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luveline · 9 months

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𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐚𝐝 | 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

when an unknown intruder breaks into your apartment, you call hotch. he races to make it to you in time. requested here. fem!reader, 3.7k

cw home invasion, assault, attempted sexual assault, reader is badly hurt/held at gunpoint, please read with care for the content warnings above

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

"Hotch?" you whisper into the phone, your voice barely audible.

"Who is this?"

Hotch doesn't always look at who's calling at night, he just answers. Bad habit. You curl in on yourself where you're on your knees in the closet, trying not to wheeze breathlessly down the receiver. "Hotch, it's me. I need you to come and help me."

"What's wrong?" He doesn't ask why you're whispering. "Are you at home?"

"There's someone in my apartment."

"You're sure?"

You shift backwards into the embrace of your hanging coats and dresses. It feels as though tens of hands are petting your shoulders, a shiver racing along your spine as a floorboard creaks somewhere in your kitchen.

"I heard them open my door. I don't have my taser, I…" You stop talking when you hear more movement, terrified you'll be discovered. Regret clings to you. How many times has Morgan offered to teach you self defence personally? "I don't know how they got inside."

It doesn't take more than that for Hotch to click into work mode. "Stay on the phone with me. Don't talk. I'm going to put you on hold to call Morgan. I will be ten seconds at most. Don't panic. Don't hang up. If you think you can leave without being seen or heard, leave, but if you can't, don't show him where you are."

The invader's footsteps track to the bedroom. You know at once that your tired mind isn't hallucinating a bad scenario to keep you up —this is real.

You had the hindsight to close your laptop and push it under the bed along with your go-bag, a rucksack full of clothes that you take on cases in different states as part of the BAU. You'd made a quick assessment —your job more than prepared you for this— based on the little information you had. Either the invader knows nothing about you and has assumed you'd be home, or they watch you enough to think you'd be elsewhere. If they think you're here, you're in danger of being assaulted, kidnapped, or murdered. If they think you're away, you're in danger of being robbed. One scenario is a thousand times more preferable than the other.

You can't help but think of the horrible things you've seen. You know intimately what kind of damage one person can do to someone at their mercy.

The hold sound is a quiet droning that freaks you out. If you can hear it, the intruder might be able to, too. Like the low hum of the fridge at night or the bumping of the dyer.

You hang up the phone.

"I know you're here."

Your pulse flies through the roof. It pounds so hard you can feel it everywhere, the tip of your nose, your eyelashes. You look through the dark of your closet and panic in the fullest definition of the word. Your heart can't sustain this for long.

You failed to think of a third possibility. The intruder watches you enough to know you're home. The BAU has a lot of enemies. Anyone could be waiting for you on the other side of the door.

"Come out and I'll be kind," the intruder sing-songs.

You type out a text with shaking hands, your message nearly illegible.

They knowa 8m hjome. Cant talkk dontcall me

Thirty seconds elapse. A reply comes through. You smother the chirp with your chest. It sounds loud as a shot in the relative quiet.

Police dispatch 5mins. I'm 10mins. Morgan 12. I will be there as soon as I can. Protect yourself

That's easy for him to say. You drop your phone in defeat but scramble to pick it up again when you realise it's your best weapon. Or… You crawl to the opposite end of the closet to your shoe rack and slide the shoes apart with honey slow movements, your breath coming in quick, too-loud pants. You never expected to feel this way, you thought you'd know exactly what to do, how to react, but this feels outside of reality.

You brace the long heel of a shoe between your fingers. Your hand is a vice.

In your bedroom, the intruder goads you. "I know you're home, Y/N. There's only so many places for me to look, you know? But if you make me check each one, I'll be unhappy when I find you."

What the fuck? you think. Breaking apart the fear like a knife is anger, a new shot of adrenaline. Who is this guy? You want to spring from the closet and show him how unhappy you are, but your chances of survival improve the longer you can hide. If he has a gun, that's it. You could be dead in the next two minutes. No amount of anger would save you.

You could be dead in the next two minutes.

thank you dpr everything, for being my friend aaron, you text. You know how embarrassing it will be to have said goodbye if nothing bad happens to you, but you also know how haunted Hotch will be if he can't get to you in time. You aren't foolish enough to unravel your feelings for him over text, but you're sentimental enough to think they'd matter to him. He'd want to know.

If things go bad please knoeew that I loved my life and my work and you and the tram more than anything

After a moment, you add, If things don't go bad please nevrr mentiom this

Footsteps at the closet door. A pause that feels gargantuan, the silence so heavy it threatens to snap the floorboards beneath your knees.

"Found you."

You leap up and throw yourself at the closet door as hard as you can, gasping when it swings on the hinges and clips your opposition in the leg. You don't think, you don't look at his face, you simply drive the point of your shoe into his collar.

He gasps. Something hard and rigid whips upward, your neck snapping to one side as the skin of your cheek splits, gunmetal glancing off of bone. You drop down onto your ass, half out of necessity and half to get away from the pain. You can't outrun it, nor can you escape the forthcoming assault, grunting in shock as the bottom of the gun comes down atop your head. It was likely meant to incapacitate you, but all it does is hurt.

You flip onto your front, stagger onto your hands and knees, and launch yourself up through the bedroom doorway. You only have to get away.

He sweeps your legs from under you barely ten feet down the hall.

You fall. Your knees hit the hallway slats and your face follows, the nerve endings in your teeth ringing one by one and your eyes tearing up as your nose makes a huge thwacking sound. Gasping, you rush to cover your face though the damage is done. Your gasp turns to a sob, hands quickly wetted by blood.

"Stupid bitch," he hisses.

You crawl into the kitchen. He steps on the back of your thigh.

"I have a G43 pointed straight at the back of your fucking head."

"Good for you?" you say, eyes squeezed closed.

You whimper as he grinds his foot into your leg.

"Don't think I won't use it when I'm done with you."

You shake your head from side to side. That can't be what he's here for.

You should ask him what he wants, or threaten him with the approaching police sirens. You should've tried to climb out of your fire escape. You should've set the door alarm as soon as you came home, but you're just so fucking tired lately you must've forgot. Everything feels like a chore. Right now, you're exhausted.

"What are you going to do?" he asks you.

You won't negotiate. You don't answer.

Forceful, no time to protect yourself, he kicks you in the side of the face. It hurts worse than the fall, that shattering pain like a firework under your skin. You struggle to keep your mouth shut, hoping that your whining cry is less audible to him than it is to you, scrambling backward toward the cabinets. You're defeated. Maybe you deserve it, for it to happen so easily. Three minutes and you're down.

"I asked you what are you going to do, Agent?"

"What am I supposed to say?" you ask. Even to your own ears, you sound pathetic.

"Whatever I want you to. Now get up, honey." You cringe. "Unless you want to stay on the floor like a dog?"

"Don't call me that," you say, wincing at the grinding sensation of your jaw.

"What, a dog? Or… honey?" His tone is smug. "I thought you'd like that. It's what your boss calls you, isn't it? Late at night when he drops you off. Not strictly professional."

You groan and turn onto your side. The police sirens are getting close. You live in a busy place near a main road, the sirens could be for anybody, but you need them to be for you.

"Get up, honey. You can pretend I'm him, if you like. I'll make it easy on you. I can be nice."

You deliberate. Do as he says, or risk further agitation. Do what he says. Live to see the end of the night.

Or drag it out. Give Hotch enough time to get here.

"You'll pretend to be him?" you ask, sniffing. You can't tell if you're crying or there's blood on your face.

"Aw. To begin with, sure."

You sit up. For the first time, you look your attacker in the face. It's difficult to tear your eyes from the barrel, but you do. He has a cruel face, as tall and formidable as Hotch is but with none of his lightness. You put on your softest expression, gazing at him through tears. When you speak, the fear is real, even if you're attempting a facade. "You'll be gentle?"

"No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?" His lip curls in disgust.

"I don't know," you mumble, looking down at the floor. "You said you'd be nice."

"We both know you don't like nice."

"I do," you say, finding your footing in the charade, the sorry victim, whatever he needs you to be for now. You hate giving him anything, but you know in the moment that you'll do what you need to do to save yourself from injury. "I haven't… I haven't done stuff in a long time, I can't just rush into things."

The gun makes a quiet clicking sound as he points it with more fervour. "Like I believe that. You're probably fucking Hotchner on the side."

There, that jealousy. He's been watching you, he knows where you live, what you want, and he's still convinced that you're fucking Hotch. It's not logical.

You cling to the threads, trying to pull apart his composure. You'd assumed him an anger-excitation rapist, unafraid to hurt you as he already has, but now you're thinking something else.

"You think I'm sleeping with my boss? Why?"

"Besides your constant need to be touching him? It's disgusting, you throw yourself at someone who doesn't want you. You're pathetic. I can make you better."

You see movement in the corner of your vision. Dark hair, a stony expression. Hotch stands at the precipice of the kitchen in a bulletproof vest, a finger to his lips. Sh.

Your relief knocks a breath out of you. The invader takes it for pain at being read.

"Look," he says, softer. Not genuine softness, but practised. As soon as you give in, he'll drop it. You're both acting for one another, but only one of you is a profiler. "You'll forget all about Agent Hotchner once we're done. So just get up."

You hold out your hand. His eyes light up with malice as he leans down to take it, his gun finally aimed away from your face.

Hotch moves in.

"Drop the weapon."

Your attacker whirls. Hotch doesn't hesitate. Front sight, controlled trigger press, follow through. A bang like a clap of thunder fills the room.

You flinch down into yourself. Everything goes a little white for a while, people running into the room, a gun skittling across your kitchen tile. Your ears ring from the bang of two bullets and you're sure you've been hit, you're hurting so much, but hands squeeze under your arms to tell you otherwise.

"You're okay," Hotch says, knee against your thigh, face ducked down to meet your eyes. "Hey, can you hear me?"

You shake your head. You can hear him, but you're far from okay. Hotch bites commands over his shoulder, holding your waist in his hands like he's worried you'll slip out of them. Tight. Too tight. You suck in as big a breath as you can manage and choke on it, coughing, the wild sting of your wounds a ringer.

"You did so well," he says as he catalogues your injuries, his frown deepening. He tilts your head up to the light.

"I knew you were on your way," you deflect.

"You were talking him down."

"No, I was surrendering."

"You didn't give in until you saw me. You weren't surrendering."

"But I would have," you whisper, closing your eyes.

"Doing what you need to to survive isn't easy. But you do it."

You hang your head.

—

Hotch winces at the sound of your skin being sewn closed. Morgan sits beside you in the back of the ambulance holding your hand, your fingers twitching between his with every tug. They dosed you and applied a general anaesthesia, but the pain is pervasive. His eyes keep moving back to your hand in Morgan's. He isn't jealous —he's annoyed with himself. Hotch should be the one holding your hand.

He should've hugged you. The absence of it feels awkward between you, though he's positive that that's the last thing you're thinking of right now.

"Will you have to set her nose?" Morgan asks.

The paramedic shakes his head. "Not broken. Just very badly bruised. Even the bone."

"That doesn't need a cast?"

Hotch should hold your hand, should hug you, should be organising the scene. Should, should, should. The only thing he's managed to do since he incapacitated your stranger is watch you for signs of life.

You're despondent. In shock, no doubt. You let your friends pass you from place to place with little more than pained sighs for input.

JJ does an excellent job of surveying the goings on, while Rossi and Reid take care of some of the bigger questions: who is this guy, what did he want, and how did it come to happen?

What did he want? Hotch can guess. Rage collects like the heart of a furnace, a molten cup of steel in his throat as what he heard you say plays over and over in his head.

You'll be gentle?

No. You think he'd be gentle? Agent Hotchner?

He'll never forget the way you sounded asking that question. Terrified, begging for a scrap of mercy.

Emily approaches from behind. "We have a name." Hotch tips his head to show he's listening. "Paulo Danvers. He was part of a crew that installed her security parameters a few months ago. He was vetted. This shouldn't have happened."

"No, it shouldn't have." Hotch lowers his tone, "She said she wasn't sure she set the lock."

"It wouldn't have mattered. He disengaged it from the outside." Emily takes a few steps closer to the ambulance. "Hey. Morgan taking care of you?"

"Don't I always?" Morgan asks, clapping your arm gently.

You don't answer.

"What, you're not talking to me?" Emily asks. She's not mad, the opposite. Concern lines her eyes, thin brows pinching together at the starts, though she does her best to smile through it.

"I don't feel well," you say quietly.

"Yeah? You're not squeamish, are you?"

"Don't think so."

"It's shock," says the paramedic.

"What's your pain like?" Hotch asks. He's the only person you'll give a straight answer to. "Bad?"

"Yeah." Your hand is lax in Morgan's.

"I can give you slow release tramadol to last the night or codeine pretty much immediately. It's up to you. And I'm really not comfortable with releasing you without next of kin. Do you have family in the area?"

You shake your head. "It's just Hotch. Agent Hotchner," you correct yourself, nodding at him.

"You're her partner?" the paramedic asks. He can sense the disapproval.

"Her boss."

"Not her partner?"

"He's my closest friend," you say.

He's never heard you say that before, but it's true.

"I wish you were my boss," the paramedic jokes, turning back to her supplies as she peels off her gloves. "Maybe I'd get better sick pay."

You're given slow release tramadol and officially pronounced to be on the mend. If he didn't have an FBI badge, you'd be spending the night on a ward. He'd prefer if you did, but you clearly don't want to be somewhere alone right now, and he just wants to give you what you want after having your choices held over your head.

He's not offended when Emily asks if you'd prefer to stay with her. It's harrowing what might have happened to you had you not heard the initial break in, and the perpetrator would've been a man like Hotch. Tall, white, dark-haired. He wouldn't blame you for needing space from him to feel safe tonight, but he's relieved when you turn her down.

"You don't have to act like something happened to me," you say.

Hotch clicks down the locks of his car and turns on the overhead light. You squirm in the passenger seat, looking wrecked. Your chin is split, your nose a dark purple mess cut by white splint. You have a cut on your cheek and another just above your eye.

"You don't think something happened?" he asks, hands on his legs. He can tell you wish he would start the car and take you home without pressing.

"No, I know, I look awful, but he didn't do anything to me." Why is it so hard to say what it could have been? "You don't have to act like I'm gonna wig if you touch me."

"You won't mind if I hug you?" he asks.

"No. No, I want you to."

It's thankfully a short gap to cover as Hotch leans over the console. He's careful of your face and still you mumble a tired, "Ouch," in his ear.

He rubs your back, slow and soft. "You okay?" he asks.

You don't answer for a while. It doesn't matter, Hotch'll sit here in his parked car for hours if you want him to, hands on your hunched back. Your face hides away. He can feel and hear your distress building, and he wants you to cry if you need to, but it'll hurt.

"Sh," he hushes you gently, "it's okay."

"I'm fine." You sound welled up.

"Someone broke into your home and held you at gunpoint. You don't have to be fine."

"Yeah, I do. It's my job."

"No, that's not your job," he says, closing his eyes. "This has nothing to do with your job. This is about something bad happening to you. Don't put walls up now. It won't work, it never does."

He tries to back away in case you're overwhelmed.

"Wait," you say, your panic like a cough.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says.

You sniffle, nodding into his chest. Hotch has comforted a hundred victims of violent assault. He's held the faces of women he didn't know hoping to give them something solid to lean on. But it's different with you, because you and Hotch aren't simply friends. There's a deeper vein of affection, and tonight's event is a jagged slash against it, bringing every unbidden feeling he has for you to the surface. He can't get how scared you sounded out of his head. He knows that feeling is still there.

"How did you get here so fast?" you asked.

"I took the side road. And went unavoidably fast."

You make a small, small sound. He's known you for long enough to understand what it demarcates, unsurprised when the trembling of your shoulders turns to pained shaking. Hotch holds you delicately. He's done so much in his life, made a thousand and one mistakes, used a heavy hand when he could've been sweeter. He's determined to get this part right.

"I'm with you now," he says. "I'm sorry I couldn't–" This is harder than he imagined. He presses on. "Couldn't protect you from the start."

"You know why I called you?" you ask, your tone similarly soft.

Hotch doesn't bother answering. The answer is unsaid, loudly heard.

"I knew you'd come," you finish.

He puts a hand on your neck to encourage you into place, kissing the side of your head. Hotch will always come when you call.

That night, you ask to sleep in his room. I'll sleep on the floor, just don't want to be alone. You're in ragtag clothes he'd scraped together for you, and after helping you wash the blood from your hair and face, you're even more impossible to say no to than usual, looking small in a way you haven't before. Hotch sets you up in bed next to him and wonders if he'll ever sleep next to someone he hasn't let down.

You put that notion straight in your sleep. Hotch lays awake sick with the idea that he's failed you, and you, frowning, snoring, covered in cuts, curl into his side. You cling to his arm so hard he's certain you're awake at first, a bouquet of bruises painted across your cheek.

Hotch pulls the blanket up over your shoulder, planting a chaste kiss to your forehead.

He whispers your name, not sure what he'd say if you answered.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed♡ I haven't written long form (ish) for Hotch in a while so I'm nervous but I hope it's good!! let me know also if you'd like a second part cos usually I don't feel like there's much left to tell but for this one the could actually confess :o

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #criminal minds #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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golden1u5t · 18 days

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shade of purple | s.r x fem!reader

ꨄ requested: anonymous

ꨄ genre: smut

ꨄ summary: spencer’s watching you paint your nails his favorite shade of purple and can’t help but let his mind wander.

"honey?" spencer called out as he walked into the apartment, setting his bag down on the counter as he walked further into the house.

"in here, spencer!" you yelled from the bedroom. spencer practically ran into the room, nearly stumbling over his own two feet. he walked up behind you and leaned down to kiss your cheek. you smiled up at him but quickly looked back down to continue painting your nails.

spencer pulled over the chair that sat in the corner of the room and sat beside you, leaning on his knees as he watched you paint your nails his favorite shade of purple. the more he watched you the more his mind wandered to places it probably shouldn't have from you doing something so innocent.

"please, i need more." he whined, hips jutting up into your hand. you sat on his thighs running your fingernails over his skin, wrapping you hand around his rock hard cock.

spencers head tell back in a loud moan as you finally started to move your hand on his cock. you rubbed your thumb over the tip, it didn't take long for his thighs to start shaking and his hands gripping onto your thighs.

"look at my nails, spence. don't they look pretty?" you asked, tightening your hold on his cock. spencer made the mistake of looking down at your hand wrapped around him, his orgasm hit him almost immediately, cock twitching as it spurted hot ropes of cum over your freshly painted nails.

"spence? spence, are you listening?" your voice brought him back to reality, that and you snapping in front of his face. spencer shook his head, tugging at his pants that had gotten incredibly tight in the past few minutes.

"yes- yes, I'm listening." he looked back up at you and smiled softly.

"look at my nails, spence. don't they look pretty?"

#golden1u5t #myrarants #spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x reader #sub spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader smut

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nonranghaes · 1 month

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heads up! food mentions + mentions of being engaged/marriage in future

when mingyu's name pops up on your phone, you aren't surprised int he slightest. you know your fiance well enough to know that he's about to complain, too: its your day off. you shouldn't be getting up early to dote on him, even though its his day. so you swipe a finger across the screen and continue to cook your own lunch.

"happy birthday--"

"you peeled the eggs..." oh, how you can hear how hard he's pouting at you right now. "honey, you didn't have to..."

you snort, not even bothering to fight back a smile. you're alone (save for the puppy that keeps pressing her little cold nose against your ankles every so often), you don't have to hide how amused your pouty boyfriend makes you. "it's your birthday," you say, "i had to."

"the entire lunch is cute, though!" you have to wonder if he's complaining at his desk or if he stepped out. it's not like his coworkers don't know how pouty he gets when it comes to you spoiling him (the same way they know you're the same way when he spoils you). he sighs a moment later, settling into a comfortable sense of bliss. "you're too sweet to me..."

"mingyu, you literally whipped up something far fancier for my birthday." you catch yourself pouting. "did you see my note?"

"of course i saw your note!" you nearly laugh this time. this man is definitely pouting still, and you think you heard wonwoo's deep chuckle. "it was cute, too..."

you hear him moving, though, and the sound of a door opening and closing a moment later.

"i'm still going out with the guys after work, but..."

"but?" you're smiling.

a quiet groan. "do i have to say it? it feels mean to say it." when you don't respond, he sighs. "i wish i was coming home to you."

all you can do is snort in laughter. how cute. tall and handsome as he is, he's still the sweetest man you've ever been with. "i'll still be here later," you say. "happy birthday, my mingyu."

he's quiet for a minute. "can you say what you wrote down?" you can only imagine how those pretty eyes would be twinkling at you right now, that handsome smile... "please?"

you smile to yourself, and straighten up. "happy birthday, my soon-to-be husband. i can't wait to marry you."

he lets out this blissful sigh, and you hear the sound of him hitting the wall with his back or shoulder--nothing too hard, but enough to tell you that you've made him weak in the knees. "i love you," he says after a moment. "i can't wait to marry you, too."

#nonranghaes.thoughts #nonranghaes.svt #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagine #svt x reader #svt imagine #seventeen x you #svt x you #mingyu x reader #mingyu x you #kim mingyu fluff #kim mingyu x reader #kim mingyu x you #svt fluff #seventeen fluff

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 11 months

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Honey Girl. Chapter Two.

Chapter One. Chapter Three. Chapter Four. Chapter Five. Chapter Six. Chapter Seven. Chapter Eight. Chapter Nine. Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Pairing - Dad's Best Friend!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader - soulmate au

Chapter Synopsis - You and Bucky try to navigate what it means to be soulmates - and how difficult it is to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings - smut. cursing.

Word Count - 4k

Author's Note - part two!! thank you SO much for all of the love on part one - it has made me immensely happy. you're all the sweetest and i'm so grateful. i'm going on vacation in a few days, so i'm taking a hiatus for a few weeks as i won't have cell service. so, consider this my parting gift to you <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! your reblogs are the only way to circulate my fics, which keeps me going <3 please, send me your thoughts, predictions, desires!! I will get excited with you!!

Masterlist. Inbox.

Sunlight streams through the billowing white curtains, rousing you slowly. The gentle breeze cools the room, salt sticking to the air. Warmth is seeping into the glass of the windows, encouraging you to kick your sheets to the foot of your bed, limbs stretching and rolling.

You wake, and for a moment, you feel perfectly at peace. You feel light, tranquil, relaxed. You flex your neck from side to side, yawning as you do it. You notice that the sun is already up, beaming into your bedroom. It's going to be a very warm day, you think. I better pack sunblock.

You glance to where your bag is thrown haphazardly on the floor, contents spilling everywhere. It's unlike you, to not put something away properly. You take pride in being a tidy person. You must have been exhausted when you got home last night.

That's when it hits you.

Bucky.

The events of yesterday coming crashing down around you like a tidal wave. Hearts racing, hands interlacing, lips melding. Bodies tangling, breaths matching, knees buckling. Two souls, tied together forever.

Your Tethering.

To Bucky. Your Dad's best friend Bucky.

His absence is suddenly all you can think about. He's not here, and you feel like half of your heart is missing. You ache. There's a discomfort that you know can only be cured by the presence of your soulmate.

You're deep in thought when your phone rings, startling you. It's Bucky.

"Mornin' sugar," he drawls. The low tone of his voice is like molten honey, gorgeous and golden.

"Good morning, Buck."

You hear him exhale at the sound of your voice.

"I know we said we'd meet at ten, but can we make it earlier?" he asks. Then, quieter, "Feel like I can't breathe without you."

He murmurs the last part, as if it's a secret. Something sacred.

"Of course, Buck. I can be ready by nine?"

"Thanks, sweet girl. I'll pick you up?"

"Perfect. See you then."

"See you then."

It's almost painful to hang up the phone. It's like there's a gravitational force in The Universe, willing you against it. You ignore it defiantly and press the red button, swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

There's something in your gut telling you that this might just be the first day of the rest of your life. You certainly can't go back to the way things were. You're not sure if you want to.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

Bucky arrives at 8:45.

You're in the bathroom with the door closed, so you don't hear him pull up. You feel it. Like a magnetism, alerting you to his whereabouts. You breathe a little easier immediately, knowing he's outside.

You grab your bag and the picnic and pull on your shoes, eager to see him. You feel like a teenager again, giddy with anticipation. Apart from, this isn't your average first date. No, this is your last first date ever. This is a first date with the man you're bound to spend the rest of your life with. No pressure, you tell yourself. One step at a time.

Your heart kicks up in double time, thundering against your ribcage. You inhale deeply, cracking your knuckles. You can do this. It's just Bucky.

You bound down your stairs, practically running to his truck. Bucky's leaning against the passenger door, the wind ruffling his hair, sunlight reflecting off his steely blue eyes. He's wearing shorts and a white button up, which is blowing gently in the breeze. His sleeves are pushed up his forearms, exposing his gorgeous tanned skin. He has several shirt buttons undone, accentuating his broad chest, sunglasses tucked into the breast pocket. He looks so handsome. So classically elegant. Like he belongs in an old movie - a perfect leading man.

He eyes you carefully, gauging your reaction. You can tell he doesn't want to overstep, worried about pushing you too far too fast. You walk over and run your fingers across his exposed chest gently, tracing a path up his neck until you're caressing his cheek. His stubble tickles your fingertips, causing a smile to curl at the corners of your mouth. You finally meet his gaze, and all your stress is forgotten. You feel peaceful again.

"Hi," you whisper.

"Hi, pretty girl," he murmurs back, hands finding your waist. "You alright?"

"I'm okay. Are you okay?"

"I'm okay," he grins. "So, how do you feel about a day of sailing? You, me, and the ocean, baby."

"I think that sounds perfect."

He opens the car door for you, helping you up and into the passenger seat. He climbs in, clicking on his seat belt and starting the engine. Before he pulls away, he turns and looks at you, holding your stare for a moment. Bucky reaches for you, lacing your fingers together, resting your intertwined hands on your thigh. He begins to drive away, taking you towards the ocean. Towards your future.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You know nothing about sailing.

Luckily, you don't need to. Bucky's quite content to keep you sitting pretty on the top deck while he does all of the work, pulling and tying and knotting. The crisp white sails billow in the wind, the ocean waves providing a steady, constant soundtrack. Birds fly overhead, sunshine beaming down, the wood underneath you warm and smooth. It's paradise.

You're soaking up the sun rays when you hear a click. You sit up to see Bucky holding his film camera, pointed right at you.

"Creep," you tease.

"Just want to have something to look back on. Our first day as soulmates. It's an occasion, you know," he grins.

He moves across the boat to sit next to you, thigh pressed up against yours. He's so close you can taste the spearmint on his breath. You tangle a hand in his hair, caressing the back of his head.

"I brought you a few new things to try," you tell him. "Some recipes I'm testing. I want your honest opinion. No sugar coating. Promise?"

"I promise," he winks, holding up a scouts honour. "I wouldn't lie to you, honey."

You reach over and grab your picnic basket, unwrapping various beeswax packages and laying them out in front of you.

"Okay - we have white chocolate and pistachio muffins, raspberry and lemon macarons, earl grey and lavender cookies and carrot and cinnamon cake."

You glance over at Bucky, expecting him to be deciding what to try first. Instead, you find him watching you carefully, gentle smile etched across his face.

"What?" you laugh.

"Nothing," he beams. "I just... I love it when you start talking about food. You're passionate. You light up."

"Don't make it weird," you joke, slightly taken aback by his honesty. He did promise not to sugar coat.

He reaches for a macaron, eager to try one after you mentioned them yesterday. He pops one in his mouth, and lets out a groan that can only be described as pornographic.

"Fuck," he moans. "This might be the best thing I've ever eaten."

"You promised you wouldn't lie," you laugh.

"I'm not," he chuckles, placing his hand over his heart. "I swear to you. These things should be used as medicine. They'd cure anything."

"Shut up," you tease bashfully, bumping your shoulder into his.

He tries the other sweets one by one, complimenting you immensely. He's so specific in the way he commends your baking. He comments on certain flavours, and textures, and the way everything melts on his tongue. He really takes the time to think about what he says. It's so intimate.

"You're gonna do this for a living, right?" he asks, turning to face you.

"I hope so," you confess. "It's all I want to do. Going to culinary school was a huge risk, but I did it. It was difficult, but they were also the best four years of my life. I just learned so much. I want to put it all into practice."

"I think you should. It'd be such a waste if you didn't. You're so talented, sugar."

"Thanks, Buck," you grin. "I just don't know where to start."

He thinks for a moment.

"If you could do anything, anything in the world - what would you do?"

He's looking at you so intensely, you almost want to shy away. His steel blue eyes are boring into you, reading your mind, figuring out your soul.

"I'd... I'd open a bakery of my own. I want a lot that overlooks the ocean. With big windows."

Bucky smiles gently, adoration written across his face.

"I'd be your most loyal customer," he vows. "Oh, I have a better idea - I'll be your quality control. I'll taste test everything before you sell it. You know, just in case."

"Just in case," you laugh. "Right."

"It's a tough job, but someone's got to do it," he winks.

The sound of your laughter is like dopamine to Bucky. It fires off neurons in his brain, receptors buzzing and alight. He almost feels drunk off the sound, floating above ground.

You relax into him, laying down and resting your head in his lap. He's warm, and soft, and so comfortable. You could lie here forever.

He runs his fingers through your hair gently, playing with the strands. The repetitive rocking of the boat lulls you into an easy sleep, the sunlight wrapping around you, taking the place of a blanket. Bucky watches you drift off, unable to wipe the smile off his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

A particularly strong gust of wind wakes you, rousing you from sleep. Your fingers are interlinked with Bucky's, head still resting on his strong thighs.

"How long was I out?" you ask, looking up at him.

"Like, twenty minutes? You looked peaceful, thought I'd let you rest."

"Sorry, Buck," you chuckle.

"Hey, don't apologise. I'll take it as a compliment. You know, they say you only sleep around the people you feel safe with."

"They say a lot of fuckin' things," you laugh, repeating his words from yesterday.

"I do, though," you say after a moment. "Feel safe with you. It's not just the soulmate thing. I always have."

Bucky leans down to press his forehead to yours, closing his eyes. He pulls away and kisses the spot where you were just connected.

"We should talk about us," you murmur, sitting up to face him.

"Uh oh. Are you breaking up with me?" Bucky jokes, nudging your knee with his.

"Yeah, right," you scoff. "As if you'd be so lucky. You're stuck with me, I'm afraid."

"I'll survive," he winks. "But we should. Talk about us."

You look at each other for a moment, carefully. You notice that the ocean is reflecting in Bucky's eyes, waves gleaming and blue.

"I don't know where to start," you whisper.

"Maybe start at the beginning," he suggests, reaching out to rest his palm on your thigh, fingertips rubbing comforting circles into your skin.

"I... I think - I think we should do exactly that. Start at the beginning."

He nods at you reassuringly, urging you to continue.

"I want to start slow. Really slow. I know we already know each other, but this... this is different. We don't know each other like this."

"Like soulmates," he agrees. "It's a whole other level. A league of its own."

"Exactly. I know we're Tethered, but, I think we should treat this like a normal relationship. We should date, and just... take this step by step."

"One step at a time," he confirms. "Prepare yourself, honey. I'm about to date the hell outta you."

"Someone save me," you laugh, throwing your head back. "All those poor girls that have come before me - they had to put up with this?"

He laughs with you, the sound rumbling in his chest.

"Trust me, sugar, you're different."

Bucky leans forward and slots his lips to yours, hands going to your waist to pull you closer.

Kissing your soulmate is unlike any other feeling. It's complete serenity. Two bodies, designed by The Universe to fit together perfectly.

Your fingers thread through Bucky's hair as you move to sit in his lap, straddling him. You grind your hips forward, illiciting a groan from the both of you.

Bucky slips his tongue into your mouth, tasting the sugar there. He can't get enough. You're so sweet and soft underneath his hands, underneath his tongue. He wants more.

He tips you backwards, so you're lying flat on the deck. Bucky moves to kneel in between your legs, prying them open gently. He kisses his way from your ankle to your knee, occasionally nipping at your flesh. He likes the idea of there being a mark on you that he left. He feels more protective of you than he ever has of anyone. The feeling vibrates through his bones, fires up his nerve endings. He needs to feel every inch of your skin as soon as possible, or he's convinced he'll burst into flames.

He smooths his hands up your thighs, fingers catching in the waistband of your shorts. He shimmies them down your legs, and inhales sharply at the sight before him. You're laid out on the deck of his boat like a goddess, the white shirt adorning your body matching the white lace underwear underneath. The sun rays are beating down, illuminating you, making you glow from the inside out. Bucky can't breathe, looking at you. He feels like all of the oxygen has been stolen from his lungs, replaced with pure desire.

You're breathless, panting, chest heaving. You're shaking with anticipation, willing him to do something. Anything.

"Bucky," you whine. "Please."

He's never heard a prettier sound. It's like angel song, the way you say his name.

"Patience, sweets. I thought we were taking it slow."

"Asshole," you laugh, poking him in the chest with your toe. "You're a hypocrite."

"Am I?" he smirks, running his fingertips across the inside of your thighs.

"Yes. You can't kiss me like that and then tell me to have patience."

"My apologies, ma'am."

He leans over and kisses you again, biting your bottom lip as he pulls away. Bucky slips your underwear down your legs and tucks them into the pocket of his shorts, ignoring your scoff as you watch him do it.

"Come here, pretty baby," he murmurs, tugging at your hips to pull you closer to him.

He nudges your core with his nose, inhaling deeply. It's filthy, the action, but it makes you ache with want. He licks into the crease of your thigh next, tasting the salt on your skin. Your hand flies to his hair, tugging the chocolate strands. You whine again, and Bucky commits the sound to memory.

He surprises you by sucking your clit gently, causing your hips to buck up towards his mouth. He splays one hand across your stomach, holding you down. He uses his other hand to insert a finger into you, groaning at your warmth. He crooks it up, and you keen.

"I know, baby, I know," he coos, adding a second finger.

You're not sure if it's because of the glaring sunlight or because of Bucky, but there's a thin sheen of sweat coating your skin, dripping down your temple. You're burning from the inside out, white hot heat running through your veins.

He thrusts both fingers in and out of you steadily, curling them on the up stroke. You throw your head back, hips wriggling and writhing.

"Where you going, pretty girl?" he drawls. "Come here - that's it."

He pulls you back to him, fingers never stopping. He looks up at you, and notices that you've thrown a hand over your face, shielding yourself.

"Don't go shy on me now," he practically purrs, smiling when you move your arm away. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Fuck," you moan, suddenly glad you're in the middle of the ocean. The sounds you're letting out are filthy.

"I know, pretty baby. I know."

His fingers push you closer and closer to the edge, speeding up slightly. You're whining, keening, hips bucking up into him. You can't stay still. You feel like you're on fire, red hot electricity running through you. It's never been like this with anyone before. It never will be again.

"You're close, honey, I can feel it. You're almost there," he drawls. "Atta girl. Come on, baby. You got it. Good girl."

His low, honeyed words throw you into your climax, back arching off the sun warmed wood. Bucky talks you through it, encouraging and praising you in hushed murmurs. You see stars, bright white patterns flashing behind your eyelids. The world goes quiet for a moment, and all you feel is peace.

Bucky brings you back to reality by rubbing soothing circles into the bare skin of your thigh, still muttering softly. He lets you catch your breath before leaning over and kissing you gently.

"You okay, sugar?"

You smile at him in a daze, still floating on air.

"I'm good, Buck. Very good, actually."

He laughs at your response, moving your hair away from your face. You sit up to look at him, admiring him carefully.

"You're so pretty," you whisper. "I mean, I've always known it. But now, it's so... blinding. You're the most beautiful person in the world."

He's not sure how to process your words. He's never felt so loved, so safe, so appreciated before. It's overwhelming. He doesn't know what to say - so instead, he kisses you hard.

"You're the sweetest girl in the world, you know that right?" he whispers against your lips.

He moves to sit behind you, so your back is resting against his chest. You nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He smells like warmth, and salt, and home.

"I don't think we should tell my parents," you say lowly, afraid to ruin the moment. "Not yet, anyway."

"I agree," he reassures. "I think we should figure this out first. Figure us out."

You lean up and peck his lips gently, pulling away to trace your fingertips over the contours of his face.

"It's gonna take a while to figure this out, isn't it?"

"That's the thing, sweet girl. We have all the time in the world."

You relax back into his arms, letting his steady heartbeat lull you into complete tranquility.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You spend all day on the boat with Bucky, soaking up the sun. Your shirts are billowing in the wind, hair blowing in every direction. The ocean rocks you both in routine motion, gentle and calming.

He teaches you the basics of sailing, sitting knee to knee with you while you repeatedly tie knots into pieces of rope. He stands behind you comfortingly as you pull and tug at the rigging, supporting you only when you ask for help.

The two of you sit tangled together on the deck, enjoying your picnic. You take a moment to rub sunblock into Bucky's shoulders, ignoring the heat that rises in your chest when he groans in delight. He's irresistible. This is more than just lust. This is a magnetism, an almost animalistic connection. It's quite literally written in the stars.

The both of you are clearly reluctant to go home. You sit in Bucky's truck outside your apartment for hours, talking about nothing and everything. You don't invite him upstairs. You know that if you do, you'll jump his bones instantly. You've both agreed to take this slow. You have to start being strict with yourselves, or you'll just keep ending up in bed.

Eventually, your stomach rumbles, making Bucky chuckle.

"You should go. Eat something."

"I know. I just... I like being with you."

He leans over the centre console to press a kiss to your lips, revelling in the way you taste like the ocean breeze.

"There's no one else in the world I'd rather be with," he murmurs against your mouth.

You pull away and take a deep breath, preparing to leave Bucky for tonight.

"Thank you, for today. It's been perfect."

"Perfect day for a perfect girl," he winks, making you both laugh.

"One step at a time."

"All the time in the world," he echoes.

"Goodnight, Buck," you whisper, moving in closer to press your forehead to his.

"Goodnight, honey girl," he whispers back, pecking your lips quickly.

He jumps out of the drivers side to help you down from the truck, holding your hand carefully. You smile at the déjà vu. He does too.

You look back at him once more before closing your front door. He's already looking at you, his eyes never once leaving your frame, smile never leaving his face.

✵ ✵ ·　 ✵ 　　 * · ✵

You're curled up on the couch when your phone rings, startling you from your peace. You look at the caller ID in confusion.

"Stella? Hey - you okay?"

"Hey, you. Long time no see, huh?"

"It's been a while," you laugh. "I didn't expect a call from you."

"I'm sorry we haven't talked in so long. I've been super busy - I'm opening my own café! It has a bookshop inside it too - oh it's gorgeous, you wouldn't even believe it."

"That sounds amazing, Stella. I'm so happy for you, wow."

"I'm actually calling because I have something to ask you."

"Ask away, Stell."

"I have a sort of... proposition for you. An offer, if you will."

"You're really building the anticipation here," you chuckle.

"Sorry, sorry! So, I'm gonna need a Head Baker. I can't do it, because I'll be manager, and I'm the owner which is a tough job in itself. Opening a café is fucking difficult, you know!" she laughs, before continuing. "You'd have complete creative control - you'd design your own bakes, everything would be completely down to you. There's quite literally only one person in this world that I'd want to do this job, and it's you."

You almost can't believe what she's telling you. It sounds perfect. It sounds like a dream.

"Stella - are you sure? This is a huge deal. You want me?"

"I only want you. I can't picture working alongside anyone else. We made such a good team in culinary school, and we always said we'd find each other in the future."

"I... I don't even know what to say."

"Say yes!" she encourages, giggling down the phone.

"Yes!" you echo, giddy with joy. "God, Stella, yes!"

You're smiling from ear to ear, unable to wipe the grin off your face. Your dream job has been presented to you on a silver platter. You'd be stupid not to take it.

"I mean - when do I start? What should I wear? Do you want a set menu, or can I change it up all the time? Vegan options? Gluten free?"

"I can send you all of the boring stuff in an email - contracts, salary information, all that shit. You can quite literally do whatever the fuck you want, girl. I trust you completely. I trust your culinary skills even more."

"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Thank you, Stella. Seriously. This is just amazing."

"I can't wait to have you here with me again!"

You process for a moment, trying to make sense of what she just said.

"Wait... what? Where?"

"In California. The café is here, in California!"

You can't hear her next words due to the ringing in your ears. Your chest tightens, your hands ball into fists, your breathing becomes ragged.

There's a million thoughts racing through your mind, and you can't quite get a firm grasp on any of them.

Bucky would never leave this place. This is his home. I can't ask him to abandon his life here - I wouldn't want to. We've been soulmates for two days. What about his job? His friends? Would I leave everything behind and move across the country for him? I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know. I can't have my cake and eat it too. He'd give everything up for me in a heartbeat - I can't let him. It's not fair.

You're suddenly intensely aware - you have to make a choice.

Bucky or your dreams.

Tag List -

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tag list continued here <3

3K notes · View notes

wifeofasith · 5 months

Text

So wet for master, aren't you?

ׁ ֶָ֢ ⏤͟͟͞͞☕️ ׁ ࣭ warnings ! ۪ ׁ ⊹ || Dubcon, virgin!reader, virginity kink, fingering, spit, fingers in reader's mouth, gagging, pet-names, Master x Padawan. MDNI.

"It's alright, sweetheart; just let me check." Anakin snakes his arms around you, his broad chest leaning onto your back. "I promise it won't hurt; I'll be careful, okay? You have to trust your Master."

With his mechanic grip holding you in place by your waist, he's trying to glide the flesh hand inside your robes while you squirm in his grasp, like a hunted bunny about to be devoured.

"I-I'm— Master, please... I'm not sure it's a good idea..." You keep insisting on being spared. You feel your head spin as the coldness hits your upper chest. There is a tingle right at the lower part of your belly, and Anakin is sure as hell aware of it.

“Shh,” He scolds you quietly. “You have to be a good Padawan. I have to take a look; now spread your legs wider.” He pinches your side a bit too harshly, making you flinch. “It’ll only take a second.”

“I swear, I didn’t lie!” You grab his wrist, “I’m pure; I’ve been a good girl, I promise!” You try to convince him; you try to make him believe, and it’s so so frustrating because it’s actually the truth that he refuses to accept.

“Then why are you so scared, hm? If you aren’t a filthy liar and your pussy is still tight, why are you resisting?” His voice is more forceful now; he yanks your body towards himself to keep you still.

Anakin proceeds to push a knee between your thighs, kicking your feet apart. He finally manages to free you from the belt that was holding your robes together. He brings his fingers to your mouth.

“Open your mouth, baby. Have to lube it down there, wouldn’t want it to ache now, would we?”

He lets out a satisfied ‘mmm’ when you comply with his request. It’s better than having his digits forced into your mouth anyway. He glides his ring and middle fingers across your tongue, pressing on it and gathering spit. “That’s it, have to get a bit deeper.” He pushes past the major knuckles, and your throat spasms.

He pulls out soon enough after you start pathetically whimpering from the tears forming in your eyes. A string of saliva connects the pink of your lips with his fingertips. He holds you tightly to himself when his wettened hand slides down your abdomen into the sweetness of your panties.

“There we— Oh… Oh, honey…” He whispers into your ear as his fingers make contact with your slit; his voice drops way lower than before. He nuzzles the soft part behind your ear and takes a deep breath. “It’s already pretty creamy here, mmm?” He circles right at your entrance, juices mixing with spit, ruining your precious lace. “You want to tell Master something?”

“I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean it!” You start babbling excuses, not too sure yourself of how you even got so fucking drenched from your master violating your personal space. “Master, please, it doesn’t mean anything; I’m still chaste!”

“I know, I know, my sweetest... Maker, you’re so wet, so wet for master, aren’t you?” He consoles you, and you can’t decide which feels better, his cooing voice or the fact that he’s grazing your folds with such intensity. “Yeah…. Is my little Padawan aroused from me forcing my hand down her pants? You really want that tiny cunt stretched, don’t you?”

“N-no, stop… That’s— It’s wrong!” You try to pull his hand away, but to respond to your annoying whines, he presses his thumb onto your swollen clit and your knees buckle.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? I know it does. It’s okay; we won’t tell anyone.” You can feel his arm supporting most of your body, which is slowly going limp from the heat in your core. “Be quiet now and let master fuck a few orgasms into you, yeah?”

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pedge-page · 3 months

Note

What about Joel having to spend a night away for work last minute and reader sulking about it when he gets home and blanking him? 🤣 Cue grovelling from Joel lol

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife: Late From Work

Notes: I must be too yeehaw American because I had to look up what "blanking" someone meant 😂. Anyway, I had so much fun writing this! Decided to make him late rather than spending a whole night away because lets be real, she'd be serving divorce papers for that.

Warnings: brief oral (f receiving) scene; jealous!Reader, Stubborn reader is BACK

18+ ONLY:

- - - -

He knows he fucked up too. Big time.

When he said he’d be home at the latest by 7:00pm and it’s now 7:02 and he’s just getting in the truck leaving the site. And when his call goes to voicemail for the 3rd time, and then the fourth time tells him that the number is no longer valid (he’s been blocked), he knows he’s in Big-Fucking-Trouble.

Doesn’t want to call Tommy up for help to coax partially because he wants to fix this own his own, and partially to save Tommy from your wrath you most certainly will take out on him rather than your absent husband.

He grabbed a bouquet of flowers at the grocery store (he’s already in the doghouse so what’s another 5 minutes added to his sentence) and is currently speeding home, a solid 15mph over the limit. Tonight isn’t even anything special: you had both just come back from a lovely weekend trip on the coast and were just settling back in to your house. But when Joel doesn’t deliver on his word, isn’t home for pizza and Pepsi, and sitting behind you while rubbings your back and belly for a quiet movie night…

Well, he’s never been late since the start of your pregnancy. Doesn’t want to think what hellfire you’re going to spit at him the moment he walks in that door.

So here he is about to walk in that door. He takes a big breath, not feeling this anxious since the he proposed to you, and steps in.

He immediately makes contact with you: standing at the end of the hall, illuminated by the kitchen light with your extra extra large T shirt stretched over your belly and dangling loosely around your thighs, hands by your side, barefoot, despite how often he nags at you to wear socks around the house so your feet don’t get cold. He’s thankful to see you hadn’t packed a suitcase, trying to leave the house with a “my husband doesn’t love me” stunt again.

You clearly had just been walking past when you heard the door, not even fully turning to him but just having your head directed to the entrance the second he walked in. You briefly note the flowers in his hands before your eyes quickly go back to his. He feints an apologetic smile, heart beating so hard. You’re soooo quiet. The calm before the storm.

He gulps hard.

Instead, you turn forward once more and continue walking towards the living room without a word.

You have a hand on your back as you gently collapse onto the couch.

“Baby,” he says meekly, voice all tiny yet determined.

You pull your legs up over a pillow and fold open your book.

He comes to kneel beside you, immediately kissing your shoulder.

You do nothing.

“Baby,” he says more clearly. “I’m sorry, honey. I couldn’t beat the time.”

You flip a page, tilting your head to read the fascinating text on the page rather than listen to your poor husband on his knees for you.

His fights with the sleeve of your shirt. Would you at least look at him? He’s holding the flowers still in his hand, big puppy dog eyes trying their best to plea with you, and with his irresistible pouty lips that get him just about anything he wanted from you. But you only lend him a sigh, flipping yet another page.

So it’s gonna be like that.

"Please, angel. I was tryin' so hard to leave on time like I said. They got the concrete all mixed up and it needed to be set today, was tryin' to get out of there, just couldn't get it moving fast enough, I'm sorry baby I really sped over here fast I can to see ya, couldn't wait a second longer—"

“Oh!” You gasp suddenly.

He’s started, but nonetheless quick to be by you.

You check the clock on the wall and laugh. Time had gotten away from you too. You slam your book and hoist yourself up, on the other end of the couch to avoid his anxious hands fluttering to your aid. You brush past him and start your climb up the stairs.

Joel is right behind you, a bit of hope stirring in him. Its not until you’re walking through your bedroom door—and slamming it right in his face that he gets the message loud and clear.

Perhaps he earned a night on the couch to pray your forgiveness. After finding a suitable vase for the roses, he puffs up his pillow, his back killing him (though he’d never say it aloud while you’re waddling around with a whole 'nother being in your belly for the last few months) and crashes down on the sofa.

He just makes out the light go off under the door in the bedroom before he too is closing his eyes.

Tomorrow brings a new day, and he’s gonna spend every second satisfying his wife. He’s deserves his stay on the couch tonight.

He did NOT deserve this bullshit.

It’s been 3 fucking days since he came home late.

3 days of waking up early, trying to kiss his beautiful wife and baby momma with sweet affirmations and praises, which you dodge and continue about your stubborn ignoring-test. He spent all morning cooking every single food you’d craved since your pregnancy started—waffles, French toast, cinnamon pancakes, toast with special mixed fruit jam you can only get at a grocery store an hour away, scrambled, over easy, poached, hard boiled eggs. All arranged so beautifully on the table, even going as far to put the napkins on the left, after you screeched at him a few months ago for haphazardly having them on either the right or left, and never with the fork consistently on top.

He thought he’d learned his lesson, thought he made more than enough up to you, but no. You breeze right by, making a cup of tea, and go back upstairs to your closed door.

Your sadistic mind had given him false hope when you hadn’t locked the door on him on night number two. He slept in his bed, but you had made a clear parry by slotting between the two of you the infernal pregnancy pillow that Joel had kept in storage since you “Much preferred your husband’s plushy belly and soothing rubs.”

Fat chance tonight.

Every minute he wasn’t telling you how beautiful you are, how amazing you are, how lucky he is, he spends groveling with please forgive me, I’m so sorry, I’m such a worm.

None of it sways you any differently.

By day 4, he’s given up the sweet talk and grand gestures. Goes for a “think like her” kind of mental approach.

He tries to bribe you—either making you a Pepsi float, or even bringing home the famous Hot Fudge Cookie Dough Chocolate Gooey Fantasy Milkshake with EXTRA Rainbow sprinkles. But even as he temptingly waves in front of your little wiggly nose, you don’t acknowledge him.

He makes a big show to sigh heavily in defeat, leaving it on the kitchen table alone and trotting helplessly upstairs for a shower.

Less than 7 minutes later he’s come back down to see if you’d given in yet, maybe even telling him what a fantastic husband he is while shoveling your face with ice cream and admitting you were being dramatic.

Instead, you’re still sitting on the couch, exactly as he left you. Of course, the milkshake cup is completely empty, sucked clean of its gooeyness, and there’s a little splotch of chocolate sauce lingering on your chin you had failed to wipe clean.

A start, he thinks.

Still though, you don’t pay him any mind, scrolling on your phone with tight lips.

He wonders how long you could go on with this game.

It’s honestly a fucking terrible miracle—not even since before you were pregnant had you gone this long shutting the fuck up. But now its horrifyingly eerie, like a curse has fallen upon him and he’s doing everything he can to break it, to bring back your nagging and bitching and whining and crying because it would be so much more relaxing than this new kind of psychotic hell you’ve subjected him to.

He starts getting a little more involved: playing with your body, touching you softly with gentle strokes along your thighs and belly. You hadn’t flinched away, or tried moving to another spot on the couch.

Which confirmed one thing to him: your horniness and lack of physical attention from your husband due to your stubborn mind was losing your mental battle to hold out against him.

So Joel doesn’t say anything either as he moves his lips over your breasts, down your swollen belly and kissing his babygirl in your bump. He mumbles, “Mommy is awfully mad at Daddy, think I can cheer her up?”

The baby kicks as if in agreement. His gaze glances up briefly to see if you’re listening.

Your eyes catch and yours quickly dart away, leaning back and pretending to yawn. He snickers before continuing his hot trail of open mouthed kisses until your legs “shift” and “accidentally” part on their own.

He makes sweet, insatiable yet slow love to your pussy, licking a fat strip from your little clenched hole to that hot delicious center that is beyond wet for him—yet another example of how much your body clearly can’t ignore him forever.

But, ever as he brings you to a long needed orgasm, you bite your tongue, absolutely refusing to give him even the slightest sound of satisfaction despite clenching tightly around his thick digits pumping into you. Only letting out a strangled breath through your nose while you stare up to the ceiling, fingers folded across your tummy as if bored.

He wipes away the slick from his mustache. Hell, even he can admit you deserve an applaud for making it through that without uttering a peep to his skills.

Hurts like hell on the inside though that you’re just that mad still.

He had hoped that being forced to drive with him due to your size preventing you from sitting behind the wheel would corner you into talking him, but even then, as he opens the passenger door for you, you climb aboard and slam the door shut without his assistance.

Now the two of you are on your way to yours and Maria’s weekend brunch. Tommy was also coming to drop his girlfriend off, so it would be a good time to catch him up on this unqiuely-pregnant-you madness.

You snatch your purse and hop out of the car, mood going a full 180 and instantly greeting Maria with a warm hug and perky voice. The two of you sit down at a little table way aways from your idiot husband and brother in law.

Tommy nods him over to the bar and Joel grumbles over.

“She ignoring you?” His little brother asks while shelling peanuts.

“Is it that obvious?” Joel shakes his head. He can’t even leave off with Tommy because he knows you won’t answer his texts asking what time you’re done for pickup. So he’s stuck here to wait for you the entire time.

“You try going down on—“

“Yes! Yes I fucking tried.”

“She didn’t like it?”

“Oh no, she came hard. Wouldn’t even whimper for me when she was clenching her little cunt around my fingers—” he says with an aggressive whisper, his pointer and middle fingers shooting up in the air with wild eyes demonstrating the scene, “—and her little numb twitchin’ on my tongue. Didn’t even fucking moan. She’s a stubborn girl but I don’t deserve that.”

Tommy shakes his head with a chuckle. “Damn. That’s just determination right there. Gotta give it to her.”

Tommy excuses himself with a slap to the shoulder, muttering “gotta take a leak” and disappears to the bathroom.

Joel wouldn’t mind having a drink right now, but know’s he’s gotta stay sober to drive you home. A miserable, silent filled drive once again. He glanced at his watch, following each tick of the hand.

“Hi there.”

Joel almost didn’t address the voice of the woman who had gentle snuck up behind him, moving to take Tommy’s seat. She’s probably a little younger than you, a nice kind smile, inviting and warm towards a stranger.

Joel politely smiles back with a little nod.

She offers a sweet “thanks”, a blush creeping on her cheeks before she begins to speak: “Listen, I don’t mean to prude… but I saw you come in and ...I’m usually not so brash—but I was wondering…”

Meanwhile, your baby is beat boxing extra hard today in your stomach. You can’t even focus on eating your salad and keeping up with Maria’s chatter about Tommy’s nose hairs all over the vanity.

Your baby is smart. She knows something is up. You narrow your eyes and look around, finding Joel and company at the bar—

Except the company he is keeping is NOT Tommy but instead, a gorgeous woman tossing her hair and flashing her pearly white teeth off at your husband, who’s giving her his full attention. She’s giggling with him, taking animatedly with her hands, lingering heavy eye contact and touching his watch as if looking for an excuse to get closer.

You forget about the massive planet sized lump in your belly as you instantly stand up, nearly tipping the table and all its dishes and cutlery over.

Maria is calling your name but you don’t have the mind to answer, striding over like a bull towards the bar.

“Hiiiiiiii!”

Joel and the woman both jump at the harsh shrill of an annoying, high pitched, slightly perturbed but faking a smile, voice screeching behind them—the most beautiful voice Joel’s ever heard…and had missed so dearly this week.

The woman looks over to you, seemingly startled that you had interrupted the conversation so brazenly.

“Oh, um, hi,” she offers, blinking off your pregnant belly and abrupt appearance.

“This is Joel,” you boast, pointing the shlump of a man in front of her.

“Ah-Hello—“ she smiles again to him.

You add quickly. “He’s my husband.”

“Oh.”

“And I’m his wife.”

“Ah—I—“

“Annnnnnnnd this is our baby!” You boast, proudly rubbing over that enormous swell of your tumtum so she can see in case it wasn’t the biggest fucking thing in this room. “And… you are?” You ask sweetly.

“Um…” she takes one last glance at Joel, his apologetic shrug saying everything then at you, your hard gaze burning holes into her head. “…leaving,” she says towards you.

“Great answer. I like you :) Bye Bye now!” You wave enthusiastically with a chipper voice and a deadly smile. She nods fretfully and pops off the stool, walking away like a threatened animal.

He just chuckles, shaking his head and looking down at his hands with a grin. “Ya know, she just came over to ask where I got my watch.”

“And did you tell her your WIFE bought it?” You ask, poking your finger at his chest.

He has to hide his crooked smile. It’s the first time you’ve directly spoken to him since Monday. “Yeah, I did. She asked where ya got it, because she was looking for one just like it—for her husband.”

Your finger fidgets slightly, expression drawing a blank at the revelation turning over in your mind.

“……………………………………………....................................oh.”

He rotates his stool to face you. You’re steeping in your thoughts, the confidence faltering just slightly in your mind at the realization of how grossly you had interpreted the situation between that innocent woman and your hubby. He didn’t even care, though. All he could think about was how his heart feels 10x lighter seeing you back in your usual, bold, daring, audacious self. All of your attention on him once again.

“I’ll admit, still felt good havin’ ya come to my rescue.”

You scoff, near offended by his words. “Well duh, you’re mine.”

“That right? Even these last few days?”

Yet another bomb goes off in your head at the second realization—that you had forfeited your punishment to ignore him to the ends of the earth.

You cross your arms defensively anyway. “Well... I…decided.”

“Mmm?”

“That…I needed a back rub. But you clearly you can’t pick up on that on your own so—now I have to verbally tell you.”

“Ah huh. Sure it wasn’t cuz you were jealous? Couldn’t stand me being interested in another woman since my own made it clear she didn’t want me no more? Because my wife decided she couldn’t be patient and wait the extra 13 minutes I was running late before punishin’ me all goddamn week?”

Oh wait—was he really only late by 13 minutes? You could have sworn it was an hour plus!

“That wasn’t 13 minutes! Do you know how to tell time? It was over an hour—“

“Did you set your clock back like I told you to the night before when we got back from the coast, into our own time zone?”

😳

- - - -

Also this is how I see reader getting ate out but trying to be nonchalaunt about it:

conveniently also my favorite shot of Pedro during a photoshoot

Permanent taglist:

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrs-oharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee

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bluehourbucky · 1 year

Text

My Mom Thinks You're Hot

pairing: beefy!bucky x singlemom!reader

summary: your son tries to set you up with an avenger in a grocery store

a/n: short drabble bc why not

masterlist

_______________________________________

Getting groceries might not be fun for most families but for you and your 6 year old son it's almost as fun as going to the park.

The store that you visit has small cart for kids which your son loves to push, making him feel like a big boy. It's absolutely adorable and you take a picture of him every time. You don't know how you got lucky that your son loves grocery shopping as most kids find it either boring or too stimulating which is completely normal.

"Mommy look it's Avengers cereal!"

As any other kid his age, he's obsessed with The Avengers.

"Yes it is and it's very cool but we already have cereal at home." his face falls and puts the cereal box back.

"Can we get it next time?"

"Of course honey." you chuckle when you see him do a little victory dance.

You were slowly but surely making your way through the grocery list, slowly because your son decided to stop in front every single Avengers food.

Now for your favourite.

Ice Cream.

You turn your head quickly when you hear your son squeal.

"MOMMY THE AVENGERS! CAPTAIN AMERICA! AND BUCKY!" He whisper yells

you look over to where he's pointing and it's true there stand Sam Willson and James Buchanan Barnes.

"Can we please say hi." he holds your hand and gives you his best puppy eyes. You give in since it's not every day you get to meet heroes.

"Hi! You're really cool!"

Two men look down at the 6 year old boy and smile.

"Hey champ,what's your name?" Captain America asks and crouches down to his eye level.

"That's such a cool name!"

"Thank you my mom chose it!" you immediately blush when both men look at you.

"Hi. We just wanted to say hi and uh thank you for saving the world and all that." you avoid looking at James Bucky Barnes because you might have a huge crush on him. Ever since you were a teen and studied for history you thought he was very handsome.

"All part of the job ma'am." Sam salutes you and you smile a little, he's the perfect Captain America.

"I have so many questions!"

"Honey, they are very busy we can't keep them all day. How about just one question for each of them? That's of course if you're okay with that." You look at two heroes,who reply with a nod

"Alright you heard your mom, what do you have."

He thinks so hard and finally asks.

"What's the name of your bird!?" Bucky bursts out laughing, that's not what he thought the boy would ask Sam. Your heart might have done a flip at the sound,you try to hide your face by looking at the floor.

"His name is Redwing."

"Well that's pretty boring why doesn't he have a cool name." At this the three of you laugh.

Sam looks mildly offended.

"What do you have for me?" Bucky asks and whatever he thought the boy would ask it certainly was not this.

"Mr Bucky sir - Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend or partner? My mom thinks you're hot."

You immediately pull your son into you and cover his mouth. Bucky blushes deeply and so do you.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry. We have to go right now." You're so embarrassed that you leave your full cart and go straight for the exit pulling your son by the arm.

"But he didn't answer the question." your son whines.

"We don't need to know that. That's a personal question you don't ask people!"

"Uh I don't mind answering that question." Buckys voice says and you stop in your tracks, you turn around but still avoid the eye contact.

"Really you don't have to!"

"I want to. And I'd like to ask a personal question too if that's okay with you of course?"

Your knees almost give out when you manage to make eye contact.

"No, I do not have a significant other. And I don't know how this works at this day and age, but I'd like to ask for your number,doll."

_____________________________________

some years later

"Thank you for coming guest's that I know and don't know. My mom is getting married to my dad! You should all be thanking me because I made that happen!"

You look at your now husband and smile.

Maybe it's not the way you thought you'd meet the love of your life but sure is a story your guests and son find very entertaining.

#james buchanan barnes #bucky masterlist #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x reader #sebastian stan characters #bucky fluff #bucky fic

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heartfullofleeches · 11 months

Text

Yan Cheater + Cheater Reader

Yan Cheaters are funny lemme try-

Yan Cheater who sees their darling dearest out on the town alone. You should be with them, but they'll fix that shortly. You're the person of their dreams and after so many failed relationships they're happy to find the right one. On their way over, their entire world crumbles as you're seen hugging and chatting up some random with a closeness you've never showed them. The unfamiliar face slings an arm around your shoulder as you walk off together - laughing as if you were without guilt.

You heartless bitch. How could you? After they'd give you their heart - their everything. Fine, fuck you - they could do the same thing. After crying through the night and crying their eyes they hit up a past fling to forget all about you; aggravated that all they can think of as the look at their partner is features that remind them of you. They ignore your calls, block you on everything, and have the time of their life with whoever's available... And looks like you.

The first time you saw them with someone else you turned tail and ran, saving your tears for a better time and person. Good - run off. You know what you did. They won't chase you - no matter how red their heart bleeds after seeing you after so long. You meet again at a party a mutual friend left in the dark was throwing. You, for closure - them, looking for a new body to take home. They couldn't even hide their disgust as you stomped up to them, two lockets in hand.

"What the hell did I do to you...."

They scoff. Trying to play innocent? "You know what you did."

"No! No I don't! You ghost me for weeks and never seem to be home when I try to talk to you, but the second I see you, you have your arm around somebody else. As far I remember, we were happy together. What did I do to you to deserve this?!"

"Hm... I think it was roughly a month ago. You and that little whore you met outside that coffee shop that just opened."

"Coffee shop?... Wha-" Your eyes widen. Unable to control your anger, you slap them across the face so hard the blow rattles in their teeth. They clutch their jaw. You little-

"That was my cousin, asshole!"

You toss the necklaces to the ground, two sets of initials engraved on their fronts.

"You didn't even bother to ask me about it before you ran off. If you really loved me, you wouldn't say something instead of jumping to conclusions. I knew dating you was a mistake. You spineless coward."

Their tongue feels heavy, likely cut on their teeth from your blow - bleeding; just like the heart they thought they lost. In a way - they truly had.

"Couldn't get a refund since they were custom" You spit on the fallen jewelry as you turn your back to them. "Happy Anniversary."

They fall to their knees, crawling after you as you fall into the crowd - grabbing your ankle. "No, baby. Please, baby - I fucked up bad, I know, but I can make this up to you. Sweetheart please - I'll delete everyone in my phone right now, even my parents. You'll be the only one. You're all I need. Baby, see? I'm doing it - look. Look at me - I'm sorry. Angel? Honey? D- don't leave me... DON'T LEAVE ME."

You have to change your phone number the very next day from all the calls you receive from the burner phones they purchased that same night to speak their part. Jobs too - as they stand outside and harass customers since your boss refused to let them in by your own wishes - accusing everyone of trying to take you away from them. You return home one day to find your front door unlocked and before you can realize the danger you step inside - your ex waiting with a carbon copy of every gift you threw out and wearing everything you ever gave them.

"Darling... I'm wearing that shirt you bought me last Christmas. I honestly thought it was hideous - but...it came from you. I'm wearing that hoodie you thought you lost too. I lied because I wanted to have something that smells like you to keep. It doesn't smell much like you anymore. Only my tears. I'm sorry - I won't ever lie to you again. You're perfect. My sweet angel. Please...give me a second chance. I don't know what I'll do if you don't."

#yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere headcanons #yandere insert #yandere x reader #yandere oc #yandere blurb #yandere concept #yandere drabble #tw yandere #yandere x darling #yandere cheater

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luveline · 5 months

Note

jade i am begging on my knees ….. any time you are up for it …… it would make me very greatly happy to see something with a bombshell!reader x hotch <33333

The office is hot today in the midst of a ninety degree summer, and your coworkers have been forced to strip down to their lightest layers, the women in linen blouses, men with their shirt sleeves rolled up high. Spencer has ditched his sweater vest reluctantly, cooling himself with a makeshift fan fashioned from printer paper, and Emily huffs next to you at her desk, overwhelmed.

“How aren't you hot?” she demands to know.

You lean back in your chair with a demure smile. “Mind over matter.”

She rolls her eyes. “I shouldn't have asked.”

Hotch's office door opens. You turn in your chair to watch him appear —even Unit Chief's get hot, apparently. He looks flustered in the heat, pink-cheeked and hair skewed ever so slightly, the most unmade you've ever seen him at work.

You could get used to it.

He feels you looking, narrowing his eyes. You'd like to think it was playful. For Hotch, it is.

“Hot, handsome,” you say.

“I'm fine.”

“I wasn't asking.” You beam at him.

“Enough. You know the rules.”

He doesn't seem too mad, but he's right; you know the office rules. Don't flirt, don't start, and don't text him inside of work hours unless that text pertains to work itself. You'd started calling him instead —what are you wearing right now?— and he'd decided that text now meant any communication lest you find another loophole. You're pushing it.

“Ah, the rules,” you say, throwing your arm across your eyes in mock distress, before peeking under it to see if he's watching. He always is. “You know rules aren't made for people like me, handsome.”

“Stop it, final warning. Or I'll have you moved.”

He makes being his girlfriend very difficult. You roll your shoulders and drop the act. “Hey, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Afterwards.”

“No, right now. Please? It's important, I swear.”

He gestures for you to come up. You take the stairs and cross the landing to his office, where he's already stepped back inside to open the window even further on its hinge. There isn't much wind to breeze, but there is a palpable difference between his office and the bullpen. You join him at the window and let the barely cooler air fan your face.

“What's wrong?” he asks.

“Can you give me a quick kiss? It would really lift my spirits.”

He laughs somewhere deep in his chest. “No, honey. Now tell me what you wanted to tell me.”

“I have a doctor's appointment next week, on the 13th. It's a Wednesday. I was hoping for PTO, but I can take a sick day if that's not agreeable.”

Hotch gives you the side eye, brows gently furrowed. “Everything okay?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.”

“I would, actually.”

“Yeah, well, you'll have to beg for it. Not everything in life is free, Hotchner–” You break into laughter as he grabs your waist, not expecting it, your hips tender as he squeezes. “Ouch, you're kinda handsy, you know that?”

You sound beautiful like this, laughing as you talk, so happy it lines every word. Hotch pulls your front to his, arms crossing casually behind your back, his eyes expectant. “Tell me,” he commands smoothly.

“Because you asked so nicely, I'm just fine, but I've been feeling a little under the weather. I think I'm anaemic.”

“And this is the first time I'm hearing about this because…”

“Because I'm not allowed to talk to you at work!”

He rolls his eyes as you drop a considerable amount of your weight against his arms. Usually, Hotch would meet your eyes and say, You're punishing me for a rule created out of necessity, or something to that effect, but, despite everything that might say otherwise, he really likes you. Loves you.

“I know, honey, I'm sorry. Maybe we can… allot you a few texts a day.” He analyses your expression. “One a day.”

You squeeze his naked forearm and lift up to kiss his cheek. He stays completely still while you do it, beside the small stroke of his thumb where it rests on your back. “Thank you. I'll leave you alone now, or we might get caught fraternising with one another and lose our jobs. Oh, wait, that's not actually going to happen–”

You burst out laughing as Hotch once again squeezes your waist in warning, the hint of a smile on his lips.

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #hotch x reader #hotch #hotch x you #hotch blurb #hotch drabble

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sim0nril3y · 5 months

Note

I cannot get enough of ghost and his little civilian reader!!! I broke my arm today (boo do not recommend) but now I get to rest and fantasize about my favorite cod men lol. How do you think Simon would react if his girl broke her arm??

Note: oh my, I'm so sorry to hear that you broke your arm, honey. I hope that you are doing okay and that you are on the mend now. Please try to enjoy your time resting and fantising about the wonderful men of COD. I hope that this helped bring you some comfort. Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Civilian!Reader Warnings: No mask Simon (It's my personal headcanon in his regular life he probably wouldn't wear it), established relationship, broken arm, talk of pain, talk of pain medication, hospital talk, canon-typical swearing.

Simon was cursing himself. If he had been quicker then he might have been able to catch you before you slipped onto that patch of ice. Maybe if he’d been more observant Simon might have been able to steer you around it and avoid the problem all together. Hell, if he hadn’t insisted on walking on the side of the pavement closer to the road then it would have been him slipping and you wouldn’t be in agony sitting on an uncomfortable hospital bed after hours of waiting in A&E.

Not long after you’d been admitted they had taken you away for an x-ray to confirm that you had broken the bone, but that was something that Simon could have told them with utmost certainty considering he had heard the sickening crack of the bone breaking. It was a sound that was going to haunt his dreams for months, along with the sounds of your sobs and cries of pain, they had been imbedded into his mind and even now were echoing.

After you had been returned to him Simon kept a strong hand planted on you at all times, as if you were something that could be lost easily. It seemed to deescalate his anxiety just being able to hold you, that was something you even noticed through the haze of the pain relief they’d given you that hadn’t seemed to kick in entirely yet as your arm still throbbed in agony.

“Oi…” You said gently, gaining his attention as it focused in on your arm. Reaching over with your good hand to gently pinch Simon’s chin and force his gaze up into your eyes. “Will you stop it with that face?” You requested in a gentle voice. “What face?” Simon replied as if unaware that he looked like he had been kicked in the stomach over and over. “That face.” You whispered, gazing deeply into his eyes and gifting him a delicate smile, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes from the pain you were fighting. “Yes, it’s broken but accidents happen-”

In a sharp tone Simon replied. “Not with me.” His brows pinched together, as if internally scolding himself for his short tone. “Not… not with me.” He said again, his voice lower and softer. “Accidents don’t happen with me and especially not to you.” You pat his hand that was gripping your knee tight and leaned back into the pillows finally feeling the pain relief beginning to take some effect. It was just in time too because the nurse had arrived to begin to cast your arm into an uncomfortable position to ensure that it would set right.

After that they sent you away with Simon, some instructions for the pain pills and a sling to help relieve the pressure on your broken arm.

Arriving home Simon helped you through the front door, stepped inside behind you and carefully prying your coat from your wounded body. Then he knelt down and began to fight the knots from the laces on your boots. “I could do that, you know?” You informed him. “I know.” Simon answered before tilting his head up to look into your eyes. “But you’re gonna let me help you anyway.”

Gently you tugged your fingers through his hair and nodded in agreement. Simon helped you remove your boots and then rose up to his full height, glancing down at you as he cupped your cheek lovingly. “Let me get you settled, alright?” Coaxing you to walk in front and upstairs, Simon never took his hands from your body, keeping you clasped so that you didn’t stumble or injure yourself further. “Good girl…” He muttered softly as you entered your bedroom, Simon held you from behind and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your head. “Let me get you out of these clothes, yeah?”

A tired scoff fell from your lips. “I broke my arm and you’re gonna help fix it with your-” “Behave.” Simon smirked. “Fuckin’ brat…” Then shaking his head as he crossed the room to gather some loose fitting clothes for you. They were his clothes. Simon loved seeing you dressed up in his clothes, but seeing you comforted by them after your injury hit him on a whole new level. “C’mere… We’ll get you into something comfortable and then you can rest. Okay?”

Gently nodding your head, you responded with an almost teasing tone. “Yes, sir~” Which earned a tested look from Simon before he carefully began to undress you. It was fine until he removed your shirt, trying to move your arm as little as possible. The movement earned a noise of discomfort from you, eyes squeezing closed and not a moment later Simon’s lips pressed against your forehead. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” He assured you gentle. “Not gonna let anything hurt you. Okay?”

You trusted him. In that single moment you knew you trusted Simon to protect you from any danger that would come your way. There was so much certainty to his voice. There was so much need to make sure that you were never going to be in pain again. “C’mon… bed…”

Now that you were dressed up in some of his clothes Simon lead you to your bed, pulling back the covers and placing you under them, tucking you in tight and ensuring that your arm was raised by a couple pillows. “Here.” He placed the remotes to the TV within you reach but knew that whatever you were going to put on you wouldn’t even last a couple minutes watching considering the way that your eyes were drooping closed now.

“Try and get some rest and I’ll make some food-” “Can you stay for a little while?” You questioned; your tone practically slurred from the exhaustion that was beginning to sweep through your body. “Course…” Simon agreed, moving to carefully slot in beside you, rubbing his fingers over your face, carefully drawing slow lines over your forehead, down your nose, coaxing you further into tiredness. “Can’t… can’t promise I’ll be… be good conversation…”

Simon chuckled quietly, kissing the hinge of your jaw tenderly and then requesting. “Sleep, babe. Get some rest for me.” He heard the way your breathing changed. He felt the way your body sank and your muscles relax and finally he whispered into your ear. “I will never let you fill this way again; I will never let anything or anyone hurt you.” He observing your peaceful slumbering face, knowing it was safe. “I love you.”

Masterlist | Ask | 09-12-2023

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spiderlyla · 8 months

Note

Miguel and reader gf about to go to bed but shes wearing baby blue boy shorts as underwear and he just cant stop staring at the print of her pussy so when they’re about to gts he randomly takes off the covers and stuffs his face in between her legs.

“Mhm dont even needa take em off amor just love this pussy”

female (afab) reader × miguel o'hara.

cw: cussing, NSFW (minors dni), biting, mention of fangs, miguel being pussy crazed.

miguel wasn't sure where you got those from.

you always wore one of two things when you went to bed, just the regular white pair you have dozens of or those skimpy lace ones that he-oh-so-loved to rip off of you.

but this was something new.

you wore baby blue shorts, too short and a size too small, curving around your figure, your poor thighs choked by them. you bend over to grab some candles from your bedside table and miguel couldn't help but watch how the fabric hugged your ass perfectly and jiggled when you moved. you seemed oblivious to what you were doing to him, acting all naturally, like you weren't edging him everytime you brushed past him or everytime you bend over to grab something.

they were a little sheer, so when you sat down, he could visibly see a wet print right between your thighs. the urge to bury his face between your legs only grew as he uncomfortably shifted on the chair opposite your bed. you laid on your stomach, lighting up those two candles you grabbed before you went back to laying on your back.

"mm, mig, won't you come to bed, honey?" the way you said his name hypnotised him, like a siren's call. "I'm reading, amor." he truly wasn't. the book was long discarded on the little table beside him, its been sitting there ever since he laid eyes in you in those shorts.

you spread your legs a little while checking your phone, oh, you have to be doing this on purpose now. " 'nough reading, please. come to bed." that little 'please' was enough to convince him. he got up and walked over towards you. as soon as he did you dropped your phone on the counter and spread your arms towards him. he chuckled and laid down, and immediately, you rested your head on his chest, with a hand around his tummy and a thigh on top of his leg.

you pulled the cover over the two of you and got cozy. hee could feel the wetness between your legs stain his own sweatpants, and each time you moved, your knee brushed against his hardened cock. this was unbearable. truly and utterly unbearable.

he tried to take his mind off of all those filthy thoughts he was having but with the way your breath fanned on his neck, and those little sleepy hums of yours he truly couldn't take it. as soon as you started feeling comfortable enough to slip into sleep, miguel moved.

fast.

"mig? what are you doing?" he kicked off the sheets and moved on top of you, quickly making himself comfortable between your legs. he left a kiss on the exposed skin of your inner thigh, fangs grazing against the plush skin. you let out a small moan, trying to move away. he wasn't in the mood for teasing, his calloused hands kept your legs in place as he continued to push himself in between your thighs. "where did you find these?" he mumbled, noticing how the print got bigger everytime he bumped his nose into your clit. you squirmed in place, "in—in my drawer—they're old but really comfortable—ah, mig.." his tounge licked a strip over the cloth, not bothering to take it off. "y-you can take it off—"

"no." he moved your legs over his shoulders, all while marking your thigh with bites. "no need. not right now." to relief himself a little, he grinded into the mattress, just the scent of you driving him wild. your hands had found his silky tufts of black hair and with every tug he felt himself getting dizzy. the tip of his nose kept brushing against your clothed, puffy clit. "we should sleep like this.." the vibrations of his baritone voice ran up your core, and you let out a moan that could be perfectly described as pornographic. "..love being between your legs, amor." His lips brushed against the wet spot—that has since quickly turned into a pool, soaking your shorts.

"so wet for me, didn't do anything yet." his fingers found the waistband underneath your oversized shirt, and he slowly peeled the shorts off, leaving you completely and utterly exposed. your slick dampening your wine coloured sheets.

miguel looked up at you, his irsis swirling with something you recognised all too well, pure and utter desire. he leaned in silently, his mouth mere inches from you.

"all for me.." his tounge ran across your cunt, you could see his eyes blow wide as soon as he tasted you. he glanced up at you with a grin, saying only one sentence before he went back to the matter between your legs.

"wear these fucking shorts all the time."

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madwomansapologist · 2 months

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Please share your headcanon about gale's kinks!!!!

gale's kinks/turn ons

Navigation | More Wizard of Waterdeep | AO3

synopsis: A deep dive into what the smart wizard man think it's hot. Yes, the brain rot is that serious.

warnings: i'm sick so if this isn't good i will blame the pills. testing a new format. this is about sex, don't interact if you're a minor. remember: if you kink shame me i will get horny just to spite you.

PRAISE KINK

That's a man willing to write poetry about your body, mind and soul. His tongue has only two purposes on life, and both of them involve making you see stars. If his mouth isn't in use, he will be praising you.

And when Gale feels so good he can't even speak, isn't that a praise on itself?

But that we all know. His reaction to receiving praise is what makes me want to bite my fingers off.

Gale Dekarios knows his value as a wizard, but not as a man. His ambition isn't a consequence of his desire to pursue more, but to be more. To deserve love, he must prove his worth. As we all know, it often doesn't end in a good way.

I don't think Mystra ever wasted her precious time to assure Gale of the contrary. And when she did, it wasn't about Gale Dekarious: it was about Gale of Waterdeep, her chosen. How his control of the weave was impressive, how he could conjure any sort of images, how his illusions could fool everyone.

So when he receives praise for any other part of his life that isn't his academic pursues, a part of his brain burns. Be as intricate as his poetry or as lascive as one can be, Gale can feel his knees getting weak. Weaker.

FOOD PLAY

Not only Gale loves to cook and bake, but he loves the whole idea of being responsible for making someone stronger and healthier. Hunger is a hurtful thing, that he knows, and he don't want anyone else to deal with it.

It comes hand to hand with his praise kink. When you eat something good, you don't need to use words: your whole body shows it. He would apreciate the compliments, nonetheless.

To spoon feed you would be such a turn on. It's so intimate, such a show of trust and care, nothing but human. The way your mouth opened for the spoon, how your tongue licked it clean. Can you blame him?

After helping you eat, it would be his turn to end his hunger. You don't mind being his plate, do you? Gale promises to lick you clean. You always taste so sweet for him, what's a bit of honey to add to that?

OLFACTOPHILIA

Your scent can turn him into a fucking mess. There is something so human about it. So natural and real about it. Is just you.

After a fight, when you are covered in sweat and blood, he can't help himself. To be around you can make him drool. You fresh from your shower, smelling just as you and not as any perfume. When you spend the day laying around and is too lazy to get clean.

The amount of times his cheeks burned red because he breathed in when you walked past and a companion noticed can't be numbered.

Gale prefers to undress you rather you doing it yourself. That means he will be able to breath deep against your undies before getting them off of you.

Wanna get him as hard as a rock in mere seconds? Give him a underwear you used for a long time. Just threw it at his face and go on with your day. He will be quick to follow.

Gale loves how he can still smell you on his upper lip after going down on you. If you squirt, he will cum on his trousers. I don't make the rules.

FACE-SITTING/FACE FUCKING

Again: his mouth has only two uses. Is almost therapeutic for him. Just get on top of him, use his mouth however you want. The place in between your legs seen perfect for him to die on.

Gale Dekarios is a service top looking for a pillow princess/prince. I VOLUNTEER!

FINGERS IN MOUTH

You know that feeling of not knowing what to do next? Where to put your hands, what to do with your mouth? Since he prefers to be the one doing things, this can be a problem. A problem that can be easily solved by your pretty fingers.

It can hit even harder if he's in the process of casting something and you stop him by just putting your fingers into his mouth. Gale won't even know hot to react. Actually, he might suck them.

Ok, he might have a oral obsession. What are you, Freud?

BONDAGE

Hand to hand with that sort of anxiety about what he must do next. Make sure Gale stays put in place and use him. Remember guys, your service tops also deserve to be fucked around a bit.

Magic restrains or ropes, and make sure to do some beautiful knots. He could break free from them, but Gale won't desobey. Not after you spend so long getting him ready for you.

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

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