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thedevilsoftruth · 9 months

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Mirror On the Ceiling ~ Loki x fem!reader

Warning: heavy sexual content. Breeding kink, dom Loki, foreplay and oral ( at start ), reader being forced to look at their reflection while being bred. Side fucking at the end. Minors dni!!

Summary: Loki is your husband and comes back home early after an excruciating night out with Thor and his friends.

Notes: So I have never posted a smutshot in my life lol. ( Ps my writing is reallllyyy easy to read ) I have like 12 other Loki smutshots I have written and I just haven't really finished any or posted them. Anyways, although this one isn’t my best I just wanted to post this one bc I really liked the concept of it and I just couldn’t keep in my cluttered drafts anymore. ENJOY!!!

2,993 words

Read Time: 15 minutes

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After a long steamy shower, you step out of the bathtub and grab your towel to dry yourself off. The fan was on and the door was creaked open so that the warm air could escape the room without fogging up the mirror. You looked at yourself in the mirror as you dried your wet body off with the towel, watching as the dripping water ran down your body only to be quickly wiped away. You hummed a random tune as you continued drying, enjoying the feeling of the cold air hitting your skin and cooling you down. Your husband, Loki, was off doing something with his older brother Thor and the guys. You found that pretty weird since Loki claimed he didn't like most the activities Thor would do, and especially didn't like being around his friends. But you hoped they were having fun.

You took your towel off of your body, exposing your naked form as you wrapped the towel in your soaking hair to dry that off as well. As you were drying your hair off, you picked up your phone to check the time. The time read, 10;34 pm but Loki wasn't supposed to be home until somewhere around midnight. how were you going to spend the rest of your night without your dear husband? Sighing, you put your phone back down and dropped your towel to the floor. You stood for a few moments and ran your fingers through your hair, deciding that you were going to spend the next few hours watching tv in your robe and in your bedroom. You picked up your towel and wrapped it around yourself once more before leaving your bathroom and heading for your bedroom closet.

Without looking, you tossed your towel into the bamboo laundry basket you kept next to your closet as you fixed your eyes on looking for your favorite robe. The silky emerald robe was nowhere to be seen, however. You furrowed your brows and begun to flip through the mound of hangers and clothes before you felt the air around you change as if someone were in the room behind you. Before you would turn to look, you felt cold hands wrap around your waist and a pair of warm lips on your sensitive neck, all making you jump and yelp. You turned around to see your beloved husband holding you flush against his body with a slightly unbuttoned black t-shirt on. He pulled away slightly and you could see the glint of mischief in his green eyes.

" I didn't even hear you coming through the door- " Your stammered words were cut off with your husbands lips meeting with yours in a passionate kiss. His hands moved to your arms and slowly ran up and down your sensitive clean skin. Your eyes fluttered shut as you melted into his touch, sighing into the kiss. He pulled away from the kiss shortly after and rocked your body with his sideways.

" You're home early. " you said simply, touching his strong arms around your naked body. He hummed, his face buried into the crook of your neck.

" I missed you. Stark was being a big pain in my ass. " Loki stated nonchalantly, pressing small kisses to your bare shoulder as you sunk in his arms in contentment. You gazed at your husband behind your shoulder to get a glimpse of his expression.

" what did you guys do? " you asked as you gave him a kiss you his pale cheek. He shrugged his shoulders.

" Thor made us go to this fancy bar to hang out since we all haven't talked in forever. " he said, his voice muffled in your neck as he spoke in between kisses. You smiled and nodded in understanding as you rubbed circles onto his upper arm. Loki pulled away from your body and let go of you completely.

" I hope you all had fun. " you spoke as You looked back into the closet and began searching for your robe, to which you finally found.

Loki scoffed at that response, his eyes scanning your nude body as it faced away from him, taking the silk robe off the hanger. He just couldn't take his eyes off your legs that flexed as you moved, seeing you like this was certainly a surprise but he did have a other plans for the both of you tonight. A smirk grew on his face and he took your hand and turned you around to face him directly.

" you won't be needing that, dearest. " he said in a low tone as he took the robe from your hand and threw it back into the closet. His eyes didn't move off yours as you both stared at each other hungrily. His arms wrapped around your waist once more, pulling you in for another passionate kiss. His head tilted to deepen the kiss, his lips sloppily moving against yours with a hunger that mirrored your own. Your hands were pressed against his chest now, his muscles tensing under your touch. You pulled away to catch your breath, looking at him in his lustful gaze. His lips were wet and formed into a wide smile, which you returned.

Loki's hands traveled down to the back of your thighs, lifting you up in his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and giggled as he pecked your lips gently.

He walked over to your shared bed and dropped you down carefully on the mattress. He crawled on top of you and his hands pushed down into the mattress taht was covered in black silky sheets. You felt his hips settle against yours as he rested one knee atop your thigh, leaning forward to capture your mouth again. The heat radiating from his body sent shivers running through you. You tangled your fingers in his dark curls, his tongue tangling with yours as the kiss got deeper. He leaned back slightly to place soft kisses to your jaw and then to your neck. Your body was no mystery to him. He had explored you many times before this, so he knew which parts of you that were the most sensitive to you.

Loki parted his lips and abraded his teeth on your soft skin, sucking on it harsh enough to leave a mark. A few moans escaped you every now and then with his lips on your neck, your mind only focused on the pleasure of the moment. He pulled away with a loving gaze, pulling and hair out of your face so he could get a clear look at you.

" My love, you are absolutely stunning like this. " he said, his eyes wondering your nude body like he were trying to memorize every part of you. You curled your fingers around his inky curls and tugged them playfully, causing him to chuckle. His eyes darted back up to your beautiful eyes and he stared at you lovingly.

" would you like to start with a bit of foreplay, my beloved? " he breathed, his voice deep yet tender as it echoed throughout the large room. you nodded pathetically, completely out of words. His fingers went to the collar of his black buttoned down shirt, quickly unbuttoning it to reveal his beautiful torso. You stared an awe at his perfectly sculpted body, his muscular torso that flexed as he moved. His shirt slid off his shoulders and he tossed it off like it were nothing. Never once did his eyes leave yours.

Your fingers slipped out of his hair as he picked you up in his bare arms, setting you carefully in his lap with your back against his chest. He hummed in your ear, his hand moving down to your sopping cunt.

" already this wet for me, my love? " he teased you, his breath fanning across the shell of your ear as he placing kisses along your neck. His middle and ring fingers moved up and down your slick folds, feeling your hot juices dripping down on his fingers as he played with you. You arched your back and whimpered, his lip placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder as his fingers slipped inside your entrance. His thumb grazed against your clit, his other fingers pumping in and out of you for a little while and making wet sounds as they moved as far as they could in you.

" please, " you moaned helplessly, your eyes squeezing shut tight as he took his fingers out of you.

They shifted up to your clit and moved the small bud up and down. His pace was slow, occasionally becoming faster before slowing down and then going fast again.

" ah, Loki…I'm reaady-yy - ha! " you whined through needy moans and a cry of his name. His hand reached behind your neck and flipped your hair over your shoulder, revealing your exposing skin to his hot breath.

" ready for what? " his pace fastened, his voice gravely as he spoke. His fingers continued to move fast and rough, his lips exploring your shoulder and neck, leaving wet trails behind.

all you could do was simply moan and helplessly grab his arm as his fingers worked you into a frenzy. It was pitiful how just one simple touch from him could send you over the edge.

“ please, Loki— fuuck.. “ you panted, hoping your pleas would be enough for him. He growled against your ear, his fingers moving out of you and grabbing your knee to keep your leg spread nicely.

“ good girl. “ he praised, giving you a soft smile while he flipped you over so you were underneath him. His hands rest on your knees while he positioned himself nicely in between you. His head lowered down to your collarbone, giving you gentle kisses down your sternum. You could hear his ragged breathing as his wet lips moved against your sensitive skin. His lips made a series of kisses down your torso until he reached your lower abdomen. His hands shifted to the back of your thighs, spreading them wide enough for his face to go in between. His eyes darted at you through his brows, giving you a seductive stare.

“ now beg for me, bitch. “ Loki whispered huskily, his lips brushing against your sensitive nub of nerves. You moaned, your head thrown back as the pleasure of his kisses and licks caused waves of sensation to crash over your entire being. With the same two fingers from before, he twisted as much as he could fit into your tight entrance, making you moan louder and your hips jolt upward. His lips sucked on your throbbing clit, his throat humming and sending vibrations through your core in a way that made you feel intoxicated with pleasure.

“ L-loki! Please, j-just give it to me! “ you cried, arching your hips with your toes curling as he continued pumping fingers and giving your clit kitten licks. He hummed again, and you swore to yourself he was gonna be the death of you. His lips tore away from your bud and his finger painfully slowly twisted out of you. He moved the tips of his fingers up into a V while they spread your soaked flaps apart.

“ So eager for me to fuck your pathetic cunt, are you? “ Loki spoke with a smirk as he rose back up, magicking his way out of the rest of his clothes.You bit your lip, simply just wanting him to come and destroy you.

“ Don’t worry darling, I’m going to ravish you until you’re filled all the way with my seed. “Loki said, his voice barely above a whisper as he lined himself up with your opening, watching as you looked up at him through wide eyes. You lifted your hips upwards, begging him to push himself inside you. He smirked, his eyes roaming over your body as he leaned over you, planting his lips gently against yours before slamming into you roughly. You let out a loud cry of pain and pleasure, his name coming out of your mouth with heavy panting. The bed creaked a bit with his movements, his hips rocking against yours harsh like he hadn’t felt anything good like this in years.

The sounds of the two of you moaning and groaning filled the night air and bounced off the walls of your shared room. The room felt hot, your body sweating so much already and the heat of his own radiating off and onto you. You dug your fingernails into his back, your legs wrapping around his waist to deepen his thrusts.

Loki intertwined your fingers with his as he leaned down to share another kiss with you, but it was rather sloppy this time. You both exchanged moans into each others mouths and you tilted your head to deepen the kiss. His tongue danced with yours, your mouths moving together like it was the end of the world.

His hands passed from yours to the back of your thighs, lifting your legs over his shoulders.

Lokis pace increased, almost all of his long length being thrusted into your saturated core. Your moans turned into screams and cries of pleasure. The sensation of his shaft pounding into you was like being hit with an intense wave of bliss, it completely left you breathless. His hand momentarily removed from your leg and covered your mouth, muffling your screams of delight. Your eyes rolled into the back of your head, getting the feeling he was moving closer to your sweet spot.

“ Darling, “ You could hear Loki’s guttural voice whispering in your ear. “ Look up. “

Your eyes fluttered open, only to be met with your own reflection through a mirror staring back at you from the ceiling.

“ Watch yourself, y/n. watch yourself as I breed you in your pitiful state. “ He said, releasing his hand from your mouth with strings of your saliva detaching from your lips to his skin.

You felt like your body was on fire. You couldn’t even keep your eyes open, your head cranking back as your body moved back and forth with his merciless thrusts. The man was driving you crazy, the smell of your heated moment filling the air around you and the wet sounds of his shaft hitting the deepest part of you echoing in the room. His hand roughly grabbed your neck, forcing your eyes to open again.

“ Take it, my love. Take every last inch of my cock and every drip of my hot seed. “ He whispered huskily, his eyes never leaving yours. He drove his hips back before making one swift move forward and slamming all of himself into you, hitting your sweet spot in the process and making you scream louder than before. Your fingers gripped onto the sheets beneath you, slowly coming undone all over the sheets and his length ( which was still buried deep into you ) Your body was quivering, your hips and legs jerking as the warm liquid seeped out of you.

“ ride it out, darling. “ he spoke sweetly, removing his hand from your neck and then your legs from his shoulders so you could have control over your own pace. Weakly, you rolled your hips forward against as your orgasm soon came to an end. You felt shocks of pleasure continuing to overtake your body as you attempted to ride out your high. Unfortunately your body felt too weak.

“ nevermind that. “ Loki said with the click of his tongue, pulling out of you and then laying on his side next to you. You whimpered, your eyes opening to see the mirror still on the ceiling. You certainly had made a mess in the sheets.

“ Come here, darling. Allow me to help you. “ he cooed, watching you crawl into his arms like a sad dog. He kissed your temple tenderly and clenched your thigh, widening your legs so he could burry himself into you once again. He needed to finish off, it had been his mission all day long. Even when he was out with his brother, all he could think about was getting between your legs and breeding you so you could bury his child. It was something he had always desired, but today he needed it bad and he certainly go it.

You immediately wrapped your legs around his waist, letting his shaft to get deeper into like he had you before. Then, he started thrusting again. In and out, in and out. A little kiss here and a little kiss there every now and then. In, out. Your whimpers and cries continued, only letting out smalls moans every here and there but you ached and burned.

Loki promised himself he would be gentle with you for this part and continue to be in this same passionate position, but he was so so close. He just couldn’t control himself from rolling you on your back again and ramming into you like a hungry beast. Your chest heaved up and down as moans escaped your breathless throat, groans and small moans escaped his. Your fingers tangled in his inky curls, his length hitting your sweet spot repeatedly again—a lot more faster than you would have thought. You began screaming again and he helplessly moaned as he finally reached his peak. His hot semen shot into your stretched wet cunt, his breathing ragged as he gripped the sheets and his face buried in your neck. He gave your sweaty skin a soft peck before sitting upright and pulling out, though quickly noticing he was spilling out.

“ oops, don’t want any of this to be wasted, eh? “ Loki chuckled, holding his shaft in his palm to direct the white liquid back into your hole. You reached out your hand to touch his shift cheek.

“ I love you, Loki. “ you spoke hoarsely, still trying to catch your breath. He smiled and took your hand in his, giving your nuckles a kiss.

“ I love you too, darling. “

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so I finished this reallly late at night and just decided to wing it, so sorry if it’s bad and there’s typos and some stuff doesn’t make sense. I don’t really feel like going back and fixing it!!!

#loki #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #mcu loki #loki smut #loki x reader #loki fanfic #marvel #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu smut #marvel smut

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btsbabe7 · 5 months

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November Prompt 7: Soft

Words: | Pairing: Severus Snape x reader

It’s exceptionally cold this morning, maybe because Severus had left in the middle of the night for a meeting. You hadn’t asked what it was about; though, you were more than curious about your lovers frequent partings at dawn.

Your eyes flutter open to a ray of sunlight peeking through slips of the heavy, emerald green curtains; the sunlight illuminates a single crack across the ceiling.

With his absence and his blankets doing no justice, you toss them back and shiver towards his makeshift, wooden wardrobe in the corner of his room. Severus doesn’t have much, but he never did. It was the trauma. In a sense, it had carried over from childhood or just through the years of his life in general.

The lesson? Well, it’s simple. You can’t miss what never belonged to you.

So, with the slim pickings in his wardrobe, your palms mull over a thick, wool sweater. You’ve never seen him wear it, not even once in the years you’ve been together. The wool is soft and warm against your frigid fingertips and the coolness of the space, so you settle on taking it out. Slowly removing it from the hanger, you turn towards the mirror, eyeing it against you over the nakedness of your body.

Somewhere in the rush, just the night before, you’d lost your own clothes before Severus’ hands and mouth had replaced where they’d been. And you’d look for them, but it’d be of no use. Just knowing Severus, they were probably cleaned by him long after you drifted to sleep in his bed and hanging outside to dry, knowing his need for order in even the simplest of things.

In the stillness of the morning, at least inside, you listen to the scraping of the old maple tree branches brushing against the tiny house. You listen to the whirling of dead and dying leaves spiraling in the wind before coming to a crash against the forest floor. You listen to the howling of the wind bristling through the tops of endless ascending trees.

In the house, you gaze away from the foggy mirror, not foggy from perspiration, but foggy from aging. Your eyes roam over the tattered, brownish black wallpaper. It’s peeling in the corners just a bit, revealing a grayish, gold tint underneath. He had covered it all up when he’d moved here, much like you covering yourself in the softness of his sweater.

The wool fabric falls just above your knees and itches slightly against your goose-bumped skin, but you pay no mind now that you’ve been shielded from the cold.

Searching for a bit more warmth, you wander into the kitchen where the same wallpaper is peeling and reach into the cabinet for a mug. You settle with tea at the wooden table, perched in an unvarnished wooden chair. The fingertips of your left hand curl around the mug and your right ones rub into the unfinished carvings in the table top.

You watch the leaves swirling just outside the small paneled window above the old, rusting sink until the steam curling from the mug becomes too much a distraction. Just as you stand to move, the front door swings open, bringing in a gush of the cold that makes your legs tremble, then it’s filled with heat.

“Sev,” you hum, immediately placing the mug on the table to rush towards him.

He tosses his coat on a nearby chair and kicks his shoes off before greeting you. He allows his coolness to melt into your warmth until he’s just warm enough to place his hands on your cheeks.

His eyes fall into your gaze and all the words he wants to say, the words that linger on the tip of his tongue, fall short in the exchange of gazing into each other. It’s like peeking into pieces of each other’s soul. Both your lips tremble, yearning for each other in the realization of it all; the realization being that the two of you are madly in love, no matter how mad love can be.

And with that profound realization, he brings his lips to yours, allowing them to curl against you. You’ve always found so much warmth in his kisses, so much softness there… in his touch, when he was with you.

Please be sure to check out my other latest fics:

⚡︎ November Prompt Challenge (days 1-30)

⚡︎ For You Always - reader x Snape

~ Navi: masterlist (all fandoms) & (bts imagines/drabbles)

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction, but please don’t copy! Written purely for fun :) Please only repost to other socials w/my permission and credit! Reblogging w/credit is fine. Thank you! ♡

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oftenwantedafton · 3 months

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The Perfect Girl - Dave Miller/William Afton x Female Reader

Chapter 5

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content, dub con, restraints

Also available on AO3

William slumps into the swivel chair in front of the monitors, his eyes focused on the center screen.

He watches you ease off the bed and pad barefoot around the room, exploring your surroundings, testing your confines for weaknesses, perhaps.

There are none to find.

The kitchen drawer is full of plastic utensils. Cupboards store paper plates and cups and napkins. It will be awhile before he’ll trust you with any sharp metal silverware or ceramic plates and cups that could be shattered and used as a weapon—if he ever even allows it at all. Anything that could even remotely be lifted and used to inflict harm has been bolted down—chairs, table, microwave, DVD player, even the bed frame—literally every appliance and piece of furniture. The light fixtures in the shaded wall sconces are inaccessible. There are no hangers for the clothes; everything is folded in neat piles on shelves that are not removable. The tank on the toilet has no lid. The walls are seamless. It’s impossible to even see where the door is, and it’s beyond reach of the chain at the center of the room, should you plot to attack him when next he enters. Even your high heel sandals have been confiscated, in case you’d thought of using those as a weapon. He’s been planning this very, very carefully. He’s good at it. It’s how he always managed to avoid getting caught for the murders. Alleged murders, of course; no bodies ever found.

You pause before the one-way mirror that’s shatterproof. Your eyes study the ceiling, perhaps trying to determine where the cameras might be. They’re all hidden, of course. It still jolts him when you reach the correct spot and it seems as if you’re staring directly at him. He leans forward a bit. It’s impossible for you to know where they are; sheer coincidence that you’ve paused there.

Eventually you look away and he sighs, leaning back. You follow the chain to the ring it’s tethered to. He sees your shoulders slump. You’ve realized what he’s already determined.

There is no escape.

***

You estimate that you’ve managed a couple hours of sleep at best when you awaken, realizing the nightmare is all too real. You’re trapped, held hostage by someone you’d considered a friend. More than that.

You sit up and try to massage your ankle beneath the shackle. It’s not tight, but maneuvering around with it is uncomfortable and awkward. You decide to use the bathroom, hoping William hadn’t been lying about giving you privacy. You eye the shower. Walk over to the closets. Just as he’d said, linens in one and clothing in the other. The climate in the room is pleasant enough; neither too hot nor too cold. You select some soft looking pajamas, a short sleeve shirt and pants. You half expect the undergarments to be risqué lingerie, surprised to find not all of it is. Modest cotton panties. Sports bras. The sizes are correct, for the most part.

You brush your teeth and unfasten your brassiere and unbutton your dress. The water in the shower is pleasantly hot. The shampoo and soap smell nice. You towel yourself dry and glance at the clothes you’ve piled neatly on the toilet and that’s when it dawns on you: you won’t be able to put the panties or the pajama bottoms on because of the restraint.

You wrap the oversized towel around yourself and sit on the edge of the bed, the clothing now piled beside you. You’re at his mercy. For something as basic as getting dressed. You clench your hands into fists until there are half moon crescents on your palms. You refuse to cry. You think about how worried your mother must be.

A section of the far wall opens and William enters the room. He looks as if he’s had little sleep, too. Clothing rumpled as if he’d slept in it. He probably had.

“Good morning,” he greets you, so casually, as if this is the most normal situation in the world.

“You slept here last night.”

He pauses mid stride. “I did.”

“Were you watching me the entire time?”

“Not the entire. I dozed off a bit.” He stretches and massages his lower spine. “How was the shower?”

“Fine. I can’t get dressed until you take this off.” You stretch your shackled leg out and the chain jangles.

“I’m aware.” He finishes crossing the room and kneels beside the bed. “I’m going to remind you not to do anything foolish.” He rests a hand on your calf. “Your word, now.”

“Yeah. Okay.”

A key concealed in his palm appears, a neat sleight of hand trick. You wonder where it had been squirreled away. It clicks in the lock and the shackle falls open. He reaches for the pile of clothes and finds the panties.

“I can dress myself.”

“When I tell you that you can, yes. You have to earn trust. You of all people should know that.” He lifts one heel and slides it through the leg opening and repeats the process for the other side. Tugs the underwear up until it’s seated just above your bent knees. The pajama pants follow. A pair of white cotton socks next. The shackle closes around your ankle once more.

“I trust you can manage the rest. Did you want anything in particular for breakfast? There’s food here, of course, but maybe you’d prefer a blueberry muffin from that cafe in the food court you like? And mango juice. A reward for your cooperation thus far.”

You shake your head. You feel the urge to cry again overwhelming you. You recall the last time the pair of you had gone there together. Both grumbling about working first shift. His secret smile. Stolen kisses in a nearby out of order bathroom. His mouth still sweet from breakfast.

“Suit yourself. I’ll be back this afternoon.” He stands, looking down at you. “Try to have a good day. Don’t mope around. It will only make the time pass slower.” He bends and presses his lips against your forehead, then he turns and leaves.

You bury your face in your hands, finally surrendering to your sorrow.

***

You’re seated in the recliner flipping sightlessly through one of the illustrated ancient Egyptian books you’d found on the shelf when your captor returns.

He looks freshly showered; has clearly taken a detour home before heading back here. How confident he was to leave you unattended for this long. You’ve never seen him wearing anything other than the security uniform. Now he’s clad in dark denim and a long sleeve shirt one shade lighter than the pants. He looks good, and you hate that you still find him attractive. He’s carrying a bag that clearly contains takeout. The smell entices your stomach and it growls loudly.

“How was your day?” He sets the bag on the kitchen table and walks over to you.

“Fine.” You focus your attention back on the book.

He glances over at the kitchenette. “You haven’t eaten.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Not hungry.”

“Your stomach disagrees.”

You shrug and turn the page. You know what you’re doing is dangerous. You know being flippant will not sit well with the older man. You find yourself wanting to be defiant nonetheless. You can’t just succumb to his every whim. You have to still retain some dignity. Some part of yourself that he can’t access.

His hand closes over edge of the book, jerking it away from you. It falls to the floor.

“This behavior is unacceptable.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” You force yourself to meet his gaze.

“Don’t try to push my buttons, sweetheart. You’re not going to like the outcome, I assure you.” His fingers clamp around your wrist. “I can bind your hands together. Keep you tied to the bed. Is that what you want?”

“That’s clearly what you'd prefer.”

He siphons through your hair and tugs your head back. Your scalp burns. “Your choice to abuse my good graces.” A zip tie appears from somewhere. Your eyes widen as if you’ve finally realized he’s about to make good on his threats.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize quickly.

“I think it’s a little late for that, don’t you?” He’s got both of your wrists pressed together, the bit of ridged plastic encircling them, ready to be cinched.

“I’m upset because you left me alone for so long.”

He snickers. “You expect me to fall for that?”

“It’s true.” You see him hesitate. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“How?”

“I…I don’t know. What do you want?” You regret the words the instant they leave your mouth.

He releases your wrists and the restraint disappears. His eyes meet yours. “What do you want?”

Your breath hitches. You swallow thickly. How quickly he always turns things around. Making it seem like the decisions are yours; a false sense of consent and control. As if you are the villain and he is innocent. “A kiss,” you finally reply.

“Miss that already, do you?” He cups your chin.

“Don’t you?”

He nods, leaning over to kiss you.

Your stomach somersaults. Even now, even after what’s he done to you, your body still responds. The warmth spreading in your core. The ache. Your pent up release from the night before still unfulfilled. He doesn’t just kiss you; you kiss him back. You crush against his lips and suck his tongue. He moans and you knot a hand in his shirt, dragging him closer. He allows it, lost in the lust.

This is his weakness. The chink in the armor of the fortress he’s built around you.

This is how you’re going to escape.

***

Japanese cuisine is reheated for dinner. Yakitori, gyoza, shrimp and vegetable tempura and udon noodles. The skewers for the chicken are safely removed before hand, of course.

It’s delicious. You surprise yourself with how much you consume.

William stores the leftovers in the fridge and clears the table. You stand around uncertainly, watching him.

“Want to watch a movie?”

You nod.

“Go pick something out.”

He turns off all but one of the wall sconces and settles into the loveseat across from the wall mounted flatscreen while you scan the titles. You select an action movie at random, slotting it into the player and sit beside William.

The TV sounds overly loud. The first noise you’ve heard that’s not you or the security guard’s voice in awhile. A series of trailers for other movies before the menu screen finally appears.

The older man rests an arm on the back of the couch. He’s eased down a bit, legs slightly spread, getting comfortable. You’re sitting stiffly, tense, wary.

“You don’t look comfortable,” Afton observes.

“I’m okay.”

“Come closer.”

You edge yourself over a small fragment.

“Closer. I won’t bite. Unless you ask.” He grins at you.

Your thigh now rests along his. The arm on the back of the couch drops down, his hand curling over your shoulder, drawing you against his side. There was a time when you would have been deliriously happy to be cuddled with him watching a movie. Now your heart is pounding. An explosion onscreen bathes you in a swathe of bright light.

His free hand rests on your knee. You know where this is going. It slides further upward. Your sex tingles in anticipation.

“I want to touch you,” he says, as if asking for permission. And he is, you realize. This is part of it for him.

You tell yourself you’ll accept because you need to regain his trust. Catch him off guard. Make him think he’s won. “Okay.”

“Want to make you feel good,” he continues. His voice is low, almost swallowed beneath the volume of the movie. He reaches inside of your pajamas, tucking beneath the waistband of your panties this time.

You both moan at that first contact. His long fingers slide through the slick. You’re sopping wet. Your body knows what it wants. William’s breathing is ragged by your cheek. Your pelvis lifts and he works one finger into you.

Another moan. His mouth finds yours. He caresses your clit with his thumb. The perfect amount of pressure. Not too rough like the awkward fumblings your teenage ex boyfriends had attempted. Massaging you against the bone beneath. Sliding lightly over the unhooded nub. Your canal clenches his probing digit and you grind against it. You’ve slid further down the cushions. The chain rattles with every movement.

He withdraws his hand and sucks the taste of you off of his finger. The sound he makes over that flavor. You’ve never heard anything like it before. Such raw desire. It echoes inside of you.

“I want you to cum in my mouth.”

Another somersault and your pussy throbs in response. You nod. He slides to his knees on the rug in front of you and grabs the waistbands of the clothing covering the lower half of your body and tugs down. You bend your unrestrained leg to let the clothing slide free. He shoves the material down your restrained leg and leaves it piled against you mid shin. You part your legs for him and thread your fingers through his raven hair. His tongue swipes across the pink flesh and you see stars.

You’re not going to last. It’s too much. Too perfect. He sucks your clit. His finger stabs back inside you. You’re so wet. You can feel the gush of it. You push his face against your cunt and writhe against him. You’re so close.

He resists your grip, pulling back, his mouth and finger abandoning you. The other hand rests on your inner thigh, the thumb digging in. “Ask me,” he growls.

You frown in frustration. He’d nearly had you there. Why had he stopped? Ask him what?

You’re going to have to earn it.

“Please let me cum,” you beg. You’d say just about anything in that moment. “I’ll be good, I’ll be so good for you, I promise…”

His mouth returns and you explode. You can already feel the bruise forming from the hand gripping your thigh. The discomfort is lost amidst the pleasure. Wave after wave of it. He doesn’t let you relax for a long while, making sure he’s wrung it all out of you. Your thighs are shaking. There are aftershocks even when he finally moves away, the nerves still firing.

He’s sitting beside you on the couch once more. You can see your arousal all over his chin and cheeks and nose. You taste it when he kisses you.

He reaches for your hand and presses it against his erection. You don’t hesitate this time. You unbutton his jeans and pull down the zipper, withdrawing his cock from his briefs. You curl your fingers around his shaft, stroking up and down. He whimpers against your mouth. You’ve never heard him so needy. You don’t have a lot of experience with this, but you think it doesn’t really matter. He’s on the verge of release, too.

“Make me cum all over you,” he pants. You pump his dick faster in your fist. You have to move your hand so much. He’s so large.

He moans your name against the side of your neck and you feel his hot seed spurting over your fingers.

It takes a while for his respirations to decrease, for the trembling to still. He finally gets up to retrieve a wet washcloth from the bathroom and cleans you both off. Helps you get redressed. The movie has ended and is now back at the menu screen. He shuts the television and the DVD player off and walks with you back to the bathroom. Teeth brushed. Now escorted back to bed. The lights are still dimmed. He pulls back the sheets and comforter.

“Are you staying with me?”

“Do you want me to?”

“Yes.”

“Alright then.” He removes his jeans and climbs into bed, taking the side nearest the wall. You curl up next to him. He covers you both, his arm wrapped snugly around you. The chain’s sound is slightly muffled now. You want to ask him to remove it, but you don’t dare risk it. You’ve made progress tonight. He’s calmer now. Subdued.

“Whatever you’re planning, forget it,” he whispers against your ear before kissing your cheek. “Goodnight.”

Your stomach lurches. He knew. This entire time, he knew. There is no outsmarting him.

Your eyes refuse to close.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #dave miller x you #dave miller x reader #fnaf fanfic

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bambikisss · 2 years

Text

Finding Australia

PART TWO TO : BANK TELLER

-> After coming back into Chan's life after the heist, he tries to keep you close and out of trouble.

Story warnings: mentions of Stockholm syndrome, Alcohol, depression

Mature warnings: choking, biting, spitting, overstimulation, tying up.

You can't just keep going in and out, baby. You're mine. I refuse to let you go.

You never thought after the heist that you would pursue a normal life.

You thought you'd either be caught and spend the rest of your life in prison or succeed and live in hiding for the rest of your life somewhere. You had no plans on staying in Korea and dating your hostage.

But yet, here you were sitting in his luxury apartment drinking wine while he looked through his work folders.

Life is funny that way, in a way.

As you leaned over to run your hand through his hair, he sighed, leaning back to meet your hand as he closed his eyes. Work had been more demanding as of late and he was obviously tired. He could feel himself falling asleep just from you running your hands through his hair, pulling away to face you. He was shocked that you were in front of him right now after thinking he'd never see you after the hostage situation. He leaned over to kiss your hand, smiling as you took a sip of your wine, the gold-rimmed glass touching your lips. "I think someone is sleepy," you mused, Chan, chuckling as he stood up, holding his hand out to you to lead you back to his plush bed, laying you both down.

He kissed your forehead, taking the wine glass from you to place on the nightstand as you laid your head on his chest, the rain outside hitting the floor-to-ceiling windows, the moon streaming in. It looked like a scene in a movie or someone's life they wanted to live.

Chan rubbed your back, snapping you out of your daydream. He leaned over to kiss your forehead, chuckling as you smiled. "I never thought my kidnapper would be so happy to be cuddled up in a bed and kissed by the person they kidnapped."

You scoffed lightly, looking up at him as he pulled the covers over you both. "Never thought the person I kidnapped wanted me to still be in their life afterwards." Chan soon mirrored your smile, kissing you sweetly before sighing and closing his eyes as he fell asleep. You let your finger move across his rested features, admiring how they looked in the moonlight. When you kidnapped him and sat in the room for four days, you never got to see his features up close due to the room's darkness. Now that you had ample lighting, you took any and every opportunity to admire him. You admired how his eyes slightly crinkle when he smiles, the way he licks and bites his lips when he's focused, then applies chapstick afterward. You studied his routines; he gets home from work, takes off his clothes, and puts them on together on a hanger to go be dry cleaned at the end of the week, all to be pressed as well. Then, he'll go shower using gel shower soap that smells like a fancy wine bar, then pours himself a glass of wine before making dinner, then sits down to do some work as he eats.

He was sweet to you and catered to you in every way possible. You had truly fallen for him, and so had he.

Chan promised that he would keep you safe and to do so, he never referred to the robbery or your past life beyond the walls of his apartment. He would drive you to and from work and bring you food. He wanted to keep you safe and near his heart at all times.

So when he came into work the next morning and noticed his old boss sitting in one of his chairs waiting for him, he froze. He hadn't seen him since he quit the week after the robbery. He cleared his throat, leaning back to tell his secretary that he was in a meeting and to not let anyone else into the room before closing the door, making his boss turn around.

"Ah, Chan. How have you been? I see that you have moved on to bigger and better things."

Chan made no comment, walking to sit down at his desk before sighing, folding his hands together as he leaned back in his chair. "I noticed your hair is no longer black. I didn't know my number one bank teller was into bleaching his hair."

Chan had bleached his hair after he changed jobs, you helping him as his own hair stylist was out of town for a month.

His old boss took a minute to see that Chan was not in the mood for old banter, sighing before deciding to get on with his point. "I was able to get some footage from the robbery of all of their faces without the masks. I'm going to the police with it and getting my hands on the money that they're shoveling out to find them."

That caught Chan's attention and made his heart stop.

The police had set out a bounty of 1.4 million won for any critical information that anyone had about the robbery. The police had been chasing them since it happened and had even taken every employee for an interview to see if they could get a clear description of the events that happened and the robbers. However, everyone had either forgotten about how they looked or was in too much shock to remember anything.

At Chan's silence, he leaned forward to stare at him. "Come on, Chan, you should be excited about this. Those criminals are going to be behind bar-" "Are you ever going to move on, Mr. Park Myung-hoon" Chan didn't mean to sound so cold and condescending, but his mind immediately went to you. If he had footage and you were on it, they could come after you as your appearance may have changed, but not your face shape and voice.

Myung-Hoon raised an eyebrow at Chan's tone of voice, crossing his arms. "Are you suffering from Stockholm syndrome or something? Do you not understand what this kind of evidence could do?" Chan's eye twitched at his comment about Stockholm syndrome, rolling his eyes to soothe his growing annoyance. "Chan, come on. Did your kidnapper give you some kind of kiss or promise that is driving you crazy? Did she offer you some kind of washed up pussy-"

"Enough. Shut your mouth or you can get the fuck out of my office."

Myung-hoon and Chan had a stare-off, Chan's voice now showing his annoyance as he repeated what he said. He would not take any sort of disrespect about you, not thinking about how it looked to his former boss. Myung-Hoon puts his hands up in defeat, standing up before sliding his business card over to him on the desk making Chan raise an eyebrow. "I'll let you know when I'm going to send it to the police. If you want to come with me and you snap out of your...feelings, call me."

Chan bit the inside of his cheek as he left, his eyes going to the card before he grabbed his phone, texting you immediately about his plans. You sent nothing back, but you read it, Chan seeing the notification. He hoped you had an idea, sighing before he focused back on work, thinking about you in the back of his mind all day.

He rushed home after work, eager to see you and help in any way he could, bursting through the door, hoping to see you sitting on the couch as you always were when he returned home, but was met with an empty couch, you nowhere in sight. There was no trace of you anywhere in the apartment, making Chan's heart drop as he looked around. The bed was still freshly made and there were no dishes in the sink from you.

You were nowhere in sight.

Chan sighed, calling you multiple times with no response. He rested his elbow on the counter, his hand running over his face as he stared at his phone. He had sent you multiple messages, all with no read receipt from you. He felt his body begin to become weak and his eyes start to well up. He felt the same way when he returned home for the first time following the robbery. He would never admit it, but he fell into a deep depression following that until you came into his office. Now, he was falling back into the feeling. As he leaned his head back to stop his tears from falling, noticing a note on the bathroom counter. He rushed to it, opening it quickly to hopefully get an idea of where you were.

Chan, I know about your boss's plan. I can't stay here. It's too much of a risk. I hope one day soon we meet again. I love you and no one will ever replace you in my mind and heart. Goodbye Chan.

Chan's hands began to shake as his tears hit the paper, his eyes rereading the paper over and over again. You were gone. Again. He wouldn't be able to see you anymore; he can't come home to you, he can't kiss you, he can't sleep next to you anymore.

You were gone.

Chan didn't usually allow himself to cry, but he made an exception for the moment, falling to his knees as he sobbed. The rain that aggressively hit the windows blocked out the sound of his sobs as he lay on the ground. He couldn't accept that you were gone. He thought that he may have Stockholm due to how much his heart was hurting, but he honestly didn't care.

He thought about you so much over the next few months. He was going through the motions of life so as to not disturb anyone else. He kept up his outward appearance and tried to keep up his emotions, but cried when he returned home.

So, he decided to go visit his mom in Australia for a bit. He hadn't seen her in so long and missed her dearly. Whenever things went horribly, his mom was the first person he'd go to growing up, so why not now when he was an adult? He took two weeks off of work before going down to see his mom, embracing her at the airport before following her to the car, laughing as she rapidly fired off questions to him. When she asked if he had a girlfriend as he placed his luggage into the trunk, he paused, gulping before replying with "no mom, not anyone you could meet yet anyways."

He tried his hardest to no longer think about you as he helped his mom out around the house and spent time with her. He helped his mom make kimchi and bake for her neighbors, his mom not skipping out on the opportunity to try and get him with her neighbor's daughter. He tried to get to know her like he got to know you, but found himself comparing you to her. He felt disgusted by how he was acting about it, but he couldn't help but think about you whenever she tried to flirt with him. He felt nothing when she touched his arm, and felt nothing when she asked him to come to a masquerade party that a friend of hers was holding. He, of course, tried to refuse but his mom cut in, saying that he would go.

He sighed as he stood in front of the mirror in the opera house, splashing water on his face as he tried to calm down. "Come on Chan. She's probably forgotten all about you at this point. It's time for you to move on." He stared at his reflection as he calmed down, putting on his mask after a bit before walking out to join his "date," smiling at her matching mask. He followed her to the room the party was being held, the room filled with bars serving expensive drinks and people wearing expensive suits and dresses. The room was filled with people who were in the top 1 percent. Chan wondered how he met her friend, following her to the dance floor. He spun her around as they danced, Chan actually having fun for a while before her friend pulled her away to dance with her, Chan wandering off to one of the bars.

After he ordered his wine, her looked around the room, no longer seeing his date. He figured she went outside with her friend, deciding to go look for her as he reached for his wine, a beautifully manicured nail poking his hand as he made contact with the glass. He chuckled softly as both hands moved away from the glass, Chan turning to face the figure.

"My apologies." Chan smiled, admiring the figure's outfit. She wore a beautiful white dress along with a white bunny mask that only left her mouth shown, which had beautiful red lips quirked into a smirk. She extended her hand, shaking his as her other hand grabbed the glass, pulling Chan close as she whispered into his ear.

"Nice to see you again, Channie."

Chan's eyes widened as he listened to your voice, his head snapping to face where you were now walking. He felt stunned as he watched you walk into the sea of bodies, finally rushing after you after your body disappeared. He weaved through the bodies, looking for you as the music and lights filled his senses. He knew you were somewhere in the sea, he just needed to find you.

And find you he did.

He found you at the top of the steps, making your way outside as you turned your head to face him, winking before closing the door behind you. It was like Chan was in a trance, following behind you as his date called out for him. He paid her no mind, following you outside. His eyes scanned the softly lit backyard area, the water crashing against the rocks nearby as the fairy lights lit up the seating area. And there, he saw you. You were sitting down on a couch facing the water, your lips allowing the taste of wine to fill your mouth, leaving red lipstick on the glass. For the first time, Chan felt jealous of an anandamide object. He walked down to where you were seat, sitting down next to you as he removed his mask, placing it next to yours that was on the lush grass. You made no movement to face him, only taking another sip of the wine before handing it to him, allowing him to drink the rest of what was left, which he did. His lips touched where your red lips had left a mark, facing you as he did. Neither one of you spoke no words to the other, just staring at one another. His eyes scanned your face, noticing how the makeup you wore only enhanced how you looked. Just like how he remembered you looked back in Korea, you look the same in Australia.

You chose to speak first, a smile on your lips as you spoke. "I missed you. You look well."

"You look the same," You giggled at how shocked Chan sounded, nodding. He softly held your hand, happy to see that his mind wasn't playing tricks on him as his thumb moved against your wrist. "I..I have so many questions. I don't know where to start." Chan couldn't formulate how much he missed you into a proper sentence, his mind clouded as he stared at you. Without thinking, he leaned over to kiss you, your lips combining into a perfect puzzle as he pulled you close. He let his arms wrap around your waist, pulling you so you were straddling him, his lips smudgining your lipstick as he dragged his lips down your cheek and jaw to your neck, smiling as you gasped at him leaving hickies along your neck.

"Chan" he moaned at your whine, Chan picking you up as he stood up. He kissed you once more, not wanting to stop touching you. You tossed your head back, stopping him from reattaching your lips together.

You held his hand as you led him to your car, having him get into the passenger before you got into the driver's seat. Chan was surprised that you had an expensive car, asking you about it as you sped down the highways. "I live an expensive life now, Channie~" Chan sighed softly at the nickname you gave him, his hand resting on your thigh as you pulled up to your apartment building. You led him inside, not caring about your once perfect lipstick now smudged and also on Chan's lips, taking him to your penthouse.

Chan took a minute to admire your beautiful home that was filled with artwork and beautiful furniture. Before he could ask about it, his eyes moved to you slowly removing your dress as you made your way to the bedroom. Chan followed the array of clothing you left in your wake, removing his own to place next to your own before leaning against the doorway, staring down at you. You rested on the bed against the plush pillows, staring right back at him with dark eyes. He smirked as he licked his lips, making his way over to the chair where your robe rested, taking the ribbon from it. "Look at you. All laid out on this bed, waiting for me to fuck you like the slut you are. It seems like you haven't changed from the when we met."

You smirked as Chan crawled up the bed to you, roughly tying your hands behind your back before pressing you down against the bed. His lips moved across your neck, his hands moving around your body as he listened to you whine his name. Chan was in no rush to give you any sort of power, sucking marks in his wake before kissing you roughly, his fingers playing with your clit, making you arch to him. ''Oh, so now you want me to touch you. Words baby. Tell me what you want."

"Oh my fucking god Chan, if you don't-"

Chan cut you off with his lips, pushing a finger into you, the kiss muffling your loud moan, Chan swallowed your moans as he added another finger, moving it quickly. He pulled back, staring down at you as he curled his fingers, a smirk on his face from how loud you were. "Great to know that no one was playing with my pussy while I was gone." Chan pulled his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and near your high as he licked them clean.

You watched with an open mouth as he moved so your legs were wrapped around his waist, leaning forward so his hands were beside your head. "Now, without cursing and like a good girl: Tell me what you want, princess."

You gulped at Chan's tone of voice, missing his commanding, stern voice while you both were separated. You struggled against the ribbon that held your wrists, your ego coming out as you scoffed, leaning your head up near his as you spoke. "Fuck me."

Chan raised an eyebrow, shaking his head as he kissed his teeth, his hand coming up to wrap around your throat before pinning you back down against the bed roughly, pushing into you at the same time, making you scream. Chan waited until you adjusted to him being in you, loosening his grip around your throat as his thumb moved across your bottom lip. "I gave you one simple task and you couldn't do it. Now, I'm going to have to retrain you to remember who you belong to."

Chan didn't give you a chance to speak as his hips began to move fast in and out of you, leaving you breathless as he occasionally applied pressure to your throat whenever he hit your spot. Chan leaned down to bite your shoulder, holding in his groans as his hips moved quickly, practically breaking you in half as he moved. He leaned back at the sound of you whining that you were going to cum, Chan chuckling darkly.

"OK, and? I don't care baby. We're not stopping till I do." He smirked as you came around him, Chan licking his lip at your wetness dripping down onto his balls and thighs, his eyes meeting yours as you begged for him to calm down. He did slow down, his hips rolling to meet yours, making your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Are you going to be good now, baby?" He asked, his voice deep as he talked down to you, stifling a laugh at the sound of your horse voice saying yes. He nodded, his hand moving from around your throat to press his thumb and index finger to your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth, Chan then spat into your mouth, kissing you messily afterward.

"Fill me up, Channie~" Chan paused at your voice, rolling his hips into you as he whined, nodding. "I'm gonna do it, baby. Just for you." He repeated as his hips picked up speed once more, moving roughly as he raced to meet his end, you whining at the feeling of overstimulation. Chan quickly reached behind you to rip away the ribbon, allowing you to run your hands over him and dig your nails down his back, urging him to cum in you, which he did after winning your name softly, his hips halting into you. He paused, breathing heavily as he looked down at you, sticking his tongue out as sweat rolled down his abs. He kept his eyes on you, admiring how you glowed. He pulled out, falling next to you as he kissed your thigh, making you giggle.

Always after any sort of sex, Chan worshiped your body. He would lay you down as he kissed your body and massaged your body. He wanted to show you how much he loved and worshiped you.

After he kissed all over your body, you let your thumb rub his cheek before wrapping the top sheet around your body, making your way to the bathroom, Chan following behind you.

"Where did you go?" Chan suddenly asked, making you stop in your tracks. You turned on the bath, not saying a word before holding out your hand to him, pulling him into the bath with you as you let the top sheet leave your body. You both got in, your back resting against his chest. You waited a minute before speaking, pressing a kiss to his jaw before you spoke. "Once I heard what your boss was doing, I quickly packed up and moved here. I had enough money to get this place and the car..you know, start new. I was going to call you and tell you, but I didn't know if you were working with your boss in bringing me in or not."

"If I was, wouldn't I have turned you in the minute you entered my office?" You nodded at Chan's question, smiling as his lips met your shoulder. "I missed you so much, Y/N. I missed you so very much."

"I missed you too, Chan. You have no idea." You whispered, closing your eyes against his chest.

After taking a bath and talking more, you went back to the bed together, cuddling as Chan texted his date, apologizing about ditching her before he returned his attention to you. "What are we going to do now?" He asked, making you shrug. "I don't want to risk going back to Korea as Professor told us we should stay away until your old boss focuses on something else."

"What about if I move here? I've been looking for a change of scenery and my mom had been bugging me about visiting more often."

He wanted to be with you and would do anything it took to be with you. Even if it meant leaving his whole life behind in Korea to move to Australia and stay with you.

So, he did and never looked back.

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leiakenobi · 2 years

Text

A Softer Side

Fandom: Suburbicon (2017) Pairing: Bud Cooper/F!Reader (no pronouns) Rating: Mature Word Count: 1.3k Summary: A morning after with Bud. Warnings: This is a very mild mature but there is some referenced sexual content so 18+ only pls!! A/N: Back in June I took some fic requests, and I wrote this one to fulfill a prompt for @budcooper! The request was “wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)” I took a few liberties with the dialogue, but I don’t think you’ll mind the direction I went, hehe. Many thanks for the prompt, lovely. 💜

Cross-posted to AO3 here!

——

You wake to the faint sound of rain, pattering against the window, and for a few delirious moments, you have no idea what time of day it is or where you are.

It’s a strange bed, a new bed, but with sheets comfortable enough that you vaguely remember waking up in them at some point earlier and nestling back into them easily, automatically—it was raining then, too, a fact which makes the present moment feel timeless and intangible and--

Oh.

Your eyes pop open and the details of the previous night begin to rush over you, helped along by the sight of Bud’s ceiling.

(It would be safe to say that you spent… some stretch of time gazing up at it last night, although in the moment, your focus was more directed toward tugging at Bud’s hair while he pressed his tongue inside you.)

It was raining when you got here, too—harder than it is now, hard enough that you had to stop Bud from putting his hands all over you so that you could hang your discarded dress up on a hanger over his tub to dry. But whereas it had been dark and bleak when you tumbled through his front door, a dull, gray light now shines in where the curtains fall open on the far side of the room.

Coupled with Bud’s empty side of the bed – vacated long enough that the spot is cold – and the smell of pancakes wafting in through the open door, you’re left to conclude that it’s well and truly morning.

And from the way your stomach has just started rumbling, it’s beginning to feel increasingly urgent that you get out of bed and greet the day.

You regret it almost at once, because the room is chilly and your dress is on the other side of the house and it wouldn’t really accomplish much in terms of keeping you warm and or cozy, anyway—that’s not what it was intended for.

(It was intended to make Bud’s eyes bug out, and in that, at least, it was successful.)

So instead, with very little forethought and absolutely no shame or hesitation, you take a peek through Bud’s clothes in search of something to pull on. It’s strange – it’s nice, but unexpected – to get a glimpse at a different sort of Bud through his wardrobe, a Bud that doesn’t just wear the pristine, finely-tailored suits to work every day. You try to picture Bud wearing only a ratty undershirt, try to picture him in pajama pants, and as you pull on a clean pair, you realize—that might be what he’s wearing to putter around in the kitchen downstairs.

Better go look.

Alright—he evidently didn’t bother with a shirt before coming down here (which you don’t mind), but the pants are faded and hang low at his waist in a way that you don’t think they did, at first. In a way that he’s let the elastic wear down rather substantially since buying them.

“I like seeing this side of you,” you say softly.

Bud turns around in a flash, wielding a spatula in his surprise. At the sight of you, though, his eyes soften, giving you a prolonged look up and down. “Good morning to you, too.”

Rolling your eyes, you retort, “I was getting to that,” moving across the kitchen floor as you speak. Bud holds out his free, non-spatula hand and catches your waist the moment you’re within reach, pulling you in until your pelvis slots against his. And there, with his eyes sharp and playful and his mouth tantalizingly close to yours, you say, “Good morning.”

He hums and takes a moment to look over your features. Goodness, with his dark eyes and lids half-closed, you’ve barely been touching him for an instant but you’d almost guess that he’s already thinking about--

“What side of me?” he asks, rather than kissing you or moving his hand or holding you tighter.

You’d already nearly forgotten—but Bud has always been fond of hearing precisely what you had to say about him, the uncensored and the shameless and, on occasion, the vaguely derogatory.

(No, the cleanshaven look did not suit him, and he deserved to hear someone say so.)

So of course he would make sure to coax your impressions out of you now.

Smiling pleasantly, you tell him, “The less polished side. Here I’d always imagined that you must own a matching silk pajama set for every day of the week or something like that.”

“Oh, I do.” In response to your raised eyebrows, Bud amends, “Well, not for every day of the week. But I do have silk pajamas. For sleeping.”

You’re so busy trying to conjure up the image – especially because you certainly didn’t find any of these sets during your cursory search through his wardrobe, you’ll have to look harder – that it takes you completely by surprise when Bud steals a quick kiss before releasing his grip on you to return his focus to the stovetop and flip the pancakes that he’d been in the middle of preparing.

Not burnt, but perhaps just a little on the side of too brown.

Still—as always, Bud seems to have a remarkable handle on all facets of the situation.

“So fancy matching silk pajama sets for sleeping…” You trace your fingertips along his spine. “And then what, these are your lazy slob clothes?”

He glances up from the pancakes with one eyebrow raised. “Those are at the cleaners.”

You giggle. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Bud sniffs. “I’d never really thought about it. I like to be comfortable sometimes. You’re not going to tell everyone at the office, are you?”

“Considering that that would mean having to let them know they were right about us, no, I wasn’t planning on it.”

The corner of Bud’s mouth quirks up, and to his spatula, he says, “I think it was Bobby who had his money on Marcie’s retirement party, wasn’t it?”

“No, he was holding out for the annual board meeting. Eric bet on the retirement party.”

“Oh, no.” Bud wrinkles his nose. “We can’t let Eric win.”

You grin, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know. So I’ll keep the lazy slob thing to myself. For now.”

Turning on your heel, you make to stroll away, with some mind toward peering through his cabinets in search of a water glass. But an instant after you hear him turn the burner off, Bud captures your wrist, pulling you back to face him.

He’s wearing an expression that you’re not used to seeing from him, at least not when he’s talking to you about things besides accounts and briefs and whatever scam a customer is trying to pull over on the firm now. He looks guarded. “It’s not… I have to spend a lot of my time being a certain way,” he says carefully.

Your expression softens in an instant. “Hey, hey, I know that,” you tell him gently. Reaching up, you cup his cheek in one hand, unable to conceal the smile that spreads across your face when he meets your gaze so willingly. “It makes me happy. That you don’t have to wear suits and silk pajama sets for me.”

“Of course I don’t,” he mutters. Like maybe he trusted you to know, but he wasn’t prepared for you to come out and say it so matter-of-factly.

“Besides, it means you have comfy clothes for me to steal.”

Bud’s eyes immediately regain some of their playful edge. “Oh yes, speaking of which. I hope you don’t have any intention of liberating any of my belongings when you leave today.” His fingers curl into your sides, clutching his shirt tight as he speaks.

“What, these old things?” You glance down at yourself. “I’m afraid if you want them back, you’re going to have to work for it.”

His grip tightens. “Don’t tempt me before we’ve had our breakfast.”

But from the ease with which he presses you against the counter and leans in to kiss you, you’d venture to say that a little temptation is more than welcome.

——

interested in my other fics or my taglist form? you can find them on my masterlist here

blanket taglist: @amneris21, @brandyllyn, @iamskyereads, @jaime1110, @justjaclin, @marvelousmermaid, @mstgsmy, @pilothusband, @princessxkenobi, @pumpkin-stars, @trickstersp8

oscar taglist: @aellynera, @alwritey-aphrodite, @egcdeath, @genea-myers, @jitterbugs927, @rosiefridayrogersunday, @that-friend-in-the-corner, @thedukeofcaladan

#bud cooper x reader #bud cooper x you #fanfic #my fic #created

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cwcontentcreator · 4 months

Text

100 Quirky Fun Life Hacks

1. Use a paper clip to fix a broken zipper pull.

2. Freeze grapes to chill white wine without diluting it.

3. Store bed sheets inside their matching pillowcase.

4. Use a trousers hanger as a cookbook holder.

5. Put a wooden spoon over boiling water to prevent overflows.

6. Use muffin tins for condiment assortments at BBQs.

7. Place a rubber band around an open paint can to wipe your brush.

8. Use nail polish to differentiate keys.

9. Cut soft cheese or cake with unscented dental floss.

10. Use a squeegee to remove pet hair from furniture.

11. Put pancake mix in a ketchup bottle for a no-mess experience.

12. Use old newspaper to deodorize food containers.

13. Clean your keyboard with sticky notes.

14. Use a can opener to safely open blister packs.

15. Amplify your phone’s speaker with a cup.

16. Use ice cubes to remove furniture indentations in carpet.

17. Use a banana peel to shine shoes.

18. Put a dry towel in the dryer to speed up the drying process.

19. Use a hanging shoe rack to organize cleaning supplies.

20. Use toothpaste to clear up hazy car headlights.

21. Drop Alka-Seltzer tabs to clean a toilet.

22. Freeze aloe vera gel in ice cube trays for sunburn relief.

23. Store ice cream in a zip-top bag to keep it soft.

24. Use a bread tab to hold your spot on a roll of tape.

25. Thread a necklace through a straw to prevent tangling.

26. Blow-dry your mirror to prevent fogging.

27. Use a pool noodle to fill your mop bucket.

28. Use a tennis ball to hold pens or as a towel holder.

29. Clean sneakers with toothpaste.

30. Use a lint roller to clean out your purse or backpack.

31. Use a pasta ladle to measure one serving of spaghetti.

32. Use a pillowcase to clean ceiling fans.

33. Place a rubber band around an open paint can to wipe your brush.

34. Use a post-it note when drilling to catch dust.

35. Wrap gifts with fabric for reusable wrapping.

36. Flip a toaster on its side for grilled cheese.

37. Prevent pot boiling over with a wooden spoon.

38. Infuse olive oil with garlic for instant bread dip.

39. Freeze lemon slices and water for instant refreshing drinks.

40. Use a hair straightener to iron collar edges.

41. Cook two pizzas at once by cutting them in half and laying them flat.

42. Use a microfiber cloth to clean your glasses with vinegar.

43. Use a carabiner to carry multiple grocery bags.

44. Freeze a sponge in a zip bag for an ice pack that won’t drip.

45. Write with a whiteboard marker on appliances to track perishables.

46. Use an egg slicer for equally sliced mushrooms.

47. Put a damp sponge in the microwave to disinfect it.

48. Layer scented dryer sheets between sheets for a fresh bed.

49. Soak a sponge in water and soap, freeze it for a DIY ice pack that cleans.

50. Use binder clips to fix a broken keyboard foot.

51. Make a tablet stand from a cutting board and a scrunchie.

52. Stash emergency cash in a ChapStick tube.

53. Plant herbs in a wine rack with glass jars.

54. Organize cables with binder clips on a desk edge.

55. Clean blender by blending water and soap.

56. Stuff newspaper in wet shoes for quick drying.

57. Use a muffin tin to serve condiments at a picnic.

58. Turn a magazine holder into a shelf by mounting it sideways.

59. Keep apple slices from browning with a rubber band.

60. Use a plastic bottle as a makeshift watering can.

61. Drop a few marshmallows into brown sugar to prevent hardening.

62. Clean your iron by ironing salt on wax paper.

63. Use a vegetable peeler to slice cheese thinly.

64. Sharpen scissors by cutting fine-grit sandpaper.

65. Use crayons as emergency candles.

66. Place a wooden spoon in a pot to prevent boiling over.

67. Make your own ice pack by freezing dish soap.

68. Organize your closet by hanging bags with shower curtain rings.

69. Keep cords organized with bread tags.

70. Use a colander to evenly distribute powdered sugar.

71. Make a DIY sprinkler with a punctured plastic bottle.

72. Use a wine cork to safely store needles.

73. Store sheet sets inside their corresponding pillowcase.

74. Freeze coffee in ice cube trays for undiluted iced coffee.

75. Use beeswax to waterproof shoes.

76. Use a magnetic strip to organize bobby pins and tweezers.

77. Remove pet hair with a squeegee.

78. Use old CD racks for bagel sandwich holders.

79. Use a potato to unscrew a broken lightbulb.

80. Use a salad spinner to fluff down jackets.

81. Use glasses as a makeshift smartphone tripod.

82. Keep your earbuds in a mint container when not in use.

83. Seal plastic bags with the top of a water bottle; cut the top off and slide the bag through the neck.

84. Convert a cardboard box into a makeshift sled.

85. Turn a plastic bottle into a makeshift piggy bank.

86. Keep a bar of soap in the same drawer as your dirty laundry to keep it smelling fresh.

87. Use old socks as sleeves to protect drinks from warming or hands from cold.

88. Use a wine bottle as a rolling pin.

89. Make a no-sew pet bed from an old sweater.

90. Cut an old milk jug into a dustpan.

91. Use a yoga mat under rugs for extra no-slip safety.

92. Use a waffle iron to make cinnamon rolls.

93. Turn a bread clip into a holder for tapes on a tape roll.

94. Put Vaseline on the end of a nail polish bottle for easy opening.

95. Use a vegetable peeler to make chocolate curls.

96. Use a pill container to organize jewelry when traveling.

97. Use a shower cap to cover the bottom of shoes in your luggage.

98. Use a lemon to freshen up your garbage disposal.

99. Use a rubber band around an open paint can for excess paint wiping.

100. Use clear nail polish to stop a run in your stockings.

#life hacks #hacks #success #lifestyle #daily life #tips

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timeofjuly · 7 months

Note

doing essays but can’t help think of quinn and MC GAHHH their so cigarettes out the window by TV girl coded 🤕💔💔💔💔 been listening to a lot of TV girl and thinking of them 😵‍💫

Adding that to my mc/Quinn playlist IMMEDIATELY oh my god, literally the perfect song. Here’s a suitably depressing fic that I wrote listening to it on loop, thank you so much! TW for alluded to drug use at the end.

there will be no answer

Quinn’s cleaning out your side of the closet when she unearths your leather jacket. It’s crammed right at the back, fallen from its hanger, sandwiched between the wood and your winter coats.

She pulls it free and then holds it up into the bright yellow artificial light streaming from the bedroom ceiling. It’s an old, beaten-up thing; it had already lived a full life when you’d dug it up from the bottom of the bargain bin at Goodwill and it’s even more well-loved now. It’s decorated with a handful of pins, all of which Quinn recognises and some of which she had purchased for you herself. They clink against each other as she turns the jacket from left to right, little bits of metal and plastic commemorating places you’ve been to, bands you like, things you find funny.

She flips the jacket to reveal the tag and sees where you’d written your name in thick, black sharpie. You had liked the idea of passing it on, maybe back to another thrift shop, with your name on it. You’d thought it would be a fun bit of history for whoever picked it up next.

Quinn traces the letters on the tag with her fingertip and says your name aloud for the first time in weeks. The sound sits in the otherwise silent bedroom like an unwelcome guest, sticking in the emptiness and making your absence all the more apparent.

Quinn can’t remember seeing the jacket since last winter, so you mustn’t’ve realised it was at the back of the closet. That makes sense. Out of all of your items of clothing, this is the one that she thinks you might want back. If she knew where you were, she’d mail it to you, but she doesn’t. She has no idea where you are.

She sits down on the beige carpet and splays the jacket over her legs, feeling like a big child with a too-small blanket. Beside her sit two trash bags, one for clothes to be thrown away, and the other for what’s in good enough condition to be donated. There is no bag for things that she’s allowing herself to keep.

Her own suitcase sits open atop the bed, full of her own neatly folded things. The rest of the contents of the bedroom sits in boxes strewn around her, all labelled up and ready to be taken to her new apartment.

Going through your things is the only thing left to do.

Warmth prickles at her eyes and she clenches her fists into the jacket. The leather is soft and supple, but it’s cold. She gives into her base nature and raises it, burying her face into it.

The jacket smells like you. It smells like your shampoo and your perfume and the brand of hairspray you like and cigarette smoke and when she goes digging through the pockets, she finds an old, battered carton of cigarettes, a tube of lipstick, as well as a faded receipt for a loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, and a bouquet of flowers.

And now she’s crying. Great. Shame there’s no tissues stashed away in one of your pockets because she’s packed her own away in a box in the bathroom, so she needs to get up and use a wad of toilet paper to dry her tears. It’s the cheap kind and it disintegrates into little papery balls against her face, so she has to stick her head underneath the tap to wash them away.

Afterwards, she stares into her red, puffy eyes in the bathroom mirror, and begs herself to get a fucking grip.

This is why she’s avoided doing this for so long – for four months, actually. She’s too weak. The only reason she’s doing it now is because the lease is up and despite her stupid, sentimental heart, even she’s not pathetic enough to cart your stuff all the way into a new city.

That, and she promised her friends that she’d do it. They’d offered to help her, which is lovely of them, but the idea of someone else in your shared bedroom, going through your things, makes her stomach turn. This room, this apartment, is only for the two of you, nobody else. Even now, four months after you had dumped her over the phone from your bed in some wilderness rehab, Quinn still feels like she’s living with a ghost. Your presence is saturated in every square inch of this place and even if she wanted to (and she doesn’t), she’d never be able to get you out.

Your parents think that a change of scenery will do her good. They told her this with tired eyes and furrowed brows, crushed by the knowledge that their daughter and their daughter’s would-be murderer are the same person. They had invited her over for dinner shortly after the breakup, and your mother had held Quinn tightly and had buried her face into her hair to hide her tears. Your father had told Quinn that they would always have a place for her at their table. That their door would always be open for her, whether you’re there or not.

Quinn’s own parents have told her nothing at all because she hasn’t spoken to them in almost a year. That, at least, is a blessing. It’s been years since she’s had to deal with them without you. She’s not sure that she remembers how.

She returns back to the bedroom and picks the jacket up off of the carpet. The pins rattle. She takes a deep, bracing breath and holds it, looking between the two trash bags. They’re both almost full; she really has done her best, getting rid of it all.

Quinn exhales in a rush that makes her slightly dizzy. She folds the jacket into a neat square and places it into her suitcase, burying it right at the bottom. This is the only thing left to her. She can allow herself it, at least.

.......

In a city somewhere else, your bare arms prickle with goosebumps. The moon is huge and bright overhead, a silvery stain against the sleet of the sky. There are no stars to be seen here, light pollution having bleached them away decades ago, but even if there were, you wouldn’t bother looking up at them. The night is young and your skin buzzes with the happiness you had injected into it only a moment ago.

Another chill moves through you. For a moment, you wish you had a jacket to pull over your shoulders, or someone’s arm to curl up underneath, but then a wave of syrupy rhapsody envelopes your body, like the coziest, most comforting hug, or like submerging yourself into a blissfully hot bath. The cold washes away like it had never been there at all.

#asks #quinn/reader #silver string #thank you anon! this was a blast to write #*slapping Quinn on the back of the head* this bad boy can fit so much angst in it #I hope your essays are going well!#tw: drug mention #the electrician #quinn lawson #rtc music suggestions

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imtryingmyfuckingbe · 2 years

Text

Chapter Seventeen

Word Count: 5,004

____________________________________

Natasha leads her to the room she stayed in before. Someone made the bed and cleaned the window, erasing her presence. She prefers that over the alternative— for markers of the desolation during that time to remain and remind her. Bernie’s getting better, and they’re almost at the end of the road— she doesn’t need to think about why she stayed in this room.

Speaking of markers, when Natasha departs with a nod and pointed remark about the awaiting shower, Y/N kneels on the ground by the chesterfield. The expo she threw in frustration sits where it rolled under the couch. She leaves it.

Without the wrath and fear of seeing Bernie on her stoop at the forefront of her mind, she takes in the room with a new appreciation. It’s big and wide, the sun lighting it up from corner to corner. She has half the mind to jump into the bed, tired from watching the interrogations and experiencing too many emotions in too short of a time, but the grime on her skin calls for attention.

For the first time in a long time— as long as she remembers— she lets herself enjoy the luxury of the Tower. The showerhead hangs from the ceiling, as well as jets stationed in the walls and a handheld. The pressure of the water beats her knotted muscles into submission, the heat a relaxant she didn’t allow herself to enjoy Before.

She finds herself sorting the recent events into two categories: before and after.

In the before is Peter, Bernie, Blue’s, and an unnamed threat. In the after is Peter, Bernie, a named threat, and some lingering sense of hope. She doesn’t look it in the face or acknowledge its presence in the form of a lightness on her shoulders. What if she lets herself feel it, and then it comes crashing down?

She can’t handle another failure, another loss of hope.

Instead, she uses the plush washcloth, pouring copious amounts of one of the many body washes offer on it, and scrubs her skin. She starts from the top and works her way down, gentle on her arms and wrists. Dirt circles the drain, and she scrubs until it runs clear. She digs under her fingernails and in between her toes until her skin shines and the wood-musk scent of the soap fills the air.

The distaste she felt for the loud luxury and privilege of the Tower and its amenities silences for a moment. She stands under the rainfall from the showerhead until her fingers prune and steam makes it hard for her to see past her own body.

The room, in comparison to her accidentally made sauna, raises goosebumps on her skin that she wipes away with a soft towel. She examines the tag— some foreign company boasting special cotton from Egypt. Gentle tumble in the wash and air dry for care, it says.

She doesn’t want to know how much they cost, but damn do they feel nice.

She purses her lips, rubbing the rounded corner of the towel between her thumb and forefinger. What if she took it? Stark has enough money to end world hunger and have billions left over. He won’t miss a towel. It’s gentle and absorbing and it doesn’t leave fibers on her skin like hers at home. It could serve as a memento of her short stint in disgusting splendor she’ll likely never get again.

She ponders the pros and cons of stealing from someone housing her, opening the door to the living space. She startles, clutching the towel tighter. “Bucky!” she exclaims, looking from him to herself and back.

His head hangs, his hands clasped on his knees. He wets his lips.

“I’m naked,” Y/N blurts for nothing else but confused and awkward and dressed in nothing but a towel.

Bucky sighs and looks up at her. “There’s clothes in the closet.” He nods towards it.

“Yes,” she agrees, following his subtle direction and taking side steps to the closet. She keeps her body turned towards Bucky, fingers cramping from their tight hold on the towel. What is he doing here?

When she reaches the closet, she yanks it open and pulls a shirt and sweatpants from their hanger— a twin match for the set she wore last time she showered here. One of the hangers falls to the floor. She shoves it back in with her foot and closes the doors.

“Let me just…” She trails off, rushing to the bathroom and closing the door before he responds.

She sets the clothes on the sink but doesn’t drop the towel. What is he doing here? It’s the only thought circling around her head like the dirty water circling around the drain. He ran from her before, in the control room. Maybe she’s thinking too highly of herself; maybe he had another reason for leaving.

But he said her name, and then turned on his heel. Why would he do that if not for her?

She shakes her head, the steam no longer a comfort but heavy and dizzying.

Mechanically, she slides her arms through the shirt, jolting when it catches on the lifted edge of the bandage on her right wrist. She needs to change those, she thinks absently, pulling the sweatpants up her legs.

What’s the worst he could say? Maybe he didn’t want her in the room and was disappointed to see her. She can deal with that, she reasons. She retrieves the towel from the floor and folds it, preparing herself for Bucky’s chagrined scolding.

“Okay,” she whispers, psyching herself up. This is easy compared to dealing with an egomaniac fascist.

A rush of cold air greets her when she opens the door. Bucky is still on the bed, toying with his fingers. “What’s up?” she prompts, forcing a light tone for the sake of congeniality. The sooner he gets out his grievances the better.

Bucky sighs and shifts. “I’m not— Steve said…”

He struggles to get the words out. Y/N eyes the empty spot next to him, considering how he’ll take her presence by his side. She decides to lean against the nightstand, crossing her ankles over each other but keeping her arms loose in feigned nonchalance.

“Steve said what?”

Bucky groans, straightening his posture. “Why were you watching the interrogations?” he asks, but it sounds like an accusation.

She was right, at least, and that makes her feel better in a dreadful sense of achievement. She doesn’t like his tone. She bristles. “JARVIS led me down there and Tony let me stay,” she says slowly, eyes narrowed.

“You weren’t supposed to be down there, Y/N.” Bucky looks her in the eyes now, a frown tugging on the corners of his lips.

Y/N rolls her eyes and huffs. “Why not, Bucky? I’m in this because of you, remember? I brought you guys Ben. Why shouldn’t I see what he has to say for himself?”

Bucky’s brows furrow, his frown deepening. “No, that’s not— I don’t mean—” he groans, staring at his lap.

“Then what do you mean?” Her annoyance infects her tone, clear and present. She won’t allow him to admonish her like some holier than thou teacher to a school kid.

“God, why do you have to make everything an argument?” That, without a doubt, is an accusation.

“Me? You’re acting like I’m not as much of a part of this as you are! You don’t get to come in here and scold me for taking part in something you dragged me into.” She pushes off the nightstand, walking three steps forward and then back and then again, arms crossed.

“Y/N…” Bucky says, reaching out a hand.

She swats it away, spinning her heel to face him. “No, Bucky. It’s not fair to treat me like I’m some second-rate novice sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. Why shouldn’t I have been in the control room? Why shouldn’t I have seen the interrogations? Give me one good reason, right now.”

Bucky flounders, his mouth opening and closing.

“Huh?” she goads, jabbing him in the chest with her pointer finger.

He grabs it before she can pull it away, wrapping his flesh hand around hers. “I didn’t want you to see me like that. That’s why. Okay? Is that a good enough reason for you?” His tone is harsh and biting, a contrast to the vulnerability in his gaze.

The ire building brick by weighted brick in her chest crumbles all at once, landing in a cloud of dust that settles in her lungs. “What?” she whispers, confused. She’s tired of having different conversations within one conversation.

Bucky sighs, his shoulders sagging. He squeezes Y/N’s hand once and then lets it go, shaking his head. “That’s not how I want you to see me. I’m not like that.”

Y/N gives up on appearances and sits gracelessly into the space next to Bucky. He trains his eyes on the wall across from them. “Bucky,” Y/N whispers, afraid of breaking the moment if she speaks too loud. “Look at me.”

He does, with great effort if the delayed turn of his head says anything about it. Y/N considers her options, tracing with her eyes the wrinkles by his eyes and lips, the stubble on his chin. He can’t think so little of himself, not with her. She’s done bad things— terrible things. She’ll do bad things again, and probably soon. She understands the guilt of thinking malicious thoughts and then acting on them. He isn’t alone in that.

She sighs, resting her hand on his thigh, palm up. Bucky stills. “I don’t see you like that. Or, I don’t care if you get like that.”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Bucky looks away again. How does she explain to him the inside of her head in a way that makes sense? She doesn’t know, so she does what she does best when it comes to pulling her heart from her chest and laying it on a platter— she talks until it’s the right thing.

“I don’t know everything you’ve done. I don’t think I want to, and I know you don’t want me to. That’s okay, it is. I get that some things are meant for you to remember and, and me to look past even if I don’t know them. You don’t know everything I’ve done, either. That’s okay.

“I’m not gonna look at you differently ‘cause you ruffed up an asshole who deserved it. I trust you, Bucky. I do. And I’m not saying that lightly— I wouldn’t say if I didn’t mean it. I promise — look at me, Bucky.”

She takes his face in her hands when he doesn’t, turning his head. He doesn’t resist. She rubs his cheekbones with her thumbs, hoping her actions convey what she wants to say— aches to say, so much so it sits like an anvil on her chest. “I promise you, okay? I trust you.”

He looks skeptical, eyes narrow and mouth slightly agape. Their faces are close enough for his breath to caress her forehead and cheeks. It’s minty, like he brushed his teeth before he came in looking for answers to something Y/N doesn’t consider a question in the first place.

“Do you trust me?” she asks, pretending she knows the answer without a doubt.

He nods.

“Then trust me when I say I know you aren’t the same person they made you into. Trust me when I say I trust you. Okay?” She forces his head to shake, hoping her honesty rattles around his head and settles somewhere he can reach.

His next nod brings their faces closer. She can count his eyelashes, if she wanted to. A low thrum of anticipation beats in Y/N’s chest— from the hunger, she excuses. She’s just hungry.

Bucky’s palm sits on the apple of Y/N’s cheek, a mirror image of how she holds him. She leans into it and blames it on the comfort it offers. Rationalization after rationalization try to explain why she isn’t pulling away— why she hasn’t pulled away from Bucky in weeks, but instead pulled him further into her life.

“Can I?” Bucky whispers, soft and sweet and wanting.

God, she wants this. She knew she did, forced herself to acknowledge it and then move on, but now it’s in front of her and it’s not after and it’s real. She nods.

“Miss Y/L/N, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS interrupts, too loud for the quiet bubble they created.

Y/N gasps, startling away from Bucky. He closes his eyes, casting a rueful grin to the bedspread and then a glare to the ceiling. “Yes?” he grates out through clenched teeth.

Y/N smiles, she can’t help it, despite the heat on her cheeks and racing heart in her chest.

“Sir has requested me to inform you of the capture and impending delivery of the self-proclaimed Head of Hydra.”

The smile drops from her face. She stands, the anticipation in her stomach for almost kissing Bucky making a swift left turn into anticipation of getting her hands on Not-Brian. Bucky stares at her, expressionless but knowing.

“Thank you, JARVIS,” he says, monotone. “Absolutely not.” That’s for Y/N, despite it being in the same timbre as his gratitude to JARVIS.

Y/N raises her eyebrows. “What?”

“You’re not going in the same room as him.”

She inhales, closing her eyes and picturing something peaceful— the beach she vows to visit after they wipe Hydra and the Vipers off the map. A cocktail in a coconut. The library. Blue’s. She exhales and looks at Bucky with a blank smile. “We’re not having this conversation again. You don’t get to allow me to do things.”

Bucky stands, arms crossed and in front of Y/N. She stares him down for a moment, long enough to search his face for any give, before brushing past him and heading to the door.

“I don’t want you to— it’s not safe. It’s not that I don’t think you can do it, but I’m not putting you at risk.”

He follows her down the hallway to the elevator, casting a confused look when she presses the floor for the common kitchen. If she’s going to face Not-Brian, whom she promised a fun time when she got out, she needs food and water. None of this half-assed shit she’s done the past few days. She plans to eat and then have a little heart-to-heart with the scum of the earth.

Bucky’s words fall flat in her ears; she tunes them out in favor of imagining the things she plans to do to Mister Fascist, himself. Past picturing him with broken fingers and a bloodied face, Y/N acknowledges the warmth under her skin from Bucky caring about her so loudly.

She believes in her abilities enough that him arguing against her speaking to Not-Brian doesn’t register as doubt. It doesn’t hurt that it comes on the heels of Bucky offering the soft parts of himself he tends to keep behind a wall of sardonic armor, or that they were thisclose to kissing.

She’s calm, centered, in only the way having a purpose calms and centers her. It’s a liminal space between caring too much and not enough— the purgatory of emotions, except it’s quiet and the road from point A to point B is a straight line.

Natasha sits at the island in the kitchen, Clint on her right, having returned from wherever he went, and Sam standing across from them. They stop talking when Y/N and Bucky come in— the former in casual steps and the latter weighted. He’s still talking, pausing as if awaiting her response.

“What’s up with the chatter box?” Clint asks.

Natasha nods. “This is the most I’ve heard him talk all at once. Bucky, are you feeling well, dear? Have you come down with a bout of consumption?”

Y/N snorts, amused now that she understands Nat’s humor.

“JARVIS let you in on our new house guest?” he asks, voice gruff.

Sam nods. “The Hydra guy. Should be here soon.”

Y/N scans the fridge for sandwich ingredients, piling them in her arms as she finds them.

“This one, here, wants to be the one to interrogate him.”

Natasha hums, looking from Y/N, where she lays out two slices of bread, to Bucky, who glowers. She shrugs. “That’s not a bad idea.”

Y/N says, “Thank you, Natasha,” at the same time Bucky exclaims, “What the fuck, Nat?”

Y/N piles on slices of lunch meat over the drizzle of mustard, topping it with cheese and the other bread slice. Natasha holds her hand out, a silent demand. Too subdued to protest, Y/N passes it over and starts on a new one. “Anyone else want one?”

Bucky groans behind her, spinning her around with a hand on her bicep. The butter knife covered in mustard and a slice of bread hover in the air between them. “Y/N, c’mon.”

She sighs, slathering the mustard from edge to edge. “Bucky, I know what I’m doing.”

“It’s personal, and you don’t deal well with personal shit. Remember Bernie and Stark?”

Y/N yanks her arm away, scowling at him. How dare he bring that up to tug on her heart strings? As if the shame afterwards didn’t teach her lesson enough. “That’s different,” she hisses, returning to making her sandwich. “It was Bernie, Bucky— what did you expect me to do? Let it go?”

“And, what? You’ll just let this go because he only held you captive and not your pal?”

Sam joined Nat and Clint on the other side of the island, their heads on a swivel between Bucky and Y/N in turn. “Yes, exactly.” She takes a bite of the sandwich. “See? You get it,” she says around a mouthful.

Bucky starts another protest, but Natasha interrupts. “You think you can handle it, seeing— what’d you call him? Not-Brian? Being in the same room as him long enough to get answers?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Are you even listening to me, Y/N?”

“No.”

Bucky sighs and then leans against the counter next to Y/N. “You’d do it anyway, wouldn’t you? Sneak into the room the second one of us turned our back?”

Y/N smiles at him, soft. “Yes.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I’m prepping you before you go in.”

“I’ll help,” Natasha chirps.

She returns Y/N’s triumphant grin, albeit more amused.

They finish their sandwiches in silence. Sam begs off, citing wanting no part of their preparation. He casts a too knowing look between Y/N and Bucky before he leaves the room, his eyes lingering on Y/N a second longer. Clint kisses Natasha’s temple, an intimate moment Y/N looks away from, before following after Sam. He throws a peace sign over his head, his other hand holding a coffee cup.

The remaining three settle at the island, Bucky and Natasha sitting side by side and Y/N standing across from them.

Bucky and Nat work like a well-oiled machine— Bucky making a point and then Nat finishing off. It settles the worry that boiled in her stomach leftover from Natasha’s interrogation.

Y/N tries to listen, she does. The problem is her hubris and the plan she concocted before Bucky conceded. Not-Brian is a textbook narcissist— he believes in his racist, supremacist ideals so wholeheartedly that a challenge begs him to prove his rightness.

Y/N just needs to goad him. Demean him.

She nods at the right moments, hums when they pause for a response, keeps her eyes on them. It goes on until JARVIS announces Not-Brian’s arrival. Bucky speaks through the elevator ride and down the blinding white hallways, leading her further past the control room and around one more turn.

Bucky sighs, stopping in front of a door. “You didn’t get a of word of that, did you?”

Y/N protests with a gasp. “No! I was listening.”

He rolls his eyes. “Your eyes glazed over the second I started talking.”

Y/N grins at him, unrepentant. “I’m sorry. But I’ve got this. I promise.”

Bucky rubs his palm from her bicep to her wrist, thumb fiddling with the bandages she forgot to change. He stares at the gauze, brows furrowed. “You’ve got this?”

“I do. And if not, you’ll be in the control room and you’ll know. Now stop acting all effected, loser. It’s ruining your cool image.”

He snorts, sliding his hand back up to her bicep and looking into her eyes. He opens his mouth, then shuts it, squeezing his hand once before dropping it. He rubs his chin as he walks away.

Y/N waits for him to disappear around the corner before steeling herself, drawing air until her lungs fill, holding it, and then letting it go. She pushes the door open with her shoulder, leaning into it with her weight like at her apartment.

Not-Brian sits at the table with his hands cuffed, an insufferable smirk on his face. He’s as ugly as she remembers. He quirks an eyebrow at her, tilting his head to the side. “So we meet again.”

Y/N ignores him, forcing herself to keep the peace of purpose. Four steps and she stands in front of him at the table. He cranes his head back to look at her, smugger than before. She looks over her shoulder to the camera on the wall and winks. She imagines Bucky sighing and shaking his head.

The metal chair is cold beneath her palm, a match for the chill throughout the room. She pulls it out, Not-Brian watching her with sharp eyes, and then keeps pulling. She drags it over to the door and props it up under the handle.

Not-Brian’s smirk falls into a frown.

Y/N revels in it for a moment, the subdued curiosity mixed with apprehension. She sighs, canting her head to the side. “Do you remember what I told you, when you hit me?” she asks, taking sure steps to where he sits.

Not-Brian leans away when she towers over him, one hand on the back of the chair and the other on the table. He clears his throat. “As if anything you said was of importance.”

“That’s nice, Brian. Real nice.” She weaves her fingers through his short crop hair, yanking his head back. The whites of his eyes shine, his mouth pulled open from the strain. “I said: when I get out, I’d have so much fun fucking you up. I’m out now, Brian.” She shoves his head away, backing up to lean against the wall.

He looks at her out of the corner of his eyes, his scowl scrunching his face. Y/N takes a moment to breathe, to reorient her wrath for better control. This is her element, where she feels most comfortable. She thinks of the criminals she hung up, and Chuckles and any other motherfucker who pushed her too hard. A line of faces in her mind, joined by Not-Brian as the newest two-bit fool.

“The thing is, Brian, I don’t think you’re worth it to waste my time on.” She softens her voice for a cool unaffectedness, Natasha’s voice in the back of her head encouraging her. “I don’t think you’re as important as you say.”

She pushes off the wall and paces behind him like he did when he held her captive. He looks over his shoulder, tries to turn her body. She flicks his ear. “Eyes forward, kiddo.”

His shoulders heave with his breaths, quiet huffs. She smiles. “Does the name Jameson Gearhart mean anything to you?”

Not-Brian freezes.

Y/N hums. “Yeah, we had a little chat with him. The thing is, he told me you were just a grunt— that he’s the head of the operation. I’m inclined to believe him. You’re too…” she pauses for effect, letting the pregnant silence thicken the few feet between them. “Inexperienced. Ignorant. Stupid,” she spits.

The shackles clink against the table when he shifts.

“I mean, what kind of commander uses rope to hold a prisoner? Jameson, he’s real chatty. Said you’re foolhardy and impatient. Is it true?”

“I found the rope poetic, don’t you think?” he asks, his smile loud in his voice.

“Maybe.” She walks around the table, pressing her hands atop it and leaning across it. “I still got out, though. Was that your master plan? You came up with that all on your own? You’re the big guy, right?” she mocks around a pout, pitching her voice higher.

She scoffs and shakes her head, standing up. “Brian, I think you’re so far gone into your head honcho fantasy you can’t even think straight. I mean, what leader to a secret organization all around the world— your words, not mine— reveals their plan and then lets their captive escape?” She tuts, enjoying the twisting of emotions slithering across his face. He tries for expressionless and lands on constipated.

“Brian—” She revels in the grimace at the name. “— it’s time for us to be honest. Can you do that? Do you know how?”

“You think you know everything, stupid girl. You don’t know what we have in store for you and every philistine like you.” He leans forward, dropping his voice.

His lips stretch in a bearing of teeth.

“Okay, Brian.” She rolls her eyes. “To be fair, you’re almost as chatty as your pal Jameson. I mean, I spent that whole time thinking up different ways to shut you up. How do you expect anyone to listen to you when you look like that?”

His brows furrow. “You think insults to my appearance will make me cooperate? Is that all you have in store? Ooh, I’m terrified.”

“No, no. I just— it’s all I could focus on, to be honest. I mean aside from your prep school slacks and shoes and shirt— did your mommy press those for you? Oh! And that damn tooth.”

Not-Brian runs his tongue over the tooth. Y/N stalks around the table, her hands in her pockets and posture relaxed.

“It’s okay, Brian,” she consoles, patting his shoulder hard when she passes. “I know the reason you aren’t sharing with the class is because you don’t know anything. Your superiors don’t trust you. Jameson doesn’t trust you. You’re a lackey. You do coffee runs and shred papers, right?”

He scoffs. “As if Jameson has half the brain to plan such a flawless operation,” he mumbles under his breath.

Y/N smiles. There, that’s the door. “Oh, no? That’s not what he said.”

She steps into his eyeline. He glowers, but doesn’t respond.

“He went on about his key role— I mean, he infiltrated the newly sanctioned Avengers Tower, and that was after D.C., where they sorted through the transfer employees with a fine toothed comb. You couldn’t have done that.”

He shifts again, glaring daggers into the wall beneath the camera.

“You’re foolish.” She steps forward. “Unintelligent.” Another step. “Uninspiring.” Another. “An imbecile.” And the last one, which brings her to the edge of the table. “A half-cracked, egotistical, impotent bitch.”

His handcuffs slam against the bar holding him to the table from the force of him standing. He leans as far toward her as he can whilst bound, and snarls at her. “You think you’ve got it all figured out, huh? You don’t know a goddamned thing about what I can do, you cunt.” He breathes hard, his chest heaving and his mouth open. His eyes are wild.

Y/N inhales, letting the words settle like the punch he means them as. The thing is, and Not-Brian struggles to comprehend this, she loves a good fight. Revels in it. Insults and spits and cheap-shots. It’s her forte. She hasn’t gotten this far in life by playing fair and keeping score.

She slaps him, the sting reverberating down her wrist and back to her palm. His head turns with the force and he falls back into the chair with a thud. “Do you remember that, Brian?”

He shakes his head, eyes pinched shut.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? You’ve got wits stacked against us all, right? Who’s the one chained to a table, Brian? Which one of us is captive in a facility you don’t have enough of a brain to navigate, let alone escape?” She huffs a laugh.

Not-Brian clenches his jaw, grinding his teeth together. It echoes through the room. “If you’re so smart, tell me why I’m right where I want to be?” He chuckles low and quiet until it builds and builds into a roaring laughter. “You stupid fucks fell right into my trap! The ships are already unmoored, and you’ve wasted your time. I don’t care what happens to me! The anchor’s up, you simpleton.”

Y/N smirks. This fucking idiot. She ignores Not-Brian carrying on and turns to the camera. “Go. The port you found him on and every other one in the city off of the Hudson; it’s the quickest route to the Atlantic. They haven’t gotten far.”

Not-Brian’s tirade halts with a gasp. His eyes are wide and his jaw hangs. Y/N shakes her head, her smile softening into faux pity. She weaves her fingers through his head, tightening her grip around the strands and yanking his hair back again. “What were you saying, Brian?” She doesn’t wait for a response, slamming his head into the table.

His nose cracks from the force. He groans, trying to right himself. Y/N, giving in to her cruelty for heinous retribution, grinds his face harder into the steel top, slow side to side rotations. She exhales, letting him up.

He sways, disoriented, and tears clear lines to his chin.

She smiles, patting his cheek twice, before facing the camera again. “You better be gone by now, but if you’re not… be safe.”

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