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patchoulimademoiselle · 3 months

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Juicy. (Part 8).

Tony Stark (Sugar Daddy) x Reader Insert.

Warnings: Unprotected sex, profanity, mentions of PTSD, public sex? A little bit of angst and fluff, but definitely NSFW 18+.

Word Count: 3.9K

Authors note: I wrote this part while soaking in my bath tub, drinking a glass of wine and listening to Jhene Aiko. I don’t call it “bad bitch fanfiction” for no reason!

Guns n Glitter masterlist.

The days following the Incident feel like a loop. Tony wakes you up with some sort of extravagant gesture, as he should, smothering you in what feels like a million kisses, and he asks you what you want to do. At first you took full advantage, shopping sprees, a random jet flight to a random city, a night out clubbing, anything and everything to distract you and make you feel normal again.

A girl being waited on hand and foot by her billionaire sugar daddy with sexy facial hair. Trademarked.

But it only works for a while. The press stalks your every move, any and every person you encounter only asks about what happened that night. All your efforts to escape fail, it only makes you feel more helpless, strung out and spread thin.

So you try a different approach, turning inwards for answers. Tony gives you his credit card to order a new skin care routine to the house. You spend hours picking at your face, soaking in the tub, drinking wine that’s a little too strong for you, trying new makeup looks with new products you splurged on. Anything to feel something.

And once again, it works for a while. Your skin and hair look amazing, you feel a little more like yourself. Reading, journaling, breathing.

But all it takes is the sound of a helicopter flying down the beach, Tony drops a tool down in the garage, a plate clatters in the sink, and you’re back to that night, glass shattering outside the bedroom door, the same glass you step on and give yourself away, watching as the intruders run after you.

You start having nightmares, jumping out of your sleep in pain, a memory of stepping on glass that night. Tony does all he can to comfort you back to sleep. You start having panic attacks, holding your breath without knowing it, anxiety attacks, a sense of fear creeping up on you from what feels like out of nowhere, consuming you.

And as normal as this is, a trauma response to the horrible thing you experienced, Tony can’t stand seeing it happen to you.

He understands, he used to suffer from similar symptoms. He knows what this is.

PTSD.

He knows talking about it helps sometimes, but it also doesn’t. It only makes you relive it, only presses play to the memories in your mind and brings you back. Nothing really helps.

The only thing he knows he can do for you is to be there for you. And when he finally decides he can’t take it anymore, he can’t watch you gasp and cry as you struggle through another panic attack, body half naked on the cold floor, shaking, so fragile and helpless, he decides to get you out of here.

He wakes you up, same as every morning, a kiss to your forehead. It feels different this time, you notice he lingers, he’s worried, and it makes you feel bad.

“Tony?”

“Hi, baby.” He smiles when you open your eyes, “I have a surprise for you.”

You smile, “You always have a surprise for me.”

But he only shakes his head, fingers tracing your collar bone. “This one is different. Better. You have to get up and get ready.”

You groan, trying to roll over and ignore him. He doesn’t let you. “But I don’t want to get out of bed today.” You protest. “I want to lay here and be naked. I want you to join me.”

He lets out a whine that you recognize, “Why do you have to torture me like that? I’m try to be cute.”

You feel him grow hard, turned on by your antics, you know you’re about to win, you reach a hand up to cup his face, pulling him in for a soft kiss. “Come join me in bed, daddy.”

He kisses you. More like a peck, once, twice, before he’s pulling away from your grip. “You are a fucking monster, and I’m going to take you up on that offer in about an hour.” He pulls out his phone, checking it. “But we have reservations, and for the first time in my life I actually care about making them on time. So please, for the love of God, stop teasing me and put some clothes on?”

You can’t argue after he begged so nicely, your eyes lingering to the bulge in his pants as you sit up.

“Five minutes?” You bite your lip.

“Bathroom, Y/n! Before I I change my mind and don’t let you leave the bed at all today.”

You know he means it, as good as that sounds, as much as you would enjoy a good brutal fucking, you remember the ache and strain of your muscles from the last time you teased him too much. And as horny as you are, you’re slightly curious about the plans he made for you today.

So without another word, you slip out of bed and into the bathroom, using all your new products to shower, shave, exfoliate, wash your face, brush your teeth, and style your hair. You pick a cute outfit, juicy track suit, panda dunks, and a crop top. You feel so young, so cute, so yourself.

You double check in the mirror, applying lipgloss across your lips, and you watch as Tony comes to check on you, eyeing you with approval. He kisses your cheek, hands cupping your ass ever so softly before giving it a firm squeeze.

“There she is.” The comment is simple, vague, but all the reassurance you needed to feel confident. You can’t help but smile, turning to kiss him, leaving behind a shiny trace of lipgloss.

He doesn’t wipe it off, just rubs his lips together, and for some reason it turns you on a little.

“Tony Stark, you’re such a dream boat.” You fluff his hair, grabbing his hand to pull you with him as you finally leave the bathroom. He doesn’t protest, trailing behind you like a deer stuck in headlights, eyes glued to your ass, rhinestones putting him in a shimmering trance. “Where you taking me?”

“There’s a car waiting out front.” His eyes trail up to meet yours when you turn to look at him, waiting for an answer. “You don’t want to bring anything?”

The question makes you pause, “Should I be bringing something?”

“You just went shopping,” he shrugs, handing your phone to you. “You don’t need anything if you don’t want anything.”

Now you’re genuinely confused, raising an eyebrow at his antics. He only flashes you a smile, bright white teeth and teasing tone, he isn’t going to tell you anything. So you take your phone and continue downstairs, out the front door, and into the black limo parked out front.

You suddenly feel like you’re underdressed for whatever this is, but realize he’s wearing joggers and sneakers, so it can’t be anything too extravagant this time. You hope.

He pulls your feet by the ankle to rest them in his lap, a warm hand resting on your leg during the car ride. You take a few pictures, unashamed that he catches you drooling over him.

“Like what you see?” He winks at you, pulling his shades down ever so slightly.

“Fuck me Mr. Stark!” You bounce up and down in your seat, waving your hand in the air. “Me! Me! Fuck me!” He laughs at your attempt to mimic the many young girls that throw themselves at him.

It was annoying at first, early on when you were first figuring out the terms of this arrangement. It intimidated you, made you feel challenged in your roll. Until you started really spending his money, dressing yourself up, showing your face with him more. The attention was on you just as much, and he learned very quickly how it felt to have so many people publicly throw themselves at the person you were dating.

If you could call it that then.

But now, you aren’t sure what to call it at all. His laughter dies, his eyes locked with yours, and you feel that familiar tug in your chest, the feeling that you finally put a word to.

You love him, and he loves you. It scares you.

“Tony?” Your tone turns serious, and his smile fades. “Did you really mean it?”

You don’t have to elaborate. He knows exactly what you mean, matching your energy when he turns to face you fully, pulling you to sit closer.

“There is nothing I’ve ever said to you that I don’t mean.” He says honestly, voice thick with an emotion you aren’t sure you’ve seen from him before. “I love you more than you can begin to understand. You don’t know what this does for me.” He passes his finger back and forth between you, this, your connection, your bond, your presence in his life.

“All of this is worth nothing if I have no one to share it with,” he catches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, “All of this finally means something because I get to share it with you.”

The money, clothes, cars, all of it.

You understand his longing for companionship. A man like him who has seen and done it all, in the end, what was it all for if there is no one to keep your company, no one to laugh with, no one to lay beside at night and tell your darkest secrets to.

No one to love you despite all your ugly.

He reaches to grab your hand, butterflies awaken in your stomach, and you realize you don’t want this to happen. You don’t want to ruin the fun you have together, you don’t want to play the game of dancing on the edge and taking things too far.

You love him, you think you love him, you aren’t so sure now, seeing him smile at you with a trace of something else, adoration, love, it makes your stomach turn.

You don’t want to ruin this.

“That means a lot to me, Tone.” You smile through the nerves, leaning in to kiss him. “I love you too.”

But, you never say it, it’s on the tip of your tongue, hanging in the air. But, he isn’t really relationship material is he?

Is he love bombing you? You both agreed you were too busy for a relationship, agreed to see each other on the weekends in between his work and your schooling, agreed to never take it too far because it wouldn’t work.

He tried it before, it doesn’t work.

So how did you get here? So caught up in each other, so distracted by your feelings that you forget what brought you two together in the first place. Needing a distraction, needing a mutual connection that benefits both parties and doesn’t ever overstep the boundaries in place.

But is it wrong to find love in such a transactional relationship? Is this wrong?

He can sense your hesitation, he can feel it actually, your body is rigid in his arms, stiff with anxiety. He can see your thoughts, your eyes blank as you stare into his.

It makes him laugh, placing an apologetic kiss to the corner of your mouth, “Take a deep breath sweetheart.” He says. “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay, everything is about to change, you can feel it. But this man has just planned some kind of surprise for you, a chance to get your mind off things and return to your normal self. And here you are ruining it.

You smile, pushing back your doubts, and you notice how relieved he feels, He put his heart on the line, not sure how you would take it. You feel bad, fingers toying the the hair on the back of his head.

You do love him. But you aren’t sure how far you can take it.

His intentions seem innocent at first when he kisses you, hands slow and gentle as they grab your hips, pulling you into a straddle. It’s cute, sensual, his every move is calculated.

You barely notice his hand slip under your shirt until you feel him pinching your breast, toying with the nipple.

You want him to fuck you, grinding yourself down onto his lap, you can feel a bulge growing in his pants, the kiss is no longer innocent, lips fighting for control.

He wins, of course he does, flipping you to sit in the seat next to you, sinking down to his knees between your legs. He reaches for the waist and of your pants and your eyes dart up to the partition, drawn closed to separate you from the driver.

It must be a green light in his head, pulling your legs free to expose your bare pussy, wet and clenching at nothing for some sort of relief.

He smirks up at you, cocky as he pushes your legs further apart at the knees. He kisses the inside of your thigh, teasing, payback for earlier no doubt.

You can’t help but reach for him, fingers in his hair as he works his way up your thigh, between your legs. This is what you know, this is what you are familiar with.

You gasp, lips brushing against your clit with a ghost of a kiss. You arch off the seat, chasing him, he laughs at you, your grip tightens in his hair.

“Is there something you want?”

There are so many things you want, so many ways he could give it to you. You aren’t sure what you want to ask for first.

So you don’t ask at all, grabbing his chin, “Eat my pussy.”

And you can tell he likes it by the way he moans, his tongue warm as he obeys. You’re pretty sure the diver can hear you, you wouldn’t be surprised if the audio got leaked to TMZ. You also don’t care, pulling him closer, sinking further into your seat to allow him better access.

He lifts your legs over his shoulder, hands on your hips to press you flush against his mouth, burying his face between your legs. All attempts at being in control are gone, all witty comments, any jokes you might have wanted to make about how desperately he is pleasuring. You’re an obscene mess, crop top pushed up to expose your breasts, mouth agape and chest heaving as you struggle through the pleasure, the sensation overwhelming and he flicks his tongue across your clit.

“Tony,” A breathy whine, barely audible if he hasn’t been paying such close attention, “I’m going to come.”

He doesn’t say anything, just continues the pace he’s set until your nails are digging into this shoulder, eyes squeezed shut as you squirt on his face.

There’s something degrading about it, something hot and just wrong about the way he sucks at your clit, tasting your pleasure.

You’re panting, legs shaking, pressing against his chest to get him to move, it’s too much, you can’t help but cry out at the overstimulation. But he doesn’t let up, sloppy sounds filling the air around you, along with your moans, and a second orgasm overcomes you.

He hums with approval, almost teasing you as he finally leans back, eyes twinkling, face dripping, “Do you feel better now, sweetheart?”

Oh, you feel more than better, speechless, body like jello as you watch him sit up, placing a kiss on each of your breasts, your fluids left behind. He doesn’t stop there, working his way up your chest, your neck, to the side of your face.

“Did I break you?”

It feels like a challenge more than anything, a sudden burst of energy overcoming you. “You wish.” Because yes, he was a good lay. A very good lay. But you’re even better, and you will always go the extra mile to prove it.

Because he is a high value man. Handsome, rich, protective, secure. He is a provider, hardworking. He deserves a bad bitch to match his energy.

He laughs, breathless and panting, you let him settle beside you before climbing into his lap, sitting right on top of the erection in his pants. He groans a little, every move you make to get comfortable is torture, you can feel how hard he is, pussy pulsing at the attention.

You feel so young, so alive, his hands in your hair as he pulls you into a kiss. Slow at first, until you start to grind in his lap, his kisses become more desperate, hot and passion filled, a dance and a fight for dominance and pleasure.

“Sit on it.” Not a question, you lift just enough for him to slide his joggers down, gasping at the feeling of his cock springing to attention, slapping lighting against your pussy.

You moan, reaching to grab him, hard and warm in your hand. Your eyes lock with his, guiding this cock to toy at your entrance, throbbing tip brushing against your folds.

The look he’s giving you is dangerous, encouraging, and so finally, you lower yourself down, feeling yourself stretch around him. He moans, head falling back against the seat, enjoying the feeling.

Slowly, you bottom out, reposting to shift from your knees to your feet. He welcomes the adjustment, arms wrapping around you to pull you into a gentle embrace, one hand on the small of your back, the other at the back of your neck.

“Fuck me, baby girl.” He looks drunk, mouth open and eyes dark as he pleads with you.

You love when he talks to you like this, guiding you, but letting you set the pace. It makes you feel confident, sexy, no pressure to perform.

The encouragement has you biting your lip, setting a slow pace of rising up, letting his cock slowly slip out of you, then slowly sitting back down. He takes a nipple into his mouth, teeth grazing your skin ever so gently.

You gasp when he bites down, clenching around him at the pleasure of it, the slow pace you had tried to keep up long forgotten. You grab his shoulders for support, his head popping up to claim your lips again, hips thrusting to meet yours at a vulgar pace.

The limo slows to a stop, but you ignore it, his grip on you tightening as you fuck yourself down on him, pleasure starling to build in your stomach.

He breaks your kiss, leaning back and letting you take control. You grab his hands, fitting one against your breast and the other to grab your throat.

“You fuck me so well.” A thumb across your lower lip, “You look perfect like this.”

You can only imagine, hair a mess, lips swollen and red, tits bouncing at your efforts.

You clench around him, watching his jaw tick with restraint. His grip around your neck tightens, enough to leave a bruise you’re sure.

He’s getting close.

As hard as he’s trying to hide it from you, you can tell. And so you start to ride him faster, rising to your tippy toes.

“God, yes. Don’t stop.”

His hands snap down to your waist, guiding you to go faster, his hips thrusting up to meet you. The pace has you moaning, knees growing weak, and you can’t help but lean into him.

“You gonna come for me?” You whisper.

You can hear commotion outside, cheeks flushing at the thought of someone hearing you, seeing you.

“Y/n,” He sounds wrecked, voice thick and scratchy, “Baby, I’m about to-“

You clamp your hand over his mouth, forcing yourself down onto his cock, giving him one last squeeze, pussy clenching around him. You feel him twitch inside you, a moan muffled against your hand as he finally comes inside of you, warm cum filling you up.

His hips buck wildly against you, riding out his pleasure, holding you in place as you help him through it, milking all he has to offer.

You uncover his mouth, letting him catch his breath. He smiles at you, a flash of pretty teeth before he kisses you, stealing your breath away one more time.

“You are going to be the death of me.” He whispers, “You are perfect in every way.”

As you should.

He helps you find your clothes, waiting for you to fix your hair and reapply a layer of lipgloss, wiping the traces of it from his face, before you finally step out of the limo. You realize you are at the airport again, jet fueled and waiting for your arrival. You aren’t sure if he was trying to distract you or if you really did get caught up in the moment, but it has you smiling, arms up in the California air as a breeze brushes your skin.

You want to be young forever, free, lit up and intoxicated on love and adrenaline. You know who you have to thank for this, his fingers at the small of your back, guiding you.

Your love, your protector.

"Where are we going?" You know he wont tell you, but you can at least attempt. He gives you nothing, just a smirk when you turn to look at him.

He is inches behind you as you ascend the stairs to the jet, his hand never leaving you. You aren't sure what this is, affection, adoration, but he can't stop touching you, pulling you to sit across his lap. You ask for champagne, he asks for a rum and coke.

He runs a hand through your hair, pushing it back over your shoulder. You realize then what this is, his eyes twinkling as he examines you, eyes on your lips. This is love.

That anxiety creeps back up into your mind, that burning question that seems to be an instinct more than curiosity. What will happen now?

Because you could never pretend that this isn't here, this lingering feeling that turns in your stomach when he looks at you too long, that ache in your chest. The longing in your heart.

It wont just go away.

Your drinks arrive, and you're quick to down it before asking for another. His eyes are on you, but he says nothing, letting you cut loose. That is the point of this after all.

The jet door closes and takes off, Tony holding you until you’ve drunken yourself into a tipsy state, a smile on your face, body feeling light and airy as you lean back into his embrace.

He humors you, whispering stupid jokes and dirty promises in your ears while an 80’s movie plays in the background. You are at the center of his attention.

Always.

You dread the moment where this peace will be broken, the reality of your situation will have to resurface at some point. You will have to go home, you will have to go to school, you will have to decide what to do moving forward.

But for now, you let him spoil you. The jet touches down, and you instantly feel overdress when your feet touch the earth again. It's a temperate climate, not exactly tropical, but not cold either.

Clear skies and pretty blue water, you could try to play the guessing game, but knowing Tony, you would never get it right.

His lips are at your temple, a hand on the small of your back, "Welcome to Italy, baby."

The smile on your face makes all the trouble worth it, Tony decides then and there that he will spend the rest of his days trying to make you happy. He owes you at least that much.

"Tony Stark," Your eyes gleaming, "You spoil me."

His hand slides lower, giving a firm, teasing, squeeze on your ass. You can feel him toying with the rhinestones, "Juicy."

You cant help but laugh, the weight of reality lifting off your shoulders once again.

#avengers fanfiction #reader insert #iron man #tony stark smut #tony stark x reader #tony stark series #tony stark sugar daddy #tony stark fanfic

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 months

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Rewatching “The Rise Of Skywalker” for research purposes 👀 new fic coming soon 🫶🏻

Dropping 1/1/24 ❤️

#kylo x reader #kylo ren fanfic #star wars

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 months

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Bat Shit Crazy. (Part 2)

Bucky Barnes x Reader Fic

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: language, sub/dom dynamic, large age gap, smut, praise kink. Reader has bpd, and a personality switch takes place. Bucky cusses you out in Russian. All the good stuff.

Summary: Your first mission together in a while doesn't exactly go as you expected it to.

Notes: This fic is dark, and it only gets darker. This is more Winter Soldier Bucky in terms of behavioral traits and dynamics with other characters. This is not a soft lovey dovey style fic, and if that bothers you DO NOT READ.

Masterlist

You savor Bucky being home, home, as if you can call it that without a guilty conscience. Your trigger finger is itching by the time you’re assigned a new mission, but you’re disappointed to find that its only recon, and it’s in harsh winter terrain.

Your black tactical gear has been switched for white, a thick winter coat and light colored combat boots. The air is crisp, stinging the tip of your nose every time you inhale. You hate recon, and you hate whatever country this is, Russia maybe? You have a bad habit of not paying attention during mission briefings. You are not the brains in this equation. More like a secret weapon hidden in a small frame, so as you find a million ways to distract yourself, Bucky soaks up the details like a sponge.

Your short attention span does bother him, one day it can cost you your life if you aren’t careful. But the dynamic between you tends to work with it, he gives you a shorter version on the way to the drop sight, and you have signals assigned between each other as code. You can never ignore a signal. That’s the deal between you. It’s all fun and games until you take it too far, he has warned you so many times that it will cost you everything.

I will not let you kill me and yourself by being reckless, the warning replays in your head and it sends a shiver down your spine, you reach to grab his arm, struggling to keep up with his pace.

“Bucky,” You smile, a little breathless. “I’m dying here.”

“You’re fine.” He says, “Tighten up.”

This is who he is, traces of his training are hidden in everything he does, his life before this making him cold and rough around the edges. But here, stalking through the snow, like a predator searching for prey, you can sense how dangerous he really is. There are traces of the winter soldier still in him, and it concerns him to know that it excites you. Those rough edges will do more than cut you one day, but for now, he is no more dangerous to you than a guard dog to its owner, loyal, trusting. You know he will die before he lets you get hurt.

You trust him, so you tighten up, fighting through the burn in your thighs as you continue uphill for what feels like hours. The hike only takes about two before he’s signaling you to stop, his footsteps stopping abruptly.

You hear nothing, but as you look up at his face, you know he senses something. He starts to crouch, you follow his lead until you’re both belly down in the snow. He sets up the rifle that was hanging on his shoulder, using it to survey the area.

“What is it?” You’re close enough to talk into his ear, voice barely audible in the air around you.

“This is a high traffic area,” His voice is so low, the thickness of it making it hard to hear. You strain, faces touching, “Their camp must be close.” They, you weren’t sure who, that’s the whole point of this. “Mark these coordinates. We have to move soon.”

You reach into his coat pocket, slowly, pulling out the sat nav Tony had designed for the team, marking your coordinates, entering a note of high traffic, before returning it to his pocket.

Bucky must feel sure of himself, because he turns his head to you now, lips almost touching as he says, “Remember your training, what do you see?”

You want to kiss him, a few stray strands of hair fall over his forehead, the fur lining of his coat hood makes him look so much younger, normal, as if you weren’t on a recon mission in the snow. A young couple going on a camping trip, a winter hike in the woods to get away from your busy lives.

But then you look into his eyes, dark, cold, a trained soldier focused on the task at hand, and you know he would kill you himself if you tried to distract him.

So you turn your head, looking at the trees in front of you. He watches you as you say, “A disadvantage.” And you swear you see the corner of his lips twitch up in a smile.

“Good girl.” Then he’s sitting up, slowly. “We’ll have to go around, find higher ground.” He extends a hand to you, you take it, and he pulls you up out of the snow. “Keep your eyes moving.” You're shocked at his change in attitude, an unfamiliar gentleness in his tone.

You don’t remember the last time he seemed so carefree on a mission like this. It must be a lighter feeling compared to what he just went through with Steve, but he has never let his guard down so much with you. He is always on edge, expecting you to fuck up somehow.

But he seems to trust you here, or maybe he’s testing you. Either way, you’re grateful for it. You don’t feel like you’re walking on eggshells, he trusts you, and that means more than he can know.

You think he senses it, his eyes lighter when you stand.

He wants you, you recognize this stance, that stare, there are memories floating behind his eyes, his seemingly innocent touch isn’t so innocent, his hand lingering, hesitating to let you go.

But you’re too exposed here, the reality of your situation setting in and ruining the moment as flurries of snow fall between you. A smile breaks across your face, pulling your hand from his to catch a snowflake.

“We need to move.” He’s back, your window of opportunity has closed, shoving your shoulder to force you backwards, you turn, walking away from the spot you had just laid in the snow, away from the moment you just shared.

He lets you lead, you aren’t sure why, his eyes watching your every move. But it doesn’t feel invasive, doesn’t feel threatening at all. It feels protective, guiding. You embrace this dynamic.

It is hard for him to let you be yourself sometimes. Aloof, just a young girl still trying to navigate the world compared to his hardened persona. A part of him knows he is ruining you, exposing you to a darkness you would have never known if you hadn’t become so close. Your life was troubled before him, but he knows he is only fueling the fire, teaching you to dance along with the flames, teaching you to embrace the pain of the burn.

But you don’t seem to notice it yet, and he couldn’t ever find it in himself to let you be. So you stay this way, wild, careless, continuously dancing on the edge. Because he is there to catch you, even if he is the reason you fall.

But most of the time, you take yourself there, filled with an anger he hasn’t helped you control yet, a recklessness that comes from a hard life, not caring what happens, needing a thrill to make it all worth it.

Like right now, a lapse in judgment, a fallen log up ahead, you jump on it, trying to balance, but it collapses under your weight, the sound of wood cracking echoes into the air around you, no doubt traveling for miles.

You freeze, knowing you fucked up, knowing that if you get out of this alive, you will be tortured for this mistake. But you don’t really have time to think about the consequences, Bucky is grabbing you by the hood of your coat, pulling you into a run.

It’s choaking you, the zipper digging into your skin, but you don’t dare complain, letting him pull you as you run, stopping when you’ve reached a good distance. He pushes you against a tree, thick enough to cover you, then presses himself in front of you, shielding you both.

His jaw is clenched, breathing erratic as he tries to calm himself, there’s an anger in his eyes that you know will come with a harsh punishment later. You wait there, minutes go by, no one comes. And as soon as he knows it’s clear, his anger is directed at you.

“How stupid can you be?” His voice is strained, trying to control his volume.

“Oh please, we’re fine!”

He clamps your mouth with his hand, “Заткнись.” Shut the fuck up. He hardly ever speaks in Russian to you, he taught you in case of emergency, but you know this is only a display of anger, “Вам повезло, что вы живы.” You are lucky to be alive.

And just like that, the good feeling is gone. The trust, the security, everything that made this feel easy, gone. You shove his hand away, trying your hardest to bite down your own anger. How silly of you to think that this would be different, that you could lighten up and enjoy his good mood.

You say nothing else, watching as he pulls out the sat nav, marking your location and making a note.

Your cheeks are hot, with mostly embarrassment, watching him struggle to control his anger.

You almost compromised the entire mission, taking it too far, searching for the wrong kind of thrills. The only excitement you are allowed here, with a man like him, is from squeezing a trigger.

His eyes burn into you as you hold your hand out, not asking, demanding to take his riffle. If there is anything he can trust in you, it is your anger, allowing your darkness to consume you and help you push through. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about anything else happening, allowing you to take it.

It feels cold, heavy, a physical translation of the burden that sits on your shoulders.

You are not just a girl anymore. You are a trained soldier, you are a weapon.

This is where you will find your purpose. This is where you will find all the thrill you will ever know. This is what he wants you to be.

Bucky leads you deeper into the woods, the trees becoming taller, thicker, the change in terrain tells you that you are closer to their base, the uphill hike turning into flat ground. Your disadvantage is lost, eyes scanning the trees for movement, for traces of life.

Before long, you hear it, voices, only a few meters ahead of you. A watch post no doubt. Bucky raises a closed fist, signaling you to stop. You freeze. Rifle raised to scope the area. You can not see them, but the fact that they are close enough to hear makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up.

He holds two fingers up, waving them in a circular motion, signaling you to go around. It’s a simple maneuver, one that you’ve done many times. It feels like muscle memory, you nod to him, side stepping through the snow to circle around the area. You’re light on your feet, securing the rifle to your back, footsteps silent as you follow the sound of their voices.

Three men, armed with assault rifles, military grade. They are camouflaged, it takes you a moment to spot them. And in the distance, beside a tree, you see Bucky, eyes locking. He marks your coordinates, then signals you to keep moving.

A few feet out, when their voices start to fade, you circle back, taking a moment to find cover behind a tree, making sure it is clear before you speak. “There will be more of them.”

“I know,” You can barely see his eyes from under your hood, but his voice tells you he is tense, “We need to find a vantage point to stake out.”

You take your rifle in hand, following him through the trees. The snow feels more compact here, walked on over and over, another heavy foot traffic area. You are close, too close. Your pace is slow, cautious as you search for any vantage point. A slight hill, no doubt used as a watch post, You watch as Bucky reaches down to pull a knife from his ankle, arming himself in case of an encounter.

But to your luck, no one is there to greet you when you reach the top of the hill.

You’re quick to set up a stake out post, unloading the pack you brought with you, setting up a scope on your riffle. Bucky pulls out and energy bar, opening the wrapper and handing it to you. You lay flat on your belly, taking an occasional bite, until you find a foot soldier, about a hundred yards out.

You follow him, you can feel Bucky watching as you shift to the right, he leads you right to their base, a small camp with two tents and a fire. There are two ATV’s parked to the far left of their camp, a group of foot soldiers guarding each tent.

“I’ve got them.” You scoot back, giving him room to take his spot so that he can see for himself.

You watch as he lays flat as a board, settling in to where you’ve positioned the rifle. You dig into your pack, pulling out the canteen you brought, taking a sip of water.

“Good girl.” The praise does nothing to excite you, not after earlier, you simply watch him in silence. “Let me take first watch, use the sat nav to make a map.”

You reach into his pocket, retrieving the device. Inside your pack, pen and paper, an old school style of marking your territory. But you realize you may need it on case you two are ever separated, in case you need a backup plan. You do your very best, marking your stake out post first, then a hundred yard out as you have just discovered, their base. You mark the exact coordinates of where you are, and of where you found the first watch post.

By the time you are done, your energy bar is done, the water a quarter gone. You tap his side, “What do you see?”

“There must be another watch post twenty-five yards out in the opposite direction,” He points with two fingers. “They switch out in groups of three, but it seems to be at alternating times from the other post we first saw.”

“You should go find out, I’ll stay here and keep watch.” He looks at you then, his face is expressionless, you can’t read him, but you know he’s thinking something. “I’ll be fine, we have a job to do.”

He sits up, letting you take back your post. He fills up on an energy bar and takes a few sips of water while he goes over the map you made for him. You burned a lot of energy hiking up hill, the first thing he ever taught you was to conserve your energy, always refuel as soon as you are safe.

His hand on your shoulder, crouching to look at you. “Don’t move from this spot.” That darkness in his eyes return, a promise to let the world burn if something happens to you. He rests his forehead against yours, a goodbye, a promise to return, and that if he doesn’t he died trying.

Nothing else matters in a moment like this. Every time you separate, it could easily be the last time you see each other.

And then he’s gone, footsteps silent as he leaves your post. You don’t dare leave, watching their camp with complete focus. You want to know what they are protecting, who they are protecting. Why so many guns for just two little tents in the fucking woods? You focus on the tent flaps, the soldiers that come in and out. You see nothing useful, deciding to focus on the soldiers themselves. Their commander has a com system, tech too advanced to be just an ex-military group like you originally thought. Their ATV’s are unregistered, fake plates that are no doubt a cover up, you memorize the plate numbers, logging them into the sat nav, along with identifications for their weaponry.

Every piece of information helps, the grade of uniform, the tents, anything that can be traced to something. You double check the area, no one in sight, and reach for the camera in your pack. You take as many photos as you can, their camp, the vehicles, their uniforms and weapons.

You get lost in it a bit, trying to focus on as many details as possible, when a hand clamps around your mouth, lips at your ear. “Персик.” Peach, a greeting. And then a kiss, soft, light, too quick to be savored, placed at your temple. He settles beside you, pulling the map from his coat pocket, he takes the camera from you, trading.

He has marked two other lookout posts on the map, measured twenty-five yards from each other, just like he estimated. His tracking skills are better than anyone else you have seen, you’ve only been able to pick up on some of it.

“Any activity here?” He asks, looking through the pictures you’ve taken.

“No, whoever they are protecting in that tent is to heavily guarded, I can’t see anything.”

“If we wait long enough, we will see something.” He says, “They have to rotate eventually, a fresh group will come to replace these soldiers.”

You don’t want to stay here over night. The temperature will drop to below freezing, you have nothing but insulated blankets to keep you warm. You can’t make a fire, and one of you will have to stay up to keep watch all night.

But he says nothing about packing up as the sun starts to set, nothing about how you will survive the night. He only taps your shoulder, offering to switch. He pulls his knife from his ankle, keeping it in hand as he settles behind the rifle.

“Bucky?”

“Stay next to me under the blanket, I’ll wake you up when it’s time to switch.” Is all he says.

So you do as you’re told. You scoot as close to him as you’re able, laying on your back to avoid any aches. The blanket does nothing at first, draped across both of you to shield you from the harsh air. But as time goes by, your breath filling the air trapped around you, the heat radiating from your body and his as you shiver, the cold snow beneath you doesn’t feel as cold anymore. With Bucky’s presence beside you, solid, safe, familiar, it doesn’t feel so bad as you close your eyes and let yourself relax.

He never wakes you to switch, he lets you sleep through the night, knife clenched in his hand, head continuously on a swivel. Looking down to you, checking for your breathing, back to the camp for any activity, in the directions of all marked lookout posts. He half expects something to go wrong, this is all playing out so well.

The snow stopped hour ago, the wind is soft enough to allow actual insulation under the blanket, you are sleeping peacefully, no nightmares, no movement.

But nothing happens. The crack of sunlight behind you is what wakes you up, you are resting too well, you fear something is wrong when you jump out of your sleep, a twitch more than anything else, too afraid of what is waiting for you.

But you feel Bucky still beside you, eyes on you when you poke your head out from under the blanket. He didn’t sleep at all, but nothing on his face tells you he is tired, or that his face feels frozen. It was an act of kindness, taking the full watch, and you will repay him for it later.

You sit up slowly, trying not to make too much noise as you gather the blanket, folding it up and packing it away. You crouch behind a tree, relieving yourself and burying your piss under the snow. With what little cover of darkness you have left, you quickly switch places with Bucky, watching the camp while he relieves himself, stretches his muscles after remaining still for so long.

You could never do it yourself, you know part of it is the super soldier serum in his veins, the training her has undergone in his past, to remain so disciplined, to withstand harsh conditions for so long with no effects on his body. You are thankful for it, even if it feels like nothing to him.

It is everything to you.

You let him eat, drink, have a moment of peace to figure out a plan. Until you finally see it, movement.

“Buck, the camera.”

You don’t have to say anything else, he’s quick to lay beside you, watching as another ATV arrives at the camp. You time stamp it in the sat nav, watching as the soldiers switch out, and finally, two men exit the tents. You don’t recognize them, you have no idea who you’ve just seen, but you know right away that Bucky does.

His body goes ridged, only for a second, before he returns to taking pictures.

Someone from his past? You can only wonder, you know he will never tell you, or anyone.

You wait until the shift change is finished, a fresh group of soldiers, and a new person to take position inside of the left tent. You hope this is enough, you hope these people can be identified and that this stake out wasn’t for nothing.

You know more now than you did walking in, which is the entire point. You try not to stress over it, Bucky’s voice pulling you out of your head as he tells you to pack up.

You’re done here.

He doesn’t have to explain to you what’s going on, you’ve had enough training on recon missions to know his tactics. You never pick up where you drop off. If you are ever compromised, the first thing they will do is track where you came from. Doubling back increases your chances of getting caught.

So you continue deeper into the woods, the complete opposite of the clearing you were dropped off at. The jets are quiet, cloaked, but not completely untraceable. If their tech is as advanced as it seems to be, they can find any incoming aircrafts if they know to look. If you have remained uncompromised, this will be easy.

But of course, you always have to expect the worst.

You walk for hours, so deep within the terrain that you start to worry you are lost until Bucky tells you to cut north to a clearing. Finally, he turns on the locator in the sat nav, and you do your best to hide out until the extraction team arrives.

You feel lighter, you can breathe again. The mission is finished, you aren’t out of the woods yet, literally and figuratively, but the hardest part is over.

And as you sit there, back against a tree, a bit of snow in your boots, cheeks rosy from the cold, you try to find the bright side of this. The peace and quiet, the fresh air, the time outside of HQ with the only person in the world you care about.

He watches you, a glint of something soft in his eyes, adoration, love maybe, and against his better judgement, he reaches out to grab your hand, pulling you to come closer, onto his lap.

“You stress me the fuck out.” He sighs, a gloved hand securing itself at your hip. “But you proved yourself.”

You can’t tell if he’s scolding you, or if this is a compliment. But you embrace it, whatever this is, because he would never allow it any other time. You are technically not out of danger yet, there is still a chance you can be discovered here. But it seems like he doesn’t care, his need to touch you is stronger than his instincts. Everything inside of you is telling you to take advantage of this moment of weakness, this crack in his armor.

You exploit it, leaning in to kiss him, lips cold and slightly chapped from your night spent outdoors. But you don’t care, neither does he, a deep moan vibrating through his chest as he pulls you even closer against him.

You scared him, he thought for a moment he might lose you, that you would be caught and killed in the middle of nowhere.

But you pulled through for him, understood his worry and corrected yourself. He was rewarding you, giving you the attention and the thrill you had been seeking from him before. The danger, the adrenalin.

He’s guiding you to grind against him, tongue in your mouth when you moan with pleasure, letting him encourage you, letting him set a pace for you.

It doesn’t take long, your moans becoming more desperate, he’s quick to discard of his gloves, cold hands finding their way inside your coat, under your shirt, gripping harshly at your breasts.

The contrast of warm and cold makes you gasp, pulling back to look at him, cheeks flushing when you see the look in his eyes. Primal desire, the only good thing to exist out of his darkness is his want for you, and you start to see the reality of this bond you share. This curse to be consumed by darkness, the inability to prevent it.

He’s working at your pants, admiring you, the life that comes to your face in the heat of the moment, the wildness in your eyes that is wanting and waiting for his next move.

You sit back, letting him slide your pants down to your ankles, exposing your bare ass to the cold elements. He frees himself from his own pants, pulling you to sit on him once again, moaning at how wet you are, grinding yourself against his cock, hard and twitching. He kisses you again, grabbing your hips and guiding you to grind yourself against his length, the feeling has your eyes rolling shut, cold and hot, soft and hard. Until finally, he guides himself inside of you, stretching ever so slightly, you moan, arms wrapping around his neck for support as he lowers you onto him.

He doesn’t stop until you bottom out, making you take all of him, giving you only a moment to adjust before he lifts you, slowly, his cock sliding out of you at a pace that makes you ache.

You moan, feeling him twitch inside of you. His jaw is clenched, a display of his restraint. It makes you smile, devilment twinkling in your eyes as you squeeze, clenching around him. A choked gasp escapes his throat, eyes shifting.

He pushes you back, air forced out of your lungs in a gasp as you fall against he cold ground, the snow creeping inside your coat. He follows you, slotting himself between your legs, positioning himself at your entrance before he slides in, quick, forceful, a second gasp escaping you except there is no air left. Breathless.

He grabs your hands forcing them above your head, lips finding yours as he begins to thrust in and out of you, holding nothing back as he fucks you in the snow.

It feels so wrong, the exposure, the risk of being found from how loud you’re being, desperately wrapping yourself around him, trying to force yourself even closer.

He forces his tongue into your mouth, your eyes fluttering shut as he bottoms out inside you, grinding his hips against yours. You can’t control the moan that escapes you, matched with a grunt that he can’t hold back. Your fingers squeeze his, fighting the overpowering feeling of pleasure, the way he is dominating you, the way he knows exactly how to please you.

He pulls back for air, letting you catch your breath, resuming a slow pace as he begins to pump in and out of you. “Fuck, look at what you do to me.” He talks you through it, eyes locked with yours. “Do you feel me inside of you?”

You’re breathless, unable to respond until he squeezes your hands, prompting you to say something, anything. “Fuck, yes.” You love how wrecked you sound, voice thick with lust for him, and you love how he melts at the sound of it. “I love when you fuck me like this.”

“I know you do, baby.” He lowers himself to embrace you, releasing one of your hands. He cradles your head, pulling you flush against him, letting you finally embrace him. “You always take it so well.”

You feel weightless, clinging to him as he fucks you nice and slow, his lips at your ear. “You like scaring me like that?” He asks, accompanied by a harsh thrust, “You like pissing me off so I’ll fuck you like this, don’t you?”

And there it is, the agony he promised to pay you back with, his hips snapping to meet yours as he picks up his pace, knocking the air out of you with every thrust. You’re speechless, mouth agape as you lose awareness, all you can feel is him and the intense pleasure he’s giving you.

“Answer me.” All you can do is moan, a strangled cry as you struggle with the pleasure, eyes starting to roll back. But that doesn’t satisfy him, his teeth sinking into your earlobe, pulling a cry of pleasurable pain from the back of your throat. “You love pissing me off, don’t you?”

“Yes!” You don’t care how desperate you sound, voice whiny and laced with pleasure, “Yes, daddy. I love it.”

He hums, teasing you, teeth replaced with soft kisses, but he maintains his pace, fucking into you until you feel your legs begin to shake. You can feel him smile against your skin, “There you go baby, you gonna come for me?”

You can feel an orgasm building, your body hot and your pussy pulsing with pleasure. All you can do is curl into him, mouth finding his skin, biting down as an orgasm overtakes you, he moans at the feeling, you clench around him as you come, teeth sinking into his neck. He doesn’t stop though, fucking you through it, chasing an orgasm of his own.

And as you come back to reality, your pleasure subsiding, you help him through his, just like he had done for you. “Come for me,” You whisper against his skin, clenching around him over and over, moaning at the pleasure it brings you. “Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is soft, gentle, placing soft kisses against his skin. “You’ve been so brave, so strong. Now relax for me.”

His voice is broken as he moans, “Oh god,” His grip around you tightens, he’s almost there, you can feel how desperate he is. “Keep talking.”

You’ve experienced this with him a few times, praise is so uncommon for him that his body doesn’t know how else to react except finding pleasure in it. You love making him so weak, so desperate, “You protect me so well, make me feel so safe.” A kiss to his throat, you hear him gasp softly, “But you fuck me even better.” You moan, this feels so wrong, so dirty, the way his cock is pumping inside of you, the way he is about to fall apart on top of you. “Come inside me, James.”

That does it, a harsh groan tearing from his throat as he stills on top of you, you can feel his warm cum spilling inside of you, but he continues to thrust, determined to release everything he has.

And then he’s kissing you, your eyes futtering closed as he finishes inside of you. Riding out his high, he continues to fuck you, his hands rough as they find your waste, pinning you against the ground. And for a second time, he comes inside of you, using you for his pleasure, fucking his frustration into you.

It isn’t until he’s fully spent that he finally stops, pulling out, his eyes locked on yours as he bends down to lick you clean. It turns you on again, his mouth is warm, your legs twitching to wrap around his head and trap you there. But he just kisses you instead, once, twice, lips lingering on your pussy just to torture you before he’s pulling away, a cocky smile on his face as he starts to pull your clothes back up your legs.

You’re suddenly cold now, watching as he fixes his clothes, he looks exhausted, and you want nothing more than to embrace him and lay back down in the snow.

But the jet is here, the sound of the engine getting closer and closer, you give him a teasing smile as you gather your things. The way he looks at you tells you this is far from over, he isn’t done with you, a silent promise as he takes your hand, guiding you over to the jet as it lands.

The extraction team boards you quickly, the medic examines you for frostbite and dehydration. For reasons unknown to them, you do seem dehydrated, slightly delirious. They radio HQ requesting the med bay be ready for your arrival. But for now, they give you water and a blanket, allowing you to sit and strap in for the ride home.

Bucky lays his head on your shoulder, and it isn’t long until he’s fast asleep.

Your heart aches, a longing to wrap him up and hide him away from the world overcomes you, you stretch your legs out and let him lay his head in your lap, the blanket hiding him from view.

You stroke his hair, letting him finally rest.

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#bucky barnes x reader #avengers fanfiction #reader insert #bucky x reader #bucky smut #praise k!nk #bpd relationships #winter solider x reader #bucky barnes series

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 months

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I love your work and was just wondering if you’re still active?

Yes! I fell out of love with writing for a while, and my business has really taken off lately. Life has been so crazy that I just haven’t had the time. Dumb excuse, but that’s how life is sometimes.

I just updated “Guns n Glitter” , part 2 of “Bat Shit Crazy” will be posted tomorrow. I will be posting updates every Wednesday until my two current fics are finished.

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 months

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Will you be updating guns n' glitter? 🥺

I just posted part 7. Sorry for the long wait, I will be updating this fic every Wednesday until it is finished.

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 months

Text

Rule #1 (Part 7) Angst.

Tony Stark (Sugar Daddy) x Reader Insert.

Warnings: Burglary, Angst, Fluff, Unprotected sex, NSFW 18+, daddy kink, slight alcoholism, the big fat L word (DONT yell at me).

Word Count: 4k

Notes: Listen, I know this took forever and I am so so so so so sorry. Don't hate me?

(Chapter 7 of the Guns n Glitter series.)

You’re jolted awake, Tony’s hands on your shoulders. He’s standing somewhere to the right of you, the room dark and cold as you bolt awake. You can’t see anything yet, just the outline of his body hovering over you. It scares you, like a nightmare come to life.

“Babe, you need to get up.” His voice is hoarse, desperate almost, and it scares you even more.

“What?” Your instinct is to cling to him, grabbing his arm as you pull yourself to sit up. “Tony, what?”

He takes a deep breath, “I need you to be quiet, we need to leave. There is an intruder in the penthouse.” His words make your stomach drop, your mouth goes dry. “I disabled JARVIS in the house, but I have him on my watch, we have to be quiet if we’re going to get out of here.”

His words go in one ear and out the other, eyes darting across his face as it starts to come into focus. He looks scared. He’s panicking, you have never seen him like this before, and it’s scaring you.

“Y/n, baby, we don’t have time for this.” There is no kindness in his tone, he needs you to snap out of it. “We need to leave. Now. You have to be quiet, do you understand?”

All you can do is nod before he’s pulling you up out of the bed, guiding you towards the bathroom. He doesn’t turn the light on, your hip bone connects with the sink, the only sound that escapes you is a gasp for air.

He grabs your clothes from yesterday off the floor, a pair of leggings and a t-shirt. “Put this on, quickly.”

Your hands tremble, grabbing at the clothes, doing your best to put them on in the dark. The only light in the room comes from his watch, illuminating his face slightly. There’s a map projecting from the screen, you can only imagine it to be the floor plan of the penthouse. “Can you see them?”

The first words you’ve spoken, he looks at you through the hologram, his eyes are dark, blank. You don’t recognize the man standing in front of you. “Yes. I can sneak us out without them knowing if you’re quiet.” Is all he says, looking down to watch you dress, your hands struggling in your panic.

You’re afraid, he can see that now, his harshness dropping at the sight of you. “Baby, I’m sorry.” He grabs at your leggings, holding them out for you to step in, grabbing his arms for support. “But I have to get you out of here, the longer we sit here the smaller our chances of getting out without-“

The sound of glass shattering, too far away to be outside the door, but too close for his liking. “We need to go. Don’t let go of me, don’t make a sound.”

Your leggings snap against your hips as he pulls them up, harshly, grabbing your arm and pulling you out of the bathroom. In your rush to get dressed, you forgot to grab shoes, bare feet padding softly against the cold floor. You can’t see anything, facing his back as he walks towards the bedroom door, turning the knob slowly, light filling the room as he pulls the door open.

You hold your breath, one second passes, two, he pokes his head out, three, then he’s pulling you behind him as he rushes out of the room.

You can see the light from his watch and nothing else as you walk through the lounge, the entire floor is dark, you can hear faint conversation in the distance, it sounds like its coming from kitchen, the opposite direction of where you’re headed.

You wonder how they got in, how they got passed JARVIS’s security systems, how they got inside without Tony knowing.

You gasp, a sharp pain shooting through your foot, Tony freezes, his grip on your arm tightening. He turns to look at you, watching as you step back. It’s then that he realizes that you’re barefoot, that there is glass shattered across the floor.

That dark look returns to his face, he grabs you and picks you up, turning to run towards what you realize is the back elevator.

You didn’t think you were that loud, but the sound of rushing footsteps tell you otherwise, your heart beating in your ears as Tony bangs on the elevator button, a useless attempt at getting it to open faster.

Just as it does, you see a flashlight, two dark figures running at a full sprint towards you, and you brace yourself for the inevitable.

But nothing ever happens, Tony rushes into the elevator, dropping you against the wall and bracing you against it, the door slides closed and the elevator starts to go down.

His breathing is so heavy in your ear, the panic you feel inside is audibly taking over him, his flight or fight taking over as he sandwiches you against the elevator wall. “Are you okay?” He asks, his voice almost failing him.

And as if you both just remember, he pushes back, looking down to your foot. He kneels, his face blank as he grabs you by the ankle, his hand so contrastingly warm to the cold floor you stand on. He props your foot up on his knee, tilting his head to look at the bottom of it. “You’re bleeding. There should be paramedics downstairs.”

You have so many questions, so many things you want to say, but words fail you. The only thing you know is that he got you out. Your Ironman, your superhero.

A tear falls, rolls right off your cheek and onto your foot, catching his attention immediately.

“Oh, no no. Don’t cry. You’re okay.”

He looks up at you, shaking his head, cooing at you as if you were a child. “I don’t know what we’re going to walk into out there. I need you to be strong for me, just until we get you checked out. Okay?”

This didn’t feel right, the peaceful weekend away has turned into a nightmare, and he’s acting like nothing is happening, like he’s used to this, like he has seen this before, seen worse. He is comfortable here, in this panic state, it dawns on you then, that this is nothing compared to what he has actually been through. This night could have been so much worse.

“Okay, but can you hold me, please?” You hate how scared you sound, and you can see the way your voice tugs at him, frowning as he stands to embrace you.

It takes everything in you not to break down and cry, the man holding you has saved you, he has given you everything you know in life, he has faced darkness and hardship that he would never let you discover. Your protector.

The elevator stops, he scoops you up into his arms as the doors open, and the scene that unfolds before you is like a movie. An ambulance, police rushing towards you, EMT’s taking you from his arms as a team of SWAT officers crowd the elevator. It’s loud, cameras flashing as paparazzi crowd the scene.

But Tony is there, watching as you are placed inside of an ambulance, eyes darting to watch your surroundings.

Emergency responders work quickly to check you over, finding the cut on the bottom of your foot. They clean it, the sting of alcohol making you flinch, catching Tony’s attention once again. They bandage your foot, checking that you can walk, that you aren’t concussed before letting Tony take you away from the scene.

He carries you around the side of the building, police creating a barrier between you and the crowd of bystanders. It’s too much, too loud, too bright, the adrenaline from the incident is wearing off. Your tiredness returns as you reach the valet, and it isn’t until he helps you inside of the car, the door closing leaving you alone for a moment, that you take a deep breath, all your emotions flooding you.

And it’s like he can sense it, settling into the drivers seat and offering you his arm to grab. It is all he can do right now, putting the car into drive, and racing down the street. You cling to him, silent tears falling when you reach the airport, letting go for only a moment as he gets out and walks to your side of the car, opening your door and picking you up to carry you onto the jet.

You have never felt like this before, needing him this way. Feeling too scared and helpless, then so safe and secure in his arms. It awakens something in you, a warmth, a tingle in the pit of your stomach that makes you want to throw up.

You realize in this moment- face stained with tears, arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you up the stairs onto the jet, into the bedroom, lights so dim that you barely notice the difference when he turns them off after setting you down on the bed -that you think you feel something for him.

He strips, pushing you back to lay down against the cool sheets, pulling your clothes from you as well. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just lets you curl yourself against him under the sheets. You lay in silence as the jet engine starts, as the jet starts to move and takes flight.

It isn’t until he can feel that you are calmer that he finally speaks, your heart rate slow, your tears have stopped, and your grip on him is a loving embrace, no longer clinging to him for safety.

“This will never happen again.” He says, his voice cold against your hair. “It shouldn’t have happened, I don’t know how it happened, but this will never happen to you again.”

You can feel it in your chest, he means it. But you don’t know what to say, you just hold him closer, listening to the sound of his breathing. He kisses your head, over and over, telling you that you are safe.

You fall asleep that way, safe in his arms, eyes puffy and exhausted from crying. You sleep through the entire flight, not knowing that Tony couldn’t find it in himself to close his eyes.

He couldn’t let himself rest, his mind racing with everything he was going to do to make sure he kept you safe from this day forward. Because it wasn’t just you who was afraid, it wasn’t just you who felt a pain in your chest at the thought of what had happened tonight.

He thought he was going to lose you, he thought that he was going to fail you. You, out of all the people he has protected, all the people he has risked his life for. You were the one he almost let down.

And as you slept in his arms, he whispered a promise into your ear that he would never let you down again, placed soft kisses to your face, as if doing so would erase this event from your mind.

He was careless, cocky, inviting you into a life you knew nothing about, risking your life in the process. He was torn between letting you go to your own home and bringing you back to his. Where you would feel safest, where he would feel safest leaving you.

He beats himself up over it, seeing himself as a cancer, spreading and ruining every good thing around him. He can’t let it happen to you to. He can’t let himself ruin you.

The jet starts to descend, it’s been hours that he has watched you sleep, making sure you’re okay. He feels so guilty, knowing that you will be scared for life. The anxiety of the press, the fear of intruders in her home, her being an innocent bystander in this life he has exposed to her.

You stir in his arms, feeling him there beside you wakes you up in a panic, a reminder of what you just escaped from, a dull throbbing in your foot as you gain consciousness again. You only slept for a few hours, the jet landing jolting you awake. When you turn, Tony is looking down at you, eyes red and tired.

You realize he didn’t sleep at all, watching over you instead.

“Tony-“

He cuts you off with a kiss, “I’m fine. I wanted to make sure you got some sleep.”

And there it is again, that pain in your chest, that tug. But you say nothing, letting him kiss you, again and again. Because tonight could have ended differently, and this moment feels so sacred, a favor from the universe.

“Thank you.” You whisper against his lips. “For protecting me.”

He scoffs, “Did you think I wouldn’t?” His attempt to lighten the mood works, only a little. “I will never let anything happen to you as long as I am alive.”

It is more than a promise, a guarantee, and the severity behind it comforts you, but scares you.

He feels guilty that this happened, feels responsible, and you can see now why he has been so different to you during this entire thing. But again, you say nothing, following his lead as he gets up, putting his clothes back on. This isn’t the time or the place.

You just want to go home.

Another question sitting on your lips as he turns the lights on for you to see, eyes locking for a second. “I’m taking you to my place. I don’t want you to be alone for a while.”

A while is very vague, but in this moment, you don’t question it. How could you? You get up, careful to only apply pressure to the heel of your foot as you get dressed. You feel pampered as he picks you up and carries you off the jet, placing you in the passenger seat of that hot rod car you love so much.

You feel safe, as if you can just wash your hands of what happened and be done with it. But you can see it on his face, the obsession he has developed with how to undo what has happened.

You wait until he settles, his posture relaxed as he drives, music playing softly. You sit up in your seat, leaning over the console to wrap your arms around his neck, placing a wet kiss to his cheek. He smiles, only briefly, as if he were distracted.

“Trapped in your mind palace?” You can’t help but tease, earning another small smile from him.

“I’m afraid I will be for a while.” He admits to you, leaning into your embrace.

“You protected me, we’re okay.” You point out. “I feel much better after sleeping.”

He sighs, “It’s more to it than that, baby.” He says, “It shouldn’t have happened, it’s my job to keep you safe. Always.”

“I am safe.”

“Let me do my job as your man.” His tone is final, dominant, something you’ve only seen come from him in a sexual way. But never like this, never so possessive in a deeper way. But he doesn’t give you time to think about it. “Seeing you like that-“ All he can do is shake his head, and it tugs at your heart.

“But stressing over it doesn’t help me.” You say, trying a different approach. “I want you to be present, I want you to kiss me and comfort me.” A soft smile playing at your lips, “I want you to fuck me like you’re scared of losing me.”

Because as fucked up as it is, that’s what you need. You need him to just hold you, touch you, make you feel okay. You don’t like this version of him, you don’t like him stuck in his head and plotting to destroy the world because you got hurt.

You want him to love on you, to distract you and become lost in you.

He can’t help but laugh, glancing over at you with a sparkle in his eyes, “You’re something else.” You kiss him again. “I will, but I need to make sure you’re okay first.”

And for some reason this response feels better than what you wanted. Its softer, kinder, attentive. A side of him that you don’t see as often as you would like.

You settle back into your seat, reaching to hold his hand instead while he drives you to his house. Everything you brought with you was left behind in your rush to leave, but one night in one of his t-shirts won’t kill you, and something tells you that you won’t have it on for very long anyways.

JARVIS is quick to greet you when the car enters the garage, “My apologies for tonight’s events, Y/n. I was partially disabled during the intrusion, I’m glad to see you are alright.”

You look to Tony, who lets out a huff as he lifts you from the passenger seat. “They hacked JARVIS. This wasn’t a regular break in. Some college wanna be’s can’t just hack my building, no offense,” He kisses your temple as he carries you into the house. “This was backed by someone with resources.”

That scares you a little. You know he has enemies, but you also know he has the best tech to exist to mankind. Or at least he thought, up until tonight. Whoever did this isn’t a group of dumbass robbers looking for a come up. These people were trained, with advanced tech, and an agenda.

“But that’s for me to figure out later.” His shoes squeak as he turns towards the kitchen, sitting you down on the counter. “Right now I have an injured princess who needs pampering.”

The way he says it makes you smile, as if he’s teasing you about it, but you know he wouldn’t let you walk on that foot even if you asked. “A glass of wine before bed?”

“You can have whatever you want, sweetheart.”

He opens the fridge to pull out a bottle for you, something sweet and strong and pink, popping the cork and handing it to you. You don’t need a glass, not tonight. You feel better, your head feels lighter, your body weightless as you sip from the mouth of the bottle, sweet liquid spilling from one corner of your mouth.

You don’t wipe it, watching as his eyes trail it, then lift to your lips, pouty and wet with wine. He kisses you. Softly, slowly, stealing the breath from your lungs, lifting you to push yourself against him. It’s sweet, sensual, exactly what you needed.

But he pulls away, quickly, plucking the bottle from your hand to take a sip for himself. Then his eyes turn a little serious.

“I need you to hear me out before you say no.” He starts, trying to pitch it to you. “This is kind of serious, and as tempting as you look right now, I won’t be able to focus on anything until I get this out.”

Your attempts to relax him and distract him are failing, so you yield, shrinking back as you watch him take a deep breath.

“I don’t want you living in that apartment alone anymore after tonight.” It comes out fast, “The media knows your face, and after what happened tonight it’s not safe for you to be on your own.”

“Tony, they aren’t after me-“

“They weren’t this time. They probably didn’t know you were even with me.” He says, “But now they do. This isn’t a traditional arrangement, but its something, and I’m willing to bet every penny I have that whoever this is would try to exploit it if given the chance.”

He has a good point, it pisses you off.

“It’s just until this blows over, until I can figure out how to get this under wraps.” He runs a hand through his hair, “You’re going to be all over the media for a while, and I don’t know how else to keep you safe.”

“I can’t just stay here,” You huff, “I have class.”

“Like I’m too old to know that zoom exists,” He squints at you, mockingly. “I’m not doing this to punish you I’m trying to protect you. I don’t know what this is, and I can’t let you get hurt again because of me.”

Hearing him say that kills all protest from you. You can only nod, letting him kiss your forehead as he passes the wine bottle back to you.

You take a few deep swigs from it, wishing it were stronger. Wishing it would wipe your mind, and his.

But this is the reality of who he is, there is no running from that. He is an Avenger, a targeted man. A man who puts his life on the line for the fate of the universe, how could you expect him not to do this for you?

“Fine.” It comes out like a whine, bringing a smile back to his face. “Will you take me to bed now?”

Will you fuck me now? Its on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t have to say it. He knows you, inside and out. He knows how to take your worries away, how to put you at ease, how to release your stress and help you relax. He knows how to make you feel wanted. Loved. Safe. Protected.

Loved.

That tug in your chest, that pit in your stomach.

It hits you finally- when he lays you down in his bed for what feels like the millionth time, when he kisses you so softly, so deeply. When he fucks you into the mattress, his hands holding you tightly against him, moaning in your ear, promising you the world -you love him.

You close your eyes, embracing the feeling of it, the pulsing in your ears, the warmth that spreads through you.

You love him.

It scares you, but It feels right. In this moment, legs wrapped around his waist, keeping him close, hands lost in his hair as you kiss him with everything you have, moaning with every thrust he makes inside of you.

It feels so right. So you say it, against your better judgement, against everything you two talked about and agreed on.

“I love you,” Slips from your lips, and the words are swallowed with a kiss in response.

A passion you’ve never known from him before, as if he were trying to claim you, as if he were trying to make your words exist in a physical way. It makes you want to cry, the emotion becoming so overwhelming as he fucks you, bringing you closer and closer to an orgasm.

It feels so unreal, so perfect, the way he moans into your mouth, a steady rhythm making you bounce against the mattress with every thrust.

He pulls back for a moment, letting you breathe, letting you look him in the eyes when he finally says, “I love you more.”

Your orgasm rips through you, the overstimulation pulling a moan from you that has you digging your nails into his arms, your pussy clenches around him as you struggle through it. He leans down to hold you, keeping his pace and fucking you through it, “Good girl,” he coos in your ear, his teeth grit with restraint, helping you through it, “That’s what you needed?” He kisses your ear, and you can feel yourself squeezing around him. “I love you, pretty girl.”

You moan, feeling him pick up a new rhythm. You can’t help yourself, biting into his shoulder, edging him on. You feel him twitch inside of you, a loud gasp muffled into your hair as he finally lets himself come inside you, and you embrace the feeling of him coming undone in your arms.

Both panting for air, the reality of what just happened starts to set in, and a slight panic overcomes you.

You just broke sugar baby rule number one.

Never fall in love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Masterlist

Tag list: @augustdowney @dee-vn (Want to be added? ASK!)

#avengers fanfiction #reader insert #iron man #tony stark angst #tony stark x reader #tony stark sugar daddy #tony stark smut #tony stark series

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patchoulimademoiselle · 1 year

Text

Part Thirteen (Final Part) NSFW

Part Thirteen. NSFW.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert.

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: So this is the finally part of this series. It was so much fun to write, and honestly I’m a little sad it’s over. NSFW! public sex (kind of), unprotected sex, smut, fluff, all the feels Just, you know......adult themes.

Notes: I’m sorry that it took so long, but there’s a decent happy ending to it and of course one last round of smut. Thank you all for tuning in to this series. I really did have fun writing it.

Rock and a hard place, on repeat over and over as Steve glances at his phone, eyebrows knit together in agitation. You however have no care in the world, belting out the same song lyrics that played for the past ten minutes, dramatically parading around in your shorty shorts, sneakers scuffing against the rocks you’re standing on.

You had been driving for who knows how long, given the soreness in your ass it must have been a couple hours, until Steve’s phone lost signal. It shouldn’t have been a problem given the fact that the road is straight. But there should be an exit coming up soon. The problem is that with no signal, there’s also no gps, which means neither of you know which exit you have to take.

Steve is clearly letting it stress him out, you on the other hand have no care in the world, using your phone as a makeshift speaker to blast music while he figures it out.

The song ends, Steve sighs, but then you play it again.

It sets him off.

“If I have to listen to Bailey Zimmerman’s voice one more time, I’m going to break your phone.” His voice is a hiss, it’s more cute than threatening, but you decide to stop tormenting him anyway.

You turn off the song, making your way over to where he leans against his motorcycle, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Why the long face, handsome?”

You might also be slightly tipsy, the mimosas you had a couple hours ago haven’t worn off yet. You two had a nice breakfast before getting back on the road, your tourist destination wasn’t too far from the hotel you were staying at, it should have been a smooth ride to your next stop.

Should have been.

“This fucking middle of nowhere ass state has no cell service, now we’re stranded.”

You laugh at his frustration, “We aren’t stranded, baby.” You can’t help it, reaching up to kiss his cheek. “You’re just frustrated. I get it, but it’s not that serious.”

You’ve seen him angry before, but not like this. Not man in the middle of nowhere having to rely on survival instincts because technology has failed him angry. It’s attractive in a way, to see him all bothered and sweaty and-

“Fuck it let’s just drive until I can find a signal. Hopefully we don’t run out of gas.”

You nod, “Good idea, however,” the urge to kiss him is strong, too strong to resist. “Let’s enjoy the break.”

The slur in your voice catches his attention, his sour mood gone when he notices the way you cling to him. “Y/n, are you still tipsy?”

“A little.”

He smirks at you, a hand settling on your waist, pulling you flush against him, “Are you horny, baby?”

“A little.” You repeat with a giggle, you can’t help it, this is thrilling to you.

Being his backpack, riding cross country clinging to his back with wind in your hair and not a care in the world. Just you and Steve, no stress, no press or clients to cater to, just you and the man you love with nothing but time and miles to run up on his bike.

Something about this carefree side of him calls to your inner desire for him, the summer heat beaming down on you both, a sheen of sweat enhancing the features you love so much. He’s handsome, you see him in a new light without a steamed suit and tight tie. The t-shirt he wears is tight, hugging his body in a way that puts on a show for you. His jean shorts are equally as tight, strong thighs warm against your as he presses you against him.

“Did I tell you I love these shorts of yours?” His voice draws your attention again, making you realize you’ve been caressing him the entire time, palm flat against his toned chest. “Your ass looks-“

“Perfect?” You push off of him, giving him a show, bending over ever so slightly. “You might have mentioned it.”

Frustration aside, Steve can’t help himself, reaching out to place his hand on the back of your thigh, feeling you up, hand cupping the curve of your ass that you so generously placed on display for him.

“Remind me to take you out of brunch more often.” He says under his breath, “Did you plan on suffering all day?”

It makes you pout, the fact that he has yet to catch on to your several advances. Your hands drifting a little too low as you hold onto him while he drives, your hips grinding ever so slightly against his back, the little whine you would let out every time his bike rolled over a bump in the road, forcing you to bounce on the seat.

He starts to put the pieces together, his grip changing from a soft gentle on to a more possessive firm one, pulling you to once again lean against him, your ass pressing against his crotch.

“My poor baby,” His voice is teasing, but his touch even more so, hips grinding against you in a way that makes you moan out.

The friction feels good, his hands feel good, so you let him do whatever he wants, right there on the side of the road for anyone to drive by and see at any moment.

“Let me take care of you before we go,” He says, pulling you to stand. You lean back against his chest, enjoying the way his hands trail up your body, cupping your breasts through your t-shirt. “Let me take care of you, sweet girl.”

You can’t help it, you moan, melting under his touch. “Stevie, stop teasing me.”

“I’m just admiring you, baby.” His lips are against your neck, “Don’t rush it.”

You want to protest, grinding your hips back against his, but all the same you can’t defy him. Not when he’s holding you like this. So you settle for the little friction your jean shorts give you, rubbing just the right spot as he has his way with you, lips trailing up to your ear, teeth grazing your sensitive skin as he bites it. It makes you shudder, a moan escaping your lips.

“Steve, I-“

“I know sweetheart,” he pushes you off of him only for a second, before he’s spinning you around, dropping to his knees against the rocks of sand. “I just wanted to admire you first.”

His fingers slip under your shirt, wrapping around the waist if your shorts, tugging hard. They drop down your knees and to your ankles, Steve wastes no time in burying his face between your legs, tongue hot as it presses against your clit.

Your hands are in his hair, forcing him to press harder against you.

It’s exactly what you needed, and you let him know. “This is all I wanted,” You whine out, lifting a leg to rest on his shoulder, “I love when you-“

He doesn’t let you finish, pulling back with a force that throws you off balance. But he catches you, lifting you to wrap your legs around his waist.

“You’re such a nasty little thing,” He says, sitting himself on his bike, “The shit that comes out of your mouth drives me fucking crazy.” His voice is thick, his cock hard when he sits you on top of it, leaning you to lay back against the handle bars. “You know exactly what to say every time.”

This can’t be real, you tell yourself over and over as he frees himself from his shorts, dick standing at attention, firm and hard as he looks at you sprawled out on his bike. He takes your hand, forcing you to grab it, thick and warm as he uses you to guide it against your pussy.

He toys with you, tip rubbing between your wet folds, but you can do nothing to stop it, mouth open and eyes glued to the lewd scene playing out before you in broad daylight.

“How does that feel?” He asks, eyes locking with yours for a brief moment. “Tell me how it feels, baby.”

“It feels so good,” You admit, resisting the urge to thrust against him. “This is what I wanted.”

He hums, stilling his movements, forcing your hand away to replace it with his own. It’s painfully slow when he finally presses himself inside of you, filling you up at a pace that lets you feel everything. He moans with it, hips pressing against yours slowly, he shifts his foot placement to support the bike, letting you lean back and look up at the sky.

It’s beautiful, the sun beaming, the baby blue sky free of clouds, the feeling of his thick cock filling you up. The sound you make is obscene as he bottoms out, slowly pulling himself out of you only to ram himself back inside.

It makes you gasp, knocking the air out of you and leaving you breathless.

This is exactly what you wanted, only you couldn’t have imagines it to feel so good. The thrill of being out in the open, it brings you back to the first time he had ever fucked you, the tension that built up between you for so long finally coming to the light. This was no different, just as raw, just as anticipated, just as good.

“Hold on to me, baby.” He grips the handle bars on either side of your head, that’s the only warning he gives before he starts to thrust into you at a pace that makes your eyes roll back. “This is what you wanted?” He grunts out, not caring to be gentle as he fucks you senseless. “This si what you were too scared to ask for?”

You can’t say anything, can’t think straight to form a single sentence as you reach up to cling to him, letting him fuck you raw in the middle of nowhere.

His movements are precise, he knows your body by now, knows what you like and knows what you respond to. He drives himself into you at a steady pace, allowing your orgasm to build up slowly. It doesn’t take much, the alcohol in your system, the intensity of his thrusts, the thrill of being so exposed.

You come hard, a gush of fluid leaking between you, your eyes flying open in shock just in time to watch him come as well, his weight crushing you as he spasms with pleasure, cock twitching as it empties inside of you.

It’s obscene, you’re embarrassed as he lifts himself off of you, a boyish grin coating his features as he takes in the mess you’ve made. “I love you.” He doesn’t think, doesn’t hesitate, fingers brushing your hair back as he lets out a soft laugh, “You’re crazy, and sexy, and I love you.”

It’s contagious, embarrassment gone as his bright eyes smile down on you. “I love you too, Stephen.”

You feel him grow hard inside you once again, you should have known by now, and you decide that you’ll take care of him this time.

You start to rock your hips against him, tucking your lip between your teeth as you find the courage to do something so bold, so indecent. He happily accepts your advances, feet firm against the ground to support you.

You ride him, his hands on your back to support you as you bounce on his cock, a moan coming from him that you’ve never heard before. It’s desperate, a warning as he once again comes inside of you.

But you don’t stop, cradling his head between your breasts as you chase your own release.

He encourages you, “Just like that,” He groans, kissing your breasts. “Take it, baby. Make yourself come for me.”

His encouragement helps, your legs are starting to ache and you know it won’t take much longer, but this isn’t enough.

He helps you, hands gripping your hips, bouncing you on his cock as you chase your own release. “Relax baby, you did so good for me. Now let yourself go.”

And you do, crying out his name as your walls clamp around him, a violent orgasm shaking through you that leaves you feeling wrecked, body slumping against the handlebars once again.

You stay that way for a while, catching your breath, enjoying the intimacy of coming down together, his hands tracing up and down your thighs to help you through it.

He’s calmer, he needed this just as much as you did, and it makes you smile to know that you’re the one who brought it out of him.

“See, all worked up over nothing.”

He shakes his head at you. “Put your shorts back on and lets get the fuck out of here. Tony and Natasha must be waiting by now.”

They in fact were, the night before they had all made arrangements to meet each other there. It’s a hot spring in California, your last stop on your road trip before having to go home. You agreed to meet there, unwind and enjoy each other’s company before returning to work on the new case you had just signed a contract for, helping Tony reclaim his company.

When you finally arrived, to hours later, it was painfully obvious what you two had been up to. You were a mess, hair ruined from the humidity and the exercise you had gotten, clothes wrinkled and face flushed in your drunken freshly fucked state.

Natasha could only smile, gathering you in her arms to help you change into your swim suit, while Steve and Tony shared a look of approval, an acknowledgement between men.

They spend the day sharing drinks, swimming, enjoying good food and each other’s company.

It isn’t until the sun starts to set that Natasha finally pulls you aside, locking arms and dragging you away from your blue eyed lover.

“Y/n, don’t quote me on this, but you might want to lay off the liquor a bit.” She smirks at you, red lips turned up in a knowing way. “And see a doctor.”

Your eyes widen, color draining from your face. “No way, don’t wish that on me!”

“I’m just saying, with the way you two fuck-“

“Natasha!”

She laughs at you, but the humor is short lived as reality settles in on you both.

There’s something about women that gives them away, a glow, an aura that radiates motherhood. She can see it on you, Tony can too, they had been talking about it before you arrived.

The day under the sun ends with you and Steve returning to your home, showering together and sitting under the stars in your backyard. It’s then that you decide to tell him, hand on his thigh to set the tone.

But you don’t have to say anything, his eyes already on you, tears threatening to spill.

“You already know,” You say, shaking your head. “I haven’t taken a test but-“

“Whatever happens, I’m here baby.”

It’s all you needed to hear, your mind at ease as he grabs your hand, lacing your fingers,

This is what you truly wanted. Peace, happiness, a chance at a life with the man you had longed for since the first day you had laid eyes on him. A life out of the spotlight, a life where your career didn’t come between you and stunt your chances at intimacy.

And here he is, tall blonde and handsome, giving you everything you had ever wanted since you were a little girl.

It doesn’t matter if you’re pregnant or not, just the thought that everything would be okay if you are is enough for you.

You love him, he loves you, and you can finally embrace that together.

#steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers nsfw #steve rogers angst #steve rogers lawyer au #steve rogers au #avengers au #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x y/n

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patchoulimademoiselle · 3 years

Text

how do i put my mind on mute

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patchoulimademoiselle · 3 years

Note

Hey! Are you okay? I am missing your updates 😔

Hope you’re feeling good 💕

You’re so sweet, thanks for checking up on me! I’m fine, I just needed a little break from a few things.

I’ll be back to updating, starting today lol.

I hope all is well with you also!

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patchoulimademoiselle · 3 years

Text

Logan Howlett x Reader

(Old man Logan with a younger [early twenties?] and bratty s/o)

Headcanons:

Massive age gap.

Logan calling Y/n Princess (9/10 it’s an insult)

You’re the only one who can match his attitude.

He has a hard time saying no to you

You know how to seduce the fuck out of him and you do it far more often than you should

Pretty Young Thing

You argue way too much, you fuck it out even more

You’re a bit on the wild side

Your relationship is a constant challenge for him

He won’t ever admit it, but he actually likes that you keep him on his toes

He calls you Temper Tantrum

You feed off of each other’s attitudes.

You have a day drinking habit, often seen with a fruity drink in hand. Far too often, you use Logan as a guinea pig for your self taught bar tending skills.

You hate when he smokes, but you’ve learned to appreciate the woodsy scent of his cigars.

Rough sex. Public sex. Degrading sex.

Designated movie nights on Friday’s. Saturday’s are for going out, and Sunday’s are for running errands and self care. Yes, you force Logan to join you on your self care days.

Logan hardly sleeps, and you sleep way too much.

He brings out the brat in you, but knows exactly how to handle it.

Scenarios:

Fluffy slides and a hot pink track suit in the passenger seat of his beat up truck, he tells you that you look ridiculous, you tell him to wait until he sees your ass.

Logan takes you out for mimosas, you drink way too much, and he has to carry you out to the car to stop you from beating the breaks off of a guy who tried to flirt with you.

“Taste this for me.” You hand a glass to Logan, who sniffs at it cautiously eyes blown open in shock when he catches the scent of alcohol. “Oh please, it’s not that strong. It tastes like juice.” He takes a sip, eyebrows raising on his head. “Juice? Why is my chest hot?”

You start taking classes in the fall, you ask him for help on one of your assignments. He leans over your chair, glasses low on his nose as he reads over the material. He’s silent for a while, until he pulls his glasses off and throws them down on the table in front of you, rubbing his eyes. “What the fuck does that say?”

Dialog:

“This is Chanel you uneducated lumberjack!”

“Is there a reason you look like a fairy threw up on you?”

“Call me an old man again, see what happens.”

“You’re going to dislocate a hip and I’m not going to be able to help you.”

“Fine, wear the dress. But if you ruin it, don’t come crying to me.”

“Chardonnay is very different from champagne.”

“What are you, three? Shut up and eat your vegetables.”

“Why are you wearing makeup?”

“Wait, you’re serious? You actually have a nap time?”

“Your shorts are shrinking by the second.”

(I am in love with this dynamic and will be adding it to my long list of fics to write.)

#logan howlett #logan x reader #bratty s/o #old man logan #x-men x reader #age gap #spoiled brat #reader insert #coming soon #headcanon

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patchoulimademoiselle · 3 years

Note

Hey hun! Guns n Glitter is awesome- can I be tagged in future chapters please?

Thank you! And of course! ❤️

Tag list is getting bigger guys, if you want to be added, just ask! Updates coming soon.

#tag list #asks #guns n glitter

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 years

Note

hello, do you have any tony x reader recs?

Is it just me or are Tony Stark fics getting harder to find? People are falling off the wave. Either that or the algorithm is that terrible.

I recommend @tonystarkxreader who literally just reblogs all the Tony fics they come across. Greatly appreciated, love that.

There’s a great fic I came across on AO3 called debt-free by FiveTail . Just a heads up I don’t think it’s finished but there are 10 chapters so far and It’s great.

@starksinner has a couple Tony Stark fics that I’m living for, I highly reccomend “Kissin’ Dynamite”. (Bucky Barnes fics are great as well if you also like him.)

@milaonthemoon has a fic about Tony fucking the “princess” of the group and I’m so obsessed with the dynamic.

And all fics from: @wadedickpool @canumoveurseatup-no and @et-lesailes

Hope this helps! Fell free to add to this if you guys have any recommendations as well.

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patchoulimademoiselle · 4 years

Text

Guilty. (Part 12). NSFW.

Part Twelve.

Steve Rogers (Lawyer AU) x Reader Insert.

Word count: 5.1k

Warnings: Guys. It the chapter. They do the thing. NSFW! Blow job, choking, unprotected sex, overstimulation, public sex? Just, you know......adult themes.

Notes: I’m sorry that it took so long, but I hope this makes up for it. This series will be ending soon, one or two more parts left. Stay tuned.

Masterlist.

Part Twelve:

The car stops abruptly, you glance up from your phone, guilty of checking the internet every few seconds, just in case. Steve has pulled the car off the road, over and out of the way of oncoming traffic. Your eyes widen, a panic setting in as you glance over at him.

You're terrified, everything is about to claw it's way out at once, a change that's being forced on you. This isn't something you got to plan. Wanda is forcing your hand, and it doesn't feel right.

He throws the car in park, leaning his head back against the head rest, and you realize just how drained he looks. Not just emotionally, but physically. There's a sudden urge building within you, a soft pull to do something for him, something to comfort him and make him feel better. Even if only for a while, you want to ease his stress.

"Steve," Phone forgotten, you shift in your seat. "Do you want me to drive?"

"No, no," He sighs heavily, "Just give me a moment."

And you try to, really, you know he's tired and that today was beyond stressful for him. But he looks so good like this. Rugged, rough around the edges, and you can't help yourself. You lean over the console, one hand aimed towards his belt, entirely entranced to the point where you don't register the fact that he's grabbed your hand until he's tugging you to look up at him.

"Absolutely not." You pout, in a way that makes him scoff, offended by your antics. "I'm not going to let you suck me off on the side of the road like you're some-"

"Whore?" You smile, "I vividly recall you calling me that once or twice."

He glares at you, sharply. "Don't think I'll let you tease me right before we get stuck in a three hour sit down with the last two people I want to see right now."

Natasha and Tony, which reminds you that they must be waiting on you by now, time isn't on your side to begin with. But, you're in too deep to stop yourself now.

"What would you rather see?" Your voice is thick like toasted honey, and you can tell it's having an effect on him, he swallows, hard. You decide to help him through the struggle. "Steve, baby, I'm just trying to help you relax."

A huff of air, "You're doing the complete opposite." There's an annoyance in his voice when he releases you hand, letting it drift right back down to where you aimed to put it the first time, grabbing the buckle on his belt.

You look up at him only for a moment to find his eyes closed, a silent form of consent that says he gives up in trying to stop you, and so you continue.

A gentle tug, you unfasten his belt and then his pants, reaching in to free his cock. He's half hard, you pause when he sucks in a harsh breath, once again glancing up at him. This time, he's already looking at you, watching as you slowly start to stroke him, his hips twitching with restraint.

"You little cock tease." He grits out, reaching up to grab the steering wheel. "I don't want to hear shit when it's my turn."

For a moment you consider making him suffer, working him up only to edge him for as long as he'll allow. But your goal was to give him a sense of relief after all. So you smile, gathering spit in your mouth.

Steve watches in awe, moaning as you spit right on the tip, smearing it with your hand.

You take him into your mouth as far as you can, hollowing your cheeks and curling your lips to tuck your teeth, you use your hand to help, twisting as you bob your head up and down.

He lets you go at your own pace, knuckles turning white as he squeezes the steering wheel. He's trying his hardest to restrain himself, and it only encourages you to suck him faster.

You come up for air, giving your jaw a break and his hands are on you instantly, pulling you into a wet kiss. "You're such a good girl." He coos, "Always so good to me."

And now you're the one moaning, squirming in your seat as his words settle right between your legs, aching for the one thing you've been denied for so long, the very thing that's throbbing in your hand.

"Let's just skip out." You say, more breathless than you mean to be. "Fuck Wanda, let's just-"

His hips stutter, you never stopped moving your hand, and you realize he's on the verge of orgasm. "Fuck." He moans, leaning forward to kiss you again. "I want to fuck you so bad."

It's torture, the way he moans into your mouth, forcing you to suffer along with him. He's so close, panting, gripping you by the throat to keep you in place. And then he's coming on your hand, warm jets of cum leaking down your fingers, his hips twitch with it, jerking himself into your hand.

You help him through it, trailing kisses down his throat, squeezing gently with your fingers until he stops moving, his moans dying into short breaths.

You lick your hand clean, eyes locked on his as your tongue collects drop after drop of cum, and he wears a pained expression at the sight of it.

"Better?" You ask, settling back into your seat.

He shakes his head, letting you go. "Not in the slightest." He says, "If anything, I think you made it worse."

The release was a temporary fix, like putting duct tape on a leaking faucet. But it's enough to get him driving again, sparing you one last glance before he sets off towards Natasha's office building. Like you guessed, they're waiting for you, but that doesn't stop Steve from hauling you to a quick stop at the door, smoothing your hair, stealing one last kiss before he puts on a face of pure professionalism.

Natasha hands you a glass of wine, the look she gives you makes you feel cheap and dirty, and you're quick to drink. Tony offers you a box of carry out, and together you and Steve join them at the round table in the middle of the room.

You feel guilty, like you're in the hot seat. You glance at Steve, who gives you a concerned look, eyeing the glass in your hand that's already half empty, but you say nothing, simply offering the glass to him. He doesn't refuse.

They know exactly what took so long. Steve just doesn't care.

Tony clears his throat, "Right. Now that we're all here, let's talk damage control." He lays his palms flat on the table, glancing around at each of you. "Wanda is about to release some bullshit story about how you two were sleeping together while working on this case. It's a ploy to sway your credibility and distract from the actual issue, which is Stane."

Tony seems calm, and surprisingly so does Steve. You imagine they've both dealt with this before, both public figures in a sense.

"We need a feel good story, something that will outshine any allegations she throws out." Natasha says, "Retirement, marriage, pregnancy, joining a new agency, something that will touch the heart of the people."

Steve chokes, and you hide a smile behind your hand.

"No, really. I did it with Pepper. I proposed on a whim and got myself out of some really hot water. People like weddings." Tony flashes you a brief smile, it vanishes just as quickly as it showed up. "But I get the feeling you two aren't quite ready."

No, you aren't. So Natasha steps up, "What if you sign on as private lawyers?" She raises an eyebrow, "It won't matter what the public thinks if you're no longer public defenders."

A light bulb goes off in your head, a loophole that can actually work in your favor. You can keep your career as a lawyer, but only if you work for someone specifically.

Steve nods, "It will take some networking, but I have potential clients that would be willing to take us on with contract."

From across the table, Tony scoffs. "Uhm, hello? Did you forget about my end of the bargain? I'm going to need a lawyer to get my company back, and after winning that case you won't have an issue with needing clientele."

It's all unfolding nicely, opportunity after opportunity falling into your lap to save you. It feels fake, a false sense of hope lingering around you that makes you feel like something will go wrong. It's all too easy.

What's the catch?

But then Steve smiles, genuinely smiles at the man sitting across from him, "Yeah, that might do it."

And you realize you don't care. Whenever the other shoe drops, it won't matter, because now you have this, you have him, and that makes it all worth it to you.

A reporter joins you soon after, takes a statement from both you and Steve about the case and your plans for your career afterwards, in which you mention signing on privately to help Tony win back the ownership of his company.

Contracted lawyers, a status that holds much more weight than public attorneys. It's the start of a new chapter, the turning of a page so to speak, and it feels much better than you had hoped it would. You feel free, no longer balancing the weight of morals when making decisions.

Steve and Tony exchange contact information, formally, setting a meeting for later in the week to have a contract made. Natasha of course will be present as a witness, and as moral support for you. Because no matter how mature they are acting, you can still sense a lingering tension between both men, a deep rooted misunderstanding for each other that is slowly being proved wrong. Very slowly.

You take time to thank Natasha, kissing her cheek, and she walks you hand in hand out into the lobby of her building, the receptionist at the desk gives you a strange look, a question of who could possibly be special enough to pull such tenderness out of Natasha Romanoff.

"We need to get brunch this week, go out while the boys talk business." She whispers in your ear, her eyes locked on Steve's as she kisses your cheek.

"I wouldn't mind it at all." You say, hugging her. "Thank you again, for everything."

Steve tugs you away with a firm grip on your elbow, and you smile to yourself at his jealousy. Either jealousy or longing, you decide not to ask questions, waving goodbye to Tony from across the parking lot before getting back into Steve's Mustang.

Hours pass, he takes you to your office, probably the last time you'll be seeing it.

Wanda never puts the story out. Maybe she changed her mind, maybe she saw no point after you ran a story of your own. Who knows, who cares. But what you do know is that now that the hard part is over, it feels easier to walk back into your own office. There is no longer a weight being held over your head, no longer any consequences holding you back.

It's simply a room that will soon belong to another, a room that will hold nothing but memories.

Out on the balcony, the sun starting to set, Steve finds you with a cigarette between your lips, looking at the city below you. People just getting off work, rushing to make it home before dark, hues of pink and orange painting the sky.

He holds a foam cup, half liquor half black coffee, and you can tell in the way he blinks that he's far beyond tipsy.

"Don't tell me you'll miss this place." He says, pressing his lips against your cheek. He plucks the cigarette from between your lips, placing it between his own, watching as you start to smile.

"Maybe I will." You shrug, taking his cup from him, taking a hard swig. "We shared a lot of memories in this office."

He hums, fingers dancing across your wrist. "Yeah." He smirks, a secret hidden in his eyes that you wish he would share with you. You might already know. Because his touch doesn't feel innocent, his fingertips hot as they wrap around your wrist, tugging you close.

You lean into him, a hand on his chest as he secures an arm around your waist. "Steve, this doesn't feel real."

His lips are warm when they kiss you, tasting of smoke and bourbon, a dangerous mix.

"I know, pretty girl." His voice is calm, soothing, the very opposite of his intentions. "But try to live in the moment, okay? We can think about it later."

He finishes the cigarette, putting it out on the railing and tossing the butt down into the parking lot below. He gives you his full attention then, tugging you to trap you between him and the railing, his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

You enjoy the solid feel of him, your heart fluttering at the sense of security you feel, his chin rests on your shoulder, his lips pressed against your ear.

"I'm going to fuck you as soon as the sun sets." He says, teeth tugging on your earlobe.

All you can do is smile while you finish his drink.

Because the sun sets sooner than you anticipated, Steve sways you back and forth to keep you warm, recalling memories of your first year working as his assistant. He tells you that he would do anything to go back and do things differently, to be gentler with you, sweeter, so that maybe you wouldn't like it so much when he got too rough. He wishes he hadn't ruined you, showed you a darker side of pleasure and washed away the sweetness you had once tried to show him.

He thinks he ruined you, when in reality you were ruined the moment you decided to become a lawyer. The schooling made you tough, your professors introduced you to the rougher side of life, established men who were burdened with carrying on a legacy, teaching the next generation of lawyers, attorneys, and public defenders. Men who were hardened with experience showed you a rough hand, maybe Steve should be included, but that doesn't mean that you are ruined.

You prove that to him, bending over the railing at sunset and letting him flip up your skirt. You aren't ruined, you still are the sweet girl who came to him with a bright, eager smile. You're still the girl who is desperate to please, willing to do anything to leave a good impression.

Steve tugs your panties down to your ankles, kissing the backs of your thighs as he goes, his hands are warm on your ass, squeezing, prying you open so that he can kiss your bare pussy.

"I'm obsessed with you." He whispers into your skin, tongue darting out to taste you, and it makes you shiver. "I have been since I first laid eyes on you, sweet girl."

His words are a double ended dagger, sweet and thrilling on one end, then harsh and cruel on the other. You don't know which to cling to as he brings you pleasure, dragging his tongue through your folds, through your leaking arousal.

"Steve, don't tease me." You whine, "I've waited long enough."

He coos, because yes you have, "You're not ready yet," He whispers, "I don't want to hurt you."

A finger presses against your tight hole, the muscle giving slightly as he applies pressure, and you can't help but moan at the feeling of being filled after being denied for so long. He works you open slowly, adding a second finger and building a faster pace.

Your moans are obscene, his other hand lands on your lower back to keep you stable while he fucks you with his fingers. You're dizzy, going cross eyed with pleasure as the cold railing bites into your hips, your heels have long fallen off of your feet, legs dangling with just his hands to keep you from falling over. It's dangerous, something you would read in a book or see in a movie, and you find very quickly that you enjoy this side of Steve just as much.

Right when you feel the brink of an orgasm, he stops, pulling his fingers back, drawing you back against his chest so that you can watch as he slips them into his mouth.

But you're too worked up to admire it, squirming in his hold, hips working back against his for the much needed friction that his belt buckle provides.

"Easy," He coos, and you feel powerless as he stills your hips, "I'm going to take care of it, I promise."

He leans down and kisses you, his mouth tasting of you, stealing your breath and fogging your mind with nothing but pleasure.

And then he's shoving you back against the railing, his thighs against yours as he undoes his belt buckle, you feel yourself clench with anticipation.

He wastes no time, gives you no warning, his cock pressing at your entrance with an eagerness that makes you gasp, winded as he stretches you open, slowly, expertly, as if he had it pictured in his mind all along.

"Fuck," He groans, grabbing your hips to stable himself, "You look so pretty like this."

You have no air to make any noise, mouth open and speechless as you feel him slowly bottom out, filling you completely. You had imagined it, how thick he would feel inside of you, but you underestimated him in your fantasies. Your walls flutter around him, desperately trying to adjust, but to no avail, you feel like you're drowning. It's too much, and far too sudden.

Finding your voice, a high pitched whine breaks from the back of your throat, your hands shooting back to find his hips, stilling him.

He's panting, mindful of your hands, mindful of how it must feel to be stretched open like this after what must have been far too long, because his grip changes, an arm snaking around your neck to draw you up and against his chest, his lips in your ear once again whispering sweet words of praise, of how good you feel.

The shift in weight allows you to breath, a harsh gasp for breath echoing into the evening air around you. His eyes linger on the rise and fall of your chest, his lips working against your neck.

"Good girl," His hand fits under your jaw, tilting your head back against his chest, you're left fighting for height on your tip toes. "Don't hold back, I want to hear you fall apart."

You've never been spoken to like this, you can't even think of a reaction let alone give one, panting for air. He lets you adjust, placing a kiss against the corner of your mouth, grinding his hips against your ass just to get you used to the feeling of him.

And then he's fucking you, his hips lurching forward at a pace that makes you gasp, reaching forward to grip the railing, to grab something just to ground you.

You cry out, voice cracking as your body jolts with a brutal thrust, and you can't help it, you arch into him further, taking him deeper, and you both share a moan that sends chills down your spine.

He lets you go, lets you lean forward and cling to the railing, grabbing you at the waist and guiding you back onto his cock, your ass meeting him halfway, and you can feel his eyes trained on it, engraving the image in the back of his mind for later. For those late nights where he's feeling restless, craving you.

"Steve?" Your voice is pathetic, a scratchy whine that speaks right to his dick, you feel it twitch inside of you at the sound of his name on your lips.

"You feel so good," He moans, leaning over your back, bracing himself against the railing. "I'm going to tear this pussy apart."

You don't hold back, screaming his name for the entire parking lot to hear, and you notice that your vocalization encourages him.

His hands feel hot when they find you once again, pulling out of you with a slick sounding pop that makes your knees weak. He turns you around, hands on the back of your thighs hoisting you up to sit on the railing.

"Hold on to me, baby." His voice is wrecked, almost too thick to understand. "Don't let go, no matter what."

You do as told, arms wrapping around his shoulders as you feel him pry your legs back apart, his cock stuffing your entrance once again. It feels different this way, the railing pressing into your ass guiding him up into a curve, hitting a spot within you that he wasn't before.

Your eyes go wide, a moan whispered against his ear that has him shivering against you, one hand at the back of your neck to keep you tight against him, the other on your hip. It doesn't allow him much room to thrust, but it does allow him to reach deeper, each grind of his hips sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

You can't stop the praise that leaves your mouth, "It feels so good," You moan into his ear, placing a kiss against his skin, "Please, don't stop."

He grunts, teeth clenched in a way that tells you he's fighting it. His arousals, his sense of restraint. He doesn't want to hurt you, doesn't want it to end too quickly, doesn't want to make the first time anything but enjoyable for you.

But you can feel him tensing beneath you, the muscles in his shoulders constricting as he attempts to hold himself back, so you card your fingers through his hair, tugging until he looks down at you.

"Fuck me like you mean it." You says, lips centimeters apart. "Fuck me like you own me, Steve Rogers."

Because you do, it's on the tip of your tongue, but he doesn't let you say it. He kisses you silent instead, stealing the breath from your lungs in a kiss that claims you, confirms your thoughts and solidifies your words.

You belong to him now, and the entire world knows it.

He hoists you up, his bare hands on your ass to keep you upright, and he bounces you on his cock, moaning into your mouth when your grip in his hair tightens, your weight forcing him to fill you precise and deep.

Your mouth falls open, and he takes advantage of the opportunity, spitting in your mouth, teeth grazing your neck as you fight to stay at an eye level with him.

The liquor in your system makes you bold, you fight to regain control of your senses, mind clearing just enough for you to whisper, "Come inside of me."

It gives you the reaction you were hoping for, his teeth gritting together, his forehead glistening with proof of his efforts.

"Please?" Your voice is a whine, a pout crossing your lips as he looks down at you, glaring. "Please, I want you to-"

"You little minx." His words hold no malice, a sharp grunt cutting him off. "You first."

He leans you back, the railing digging into your spine, his words ring through your head, don't let go. You feel suspended in the air, rocking dangerously over the edge of the railing as he fucks into you, you wrap your legs around him the best you can.

He sneaks a hand down between you, his thumb brushing over your clit, and your eyes dart down between your bodies, your skirt bunched up at your waist. You watch as his cock slides in and out of you, accompanied by the pressure of his thumb on your clit, swirling continuous circles that have you jolting under his hand.

"You first." He says it again, leaning over you, sending you further over the edge, your grip tightens. "Come for me, pretty girl."

Your nails scratch his skin when you lower your hand to the back of his neck, forcing him to kiss you, your body arching off the railing and against his chest, as close as you can possibly get it. Because this isn't enough. Somehow this isn't enough to make you come for him, on him, around him.

And somehow he get's it, somehow he knows he's still being too gentle, his hand leaving your clit to secure around your throat, squeezing, pulling back to stare you in the eyes.

"I said, come for me."

That does it, the darkness in his voice, the pressure on your throat restricting your breathing, you feel it all right between your legs, like his thumb never left your clit at all, and you come for him, pussy pulsing around his cock as you shake, a moan coming from your lungs that forces your eyes shut.

Then he comes, the feeling of your walls tightening around him, milking his cock to the point where he can't hold it back even if he wanted to. Warm jets of cum fill you, his shout of pleasure filling your ear, his grip on your throat tightening even further, your head swimming with several sources of overstimulation. He still hasn't stopped fucking you, not even when your legs start to shake, not when his cock stops twitching inside of you. He continues to rock himself in and out of your tight warmth,

It starts to become too much, your hands frantic as they grab at his shoulders, "Steve," A whine leaves your lips, "Steve, I can't-"

He cuts you off with a kiss, "No, I'm not finished." He says, "Not yet." He smooths a hand over your hair, "I'm going to enjoy this."

You groan, turning your face away, attempting to escape. But he stops you, "You're getting wetter, I can feel my cum inside of you." He moans, his hand sliding down you face, stopping on your left breast. He gives it a harsh squeeze, "I waited too long for this to be done so soon."

You arch into his hand, a hard look in your eyes as you flutter your muscles, clamping down on him hard. The result is devastating, a pressure that shoots through to your clit, the intensity increasing as it drives him to fuck you harder. You both come a second time, nothing at all like the first, harsh and ugly, tears leaking from your eyes as your nerves become overloaded with pleasure.

"What the fuck was that?" He groans, body sagging against yours, crushing you against the railing. "Do it again." He moaning into your chest, teeth nipping you through the fabric of your shirt.

You shake your head, "No. I can't." It comes out as a sob, a plead.

"Just one more." He sounds wrecked himself, however his mouth convinces you, lips working kisses up your jaw, "Give me one more for the road."

And you can't deny him even though you want to, your body has a mind of it's own, submitting and complying to his request, clenching hard around him, only this time you start to fuck yourself against him, rocking your hips over and over, screaming out as your third orgasm overcomes you.

He takes everything you give him, swallowing the sound of your cries with a kiss, pumping you full of his cum one last time before pulling out, drawing you up into his arms and carrying you back inside. Your desk is closer, so that's where he takes you.

He sits in your rolling chair, depositing you gently on his lap, and it's instinct alone that has you curling against him. He smoothes his fingers against your hairline, catching his breath, and it isn't until you've recovered that he speaks again.

"Let's get out of here." He says, voice whistful in ways that make your heart flutter in your chest.

"And go where?"

He hums, leaning down to kiss your temple. "That vacation I told you about." He says. "I don't have a plan, but I also don't care."

"You can take out that bike of yours that you've been bragging about since I met you." You smile up at him, looking truly exhausted. Your eyes are red from crying, your throat scratchy from screaming, body like jello from being pushed to the extreme. "Take me on the back of your bike across the country, like there's no care to be had in the world."

He snorts, hand patting your thigh playfully. "There isn't." He reminds you, shift you to straddle his lap. "Not anymore."

You kiss him with full confidence, scooting up until you're sitting on top of his cock, still half hard as you grab his face in your hands. He hums into your mouth, securing his hands on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you harder against him.

You pull away panting, hips rocking slightly, and you catch his glare when he clucks his tongue at you.

"Don't start with me," He says, "There's nothing holding me back now, I'll take you right across this desk."

You pout, shaking your head. "Not again, I'll cry."

He smiles, knuckles brushing your cheek. "You're pretty when you cry." His hands are warm, large, and you find that you feel safe when he grabs you up again, tucking you against his chest.

You don't sit there long, Steve bounces his leg to wake you up, forcing you to climb off his lap so that he can tuck himself back into his pants. You watch, unashamed, and it calls you out on it, telling you to get your shoes from outside before he changes his mind about leaving so soon. That has you rushing him out the door and into the parking lot.

He takes you home, walks you up to your door in full gentleman mode, leaves a kiss on your cheek out of fear of initiating something you wouldn't let him finish. At least not tonight anyways.

"Get some sleep, Y/n."

He's halfway down the driveway when you hesitate, key in the door, turning to watch him head back to his car.

"Steve?" His shoes scuff as he comes to an abrupt halt, turning to face you again. "Do you want to stay?"

He smiles brighter than you think you've ever seen, turning on his heel to join you on the steps as you finish unlocking the door. You sleep tucked safely into the arms of Steve Rogers, and it makes you regret waiting so long to make it a reality.

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