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aweina · 6 months

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౨ৎ. MANSPREAD ( 17﹢) ; mike schmidt

tags fem reader. established relationship. dry humping / heavy petting. begging. no reader orgasm ( boo ! ! ). cocky to submissive mikey + 1.8k words.

mike cannot seem to keep his legs closed. literally. sitting next to him was a total hassle. his legs covering every perimeter of leg space he could reach — leaving your knees buckled together and tucked in whatever corner you’re forced into.

you’ve mentioned his bad habit before, in which he mumbles an indolent “sorry” and then the next day, continues to do the same thing he’s half heartedly apologized for. at this point, you’re not sure he was doing it to press your buttons or his permanent restlessness has caught up with his memory.

then playful slaps on the knee became another idea. a quick sting to his skin kept his reactions stunned, buckling his knees together from your sharp touches. each slap garnered a short cry and a sudden flinch like some invisible string tied his legs together.

it worked, but only for a few days.

now mike catches your wrist halfway from making contact on his knees, gently tugging you down in the corner of the linen couch with a delighted chuckle. either that or he tosses you a knowing glance when you come by the couch, a raised brow and his hands protecting the caps of his knees — glancing his soft hazel eyes towards the tiny empty space beside him.

what a total ass.

all your solutions to stop his leg spreading habit seemed to do nothing for mike. instead, it made him even more repulsive — the spatial width between his legs could nearly reach the arms of the couch, leaving your poor body folded to regain any left over space. then his arms spread along the plush pillows — his rough hand would ever so often teasingly tug at your ears or play with the loose strands of your hair, pulling the ends while playfully twirling it in his finger.

in the corner of your eye, you swore there was a smug smile etched onto his face.

yeah, he’s totally doing this on purpose.

you thought a bit harder after that day. re-enacting different scenarios in your head without it resulting in some unneeded argument — nearly burning abby’s lunch in the process. but like a flash of light, it suddenly hit you. if mike was going to rob you of personal space, why can’t you do so to him?

“um … are you okay?” abby glances up at your blank eyes in concern, the chicken that was supposed to be golden brown violently sizzled from the bubbling oil, grimly layered under a blanket of black charcoal.

“o – oh, yes i’m fine abs.” you assured the smaller schmidt, transferring the hot pan away from the scorching stove — your inner victory delayed by your own clumsiness.

to salvage her burnt meal, you both shared a box of fresh delivered pizza for lunch.

but now it was that time.

it’s nighttime, mike was comfortably splayed on the couch, mindlessly flipping through channels. as it always was, his legs covered every crevice of the couch — body propped completely in between the plush cushions. the gray baggy sweatpants he changed into clung to his frame well — heavily ruffled on the parts you would love to get an eyeful of. his shirt was slightly damp from a warm shower, the gentle curl patterns in his brown hair glistened under the colorful glow of the television.

mike catches your lingering gaze, a pleased smile on his face.

“you’re not going to sit down?” he slurred a quip, patting down on the other end of the couch — seized by his thick thighs.

he refrains from teasing you for your blatant staring, but instead, for your multiple failed attempts to get him to stop his obnoxious leg spreading.

“oh yeah i will.” you mocked his sluggish tone, going to get yourself a cold drink before you make your way over to the couch.

blocking his view from the blaring screen, you purposely bent down in slow motion — distracting him from his vacuous browsing to simply put your drink down. mike quirks a brow at your little act, but still makes no effort to scoot over, barely moving a muscle.

then your body began to engulf his vision, fluorescent light spilling in the sides of your shadow. confusion knitted into his brows until suddenly, the air in his lungs were punched out from an added weight. the heavy crash of your body made mike rasp a curse, making him pathetically adjust himself after being nearly sunken in the folds of the aged couch — one hand clawing at the cushions for some stability.

“r – really? on my lap?” mike managed to breath out, holding your waist steadily with his free hand — your body felt so good flushed against his.

the innocent attempt to adjust himself ended up with him grinding on your ass, eliciting a low groan from his lips.

gosh, he’s too loud.

you hurriedly fish out the remote from his weak grasp, changing the channel to something that could hopefully muffle the pathetic noises that spill from mike’s mouth. abby’s room was still nearby the living room, the lights off and the door completely shut.

“well … you never give me room on the couch, so i think this is fair.�� you explained leisurely, tossing the remote to the side as you grappled onto his spread knees, lifting off some weight to rub slow, shallow circles over his clothed cock.

mike fought back a needy whimper, biting his lip until fleshy pink turned paper white. the cooling sensation of his damp hair did nothing from how much his body was burning up. both his hands cling desperately onto the handles of your waist — kneading and lightly grazing his nails in your soft skin.

a throbbing warmth brushed against your clothed clit, mercilessly constricted by the confines of his sweatpants. you fought back a whine yourself, desperately tugging at the gray fabric with sealed lips. every steady brush of your soft flesh made mike see stars, the urge to lift his hips and grind harder into the curve of ass sat heavy in his lust hazed mind. yet his obedience seemed to glimmer brighter than his deviant instincts.

“ha ha- harder – ngh – please go harder.”

he sounded so sweet, so needy. you couldn’t deny him when the pool of his sticky precum oozes through the gray fabric — gossamer strings that weaved your dripping arousal with his own.

“s – stay still then.” you whispered, now fully pressing your weight against his hard cock — your back against his panting chest.

mike does what you ask, gluing his hips down to the cushions.

his heartbeat was racing against time, pumping all the hot blood that rushed down to his cock. his warm breath fanned the back of your neck, sending electric waves down your spine. his touches were sweaty, latching and kneading anything that pertained to softness. the open mouthed kisses he planted on your bare neck blossomed into purple hues, the drag of his teeth and muted whimpers coercing you to absolutely destroy him.

your hips rocked faster on his cock, the throbbing imprint tucked between the curve of your ass. his grip felt extra tight on your hips, reddish crescent marks decorating your flushed skin. mike throws his head back on the couch, his usual deep groans replaced with airy sighs. he closes his eyes, the same stars dancing in his eyelids — your heady scent making it harder for him not to hold you down himself and hump his cock against your pussy.

he’s so close, he can feel it.

“might cum – ah fuck.” mike warns with a high-pitched whine, the blasting audio from the television really doing him a favor.

you can tell too. his cock hasn’t stopped throbbing ever since he’s accidentally grind against you. his seeping precum never seemed to stop, only staining against the seat of the couch. he was like a horny teenager, so desperate to get off and trying so hard to compose himself. not like the asshole who was taking up all the space on the couch.

this was a great plan after all.

with one hard press against his cock, a spill of scorching heat nestled into your clothed pussy — eating through his soiled fabric and coating your covered folds. with no restraint whatsoever, mike’s deep groan vibrated the dimly lit living room, mindlessly bucking his hips lazily over your cunt like he could possibly pump some cum along your walls. the stars that whirled under his lids dispersed into a warm, satisfied feeling all over his usual restless body.

the very last minute, your hands flailed over his panting mouth — looking over to the direction of abby’s room. he seems to realize how loud he was, eyes widening as he hastily grabs onto the discarded remote, amplifying the volume to a considerate tone. not too loud to wake her up but definitely loud enough to cover the after effects of your intense heavy petting.

the light in her room remains untouched, her delicate footsteps nonexistent. she’s still asleep, thank goodness.

still both hazy from your lustful highs, mike drops the remote and snuggles into the crook of your neck — taking in your addicting scent while admiring the love marks he gave you. his cock softened under the soiled fabric, the sticky feeling making him furrow his brows. but then he realizes one thing, the sudden flinch of his body made you alarmed.

“i – i’m sorry. you didn’t get to cum.” mike sheepishly apologizes, fiddling with the waistband of your soiled shorts.

you shook your head with a relieved sigh, leaning back to gently kiss his stubble jawline — combing your fingers through his soft curls, dried on the top but the ends damp with sweat.

“i’m fine, baby, but you can make it up with one thing.” you mumbled in the base of his ear, a playful smile on your face.

in the corner of his eye, he can see the curl of your lips — the sight earning an eye roll.

“i already know what you’re going to say, but let’s hear it.” mike’s voice was baritone next to your flushed face, completely contrasting his previous whines and whimpers.

“give me all the space on the couch for now on.” you laugh when mike groans, still pulling your body closer to his despite this new ordeal.

“okay fine.” he defeatedly mumbles into your shoulder, his rough hands tracing over your bruised hips to your neglected chest — reaching under to knead your soft skin for his own enjoyment.

the moments of comforting silence were therapeutic, not even the continuous dialogue and sound effects from the bulky screen could ruin its peace. there was something still ticking mike off, he didn’t want to ruin this sweet moment but he couldn’t help it.

“are you sure my lap isn’t good enough?” he pleaded, a glint of hope in his hazy eyes — the couch being his only source of possession where he could splay himself comfortably.

you scoffed, rolling your eyes in the back of your head.

“no.”

it was an attempt.

he huffs in defeat, now kneading at your chest for some comfort.

“okay.”

#.୨୧ ina writes #.purple mark #mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #fnaf movie x reader #mike schmidt smut #josh hutcherson

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matchingbatbites · 3 months

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Happy Valentine's, all. <3

Eddie doesn't want to be making this call. Literally the last thing he wants to be doing is making this specific phone call, but he'll be damned if he lets his asshole of a roommate get away with this.

After a moment the ringing stops, and a voice says "Hello?"

"Uh, hi, is this Steve?"

"It is, who is this?"

"It's Eddie, Jake's roommate? I got your number from him." Well, from his phone when he'd left it unattended one day, but Steve doesn't need to know the details. "I really, really hate to be making this call, especially the day before Valentine's, but uh. Jake is cheating on you."

The line is silent for a moment before he hears a weak "What?"

Eddie's eyes squeeze shut at the heartbreak he can hear in that single word. He hates that he's doing this, but knows it needs to be done, for Steve's sake.

"I got home from work not too long ago, and heard him with some girl in his room. I took a video, if you want proof, but I just- I thought you deserved to know."

There's a bit of shuffling on Steve's end, along with a soft sniffle. "I, uh. I don't need the video. I believe you. I'm not all that surprised, if I'm honest."

He huffs a laugh, the sound so self-deprecating that it makes Eddie's stomach twist in empathy. "Guess that makes me three-for-three on my long-term partners cheating. I'm starting to wonder what the fuck is wrong with me."

That last part is softer, like Steve was speaking to himself, but Eddie hears it and frowns, because- because Steve is lovely. He can tell that Steve is beautiful inside and out, always kind with just enough sass to make him so fun to be around.

He's always makes sure to talk to Eddie every time he comes over, even if it's just a simple greeting or goodbye, and whenever he cooks at their apartment - because he's a great cook - he always makes enough for Eddie to have some as well.

It feels wrong to hear Steve talk like this, like there's something about him that needs to be fixed. Like his previous partners were right to abuse his love and trust, instead of treating them like the treasures Eddie knows they are.

Before Eddie can speak out to reassure him, the man continues. "Thank you for telling me Eddie. Spending Valentine's alone is gonna suck, but I guess that's better than spending it with someone who doesn't care about me."

"Spend it with me."

Eddie isn't sure where the request comes from, but as soon as it leaves his mouth, it's all he wants.

Steve gives a soft "Huh?" and Eddie repeats it, "Spend it with me. A boy as pretty as you shouldn't be cooped up inside on a day like Valentine's. Let me take you out, try to salvage it for you at least a little."

Steve goes quiet, and for a solid ten seconds, Eddie is sure that he's about to be rejected.

And then Steve says "Jake was supposed to pick me up at 6:30 tomorrow. I'll come by yours at six instead, so I can break up with him before we leave. Is that okay?"

A sigh of relief, and Eddie slumps into the wall behind him. "Sounds perfect, Stevie. Wear something nice, but casual, okay?"

"I can do that. I'll see you tomorrow, Eddie. And thanks again."

Jake comes across Eddie the next evening as he's packing the last of the food into a bag. He's spent the last hour or so getting it ready, making sure it's all perfect even though it's nothing too complicated.

A meat and cheese plate with some fancy crackers, a jar of the pickled asparagus he's recently become addicted to, a bowl of diced fruit and a box of fancy chocolates he'd splurged on.

He'd even dropped money on a bouquet of roses, and he already has a few comfy blankets and pillows packed into the back of the van. Everything perfect and ready to go. When Jake sees his preparations, he lets out a low whistle.

"Wow, Eddie. Trying to impress someone?"

Eddie shrugs, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. "Yep. It's our first date, so I want it to be special. Didn't wanna go the usual, boring, fancy restaurant route."

He's sure that's what Jake had planned for himself and Steve, and it's confirmed by the way his nose wrinkles. "There's nothing wrong with spending money on your date, Eddie. If you have the money to spend, that is."

Jesus Christ, Eddie can't wait to move out of this fucking place, and away from this fucking asswipe.

"Anyway, I've gotta go pick up Steve soon, and I'm planning on bringing him back here tonight, so maybe see if you can crash with your date, yeah?"

"Sure thing-" Eddie replies, though he's interrupted by the sound of a knock ringing through the apartment. He grins wide, knowing exactly who it is. "That must be my date. Can you grab that while I finish up here?"

Jake rolls his eyes but complies, and Eddie freezes in place, not daring to make a sound so he can hear whatever interaction is about to happen.

The door opens, and he hears Jake's confused "Steve? What are you doing here? I'm supposed to be-"

"Yeah, we're not doing anything anymore. Ever again, actually."

God, Steve sounds so bitchy, and Eddie fucking loves it. He grabs the bag of food and the bouquet of roses from the counter, glad that he got dressed beforehand, and makes his way to the entry.

"What are you saying, Steve?"

"I'm saying that we're over, Jake. Maybe you can call the girl you fucked last night and take her to dinner instead."

Eddie turns the corner in time to see Jake's stunned expression, clearly not expecting Steve to throw that at him. He takes a moment to bask in the fire burning behind hazel eyes, until they slide to him and that fire vanishes, replaced with something sparkling and delighted.

"Hi, Eddie," Steve says, his demeanor changing like the flip of a switch, and Eddie beams. He steps closer and offers the bouquet of roses, along with a "Happy Valentine's, Stevie."

The money Eddie spent on the flowers was worth it to see the blush that floods Steve's face as he reaches out to take them.

"Oh, thank you. That's really sweet of you."

"What the fuck is happening right now?"

Eddie and Steve both turn to look at a very petulant and confused Jake, and Steve just smiles. "Well, you just got dumped, and my Valentine is about to take me on a date."

It takes a moment, but something must finally click, because Jake's face goes red with rage. Eddie just grabs Steve's arm, guiding him out of the apartment before the man can actually do something.

"So what's the plan?" Steve asks as he takes Eddie's hand, lacing their fingers together as Eddie leads him to his van.

"Well, uh. The next town over still has a drive in theater, and they're showing some old romance movies tonight. The drive to get there is pretty nice, and we'll actually have some time to talk, and then- I have some blankets and pillows in the back of the van, and I brought food so we can do a picnic during the movies. I mean, if- if that sounds good to you."

Steve's eyes are sparkling again as Eddie rambles, and he squeezes their hands in delight. "That sounds perfect, Eds."

By the time Eddie gets home late that night, he's learned two things:

The first is that Steve had already been debating on breaking up with Jake before this whole fiasco, but the thing stopping him was that he actually likes being around Eddie, and he thought wanting to hang out with his ex-boyfriend's roommate would be too weird.

The second thing Eddie's learned is that Steve's smile tastes like dark chocolate and sunshine, and kissing him might just be Eddie's new favorite hobby.

(Eddie does eventually show the video to Steve, just to reassure him that he didn't break them up so Eddie could date him instead. The only comment Steve makes is "She's definitely faking, his dick game isn't that good.")

#i didn't plan on writing over 1k for valentine's #but here we are #steddie #steddie fluff #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steddie au #steve harrington #eddie munson #joey writes

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ynsbarbbb · 2 days

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tell me you love me | l. norris

hypothesis - on days like these, where everything just seems to go wrong, the uttered words from your boyfriend is the only cure.

pairing - lando norris x fem!driver!reader

[fic is inspired by “tell me you love me” by demi lovato]

“i need someone on days like this, i do”

“are you fucking kidding me right now?” you groan as your car’s engine died, right at the turn of the finish line. right at the turn of qualifying for the miami grand prix.

“come on, come on,” practically begging the car, trying to see if you could just get it back to life, to salvage the last bit of your pride that’s hanging on by a damn thin thread.

slamming your hands on the wheel, “son of a bitch!”

“lost power,” you sigh into your ear piece, defeated. laying your head on your hands that rested in the steering wheel.

this is really just what you needed.

another layer of cake on your already shitty day.

first the argument you had with lando this morning, really, about something so imbecile silly that you can actually laugh about it right now. running late, missing your shoe, bumping your hip on the counter - sure to leave a nasty bruise and lando not wanting to get out of the bed.

silly, right?

and now this.

“what happened?” zac questioned, concerned. the car was perfectly fine yesterday, practically soaring all over the track. you were sure that you’d start first pole by how the car roared.

“you fucking tell me,” you didn’t mean to be so harsh. zac’ question just scratched that itchy irritable spot that has been bothering you, all day.

zac sighed, not commenting on your response, sensing how it’ll make the situation worse.

knowing that if he said anything about your starting pole, which you already definitely knew, you’d blow your head.

smart man.

“sending tow, stay there.”

like you’d be going any fucking where.

a coffee. that’s what you needed. a strong one at that.

with your suit arms tied around your hips you walk the way of the holy grail, not really observing your surroundings and stumbling straight into the blistering coffee cup of one of mclaren’s mechanics.

the liquid seeping through your shirt, burning your skin. his cup falling to the ground and shattering in hundreds of little pieces.

“y/n,” the mechanic was quick to react, grabbing napkins that rested on the edge of the table, dabbing at the material, pressing into your now third degree burn.

why didn’t you pay attention? why where you so wrapped up in your head?

why?

“just leave it,” hissing, you swatted the napkin from his hand, you take the route back to your room. the ceramic pieces crunching under your shoes.

with a hand pressed to your head, you can already feel the lump forming in your throat, eyes burning as tears well up behind your eyes. you bite your lip, you won’t succumb to today, you won’t show your white flag just yet.

you won’t acknowledge the pitying looks from everyone on your team.

you won’t acknowledge the murmurs on the paddock of mclaren’s worst starting pole.

you won’t acknowledge the desire you feel to be wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms.

you just won’t.

another, beautiful layer of cake stacked.

“really?” you whine as you pat your pockets, looking for the keycard that’s used to unlock the door, but it comes out empty.

damn zac for changing the locks. damn the security protocol.

you left, or more like forgot, it at home. on the counter, where you usually leave it. your shoulders sag and with your back turned to the door you glide down it. arms wrapped around your knees and head rested on it.

here it comes, the wall to the well finally comes crashing down and the first tear rolls down your cheek landing on the coffee stain.

you finally hoist your white flag, today won.

a pretty red cherry on top of your stacked cake. a delicious topping.

“there you are,” a muppet voice says, breaking you from the train of thoughts that’s currently speeding down the tracks in your mind.

you look up, and lando is peeping around the corner of the wall.

on every other day you would’ve laughed at the sight.

your lip trembles and a new wave of tears wells up behind your eyes. lando makes quick work to scramble towards you, crouching down in front of you.

“hey, hey, no, none of that,” he’s gentle. he brought his hands up to your face, wiping the stray tears that ran down your face. you lean into his touch, and finally, something that feels right for today.

“turn that frown upside down,” he says in a sing song voice, a smile creeping onto his lips. the gaps in his teeth more than welcoming.

you bite on your bottom lip, the corners of your mouth slightly lifting.

but lando takes that as a success nonetheless.

“there she is, my beautiful girl.”

a sob like snort leaves your mouth and lando can’t keep that muppet laugh of his in any longer.

hair that fell around your face, he pushed it behind your ears, “rumour has it that someone is having one hell of a day.”

you wipe your nose with the sleeve of your shirt, “really? who is it? max?”

“ah, sarcasm, it’s welcoming,” lando jokes.

rolling your eyes you look at his, wispy lashes, a light shade of red tint on the apples of his cheeks, “just tell me you love me, norris.”

“i love you.”

he leans closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“i love you,” a kiss to your brow.

“i love you,” a kiss to your cheek.

“i love you,” a kiss on your nose.

“i love you,” a final kiss to your lips.

“i love you.”

fin.

#lando norris #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #formula one #formula 1 #f1 2024 #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 #carlos sainz #max verstappen #x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz x reader #fluff

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moonsaver · 6 days

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Okay, honestly, I'm still reeling from the entire penacony quest, but here's my take on Sunday so far;

He's manipulative, obviously.

But like.. the type that's kind of hesitant from time to time because he's still sincere to a degree. At least, when it comes to his loved ones.

So, I guess that hesitance decreases a lot if you're just some nobody. Even then, Sunday does want the better for everyone, too. It just means that others may bear the brunt of it for the most part before being able to get ahold of it.

Also, at the very least, even if some people suffer, at the end Sunday believes they will reach where they want to, after. In that case, however, Sunday suffers far more than them, without actually ever reaching his own destination or idea of paradise.

However, this view is a bit distorted. Sunday believes to be "sacrificing" himself, shouldering loneliness and burdens in order to uphold everyone else's "paradise". But to the others, he's simply a tyrant overruling everyone's will with his own idea of Order.

Sunday deeply cares. He cares too much. That's kind of the problem.

A bit of self-destructing tendencies when pushed too far, I guess.

Lets ignore logic established by the quest for a second (because i literally am still reeling from it)

Imagine Sunday first discovers this possibility. He's terrified of it, but at the same time, he truly thinks this is humanity's salvage – for everyone who has deeply suffered. He thinks of you.

You who have had your fair share of pain, who confides in him late at night in the quiet of your privacy, hushed voices like silenced by a thick blanket through the wall.

You deserve to live a sweeter life. He thinks. No. You deserve more. He knows.

The first person he ever wants to step into this paradise – you.

Now, although Sunday was defeated in the end, we all know that unfortunately, our ragtag team had to wake up again because defeating him first was a dream. This means at some point, Sunday did succeed.

And after everyone wakes, you don't. You continue sleeping soundly. So does Sunday.

The rest of the world can return to their miserable, bitter lives outside of this dream; but Sunday will be damned if he's letting you go. Perhaps.. it's not a selfless wish, anymore. Perhaps at this point, Sunday desperately, selfishly, grips onto you with the latches of a sweet, deep dream. One where he was fatally destined to never reach, only to control from the waking world. Now that everyone else has woken, he wants to return to the dream. He wants to return to you, who he has so lovingly entrenched deep into it.

Also, Robin. Im in SO much pain... PLEASW..

Do you guys think.. even if Robin was vehemently resistant against Sunday's ideas..

Even though Sunday knew she wouldn't stand for it..

Do you guys think.. he wanted her to also join him at the end and enjoy the "Paradise" he created aswell?

Do you think he would have wanted Robin to stop worrying about everything, to take rest, to finally come home, and sing to her heart's content inside the dream? The dream where they set the bird free? The dream where Sunday still has a sweet tooth? The dream where she never has to wear elaborate neck-pieces? The dream where neither of them was hurt? Where neither of them left each other?

Oh...ogh. . My heart.

Sunday would be such a scary lover, too.

I mean even normally, I don't think a relationship with him would be that healthy

Particularly because it seems so healthy

If reader was in a relationship with normal sunday, I mean.. it's gonna at least appear healthy and normal, even to them. It's probably just Sunday having to constantly burden himself with all the dirty strings he has to pull, the quiet rush of water when he washes his hands before caressing the side of your face, the tight, closed smile he would give if you ever asked him what was wrong.. he can't let you know.

I think he'll take a yandere route in an established relationship if you do happen to find out what's been going on behind the scenes. He'll have to calm you down, and you promise you won't peep about it. The build up is almost invisible, because things seem to go back to the way they were. Before Sunday starts acting a bit.. restless. That would be when his yan! Tendencies would start kicking in, for a variety of reasons.

I feel like y'know, out of all the hsr cast, he's one of the characters who is genuinely very close to becoming a yandere canonically. Control freak? Check. Twisted ideals? Check. Unchecked power? Check. Hypnotization/manipulation? Check.

Also, the slight difference of his color pallete as opposed to Robin's.

His is much more washes out than Robin's. It's more "duller" but also more professional, and the gold of his halo is more colder than the warmer tone of Robin's halo. They both still have white/grey as a major color in their palletes, but Sunday's is accompanied by deep navy blues, or washed out blues. Robin's is very vibrant and purple. The only blue segment of her pallete is her hair, and it's remarkably more vibrant than Sunday's.

Also.. Sunday's whole ideas on "weak" and "strong"

Of course, it wasn't all correct, but that doesn't mean they didn't hold some semblance of sense.

Regardless, this playing with yan! Tendencies..... HOOOOO boy

So many thoughts. Sunday manipulating his partner is quite possibly the most common theme in them.

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jazzcathaven · 1 year

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When Tina Turner left her first husband - who was also her boss, captor, and brutal tormentor - she snuck out of their Dallas hotel room with a single thought in her mind: "The way out is through the door." From there she fled across the midnight freeway, semi-trucks careening past her, with 36 cents and a Mobil gas card in her pocket. As soon as she decided to walk out that door, she owned nothing else. When she filed for divorce, she made an unusual request. She didn't want anything: not the song rights, not the cars, not the houses, not the money. All she wanted was the stage name he gave her - Tina - and her married name - Turner. This was the name by which the world had come to know her, and keeping it was her only chance to salvage her career.

Things could have gone a lot of ways from there. She could have labored in obscurity for decades, maybe making records on small labels to be prized by vinyl connoisseurs in Portland. She could have stayed in Vegas, where she first went to get her chops back up, and worked as a nostalgia act. And, of course, given what she had been through, she might have ... not made it.

What happened instead is that Tina Turner became the biggest global rock star of the 80s. I'm old enough to barely remember this, but if you aren't, it was like this: The Rolling Stones would headline a stadium one day, and the next day it would be Tina Turner. A middle-aged Black woman - she became a rock star at 42! - sitting atop the 1980s like it was her throne. She managed this because of whatever rare stuff she was made of (this is a woman whose label gave her two weeks to record her solo debut, Private Dancer, which went five times platinum); because she decided to speak publicly about her abusive marriage and forge her own identity, and in doing so give hope and courage to countless women; and also because - in a perhaps unlikely twist for a girl from Nutbush, Tennessee - she had her practice of Soka Gakkai Nichiren Buddhism, to which she credited her survival. She remained devout until the end. Tina's second marriage - to her, her only marriage - was to Edwin Bach, a Swiss music executive 16 years her junior. Of him, she said, "Erwin, who is a force of nature in his own right, has never been the least bit intimidated by my career, my talents, or my fame.

"In 2016, after a barrage of health problems, Tina's kidneys began to fail. A Swiss citizen by then, she had started preparing for assisted suicide when her husband stepped in. According to Tina, he said, "He didn't want another woman, or another life." He gave her one of his kidneys, buying her the remainder of her time on this earth and perhaps closing a cycle which took her from a man who inflicted injury upon her to a man willing to inflict injury upon himself to save her from harm.

Born into a share-cropping family as Anna Mae Bullock in 1939, she died Tina Turner in a palatial Swiss estate: the queen of rock 'n roll; a storm of a performer with a wildcat-fierce voice; a dancer of visceral, spine-tingling potency and ability; a beauty for the ages; a survivor of terrible abuse and an advocate for others in similar situations; an author and actress; a devout Buddhist; a wife and mother; a human being of rare talent and perseverance who, through her transcendent brilliance, became a legend.

Credit: Will Stenberg

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mydearzero · 2 years

Text

Laundry Day | E.M. x Reader

Summary: Eddie tried to do his own laundry and shrunk his Hellfire shirt to a devilishly small size. You couldn't help yourself, you had to stare.

MASTERLIST

18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, creampie, degradation, penetrative sex (p in v), fingering, oral sex (f receiving), grinding, dacryphilia, overstimulation

f!reader

4.8k words

When Eddie arrived at your table in the cafeteria looking like a mess, you didn't think anything of it. The boy was usually a mess, nothing strange about it. You finally glanced up and had a good look when Eddie clapped his hands together, gaining everybody's attention. You were met with the sight of his happy trail right on your eye level. You choked on seemingly nothing, hurridly looking at his face to see what he had to say.

"Today is the day, my friends. My uncle has been gone all week and will be for the rest of the weekend, soooooo... Who's coming over?" Eddie grinned. Nobody replied, and his face fell. "What? Nobody?"

Jeff mumbled something about you and him already making plans to stop by the day before, but the rest kept their mouth shut. You looked around the table, but everybody remained silent.

"What the hell are you wearing, dude?" Mike finally quipped when nobody spoke up. Eddie glanced down at his torso and quickly pulled down the Hellfire shirt, which looked like it was made for somebody roughly half his size.

"Dude, I told you. Wayne is out of town for the week. I tried washing it, but I think I fucked up. Didn't notice until I put it on. I couldn't be late again, so I'll have to make do." Eddie chuckled and took a seat next to Gareth.

You'd noticed Eddie, sure. He was handsome. Everybody and their grandma could see that. But never before today had you dared let your mind wander there. The thought had popped up a few times, but you'd religiously forced it away. He was one of your best friends, for fuck's sake.

The conversation continued, but your mind couldn't focus on anything besides the glimpse of skin you'd caught before Eddie sat down. Your mind was reeling with possibilities of what the rest of him could look like.

Why were you acting as if you'd never seen a guy without his shirt? Hadn't you gone swimming with the bunch of them just a few summers back? God, get your mind out of the gutter.

Eddie caught your distracted gaze and raised his eyebrows in question. "You good?" he mumbled. "Yeah!" Your voice was higher than you'd intended. You let out a quick cough to salvage it. "Yeah, I'm fine. Are you?" You cringed at how flustered he'd been able to make you without trying or knowing.

"Never better." Eddie winked. The bell rang, emptying the cafeteria. Eddie grabbed his bag (or whatever was left of it since junior year) and raised from the bench. You averted your eyes, trying to prevent another damned look towards the shortened hemline.

You rushed to class, making sure Eddie and Jeff were following behind. You took your regular seat near the back and sat down with a loud sigh. Your deskmate was skipping once again.

The teacher started taking attendance but your attention was gone in an instant. You let your gaze fall back on Eddie. He was leaning forward, his head resting on his crossed arms, shirt riding up his back. He was sitting at the perfect watching angle; diagonally in front of you.

There were dimples in his lower back. You were discovering things about yourself today, because shit, you definitely liked that. A tattoo threatened to poke out from under his waistband, trailing from his hips to his waist. That too piqued your interest. It must've been a recent addition.

Whatever Jeff was whispering made Eddie snigger, which made his shoulders shake. He leaned back against the chair and stretched his arms above his head, yawning audibly. You were done for. The shirt raised to his waist, revealing the rest of the tattoo. Your legs crossed of their own admission when his hands rested behind his head lazily, pushing out his chest.

Your fixation was cut short when a set of fingers snapped right in front of your face. "Should Mr Munson get up here? Maybe then you'll concentrate. It's me you should be watching, not your silly little high-school crush. Pay attention." Your jaw dropped at the teacher's insinuation before turning to look at Eddie.

Eddie wore a confused smile, offering you a questioning expression. You shrugged, but your face reddened. You'd been caught and called out.

It wasn't even a crush. The teacher made it way bigger of a deal than it was. The minuscule Hellfire shirt just brought out Eddie's best features. Was it not ingrained in humans to observe?

You tried your best to pay attention to anyone, anything but Eddie for the rest of class. Emphasis on tried. You could see Eddie sneaking glimpses at you occasionally in your peripheral, but you refused to acknowledge his existence. Your eyes met Jeff's a couple of times, who was just as confused by the situation as Eddie.

Luckily you had no more classes with the object of today's desires for the rest of the day. You wanted to jam your fingers between the door of your locker, just to feel something besides desire for one of your friends.

When changing out of your gym uniform, an image of Eddie taking the shorts off you managed to creep inside your head. You shivered when you envisioned his ring-clad hands sliding down your thighs. You panicked when you realized you'd been staring into your locker with your shorts in hand a tad too long.

Why did the thought of Eddie's hands have the ability to make you freeze on the spot? Why did you keep pulling up the vision of his shirt riding up and revealing the trail of hair adorning his abdomen?

The mental questions continued as you packed up and strolled to the parking lot. You tossed your bags in the back of your car and buckled yourself in before taking a moment to breathe and rest your head between your hands on the steering wheel.

You shrieked as someone opened the passenger door. "Damn it, Jeff! You can't just get in my car! Fuck!" You smacked the steering wheel as you tried to soothe your racing heart.

"We agreed yesterday you'd drive me to Eddie's so we could jam!" Jeff yelled back in the same tone you'd given him. He dropped his guitar case on the back seat and buckled his seatbelt. You paused and remembered yesterday during lunch when you'd indeed promised Jeff a ride to Eddie's. You liked watching the band practice and create music, so it wasn't hard to agree on. You apologized quickly and noticed Eddie getting into his van across the lot.

"Don't worry about me! I'm worried about you. What happened between the two of you? He's not telling me anything." Jeff pressed as he motioned to Eddie. He elaborated when you were obviously confused. "You know, the whole thing in Geometry?"

You'd kind of hoped that the incident had been long forgotten, but evidently, it hadn't. "I was just spacing out in Eddie's general direction. You know how teachers like to exaggerate." You turned on the engine when you saw Eddie drive off, trailing behind him.

"You were definitely staring, to be fair. But hey! Eddie's a good-looking fellow. And he kind of has a thing for you, so I just assumed." Jeff shrugged. A thing? For you? Since when?

The rest of the drive to the trailer park was quiet. You let Jeff's comment simmer on a small stove in the back of your mind. Now was not the time to let it boil. You parked beside Eddie and let yourself in. A light drizzle formed, threatening to fall down from the sky.

"Hey! We're here!" Jeff shouted. You made yourself comfortable on the couch, knowing you were welcome to do so. You'd been in Eddie's trailer plenty of times. But somehow, this time felt different.

"I'll be right there!" Eddie shouted from his bedroom. You got up to go pour some drinks for yourself and the boys. "You want anything, Jeff?" He let you know he 'just wanted some water, thanks.'

"Eddie?" You called. "Yes, dear?" Sounded from right behind you as a hand found the small of your back. You whipped your face around, only for Eddie's to be mere inches from it. "Jesus..." You whispered as you put a hand over your heart. "Still just me, darling." Eddie winked as he reached for a bottle of lighter fluid in the cupboard above your head.

You closed your eyes and held your breath as his chest brushed against you. "Sorry." His strained voice came from above you as he tried to reach for the bottle. You turned around in an attempt to shimmy away, heart beating out of your chest. Big mistake. His shirt had ridden up to just above his waist which now filled the entirety of your vision. You were caged between the counter and Eddie. The choked cry that came out of you was too sudden to be repressed.

His arms shot down, eyes wide. "You okay? Did I step on your toe?" You shook your head no, with your lips pressed together, not daring to make another noise. Your expression was one of complete horror as you walked back to the couch and handed Jeff his water.

"You drink it. I think you need it more than me." You realized Jeff was probably in the most awkward situation of his life after admitting Eddie apparently had a 'thing' for you. He got up without a word and grabbed his unopened guitar case. You pulled his arm with a pleading look. Please don't go. He just wiggled his eyebrows and turned to Eddie. "Bro, I just remembered I promised my mom I'd pick up my sister. I'm so sorry. See you tomorrow at Hellfire!"

And with the thud of the door slamming close, you were alone with Eddie.

"Did that not sound like a shit excuse to you?" Eddie laughed when he finally retreated from the kitchen. You nodded and laughed sheepishly. You felt all your muscles tighten under his gaze.

"So, you have a silly high-school crush on me, hmm?" Eddie chuckled when he sat down next to you. You couldn't help but smile. Of course, he wouldn't beat around the bush. "Yeah, apparently I do." The sound of the rain increasing outside caught your attention. Hopefully, Jeff had come home in time.

You turned to look at Eddie as he leaned back on the couch. His stupid shirt rode up again, and your eyes betrayed you, begging for another look at his abdomen. They darted back to his, but a smirk had already formed on his face. You crossed your legs and tried to conceal the way your breath was quicking, but there was no use.

"I think I'm starting to like my new look. You?" He raised his hands to gesture to his torso. He spread his legs as he took a long drag of his cigarette. Your mouth gaped as you openly goggled. "Uh, yeah. Looks, uh, good. Looks good. Great. What the fuck." You stammered. You placed your hands over your eyes and let yourself sink into the couch. You gave up.

"Looks great, huh?" He blew a cloud of smoke up at the ceiling. "You fucking know it does, Eddie." You moaned, giving him a death glare. "I know, I know... How could I not? You've been fucking drooling all day. Quite the confidence booster, I must say." His cigarette-free hand found its way onto your thigh confidently.

"Jeff claims you have a 'thing' for me." Your fingers raised in a weak attempt at air quotes, but you found your brain preferred itself to function over all other bodily functions. Eddie choked a laugh as he'd just gone for another drag of his cigarette. "Jeff would be correct."

He took a drag and leaned closer, the hand on your thigh inching higher. "Been drooling over you a lot longer than today, sweetheart." His voice was hoarse, clouded with smoke that entered your nostrils as he spoke.

"Eddie..." You whispered, head leaning to the side. You weren't even sure what you were asking him to do. His lips made their way to your neck, leaving a trail of pecks until he reached the spot directly beneath your ear. "Give me the word." His breath made you shiver.

"Give me the word, and I'll fucking ruin you, baby."

Your mind flashed back to earlier today. You knew you'd been lying to yourself about your attraction to Eddie for some time, but did you really want to risk it? Was this not just you being touch-starved and desperate? Desperate for Eddie.

"Please." Your mind was made up. It was only a breath, but he'd heard you loud and clear like the thunder roaring outside.

Eddie didn't waste a second as he put out his cigarette hastily. He grabbed both your thighs and slid you onto your back effortlessly. His hands found your hips as you placed yours on his chest. "Last chance to back out, angel."

"I want you to wreck me, Eddie."

"Fuck, alright." He muttered under his breath before finally placing his lips on yours. He took all the air from your lungs with desperation. His hands made quick work of your clothes. Everything but your panties.

He was about to reach down and take off his shirt, but you stopped him. "Not yet. I wanna do it. Wanted to rip that ridiculous shirt off you all day." You confessed when you pulled him back down for more kisses. He laughed against your lips. "If I knew all it took was to rile you up was showing a little skin, I would've been labelled the town skank, not the freak. Maybe both, if we're being honest."

You giggled and took hold of the necklace dangling in front of your face. You flipped the plectrum over and noticed something you'd never noticed before; it was engraved. "It's my mom's initials." He mumbled against your neck. "But, no time to get sappy right now." He ground his hips against yours, and your mind blanked.

You felt Eddie groan against your throat, his hips unable to stop seeking friction. His hands made their way up your chest, testing the water. He glanced up at you to ask permission, and you nodded. "I need your words if we're gonna do this, baby." He kissed your lips and awaited your answer. "Touch me." He gave you a harsh gaze. "Please, Eddie."

"Good girl, so eager for me." He pinched your nipple. Your reaction was instant, whining for him to continue. You pressed your hips up, trying to return to the rhythm Eddie had set before. A wicked laugh escaped him as he tutted. "You're so fucking desperate. It's adorable, really."

You wanted to object, but you couldn't deny the obvious truth. You were so desperate for him, it was pathetic. Eddie did something to you you couldn't even begin to comprehend. Your chest was tight with anticipation, awaiting his next move.

When he didn't seem to be taking any action, you went to put your hands on his abdomen. You'd been fixated on it throughout the day, after all. Eddie gave your hands a disciplinary smack and grabbed your wrists, placing them against the armrest of the couch.

"If you want me to continue, these are gonna have to stay right there. We're doing this my way, sweetheart. They move, I stop." His teeth nibbled at your earlobe teasingly. You wanted nothing more than to roam your hands all over him. You didn't know which was worse, not being able to touch, or Eddie stopping whatever he wanted to do.

You felt his tongue lick from under your earlobe to your nipple, taking it between his teeth. Your hips stuttered, pushing against Eddie in the best way. His hand crept down to the hem of your panties, toying with it. You were no longer in control of the noises escaping you, whines blending in with the sound of thunder. "Please, Eddie." Your eyes were squeezed shut and your eyebrows furrowed, frustrated at his deathly slow phase.

The smile on his face was taunting, almost sinister. He didn't answer your plead. His mouth switched its attention from one nipple to the other. He was leaning on one hand while the other was touching you everywhere except where you wanted.

When his fingers finally breached the barrier of your underwear, you sighed from the deepest part of your chest. At this point, you were breathing Eddie. He was all you felt. All you wanted to feel. You wanted him to devour you whole.

"Been wanting to feel this pussy since fucking forever. You feel incredible, baby. Can't wait to bury my cock inside you. Gonna fuck you till you cry." Eddie was rambling thoughtlessly as his fingers stroked between your folds with the softest touch he could manage. He was torturing you, going as slow as his body would allow.

The now infamous Hellfire shirt caught your attention when Eddie's hands held the hem. You whimpered, your hands reaching forward to help him take it off. He stopped in his tracks, raising his eyebrows pointedly at your hands. You almost felt like crying and put your hands back against the armrest, frustration raging through your blood and straight to your nethers.

He finally seemed to be undertaking real action, gradually sliding your underwear down your legs. Your lungs searched for air when he pushed your legs open achingly slow, glancing up at you with an ominous smile.

He bent down and licked a strip from your knee to your inner thigh. "Keep those pretty legs spread for me, baby. No hands or I'll stop." If you'd known Eddie was gonna be such a tease, you might've reconsidered your actions. Patience might be a virtue, but it was definitely not one of your talents. His pace was tormenting you, and he was enjoying it to the fullest.

The moan that left your mouth when his mouth finally made contact with your clit was primal at best. Your hands shot forward to grab his hair, a reflex, but all movement stopped. "Please, Eddie. Please. Fuck."

He'd barely even touched you and he had you writhing, precisely how he wanted you; desperate and begging. Your voice was already so hoarse and fucked out. Eddie smirked to himself when he thought about how you'd sound when he was eventually finished with you.

Your hands were once against pushed above your head and Eddie went right back to it, circling your clit with his tongue. Your head snapped back against the couch. You had to focus to keep your hands where Eddie demanded, as you didn't know if you'd survive him stopping again, even for just a second.

You couldn't see what he was doing when you felt him shuffle, still mouthing at your cunt. You heard a clatter of light metal and quickly realized he'd taken off his rings. Your thighs instinctively pressed together when you finally felt his finger at your entrance.

"You're fucking soaking for me, aren't you, darling? Want it so bad." He murmured when his mouth made its way back up your torso. You gasped when he pushed two fingers inside with ease. "You act so innocent, but you're filthy, huh? So desperate for cock. God, look at you. So good for me. If it weren't for the thunder, the whole park would've heard you by now, baby. Begging me to make you cum." His fingers sped up and curled in the absolute best spot. The pitch of your whines got higher and higher with every push of his fingers.

"Cum for me." He whispered in your ear as he resorted to ravaging your clit. You couldn't breathe. Your legs trembled as you felt a familiar tightening in your gut. The entire room felt like it was spinning when you came on Eddie's fingers. His teeth latched onto your neck, sucking violently. How you were gonna explain the state of it in the morning was a worry for later.

Your chest heaved, but Eddie was no better off. He was panting, jeans now so tight they must be cutting off his circulation. It was only now you'd realized one of his hands had resorted to pinning yours above your head. He was spread out on top of you, breath laboured. He was as much of a mess as you were.

When your eyes finally met, your cheeks had the audacity to hog all the blood in your body. Were you getting flustered after this man had given you the best, most intense orgasm and was still positioned between your legs? The sheen in his eyes was one you didn't recognize. Greed. Hunger, maybe.

When he freed your wrists, he looked lost in thought. You experimentally put your hands out to see if he would do anything about it. He didn't. Your hands were franticly trying to grasp him. You finally got them on the hem of his top and tugged at it greedily. When your fingers grazed the exquisite hair on his stomach, both of you shuddered. Your mouth had almost watered at the sight earlier today, and you were finally getting what you wanted.

He raised his arms. You pulled the bane of your fucking existence off him and tossed it out of sight. You hooked your fingers into his waistband and pulled him in for a kiss, palming him through his jeans. "I need to- I need. I want you, now." Your mind was a jumbled mess as you tried to make clear what you wanted.

Eddie laughed cynically. "You're such a needy little slut." He pushed a strand of hair behind your ear endearingly. "Can't even talk anymore, can you?"

He allowed you to ignore his comments and reach for his belt. Your fingers struggled to unbuckle it, trembling in anticipation and shock after your orgasm. You couldn't help but lean down and lick the strip coming from his waistband. Eddie's eyes rolled back when he felt your mouth exploring. Your eyes fell upon the tattoo you'd spotted earlier in class. The perfect route to follow with your tongue.

You gazed up at Eddie while you licked gruellingly slow from his waist to his navel. His nostrils were flared, and his knuckles white. You pushed his jeans down and he stepped out of them, only leaving his boxers. You resorted to leaving innocent pecks, following yet another perfect road down to his pelvis.

You held his balls through his underwear, nosing at his length through the fabric teasingly. His fingers wove themselves in your hair, perhaps holding on a tad too tight. Your mouth ghosted over the head. A groan finally left his mouth when he could feel your hot breath through the fabric. You'd been internally begging to hear him. How he'd had the self-control to remain quiet until now had your mind reeling.

His grip on your hair tightened, and you received the message loud and clear. "What happened to patience, hmm?" You mumbled against his clothed cock with an inebriated laugh. You fondled a bit more, but suddenly, he yanked. A shriek left you as you gasped and looked up at him with a slacked jaw. You let out a pathetic whine.

"Don't be a brat. You'd do well to remember who's in control here, sweetheart." You'd never seen Eddie this serious, face void of any legible emotion. A knot brewed in your stomach. It almost scared you, almost, but it turned you on to an extent you weren't willing to divulge.

You'd caught glimpses of this side of Eddie. You'd assumed it was part of his act as Dungeon Master, ruthlessly slaughtering his friends. But it was becoming obvious it wasn't an act. It was a part of Eddie that was sadistic. A part that enjoyed the control he had over the game and his friends' emotions.

Your face was back to being practically buried in his underwear. Your cheeks flushed when you noticed Eddie's proud stare... You were fucking drooling, literally. You moved to remove the last piece of clothing, but it looked like he had other plans. You were on your feet and inside Eddie's room in a flash.

Eddie pulled his boxers down after harshly pushing you onto his mattress. There was no time to process his actions when he pushed you backwards, covering your body with his own. You saw his hand shake as he reached for his bedside table. Condom? "I'm clean." You breathed. "I know, baby," was all he replied.

It wasn't a condom he'd reached for. Handcuffs. Of course, Eddie kept handcuffs in his bedroom. You heard them rattle with the shaking of his hands. Was he nervous? Or was he just as desperate to get inside you as you were? He took your hand and cuffed only one hand to the headboard. "You're gonna smack that pretty pussy of yours while I fuck you." He quipped with a wink when he caught your bewilderment.

He pinned your hips to the bed when you wouldn't stop squirming. He took a deep breath before lining himself up with your entrance, grunting when he eased his way in. He offered a few testing thrusts before setting a comfortable pace, deep and swift. "What are you waiting for, slut. Slap your cunt for me."

Your actions were hesitant, but Eddie took your free hand in his own and brought it down on your clit with full force. You cried out at the contact and tried to grab ahold of something to steady yourself, but Eddie held your wrist and used it as leverage to push himself deeper, faster. You felt your chest bounce ludicrously. Eddie revelled in the sight. He leaned close and placed a kiss between them before looking you dead in the eyes.

"Smack or I stop, brat. And something tells me you wouldn't want me to stop." Another slap from Eddie's hand was delivered to the sensitive bud. You tried to match the rhythm but couldn't control the movements your body made to get you to stop. The smacks were weak, nothing like the ones Eddie delivered, but he seemed content when frustrated tears formed in your eyes.

"You're gonna cry already? That's cute." Eddie grunted. The smacks you gave yourself relented, but he seemed satisfied you'd become a teary-eyed, mumbly, whiny mess. He let you recover, thrusting agonizingly slow.

Just when your breathing slowed and your eyes glossed over, he combined a brutal movement of his dick with ruthless fingers against your clit. "Cum on my cock. I know you can do it." He delivered a blow with his free hand to your thigh.

Tears rolled down your face as you screamed his name. You saw white as he continued pounding and stroking. You tried to pull yourself up with the hand tied to the headboard. "S' too much," you cried, tears wetting Eddie's pillow.

"You can take it, baby. C'mon, one more, for me?" He cooed at your whines. You could see he was close. "You look so good when you cry for me. Gonna make me cum, baby. Wanna fill you up so bad." He was rambling, closing in on his release. He bent forward and took your nipple between his teeth, pinching the other with his free hand. The strokes on your clit made you twitch, but your third orgasm was nearing.

Your body convulsed, tightening around Eddie, whose hips stuttered and came to a halt as he filled you with his cum. You felt like jelly, uncertain how you'd ever find the ability to walk again. A lasting tingle resonated from your fingertips to your toes.

Eddie eventually pulled out when his laboured breathing had settled. He took a smug look at his cum leaking out of you before plopping down next to you and pulling you into him.

You lay in comfortable silence for a minute before Eddie broke it. "So... how're we doing with the silly high-school crush?"

"You're fucking unbelievable, Munson."

"I sure do hope the fucking was unbelievable, seeing you came thrice." A pillow made contact with his face, your free hand being the culprit. "Can you uncuff me, you vain bastard?" He chuckled and nodded, turning to his bedside table to rummage for the key. He expertly unlocked the handcuffs in a swift movement.

You rubbed your sore wrist and scanned the floor for something to clean yourself with. Your eyes fell on the tiny Hellfire shirt.

"Remind your uncle to never let you do laundry again." You grumbled as you picked it up and wiped yourself down to the best of your ability.

"Oh, you still think it was an accident?"

...

"What?"

#eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #this is filthy #I'm not sorry

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jedi-hawkins · 12 days

Text

Callsign: Omega

post-s3 finale head cannons (spoilers, duh)

Omega, she’s become one of the most famous pilots for the rebellion.

She names her x-wing “Havoc 5” for her brothers

Of course it has their ct numbers written across the back, right behind the cockpit, for they’re always watching her six. She can't see them when she's flying, and frankly doesn't look at the worn numbers there every day, but they're there always.

The belly of her x-wing is covered in tally marks. The blue ones are for each clone she’s helped free, an ohmage to a clone her brother Echo told her about, ARC-5555. The black ones are for every other being she's helped free. And the red ones, those are for the lives that have passed on and become one with the Force.

On part of her landing gear is a blue pawprint.

On her helmet she only has five things painted, a knife, a crosshair, a tooka doll, a handprint, and a pair of goggles.

On the shoulder of her flight suit, she adds another CF 99 patch, just like the one on her jacket.

She goes by callsign “Omega” for she is the last. The end. The final thing her enemies will see, the last thing the Empire will feel as it falls. She is the being that brings an end to the suffering that so many clones have faced as wards of the Empire when she shows up to liberate them. Omega.

Bonus: The first time she returns to Pabu, Hunter immediately notices the nose art she's chosen to paint on her shuttle, the one built from the Marauder's salvage. It's a stark replica of the nose art that once adorned the original ship, back in the Clone Wars. His stomach plummets and he can't even find the words. As his daughter strolls down the ramp, she immediately bursts into laughter at the look on his face.

Her brothers, Crosshair and Wrecker stroll into the courtyard, the larger of the two asking loudly, "What's so funny, 'Meg?"

"I think that is what's so funny." The lankier one replies, gesturing to the nose of the shuttle with his left hand. He's forgone his prosthetic today. Some days he wears it, others he chooses to wear his cap with pride.

Wrecker scratches his beard and both his eyes widen, "WAIT- IS THAT?"

"So, it would seem." Crosshair says, placing a toothpick between his lips. "Breathe, Hunter." He says pointedly at his brother, who still looks like a deer caught in headlights.

"I-uhh. It's good to have you home, Omega." He finally stutters out.

He wraps his arms around her tightly as always, but his eyes are still glued to the hull of her shuttle. "Done some decorating, I see?"

"Yeah." She replies simply, giving Wrecker and Crosshair their own due hugs. "You like it?"

"It certainly is... something." Hunter gets out, stumbling over his words yet again.

"I found the image in some old Republic files we recovered, it reminded me of something I saw as a kid, but I don't remember where." She says, coming to stand beside Hunter again.

"Ehhh... Omega." Her father groans, running a hand through his greying hair. "Do you... Do you remember what the Marauder looked like when we first met?"

She turns to him. "No, why do you ask?"

Hunter finally peels his eyes away from the shuttle to face his daughter. "That picture you found... That was... That was the Marauder, that's where you know it from. You only saw it once. We scrubbed it off as soon as we decided to come back to Kamino for you."

"Really? I had no recollection." Omega tries to stop the grin from spreading across her face, but she can't help it, and Hunter, still perceptive as always scoffs at her.

"Why you little..." He growls at her, stifling his own laughter.

"I think she knows..." Crosshair chimes in, running his hand through his silver locks.

Wrecker's jaw drops, "Wait, you know where that's from?"

Omega shakes her head at her brothers. "Of course I know, I never forgot how awkward you all were when I asked about it. It didn't click exactly why until I found that old picture. Thought I'd bring it back for old time's sake, eh Hunter?"

Hunter's eyes widen as words escape him once again.

"Kidding," Omega teases. "I just wanted to see what your reaction would be."

Crosshair steps closer to the shuttle to examine the paint job. "Though this has been wildly entertaining, it might be best for you to scrub it, 'Mega."

Omega crosses her arms. "Why? You did it first little brother."

His eyes narrow at his sister, he's the only one she ever pulls that with and though he secretly loves it, she can't know that. "I mean it." He says sternly, pointing his toothpick at her. "Otherwise, Hunter is going to have an aneurysm every time you come home."

Omega looks to the clone beside her, just barely an inch shorter than her now. She places a hand on his shoulder, "Of course I'll scrub it. Echo thought the idea was hilarious. Plus, it gave me an opening to show you this."

She gently reaches into her bag and brings out a holoframe, turning it so Hunter can see. It looks just like any other quick photo taken in a Republic shipyard. Troopers are milling around in the back, by the looks of the landscape it might've been Ryloth. The focus of the photo, however, is a black Omicron-class attack shuttle and five clone commandos posed in front of it in red and black armor.

Their helmets are off, their faces young and confident, proud of their most recent mission. Though, the sniper has a rifle held in his right hand, and the one crouched in front doesn't have his goggles on. But it's clear who it is, all five of them. And on the nose of the attack shuttle behind them, is the striking portrait of the last senator of Naboo.

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wynnyfryd · 6 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU part 29

part 1 | part 28 | ao3

“Hey,” Steve sniffles when Eddie gets home.

He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’s been crying since Wayne left for work — the exhausted, intermittent kind that leaves him boneless and craving a nap. From the foyer Eddie’s expression pinches with concern, and Steve can’t help the little bubble of wet laughter he lets out over the sight he must make: swaddled in a blanket, tear streaks down his face, neck flopped over the back of the couch to look toward the door. And he’s surrounded by towels.

The few that Wayne managed to salvage after his temper tantrum are all hung up near the radiator, draped over shelves and the backs of chairs, and the rest are sloshing away in the washing machine. (Wayne started a fresh cycle for him before he left for work; didn’t say a word about Steve boohoo-ing like an injured toddler on the other side of the room, which kind of makes him want to cry again.)

“Welcome to your house,” Steve tries to joke, but his voice cracks, so it comes out sounding more pathetic than funny.

“Uh… hi?” Eddie speaks slowly, moves slowly, cautious as he drops his bag and toes off his sneakers. He comes to stand behind the couch.

Steve blinks up at him with another weak, watery laugh.

“You okay?” Eddie asks. He bows his head to meet Steve’s gaze, eyes sharp with worry, brows drawn down, and Steve smiles just a little when Eddie’s hands reach up to touch him: sweep his hair off his forehead, cradle his face, cup his jaw. He runs his thumbs over Steve’s cheekbones, wiping at the salt tracks, and his rings rest in the hollows, his fingers drumming soothing rhythms as he chews on his next words.

Steve thinks he’s never seen something so lovely. Full lips twisted up in sympathy; secondhand heartbreak in his eyes. His hair falls around them like a curtain, like a cocoon.

He looks beautiful.

Warm.

Safe.

“...Do you wanna fuck around?”

Eddie’s hands flex against his jaw and then go still. So perfectly still, every muscle tensed, face gone horribly, carefully blank.

“Jesus,” Steve cringes at himself. He screws his eyes shut with a groan; lifts a hand to hide his face. “Oh, my god. Dude, I’m so sorry, I don’t—”

Eddie plucks Steve’s hand away. Goes back to holding his face, fingers kneading the tense muscles in Steve’s neck. Steve’s thinking that if he could just go blind right now so he never has to look up and see Eddie’s reaction, that would be so cool.

“Hey,” Eddie coaxes. “Look at me?”

Steve cracks one eye open. “Sorry,” he winces.

“S’okay,” Eddie says. Soft and simple, like it's easy, like he means it. There's a smile in his eyes, a playful quirk to his lips. “More than okay, actually; shit, that’s like, supremely fucking flattering, just, uh…"

Oh, god. Is this the part where he lets Steve down? Tells him he read this all wrong; that he let Robin witness his whole sad wet sexuality crisis for nothing?

"Feel like I missed a couple chapters on the reading assignment here, Steve,” Eddie laughs; a disbelieving little thing, his blunt nails catching on Steve's stubble. “You wanna tell me where that came from?”

“Just…”

Steve lets out a breath. Desperately wants to look away, because it’s embarrassing. What he wants.

Why he wants it.

“Last night, when you…”

"Mm. Surprised you remembered that.” His thumb drifts to the corner of Steve’s lips, traces the dip between his bottom lip and chin like he's remembering it now, too. "You were pretty fucked up."

Steve whimpers under the touch. He wants to part his lips, drop his jaw; invite Eddie to feel, to pet his thumb over his tongue and press down with two thick fingers. See how far they’ll go. Eddie makes a noise, and his hands retreat to higher ground; massaging Steve's temples, scratching lightly at his scalp. His voice is almost painfully tender when he murmurs, “No offense, but, um. You still seem a little fucked up now."

Steve nods mutely, because he can feel a rogue tear sliding sideways to his hairline, and what is there to say? It's true. He is a little fucked up now. (A lot fucked up, in fact. Kinda feels like Eddie's fingers down his throat would fix him, but he doubts Eddie would agree.)

Eddie maneuvers around the side of the couch, comes to crouch in front of Steve with his hands braced on Steve's knees. Looks up at him with wide, earnest eyes; two black moons, gravitational pull. "For the record," he intones, squeezing the meat of Steve's thigh, bringing his hand back down to Steve's kneecap with a mournful hiss of air. "I do want to. Fuck around with you, I mean, just- you know. Probably when you're not crying."

Steve huffs a quiet laugh. "You're not into that?" he jokes.

Eddie's dimple flashes. "Only when I'm the cause of it." Then it disappears again, tone serious and soft. "Do you want to talk about it?"

No. God. Not even a little bit; would honestly prefer to get another plate smashed over his head so he can forget this day ever happened. "My mom left," he croaks. He sounds fucking terrible, voice breaking and full of phlegm.

"Shit," Eddie says.

"Shit," Steve agrees.

Eddie gives him a long look — a Robin look, inquisitive and intense, like he can tear all the answers right out of Steve's head. Pluck them up like stray eyelashes; blow them away for good luck. Steve lets himself stare back, catalogs his features: all the freckles and fine lines, the pores, the vellus hair. There's a chicken pox scar just below one of his eyes, a faint silver pockmark that twists and shines in the dim light.

Eventually, Eddie must find what he's looking for because he claps Steve's knees and stands, rolling his shoulders back and down. "Yeah, sweetheart," he nods, "I got exactly what you need."

—

part 30

tag list in separate reblogs, if you want to be added tomorrow please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #my writing #my fic

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after-witch · 7 months

Text

Horrorfest: To Make me Fret or Make Me Frown [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Title: To Make Me Fret or Make Me Frown [Yandere Scaramouche x Reader]

Synopsis: You bought a life-size puppet in terrible condition and restored it. But now it doesn't want to let you go.

For Horrorfest request:

Might be cheesy, but Scaramouche haunted puppet for horrorfest? Maybe reader inherits an uncannily lifelike doll, or finds him as an antique?

Word count: 1156

notes: yandere, puppet shenanigans

“He’s creepy,” your friend says. Her nose crinkles and she puts a hand up as if she can ward away whatever haunting abominations she imagines must be inside the doll, waiting to slither through her nostrils. “And weird,” she continues. “And broken.”

The doll has colorful blue hair and most of his strings are missing; one of his eyes is missing its pupil and an arm is cracked, a jagged wound that goes all the way to the fingers. If the doll were to be lifted, the damaged pinky on that arm would probably come right off--maybe the forefinger, too. He’s dirty and wearing only some cast-off shirt, itself probably too damaged to be sold by the secondhand store.

Your friend moves on, eager to head to the second floor where all the nice, expensive secondhand goods are kept, often behind glass cases so they don’t get damaged by looky-loos.

But you stay where you are.

Because the moment you took one look at the damaged life-size puppet propped up at the back of the store, in the same pricetag-less limbo as piles of tupperware with no lid, ripped books and ugly dolls missing arms, and your heart swelled.

“He’s perfect.”

The pinky on the damaged arm did come off before you even left the store, but you were able to salvage the original forefinger. The pinky, sadly, couldn’t be repaired--but you made a new one using the original as a mold and unless you’re staring quite intensely (which to be fair, you often do, when working on the puppet) you wouldn't be able to tell that it’s not original to the hand.

“I’d like to keep all your original parts as much as I can,” you murmur in the direction of the puppet, currently propped up on a chair you’d dragged into your workroom for the sole purpose of letting him have somewhere to sit while you worked. “You really are exquisite, you know? I can’t believe someone let you get into such rough shape.”

You sigh, lamenting the treatment of such a unique piece of craftsmanship, and place the finishing touches on the puppet’s repaired eye. The pupil needed to be filled in with new material but you went ahead and refreshed the iris of both eyes to make them look newer.

“Good as new, see?” You hold up both repaired eyes to the puppet, but realize your mistake when you’re greeted with a prim looking puppet with two black holes where his eyes should be.

“Oops.” You carefully slide the eyes back into the socket, fiddling with your finger until they slot right into place. “Sorry about that. I wasn’t thinking. There!” You grab the magnifying mirror from your desk and hold it up in front of the puppet. “Now, see? Much better.”

It took a few months of work, but the puppet was just about restored, in your view. You’d even bought a new outfit for him, a simple white blouse with ruffles and plain trousers. It wasn’t exactly what you imagined he might have worn originally, but that was fine.

“I’m glad I found you,” you say, to the puppet--and to yourself. “I’ve had a really nice time working on you!” You hum to yourself and start tidying up your work bench. “Now all that’s left is attaching your new strings, and I can have you picked up.” You smile, to yourself, to the puppet, to no one in particular. “I can’t believe that antique shop gave you away for free--they had no idea they were sitting on such a rare item!”

But you, who repaired dolls and the like for a living, immediately knew what the puppet was worth; and who to contact as soon as you were able to get it home, as you knew a friend with an antique shop that took special requests, and he had a particularly wealthy customer who was dying for one of these rare life-sized pieces.

The puppet with freshly painted eyes stares back at you and says nothing.

Something is sitting on your chest. Something heavy and cool to the touch.

Sleep paralysis? It wouldn’t be the first time. You did sleep on your back, after all, and your nights were sometimes restless.

But you open your eyes without trouble, and the sensation does not go away. It takes a few moments, blinking in the dark, to realize who (no--what) is sitting on you.

It’s the puppet.

Freshly painted eyes stare down at you, a face framed by the carefully sewn-in hair. In the dark, you can’t see the wood grains of his skin or the repair marks that you’d buffed until smooth. All you can see is his human shape, the gleam of glass eyes.

“What--” you say, before a wooden finger presses to your lips.

“You were going to sell me.” It’s the puppet--the puppet is speaking.

You nod, terrified, every nerve in your body inflamed.

This can’t be happening, and yet it is.

“Why?”

Your lips are dry and you stutter out an answer, hoping to wake up from this dream at any moment. But the more time goes on, the more you realize that you’re living in reality. An awful one, but reality all the same.

“I-I needed the money, you… you’re worth a lot.”

There’s a sound that comes from the puppet’s wooden throat, but you can’t quite place it.

“You can’t sell me,” he says, simply. If you weren’t sure that you’d lost your mind, you might say that he sounds upset. Not just angry, but--hurt.

“I-I won’t.” You swallow. “Just um. Get off me and I can…”

“No.” The glass eyes bore down on you, and you wish your eyes weren’t becoming accustomed to the dark. It was better not to see the cool stillness in them, unmoving, unblinking.

It’s then that you notice the strings.

Not on the puppet--but on you.

The strings are wrapped around your wrists, tight, pinching into the skin. When you look up you see he’s attached them not to a marionette control bar, but to his own fingers. To himself.

He raises his repaired pinky and your wrist goes along with it--too fast and harsh, nearly flopping over your face.

”Ah.” He regards your flopped appendage with curiosity, before simply lifting it himself and placing it back on your chest. “Well. I’ll have plenty of time to figure that out.”

He leans forward, pressing his weight down on you, until his face was close enough that you could spot your own work; spot the little fine details in the paint, the grooves of his wooden flesh, the way his hair fell in a certain manner thanks to the placement of your carefully created knots.

Oh, you thought, as his face came closer to yours, as he kissed you with puppet eyes wide open and wooden lips stiff.

The paint on his lips needed to be touched up.

#yandere scaramouche #yandere genshin impact #yandere #afterwitch writes #aw horrorfest #scaramouche with abandonment issues but in puppet form! dun dun dun

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valkyriexo · 23 days

Text

You get your period | Hyunjin

ᑉ³pairing; Hyunjin x Reader

ᑉ³genre; Sickfic, Smau, Comfort, Fluff,

ᑉ³warnings; Reader has their period, Mentions of blood

ᑉ³Authors Note; Edited ! Other members coming soon!

The room was filled with chatter and laughter, the sound mingling with the soft music playing in the background. Colleagues and acquaintances moved about, their animated conversations punctuated by the clinking of glasses and occasional bursts of laughter. It was supposed to be a happy atmosphere, a chance to network and socialize, but to you, it felt like a suffocating few hours.

Despite the vibrant energy pulsating through the room, you felt isolated, trapped within the confines of your own discomfort. Each laugh felt like a dagger twisting in your gut, a painful reminder of the mask you were struggling to maintain. You plastered on a smile, nodding along to the conversations swirling around you, but inside, you were crumbling.

All you could focus on was the throbbing ache in your lower abdomen. Each wave of pain felt like a vice grip, threatening to squeeze the life out of you. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, trying to maintain a composed facade while feeling like a wreck inside.

As you excused yourself to the restroom for the umpteenth time, dread washed over you. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if you were dragging yourself through quicksand. The familiar hum of the air conditioning seemed to mock your discomfort, the cool breeze offering no respite from the inferno raging within your body.

The mirror revealed a nightmare: your once pristine dress was stained with crimson. The stains seemed to mock you, taunting you with their unwanted presence.

You were mortified, embarrassment and shame threatening to drown you. Your hands trembled as you frantically tried to salvage what was left of your dignity, dabbing futilely at the stubborn stains with damp paper towels. But with each passing moment, it became increasingly clear that this was a battle you could not win.

The weight of judgment hung heavy in the air, suffocating you with its silent condemnation. What would your coworkers think if they saw you like this? Would they whisper behind your back, doubting your competence and professionalism? The thought made your stomach churn with anxiety, a knot tightening in your chest.

Desperation clawed at you as you contemplated your next move. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you grappled with the impossible choice between suffering in silence or fleeing in disgrace.

Just as despair threatened to consume you, a familiar ping broke through the chaos of your thoughts. It was Hyunjin, your ever-reliable boyfriend, offering a lifeline in the form of a text message. Despite your protests, he insisted on coming to your rescue.

As you frantically tried to salvage what was left of your dignity in the restroom, a soft knock on the door startled you.

"Love, it's me," Hyunjin's voice called out, filled with concern.

With a mixture of relief and fear, you opened the door to find him standing there. With gentle reassurance, he wrapped you in his embrace, shielding you from the judging eyes of the world. Without a word, he handed you a neatly folded garment, a discreet smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Put this on," he said softly.

You glanced down at the garment in your hands and felt a surge of gratitude wash over you. It was a dark blazer, impeccably tailored and stylishly understated. With trembling fingers, you slipped it on, feeling its comforting weight settle over your shoulders. You noted with relief that it was long enough to cover the stains on your dress

"Thank you," you whispered, your voice choked with emotion.

Hyunjin simply smiled and took your hand in his, leading you out.

As you reached the exit, he led you towards the waiting car, its sleek exterior a welcome sight amidst the hustle and bustle of the city streets. With a gentle touch, he opened the door for you, revealing the interior adorned with plush towels carefully arranged to protect the seat.

You offered him a grateful smile as you settled into the car, the soft fabric of the blazer providing a comforting cocoon against the outside world. Hyunjin closed the door behind you with a reassuring click.

Through the tinted windows, you watched as he engaged in conversation with another manager, his gestures animated and his expression earnest. Though you couldn't hear their words, you could sense the genuine concern in his voice as he explained your sudden departure, painting a picture of a devoted partner looking out for your well-being.

As the car pulled away from the curb, leaving behind the chaos of the event, you couldn't shake the feeling of mortification that chewed at your insides. The image of Hyunjin coming to your rescue, witnessing you at your most vulnerable, lingered in your mind like a haunting nightmare.

You tried to push the embarrassment aside, but it clung to you like a persistent shadow, refusing to be ignored. Despite Hyunjin's love and reassurance, you couldn't shake the nagging sense of inadequacy that tugged at your heartstrings.

As you arrived home, Hyunjin wasted no time in pampering you with the kind of tender care and affection that only he could provide. With a gentle touch, he led you to the bathroom, where a luxurious bubble bath awaited, steam rising invitingly from the surface.

You couldn't help but smile as you sank into the warm embrace of the water, feeling the tension melt away from your weary muscles. Hyunjin hovered nearby, a silent guardian angel, ready to tend to your every need.

As the warm water of the bubble bath enveloped you, Hyunjin gently applied a soothing face mask to your skin, his touch light and tender. The cool gel felt like a balm against your flushed cheeks, easing the tension that had settled in your muscles.

With practiced hands, Hyunjin began to massage the mask into your skin, his fingers tracing delicate patterns across your forehead, cheeks, and chin. Each touch sent waves of relaxation cascading through your body, melting away the knots of tension that had formed during the long and trying day.

As he worked, his movements became more rhythmic, his touch alternating between gentle strokes and firm pressure points. With each pass, you felt the weight of the world lift from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of tranquility and calm.

But Hyunjin didn't stop there. With a soft smile, he moved his attention to your scalp, his fingers deftly massaging away the lingering remnants of your headache. The sensation was pure bliss, each stroke sending tingles of pleasure cascading down your spine.

You closed your eyes and let yourself be carried away by the gentle rhythm of his touch, allowing the stress and tension of the day to melt away into the warm embrace of the bath.

As the soothing scent of lavender filled the air, Hyunjin busied himself with preparing a tray of your favorite snacks, arranging them with care beside the bath. He selected strawberries, dipped in rich chocolate, knowing they were your weakness, along with a selection of delicate finger sandwiches and a glass of chilled sparkling water adorned with a slice of lemon.

He settled himself beside the bath, perched on a small stool, his gaze never leaving yours as he offered you a strawberry, coated in decadent chocolate. "Here, love," he said softly, his eyes warm with tenderness. "Let me feed you."

You accepted the treat with a grateful smile, savoring the sweetness of the chocolate as it melted on your tongue. With each delicate bite, Hyunjin's love enveloped you like a warm embrace, filling the room with a sense of intimacy and closeness that transcended words.

As you nibbled on the snacks, Hyunjin regaled you with tales of his day, his voice a soothing melody that washed over you like a gentle breeze.

"I could paint you like this," he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to break the fragile spell of tranquility that enveloped the room. "I want to capture this moment, this image of you surrounded by warmth and light, so I can remember it forever."

You paused, your heart skipping a beat at his words. "Paint me?" you repeated, a hint of disbelief coloring your tone. "But... why would you want to remember this? It's been so mortifying."

Hyunjin's expression softened, his eyes filled with understanding. "Because even in moments of vulnerability, you are still the most beautiful person I've ever known," he said, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And I want to remember every part of you, even the moments that you may consider less than perfect."

You felt a lump form in your throat at his words, a rush of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. At that moment, you realized that Hyunjin's love for you transcended any momentary embarrassment or discomfort. He saw you for who you truly were, flaws and all, and loved you unconditionally.

With a soft smile, you nodded, a sense of warmth spreading through your chest. "Okay," you whispered, your voice filled with acceptance and gratitude. "Paint me." And as Hyunjin's pencil danced across the page, capturing the essence of your beauty with each stroke.

And as the evening wore on, you reveled in the simple pleasure of being cared for by the most romantic man you had ever known. With each passing moment, the weight of embarrassment and shame lifted from your shoulders, replaced by a sense of peace and contentment that could only be found in the arms of your beloved boyfriend Hyunjin.

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yandere-daydreams · 3 months

Text

tw - implied non/con, extreme pet play, dehumanization, psychological/physical abuse, and unbalanced power dynamics.

commissioned piece. donate to palestinians in gaza here.

Sometimes, you really do think Suguru thinks of you as a pet.

It shouldn’t be as difficult to believe as it is. Of course you’d be less than human to him, less than equal to the god-like status he has among his followers. But, Suguru knows he’s not a god, and while you might not be the only person he claims to be superior to, you are the only one he keeps locked in a steel-barred dog crate padded only by thread-bare blankets and distant memories of what it felt like to sleep in a real bed. You’re special – albeit, not the kind of special you’d like to be. You can disregard most of his grandiose speeches about ‘complete non-sorcerer elimination’ and ‘killing off those worthless monkeys’ as the self-indulgent rambling of a deranged cult leader, but he doesn’t seem to be phoning it in when it comes to you.

He doesn’t talk to you. Communication occurs solely through blunt orders (come, sit, bark, etc.) or sweetened, syrupy baby-talk, cooed as his fingers card through your hair and pet down the length of your spine. You’re expected (something learned purely through trail and error, reward and punishment) to follow him around happily, to sit at his feet and clamber into his lap whenever his eyes find yours and he taps his thigh, that expectant smile already tugging at the corner of his lips. Depending on the day, you’re either coddled and adored like a beloved pet, allowed to walk on two legs rather than four and fed treats out of his open palm, or treated like a stray who’d wandered in off the street and refuses to leave. You do prefer the former to the latter, but it doesn’t really make that much of a difference, not if you’re being honest with yourself. Either way, you always seem to end up on your knees between his legs as he sits above you, a fist curled around your collar as he tells you to lick, puppy, lick.

Speaking of – you’re not allowed to wear clothes. You used to hate it, to steal his shirts and hide in closets, to do anything you could to salvage what little pride you had left, but it’s hard not to get used to something forced onto you so constantly. The only thing Suguru’s ever given you to wear is a simple, black, leather collar – studded with silver spikes and drawn tight enough to bite into your throat when he pulls on it, which he does often. You’re thankful he doesn’t make you wear those cutesy animal ear headbands or, god forbid, a tail, but not as thankful as you should be. As unbearable as it’d be, having him dress you up like a cat or a dog or some wide eyed, sexed-up rabbit would take the edge off. Like this, it’s harder to believe he thinks of you as an animal, as something cute and small and vulnerable that he can love and care for. It’s harder to deny that he knows you’re human – he just doesn’t see why that would ever mean you couldn’t also be his pet.

You think, when you’ve exhausted all other silver linings, that it’s (partially, at least) his excuse to keep you. You know what he does to people who aren’t like him, you’ve seen what he’s like at his worst, and you know that, if you weren’t his pet, you’d just be another non-sorcerer, another nuisance the world would be better off without. If you’re a pet, you can’t be a person, and if you’re not a person, it means he’s not going against his warped ideals when he pulls you close to his chest, when he ghosts his lips over the top of your head, when he fucks you so softly and so gently, you can almost believe he cares whether or not you enjoy it. Pets are supposed to be loved, and so he’s not doing anything wrong by loving you.

You know what would happen to you if you weren’t his pet, too, if he couldn’t make excuses for himself. You’ve seen how wide his smile can be when he comes home with blood on his clothes, how little effort it takes for him to hook his hands under your arms and carry you to his bed, already muttering about how perfect he’s going to make the world for his pretty, precious pet. You’re not allowed to leave his cramped apartment, but he talks about putting you on display for his acolytes as he ruts into you with an almost animalistic brutality, about showing all of those filthy, degenerative insects what a well-trained mutt looks like. You know that you should do more to fight back, that your humanity should be worth more to you than a few half-hearted escape attempts and the occasional pained whine, but you’ve seen see what he can do, heard about the dismembered bodies he leaves to rot in a ditch behind his temple, and—

And, no matter how much you hate him for it, no matter how much you hate yourself for it, it’s true.

When it comes down to it, you’d rather be his pet than be nothing at all.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jjk #yandere geto suguru #geto x reader #suguru x reader

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softevnstan · 1 year

Note

(nsfw) random prompt event generator for bucky!!

Bucky and Y/N going back to one or the other's house after a date, where they eventually end up dry-humping on the couch. Y/N only intends this as foreplay, but Bucky is already getting overwhelmed. Y/N finds this amusing and endearing, leaning close to whisper something teasingly into Bucky's ear. It turns out that Bucky is more excited than Y/N thought, and hits orgasm without any further stimulation, to the surprise of Y/N and the embarrassment of Bucky. What happens next?

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral! reader

summary. After a date night out with Bucky as you explore your new relationship, you unintentionally wind up taking your makeout session a little too far. Quickly you learn it's been far too long since Bucky has had a partner.

warnings. SMUT - minors DNI. kissing, praise kink, dirty talk, size difference, beefy bucky, dry humping, masturbation (bucky and you), implied/referenced trauma, reader has v but still gender neutral. p with plot, recovering!bucky barnes (half-way).

a.n. ok, i have other things to write and originally i was gonna let this wait... until i read the prompt again and saw this as an opportunity for some mild bottom/fluffy bucky. (bucky is a bottom you can't change my mind, but i'll write top for you all i promise) starts a little fluffy at first because idk how to not write some sort of context to situations, and bucky is still in recovery reasonably so

w.c. 7.6k howdidthishappen

Your date with Bucky exceeded your expectations. Wary that things would potentially be a little rough around the edges while the soldier was still trying to put himself back together, you were pleasantly surprised when he picked you up at your apartment with a bouquet of flowers - specifically an interesting combination of sunflowers and roses. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had bought you flowers, and after running them inside so as to not ruin them by taking them on the trip, Bucky held your hand all the way to his motorcycle and helped you settle comfortably before embarking on the evening together. No awkward pauses or tense, heavy moments with Bucky; It was sweet and a dream come true that you didn’t even know you’d had.

He’d surprised you on where you both were going initially. Blindly trusting Bucky with wherever he chose your date location, he decided that the Art Museum was the safest choice. Dinners could be awkward - what if you don’t like the way someone chews their food? Movies hardly left time to actually get to know one another, instead just sitting in the dark with occasional spared glances. Anything too physical could be exerting and hinder you from another date with Bucky. So after indecisively pondering, Bucky had chosen that an art exhibit was the best way to go.

You loved it.

So many classic paintings and countless mediums of art filled the halls as you two strode hand in hand. Bucky was on the quieter side, but not enough to deter you. He’d smile and watch the twinkle in your eyes when you both came across a particularly marvelous work of art that you loved. Bucky had listened smittenly as you gushed about the way some pieces of art made you feel or the message you interpreted behind it all. Eventually, Bucky had begun to open up throughout the night to do the same. What felt like hours of enriched conversation and two people simply being in the moment.

Sometimes people don’t need candles and rose petals, sometimes people just need someone to talk to and feel just as down to earth with.

Unfortunately, neither of you had finished going through the whole museum together in one sitting.

Bucky had used that as the opportunity to salvage the situation; “I guess that means we’ll just have to come back together.” He’d said fondly when you both stopped at the mini-cafe built in the museum before you both left.

Instead of letting the date die down when the museum began closing for the night, you offered to bring the party back to your apartment instead. Tempting Bucky with a bottle of wine sitting in your kitchen so you two could just spend some more time together, he didn’t need too much convincing. Any excuse to stay close to you, to steal some of your time just a little longer before returning to his dull apartment.

‘How could I say no to you, doll?’ He had said, and you’d beamed at the small victory.

Truly, you hadn’t meant for it to end up where it was (not that you were complaining). When you asked Bucky to come into your apartment building, when you’d walked together hand in hand, you didn’t think you’d wind up like this. But somewhere between being plastered against Bucky’s backside and having the privilege to let your hands wander and explore tight leather hiding thick arms or the adrenaline of feeling the wind whipping in your hair, you’d started to become insatiable on the trip back.

Bucky had this way with you that made you feel like a teenager in love all over again.

Sure, he was quiet, but he was misunderstood. Soft and sweet, he had a compassionate heart and an intelligent mind, the gentle giant.

It’d taken some time to help Bucky bring down those walls initially - countless weeks you’d spent just trying to be his friend before he finally caved and agreed. He was a private person, you learned, but once peeling back all the layers, Bucky was amazing and worth all the work that went into opening him up. Creative and smart, a book-lover and funny, he was gentle and tender and emotional in every way that a man could be if they let themselves. He wasn’t afraid to be honest, but was instead afraid to voice that too loud. He wasn’t afraid to be emotional or vulnerable with those he trusted - not the unfeeling machine that so many had made him out to be. Bucky had simply needed someone who understood him - or was willing to if nothing else.

Once you’d gotten past all of it, all of the rough nights and moody days, it was worth it. You’d watched Bucky become something he never was before…

He was the one who had taken your relationship a step further.

Tentatively and timidly, might you add. Always endearing. He’d been anxious asking you to come out with him - as though he’d been fighting with himself for a long while on whether or not he should even ask. When he finally called you and asked if you’d like to go out on a date with him tonight - yes, he’d used date - you’d been elated.

And sure, you were moving a little too fast at that moment, but life is short and he’s already on seventy years of borrowed time. Bucky deserves to be loved.

Warm hand had rubbed up the length of Bucky’s bicep, and you gave his shoulder a squeeze when getting off of his motorcycle with a teasing glint in your eyes.

When he walked with you into the building, you hugged his left arm to your side - refusing for any additional space to come between the both of you as you prattled on about 'Birthday', by Dorothea Tanning and how you interpreted it as the door into the imagination, and Bucky was busy trying to remember which painting it was you were talking about - it was 'the winged scared cat-creature on the floor' that rejogged his memory.

Bucky was just happy you clung so easily to the cold and hard metal of his vibranium arm as if it were his own.

Turning into your hall, you’d begun to pull Bucky by the arm. Turning on your heel and offering him a smitten smile when you tugged him closer to your body in a backward walk. His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile, his smile wide and showing off pretty white teeth. Even the sheepish duck of his head was precious when you led him into your apartment, finally excited to have time where it could be just you and Bucky without prying eyes.

"If you were eager to get home, you could've just said so," Bucky teased you, and you gave a playful smirk in response.

"M'not, I'm just excited to finally be alone with you." you'd cooed, attempting to make the words seductive but honestly they came more sentimental than anything.

The door gave way behind you when you twisted the knob with your one hand, the other still clutching to Bucky's sleeve. It didn't give Bucky a chance to respond to your retort when you tugged him right on into your apartment. Instead, it earned a chuckle that snapped into a gasp with your pull.

It was when that door shut that something came over you. Tucked into your own little corner of the world, you didn’t fear overwhelming Bucky with affection that made him uncomfortable. No worries about people gawking and making him feel out of place (or him being afraid of gawking, really).

When you both were just past the threshold of your apartment, you turned and used your foot to push the door shut. Fingers sliding up Bucky's arm, you used the moment to grab the lapels of his leather coat and step back - coming flush with the door and dragging Bucky right on into your tight space.

Hardly giving him a chance to protest. Wide cobalt eyes study you when you both are finally still, Bucky's hands hovering a little uselessly briefly and while shocked, still pleasantly surprised by your bravery.

"Someone is a little impatient," Bucky comments, expression softening. "Not impatient, just excited." You defend with a loving smile. "I could've sworn there was a bottle of wine mentioned..." Bucky trails. "Can you even get intoxicated?" You rhetorically question with a curious tilt of your head and a knowing grin. "Can't I drink for the taste like most people do?" Bucky retorts. "Touché."

You both fall into a small fit of giggles and soft laughs, the small talk helping to alleviate some of Bucky's nerves. His hands slowly come to settle on your sides since you're not budging from where you'd pressed flat against the door. Enjoying being wedged between a door and Bucky - you'd be crazy not to.

Despite the way, your mind is running a million miles a minute and your gaze can't seem to draw away from Bucky's pouty lips, Bucky doesn't seem to be picking up as easily on your advances. That's okay. He's always been worth the wait.

“...Did you have a good evenin’, doll?” he asks, flesh hand smoothing down to delicately rest on your hip.

“I was with you, wasn’t I?" Bucky looks at you for a beat as if slightly unconvinced... "Yes, Bucky. One of the best dates I've ever been on... ‘S a shame, I don’t want it to end.” You coo, drawing Bucky in closer until you’re both flush against each other. His left-gloved hand lifted to push your hair from your face tenderly.

“Who says it has to end right here?” Bucky hums with his signature playboy grin - no wonder why he had every girl in Brooklyn creaming their panties.

The low husk of his voice strikes you to your very core, allowing your imagination to run wild with the countless thoughts of what the man before you could really do if he tried. Really, it wouldn’t take much; Bucky already had you curled around his finger, whether he knew it or not was another question.

“I thought you’d never ask,” pleased, you lay your hands flat on Bucky’s chest. Feeling under his open coat and hands finding the expanse of muscle. You tilt your head back, biting your bottom lip seductively with a cheeky grin.

You aren’t ready to find Bucky’s eyes watching you so intently. The way he wets his bottom lip before worrying it between his teeth and releasing that pouty lip of his. Eyes boring right into you and keeping you pinned between him and the door. Ever so carefully, Bucky cups your cheek in his large gloved palm. There’s hardly a missed beat when you turn your head and nose affectionately into his palm, able to hear the soft whirring of the machinery before pressing a chaste kiss to leave behind.

“I had fun tonight,” You reiterate to him softly - the drag of your lips accentuated with every word against his palm.

“M’glad. You look good when you’re happy.” Bucky murmurs, but he seems distracted. Cobalt eyes follow every drag of your lips, Bucky exhales a shallow breath.

“I bet I could think of a few ways you could make me even happier, Bucky,” you singsong, hand sliding up over Bucky’s that hold your cheek to press affectionately into his touch. Always grateful for anything, nuzzling into him like a needy kitten.

Part of you is waiting for the next step. For him to make the next move - that’s the dance between you two. You step, and Bucky steps one more further. Playing off of each other. It doesn’t come.

“M’sure you could, sugar,” Bucky starts, and you’re waiting for the ‘But’... “But,” There it is. “Maybe we should slow down just a little. It’s been such a good night…”

“We could make it better,” you offer, and Bucky flushes slightly at the implication.

“...I don’t want to move too fast,” Bucky says after a pause in a hushed whisper - as though scared if he speaks any louder, the universe may come in and rip this good thing away from him as it has a history of doing.

“Listen, I care about you. And I had a really, really good time with you - I’m still so happy you agreed to come out with me. But you’re not- Not some dame. I’m not just trying to get into your pants, Y/N…” Bucky elaborates tentatively, and you watch him with understanding in your gaze.

“I know,” You softly lament. “You’re not that kind of fella, Bucky…” “I want you to feel comfortable with me - happy,” Bucky emphasizes, and for half a moment your heart hurts for the man in front of you. So convinced he’s still capable of doing harm, even after all of this time. “I can’t think of a time I’ve been uncomfortable around you at all, actually,” Softly you contest, and Bucky offers you a briefly amused smile.

“We can take our time,” Bucky presses; You can tell it’s more for him than it is for you. “Anything you need.” No questions about it. Nuzzling into Bucky’s palm, your lips form a chaste smile. “You’re too good to me, sugar…” “Funny, I’ve found myself thinking that all night.” Bucky finds humor in the words; expression softening and some of the tension that had begun to rebuild in him falling away. Bucky laughs. Soft, but rich. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your temple; Protective and loving. “Earlier, you said you had fun… So did I. This was one of the best nights in a while for me,” The admission comes with the feel of Bucky’s lips ghosting your skin. It’s distracting.

“I’m glad; You deserve good things, too, Bucky.” Something you tend to try to remind Bucky of often; You’ll slam that fact into his head until he one day decides to believe it for himself and see what everyone else sees. “You are my good thing,” he whispers even quieter; Unintentionally dropping the tone of his voice and sending shivers down your spine.

No words are exchanged when your hands lift and find Bucky’s defined jaw; cradling him gently and drawing him in for a deep but loving kiss. The first of many tonight.

Both you and Bucky had soon migrated from the door in the foyer to your cozy living room. You both struggled to keep space between one another; Lips meeting together over and over again. The only sound was your own heart pounding in your ears and the soft breaths between you and Bucky.

You were planted in his lap. Sat on strong, thick thighs - your arms draped around Bucky’s broad shoulders. His hands sat comfortably on your sides; gloves abandoned on the coffee table when he’d wanted to feel you. Not leather obstructing him from feeling the proper warmth of your flushed skin. His head tipped back to accommodate the way you had gained a few inches on him upon being seated in his lap.

Despite the way you two were entangled, it was nothing more than kisses. His hands hadn’t dared to venture below your belt, and while the kisses were definitely full of passion, it wasn’t the flame you were yearning and burning for. To respect Bucky’s request though, you didn’t proceed any further. Content with the taste of Bucky on your tongue, the warmth of his breath, and the barely there noises you were able to draw out of him that rumbled in his chest. His lips were soft and moved naturally against one another - It was a moment of euphoria.

Just the way your mouths slotted together alone was enough to rile you up; It’d been so long, and no one was as tender a lover as Bucky was with you. Each time he touched you, it was with consideration and care for what you wanted, what would feel good. Never in the means of his own self-gain. It made you that much more desiring of him; the connection that you both maintained had been there for months, it was simply that you both had finally begun to act on it.

You’d told yourself you’d be slow. Take this at your own pace. No one wants to rush into a relationship that has the potential to end messy. But there you were; Necking in your living room with Brooklyn’s finest bachelor since 1936. Truly, you were only human, and it hadn’t escalated further than that. Breathing each other in, heated and heavy. You hadn’t even done it intentionally.

One could only fault you so much when your hips rolled into Bucky’s. Formerly nestled still in his lap, you found yourself moving without thought. Grinding down into the soldier’s lap, it elicited a deep groan from his throat, and tilted his head down to pull your lips apart. His hands instinctively moved to your hips; Clutching moderately tight to still your ministrations. You relished in the subtle pressure that came with Bucky’s hands securely enough to hold you still for hardly a moment. It was enough time for you to have realized the mistake you’d made.

“Shit, I’m sorry–” you stammered between the both of you, and Bucky instead took a shallow inhale. “No, no– It… It was good. It felt good, it’s-... It’s just… been a while.” Bucky timidly expressed, cheeks flushed and breathless. You noticed how he struggled briefly to maintain a heated gaze with you, eyes averting before pinching shut altogether.

“Do we need to stop? It’s okay if we do, Bucky…” Let him know that he had that out if he needed it; You wouldn’t be upset.

That option left Bucky shaking his head profusely. “No,” he rasps out, and you can feel his breath fanning your face. Can still taste him on your lips. You’re both still so close… You can feel the faint flex of his fingers holding you. “I want to keep going… Just… Give me a moment, alright?” He requests, and you give him a comforting smile and an understanding nod.

Your fingers card up into Bucky’s disheveled locks and brush thick hair back from falling in his face. Some of the tension leaves his body when you press a chaste kiss to his temple.

“Whatever you need,” you softly let him know. You’re both still for a minute or two. Simply letting Bucky hold your hips while you kept some of the pressure on your knees - dug into the cushions on either side of his thick thighs. Soothingly rubbing your fingers through Bucky’s hair and giving him a tender hug he relishes in.

Then, slowly, he pulls you back down. Guiding your ass back into his lap and bodies coming flush together. The moment is experimental and you allow Bucky to take all the time he needs even if there is a burning in your thighs from the awkward position. Basking in the relief with a soft sigh and nosing into Bucky’s hair. His hands experimentally dare to explore a little further down. Rubbing from your waist down over your hips to the tops of your thighs. His hands feel like that of a bear's paws in comparison to your physique.

“How are we feeling…?” You ask, checking in on him. “A little better… I’ve been using that 4-7-8 breathing method my therapist recommended, actually,” Bucky says, and you can tell for a moment he just needs to play it by ear. Even if you both don’t do anything tonight, he’s worth the wait.

“Really? That’s good,” Indulging in the moment of chit-chat as his hands still continue the back-and-forth motion. Hypnotizing and leaving your thighs tingling.

Bucky’s reply comes in a soft hum, tilting his head down to nudge his nose at your neck. You tilt your head enough for him to burrow in the hollow of your throat and nose affectionately there. His warm breath makes your skin break out in goosebumps. You let out a shaky exhale before a sappy grin spreads across your face.

He begins to slowly mouth at the sensitive skin of your throat. Gentle kisses and the faint scratch of his stubble that initially tickles enough to make you wiggle in his lap.

“Bucky!” You squeak and you feel the grin against your skin.

“Easy, easy…” Bucky lowly tells you and it burns into your core. It’s easy to go lax when he’s the voice coaxing you back. “Good doll,” Bucky says with a chuckle - clearly teasing but it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside.

“M’ticklish,” You defend as your arms squeeze around his shoulders. “I can tell. Might come in handy one day…” His lips still ghost over your skin; ever so distracting.

“You wouldn't.” “I might,” Bucky says, his voice smooth but thick like honey.

A playful pinch to Bucky’s shoulder makes him surrender with a laugh before tipping his head up to press your foreheads together again. This time you’re surprised to find his eyes meeting yours head-on.

“Thank you for being understanding,” Bucky addresses the elephant in the room, traces of anxiety in those gray eyes. “I’m still trying to learn how to let myself be with someone else…”

The words feels so raw; A hushed confession and a moment Bucky is being fully honest with you. Not hiding from it or skirting around it - communicating his boundaries and being able to give himself the time he needs. Your chest swells with pride for the man before you in his growth; You’re so inlove.

“It’s okay, really. I’m not here just to get into your pants, Bucky. I care about you, and we can go as fast or as slow as you need.” You affirm, always wanting Bucky to know that. That he’s safe with you the way you are with him.

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head up a little further to let your lips brush. “It’s why I like you so much…”

You smile, unable to help but feel a fluttering in your chest. Bucky draws you the rest of the way to press your lips together again. Starting from scratch so that Bucky is able to be more expecting and prepared this time. The build-up doesn’t bother you in the slightest, and it doesn’t take the both of you long to build up where you once were. Bucky’s comfortable kissing you. It’s everything else that daunts him.

Bucky is the one who holds your hips tight against his lap as he gives an experimental roll of his hips up into your ass; feeling the semi-bulge through his jeans. You gasp against his lips, and he seizes the moment to lick hot into your mouth. He doesn’t do it again; Teasing you and inviting you to take the next step. Experimentally, you return the gesture when you grind against Bucky’s lap. It draws a noise from both of you at that time.

“Yeah..,” Bucky huskily groans. “That’s good, fuck…” Bucky’s praise eggs you on to keep pressing down into Bucky. Rotating your hips to allow both of you to grind through your clothes; Traces of Bucky’s arousal evident in his jeans.

He steals your breath with a claiming kiss. Strong hands trailing up your thighs to test the waters. Feeling over the swell of your ass and encouraging you to keep pressing down into him. Rutting against his constricted and half-swelled cock. You’re unsure what to do with your hands other than planting them firmly on Bucky’s chest as you grind your sexes together. Fingers curling into bunch fabric of his shirt as Bucky’s head tilts to deepen your kiss further.

With each second that passes, you feel dizzier. High on the endorphins and lack of oxygen - your chest felt warm and fuzzy. Kissed senseless as Bucky’s firm hands squeeze the globes of your ass and rips a needy keen from your throat, drawing your grinds to a controlled halt. Right when you fear as though you might be too light-headed from the lack of air, Bucky shows some mercy. Freeing your lips and leaving you to gasp; Bucky licking his lips with a satisfied grin.

“I think I taste mint, did you pop a tic-tac earlier when I wasn’t looking…?” Bucky breathlessly teases, both of you so close that you can feel his smile. In that moment, you’re simply trying to return to Earth for a moment between soft, airy breaths.

When you will yourself to finally look at Bucky again, his eyes are blown. His black pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes; leaving behind a thin ring. Something inside of him looks livelier than you’ve ever seen, Bucky’s cheeks flushed and lips swollen.

“Jesus, Bucky,” is all you manage, earning a cheeky grin from Bucky - proud. “Speechless? I’m relieved to know after nearly a century I haven’t gotten rusty… It’d be embarrassing if I was 107 and didn’t know how to kiss,” Bucky jokes, and something inside of you feels so warm and fuzzy.

That you both can joke while still being in the moment and grinding into each other moments prior.

“Cocky, are we soldier?” You hum after regaining some of your composure, hands lifting to hold his face. Before Bucky has a chance to speak, the wiggle of your hips draws a reminder of the length in his jeans. Bucky chokes on a stifled groan low in his throat at the way you frott into him.

“Very funny,” he asks, still slightly out of breath.

“You took me by surprise,” you admit softly, “You never seem so brave…” “Frankly, sugar, it’s… Been a really long time. I’ve spent a too long runnin’ and not getting to actually feel alive - I’m not just surviving anymore. It’s taken time and it’ll still take more, but you make me feel better.” Bucky confesses fondly, and you snort with amusement. Pressing a loving kiss to his lips.

“Sap.” You murmur between soft pecks. “Only you could turn something hot into something sweet.” “Can’t we have both?” Bucky cooes. “Absolutely.”

This time, you take lead. Pecking kisses down from Bucky’s lips, over his stubbled cheek and defined jaw. His head tilts back to accommodate the way you nudge, leaving open-mouth kisses in your wake. Sucking the salty skin to leave behind loving bruises that will only last so long with Bucky’s healing factor. He groans; Adam’s apple bobbing when you stamp kisses back up his neck to the juncture of his ear and jaw. A soft kiss before you take a playful nip at his earlobe and send shivers racking through the man under you. “Oh, babydoll,” Bucky sighs airly, taking it upon himself to guide your hips. You move on your own accord as Bucky grinds you into his lap; Moving you back and forth to rut together through your clothes. You don’t have to do any of the work, instead just taking some time to give Bucky the loving he deserves.

When you peer at his face, his eyes are closed. Lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks and lips parted with soft breaths; the occasional clench of teeth pulls out a gravelly rumble from his chest. All of it has you so hot, so riled up. It’s just the two of you alone in the apartment; The air is charged with electricity between the two of you. The scrape of your teeth makes Bucky’s lips curl into a devious grin.

“You’re doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praises. “My pretty baby, yeah… God– Do you feel what you do to me, honey…?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, the friction working him up just as much as it was you. The throbbing between your legs was becoming insatiable - your answer coming in a whimper as you sucked another purpling bruise into Bucky’s throat.

Your hips move enthusiastically. Trying to meet Bucky for every grind; Becoming too much for him to handle at one point.

“Sl-Slow down, baby… Easy, we’ve got time,” he attempts to coax, but you’re busy chasing that high at that moment. You want to make Bucky feel good - this is doing that for him; Pleasing him.

“What’s wrong, big guy?” You ask with an airy giggle, nosing up to Bucky’s ear. Your lips press against the shell of his ear; “I can’t get enough of you touching me, Bucky. I just want to make you come, thinking about it turns me on so much…”

You don’t realize until it’s too late what the words do to him, whispered out right in his ear. Bucky’s nose scrunches up and his jaw goes slack. His body becomes taut underneath you; Hands clutching hard and leaving a dull ache in your bones despite the way you’re still trying to move. Bucky’s hips stutter harshly, and suddenly he’s gasping out. Moaning low and breathy as he rides out his orgasm with half-hearted bucks up into your ass.

Your eyes widen with a sense of wonder as Bucky comes undone in those short few seconds. His lips curl into a perfect ‘o’ and he shudders, eyes pinched shut. “Ohhhh fuuuck,” Bucky moans, long and drawn out, and there’s not a hotter sight than Bucky Barnes coming because of you. You smile; Pleased with yourself and priding yourself on the fact of being able to be the one to do this to Bucky. You continue the grueling roll of your hips into his hard dick - little left to the imagination while your fingers tangle in his hair and you hold him close. Watching his face all the while; Not wanting to miss a single moment.

Bucky rides it out until he’s left with beads of sweat misting his hairline, panting with the rise and fall of his chest. Taking his time, licking his lips before seemingly becoming sheepish of how easily he’d just fallen apart. No warning; It’s been so long since he’s had another sexual partner to experience these things within a positive environment.

Your hips only stop when he’s well and done, knowing that most guys half the time are one-and-done. “That… That felt really good, m’sorry, it’s– it’s different. With, y’know, someone else… Versus alone…” Bucky manages awkwardly, and you simply draw him in for a lingering kiss.

“I understand,” You murmur comfortingly against his lips. “You can clean up in the bathroom; I don’t have anything in your size for underwear, unfortunately, but I can find a pair of flannel bottoms that might fit…” “What about you?” Bucky asks, raising a brow. “Me?” “You.. You didn’t get to… Y’know.”

It’s oddly endearing how he worries about the fact that you weren’t able to get off the way he had. “What, we’re afraid to use adult language now?” You tease, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “M’bein’ serious. I want you to feel good…” Bucky says, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “I can get it up again if you give me a minute.” He adds, and for a moment you’re confused before placing the answer upon a super soldier refractory period.

“You’d be comfortable with that..?” You ask with a curious tilt, and Bucky bites his lips together; you can see the lingering daze in his eyes from the post-orgasm haze. “No,” he answers almost nervously. “I… Tonight has been a lot already. I don’t think I want to go there yet…” And you expect it to end there, but: “I have something else in mind, though.”

“Oh, do you now…?” you muse, curious. “Have you ever heard of mutual masturbation…?”

You’re both sat facing one another on the couch; One of your legs tucked under your body and pants long abandoned to the floor leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You’d felt far less reluctance than Bucky had when it came to stripping down; The layers shed easily as your anticipation festered more and more to the surface.

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited. You’ve known Bucky for a while now, and let’s not lie to yourself - He’s a good-looking man who can do things with a single look. The ‘Barnes Charm’ he was so popular for when he was young was still there; Showing itself in small flickers of moments from time to time. The only instances in acting on it on your behalf were in the comfort of your bedroom, alone in the sheets. No one’s business but yours.

But now you’re there with him and no one else. No one to disturb your private moment.

Touch was something that was hard for Bucky - he’d expressed that to you when he stammered over what he’d been asking of you. That he’d rather watch one another right then.

Bucky had no problem drinking you in, either. His eyes were fixed on every movement you made - when you’d peeled your shirt off his eyes followed the expanse of glowing skin and studied it all. Every curve and slope of your body; There was no question of how enamored he was with you. It was the first time in a long time you’d felt truly seen. Someone who wasn’t just trying to get into your pants but found you breathtaking.

It was flattering; You could feel the heat in your cheeks and the way it flustered you to be looked at in awe. There was something about Bucky that made you feel perfect. He was a man that was genuine in everything he did; Not much of a people-pleaser if he doesn’t have to be. Arguably a little stubborn, actually. You knew nothing about the way he looked at you was feigned.

He chews his lip as his eyes study you. Leaned more forward from where he’s sat sideways on his half of the couch. Left hand clutching the back of the couch cushion, Bucky had that familiar bulge in his jeans (which were now unbuttoned and peeled open to show off his navy blue briefs).

“You look so perfect, doll…” Bucky murmurs lovingly after a moment, and your heart melts in your chest.

The words felt too intimate for you to accept easily, but you didn’t want to reject the compliment either. So rather than reply verbally, you leaned back into the cushion propped up behind you and drew your right leg up; Pressed into the back of the couch. Your right leg dangles off the side of the couch and leaving you exposed to Bucky. A welcome invitation if he decides to change his mind and wants to touch you.

Bucky breath hitches; shuddering out a slow exhale through his nose. His gaze is hungry, his hand thoughtlessly moving to his own groin to palm the returning erection.

“I’ll love you right, one of these days, sugar.” Bucky promises with a lick of his lips. “This is just fine for tonight, Bucky,” You reassure him, and his gaze racks up to your face. “Thank you again for understanding,” And the softness in his hungry eyes sends a cold desire to your core - something more intimate about that look than the one threatening to eat you whole. “Anything for you.” You tell him, meaning every word.

With that, you make a deliberate show of teasing your fingers down your chest and tummy before slinking between your legs.

“Aww, that’s it, sugar,” Bucky hums fondly with a breathy chuckle. “Eager little thing, gonna put on a pretty show for me..?”

“Only if you promise to do the same; This is just as much for me as it is for you,” You tease affectionately, mood defiled when you trace your hole with your middle and ring finger. The pads of your fingers are cold on sensitive skin, leaving you to shiver and sigh out an airy moan.

“M’not in nearly as a rush as you are, sweetheart.” Bucky hums, and you catch the way his hand slides down to palm at his cock through his underwear. “So excited to be on display, are we?” “Just for you,” you exhale, preening at the way he looks at you while experimentally dipping the tips of your fingers into your wet and wanting hole.

“Thank God, might have to wring someone by the neck if I gotta share a sight as sweet as this...” The tone is playful and joking, but there are traces of genuine possessiveness in Bucky’s voice. The idea alone is enough to have you showing off; gathering the wetness and making a deliberate show of smearing it over glistening skin. Bucky licks his lips with a look as though he wants to eat you alive.

Atleast it’ll give him something to look forward to for when you both do get to the point you can be physically comfortable with intimacy. You can have more than enough fun with this.

“Mother, mary, n’ joseph…” Bucky drawls; that Brooklyn accent of his coming through thick with the rumble of his words. He relaxes back into the couch while you continue the steady stroke of teasing yourself, playing with your clit and leaving your cunt throbbing. Bucky properly slides his jeans down his thighs and bunches his briefs along with them.

The evidence of his previous orgasm smeared in his soiled briefs, his cock thick and bobbing at the cool air. Bucky hisses through his teeth before spitting into his hand and stroking himself off languidly.

“Don’t stop, sweetheart. Keep touchin’ yourself for me, I wanna see how you like it…” the words were hummed low, squeaking a moan out of you with just the way he spoke to you alone. “Aww, did you like that, baby? Like the way I talk to you..?”

You bite your lip, swallowing back the noises and answering Bucky’s question in a profuse nod. Fingers still insistently tracing yourself to that sweet spot, you could feel the slow knot building in the pit of your tummy.

“Ah, ah, ah… If m’gonna talk, I wanna hear those sweet noises, babydoll. Sing for me,” Bucky cooes with a breathy chuckle, still fucking his fist on the length of his cock. Pre-come beading at the slit and making the tip glisten with the signs of his arousal.

“Oh, Bucky,” You wantonly mewl out, surprising yourself with how helpless you sound. Trailing your slick fingers down to press the tip of your middle finger into your weeping cunt. Experimentally pressing in, having been pent up for what felt likes ages and aching for relief.

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky’s hand begins to speed up over his aching cock; His thickness jerking in his palm whenever you make a particularly sweet noise. “Show me how you stuff that needy cunt; I wanna see how you - fuck - take care of yourself…”

You moan for Bucky; needy and high and airy. It just feeds into his own arousal as he jerks off across from you. His own groans deep and rough - Piercing gaze keeping you pinned to the couch. Unable to look away from the way Bucky’s gaze bore into you.

His eyes watch you expectantly; Waiting for you to do what he’s asked. You oblige.

Your fingers press knuckle-deep into your cunt; Experimentally thrusting into your channel and leaving your back to arch slightly off the arm of the couch.

“Oh,” you mewl out, fingers driving into your hole, stretching your tightness and leaving your arousal to spill out.

Bucky jerks his thick cock, hand sliding easily and the ministration made easier by the pre-come that spills over his fist. He shifts his hips, licking his lips and grinning at the way you fuck yourself open.

“Look at you, such a pretty baby,” Bucky breathes low between pants for air. “If I didn’t know any better I’d have thought you – mmh, god - were waitin’ for this. So eager to get that hole wet…”

The way Bucky talks to you makes your chest flutter. Your face feels hot, gasping as it drives the way you fuck your hole. Watching the up-stroke on Bucky’s cock - imagining the length sliding home into you and whimpering at the thought. Your eyes screw shut, the room filled with the slick sounds of your fingers in your hole.

“Oh no, babydoll, open those pretty eyes. I want you to watch me,” Bucky demands, and your eyes open on command. “Yeah, that’s it… Good baby, see this?” Bucky stops the stroking of his dick to let his fingers wrap around the girth and give a little tap of the tip to his thigh. Showing off the girth and his thick balls.

“Yeah, yeah this is all for you, honey. M’so hard for you, all for you…” The rumble of his voice was soothing as it was arousing.

“Bu-Bucky,” you squeak past trembling lips. Thighs softly quaking — Bucky’s words could get you off alone. Who knew he was such a filthy talker?

“I’m right here, sugar. ‘S okay, make yourself feel good. Don’t gotta hold back for nothin’, show me, pretty thing. I wanna see it all…” It’s permission if you’ve ever heard it, and suddenly at that moment, you realize how dependent Bucky’s say was over your building orgasm. As if your body knew it was waiting on his approval before you could let yourself come undone.

Your legs draw up to clench your thighs – Stopping yourself when you remember Bucky’s eyes are still fixed upon your flushed body. Watching the hypnotizing display of the quick work you made fingering your needy cunt while he relished int he display. Stroking his cock languidly before building up a pace that matched your own; Wanting to follow your arousal with you.

Just because you both weren’t touching doesn’t mean he couldn’t work with you.

It doesn’t take much; Not that it surprises you. You’d been pent up from the previous grinding into one another; hot and bothered by kisses that gave you a hint of what more could be like.

While your one hand is busy playing with your nub, your free hand smooths up to ruck up your shirt. Bucky’s dilated eyes light up even more when your hand moves under your top; Rolling a nipple between your fingers and drawing even more whorish noise from your swollen lips.

Bucky downright growls, hips arching subtly off the couch as he fucks up into his fist.

“Fuck, you like to play with your nipples, baby? Aww, bet you’re so sensitive… Mm, fuck, yea… M’gonna love gettin’ my hands on you when we’re ready. Gonna learn every nook n’ cranny of you; Wanna worship that pretty body of yours.”

He keeps talking like that; each word straight to your aching core and leaving you soaked. Bucky picks up on it in the way you get louder — noisier.

“You like that? Of course you do — who knew you were so fuckin’ filthy, sugar? Aw, m’gonna come, baby,” Bucky’s voice even until it begins to find a sense of urgency towards the end. A sharp breath from him, both of your hands moving while you watch one another. Pleasuring yourselves and being your most intimate selves; On display for one another.

Your jaw is slack, gasping and moaning out pitiful squeaks while you touch yourself. Bucky’s hand moves smoothly over his arousal, the sound of skin on skin as he jerks himself off.

“Oh, oh fuck, please, I-I’m gonna come, Bucky,” you cry out, and Bucky thumbs at the tip of his cock; wrist twisting towards the head.

“Come for me, baby. C-Cream all over your pretty fingers — come for me, come for me,” Bucky’s words drive you over the edge.

Your walls flutter emptily; begging to be filled as you come undone under your fingers. It’s cloud nine, riding out your high on your familiar fingers. Thighs trembling and soaked with your wetness, hips canting up into nothing as you finish on your fingers. Gasping and squealing out until you’re reduced to pathetic whimpers.

Bucky watches you all the while. Fucking his fist and growling out through his bared teeth when you come. Reaching his own orgasm and painting his fist in thick stripes of creamy white that you want to lick clean. He pants, face flushed as his cock spills his heavy load. Staining the denim of his jeans and leaving a mess (though he’s careful of the couch).

You both slump into the couch, still facing one another when the high has passed. Panting for air, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the air. You’re the one to break the quiet with an airy giggle, which Bucky grinds widely in response to.

“Are you alright, honey..?” Bucky asks curiously, his own voice hoarse and quiet. “Perfect. How’s about a shower…? You’ve already seen me from the stomach down, I’ve already seen your dick. That’s practically all we have. Nothing to hide,” you offer with a roughness to your own voice, swallowing thickly. You smile, still lingering in the soft air of the post-orgasmic haze.

“Sounds perfect, baby. I’ll go get the shower runnin’, okay?” Bucky offers, tucking his mess back into his underwear (he won’t be wearing them much longer anyways). Scooting forward, he uses his clean hand to cup the back of your head and press a gentle kiss to your temple.

You nod with a soft, ‘mhm’. Enjoying the settling moment's peace and serenity despite the cooling wetness coating your thighs. Moving will be awful but it was well worth it.

Bucky certainly leaves an impression. Kicking off the evening with flowers and a ride to the art museum, strolling the halls lovingly with him while partaking in art, only to come back to your apartment and masturbate together. Bucky might be more full of surprises than you thought. You couldn’t be more excited.

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