aware of how little space there really is between them, how easy it would be just to lean forward despite how she swore after Joffrey she’d never be that girl again, the girl that let a guy do whatever he wanted with her, the girl that-

“Why are you two sitting together?” Arya breaks in loudly. At some point she’s come into the room and is now standing in front of the couch looking back and forth between the two of them with a frown. “Why are you two talking?”

“Hush,” Sansa snaps glancing away from Jon, instantly irritated in the way that only Arya can make her. Don’t be pathetic. “We can talk. We’re adults.”

“No you’re not. Jon is an adult. You’re still in high school.”

Sansa flushes. The cider left in her cup nearly sloshes over as she sets it down too fast and stands abruptly. “I need to check on the chicken,” she says, and refuses to meet Jon’s questioning look as she leaves the room.

A03 Link

[ao3bronte]

Be Naughty (save Santa the trip)! 6: Fuzzy

Also on Ao3

Day 5  << Day 6 >> Day 7

Prompt 6: Fuzzy by Bronte Pairing: Adrinette 

"How many of those have you had?" Adrien asks, taking in the flush on Marinette’s cheeks with amusement.

"Um..." Marinette squints as she considers her glass, "A few? I think the bartender is making them a little stronger than necessary."

"Is he now?" Adrien raises a brow as she turns to wave at the young man behind the bar. He flushes pink and offers a shy wave in return before going back to filling glasses, "I'll bet he is. What’s this called?"

"A...a fuzzy navel," Marinette giggles, offering him the cocktail glass, "It’s silly right? But it tastes like peaches so...wanna taste?"

Adrien takes the proffered glass from her hand and makes sure to keep his eyes on the bartender, drawing the straw between his lips. Marinette was right of course; it was a little on the strong side.

"It is good," he murmurs, holding it out for her to take. Smiling, he lets his fingers slide over hers as he pulls her into his embrace, capturing her lips in a quick kiss.

Drunk Marinette is always responsive and she leans into the kiss, gasping when he takes her lower lip between his teeth and humming happily when he slips his tongue into her mouth. She tastes of vodka and peaches and faintly of the Agreste design department’s holiday dinner they'd just finished sitting through; Adrien opens his eyes and smirks against her lips, gratified to see the bartender glowering at them in frustration.

"But I think it tastes better on you," Adrien remarks as he releases her, stepping back and using the force of their movements to spin her around. Marinette giggles and wobbles back towards him, bracing her hands against his chest to catch her balance.

“We should…” Marinette blinks slowly, her half lidded gaze wavering as she struggles to focus, “We should dance.”

“Hmmm,” Adrien wraps his arms around her middle and considers his options for a moment, his curiosity getting the best of him. Sure, they could stay and dance the evening away until she sobers up a bit or…

He bends down and whispers something in her ear, the soft spoken innocence in his voice belied by the mischievous sparkle in his eyes. He gently nips the shell of her ear and Marinette’s face flushes pink, snickering breathlessly at the implication of his words and suddenly she’s learning back and snatching his hand off her waist, tugging him along and making a beeline for the door.

“I know just the place!”

~

“Here?” An elevator ride and two hallways later, Adrien looks from side to side at the conference room she’d lead them to and turns back around in confusion, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Marinette replies, the final shreds of her common sense falling away. She kicks the door closed behind them and flicks the lock with her fingers, feeling the tingle of the vodka spread through her veins, “It’ll be fun!”

“This is my father’s conference room.”

“Your point?”

Marinette strips the cardigan from her shoulders and tosses it onto the nearest chair, her smile growing with every passing moment. She wriggles out of her dress next, the thin lace straps slipping off her shoulders one by one until the whole ensemble hits the floor with a quiet thump.

Adrien chews his lip for a moment, considering. If they were to get caught…

“Oh, fuck it.”

Marinette giggles as he reaches across, catching her around the waist and dragging her in his arms. She grabs fistfuls of his dress shirt and kisses him, the alcohol and the effervescence and the sudden heat drowning out any fears or anxieties of being caught in flagrante delicto in her boss’s (and future father-in-law’s) conference room. She guides him back towards the chair at the head of the table and Adrien knows exactly what she's up to and stills for a moment, gauging the grim humour of the situation, before tossing caution to the wind and finally kissing her back with fervor.

Marinette lets out a low moan as his hand snakes back to clasp the nape of her neck, the other cupping her ass and hauling her up onto the asymmetrically designed conference table. Her hands roam his body, unclasping each of his buttons one by one until she’s freed him completely, pushing the cashmere blend from his shoulders and onto the floor. She skims her fingers along his skin, through his dishevelled blond hair, over the muscles of his chest and abdomen, then down, down to the firm curve of his ass and the bulge at the apex of his thighs. He gasps into her mouth as she repeats the motion, over and over until he’s straining against the zipper of his wool trousers, unable to stifle the moan of frustration when her fingers drift away.

Adrien spreads her legs further apart and grinds their hips together, sucking a line of kisses along her jaw. She’s gasping now, all hot, breathy moans against his ear and Adrien can’t hold out for much longer, not with the way she’s grazing her nails against his scalp, drawing the purr he so desperately tries to keep underwraps from between his lips. Growling, he undoes the button of his trousers and Marinette is nothing but eager to help, pushing the fabric down past his hips until his cock springs free of his briefs.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Adrien mutters as Marinette gasps into his mouth, his knuckles rubbing circles against her clit through her panties. He pulls away and Marinette gives a little sob of complaint at the interruption, bracing herself as Adrien raises her hips just enough to help her shimmy out of the thong she’d bought specifically for her outfit. He bends down to slide the strip of lace from her ankles and comes up slowly, sucking and scraping his teeth along the length of her inner thighs before pausing just below her lower lips, his eyes trained on her.

“W-why’d you stop?” Marinette gasps and tries to use her legs to beckon him closer, to get him to just do something already. She bucks her hips, the little sparks of pleasure radiating from her core increasing with the very thought of Adrien going down on her where M. Agreste would no doubt be sitting tomorrow morning. She takes her lower lip in between her teeth and closes her eyes, throwing her head back with the intensity of her fantasy.

Adrien watches it play out on her face and just knows what’s going through her mind and...fuck. He's never going to be able to sit here beside his father with a straight face ever again.

Straightening from his crouch, Adrien cups her ass with his palms and pulls her close, pressing his cock flush against her stomach. He moans low into her mouth as she scrapes her fingernails down his spine, the pleasure/pain of the sting combined with the pressure against his cock sending him soaring.

“Please,” she warbles, grasping onto his shoulders and wrapping her legs around his thighs. He doesn't waste another moment and takes himself into his hand, pushing himself inside her and fuck , Marinette is so, so hot and he’s so close already, the intensity of their situation coming to a fever pitch inside his mind. They could be caught having in his father’s conference room for Christ’s sake, and the risk of it all makes his cock twitch dangerously inside her. He worms an arm between them and flicks her clit with the pad of his thumb, bracing her against him with the other and thrusts and thrusts and he’s never even imagined this in his wildest fantasies and—

Marinette keens as he ups the ante, the pressure and the patterns he’s tracing against her clit drawing a throaty moan that seems to reverberate through her entire body and she wants him, she wants him so bad, wants him around and everywhere but right now, right now she can’t do anything but buck her hips and meet his thrusts helplessly, burying her face in his neck, worrying the tender flesh at the juncture of his neck. It feels so so good and he’s starting to lose his rhythm, starting to make those tiny, needy noises that always tell her that he’s close, so close that she can taste him, feel him twitching inside her and she throws her head back with abandon and clenches, content to hear him howl as he’s swept over the edge, coming hard in hot pulses inside her. His hips falter, his movements stutter and it takes a long moment before he comes back to himself, bleary and exhausted and thoroughly dishevelled.

“Did...you?”

Marinette licks her lips and leans back, bracing herself on her elbows, “Not yet.”

Adrien takes a deep breath and tries to gather his fuzzy thoughts, glancing down at his fingers. He’s only got a few brain cells working but this? This he can do.

Her heart is racing as he slips two fingers inside her and begins to return the favour, his thumb retracing its former movements against her throbbing clit. Marinette lets her elbows collapse beneath her and spreads out onto the conference table, groaning as he curls his fingers and adds a third, pumping them in and out. It won’t be long now, she thinks, revelling in the pleasant buzz in her fingers and toes as her climax approaches, swelling in her core until the pull is all encompassing, knocking her senseless.

Marinette opens her eyes and stares up at the ceiling, grinning from ear to ear. She hears Adrien doing something at the end of the table but she can’t be arsed to care, idling kicking her feet as the hang off the side of the table’s edge. She starts to giggle again, the heady murmur of alcohol still buzzing in her mind and in her limbs, elated and giddy.

“Proud of yourself?”

“Hm?” she raises her head off the table, her smile growing wider as Adrien zips up his trousers, his facial expression akin to a puppy that knows he’s been naughty.

“I can’t believe you made me do this,” he mutters, gathering up the rest of their clothing.

Marinette sits up and basks in the afterglow, “You know you loved it.”

Adrien can only grumble in agreement.

[lilibug--xx]

Awkward Encounters

Chapter 2/3  

Here is the archive link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/12245094/chapters/27881679

—————-

Jughead seemed to float around the mall after leaving Victoria’s Secret. Thoughts of his date on his mind making him step light, even in his black combat boots. He stopped to sit on a bench outside the game store, where he picked up his promised offering from Veronica. He looked over at the food court briefly before deciding he could wait until his date to eat again.

Where should he take her? What kind of food did she like? What should he drive – his motorcycle or should he ask to borrow Archie’s truck? Should he go home and change clothes? Should he get her flowers? Maybe he should call Veronica and ask- ugh forget that idea Jughead. Should he clean the apartment? - what did she mean by dessert exactly? The low tone in which she had spoken combined with her eyes growing dark he couldn’t help the tingle that started to burn up his spine. Tie him up and eat him – she could do whatever she wanted.

His thoughts were so consuming he didn’t even realize he had driven home. Jughead was standing in front of the apartment he shared with Archie with his key in the lock. Okay then. Might as well take a shower.

After getting squeaky clean and washing his hair he ran a towel through it, leaving his beanie off to let it dry. He pulled on a pair of dark blue jeans sans rips and a black belt. Deciding on a dark grey button up, he left the top bottom undone and rolled the sleeves up to his elbows, loosely tucking it into his jeans. He lay back on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He still had a couple hours before he had to pick Betty up.

He pulled out his phone and set an alarm before closing his eyes and locking his arms behind his head. He didn’t usually nap, but he felt this swell of feelings he couldn’t identify – anxiety Jughead, you know thee well, and just felt like trying to clear his mind for a bit. He didn’t actually sleep that many hours regularly, as he had a touch of insomnia that more often than not required pills in order to get at least six hours. But he finally managed to doze off for a little bit while imagining Betty’s hand raking through his hair. Jughead was always one of those people that secretly loved to have his hair played with – it made him calm and sleepy.

He didn’t dream but rather heard a soothing voice that seemed to lift that clawing pressure on his shoulders. It sounded vaguely like his mother’s voice, but he wasn’t even sure of the sound of it after 8 years without hearing it.

Next thing he knew he was waking up to the alarm. He turned it off and stretched his arms above his head in a yawn before slinking back into the bathroom. Jughead always had some sort of under eye-bag situation going on, but he didn’t look too bad today. He ran a comb through his hair and brushed his teeth. Sticking the beanie back on his head was a force of habit, his hair was an intimate thing for him so he generally kept it covered up. The fact that he only had one hat that he’s been wearing for literally years was another story.

He looked in his closet at his selection of jackets: dark denim with sherpa lining, light denim with sherpa lining, black denim, a red velvet blazer Veronica had given him that he’s never worn, and a red flannel jacket with sherpa lining. His wardrobe was really varied. He looked over to his desk, eyeing the chair with his black leather Serpent jacket resting on the back of the chair there. Old faithful it was.

Grabbing his extra motorcycle helmet from the floor, Jughead looked around for a moment before deciding to throw on his black and white stripped suspenders, doing them up properly instead of hanging off his hips like normal. Despite the fact that he was against the societal idea of hipsters it just so happened that their fashion sense aligned.  

Jacket on, boots laced, cash in wallet. He was ready to roll. Arriving late was usually his forte, but he didn’t want to make a bad impression on a first date. So he had time to park his motorcycle, secure the helmets, stick his beanie back on and walk inside the mall. Making his way past the food court, the air teasing his stomach with the smells of greasy pizza, warm pretzel dough, and spicy Chinese food.

Betty was waiting for him right in front of the store. She had a dark grey cardigan (that oddly matched his shirt) on over top of the outfit he had seen her in earlier. One button was pressed closed at the column of her throat, right where he wanted to kiss and lick the skin of her neck – to feel her pulse under his tongue and – alright getting carried away there.

He looked her up in down in an obvious way while he grinned. She rolled her eyes before thrusting her hand out to him. “Betty Cooper, nice to meet you,” she said giving him a formal introduction after their informal meeting earlier.

He took her offered hand, bending slightly at the waist and brought it up to his lips as he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles. “Jughead Jones. May I just say you are a vision among us mere mortals, ” he couldn’t help the angel reference.

Her cheeks flushed and he took pleasure in getting that reaction from her. “What a gentleman, thank you,” Betty pulled her hand back and looped it around his elbow, tucking herself into his side as they began walking the way Jughead had come from. “But I’m no angel.” She teased, mouth curling in a small smirk as she turned her head back to watch their path. Well, that was an interesting development. His interest in her was only growing with each passing moment.

“So, I’m assuming that you’re the motorcycle type,” She started again, glancing up to him. He realized then how small she was against his frame – that she’d probably have to stand on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“You’d be correct in that assumption,” Nodding his head toward her as they weaved through the other mall goers. “Do you like motorcycles?” She must not dislike them if she agreed to go out with him, that assumption on the tip of her tongue.  

“I do! I’m also kind of an old car buff, I blame my dad for that. I used to help him fix up old cars that he was restoring for customers.”

“That’s hot.”

She swatted his chest with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his arm. “Jughead!” that prompted him to look down at her, watching her eyes roll back into her head at him. The hand on his chest lingered for another moment before disappearing.

“You’re telling me that I can’t find a girl who knows her way around a car attractive? Why are we going out then?”

“It’s just embarrassing when people make a big deal out of it. I know I look like some bubblegum princess, but I’m not.” Betty didn’t sound offended, just tired. Like she had those thoughts running through her head a lot.

“Princess? Nah, you’re a Queen.” He couldn’t help it. They walked through the automatic doors, her grip on his arm tightening in an affectionate  squeeze as they walked outside.

“You’re sweet,” she said accepting the spare helmet he pulled off the back of the bike as they approached.

Throwing a leg over the bike he settled down, scooting up as far as he could so Betty would have enough room on back. “Like bubblegum?” he questioned, pulling his beanie off quickly and plunking his own helmet on his head. He shoved his hat in his jacket pocket. He didn’t miss the way her eyes had darted to his hair.

Her hands fiddled with the strap under her chin, answering as she sat down behind him tucking her legs up underneath his, bracketing his hips and sliding her warm hands around his waist. “Right now? Like black licorice. Ask me again at the end of the night and I might have a different answer.”

Spicy but sweet? Medicinal and bitter? Did she love it or hate it? Black licorice was hard to describe – which he supposed was adequate for now since she only had a vague impression of him and most of it of visual.

“I look forward to seeing if your opinion changes,” he tossed over his shoulder as she tucked her head down against his shoulder. Revving his bike up, Jughead grinned at the thrum under his hands, the sound booming in his ears. Betty’s arms cinched tighter around him, her chest pressed fully against his back.

He hadn’t really thought about where he wanted to take her before getting on the bike. But he knew exactly where to go once he started driving.

There was this place downtown he wanted to take her to where the streets were lined with old brick buildings, most of them were local stores - McAllen’s Apothecary, Lloyd’s Sweet Shop, BBB music, and many more. He stopped the bike in front of a small store called Mom’s Kitchen. It was a store that sold a variety of items including kitchen gadgets and vintage décor as well as  homemade pasta sauce, jams, pickles, dried noodles, and various other food stuffs. Basically Jughead’s favorite store. The symbolism of him enjoying places with ‘Mom’ and ‘Pop’ in the titles weren’t lost on him – they felt like home.

They untangled themselves from each other, Jughead securing the helmets to the bike. Beanie back on his head, he put a hand on Betty’s lower back pressing her forward gently. They started to bypass the store and head down the alley right beside it.

Her eyebrows rose but she didn’t stop walking. “You’re not trying to murder me are you?”

“In broad daylight? I’m not an idiot, Betty.” He winked at her.

They came around the back of the building and around a wooden privacy fence to a patio area. It was full of wooden tables with chairs, fairy lights hanging from the awning overhead, potted roses, and mason jar candles on tables. There were a couple of people already seated, some with drinks and some looking over menus. The back of Mom’s Kitchen was a restaurant and Jughead always preferred this outside space whenever it was still fairly warm out.

“Jughead, this is amazing.”

Betty was still looking around as he guided her to a table after making eye contact with an older gentlemen that worked there. “Yeah, it is.” He pulled her chair out for her at a small table in the corner between the fence and the building. He moved her to sit with her back to the wall so she could see the rest of the area before sitting across from her. He took off his jacket, slinging it around the back of his chair before sitting down.

“Oh, how very Leonardo DiCaprio of you Jughead.” She said appraising his whole outfit now that she could see the suspenders. He pulled his right elbow back over the arm of the chair, leaning back comfortably and throwing his head back as quoted from the movie she was thinking of back to her “Never let go,” he said with a smirk, left hand reaching up and brushing his nose out toward her before dropping it back to the table.

The older gentleman Jughead had made eye contact with came over with a flourish, brandishing two menus from his apron and giving Jughead a good squeeze on the shoulder.

“Mr. Jones! It'sa so good to see you again, has been a little while, no? I was worried. I'ma glad to see you with such a fine lady this evening!” the salt and pepper haired man gave a big grin to Betty. “I’ll grab some water for you twos,” his Italian accent made Betty giggle as he walked off.

“He’s certainly loud, isn’t he?” Betty opened up her menu to look over the options. Jughead didn’t make any moves to open his, just looked after the man as he disappeared inside the building.

“You definitely know when Giorgio is in the room,” he shrugged, a fond smile on his lips.

“So what’s good to eat here?” The blonde questioned, her fingers trailing over the menu as her eyes followed. The names of rich Italian dishes littered the pages, and Jughead knew them all without opening the menu.

“Betty, everything on the menu is good. Believe me when I say I’ve tried every dish here.”

“Wow, you must really like this place then, huh?” she tilted her head, looking across the table at him. The flame from the mason jar candle flickered, casting a glow across her features that made him take a slow breath. “Yeah, I really do. But like Giorgio said, I haven’t been here in a little while.”

Before she could say anything else, Giorgio had come back with two glasses of ice water and a basket of bread. “Ready to order?” he glanced between Jughead and Betty, arms crossed behind his back.

Jughead looked to his date, her eyes darting down to the menu frantically.

“What’s the chef’s special tonight?” Jughead asked, bringing Betty’s eyes back up.  

“Tonight is braised beef, roma tomatoes, mushrooms and tortellini in a red whine sauce,”

Betty pressed her lips together making a little ‘hmm’ before speaking, “That sounds really good actually, I think I’ll have that!”

Jughead nodded at Giorgio and he collected their menus happily. “Double the usual order then, excellent!” he floated away, back inside the building.

“Usual order? Do you bring all your dates here Jughead?” she was teasing him, left elbow coming up to rest on the table, her chin resting on her palm as she leaned forward.

He shook his head a little, fingers flexing as his fingers rapped against the table. “Actually no, I don’t.” He often came here by himself to be honest, he just really liked the food and the atmosphere. “I bring my little sister here a lot,” which he did do as well.  

“How old is she?” Betty genuinely seemed curious, and it made Jughead hesitate. He didn’t really like talking about his family because it was such a sore spot for him. “Jellybean is 14 and already cooler than me,” rolling his eyes he thought of his raven haired sister.

“Jellybean and Jughead huh?”

“Nicknames. The real thing is much worse, I promise,” he offered her a wink, taking a sip of his ice water and pulling an ice cube into his mouth to crunch on. Thankfully Betty didn’t press him further on his family, but instead offered up something of herself. “I’m the younger sister in my family. I’ve got an older sister, Polly… and an older brother, Chic.” Her hands were suddenly fiddling with the bread and his eyes didn’t miss the slight shake of them before she started tearing it into pieces.

He simply nodded his head to her, letting that go. Obviously they each had some baggage that was maybe a little too heavy to explore on the first date.

“How about we play 20 questions?” Jughead offered, grabbing a piece of the bread she was playing with to throw into his mouth. They had really good sourdough here.

“Ok, me first.” She tilted her head again, leaning back into her chair and looking at him with an intense gaze.

“Are you in college?” he bristled slightly, it was a valid question but she could have maybe said it differently or maybe started with something else. He supposed she just wanted to make sure he wasn’t in a ‘gang’ full time. The jacket did give some questionable vibes.

“Yes, I’m in NYU’s English and Creative Writing track, you?” he tipped his head back at her, playing with a piece of bread.

“I’m actually doing Mechanical Engineering, at NYU as well.” Well, guess she liked fixing things more than she had let on earlier. He was impressed to say the least.

“That’s petty fucking cool. How old are you exactly?”

“I’m 19. I actually graduated high school a year early, so I should be the same year as you.” she admitted shyly, like she was trying not to boast.

“You’re only a year younger than me? You must have been pretty dedicated to your studies,” he thought on his own grades in high school – average, he was just trying to go along without being noticed and that had worked splendidly.

Betty seemed to think his words over before hardening her gaze. “Well, I was very dedicated. But it wasn’t about learning – it was about getting away from my parents.”  

“Why did you want to leave so badly?” he himself had reservations about leaving his sister alone with his father to attend college.

“My parents are crazy, trust me. One day I might get into it more. The short story is that they are very controlling, strict, and wanted things for me that I didn’t want for myself.” Jughead had noticed that she had clenched the hand that wasn’t propping her chin up very tightly into a fist, her knuckles turning white with the pressure. He brought his hands out and captured her fist in his palm, cradling it and bringing her attention to what was happening. Her eyes widened, immediately unclenching her fingers, splaying her palm flat between his bigger hands.

“What’s your favorite color?” Jughead asked a lighter question, not wanting to dwell on some thing that was bothering her. She smiled at him, her eyes twinkling with affection. “It’s actually pink, but like cotton candy pink.” He wasn’t surprised, but it suited her personality.

“Well, for your information – mine isn’t black.” She feigned a look a surprise, raising an eyebrow at him. His hands had started to play with the skin on the back of her hand, his thumb running a slow circle. “It’s green, like the color of your eyes.” He said looking up from their hands and into her eyes.

He wasn’t kidding. He hadn’t really considered having a favorite color prior to meeting Betty, because how could you just like a single color enough to deem it the best when there was such a multitude to the color spectrum? But looking into her eyes he could see the appeal. If everything had turned to shades of black and white he would miss the color of her eyes the most.

She was blushing, ducking her head into her shoulder. “Jug…” his heart skipped when she used the nickname his friends called him. He squeezed her hand, her head popping back up.

She decided on the next question, her lower lip between her teeth as she chewed on it. “Favorite movie? Mine is Pretty in Pink.”

“It’s very hard for me to pick a singular movie to name as my favorite Betty. I’m kind of a cineophile. But I’m particularly fond of The Princess Bride.”

She let out a laugh and he thought for a second that she was going to make fun of him, his stomach clenching uncomfortably. He tried to pull his hands away, only getting one back as she held steadfast to the palm trapped under hers. She had stopped laughing and was shaking her head. “I was only thinking how funny it was that our favorite movies were way before our time. Like we were born a little late,”

Jughead let out a ‘hmm’ as his stomach relaxed, free hand drumming the table. “So you like the 80’s?”

“You should see my room Jughead, I think that would answer your question well enough.” His eyes darkened at her words. Of course he would like to see her room, her bed, underneath her clothes..

Giorgio chose that moment to set down their dinner plates in front of him, their hands springing apart at his arrival.

Betty let out a soft “oh” as she took in the plate of food. It was one of the reasons Jughead loved to eat here, the portions were huge.

“How are we supposed to eat all of this?” she asked, eyes filled with mirth as she watched Jughead eagerly begin to dig in to his dish. She unfolded her napkin and carefully stirred the noodles, vegetables, and meat around in the sauce.

“I’m a growing boy Betts, I need to eat.” A version of her name slipped out, much like her calling him ‘Jug’ earlier and it seemed to have the same effect on her. She gave a little chuckle, lips smiling around the fork she had brought up to take a bite.

“Oh my god, Jug!” she let out a low moan, her shoulders slumping in her seat as she seemed to relax completely in the chair. He snickered at her, he told her the food was good. “I think this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted,” she said scooping up another bite. He murmured his agreement around his fork, not wanting to talk with his mouth full.

The rest of dinner passed smoothly as they continued to ask each other questions while eating their meals. To his surprise Betty was able to eat most oh her dish and then she let him finish it off.

“Now, I was promised dessert.” Betty said after wiping her mouth with her napkin – her lips had stayed that same cherry red color all through eating and drinking. He blinked and brought himself up to her eyes which were twinkling. The sun had dropped low in the sky at this point, the fairy lights and the table candles providing enough low light to be considered intimate.

“There’s this amazing pecan blondie with maple cream glaze and ice-“ she shot her hand out to grab his wrist from across the table, her nails pressing into his skin lightly, the muscle in his thigh giving off a twitch. “You had me at pecan blondie.” She licked her lips, pulling her hand away. “Let’s share?” she offered and Jughead couldn’t help but nod.

Giorgio had taken their empty plates away, returning with glasses of milk for each of them and a sizzling plate with a large chunk of pecan blondie, 2 scoops of vanilla ice-cream piled on top and 2 spoons. He let Betty pick up the cup of maple glaze and watched as she poured the entire thing over the dessert before swiping her finger into the empty cup to get the last remnants. Finger popping into her mouth, he followed the movement with his eyes. “Shit, Jughead that’s amazing.”

Her voice was really making his muscles ache with tension, his palms sweaty, his body heated. He grabbed a spoon and shoved a bite of the ice-cream in his mouth in an effort to cool himself. “Yeah, I know. I told you,” he shrugged a shoulder, gaining composure as he took another bit of the dessert. They traded taking spoonfuls, crashing their spoons into each other and fighting over the last bite. Betty finally got her way and accepted the last bite off of Jughead’s spoon as she leant across the table, her lips closing around the spoon in his hand. Her eyes were locked onto his the entire time and he felt his lips part, his breath seeming to halt until she leant back in her seat and sighed happily.

The next few minutes passed by in a bit of a blur, he paid the bill and they munched on some chocolate mints while he took her through the restaurant and back up front to the store to look around. They ended up back out by his bike when a breeze caught them and Betty shivered. Jughead immediately brought the jacket he had slung over his arm across her shoulders. It was large on her, swallowing her small frame but damn did she look good in his leather. Her arms snaked through the sleeves and her pink painted nails peeked out from the edges of the sleeves as she hugged it around herself.

“Let’s get you home,” he said softly, taking the helmet she wore and bucking it under her chin after he swept her hair over her shoulders.

She murmured her address to him, climbing onto the bike behind him and pressing herself to his back like earlier, her thighs tucked up right behind his. The warmth of her body plus the fire that was raging inside of him was enough to keep him warm on the ride to her apartment.

They walked into her building about 15 minutes later, a large brownstone building with multiple apartments. They climbed 2 flights of stairs, him following her until she stopped at what he presumed was her door. Betty pulled his leather jacket off and handed if back to him. Jughead pulled it on his own shoulders while she murmured how good of a time she had with him tonight. They shared cell phone numbers, the evening winding down as the silence got more awkward. He was absolutely planning on texting her, probably even right when he got home. He hoped she felt the same things he was, but she seemed quiet since he had put his jacket around her earlier.

Her hands were searching the little purse that hung at her hip for her keys. Suddenly she stopped and looked up at him with wide eyes. He was about to ask what was wrong but before he could her arms were suddenly around his neck and her lips were pressed to his. He responded eagerly, eyes sliding shut as he slanted his mouth against hers more firmly. He gripped her hips, pulling her body close to his as he backed her into the door of her apartment.

Betty’s hand were gripping his neck, dipping down under the collar of his jacket, nails scratching against the material of his shirt. Moving his lips against hers he nipped at her bottom one, taking it between his teeth and sucking on it. Her lips parted as her head fell back against the door. Jughead swooped in, running his tongue along her swollen bottom lip before diving inside her mouth. His body turned hot, like someone had started a fire in the pit of his stomach. He pressed his hips harder into the small blonde, her back arching up as he did.

Her fingers were leaving tiny electric shocks as the pads of her fingers pressed down against the skin of his neck, her hands gliding around to the front of his chest.  Their tongues tangled together in a heated clash. He could taste the maple and chocolate on her breath, feel her chest against his,  heaving as they both began to struggle for air. She tore her mouth away from his, panting and tilted her head to the side as he descended down her jaw papering kisses until he got to her throat.

He pulled a hand from where he was keeping her hips pinned between his and the door and undid the single button of her cardigan at the base of her throat. He then swept her hair away from the side of her neck, his hand staying there on the back of her head, tangling in the blonde waves. He kissed the hollow of her throat before moving up and to the side, grazing over her pulse which was thrumming against his lips. His own heart pounding just as fast. She gave a breathy sigh, her hands now clutching the front of his shirt.

Jughead licked a stripe of skin from her neck up to her ear before nibbling gently on her earlobe. “Juggie..” He felt her thighs clench together between his legs. He groaned at that, loving the way his name sounded rolling off her tongue, his stomach clenching in desire.

Betty’s hands came up to his cheeks, taking hold of his face and pulling him from her neck. She leaned in kissing him softly this time, catching his own lip between her teeth and giving him the same treatment she had received. He tightened his hold on her hip, the hand in her hair drifting down to snake around her small waist and pull her impossibly closer. She pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth before leaning further up to his ear.

Her voice was haunting as she spoke, breath tickling his ear and sending a delightful tingle down his spine.

“Would you like to come inside?”

[inspectorboxer]

Come to My Rescue

by Inspector Boxer

Fandom: Supergirl

Pairing: Cat/Kara

Rating: T

Author’s Note: This is a prompt fill for @thecourtneycampaign​ who requested prompt #50, “You just had to punch that guy, didn’t you?” Hope you like it. :)

Thanks to @zennie-fic for the beta. You’re my hero.

****

“You just had to punch that guy, didn’t you?”

Cat shrugged as Kara hustled them into the elevator, smashing the lobby button so hard it cracked. Rolling her eyes at the glimpse of the superhero Cat wasn’t suppose to see, she watched as the Senator’s security team scrambled after them. Six men in identically boring suits and over-polished wingtips half ran/half walked toward them, trying to act casual and not cause a scene. They were failing spectacularly.

The doors closed before the men got there, and Kara heaved a weary sigh.

“They’ll be more waiting in the lobby,” Cat told her placidly, not regretting her actions for a moment. That bastard had been trying to manhandle Kara, and while Cat knew the younger woman was more than capable of throwing the smarmy lawmaker clear off the planet, Kara wouldn’t raise a hand to defend herself. She couldn’t risk it.

That left Cat to do it for her. It had been oddly satisfying to come to Supergirl’s defense for a change.

“You didn’t have to hit him,” Kara said, the chipper musac piping through the speakers a strange soundtrack for the moment. “I was handling it.” She shook her head. “I don’t see you for three months, and this is how your breeze back into my life?”

“I like to make an entrance.”

Kara sighed theatrically.

“What was he so up in arms about that he would make a scene like that in a such a public space?” Cat asked.

“I had... some questions for him. He didn’t seem to appreciate that.”

Cat smiled, studying Kara’s reflection in the elevator doors. She looked every bit the part of a junior reporter, and her affection for the other woman swelled against her wishes. “Holding the politicians accountable, hmm?”

“Something like that. Now I’ll likely be reporting on your arrest unless I get hauled in as an accessory.”

“Well, you are trespassing. This is a members-only establishment.” 

Kara abruptly punched three more buttons and Cat frowned. When the elevator lurched to a stop on the 10th floor, Kara gripped her arm, dragging Cat out into the hallway. Cat stared down at the hand on her bicep, ignoring the tingles of pleasure that shivered over her skin. She marveled at the delicate balancing act Kara had to perform to keep from snapping Cat’s arm like a twig.

“What are you doing?” Cat demanded.

“Trying to confuse security and save your life.”

“I hit him, Kara.” Cat clenched her jaw as the younger woman pulled her along. “I didn’t assassinate the man. Although it might be a favor to the general public if someone would.” She flexed her right hand, pain shooting uncomfortably through her wrist. It would be just her luck if she’d broken it.

“You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.” Cat tried to dig in her heels, but it was pointless.

Kara drug Cat down a long hallway before she made a quick turn, ducking into the stairwell and starting to descend. Reaching up, she tapped an earpiece Cat hadn’t noticed. “Winn, I need you to disable the cameras. All of them, interior and exterior.”

Cat’s heartbeat kicked up in alarm as she realized she might have blundered into the middle of something bigger than she’d realized. “I thought I fired the little cardigan hobbit.”

“You did. Thank God.” Kara shoved opened the door on the sixth floor. She whipped off her glasses, scanning the hallway. Pursing her lips, she jerked Cat with her as she went left.

“I am capable of walking, you know,” Cat sniffed.

“Like you said, they’ll have more security in the lobby.” Kara reached a room near the end of the hallway. She glanced around to make sure they were alone and gave the door the faintest shove.

The lock snapped and they stepped inside, and that’s when Cat realized whatever was happening, it was about more than a story.

Kara shoved the door closed and Cat’s breath caught when the younger woman used her heat vision to weld the lock shut.

“Kara.” Cat grabbed her arm, urged her to turn and look at her, to explain what was happening.

“I need to get you out of here, Cat.”

With the glasses gone, Kara Danvers seemed to disappear and Supergirl emerged. Neither of them commented on the secret Kara had been keeping. They both knew it hadn’t really been a secret between them anyway.

“The Senator is not going to have me rubbed out for hitting him…”

“That’s not the Senator,” Kara said. “He’s an alien. A shapeshifter. A... very, very bad alien shapeshifter.”

“Oh.”

Kara moved to the window, prying it open.

“That’s what you were doing. Trying to trap him in a lie to ascertain if the Senator had been replaced,” Cat realized. She’d screwed up. Epically. “I thought I was doing what you couldn’t.”

“Coming to my rescue?” Kara scoffed.

“Is that so bad?” Cat demanded, her hands settling defiantly on her hips. “To want that man to get his hands off you?”

Kara stalked back to her. “You didn’t bat an eye when I used my powers just now. You know who I am, what I can do…”

“But Kara Danvers couldn’t touch him. So I did. I’m not apologizing for that. For defending you.”

Kara hesitated, staring at her. She shook her head a little, a tiny smile curving the corners of her lips despite their current predicament. “Rao, I’ve missed you.”

Cat swallowed, the sentiment warming her in the heavily air-conditioned room. “Of course you have,” she rejoined. Her lips quirked up of their own volition, blunting the brag into something more humorous. “I’ve missed you too,” Cat admitted when the intensity thickened between them. She’d hoped time and distance would ease the pull this woman had on her, but it only seemed to have made it worse.

Kara tipped her head, listening. “They’re coming. We’ve got to go.”

“Go where?” Cat murmured. She glanced at the window and sighed.

Coming closer, Kara didn’t ask for permission as she scooped Cat into her arms, holding her safe and close. “Up, up, and away, Ms. Grant.”

****

Cat watched the woman outfitting her with some kind of high tech cast for the sprain in her wrist. She’d seen Alex Danvers before, during the whole Myriad mess, but now that she knew she was Kara’s sister, she was fascinated.

“You’re staring,” Alex muttered.

Cat didn’t bother apologizing for her curiosity. “Are you like her? Kryptonian?”

Alex scoffed. “My family adopted her. I’m as human as you are, Ms. Grant.”

“But you grew up together.” What Cat wouldn’t give for a few hours alone with this woman. It might take a few drinks, but Cat suspected Alex Danvers has some stories to tell.

“I’ve known Kara since she was 13. I think it goes without saying that if you…”

“Reveal her identity or hurt her in any way you’ll make me disappear. Yes, yes, thank you for the shovel talk, Agent Danvers, but it isn’t necessary. Kara’s secret is completely safe with me.”

Alex shook her head, giving Cat a sideways glance. “I can’t believe you punched him. You blew an entire operation all to hell. You’re lucky you aren’t dead.”

“I was defending your sister’s honor,” Cat sniffed.

Cat expected Alex to point out that Kara didn’t need defending, to lecture her about getting involved, but the agent only smiled.

“And I thought I was the only human dumb enough to keep doing that.” Alex stepped back, missing the way Cat’s gaze softened on her in surprise. “How’s that feel?”

Experimentally, Cat flexed her fingers. “Cumbersome.”

“Then you’re good to go.” Alex picked up her supplies.

“Thank you,” Cat murmured. “Where’s your sister?”

“Cleaning up a much bigger mess than this. She told me to tell you she’d check in with you later.”

****

The flutter of a cape in the wind alerted Cat to her late-night visitor. She glanced out her open balcony door to see Kara hovering, waiting for an invitation.

Staying away from this woman had been pointless. Despite all her considerable power, Cat was powerless against this. Something inevitable bound them together, an attraction neither could fight, and tonight, Cat didn’t want to.  

Strolling outside, Cat waited as Kara touched down lightly beside her. “Can I assume the ‘senator’ has been apprehended?”

Kara sighed. “Not yet. I’m afraid your security detail is going to have to hang around a little longer.” She stepped closer, frowning at the cast on Cat’s hand. Her fingers wrapped around it gently, drawing her hand into the light. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Cat lied. It was almost unfair how beautiful Kara was, her features bathed in the lights from the city she protected. Cat enjoyed the view, eyeing her with open appreciation.

Tilting her head, it was clear Kara wasn’t buying it.

“Fine. It throbs like a bitch.”

A slow, sexy grin shaped the superhero’s lips. “I’m sorry.”

“No one but myself to blame.”

Kara stared at her for a moment, looking unsure, but then she brought Cat’s hand to her lips, kissing her fingers, letting the touch linger.

Cat swallowed, struggling to breathe through the sudden heat flushing through her at the gesture. Kara looked up at her before kissing Cat’s fingers again, her mouth soft and warm on Cat’s skin. “Kara…” Cat’s voice was husky, giving away the effect the younger woman had on her.

The air charged between them, and Cat reveled in it as Kara unexpectedly stepped even closer.

“Yes, Ms. Grant?” Kara teased, her gaze knowing. Wanting.

“I think I’d feel much safer with you here tonight.” Cat watched her, waiting to see if this was the moment they both gave in, or if Kara would pull back and run.

Slowly, Kara nodded. “Might be a good idea,” she whispered, her gaze dipping to Cat’s lips. Her fingertips grazed Cat’s cheek before sliding into her blonde hair, gently cupping the base of Cat’s head. “I can’t believe you came to my rescue today.”

“Hmm. Do I get a thank you?” Cat taunted.

She did. And then some.