#marvel fanfic
peterman-spideyparker · a day ago
Treacherous (College!Matt Murdock x College!Reader)
Author’s Note: So I kinda combined two ideas/WIPs that I had for this one, and I had tried to make a playlist that would fit the vibe I was going for, but then I found another song that completely made me pivot the ending. For the purpose of fiction only, the reader insert character wrote the song at the end, even though it is by Tom Odell from 2018 and I am not claiming to take any credit whatsoever for it. When I got the idea, it just worked so well and inspirations bitch-slapped me into writing. So yeah. And if you want to listen to the playlist or the other song, just click on the corresponding hyperlinks (both bring you to Spotify). Enjoy! :)
Summary: As stressed law students, you and Matt decide to enter a friends with benefits situation. The only issue is that against your better judgement, you let romantic feelings grow in places they’re not supposed to.
Warnings: Fluff, smut (implied, non-explicit), angst (pining, catching feels in a friends with benefits arrangement), swearing
Other Characters: Foggy Nelson, Elektra Natchios
Word Count: 4,678
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It had slipped out one night while you were in the library studying with Matt. Foggy had called it quits close two two hours prior, accepting the fact that he knew what he knew for the test on the juvenile court system, and there was no hope in trying to cram more information into his overly-tired brain. He’d just finesse what he didn’t know or couldn’t remember—something he asserted would be his true lawyering abilities getting their moment to shine. 
You and Matt, on the other hand, were stubborn. You maybe a little more so than Matt, but nonetheless, he agreed to stay with you in the library as you ran through a couple more possible court scenarios, trying to figure out not only the best legal codes to use from the last three chapters, but which ones you could impressively twist to make your case. You knew your stuff, but you hadn’t been able to ignore that nagging voice in your head that told you to keep going.
Frustrated, you slammed your pen down on the organized chaos that you call a notebook before running your fingers through your hair.
“(Y/N), you know the material,” Matt tried to assure you. “You’re just getting tired now.”
“I know I’m tired, Matt. But I’m also so aggravated and annoyed with everything and these classes, it’s like I can’t relax about anything,” you groaned, hanging your head. “Ugh! It’s like I just need to get fucked or something to just get it out, move on, and get it together!”
You almost didn’t catch what he said next, but it made a burning heat rush to your cheeks and your heart race.
“That’s not the exact study plan I had in mind for tonight, but okay,” he had shrugged, his lips pulled into a persuasive pout with his eyebrows raised.
He grinned before leaning in close, his voice dipping into an absolutely delicious timbre. “If a good fucking is what you need to get out that tension and focus, I’ll gladly help.”
After packing up your things from the table in the library, not even fifteen minutes later, Matthew Murdock was absolutely fucking your brains out in the very classroom you’d be having your test in the next day—or rather, in roughly ten hours.
“Better?” he chuckled as he looped his belt in the slots on his jeans. 
“Much,” you breathed as you pulled on your sweater, still trying to calm your racing heart from the purely animal pleasure you had just received from your friend. “What about you, Murdock? Feel any better?”
“Mm, better.”
Sliding off of the lecture table, you grabbed Matt’s cane that had been carelessly pushed away in the moments it had taken Matt to rush you to the table and trap your body beneath his.
“What if we did this?” he suggested. “What if this is something we did to take a break from it all? You have to admit, it was a hell of a way to relax.”
You were silent for a few beats, your brain still trying to process what Matt, your close friend, suggested. There was a lot to consider. You’ve always been comfortable with Matt, and blind or not, you’d never worry what he thought about you physically—if what he did with his hands five minutes prior was any indication, he had absolutely no issue with your body. What really worried you was what this could do to your friendship. You didn’t want to lose Matt, but at the same time, the prospect of spending more time within in such a personal way that helped you both not only feel better, but relax—and hell, maybe it wouldn’t be as cataclysmic as you thought—your verbal agreement to the situation carefully filled the space in the quiet classroom.
So, whenever you two had a spare moment—or more often, at some point in homework and study sessions—you would bring each other immense, intense pleasure, always seeming to linger in the aftershocks of passion in longer intervals as you talked about nothing and everything.
And now, because of that one tired utterance that fell from your lips months ago, you currently found yourself lying in Matt’s silk sheets in his dorm room.
“Mm, I have to get sheets like this,” you hum, snuggling down on the fabric and him.
Matt chuckles as he wraps his free arm around you to hold you closer. “You say this every time we do this here,” he smirks.
“Because it’s true—I just forget to look for something like them when I go out shopping. It must be like heaven to sleep in these.”
“Yeah, they’re all right,” his grin never once leaving his lips.
“You still need to fix that closing argument, though,” you sigh, your brain pivoting back to the item that caused Matt to rip open your top so harshly it lost its buttons. “You’re a great closer, but what you have written will not cut it, bub. It’s just as bad as your party-crashing skills.”
“Oh really?”
“Harsh, but I appreciate your honesty.”
“How about we work through it Saturday? Maybe I can polish up the rest of your case—make it half as good as mine.”
“Objection . . . sustained,” he chuckles. “I can’t do Saturday, though.”
“Yeah. Something came up and I need to take care of it.”
“You know, for someone who wants to be a lawyer, you’re a really shitty liar.”
“I’m not lying. I have plans for Saturday.”
“I don’t doubt that you have plans, Matt.”
“Then why call me a liar?”
“It’s just hard to image Matt Murdock not having his nose in a book—fingers in a book?”
“A blind joke, really?” he lightly chastises as you look up at his hazel eyes that have made your cheeks warm and your heart flutter since the day you met him.
“In all fairness, not my finest one. Besides, you’ve made fun of me for plenty of things.”
“It’s not normal for someone to trip just standing in place.”
“You underestimate the power of my lack of coordination. It’s my superpower. That and my bad ankles.”
Matt’s laugh rumbles through you as he holds you close in the silk sheets of his bed, somehow making the way your naked bodies lie next to one another even better. As Matt begins to make a snarky remark, Foggy enters the room, announcing that he has just found the best Thai place in all of New York.
“Shit!” he hisses as he turns around when he spots you in the sheets with Matt. “I thought you two would be done by now!”
“We’re just talking, Fog,” Matt says.
“Yeah, naked in your sheets!”
“Oh, calm down,” you sigh, getting up from your comfortable position on the mattress, finding your underwear on the floor, sliding them on while still covered by the sheets. “So, did you bring enough Thai food for three?”
“Not exactly, but I think there should be enough for a few bites of the (Y/N) Tax.”
“That should suffice,” you smile as Foggy shakes his head, unpacking the containers from the bag.
“I should take this,” Matt says as he reaches for his phone on the bedside table. You didn’t even hear it ring. Quickly throwing on his robe, you watch him as he opens the door and steps out into the hallway.
“You are so lucky he can’t see,” Foggy chuckles as he opens one of the containers.
“Huh?” you hum, furrowing your brows.
“I swear there are literal hearts waiting to pop out of your eyes. You’re, like, a smile and hair toss away from having cheesy romcom music blare from the cosmos.”
“Fog, Matt and I are just friends.”
“Who are sleeping together.”
“Friends,” you repeat.
“So you’re gonna sit there and honestly tell me that after months of sleeping with each other, you don’t feel the tiniest bit of something more towards Matt burgeoning in the depths of your soul?”
“Who are you and what have you done with Foggy?” you chuckle at his phrasing, stealing a spring roll from one of the containers as you slide on my pants.
“All I’m saying is that maybe, just maybe, Matt might feel the same way, and maybe you should tell one another.”
“And maybe he doesn’t.”
Foggy lets out a long sigh as he shakes his head once more as you put on your shirt.
“Think about it,” he says simply. “If movies and shows have taught me anything, these sort of arrangements always ends with a nice kiss after a mutual profession of feelings.”
“Hate to break it to you, Fog, but we’re in the real world.” This time, it’s your turn to sigh and shake your head as you lean over and grab your bag, swinging it over your shoulders. “Anyways, I should really get going.”
“You’re leaving?” Matt asks, walking back into the dorm.
“Yeah, I caught a glimpse of the time, and I have to get back to my place before Jo goes out with her teammates. I don’t have my keys on me, and we watch too many crime documentaries to leave the door unlocked."
“Well, let me know when you get back safe and all locked up,” Matt says with a small, warm smile.
“Always, Murdock. How else am I supposed to remind you to fix that shit closing argument?”
Matt’s laugh is music to your ears, and you shoot daggers at Foggy with your eyes as he gives you a knowing look.
“Later guys,” you tell them as you leave.
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Damn Foggy and his words.
Your conversation has been ringing through your head since you left their dorm. Sure, maybe what he said holds a certain degree of truth, but you need to know how much. So now, with your roommate back from her night out, you’re walking all the way back across campus in the cold winter air to go talk to Matt about the feelings that he might or might not have to see how they stand against your own because of an arrangement that you agreed not to let feelings enter.
With your heart pounding in your ears, you raise your knuckles to knock on Matt’s door before you loose all courage. You know he should be there, but you silently pray that he’s out for whatever reason and won’t open up.
“Foggy, darling, I—You’re not Foggy,” a woman with olive skin and long black hair says as she opens the doo. She’s wearing Matt’s favorite Fogwell’s shirt. And no pants.
“And you’re not Matt,” you say, feeling everything on your insides crash in on itself, an angry heat blooming in your chest and spreading up along your skin. “You know what? Forget it—it can wait.”
“(Y/N)?” you hear Matt call from inside his dorm.
“Have a nice night,” you breathe as you move as quickly from the dorm as you can.
“(Y/N), wait,” Matt calls again as you hear his footsteps follow you down the hall.
“Really, Matt. What I had to tell you, it’s not important. Please, just—.”
“Then why did you come?” he demands as he grabs hold of your hand.
“I told you, Matt,” you repeat as you do what you can to keep your voice calm, looking at him as you make a conscious effort to push back the tears stinging at your eyes. “It’s not important. It can wait. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Please let me go,” you snap, a little harsher than you intend. “I just want to go back to my dorm, and you need to get back to your guest.”
Matt drops your hand, straightening up as his face hardens.
“Is that what this is about?” he asks, his tone much harsher than any thing he’s ever directed toward you. “You’re jealous that I have a girlfriend?”
Girlfriend. That word stabs you like a knife. You were stupid to think that you could hold that title. You knew what you were getting into when you agreed to this arrangement with Matt. No strings. You both said it was fine. You agreed to it. You told him not to worry about deeper emotions. You told yourself not to fall in love with Matt Murdock. You guess that’s easier said then done if you’re not already in love.
“No,” you breathe. “I just wish you would have told me.”
“I didn’t need to tell you.”
“I’m just saying that friends usually tell friends when they find someone they . . . When they find someone.” You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to shrink away from him. “I guess we’re not as good of friends as I thought.”
He clenches his jaw, letting it shift as he tilts his head.
“I guess not,” he affirms, his posture growing stiff and hostile.
Those three words kill you in the old hallway.
“Good luck rewriting your closing argument,” you breathe, rushing down the stairwell, not stopping your movements until you flop down on your dorm’s mattress and weep into the sheets.
Damn Foggy and his words.
Damn you for letting yourself believe what he said could be true.
You knew what you were getting into. You agreed to it.
Sex, no strings. No feelings.
Who were you to assume Matt would feel the same way? Why were you so stupid not to see this coming? Why does it hurt as much as it does?
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Taylor Swift really knows what she’s talking about. Not to say that you’ve been a cliché and listened to her music as you’ve worked in your dorm all weekend to simultaneously amplify and work through my emotions, but that’s exactly what you’ve done. But listening to her albums on loop for two days straight does not prepare you for what it’s like to see Matt in class on Monday. You’ve never regretted taking so many classes with someone before. You are able to get to your first class early enough to snag one of the empty seats away from him, but a clog in the stairwell a few hours later means that you’re forced to sit next to him in your philosophy of law class.
To say the temperature in the room dropped would be an understatement. Matt doesn’t even turn his head to give you the slightest of greetings. You just sit like strangers next to one another, taking notes as your professor lectures. When the lecture is over, Matt packs his things in record time and leaves the classroom just as fast, letting you sit in a loud silence that permeates through the chatter of the other students. 
So this is how it’s going to be.
Swallowing hard and willing hot, fat tears to stay in their ducts, you put your things in your bag and make your way out of the classroom, only to catch a glimpse of Matt and the girl from his dorm, kissing each other deeply in the hallway. You pivot, choosing to take the long way around rather than pass them to get to your study spot.
“What is with you two?” Foggy asks as he sits next to you under the tree you’re working under.
“What?” you ask, snapping your attention up from the court transcript before you.
“You and Matt,” he clarifies. “What the hell did I just see in class?”
“Oh, that. Well, I listened to your advice that I should let him know how I feel, he had just finished up with his girlfriend from Spanish class, and we agreed that we weren’t as good of friends as we thought.”
“Wait, Elektra?”
“So you knew about her?”
“I didn’t think they were dating. I just knew that they hung out together a lot. Matt’s always been a flirt, so I never thought much of it.”
“Well, you can imagine it was awkward as all shit when I went to go see him.”
“(Y/N), I’m so sorry.”
“Well, you should be,” you snap, all of your anger and sadness bubbling to the surface in seconds. “Matt and I were fine. We were friends, and we had this arrangement all set up, and then you get into my head and tell me that maybe he was feeling what I thought I was feeling, and now he won’t as much as turn his head in my direction! So, yes, Foggy, you should be sorry for telling me to walk right into Heartbreak Central.”
Foggy shifts on the ground as you move to pack up. “(Y/N), the thing with Elektra isn’t gonna last. I can tell. It’s a time bomb waiting to explode. I know it’s not ideal, but maybe if you wait it out, after—.”
“Wait it out?” you repeat, stopping your motions to look at him. “You make it sound like bad weather and a game delay! I doubt he’d ever want to speak with me again. You didn’t hear what he said, Fog. You didn’t hear how Matt said it. There’s not even a friendship left to repair. I let my heart ruin it.”
“So, is this what the rest of Columbia is gonna be like? My two best friends barely being able to be in the same room as one another?”
Your heart sinks at the idea.
“It may be, Fog.” You brush away a tear with the heel of your hand. “I’m sorry.”
Unfortunately, that’s how the rest of the semester goes. The silences between you and Matt are deafening: every time one of you sits down, the other picks up and leaves, and you completely drift apart. But what you gather from Foggy, the issue isn’t just between you and Matt. Foggy tells you of how Matt skips out without warning, how he’s become distant, how he’s not the Matt you know. Although it hurts you to hear it, you can believe it. The more things you hear about Elektra Natchios, the more you worry for what Matt will become with her influence so close. And the more you worry about him, the more you regret not being there for him and letting him slip through your fingers so easily.
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You press the keys on the piano in the dark café and sing softly into the microphone, letting people talk quietly or just watch as they sip on their drinks. Being a court clerk is a good way to get experience over the summer, but the pay isn’t great, hence your current gig singing in a moody café for artists and the heartbroken. Despite the mildly depressing vibe of the place, it’s refreshing to not recognize anyone. It’s like you get to be a different version of yourself that you have to repress to keep an edge in the law world. Sure, the regulars look familiar in the café, but none of them know law-you.
A small applause erupts as you finish one of your covers, some people taking the chance to place tips in the jar on top of the piano. Rounding out your set for the night, you move to a song of your own. As you begin to sing, you notice that the chatter of the café lessens, everyone’s attention focused on you as you enter the chorus. You let your emotions move your fingers across the piano, drive your voice to be a little louder as you feel all the unresolved pain from months and months build up in your chest and bubble out.
“If I ever find anyone half as good as you, I think maybe that would do,” you sing, glancing up briefly before the bridge, your eyes falling on a white cane. Whether it’s Matt or not, you can’t tell, but it brings all your hurt, anger, and loneliness to a peak. “Oh, I'm so sick of laying here, so sick of counting tears, comparing everyone to you. Oh, oh, oh, I'm so sick of waiting here, so frustrated—my suspicions are you're laying there and thinking of me too.” Softening your pressure on the keys, the notes move to a more gentle chime as you finish the last verses song. As you play the last notes moving up the scale, you look back up to where you saw the cane.
It’s not Matt.
It was stupid to even think it’d be him. In a city as large as New York, it’s stupid to assume Matt is the only blind one.
Even though a large applause erupts in the café, bringing you in more tips than you have ever received, your disappointment can’t allow you to feel anything. With a tight smile and some nods, you gather your things and move along the edge of the café to the entrance, letting the hot summer air coat your skin in an uncomfortable embrace.
“Those were some sad songs. Did you write that last one?” you hear a familiar voice asks. You stop dead in your tracks as you feel a wave of heat that starts from your heart flood over you.
“So you’re just gonna show up and talk to me and act like nothing happened?” you retort, refusing to turn around.
“Did you write that song?” Matt asks again.
“I don’t owe you an answer.”
“(Y/N), I—.”
“What are you even doing here?” you hiss as you turn around, taking two angry strides towards him on the sidewalk. 
“I was walking by. Someone went into that café and I heard you singing.”
Matt lets out a sigh, clenching his jaw. “Foggy might have been putting me in my place and let it slip.”
“So what? You wanted to come by to make sure that the lid on your not-friend’s coffin was sealed shut?”
“Will you just calm down and let me talk?” he snaps.
“No!” you shout, catching the attention of the few people braving the summer heat. They give skeptical glances, but keep moving along. “I won’t calm down, and I don’t want to hear what you have to say. You said it all that night, and you said even more in your silent treatment in our classes. You broke my heart in so many different ways, I wasn’t sure I’d find the pieces again. I know we had agreed that it was just sex, and just sex means no feelings—no strings attached. But they hit me like a truck and tied me up and I fell so in love with you, Matt. And then—and then—you didn’t tell me about you seeing Elektra, you acted like I didn’t exist, and you cut me and the other people that care about you out of your life.”
“You think I don’t love you?” he pants, his face twisted in anger.
“How can you say that you loved me with you were with someone else?”
“Because I was with her, trying to ignore my feelings for you. I was trying to distract my heart from racing when you’d touch me, how nervous I felt when I’d be on my way to meet you, how I’d never want you to leave my arms. Elektra just . . . happened, after I met her at that party. I thought that if I could have a relationship with her, I wouldn’t complicate what we had.”
“That sounds so moronic, you know that?”
He sighs, licking his lips as he turns his head to the side, trying to find the right words.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply, his voice small, tired, defeated. “I’m so sorry.”
You move your arms to hug yourself.
“I wrote the song when I saw you two on campus on Valentine’s Day,” you say, your voice small as you answer his initial question.
Matt hangs his head, swallowing hard.
“Are you two—?”
“No. I ended it.”
You hold yourself tighter. “Did you and Elektra . . . while we—I mean, I know you did, but . . .”
A guilty, pained look falls over Matt’s face. “Yeah. We did it enough.”
You pinch your eyes shut as tears roll down your face. There’s something about hearing it that makes it so much more painful.
“(Y/N),” he croaks, dropping his cane as one hand moves to cradle your neck while the other holds onto your cheek. “I know what I did was shitty, and I know I’ve been shitty to you. It’s not an excuse. But you have to believe me when I say that this year has been one of the worst of my life without you in it. The Catholicism has taught me how to smile through the pain and act like I’m not hurting, but I’ve been so hollow and empty inside without you. I know I should have been honest with you about how I felt.” He takes a sharp breath. “I’m not expecting us to just fall back into how we were before. We can do baby steps—smaller than baby steps, even. I just know that I don’t like who I am without you.”
Tears hotter than the Hell’s Kitchen summer air roll down your cheeks like a fast moving river as you take Matt into your arms, burying your face into his shoulder. Matt’s arms hold onto you like a lifeline, his large hand holding onto the back of your head, his fingers scrunching up your hair.
“I just want you,” he mutters into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I just want to be with you, (Y/N).”
“I thought I ruined it,” you cry, mustering the strength to pull back and look at him. “I thought I lost my friend forever. I thought—I couldn’t—.”
“Hey,” he sniffles, furiously wiping away your tears with his thumbs. “I’ve already made you cry too much, and I’ve never wanted to see you cry. I don’t want to see any more tears from you—happy, sad, mad, whatever. Just dry eyes, okay?”
“But you can’t see the tears,” you say, a small smile pulling at the corner of your lips as you shift the black glasses off his face, wiping away the tears that fall from his own beautiful orbs.
A wet laugh falls from Matt’s lips at the sound of your terrible joke before he pulls you in for a kiss. Although your lips have met countless times before in your escapades, this embrace somehow feels like the first. It’s tender, languid, and down right soul-consuming. In the simplest of terms, it’s an expression of nothing but passion and the sweetest, deepest kind of love.
“Get a fuckin’ room!” someone on the street shouts, pulling you two out of your moment, making both of you chuckle and blush at the reprimand.
“I love you,” Matt says softly, his voice gliding across your ears in his velvety timbre, his unfocused brown eyes trying to find yours. “I love you so incredibly much. I’m just sorry it took me so long to admit it.”
You run your fingers through his hair and softly smile up at him. 
“Well, I understand how it might have been hard for you to see at first.”
He chuckles as he rests his forehead on yours, his arms wrapped around your middle.
“I’m so sorry, Matty, I need to make up for eight months of missed blind jokes,” you defend, relishing in the feeling of him holding onto you tighter. You lean forward to kiss him again, the embrace just as sweet as the one you shared moments ago. “I love you, too, Matt,” you whisper. “You’re a pain in my ass sometimes, but I wouldn’t want you any other way.”
“How about we head to Josie’s? You dish out blind jokes twice as fast when she feeds you shots,” he smirks, his honey brown eyes soft as he gazes at you.
“Nah,” you whisper, lacing your fingers together with his as your foreheads rest on one another’s. “I want to make all of this last as long as I can.”
“Well, I don’t plan on ever stopping you.”
A wide smile pulls at your lips as your mouths are drawn together like magnets once more. “Good.”
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vbecker10 · a day ago
Shadows of the Past
Part 55 (Part 54)
You wake up suddenly to the sound of Y/N screaming. You open your eyes, fully awake in an instant. Before you can say or do anything to try and calm her, she moves away from you and gets out of the bed. You sit up and turn the bedside lamp on as she sits against the wall. She brings her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them and putting her head down. You get up quickly and kneel on the floor in front of her.
“Y/N?” you ask quietly, slowly reaching out to touch her arm.
As soon as your fingers touch her, she flinches and pulls her knees tighter to her body. You take your hand back quickly, not wanting to upset her further. You can hear her sobbing softly and you wish you knew what to do to help her. She looked terrified and all you wanted to do was make her feel safe. 
After a few minutes Y/N wipes her eyes with the back of her hand and looks up at you. “I’m sorry,” she mumbles.
You shake your head and attempt to touch her again. This time she doesn’t move away when you gently touch her arm. “Y/N, you have nothing to be sorry for,” you tell her. 
She nods a bit and then looks down again, this time at her hands. She rubs her left wrist slowly where the thick purple and red bruise had been. She continues to rub her wrist, seemingly lost in thought, and as her hand rotates slightly she stops. Her attention shifting to the ring on her finger instead of the invisible bruise. 
"Can you come here?” she asks and you move so you are sitting next to her against the wall. She puts her head on your shoulder and you rub her back with one hand, tucking her hair behind her ear with your other hand. 
“Do you want to talk about it?” you ask and she shakes her head. You kiss the top of her head and she presses closer to you. She crosses her arms around herself and closes her eyes. You continue to hold her like that until she starts to fall asleep. You can hear her breathing slow and arms uncross, settling in her lap. You pick her up, careful not to wake her, and carry her back to the bed. After tucking her in on her side of the bed, you get in. She rolls onto her side, facing away from you so you put your arms around her and hug her tightly from behind. She moves back slightly, pressing her back against your chest and you can hear her sigh in her sleep. After kissing her cheek, you close your eyes and try to fall back asleep. 
Roughly an hour later, you are awoken again by Y/N. This time she doesn’t scream, she lashes out in her sleep. Hitting you hard and crying as she tries to free herself from your arms. You let her go and she pushes herself away from you to the other side of the bed. Sitting up, you look over to turn the light on and when you look back at Y/N, she is sitting up against the headboard, as far from you as she can be.
She breaths deeply, trying to catch her breath and stop her tears. You get off the bed and come around to her side, sitting in front of her. You stroke her cheek softly as you tell her you are with her and she is safe. Y/N looks up at you and before she can say anything you shake your head and say, “Please don’t apologize again, love.”
Y/N closes her eyes for a moment and a few tears roll down her cheeks. When she opens them, you wipe her tears away for her. She looks up at you and you can see how hurt and scared she is. 
“Talk to me,” you urge her but she shakes her head. “You were there for me when I had nightmares about Thanos and the Black Order. We were barely even friends when you gave me the strength to talk about what they did to me. Let me be here for you, Y/N, please.”
She doesn’t respond right away, but finally she nods slowly. “Ok,” she says quietly. She takes a deep breath and you hold her hand.
You sit silently as Y/N slowly opens up to you about what happened to her while Hydra held her captive. She takes her time, telling you about the lab and the experimental red serum. Y/N describes the pain she would feel from the serum and how Marc would smile at her when she tried not to scream. Your hatred of Marc grows, something you didn’t think was possible. 
Y/N tells you how they sedated her over and over again, keeping her unconscious unless they were going to inject her with the serum or hurt her for their tests. “I just wanted to dream about you, even if it was only for a few minutes... but I couldn’t. Whatever they used to sedate me didn’t let me dream,” she says.
You move so you are now sitting next to her, both of you sitting with you backs against the headboard. She looks up at you and continues as you take her hand again. "Sometimes, when I would first wake up, I could pretend you were with me. If I tried hard enough, I could feel your arms around me and smell your cologne or soap. But it never lasted long enough, the doctors and guards always came in soon after I woke up,” Y/N says.
You can feel your guilt creeping back in, how could you have let her suffer like this for so long? 
“Did you dream of me?” she asks you, the question surprising you.
“I didn’t sleep,” you tell her honestly. “I couldn’t, not until I found you and knew you were safe.” You pause for a moment, “But when I did sleep... it was always short and never peaceful. You were always in my dreams but they would inevitably turn to nightmares.”
"I wish I could do something to rid you of your nightmares,” you tell her, not wanting to shift the focus onto you. Y/N had been through more than enough, she didn’t need to worry that you had been skipping meals and not sleeping. 
“So do I,” she says. She is silent for a bit and then she asks, “I guess you and Dr. Palmer saw what they did to me? All the injuries?”
“Yes,” you answer, thinking back to the numerous cuts and bruises all over her body. 
“That’s how they tested the serum,” she says calmly. “The doctor would tell the guard to hurt me and then they would document my healing process. Sometimes they would cut me, other times they would hit me or break a bone.”
You listen quietly and you can’t help but try to imagine how much pain she must have been in or how scared she was. “Y/N... there are two injuries I was hoping I could ask you about. If that is ok?” you ask, hoping you won’t upset her.
She nods and waits for you to ask your question. “When Dr. Palmer was examining you, she saw you were shot. What happened, was that a part of their test?” you ask her.
Y/N tells you how she had tried to escape, stabbing the doctor and taking out several guards before finally making it to the door of her room. She then tells you her plan for escape didn’t extend past what to do once she was out of the room but it wouldn’t matter. She opened the door and was faced with Marc, who shot her at close range just above her heart. Y/N shakes her head no when you ask if she received any treatment. She explains that a major part of the experiment with the serum was to see how she would heal with little to no medical intervention. After she was shot, they bandaged it enough for her not to bleed to death immediately but beyond that she was left in the room to heal. 
You try to process the thought of Y/N laying there alone after being shot but she interrupts your thought. Y/N asks you, “Your other question... is it about my leg?”
You nod, “I know your scars Y/N, and the ones on your leg look different.”
She stretches her legs out straight in front of her and looks down at them. “They removed all of the metal,” she says, still looking at her leg.
“What?” you ask in shock.
“They did it early on... one of the doctors cut through my old scars and took out the screws, plates and everything else holding my bones together. It was excruciating but the bones and muscles healed in a few days. The joint pain and stiffness hasn’t returned and I can walk as well as I did before-” she stops herself. 
“Before I hurt you,” you finish for her.
She sighs but nods. “Is that why you are wearing my clothes? So I wouldn’t see your leg,” you ask and she nods again. 
“I know you still feel guilty about my leg and I can tell you blame yourself for everything that happened to me these last two weeks but, Loki, neither thing is your fault,” she tells you. “You are the reason I stayed strong enough to survive what they did to me. I knew you would never let anything stop you from finding me. I never doubted you for a minute.”
You smile a bit but you can still feel a heaviness in your chest. “I would have searched the whole of the nine realms to find you,” you tell her. 
“I know Loki,” she smiles back at you. She kisses your cheek and then you press your lips to hers briefly. You rest your forehead against hers and close your eyes for a minute. 
Y/N is quiet and when you open your eyes and sit back, you, notice she is sliding her ring on and off her finger. She seems distant, almost spaced out. “Y/N...” you say to get her attention. She looks up and you tell her, “I’m sorry if I rushed you with that.”
She seems confused and you gesture towards the ring she is holding. She slides it back on her finger. “I know we’ve never talked about marriage and we haven’t even been together a year but... I just wanted you to know I was yours, completely. I was so scared when you were taken and then when our attempts to find you kept failing...” you stop talking and take a deep breath. 
“When I saw you in the lab,” you shake your head, trying to clear your mind of the image of her unconscious and restrained. “I was terrified that I had lost you and I mean it when I say I don’t honestly know what I would do without you, Y/N. I felt myself unraveling without you by my side and I never want to experience that again.” She touches your cheek lightly and you look into her eyes. “I didn’t plan on proposing to you in front of everyone like that but in that moment, I needed to tell you how much you mean to me,” you say. 
You take her hand and tell her “Its ok if it is too soon, if you felt pressured to say yes or if you need more time-”
“Loki, I know it was sudden but I meant it when I said yes. I would say yes to being your wife a million times. I want to be yours forever and I want you to be mine,” she interrupts you and you feel a smile spread across your lips. “Were you worried because I keep playing with the ring and taking it off?” she asks and you nod, almost feeling silly about it now. 
She giggles and your heart jumps, you had missed that sound so much recently. “Sometimes the weirdest things make you nervous,” she says but you are still confused. “I used to wear a few rings when I was in high school and college and I always played with them. Its just a habit I always had, spinning it or sliding it on and off when I was nervous, bored or just thinking. It doesn’t mean anything I promise,” she tells you. 
"I love you,” you tell her.
“I love you too, don’t ever doubt that,” she says.
“I won’t,” you agree with a smile. You put your hand on the back of her neck and pull her towards you, kissing her softly. She puts one hand on your chest and kisses you back. 
Y/N breaks the kiss and yawns then shakes her head before looking at the clock. “Do you want to try and sleep again?” you ask her as you run your fingers through her hair.
“I don’t know... what if I have another nightmare?” she asks, sounding worried.
“I’ll hold you until you feel safe,” you suggest. 
She sighs but agrees and you both settle under the covers again. You turn the lamp off and she curls up against you. This time she faces you and you hold onto each other tightly. You kiss her lips, then her nose, then her forehead and finally the top of her head. She giggles and buries her face against your chest as you finish. 
“I love you, Y/N,” you whisper.
“I love you too,” she answers back. 
You listen in the dark to the sounds of her breathing and gently stroke her hair. You hope the nightmares have passed and you slowly allow yourself to close your eyes. Less than half an hour later you are woken by lashing out in her sleep and you know it will be a long night for both of you.
@michelleleewise @evansabove1981 @ace-of-gay @fic-recs-from-lokis-gem @poetic-fiasco @lokisprettygirl22 @soubi001 @kats72 @misswimberly @meibruges @juulle987 @asgardianprincess1050 @el-zef @xorpsbane @sweatyroadcowboyjudge @lulubelle814 @annoyingmarvelreader  @yoongissidebitchh @ihategreeneggs  @daggers-and-mischief @nonsensicalobsessions @chaotics17 @redbluekjw @lokiprompts @lovingchoices14 @roseeatta @hopefuldreamers-world @ladymischief11 @stevihj @too-strong-to-lose @imalovernotahater @lokisninerealms
Let me know if you want to be added! 💚
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wokeupinawalnut · a day ago
It’s a Trap
Note: I’m really in the mood to write for Carol lately, so have one of the results haha I hope you enjoy! <3
Summary: You have a different kind of movie night with your girlfriend.
Warnings: none
Pairing: Carol Danvers x GN!Reader
Words: 1.471
The sun was setting outside your bedroom window, turning the light that found its way in into a beautiful and gentle gold. You smiled as you looked outside, admiring the view of the sunset over the woods. It was your fourth day in the cabin the Avengers had rented for some much-needed team vacation and you were once again glad you had opted for a change of scenery after four consecutive years at the beach. But that wasn’t what made this year’s trip the best you have had so far. The reason for that was that this year, you were there with your girlfriend and you truly couldn’t be happier.
Well, maybe you would be if she were with you right then.
Carol had left about an hour ago with the promise to be back soon and you were starting to crave her cuddles. She had seemed oddly giddy and if you were honest, you were dying to find out why.
Luckily, you didn’t have to wait much longer before the door to your bedroom cracked open and Carol poked her head inside. She stepped in and walked over to you with a grin as you set your book back on your nightstand.
“Where were you?“ you asked once she reached your side and pulled her down for a brief kiss, “I missed you.”
Carol laughed lightly and pecked your lips once more before standing back up straight. She was grinning in that specific way that let you know she had been plotting something and you were not able to figure out if today it meant something good or bad before she took your hand in hers and started tugging you forward, trying to get you out of bed.
“Come, I have a surprise…”
“A surprise?” you inquired, swinging your legs over the edge of the bed.
Carol nodded, “It’s cooled off outside, you should bring a jacket.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” you gave her a mock salute and your girlfriend rolled her eyes at you.
She waited patiently for you to get ready before she took your hand again and eagerly led you through the hallway of the cabin and out into the pleasant summer evening.
You thought she might take you towards the bonfire where some of your teammates were gathered but as soon as you were out the door, Carol tugged you into the complete opposite direction towards the lake. She swung your hands back and forth between you and you smiled giddily upon seeing her so content.
“So, are you going to tell me what we’re doing?” You bumped your shoulder with hers.
“So, impatient,” Carol teased, “We’re nearly there.”
She grinned at you, not indulging you with any answers to your questions but you grew excited when you reached the small pier.
“I thought we should have one night to ourselves on our vacation,” Carol smiled softly at you and halted in front of the small wooden rowboat that was tied there.
You grew speechless when your eyes wandered from Carol to the boat. Its interior that had looked beyond uninviting when you arrived the other day had been all but transformed. Cobwebs and dead leaves had been replaced with a bunch of pillows and a blanket, and Carol had packed a basket with food and drinks and placed it in the far back. It definitely also looked much less like a deathtrap than when you had first seen it. You wondered if Carol did some repairs or even painted it. She certainly seemed very happy with herself and was beaming wide when you looked back up at her.
“After you,” she smiled and with a grin of your own, you let her help you into the boat.
“This is amazing, Carol,” you said as she got in and as soon as she had sat down in front of you, you reached forward and pulled her towards you by the collar of her jacket. Your lips were on hers in an instant; you kissed her fiercely and Carol reciprocated just the same, holding on to your hand and if you hadn’t sent the boat wobbling on the surface of the water, making you both squeal, you probably would have stayed that way forever.
You giggled and kissed her briefly once more before you pulled away properly and Carol reached for the oars.
“Let me help,” you reached towards her, but Carol firmly shook her head, starting to row.
“You just relax,” she insisted, and you grinned.
“Okay,” you tilted your head, biting your lip, “But maybe you want to untie the boat yourself then before you go on.”
You couldn’t help but laugh at the way Carol instantly blushed. “Oh,” she chuckled a little flustered, “I guess that might be a good idea.”
“I mean, we can also stay like this, but if getting away from possible intrusions by our teammates was part of your plan, it really would be a good idea.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she stuck her tongue out at you and quickly got you loose before she turned to you once more. “Did I forget something else?”
You laughed. “No, we’re good to go, I think.”
“If you start singing ‘row, row, row your boat’ at any point, I’m dumping you into the lake,” she threatened playfully as she picked the oars back up and you quickly snapped your mouth shut. How had she known?
“You wouldn’t,” you pouted.
“No, probably not,” Carol agreed, “You shouldn’t test me though.”
“I’ll save it for the way back after our date then,” you grinned and Carol rolled her eyes, but smiled.
“I don’t think you’ll want to risk landing in the water later,” she smirked as she came to a halt when she decided you were far out enough.
“What does that mean?” You narrowed your eyes at her.
Your girlfriend only smiled sweetly as she switched seats into the one beside you. The night was falling around you and since it had grown darker, she decided to light the lantern she had brought and set it down on the bench in front of you.
“Carol…” you insisted, “What does that mean?”
She laughed lightly and handed you a drink and some snacks. “It means,” she said as she got her tablet from the bottom of the basket, “That I thought we’d have a movie night.”
“What movie?” You deadpanned.
Carol only grinned, a little sheepishly you thought now, but she kept the tablet turned away from you as she selected the movie, not letting you catch sight of the display.
“You just said, you had never watched it the other day, so I thought…”
“No,” you said immediately. There was only one movie she could be referring to. “No way, I’m watching that out here.”
“Come on,” Carol whined, “It will totally enhance the experience.”
“I don’t wish to experience Jaws enhanced. No, thank you.”
“It’s not even that scary!” she said now, turning in a way that let you see that you were undoubtedly right with your assessment of her movie choice.
“It definitely will be if we’re out here in the dark!”
“I’ll keep you safe,” Carol jutted out her bottom lip, looking at you with big brown eyes, “Please? In the impossible event of a shark attack, I’ll just fly us away!”
“Sharks don’t attack out of the blue,” you blurted, “That’s such a bad image Hollywood put on those poor creatures.”
“You realise that you just argued in my favour?” Carol grinned.
“That’s not the point!”
“I love you.”
You rolled your eyes and closed them briefly, inhaling deeply before committing your mistake; when you opened them again and found yourself looking into Carol’s big and pleading eyes, you were done for. There was just no wish you could deny her.
“Fine,” you sighed and Carol cheered, instantly scooting closer to drape a blanket around your shoulders and balancing the tablet between you. “If I don’t get any sleep tonight, it’ll be your fault.”
“When is it not?” she smirked.
“I hate you.”
“Liar,” she grinned.
“Yeah,” you sighed and finally gave in and cuddled into Carol’s side.
She placed a soft kiss to the top of your head and despite your impending doom, you started to smile.
“I really appreciate all of this despite your questionable movie choice. Tangled would have been thematically fitting too, just an FYI.”
“Next time,” Carol promised with a laugh.
“I’ll hold you to it, Danvers.”
“I know you will,” she smiled at you. Her soft smile soon turned into a smirk though. “So,” she raised her eyebrows, her index finger hovering above the play-button, “Ready?”
You sighed and despite your better knowledge you found yourself saying, “Let’s do this.”
Because how bad could it really be if you had Carol by your side?
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heavysoldat · a month ago
dbf!bucky barnes x fem!reader
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the reader and the terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day.
warnings: SMUT (unprotected vaginal sex, cunnilingus, dirty talk, degradation & praise kink), age gap (19-early 20s x late 30s early 40s), inappropriate relationships, cheating, hurt/comfort, toxic relationships, gratuitous smut
this came out a lot softer than intended, whoops
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You’ve had a rough fucking day. And that’s to put it lightly.
You woke up after sleeping through your alarm, twice, making you miss an online morning class and wildly late for another. The local brewery was all out of your usual order- which was the only thing that would’ve brought you peace. To make matters even worse, your phone died when you needed it most, and when your boyfriend; who you’ve been dating for over a year- handed you his cellphone to use instead, you were slapped in the face by sexually charged text messages between him and one of your closest friends. And all of that is just a brief summary.
Really, the last thing you needed was a stack of work given to you by your employer to do on your time off, but of course, that’s what you were given.
You’re sat at your kitchen island, home alone; your parents excusing themselves for a much needed date night, clad in nothing but panties and a shirt you had gotten at a concert years before, which was the only size they had left— a size too large for your frame.
The sound of the front door opening collides with your incessant tapping of keys, making you almost jump out of your skin. A relief washes over you when you see a familiar face, dressed for the fall weather and dropping a plastic bag by your side.
“Your dad home?” Bucky asks, almost grunting.
“No,” You say, turning to face him, “What’s in the bag?”
“Bread.” He says, opening it and showing you the round object wrapped in tinfoil. Bucky’s always been a good cook; at least when it comes to dough and grain. Your mother always insists he brings over extras when he bakes, and he always obliges, basking in her admiration for his skills.
When you reach to unwrap it, he slaps your hand away, making you yelp. “Hands off. This is for dinner.”
“Asshole,” You mumble, rubbing your now slightly irritated hand. You’re not usually like this— usually happy to see him, happy to see a warm, non familial face around the house to bring you conversation. But with a day like today, all chivalry is out the window.
“Hey,” He says, eyebrows raised. Despite his surprise, his voice remains calm. “What’s with the attitude?”
“I just don’t like getting slapped, surprisingly.”
“Don’t be a brat.” He says, voice stern and stabbing. He’s got his glare set on you, towering; it almost scares you, almost makes your heart drop to your stomach.
You don’t respond, instead opting to avert your gaze, placing your attention to the work on your computer and the splitting ache in your head and heart.
“Hey,” Bucky says, voice calmer, “What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” You breathe, barely audible.
Your reply makes Bucky tsk, shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “You’re lying. Talk to me.”
You swallow, harsh and rough in your throat. You can barely help the way your lip quivers. Every piece of text on your computer is nothing but a blur, a mindless space of pixels that’s clouding your head. You’re almost staring past it, but desperate for a way to not look at him— because you know if you do, it will just make everything worse.
“I’m just having a bad day.” Your voice is soft. Fragile. Barely there.
You feel his hand rubbing your arm, trying to bring you as much comfort as he can. He can’t take your stress away, he knows that, but he just wants to put it to rest for now.
“What happened, hun?”
The nickname strikes through your chest, but simultaneously covering you in warmth. “I just…” You can barely speak without choking, “It’s just one of those days where everything goes fucking wrong. I wake up too late, I miss my classes, get berated by teachers who don’t understand that I can’t control how my body works— and then I can’t even get food in my stomach, let alone a fucking coffee. My parents wouldn’t call me back all day, wouldn’t even lend me a text, and Chase can’t be there for me because he’s too busy sending photos of his dick to other girls!”
“Hold on,” Bucky jets, tightening his grip on your arm, “What was that last part?”
“Chase?” You ask, eyes watery. Bucky nods. “I- He’s- He was texting- sexting my friend, Chloe.”
Bucky’s eyebrows tighten in a furrow, thumb stroking your bare skin. “He’s a fucking idiot.”
“No, I just…” You breathe in, trying to catch your breath from the four mile sprint of a monologue you just did, “I haven’t had time for him lately, y’know? I’ve been busy with my job, and-and school, we haven’t done anything in weeks, and y’know- he has needs. I don’t- blame him, I wasn’t- I wasn’t there.”
“What?” Bucky bellows, voice rising. You jump at the loudness, before he brings you back down with his grip. “Is that what he told you?”
You nod. Bucky sighs.
“Listen, I’m… I’m gonna give you some advice.” He says. “Take it from me. I’m a lot older than you, and I’ve had a fair share of weak moments- but never, ever would I think it’s okay to go behind a woman’s back just because I’m not gettin’ any. That’s fucking cowardice. If a guy ever tells you it’s your fault he cheated on you, run in the other direction.”
“He didn’t cheat on me,” You hiccup, “They didn’t do anything, they-they were just texting.”
“Did he say that, too?”
You pause, staring at him- before nodding.
“That’s bullshit. He went behind your back with someone else. That’s cheatin’.”
You bite your lip, not hard enough to break skin, adverting your eyes from his gaze. You let the words sink in, let them fill you, let them sit in your body for now. He’s right, and you know he is, but it’s hard for you to admit to yourself. It’s how you’ve always been treated by men. It’s how you’ve always experienced love. It’s how everything has always been.
“What’s goin’ on in that pretty little head, huh?”
You laugh, breathy and broken, “I’m just… I feel like a shitty girlfriend.”
“Don’t say that shit,” Bucky has your face in his hand, pulling your gaze back to his. He’s staring at you with those steel eyes, intense in gaze; like they’re reading your thoughts. “He has a right hand for a reason.”
That makes you laugh. The sound of your giggle makes him laugh, his dimpled smile covering his features.
“I’m serious, okay? Don’t do that for yourself. He’s the asshole.”
“Yeah,” You sniffle, “He is.”
Bucky’s eyes are still on you when you look away, taken over by a soft gleam he’s had for a while now.
“I shouldn’t be crying over a guy who thinks eating pussy is gross,” You laugh, wiping your slightly teared cheeks with your palms.
“What?” Bucky’s gawking, almost comedically, “Gross?”
“You don’t think it’s gross?”
“Far from it.”
You smile weakly, only one corner of your mouth turning upward. You attempt to move back to your work, before he grips your arm again, pulling your gaze back.
“You sounded surprised,” He notes, “Has every guy you’ve ever dated thought that?”
“Uh…” You chew on your bottom lip, staring down at your lap, “Yeah.”
The silence that follows is almost deafening. Bucky’s seen you with a couple guys- seen the boys you bring home to meet your folks, boys who pull up in your driveway and great you with a rough kiss. The thought alone that you’ve just been taken without getting is enough to tighten his shoulders— a pretty little thing like you, perfect ass in tight panties— it’s insane to him. Insane that no ones taken advantage in the right way.
“So,” He tuts, “You’ve never had anyone eat you out before?”
The question surprises the shit out of you. Sure, you’ve had raunchy conversations with him— but they’ve all been shitty jokes followed by “if you tell your parents I joke with you like this, I’ll kill you”. He’s always been the soft, teddy bear next door with a potty mouth, careful to not overstep boundaries or get into you personally. He’s never even asked about the boys you’ve brought around, or pointed out the actors you ogle in movies. It’s always been behind a wall.
He hums, deep in his throat, bringing one of his fingers to lift your chin. He’s got his gaze fixated on your mouth, nostrils flaring with his heavy breaths. “D’ya wanna know what it feels like?”
Your heart drops down into your stomach, falling into an ashy pit. Your breathing gets harder, thicker, your thighs clenching at the very suggestion— he’s always been the guy your friends have joked about being too hot for his own good, being a tease for remaining so forbidden. You’ve never said anything, never spoke a peep, knowing that if you admitted anything to yourself it would become real. He would become real. Instead of your dads friend who comes by with pastries, he’d turn into the man you stare at by swimming pools, praying he’s catching glimpses of how your ass looks in your swimsuit. And you had never been ready for that immature, young schoolgirl crush.
“What’re you saying?” Your voice is breathy, whispering. His free hand lays wait on your waste, itching to move down, tangled with the fabric of your shirt.
“Gonna ask you somethin’, and you can always say no, get up ‘n leave. Tell me to fuck off.” He says, still staring at your mouth, still holding onto you, “Can you get up ‘n bend over for me?”
Oh fuck. Suddenly every wall, every rule you’ve made with yourself, every illusion of unattainability comes crashing down, falling apart like bricks. If you weren’t clenching your thighs tight before, you are now.
You don’t even respond. With a heavy breath, you stand up, and he follows behind, moving back to give you room. You pause, letting yourself breathe— before placing your hands on the cold marble of the countertop, letting yourself bend down.
You can hear the shaky breath Bucky lets out, hear him fumbling to move behind you. The feeling of his hands on your hips almost makes you jolt. He moves you to where he wants you, before pulling you up, bracing your back flat against his chest.
“Listen to me,” He says, speaking into your ear, voice soft. “If you don’t want me to do this, just tell me, okay? Not doin’ anything you don’t want me to.”
You nod, but don’t move. With your silent consent, he pushes you back down, laying you flat against the island. He hooks a prosthetic finger into your panties, pulling them slowly down your legs, letting you step out of them.
“Mmm,” He hums, letting himself fall down to his knees. He’s staring up at your pussy, glistening with your arousal, profited by his very presence. He slides a finger through your drenched folds, making you twitch, rubbing your slit from top to bottom in an experimental test.
The first slide of his tongue in your folds is heavenly. It has you keening, legs trying to move away, but he keeps you there with a tight grip of his hands. He’s wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking lightly, finger teasing your hole with wide circles.
“Oh fuck,” You’re moaning, head falling forward and eyes rolling back. It’s different from anything else, better than anything else— and he’s got you stuck, manhandling you the way he wants you. The way he knows is best for you.
When he slides his fingers in, you clench hard, making him moan around your cunt. The vibrations send a jolt of pleasure up your spine, leaving you whining- whimpering against the granite.
With him switching from sucking your clit, to fucking your hole with his tongue— it’s not long before you feel the build up deep in your core, spinning wildly towards your finish. You’re grinding against his face, practically smothering him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything, with the way he’s moaning, whining against your soaked pussy, you’d say he fucking loves it.
Then, you’re cumming, drenching his face with your wetness, his face buried deeper than you thought possible. It leaves your legs twitching.
As you come down, he goes up, fingers still sliding inside of your cunt as he pulls you back up towards him. With you leaning back against his chest, he leans down to your ear:
“You know why I’m doin’ this?” He asks, fingers still gliding inside of you, overstimulating you in the best way, “Cause you drive me fuckin’ crazy.”
You’re gasping, gripping his arms tight, his thumb flicking and rubbing your sensitive nub, fingers pounding away at that spongey spot deep inside your core.
“Every time I come in here,” He grunts, “You’re dressed like this. Tight ass in those fuckin’ panties, beautiful legs— you have no idea what you do to me. Your dad would kill me, if he knew what I was thinkin’, if he knew how I hard I fucked my fist thinkin’ about his sweet little girl. How bad I wanna stuff her cunt full, watch the way she cums— just wanna treat her right. Cause you deserve it, honey, you fuckin’ do. Tired of watching you get pushed around by little boys who don’t know nothin’ about making you happy. Just wanna see you happy, wanna see you satisfied. Wanna see you get what you need. What you deserve.”
“Please,” You beg, eye’s shut tight, “Buck, please fuck me, please.”
It has him gasping, breath fluttering. “I can’t, honey, this is about you.”
“Please.” You’re practically crying. “Please, I need your cock so fucking bad, please— I need you to fill me up, want you to fuck me so good, Bucky, please!”
“Fuck,” Bucky curses, grinding his already throbbing cock against your bare ass, “Fuck!”
You hear him fumbling with his belt, the clinking of metal filling up the murderous silence. He pulls up behind you, gripping your hips, before stopping—
“Fuck,” He stops, “Don’t have a condom.”
“I’m on the pill,” You don’t have time for this. You’re practically dripping arousal onto the floor, clenching around nothing, cunt desperate for his cock. “You can cum inside me, you can do whatever you want, please just fuck me.”
You’re going to be the fucking death of him, he swears.
The first slide of his cock makes your body twitch. His cock stretches you almost to the point of pain, burying inside you to the hilt with a heavy moan. His balls are heavy against your ass, ready to burst, thrusting shallowly into your cunt out of desperation.
“Fuck,” He moans, “God, your pussy’s so fuckin’ good.”
“Please, move,” You whine, “Just fuck me.”
Bucky places his hand on the small of your back, softly pushing you down against the countertop. After he places himself just right, he starts snapping into you, deep and hard.
You’re reeling, moaning against the marble, the slapping of skin on skin filling up your ears. You can hear him moaning, grunting about how good you feel, precum dripping down in your inner walls.
“Oh god,” Bucky’s grunting, thrusts getting faster. “God, yeah, stay just like that for me. Let me fuck that pretty cunt, fuck, lemme fill you.”
“Yes, yes,” You’re moaning like you’re being paid, gripping the counter so hard your nails change color, “Please, please fuck me— fuck, harder, please, Bucky.”
The sound of your moans have him desperate. He feels feral, uncontrollable, unable to stop how recklessly he fucks you. He lifts your leg up, pulling his arm underneath it as leverage to fuck you deeper. You’re both colliding in a symphony of moans, the sounds of your pleasure so loud you know the neighbors can hear.
“This what you wanted?” Bucky slaps your ass, watching as the flesh jiggles underneath his thrusts, “This what you were begging for? A thick cock in your tight little pussy? Fuck, how shitty those boys fuckin’ treated you, leavin’ you this desperate for cock, practically fuckin’ drooling against the counter. Fuck, take it like that, honey, you’re takin’ it so fucking good for me.”
Your moans are practically incoherent at this point. You’re blabbering, unable to keep your mouth shut, desperately humping yourself back against him when he moves to rub at your clit.
“So fuckin’ cock hungry,” Bucky laughs, “What would daddy think of you?”
When you clench around him, he knows he’s got you with his words. “Yeah? What would daddy think about his sweet girl getting pounded in his own kitchen? Begging to be fucked by the only man who’s ever gonna fuckin’ treat her right?”
“I’m a- I’m a slut,” You moan, broken.
“Oh god, yeah you are.” Bucky pulls you up, putting your leg down and pressing you against him by your throat. “But you’re my fuckin’ slut. Don’t wanna see anymore boys around here— the only cock you’re gettin’ is mine, okay? Only cock that can make you feel this good.”
“I’m gonna cum again,” You whine, grabbing onto the hand thats wrapped around your throat. “I’m gonna cum, please.”
“Good fuckin’ girl,” He moans, fucking you harder, faster, “Cum around this cock, baby, fuckin’ claim it. C’mon, be a good girl and cum.”
The orgasm rips through you hard, your moans turning into screams as he fucks you through it. You can barely make out his praise, the way he’s commending you for coming around him. The chord snap is almost painful, almost has you trying to run away from it, but the feeling of your orgasm running through your core is enough to have you crying.
“Oh god, here it fuckin’ comes, baby,” Bucky moans, eyes shut tight, panting breaths against your skin, “Gonna cum so fucking hard, I’m fuckin’ shaking,”
You’re begging him for it, pleading for him to cum inside you, fill you up—
With one hard thrust deep inside you, he lets out a loud yell, cum filling you up deep inside your body. He’s shivering, humping desperately against your ass as he rides it out, light moans escaping his lips.
The aftermath of it scares you. You can feel reality set in as he slides his cock out, cum dripping down your leg and onto the tiled floor.
Before you can let your thoughts sink in, he’s grabbing you by the chin, pulling you to face him. He captures your mouth in a kiss, tongue finding its way in your mouth, passion setting in heavier than anything else. You moan against his mouth, letting him groan, pulling you against him by your waist.
When he pulls away, he’s followed by a string of saliva— one of the many things connecting the both of you.
“If you ever need anythin’,” Bucky says, using his thumb to wipe up the spit on your chin, “Just ask me. I’ll give you everything.”
“Can you-“ You stutter, embarrassment flooding you at how exposed you are, “Can you help me clean up, please?”
He smiles at the politeness you still give him even after all of that. Bucky turns you around to face him, before sliding down to his knees on the floor.
“I didn’t mean like that!”
“Mmm,” He hums, grin plastered on his face, “But I prefer to do it this way.”
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laters-gators · 2 months ago
Can you write something with neck kisses and dry humping, please?
Bumpy Ride || Steven Grant x Reader
-> Rating: 18+
-> Word Count: 3.7k
-> The handsome man who you see on your commute to work every day is always on your mind. Thank you to @foxilayde as always for cheering me on!
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Gif credit doesn’t belong to me!
TW/CW: exhibitionism, very light dub/con elements but Steven is very much into it~ absolutely pathetic subby!Steven, dry humping
Crumpling your bus ticket up in your palm, you slowly exhale the frustration of an extremely long, painful night. Perhaps it was premature to say that you would never go on another date again, but you certainly considered putting an indefinite halt to your midnight escapades to meet potential suitors.
It had started out okay! He was punctual, attractive, and smelt really good. Small talk was limited, launching into interesting conversations about his job as a bouncer at one of the trendy club venues in the city. An hour in you were convinced that maybe he would be the one to break your man-fast.
That was until he started lifting his phone off the tabletop. You could excuse the first time, what if it was important? The second time was a little irritating. By the fifth time, along with a rather politically-charged comment about your outfit of choice, you’d excused yourself to the bathroom and snuck out of the back door, leaving him to pay the bill.
It didn’t necessarily come as a surprise to you that the date was a flop. Randomly messaging the first match in your tinder direct messages for a date because the handsome stranger on the public transport to work had left you feeling a little hot under the proverbial collar wasn’t the greatest way to ease the ache that settled between your thighs whenever you saw him sat at the back of the busy bus.
Lifting your phone out of your handbag, you note the rather excessive ten notification you’d received on your tinder app. Refusing to even give the misogynistic prick another second of your time, you skip opening the app to read the vitriol he had no doubt flooded your chat with and delete it from your apps altogether before throwing it back into your bag that you had set on the seat beside you.
The fluorescent lights brightening the seating area with a silvery glow reflect your visage against the window beside you. There was nothing truly scandalous about your outfit, as your date had implied. A simple, white silk button-down shirt with the collar open just enough to see the start of your cleavage that you had paired with a black skirt and plain heeled pumps. If he thought this was deserving of a scarlet letter, you wondered what he thought of the majority of women that stumbled out of his club most nights.
“Uh- Yeah, Canning Town, please? Cheers.” The recognizable voice causes your eyes to snap away from your reflection and towards the front of the bus. You could be entirely blind and still know exactly who it was- your fellow commuter on your bus ride to work in the morning.
Skittish as he takes up the change that the bus driver returns, he’s so occupied with counting out the coins in his palm that he doesn’t even notice you sat at the back. He’s clad in his pale grey workers jacket that you often saw him wear on mild mornings, paired with a rather extravagant geometric button-down tucked into his dress pants. Maybe it’s the lighting, but he looks even more exhausted than he usually does, which was significant because you often found him falling asleep against people in the crowded morning shuttle.
Briefcases and buggies had always separated the two of you when you had seen him, so you hadn’t really had the opportunity to speak to him. At all. Regardless of this fact, he was always willing to throw you a meek smile of acknowledgment even if it was clear that he didn’t feel like it, his brow creased with weariness and dark circles bruising his under eye.
Despite his enervative appearance, you inexplicably found him rather attractive. His sharp cheekbones were always highlighted silver with the white lighting above his head, contrasting his tanned complexion. His thick curls often looked disheveled from the incessant summer breeze, and you frequently caught him pushing his fingers through the strands, aiming to tame them. His sense of dress certainly wasn’t the most trendy, but you could tell he made an effort to look smart.
Most importantly, he was incredibly polite, never hesitating to give up his seat to the elderly or pregnant women. Every now and then he would entertain the children on the bus, if he had the energy, talking animatedly about something that never failed to captivate the kid's attention for the whole twenty-minute journey. It was endearing, and his energy always seemed lighter when the children waved him goodbye at his stop.
If the sight of him didn’t spark anxious arousal across your skin it would have been hilarious, the irony. It was just this morning that you had been caught out by the bustle of the unusual hustle on the bus, forced to stay on your feet in the standing area of the floor and hold onto the handle strap for dear life to prevent you falling forward. The embarrassment that flushed through your system as a particularly harsh swerve from the overzealous driver that had your ass dragging across the pair of hips behind you swiftly transitioned to wicked desire upon seeing who they belonged to.
His poor legs couldn’t carry him off the bus quickly enough when it was his stop, his nervous disposition that you had noticed after weeks of observing him clearly getting the better of his clear desire to grind his hips into yours if the erection in his trousers was anything to go by. Perhaps the Gods had decided satire was on the menu tonight, putting the two of you together on an empty bus after you had ingested far too many mojitos and attempted to satiate the twisting need that he had set in you with a random, misogynistic and poorly thought out tinder bio.
Settling into a seat somewhere in the middle of the bus carriage, you can’t help but smile at the way he mirrors your earlier sigh of exasperation. Maybe it’s his downcast expression, or the effects of the especially strong cocktail you had finished before leaving your date, but your legs are carrying you down to the seat beside him before you can talk yourself out of it. If fate wanted drama, you’d give it a show to remember.
“I don’t bite, you know?” You smirk, dropping into the seat and shocking him out of his quiet sulk. His body jolts from the surprise, and his palm clutches at his chest with the way his heart fails.
“Bloody hell!“ he yelps, his head whipping towards you with a startled expression. You can’t help the amusement that bubbles inside you because he looks utterly terrified to have you sat next to him, starting a conversation.
“I thought you’d finally make your way over to say hello,” you muse, smoothing the collar of his jacket out despite it lacking any creases to set straight. The gorgeous stranger shapes his mouth to speak but the words struggle to materialize for a moment.
“No-what? I- I didn’t even see you! I swear, I just sat down, I wasn’t really lookin’!” He rambles frantically, clearly concerned that he had caused offence by unwittingly ignoring you. His voice, his accent sounds a little off- as though he’s shittily impersonating the Oliver movie from ‘68. Why does it make you want him more, the absurdity of it?
“I’ll forgive you if you explain why you’re on the bus this late,” you arch your brow playfully, “I feel like that’s a reasonable deal.”
He takes a moment to settle from the shock of you just *materializing*, letting out a shaky exhale and nodding weakly. In the process, you catch the way he looks you up and down to take in your outfit. He’s never seen you in anything other than workwear and these clothes suited your figure far better, though he’s careful to ensure his view skirts around your cleavage. Still a gentleman.
“Yeah- Uh, I was workin’ late. Needed to make up some hours after a few days off work…” he trails off slowly when he notes the way you’re looking at him. Careful not to be too intense, you watch him through your lashes and act totally enraptured by this small talk. It’s not entirely unrealistic to say you were, it was by far the most interesting conversation you’d had all day.
“You work at the museum don’t you?” You ask, twisting your body slightly so you’re facing him. “I’ve seen you head that way a few times.”
“Y-Yeah, I’m a gift shop-ist. I work in the gift shop,” he repeats himself, adorably shy. “It’s uh- not terribly excitin’-“
“We’ll agree to disagree then, because I think it’s incredibly interesting that you get to work at a place like a museum.” Your insistence makes him smile weakly, his hand moving to rub at the side of his neck in what you assumed was a nervous tick.
“I suppose it is. Wait… What are you doin’ on the bus this late?” He turns the table on you now as the tightness in his shoulders dissipates, clearly having relaxed a little as he points up and down the length of your body awkwardly. “Have you been out?”
“I was on a date. It was shocking,” you muse, pulling at the collar of your shirt to draw attention to your cleavage. This time his eyes zero in on the area and a flush covers the bridge of his nose. “He thought it was rather inconsiderate that I was going to attract every man in the room ‘dressed like that’, as he put it. Said I was on a date with him rather than every man at the bar.”
“Well… Uh, that’s a bit rude,” he mumbles weakly, forcing his eyes up to your face again. “I think you look quite nice, I mean-“
“You think I’m attractive?” The liquid courage induced by the cocktails is spurring you on to flirt excessively with him. In every other situation, you’d take it slowly, ease him into a playful conversation, but you can’t help the warmth and exhilaration that settles in your abdomen at the thought of kissing this beautiful stranger that had occupied your thoughts all day. His nervous reactions make you feel sexy, almost powerful, completely dissimilar to the machismo your date had tried to seduce you with.
“Aha-“ he laughs nervously, scratching at the back of his head in another nervous habit. “Ah- Attractive? Yeah, I think so.” He’s trying so hard to come across as suave, but his bumbling is breaking down the facade quicker than he can build it up and it simply endears you to him further.
Reaching between the two of you, you carefully brush some of his ebony curls from his forehead in an attempt to breach his personal space without overwhelming him. The graze of your touch against his forehead reveals the warmth of his blush and you’re almost certain you hear him keen softly at the simple physical contact.
Inching your body closer so your knee knocks against his when the bus sways with the bumps in the road, you caress the soft flesh of his temple with the curve of your knuckle, reaching his cheekbone and following the arch down his face ever so slowly.
“I have something in mind that could improve our rather miserable day,” you whisper softly. You were concerned at first that you were taking this a little too quickly, but the stranger beside you is nodding his head gormlessly, entirely dumbstruck by the sudden turn of events.
It’s at this moment the liquid courage provided by the cocktails from earlier came into effect, your heart hammering against your sternum as you considered what you were about to do for barely more than five seconds.
Not allowing the logical half of your brain to talk yourself out of what you considered to be an infallible plan, you take him utterly by surprise by swinging your thigh over his own and hovering over his lap. He yelps out, mostly out of shock rather than discomfort, and throws his hands up in the air with his palms out as though he’s in surrender. Judging by the panicked expression on his face, he doesn’t know where he should hold you, if at all.
“Uhm- I-“ he’s struggling to verbalize his thoughts, taken aback by your confidence and your tits that you had settled just in front of his gorgeous face. His inability to decide whether to look down at your cleavage or up into your eyes is enough to make you giggle tipsily, enjoying the total control you have over him.
“I need you to do me a favor,” you murmur, moving your fingers through his curls and taking a firm grip just at the root. “Can you keep an eye on the doors for me?” The last thing you needed was someone getting on at the next stop and ruining what could be the most fun you’d had in months. When he doesn’t respond immediately, you pull his head back by his hair, forcing him to look into your eyes for his answer.
The sight causes white-hot arousal to warm the base of your spine. He’s gazing up at you with unfocused eyes through his thick, black lashes, nodding slowly and murmuring a soft ‘Yeah, Yeah definitely’ though you’re almost positive that he didn’t hear a single word of your request. His chapped lips are parted, the dusting of red over his cheekbones making him look so pretty.
Lowering the weight of your hips into his own, you hear a devastating whine work its way past his throat with the first drag of your cunt against the seam of his trousers. You thank the you from a few hours ago for choosing to wear your skirt and lace panties to the date because you can feel the throb of his already hardening dick through the paper-thin material. The surge of gratifying power that rushes your veins at the knowledge that you had done this to him, along with the intoxicating effect of the drinks you had consumed had you executing something you had very little opportunity to experiment with during sex - dominance.
Pulling his head back by the hold you have on his hair, you watch as his mouth falls open with a long, slow grind of your hips. He’s so focused on the bliss that you evoke from him that he doesn’t notice the forceful grip he holds you with, almost strong enough to imprint the grooves of his fingerprints into your pelvis. The pupils of his eyes are zeroed in on the motion of your cunt shifting back and forth across his erection.
“Hey,” Your voice dips slightly with the ardent ache that buzzes between your tensed thighs.
“Mhmm- uh-huh?” His expression morphs into something akin to pitiful need when you grab ahold of his face forcefully.
“Eyes on the door.”
The deep rock of your hips against his cock that you end the order with has him fumbling a nervous nod, eyes suddenly glued to the double doors at the front of the bus, doing his best as a look-out despite the fact he’s probably seeing in double vision with how good you’re making him feel.
The instant compliance has you moaning softly when paired with your clit pushing just perfectly on the seam of his trousers, the extra friction sparking delirious pleasure. It’s too much and just right all at once, fingers letting go of his chin to brace against his broad shoulders and steady yourself as your thighs strain. The clothes he wears do him no justice, hiding the strong physique he carries under the stupid patterned shirts that you’d grown excited to see in the mornings.
Intoxicated by the ache that settles deep in your abdomen, you can’t help the praise that falls from your lips before you even realize that you’re talking. ”Awww. Pretty baby, does that feel good? Yes, it does, I know you like that.”
Whimpers catch in his throat, utterly wretched as his hips shift underneath you. He’s chasing the friction against the bulge in his pants, his chest heaving a little as he keeps his eyes cemented at the door of the bus, not wishing to disobey you.
“Oh yes,” you gasp softly at the noises he makes, sparks blooming through your pussy at the indecency of them, “Don’t stop making those noises, oh you’re such a good boy for me, just a little louder.” You’re babbling, slurring your words slightly as his hips push into yours and roll your clit just perfectly.
Disappointment is not an option it seems, because the moans that sound from his chest are utterly pathetic and you swear you’ve never been so turned on. The pitchiness at the end of each whine floods your cunt and you have to bury your face into his tanned neck to muffle your own noises to be able to hear him.
Pressing sloppy, desperate kisses against his neck seems to exacerbate his pleasure, the sobs wracking his chest loud enough now that you’re certain the bus driver can definitely hear both of you over the engine. He seems to have a particularly sensitive spot just at the junction of his jaw that causes him to buck up between your thighs when you take the skin there between your teeth.
“Such a good baby,” you whisper in his ear after sucking a deep purple bruise on his jawline that you know is going to earn him funny looks at work tomorrow, breathless as you focus your effort into grinddingg just right, shaky hand working its way between your legs to push your panties to the side. The fabric is ruined, completely soaked through after needing him all day and finally having his cock between your thighs. Refusing to waste any time, you continue to drag your sopping cunt against the fabric of his trousers, staining the crotch area with dark patches where your slick soaks into the material.
“Hah, shit-! That’s-“ He’s unable to complete a sentence now, so worked up. The jolts of the bus against the uneven road had your hips bumping into his forcefully and adding to the pleasure that rocks through the both of you with the contact.
“That’s good?” You finish the words for him, and he’s nodding dumbly, hands mindlessly slipping down your back and grabbing ahold of your ass as he tries to push impossibly further into the wet heat between your legs. The fabric that separates you both makes him sob needily, the sound bouncing off the laminated glass through the bus.
“I’m- oh fuck that’s… I’m-“ his eyes dart between your bodies, abdomen heaving as his high starts to build so quickly he can barely stop it. It’s so good he’s almost trying to escape the friction you’re giving him, hands grasping at whatever they can get ahold of to brace himself and he’s drooling.
“Are you gunna cum pretty baby? Come on, cum in your pants, let him know how good I’m making you feel.” You sound so broken right now, breath ragged against the shell of his ear as you force your hips down into him to chase your own high.
“Oh God- oh God oh God!” His stunning face contorts as he shouts loudly, jaw dropping open as he cums in his pants underneath you. It’s so intense you feel his cock pulse against your clit through his pants, his voice utterly wrecked as he prattles utter nonsense through his orgasm.
The cry of bliss that you’re unable to smother as your own release slams through you is heinous. You’d not blame the whole of London transport for banning you from this night onwards from ever using their services because the debased sound of your soaking folds dragging across the now drenched material of the trousers you grind on to chase the obliterating orgasm that blooms from head to toe is truly indecent.
Even when you’re slumping against him, spent and shaking against the warmth of his heaving chest with your head on his shoulder, you don’t want it to end. The pad of your thumb rubs against the head of his cock through his pants even as he’s jolting with overstimulation. You only stop with a tipsy giggle when he slaps your hands away desperately.
“Oh my god,” you close your eyes for a moment, your lashes brushing against the skin of his bruised neck. Even the afterglow is acute, a buzz ringing from the crown of your head to the tips of your toes. It’s made even better when you feel his lips press lingering kisses to your hairline, silently thanking you for the wild sexcapade you had sprung on him. It’s yet another endearing thing that makes your heart ache for him.
His strong arms hold you for the rest of the journey, eyes still set on the doors for you so that you can recover from the outpouring of effort you’d put into making him feel good without much interruption. His muscles are slack beneath you, the most relaxed you’d ever seen him. It made you oddly happy to know you could do that for him.
Some five minutes later, the tannoy announces your stop and you find it hard to pull yourself away from him and grab your bag to leave. The golden glow of the streetlights that you pass dance across his bronzy cheekbones as the bud comes to a stop, his smile a little dopey and sweet, and for the first time in a long time you find your stomach twisting with butterflies.
“This is my stop… What’s your name?” You ask softly, knowing that it’s usually what you start with when meeting a potential suitor but you were never one to do things conventionally.
The post-orgasm haze only seems to shake from the delirious man when he watches you walk toward the doors you had insisted he keep an eye on. It takes him a second, but he seems to figure out exactly who he is as those same doors open up. “Uhh- Steven! My name is Steven!”
“Hey, Steven… I’ll see you here tomorrow, yeah? We can plan a date for after work!” You don’t wait to hear his answer, stepping off and throwing him a wink when the doors close behind you. He’s in shock, and you laugh at the adorably shocked raise of his brows as the bus starts its engine and drives past you, leaving you standing in the dark but feeling incredibly light.
🏷 Taglist: @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @mylifeisactuallyamess @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @crystalchrysalis19 @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @youngr0se95
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cunaeparker · 2 months ago
in you i find solace
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pairing: steven grant x fem!reader
word count: approx. 6k
warnings: SMUT, minors dni. piv sex. very brief allusions to mental illness. friends to lovers. nothing too explicit, very soft :’) 
summary: thunderstorms are frightening. she finds herself wound up at her neighbour’s flat—aka her best friend’s residence—surrounded by candlelight and words unspoken. maybe the blown fuse was a blessing in disguise?
a/n: new fixation! very happy that i found something to give me a much-needed boost:) very excited to be able to write again!! i’m not sure how i did writing stevens character as accurate characterization isn’t my forte but this character is so. endearing i couldn’t help but to conjure something up :3
Thunder booms from outside and rain pounds the windows of her flat.
The weather is all-too familiar for England, and if she was a native to the British island perhaps she would've become desensitized to the deafening blow of the wind and pound of the rain on her window pane, but as a non-native, a mere nomad in search of adventure, she finds herself trembling with every shake of the building and jumping to every strike of lightning that illuminates her half-painted walls.
Lightning casts eerie shadows on the flat's grey and turquoise finish. The paint combination is obviously quite garish, and she's always hated the gauche seafoam that's adorned her flat's walls, always taking time to indulge in a few hours of painting—but this storm ravaging the old complex? It instilled fear and left behind something ominous in its wake. The irony is comical; for a woman in search of life, usually running from country to country with a bold fearlessness tramping through her veins, it's funny that the one thing she's frightened of haunts her latest residence: the flickering of the lights followed by the ground-shaking rumble of thunder and the absence of light. Complete and utter darkness; borderline perpetual rain.
So, with a candle lit in her trembling hand, hot wax dripping onto her skin due to the unfortunate lack of funds required to buy a holder, she scurries out of her flat and heads to the only true place she finds solace in in this busy city—her neighbour's flat.
"Steven," she whispers urgently, banging on the wooden door. "Can you let me in, please?"
Mere seconds pass by before the door swings open. Steven is holding one of his own candles, and behind him she can see a large array of them scattered around his messy flat. His eyebrows draw into a worried line and his dark eyes soften when they meet hers.
"Y/N? You alright?" he asks, concern laced in his words as his eyes widen slightly.
She ponders for a moment but subsequently decides to ditch the confident facade in exchange for one a lot more genuine.
"Erm," she hesitates, starting to feel a little foolish. She shouldn't have come over. She knows she can't handle the pound of the rain and the all-consuming darkness alone, though—
Steve's voice snaps her back to reality. His lips part in worry and the concern in his eyes and the blatant care emanating from his pajama-clad body is enough to induce an unfortunate onslaught of word-vomit.
"Oh, God," Y/N finally starts to pour out, eyes glinting with mania, "I'm not alright at all—the darkness is terrifying and I can't stand to be alone in my flat when I have one single candle to light! I really despise the shitty fuse system-thing in this complex, I swear to God it goes out every time there's a storm but now it's midnight and there's no daylight to spare and if I'm going to be honest with you, I am petrified of the dark and—"
"Y/N, calm down."
Steven's surprisingly even tone interrupts her and he steps out from beneath the threshold, gently placing a hand on her arm. His gaze is calming and his warm touch acts as an immediate benzodiazepine. With Steven's emergence, she can see dripping candles and various stacks of books within the flat: it's undoubtedly messy and covered in paper and notes, but in the plentiful amount of times she has entered—whether it be for an evening top-off after a night out or to grab that sodden bra she had left when the sudden downpour last week forced the pair to scurry back inside—she knew his flat to be an oddly endearing second home.
"It's okay," he continues sweetly, even going so far as to offer a smile. "Come in, if you want," he gestures, "it's a lot darker in the hall, we don't want anything to jump out and attack us, yeah?"
He laughs, but there's a tight and nervous edge to it.
Y/N attempts a smile. Learning to take Steven's bad jokes was a skill in itself.
"Odd joke choice considering the state I'm in," she says. She also tries to phrase it like a joke, but now she can't help but feel as if something is now looming behind her. She looks in behind Steven's stout frame. "Erm, I'll come in now, if that's alright?"
Steven's eyes widen as he stumbles out, "Of course, of course—"
She practically leaps into Steven's flat. Quickly placing her burning candle onto a wooden table already coated in dry wax, she jumps into the bed, shimmying under the cold sheets. He hums as he locks the door. When he finishes up, he turns towards her and starts to walk towards his bed; his eyes aren't locked on hers yet, and his fingers work at the knot at the band of his sweatpants.
"So, be honest," he begins, still working away at the string. The effectiveness in which he works and the way his large pyjama shirt rides up over his torso (exposing his surprisingly defined abdomen) causes a swarm of butterflies to flutter in her stomach. Or, rather, worms—Steven is her best friend, and although others may deem him as odd, it was a blatant fact that he did have a sort of unkempt-handsomeness to him. Steven continues and doesn't pick up on the way her eyes travel down his body. "Why didn't you tell me about this fear? You know I can help whenever you're feeling stressed or freaked or upset."
Y/N's heart warms at the sentiment but she only shrugs and pulls the covers up to her chin. The warmth from the candles and the woody scent of Steven on his pillow only aids in her attempts to relax.
"I'm not sure why I didn't tell you," she says sheepishly. "It's embarrassing, I guess—I act all tough, but something as mundane as darkness terrifies me. It's odd and childish and stupid."
Steven parts his lips to interject, and she suddenly remembers Steven's constant insistence to stop the self-deprecating remarks—she instead follows her sentence with an unconvincing chuckle of, "I guess. I don't really care, though."
Steven raises an unconvinced brow as he walks over to the bed and lies in the empty spot beside her.
"You don't care?" He asks, although he doesn't pose it as a question, but rather a statement. His lip twitches into a small half-smile. "I mean, you seemed to care when you ran in here all bamboozled an' stuff."
Y/N laughs breathily, rubbing her eyes. "Yeah, well, sometimes we have to act like we don't care even though there's shit raging beneath the surface, you know?"
Steven's expression becomes distant and his usual warmth seems to fade.
"Yeah," he says quietly.
She picks up on this, but decides not to pry. Although Steven is a wonderful friend and companion, he is oddly secretive—it took her nearly three days out on the town to get him to admit his favourite ice cream flavour, and even with an exasperated throw of his hands in the air and an airy laugh, his answer sounded more like a question. Almost as if he himself didn't know.
Steven's sudden distance sparked a small silence.
Y/N realized that Steven probably felt lonely. Or thought that he would be ridiculed for the smallest, most unimportant things such as ice cream flavour (Steven's is lemon, and although it is questionable for her taste, she would never berate him). He was just a man trapped within a routine and a strong fear of rejection and ridicule.
In this revelation, Y/N's brows furrowed, drawn together with sympathy. She turned onto her side and placed her hand on his shoulder, causing him to jump ever-so-slightly. But when his dark eyes met hers, body rolling over onto his side as well, she smiled and she could sense some of that tension dissipate when his body seemed to slump into her touch.
Tonight, the darkness is scary, but spending it with Steven, bathed in warm candlelight, makes her appreciate it just a small bit.
"You're a good friend," Y/N says. "Thank you for letting me stay here."
Her words are hushed, for she fears for speaking too loudly. Typically the night is an instrument of fear but now the night morphs into something quiet and revered.
Steven's tired eyes seem to glow. A small smile weaves its way onto his face and she swears she sees a peek of crimson pass behind his sharp cheekbones.
"Thanks," he whispers. "You are too—and it's really no problem."
Y/N has to bite her lip in order to contain the wide smile threatening to weave its way onto her face. And for some bold reason she can't really understand, she pushes herself closer towards him with a hum, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. She places her head beneath his chin, resting it on his chest, and although she hears his breath hitch, she feels his hands slowly begin to lift the thin material of her blue camisole, caressing the smooth skin of her bare back. The movement is so heady it's nearly unnatural for him. But it results in an overwhelming sense of contentment both parties lack.
Y/N sighs and closes her eyes. She feels his head slowly begin to rest comfortably atop of hers, and it's enough to ignite a crazed fire in her heart. She never knew Steven Grant's warmth could be addicting.
They sit in comfortable silence for a moment.
Y/N runs her fingers through his dark, unruly curls and hears him release a shaky breath. Steven does the same. Then, he pulls away ever-so slightly, smiling softly at the small frown turning down her lips before pressing his forehead to hers, gently smoothing his thumb over her cheek. It's so bold and not Steven but it is. She can see her reflection in his eyes and its warm and content, swathed in candlelight and darkness.
Maybe, with Steven, she can learn to treat the darkness as a friend.
His breath mangles with hers and he is unbearably close.
He is so soft-spoken. The words are said so quietly the syllables hardly brush past his lips.
Y/N hums and lifts her head, barely nudging his nose with hers. Steven gulps, and although it's a barely discernible noise, it's enough to make her heart race.
"I... I love being with you, Y/N," he says. His eyes flit back and forth between her own. "You make me feel... not alone, anymore. You... you embrace the stupid oddities and quirks and are so loved for it—you are just... God, you're so amazing. Thank you."
Y/N's face crumbles into an expression of sheer elation.
"You really think that?" she whispers, eyes sparkling like crushed diamonds. "You think rather nicely of a grown woman afraid of the dark." She laughs and doesn't fight the urge to run her fingers through his scalp. "You're a funny man, Steven Grant."
Steven chuckles airily and brushes her nose with his. He says nothing. His smile, the overabundance of utter tenderness radiating from him... it's enough to make her heart beat out of her chest. She thinks it might grow wings and fly out into the storm at this point; and hopefully, it can join up with Steven's rapidly beating one too, and perhaps they can manage to fuse that chordae tendineae of the heart or spindle fibres of the cell and create something new.
Something whole.
Something that can embrace the literal darkness of life; something that can learn to fight off the evil lurking within that darkness.
And for reasons unknown, when thunder illuminates the room and the beautiful figure of perpetually exhausted Steven reveals itself to look rested, Y/N doesn't fight the urge to lean closer. Their eyes flit to each other's lips, lips parted in anticipation. Her nose, her lips, her forehead, they brush against his once again and his minty breath mingles with hers—she fights back a smile at the sudden vision of him brushing his teeth with candlelight. Oh, Steven. No one compares.
Perhaps she's waited too long, studying and revelling in the beauty that is him.
"Y/N," Steven breathes for what must be the umpteenth time that night. Y/N feels his eyelids flutter closed and she smiles—damn those enviable long eyelashes. He's so beautiful. Steven's lips barely brush against hers. "Is it alright if I—"
"Yes," she sighs, not waiting to hear his answer before boldly connecting her lips to his.
This kiss is soft and tender. It's unadulterated emotion and the simple placement of ones' lips on another. Y/N feels Steven's eyebrows furrow as he reaches up to gently hold her face, and her throat involuntarily allows a small whimper to pass through her nose. He smiles against her mouth, taking the liberty to gather a handful of hair from the back of her head.
It feels so right. Nothing has ever felt so right in her life.
She melts into his touch.
"Kiss me like you mean it, Scotty," she murmurs.
Steven smiles again, "It's Steven."
"I know."
"God, I love you."
Y/N's heart is surely going to burst now. She's not sure if he even noticed the admittance, but the sudden, gentle touch of his tongue to hers is enough to rid her of all thoughts she's ever had and all the thoughts she will have. She inhales shortly, tentatively swiping her tongue over his bottom lip before entering his mouth. Colours explode behind her eyes and although Steven's kiss is messy and frantic and hidden behind shades of dirtiness and desire, it's passionate and binding and tastes of citrus and mint. She runs her hands through his hair, tugging gently, and his quiet grunt of pleasure is the act that confirms—no longer is Y/N trying to ignore the pulsing growing stronger between her thighs. Embracing his tongue and the messy altering between passion and adoration and frenzy, she throws her leg over his own, lifting herself to straddle his thighs.
Steven's eyes darken and a thin sheen of sweat beads at the top of his forehead. His chest heaves and his mouth is parted in awe as Y/N takes the liberty to sensually circle her hips, moving her hands up her body starting with her torso to her neck, eventually wrapping them around her camisole. She bites her swollen bottom lip and her breastbone also heaves, overtaken by lust.
"Is this okay?" she asks huskily, leaning down to press a series of wet kisses to Steven's neck. As she sucks, she feels him swallow and nod.
"Y-Yeah, it's definitely okay," he sighs, running his hands up the expanse of her thighs and waist with hungry eyes. Suddenly, she has the urge to thank whatever higher power had her absolutely set on wearing spandex shorts to bed. Leaning down once again to press her lips to his, she rolls her body against the growing bulge under his sweatpants, gently biting on his neck. Steven grunts, and she feels the ghost of his hands reach to caress her bum before quickly pulling away. It seems as though he has chosen to lay his hands awkwardly beside him instead of touching her—it's enough to make her smile, because it reminds her that she is indeed intimate with none other than Steven, a respectful yet slightly awkward man.
She peppers a trail of kisses from his collarbone—thank the Lord for his oversized tee—to his neck and then to his earlobe, nibbling on the flesh. She feels him shudder and mutter something under his breath.
"Steven," she hums into his ear, fingers deciding to tangle themselves in his already wild make-out hair, "you know you're allowed to touch me."
He gulps. "I know."
"Then why don't you?" she says lowly, continuing to kiss his collarbones.
"I don't wanna disrespect you." He squeezes his eyes shut and tosses his head back at her touch. "You're too lovely."
Y/N's ministrations cease and her expression softens. She leans back to sit onto his thighs once more, gently grabbing one of his hands and bringing it to her lips, tenderly trying to convey how much that means without using words. And by the look on his face, with his stretched-out collar and wide eyes, she thinks he understands. She places a final kiss to his palm and instead of setting it down beside him he cups her cheek once more, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone.
She sighs and presses another kiss to the pad of his thumb. "You're so sweet."
Steven only smiles in response. He gets it.
He pulls his hands away from her face and runs his fingers over the small design on the hem of her camisole. Aptly rolling up the bottom of the top, his chest begins to heave once more, and he sits up with her still in his lap, whispering, "Move your arms up. Please."
She doesn't hesitate, and the feeling of Steven's fingertips trailing the expanse of her skin is heavenly. He takes the camisole off, leaving her only in a nude bralette; he has seen her shirtless a few times, like with the downpour incident, but in this context, the softness of her skin underneath his rough fingertips is a lot more sacred. Pulling away for a moment, Steven takes the time to admire the whole of her, running his hands up and down her sides. He looks utterly enamoured.
"You're beautiful, Y/N," he praises, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips that has her frowning and chasing his own when he pulls away much too early for her liking. He then leans forward to kiss her neck to make up for it, a sensation so fruitful it has her throwing her head back and tangling her fingers in his hair, letting out a satisfied sigh. Steven pulls away, again too soon for her liking, but only before he runs his fingers against the elastic bottom of her bralette.
His eyes become darker, if possible, and he slowly eases the fabric up and over her head, exposing her bare breasts and the thrumming of her heart against her ribcage.
In past instances, the hunger that glinted behind former lovers' eyes was borderline malicious and animalistic. But, Steven? His stare is drenched in admiration. It's so raw it makes her core throb.
His mouth opens and closes. His hands continue to knead at the flesh by her hips. And for once, she and him both find the eager man at a loss for words. He slowly runs his hands up her stomach, and when he finally reaches her breast, the darkness behind his eyes is all-consuming.
"God," is all he says—no, groans—before suddenly grabbing her by the hips and flipping her over with a grunt, leaving him on top. Y/N smiles and cups his face in her hands, bringing him to her lips once again. Now, the kiss is dirty and longing, and all hints of sensuality are thrown out the window.
Steven pulls away, leaving a string of saliva attached to their lips before going down, down, down, letting out a quiet groan before attaching his mouth to her pebbled nipple. He gently sucks, occasionally nipping, leaving Y/N a writhing mess on his bed, winding her hands in his hair once again. His ministrations are sure to accommodate both nipples, teeth marking the supple flesh of her breasts and lips latching onto any expanse of flesh he can get.
"Steven," she whimpers suddenly, gently pushing his head away, "Can you take off your shirt?"
"Uh, yeah, yeah, 'course," Steven says hastily, even though he looks surprised when he glances down to his chest, seemingly forgetting that he had not yet rid himself of the scratchy fabric. He quickly takes it off and tosses it somewhere in the room, facing her slightly debauched form with a wide smile. "Better?"
Y/N's mouth runs dry.
She had seen his defined back through some of his tighter-fitting clothing. However, she had not expected him to be so... shaped. His tanned skin was littered with tiny freckles and old scars, toned abdomen taut and lean. Y/N was never really familiar with the idea of him being a regular gym-goer, but in his god-like radiance, she couldn't find it in herself to think or care about how these magnificent abs came into existence.
"Steven Grant," Y/N gawks, "you're really hot."
Steven smiles almost bashfully before kissing her breast again, using his other hand to knead at the fatty mound. "You're not too bad yourself, Y/N."
Y/N shakes her head and feels a blush crawl up her cheeks as she tries to hold her composure.
"No, I mean like, I would literally shag you at any given moment if I saw you on the street—oh." She throws her head back into his pillows when his teeth graze her nipple. "Steven..."
She pushes him from her breast and looks him in the face. The shine of his saliva and the redness of his lips and the flush of colour flooding his face is enough to make her orgasm. He looks divine.
"You are beautiful," she says, throwing her arms over his shoulders and relishing in the way his bare stomach feels pressed against hers. "You are very handsome, love." She kisses him. "I mean it."
Steven is silent for a moment.
"Thanks," he whispers. He doesn't say much, but she knows whatever he wants to say has already been said, and he knows that she knows it, too.
Steven kisses her softly, passionately, sensually; he abandons the dirtiness for it is false. He falls back onto his knees, looking at Y/N through dark lashes as he starts to slowly pull the shorts and panties from her legs. Her breath catches in her throat when she is left completely bare.
"Sh," he encourages, gently pushing her legs open. His eyes look from her bare core to her heaving form, and he spits onto his fingers before thrusting them before Y/N's puffy lips. "Lubrication," he explains.
She obeys, and if anything, the unawareness causes her to get even wetter. The saltiness of his fingers mixed with the sweetness of his saliva is enough to send her reeling. She sucks hard, closing her eyes and humming as Steve's other hand clutches her wet mound. When deemed lubricated enough (even though Y/N's been dripping the entire time), Steve makes a pleased noise and gently taps at her clit. At this she jolts, and without warning, Steve shoves two fingers into her cunt.
"Oh, fuckkkk," she whines, trembling from the absurdity of it all. "Shit."
"Yeah, that's it," he mumbles quietly as he sinks onto his knees, watching her squelching core with fascination. "Doin' so well."
Y/N is reduced to only moans when Steve expertly (she doesn't know where this experience came from, though she does not care to ask) curls his fingers upwards, hitting the spongy spot inside of her that has her seeing stars. She gasps and throws her head back, throwing out a hand to grab any part of Steven he would give to her. With a grunt, he reaches out a hand and she grips it tightly, trying not to make any loud noises.
"Y/N," Steven says from above her, tone sweet, "I want to hear you. Please."
"Mhm," she manages to respond. Tears form at the corners of her eyes.
Steven smiles. "Good."
Y/N trembles at the praise, only letting out a high-pitched whine.
"Oh, God, you're so—FUCK! STEVEN! Oh, fuckfuckfuck, I'm gonna come—"
The sudden fondling of her clit without warning is enough to push her over the edge. She gasps and arches her back, feeling waves of white-hot pleasure shooting through her body. She grips the sheets so hard her knuckles turn white and her mouth seems to be open in a perpetual o-shape, glimmering with spit in the candlelight, eyes squeezed shut.
Her pleasure is so visceral it is wordless. Steven smiles. He presses a multitude of kisses to her collarbones and tangles his fingers in her hair, making soft crooning noises as he coaxes her through orgasm.
"That's it, good girl," he whispers innocently, moving his head to allow her to grab onto his dark curls. Suckling on the juncture between her neck and collarbones, eliciting a content hum from her, she realizes that Steven's nature is so utterly caring and nurturing she knows his words aren't spawned from lust. It's genuine, and if anything, it sends another storm of fluttering butterflies to her sensitive core.
The pulsing inside her ceases, and Steven's touch doesn't feel so ghost-like anymore.
She opens her eyes and meets Steven's.
"Holy shit," is all she says. She laughs. "You're a madman."
A small smile quirks up his rosy lips. "Yeah?"
"Yes," she confirms. She moves upwards to tangle her hand in his hair, resting the other one on his back. He presses his forehead to hers and she hums. "You're quite something," she whispers.
Steven sighs.
"You are, too," he responds softly.
Gently, he grabs her hands in his, falling back onto his knees. He guides them to the waistband of his boxers and his eyes are dark.
"Is this okay?" he says quietly. Insecurity but flaming boldness flashes behind his eyes.
Y/N's heart flutters and she nods.
"Of course," she says. She looks up at him and nods once again, encouraging him. "Fuck me, Steven."
A noise gets stuck in his throat at her words. "God," he groans, shaking his head with a small, incredulous smile, "I'm the madman?"
Y/N grins.
And with that, he falls back down on top of her, allowing her to pull down his boxers. The moment it takes to awkwardly wiggle out of them is barely even remembered (besides from Steven's loud yelp when he lost his balance and almost fell off the bed, eliciting an ugly snort from Y/N's naked frame) before she catches sight of his cock: if the thickness isn't the most impressive asset of his, it's the length; Y/N has to hold back the involuntary bulge of her eyes at the sight.
She gulps. She expects nothing less than a staggering gait for the next week.
Steven's eyes are piercing as he lowers himself down, placing his elbows beside her head. He kisses her forehead and mumbles against the hot flesh, "You ready?"
Y/N hums and rubs her hands over his back. "I've never been more ready for anything."
At that, the smile that lights up Steven's face is so soft it can be compared to the finest of cashmeres. Sweetness and adoration is practically dripping from his entire being and when he finally pushes into her, the tip slowly stretching her opening, they both gasp.
Steven grunts and lets his head fall into the crook of her neck. He begins to thrust, setting the pace so unbelievably gentle and slow and passionate it nearly causes her to shudder and go limp. He's grounding. Every ridge of his cock within her walls is perfect, as if the conjoining of their bodies has always been fate; something put rigidly in-line by a higher power. A sense of liberation from earthly conditioning and a taste of destiny.
For a brief moment, she decides that the gods Steven studies so avidly are most definitely real in order to produce a sensation such as this.
Her hands clutch at Steven's back as her mouth falls open, feeling his thrusts pick up in pace.
His lips fall from her name like a prayer and she tugs his hair, throwing her head back into his soft pillow. It's Steven everywhere and it's all-consuming: his smell in his pillows, sheets, the warmth of his skin and the expanse of small freckles on his back. She could get lost in him.
"Fuck," she moans. Steven continues thrusting. She knows he can't speak and she sees the urgency and love in his eyes when every dark curl bounces against the sweaty sheen of his forehead. "You're so good," she continues praising, wrapping her legs around his waist. "I trust you, fuck, I love you so much, Steven."
His groan is guttural. "Shit," he whimpers.
He begins picking up his pace. The sound of moans echoing throughout the flat - one deep and one high-pitched - is a dirty cocophany of raw human emotion. The sound of his balls slapping against her wet heat, the sound of his gasps when she scratches her nails down his back. It's too much yet not enough.
"Harder," Y/N gasps desperately, squeezing him tighter between her thighs.
His head falls into the crook of her neck once more as he manages to groan out, "I don' wanna hurt you."
"I don't care."
Steven's body shudders and he nips harder at her neck. "Fucking hell."
He slowly pulls out and leaves her entrance dripping before slamming back in once again.
Y/N cries out and clutches at the sheets once again, eagerly welcoming the large hand that flies out to grasp it. Steven looks utterly debauched: his murmurs of praise mixed with the sheen of sweat on his body, the contours of his abdomen and his long eyelashes that flutter with every perfect clench of her walls is enough to send her over the edge alone. She always knew he was handsome, but in this state, his attractiveness is nearly enough to make her come.
She squeezes his hand in hers and manages to make eye contact. The sounds have faded into the background and she's only focused on the building orgasm between her thighs and the look of utter pleasure etched into Steven's face.
"Fuck, Stevie," she whimpers. Her cries egg him on and she feels the tip of his cock brush her cervix, sending her into a spiral of loud moans. His dick is so deep she can almost see it through the walls of her stomach. The sight causes her to gasp and throw her head back, arching her back as Steve disconnects his lips from her neck to instead place them on her lips. He kisses her with fierce intensity, swallowing her moans and attempting to cover his own.
"Shit," he whines, causing his teeth to clash with hers, "I'm really fuckin' close."
Y/N pulls away ever-so slightly, a string of saliva keeping them connected. She leans up to kiss his shoulder and cups his face with her trembling hands.
"Let go, honey," she encourages, eyebrows furrowing into a pleasure-filled line. She kisses him again, initiating the dirtiest kiss of the night; she licks his tongue and he nips at hers with a loud whine, pressing his lips to hers, hard. "Come inside of me, Steven—"
"Oh, fuck!"
His cry is guttural and laced with pure ecstasy. He grunts as his thrusts become irregular, and Y/N gasps, pulling his head close to her. She kisses his hair and coaxes him through his own orgasm, hushing him with her own sweet words, rolling her hips up to meet his sputtering cock. He's coating the inside of her walls with his seed and it's intimate and hot and sensational, and Lord, if she didn't come from penetration, this alone would be it.
"That's right, it's okay," she coos, rubbing his back as his grunts start to become deeper in pitch. "You're doing so good."
Steven shudders. The slow roll of his hips cease and he finally stills inside of her, meeting her heaving breastbone with his chest. Y/N continues to whisper as she gently threads her fingers through his unruly hair.
There's a content silence.
Steven then lifts his head up, revealing a pair of dark, hooded eyes clouded with lust and exhaustion.
"You didn't come," he says suddenly.
Y/N is stunned for a moment. She was so lost in his beauty that the idea of coming had completely left her mind, and she can't recount a time that had ever happened. It's quite new. An experience unparalleled to any other. It's something lovely and wrapped in the soft clutches of admiration.
So, all she does is smile, and bring his soft lips to hers.
"I don't care," she whispers. "Just being here with you is enough."
Steven looks unsure. "Are you sure?"
"You're pulling my leg."
"No, I'm telling the truth!" she laughs, throwing her hands up as Steven gives her a look. This look is prolonged when he collapses beside her, resting his head on his palm. Y/N turns to her side to meet his gaze, eyes clouded with mirth. "I'm being honest, I truly didn't care - just watching you was enough to satisfy me."
Steven frowns. "What is that even supposed to mean?"
Y/N shrugs, containing a smile with a bite of her lip as she moves her head up to rest on his bare chest. She feels his arms instinctively wrap around her and it sends her heart into a crazed thrum.
"I dunno," she tells him. "I guess it means I like you or something." The admittance is attempted to be said casually, and she hopes Steven takes it as such, but the pounding of her heart beneath her ribs and the hopefulness she exudes is enough to make her combust. She tangles their legs together and says no more.
She feels Steven reluctantly nod in agreement before the movement suddenly stops.
"Wait," he says. Confusion is evident in his tone, "You like me? Me?"
"Yes," she breathes.
And for once in his life, Steven stops talking. Instead, a love-drunk smile weaves his way onto his face as he pulls her naked body closer.
"Interesting," is all he can manage.
Steven rubs her back and feels her breath against his chest.
"Y/N?" he implores.
She perks her head up, although her eyes are closed, and hums.
"I.. I, uh, like you too. I think." he says quietly.
He feels Y/N's smirk against his skin. "You think?"
Steven is silent for a moment. "Uh, yeah?"
"You're funny," she chuckles breathily after a second. Sleep coats her words like syrup and she finds herself pushing closer into his warmth. And before she drifts off to sleep, Steven feels her lips twitch into a contented smile, and he knows that although he might've phrased his own admittance wrong, she still understands. She'll always understand him, and she'll always relish in his presence, whether it be intimate or strictly professional or nothing other than platonic. And when she finally does drift off to sleep in Steven's arms, the smile he gives her is saturated with every nighttime top-up, every conversation about foreign lands and Egyptology, every tender fleeting touch they both failed to recognize... it's one of utter admiration, and oddly, acceptance; for the odd pair that is Steven and Y/N, two persons in search of contentment and the sense of home—they can finally manage to find solace in each other.
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writingfics-passingtime · 28 days ago
Finishing the Job
When Marc and Steven feel incapable of keeping you safe, a surprisingly willing hero emerges.
Pairing: Jake Lockley x reader (no pronouns used)
Word Count: ~8200
CWs: Swearing, violence, death, mentions of child abuse and resulting PTSD, depictions of DID, briefest mentions of skin mutilation (not intended as self-harm)
If you’re a regular reader of my fics, please read this first x
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The first time you met Jake Lockley was the third time you’d almost died.
Granted, the other two were far less intense.
The first was in a car accident as a teenager when your car had been half-crushed under a truck and you were miraculously unharmed. The second had been on a dig site with a shaky foundation. Everyone had survived both incidents relatively unscathed so perhaps it wasn’t fair to call them "near-death experiences,” but the night you met Jake Lockley was undeniably so.
In your flat just outside London Town, in the dead of night, you awoke to a weird noise.
It was the city; it could have been any number of things, so the noise didn’t necessarily alarm you in and of itself. The thing that got you was something eerie in the atmosphere.
So you stayed still, listened, and then crept to your door to get a better gauge on what was going on in the hallway that held both of the bedrooms.
You heard… footsteps.
On any other night you would’ve assumed it was your roommate, Steven and Marc, but there was more than one set, and they were trying too hard to be quiet. The second you took a step back from the door, there was a loud splintering crash and the whoosh of the air pressure changing drastically. Someone kicked in the door of your pitch-black room. The edge of the wood barely missed your body as it careened by and slammed into the wall.
You gasped and turned away on instinct but a masked figure burst in and grabbed you around the waist. Fighting hard, kicking and screaming as you much as you could with a gloved hand clamped over your mouth, you hit and punched and clawed at anything on him you could reach. He gave grunts of pain but was big and strong enough to subdue your arms while still carrying you out of the room.
Over your own noise you heard the commotion of Steven waking up. There was no doubt he'd be immediately surrendering control to Marc. You heard fighting, and then your attention was taken by being dropped in a painful heap on a bare patch of hardwood floor in the main living area.
A fist tangled in your hair and pulled you to you kneel, your back shoved against your attacker’s leg to force your neck back. You cried out when you caught the glint of a knife in his free hand making its way towards your skin. Closing your eyes, all you could do was pray Steven and Marc wouldn’t self-destruct from guilt.
Please, was your last though, don't let them blame themselves.
A full year ago, the four of you had gone back and forth for weeks, you and Layla against Steven and Marc, convincing them that living with someone who knew them (really knew them) was a good idea. They were entirely unwilling to put anyone else in any danger, but you’d been stubborn. Besides, you were equipped to deal with it.
You’d even landed Steven a job with you at the Smithsonian - somewhere he could really shine - that was Layla’s idea. This whole thing was Layla’s idea, in fact. You'd been getting into sticky situations together since your university years… you'd always joked that you'd get each other into too much trouble one day.
You hoped your death wouldn't consume her with guilt either. It was the final thing you hoped before you felt the impact.
Again, you fell forward into a heap on the floor. There was no pain. You wondered if you were in shock and bleeding out, but the sight of an obviously dead attacker across the room and the sound of a scuffle behind you made you think twice. You scurried out of the way as Marc, with deadly precision, fought the man whom had nearly just taken your life.
After a flurry of limbs and fists, Marc succeeded in taking the man down to his knees before slotting behind him to lock an arm around his thick neck.
“What are you doing here, you piece of dog shit?!” He growled.
Your heart stopped in your chest and you felt like you’d been dunked underwater. Maybe you were in shock and your hearing wasn’t working, or your brain wasn’t working.
Because that wasn’t Marc’s voice.
It was American, like Marc, but less… standard. More Boston. More north-east, like a New Yorker or-
“TELL ME!” He bellowed in the attacker’s ear. The man opened his mouth to speak, to breathe, but the elbow against his windpipe would not allow it. Instead, he yanked up his sleeve to reveal a scale crudely scarred against his skin, as if it had been carved there in some sick branding.
The man in charge scoffed and whispered something you couldn’t understand.
"Rezaría por tu alma pero a los dioses no les importa."
As your attacker lost consciousness, the person in control finally looked up and locked eyes with you. It was startling, to look into his face and not recognise him.
“Who are you?” You demanded hoarsely.
This new man, this unknown person, looked at you with something severe in his eye. He dropped his sneer for a mere second, looking over you with a flash of relief, and then was stoic again. With his arm still around the now-unconscious attacker's neck, he met your eye and said:
“I’m the guy who finishes the job.”
He tightened and twisted his arm, and the attacker was dead before his body hit the floor.
The clunk of the limp corpse made you gasp and fill with a weird type of melancholy. It was you or him, you knew that, but a life just ended before your eyes and that wasn’t something to be taken lightly.
You looked back up at your saviour and found his eyes were still on you. You sat in silence for several moments before he shifted his stare to glance at the two bodies on the floor. He sighed and then scratched the back of his head. Turning back to you, he said “Get back to your room. I’ll take care of the mess.”
“Th-they’re people,” you argued unexpectedly, not really sure why you were defending them. “They’re not a mess. They’re people.”
“They were people who meant to kill us all,” he glowered, standing to his full height and squaring his shoulders. “Now go. So I can do what needs to be done.”
“Where’s Steven?”
“He’ll be back in the morning,” he said. It sounded like he had far too much understanding of how the arrangement worked, considering he wasn’t exactly a part of it. “He doesn’t need to know about this.”
“He’ll know."
He shook his head. “Not unless you tell him.” He knelt and began shoving his hands around the attacker’s pockets. “And since I saved your life, how about you do me the solid of keepin’ this between us.”
You didn’t want to. You really didn’t want to hide this from your roommates. Though, that nagging feeling in your gut said if you didn’t establish the smallest amount of trust with this person right away, you likely wouldn’t get another chance. And you had questions, for him, so you nodded in agreement. “What do I call you?”
He closed his fists around the jacket of the body closest to you and began dragging it away, avoiding your eye and ignoring your question. Asking again felt like pushing it, so you stood and went back to your room without another word.
You didn’t sleep another second that night.
When the sunrise became more obvious, you left your room with the expressed mission of scoping out of the state of the living area. And making coffee. You switched the kettle on to let the water boil and took a hesitant step into the room which held cozy couches, a large rug covering dark hardwood floors, a TV, several bookshelves, a fish tank and way too many knick knacks. Everything was in its place. If not for the way your scalp still held the dull ache of being hauled up by your hair, you could’ve easily convinced yourself it’d all been an awful nightmare.
No blood. No broken furniture. No dead bodies piled in the corner.
Steven would be awake soon and you’d have to pretend like everything was fine. It was Saturday. He’d probably suggest going to the farmer’s market and you’d say yes because he’d been into cooking lately and it had been nice for him to have something to take his mind off everything that'd ever happened to him. Also, something to feel like a normal person. He was actually getting pretty good.
Layla wasn’t due back from her current dig for three more weeks, and Marc really only wanted the body when she was home. Which wasn’t often, but still often enough to make it work.
Which meant a few more weeks of Steven, his homemade fettuccine, his company at work, his movie nights, and… his deeply suppressed co-alter who’d just revealed himself to you for the first time.
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“Steven! Do you want some tea?”
“No thanks, love!” He called from the other room.
You got to work making your own, starting with opening the cupboard just above the kettle. You selected a random ceramic mug, a white one with blue polka dots, closed the door, and that’s when you saw it. The vile creature sitting presumptuously on the wall. Before you could stop yourself, your instincts forced out a blood curdling scream.
The mug shattered on the floor next to your sock-clad feet. You jumped back and clutched your racing heart, panting and scolding yourself for your overreaction. Suddenly remembering Steven was in the next room, you started to call out to let him know what had happened. When you turned to do so, you let out another small scream when you were met with Marc thundering into the room, a gun in his outstretched hand. Steven wouldn’t carry a gun, but he would certainly let Marc take over if there was perceived danger.
“Marc, it’s fine,” you breathed, holding up a hand. You then sheepishly admitted: “I’m sorry, it was just a cockroach.”
He looked at you for several moments and then lowered the gun. Your face fell in recognition. Or, lack-thereof.
Marc would’ve laughed in relief.
Marc would’ve made this into a joke.
This wasn’t-
“You’re not-”
“No. I’m not,” he scoffed and placed the gun on the kitchen counter. He leaned over it, gripping the sides of the smooth granite. He looked at you with something serious in his eye. “They care about you, ya know?”
You nodded.
He shook his head. “No, you don’t get it," he pointed an accusing finger for a few moments. "They worry you’re gonna get dragged into all this bullshit and get hurt. I can feel it. When they think you’re in danger their fried little minds get all riled up and-…” He sighed again, a little impatiently. Clearly he’d felt like he told you too much already.
You wrapped your sweater-clad arms around yourself and bit your lip, looking at the ground. “I don’t need protecting.”
He let our a few dry chuckles before tucking the gun into the back of his belt. “Yeah, well… trying telling them that.”
He stood up straight and walked over to the counter, tearing off a piece of paper towel on his way. When you saw he was advancing on the cockroach, which hadn’t moved despite the commotion, you reached out in an honest reflex and touched his arm to stop him. “Hey, you don’t-”
You were silenced by his flinch at the gentle contact. You removed your hand immediately and mumbled some kind of apology before stuffing your hand back against your arm.
He mellowed, again just for a moment, to say what may be his mantra for moments of comfort and purpose:
“Jake Lockley finishes the job.”
In this context, it was almost like a joke. You didn’t have time to wonder whether you should crack a smile before you had to consciously ignore the awful squelch of him squishing the bug in the paper towel. In order to have something to do, you got to your knees against the tile and began gathering the bigger pieces of the broken mug. Once he’d tossed the dead roach in the trash he grabbed the brush and dustpan from under the sink and passed it to you.
You cleaned the floor in silence, wondering how to make him tell you more.
“I didn’t tell them about last month,” you said, gliding the brush against the linoleum. “But they know someone else is there. They don’t know your name.”
“That’s how it should be.”
“But you know theirs.”
“Khonshu told me.”
You looked up and hardened your glare. “Don’t bullshit me.”
You stood and discarded the remnants of the mug before placing the pan back under the sink. You met Jake’s eyes and folded your arms again. He was silent, stoic, and unmovable.
“How do you take the body?”
He scoffed, then tilted his head with a smirk. “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
“No, don’t-”
The body lurched with Jake’s forceful resignation of control. The new commander stumbled against the counter and looked up at you, frazzled. Steven.
“You alright, yeah?” He stood up and dusted off the crewneck sweater he'd put on that morning. He looked confused. “What happened?”
Not knowing whether or not Jake could see you, but not willing to compromise any small amount of trust he might have in you, you told Steven, “There was a bug. I freaked out. It forced a change, apparently.”
He eyed you skeptically, nervously. You’d never been a good liar, even though it was a partial truth. Steven opened his mouth, maybe to question you, but you’d turned on your heel and walked out of the kitchen, cup of tea forgotten.
Jake Lockley.
The name replayed in your head as you brushed your teeth and settled down to sleep. It replayed like the vaguely apologetic look he’d given you when you touched him unexpectedly and he’d flinched away. Your heart felt heavier in your chest when you remembered his reaction. Because you knew what it meant.
He was rarely touched with kindness.
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An argument could be made that it was unethical to try bringing Jake back. Yet, here you were with your mind made up.
Based on your experiences with Jake and your knowledge of Steven and Marc, you had to assume that the two familiar men were, subconsciously yet intentionally, surrendering the body. They had to be. Marc couldn’t take it from Steven without consent and vice versa.
Maybe Jake was different.
Or maybe, just maybe, in those split seconds between Marc or Steven registering a danger that felt beyond their scope, their subconscious minds called out for someone capable. Someone to finish the job.
Or maybe Jake was truly in control.
You didn’t know, but you felt like Jake knew, and you wanted answers. Still, it felt unethical to be plotting how to invoke such distress in someone. Telling yourself it was a minor infringement on their psyche, you decided that innocently scaring Steven might be within the scope of “acceptable.”
You’d never been one for horror movies but Midsommar got rave reviews. A new cult classic, said the critics, and not to be missed. The plot, the cinematography, the wardrobe and acting were all top-tier and totally worth the scary stuff. At least, that’s what you told Steven on a Friday night after you both got home from work and he asked if you wanted to watch a film.
“That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind,” he admitted sheepishly, then tried to respectfully disagree. “What about a comedy, or-or if you want something darker I think there’s a great new historical film that’s just come out, we could go to the cinema and-and…” he trailed off when you raised your eyebrows at him.
“Have you never watched a horror film?”
“I don’t exactly see the enjoyment of bein’ scared out my mind,” he scoffed, but he was cracking. He gave you a pleading look but saw that your resolve wasn’t moving. So he sighed and moved to the stove to make some popcorn, wordlessly agreeing. You gave him a quick squeezing hug from behind, which seemed to make it all worth it to him (for now) and then ran off to find the film on a steaming service.
You were fairly sure Steven hated every second he watched.
Sitting on opposite ends of the three-seater, you thought Steven might bite his own finger off given how much he was grimacing against it. He yelped at almost every jump scare and muttered choice words under his breath at some of the more gruesome scenes. Just as you felt some guilt nagging at you, seeing that he’d barely touched the popcorn and was pulling his knees up to his chest, arguably the worst scene of them all happened.
Instead of screaming, Steven flinched hard and hid his face in one of his hands. Then, his erratic breathing went still and he slowly removed the hand from his eyes.
“You okay?” You asked calmly.
Truth be told, your heart was racing. Did it work?
His eyes scanned the room, scanned the scene on the TV and then flicked to you. His arm slid along the back cushion to rest comfortably, his hand now almost at your shoulder. He turned in confrontation and gave you a serious look, but not one with any malice behind it.
“Now why’d you gotta do a thing like that?”
That upper east accent made your heart beat faster. Some weird part of you wasn’t quite sure why but you were sure you’d overanalyse it later.
Instead of making a big deal out of it, you took and handful of the popcorn in the bowl on your lap. “Steven couldn’t handle it, huh?” You looked at him innocently, then held the bowl out to him. He ignored it, keeping you locked in his stare once you’d dared to meet it.
Jake chuckled once or twice then rolled his eyes to look away.
“Malo. I’m bringin’ him back.”
You set the popcorn bowl down so it was touching his leg. He looked back to you and you shrugged, looking down at the bowl as you took some more popcorn in your hand, “There’s still an hour left.”
“So I thought Jake Lockley finished the job.”
You’d said it with your eyes back on the screen, watching another terrifying scene unfold. Putting piece after piece of popcorn slowly in your mouth, your handful depleted yet you could still feel his eyes on you.
Just as you were sure he was going to tell you off, swear at you or just leave without a word, he picked up a few pieces of popcorn and turned towards the screen.
Heart beating harder again, you held back a smile and shared your popcorn with him until it was gone. Your hands only collided once. He flinched when it happened. You didn’t give any indication that it bothered you, even though it did.
Once the credits started rolling you took your hand away from where it was propping up the side of your head and then turned to Jake. “Scary,” was all you commented. You’d probably have nightmares, since you were prone to that kind of thing, but he didn’t need to know that.
He gave you a wary look, and then shook his head and chuckled through his nose.
You turned more towards him. “What? Why are you laughing?”
“I’ve never been tricked into a date before.”
Your cheeks burned. “This isn’t a date.”
He raised his eyebrows and teased, “No?”
“But you got me here on purpose.”
“Yeah, but-”
“To watch a movie with you.”
“To talk,” you said, jutting your chin with a stern look. He met your eye for a few seconds and then laughed once or twice. He shook his head.
“You’re one of them, it’s not-”
“I am not…” the sudden gruffness in his voice caught you off-guard. He finished his sentence slowly, so you’d take in every word. “… like them.” He looked you dead in the eye and you could tell he meant it. “I’m not. You don’t know who you’re talkin’ to.”
“Then tell me,” you challenged. “What does “finishing the job” usually entail? What are you doing for Khonshu?”
“They’re not supposed to know about what I do.”
“Why can’t they?”
“Dammit!” He slapped the back of the couch, startling you. His fingers dug into the cushion and he leaned in closer, olive skin now burning with a tint of rage. “You think they can handle the things I do?! It would destroy them. That’s why I exist. What, you couldn’t figure that out?” His eyes glazed over with something desperate and erratic and ashamed.
Your jaw clenched and you refused to break eye contact.
You refused to back down.
You refused to be afraid of him, to validate the way he felt like a monster.
It was hard, looking at him without showing all the pain you could feel. Without showing him the heartache of a surface-level understanding of his self-worth. You let a curt breath out through your nose.
“You deserve a life too.”
He scoffed, sat back and then looked to the rolling credits. “The things you saw on that screen are nothing compared to what I’ve done.”
“You don’t strike me as a cold-blooded killer.”
“What d’you know?” He snapped, turning back to you. Your mouth went a little dry at his cool demeanour but you swallowed your pride and reminded yourself that of course he’d try to shove you away. “No sabes nada,” he all but growled.
So you smiled, tight-lipped, wryly. “I know a hell of a lot more than you’d think.” You stood, picking up the popcorn bowl. “So do they,” you added. “They know Khonshu made a bad-faith promise.” You moved to leave, to test the limits of his drive to protect by forcing him to ask you to elaborate if that’s what he wanted. Just as you were two steps away from the kitchen, he called out.
You turned and raised an eyebrow.
“How do they know?” He asked, eyes now on the place where you once sat.
Steven had told you about the habit of the sand around the bed and you’d agreed it was okay to continue, but clearly both Marc and Jake had dodged that before. Hidden cameras would’ve been a good idea but they may have been detected and disposed of by any dormant alter who’d had more control than they’d realised. And they knew there was someone else.
Sure, Steven and Marc could now grant each other a degree of privacy but that’s because it was intentional. It had taken work, to figure out the balance between their control. Their foundation of trust is what made it possible, but it also made them susceptible; because they didn’t always have to be on their guard to keep the other from jumping in the driver’s seat, their metaphorical doors had been unlocked.
It didn’t take long to realise they had someone taking advantage of the open-door policy.
“Some mornings they wake up sore and exhausted, and they talk to each other,” you said simply. Jake sighed and rubbed his temples in one hand. “You might be careful to avoid any injuries but underneath those suits that body is human. It needs rest. The nights you take control it’s… it’s obvious the next morning.”
You walked into the kitchen, wondering if he’d follow you. Wondering if he’d call out again. Now that you’d given him an answer maybe he’d come searching for more. There was no way he was ready for camaraderie Steven and Marc could offer, but maybe he could talk to someone who might understand. Or, at least, want to understand.
After dumping the kernels into the rubbish bin and moving to wash the bowl you, heard footsteps approach. You turned to see him walking into the room, still with a hand against the side of his head. He looked at you with something wary, but it was softer than Jake.
“That is the last time I let you choose a film,” Steven’s indignant voice rang throughout the kitchen. You scoffed and looked at the floor. “Oh well, I’m terribly sorry to disappoint but I bloody passed out at that cliff scene now, didn’t I?” Something stormy had clearly fallen across your face because Steven immediately back-peddled. "No, love, I didn't mean to-"
"I'm sorry," you tried to smile. "I shouldn't have pushed it."
But you didn't mean it, and there was something more behind the way you wouldn't meet his eye. You heard Steven look around, then look at the time, and you felt your mouth go a little dry.
What were you thinking?
Steven took a step forward, prompting you to face him. Still, it was hard to meet his eye.
"It's been an hour," he looked hurt and confused. "What happened?" When you didn't verbally respond, and only looked away, he got more concerned. "What, did Marc take over? Did he say something to you? Did something happen?”
You bit the side of your tongue and shook your head but Steven had wasted no time in walking past you to rip open the curtain which covered the window. Night had fallen, and his reflection was noticeable. He held up a scolding finger and talked to it.
“Right, I’ve no bloody idea what you’ve gone and done but we had a deal you and I, didn’t we? And-… what am I talking about? Oh that is rich. Rich, Marc! You can’t-”
“Steven.” You tried interrupting but he wouldn’t have it; protectors, the lot of them.
“-just jump in and out of the body whenever you like. This doesn’t work if we don’t have ground rules so-… don’t lie to me…” Steven’s face fell into realisation as he listened to, what you assumed to be, Marc’s fervent declaration of innocence. “… What?”
Your eyes fell and you said, no louder than a breath, “Steven…”
He turned to you. “The... the other?”
Regretfully, you nodded.
“No, no no no,” Steven’s eyes filled with fear and he stepped towards where you stood, hands meeting the sides of your arms, then your cheeks, behind your neck to make you look at him.
You half-heartedly pushed at him and sniffed, “He didn’t hurt me, Steven.”
“What did he do to you?” He demanded. His eyebrows scrunched in worry, his mouth agape in a perpetual wince. “Marc, yeah? Should I get Marc?”
“No, don't get Marc, he’s not-”
Steven flinched, and some of that worry turned rugged and robust. “Hey,” Marc’s low voice said, trying to soothe, not understanding why you were upset. “Tell me what happened.” He, again, began checking over you for injuries.
"I'm fine."
“I swear if he put his hands on you-” When he tilted your chin up to inspect your neck for signs of bruises, you snapped.
“STOP IT!” You jutted your chin out of his grasp and shoved at Marc’s chest with a grunt, infuriated that no one was fucking listening. He stepped away, worry and confusion painted across his features. You felt hot, angry tears brim in your eyes.
Marc’s jaw set and he turned toward the window. “Come face us, you slimy bastard.”
“Marc!” You stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder. “Stop it, Marc. Both of you. He’s not some psychopath!” He shook off your grip and kept threatening the unknown soul behind the reflection.
“You’re not welcome in this body, especially not in this house, do you understand me?!” His voice had raised to a near-yell but by the sustained nature of his demeanour, you could tell Jake hadn’t made an appearance. Marc suddenly turned to you. “How many times have you met him? What has he told you?”
“Three times, including tonight,” you said honestly, ignoring his other question. Marc searched your features for any sign of hidden truths, and he probably found some, but something made him not press you on it. “He’s not evil,” your voice broke and the tears spilled over. “The first time we met he saved my life. Yours too. He only asked me to keep it a secret because he didn’t want you to freak out.” Another tear spilled down your cheek, and that was probably the reason he didn’t press you on it.
Marc dropped his aggressive stance and let out a tense breath, “Hey, let’s just-”
“He’s not a threat,” you said with finality, turning towards the sink to end the conversation by beginning to clean the bowl. "If you're here you may as well call Layla," you sniffed, making it clear you were done talking to him. "I heard from her yesterday. She'll have service for the next two days or so. The number to her new work phone is on the coffee table."
You turned the tap on and rinsed the bowl, not wavering when you heard Marc sigh next to you. You'd made it clear that you were unwilling to divulge anything else, and Marc had known you long enough to know he'd be fighting a losing battle. You and Layla were friends for a reason, and it wasn't because you were opposites.
So he left to call his wife.
Once he was gone, you looked at your own reflection in that window. The fresh tears that'd filled your eyes didn't spill over. Instead, they were blinked back with a single quiet sniff. Before your mind could fill with memories of witnessing Marc or Steven have an argument with their reflection, or perhaps a funny verbal spar you were only privy to one side of, you reached up and forcefully closed the curtain.
Steven was back the next morning.
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Marc hadn't pushed the subject when he came back for the two weeks Layla was back in London on a break from the dig in Syria. It helped that he was barely around, and that when he was around Layla was with him.
He'd obviously told her something because she started saying cryptic things about Khonshu and Marc disappearing in the middle of the night.
"You've never beat around the bush before, Layla. Don't start now," you'd told her. She'd laughed and shrugged.
"What's going on with you?" She asked, an earnest desire to understand behind her fiery brown eyes. "Why are you protecting this other alter?"
You didn't know for sure, but the only thing you could think of was "Someone has to."
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Three weeks after Layla had gone back to Al-Suwayda, you still hadn't seen Jake again. Which was bittersweet, considering it meant you hadn't been in enough perceived danger to strike anxiety through Steven's core. What's more, the subject of your rendezvous with the unsung soul in the body had been entirely dropped.
Some nights you’d lie awake and listen through the walls, waiting for a sign that Jake had awoken to do Khonshu’s bidding. Nothing came. Not while you were alert, anyway.
Doing nothing felt wrong but you didn’t know what to do. You couldn’t just forget about him. Though given your last interaction with Jake, you didn't think another gruesome feature film was the best idea; he probably wouldn't appreciate you forcing him up from the depths.
Then, entirely too early one morning, your subconscious cried out for a saviour.
Deep down, some part of you knew it was all a dream. That didn’t make it any less horrific, nor any less traumatic, when your slumbering mind conjured the terrifying images for you to experience in your dream state .
Harrow’s people. Kicking doors in, flipping tables, destroying artefacts, setting fires as they went. They got a hold of Steven. Sweet, docile Steven. You could tangibly feel the fear in him as they lifted the blade. You screamed when they drove it through his chest. They drove it in again, and you screamed again. Someone was holding you back. He was going to die alone. Not entirely alone, but they’d all be gone. Helpless together.
You tried to break free but all you could do was scream until the very real sound of a door being thrown open broke through your dream state and brought you sitting up in bed.
Tears blurred your vision and you choked out a sob or two before clamping a hand over your mouth. Someone was here. One of them. They watched for a few moments as you clutched your chest and hung your head in embarrassment.
"I'm sorry, Marc,” you choked out, noticing the gun he was brandishing. Steven would never. "Sorry. It was just a stupid nightmare. I didn't mean to wake you up. I didn't..." You choked on a pant again and coughed once or twice.
He stood in silence. You heard the safety of a gun click to reengage. You lifted your head and looked him dead in the eyes. The look was more severe than Marc. You felt more tears well up.
"I'm sorry, Jake.”
“It’s alright.”
"I don’t want to keep scaring them so badly," you admitted in a whisper. You made to move out of the bed, to make some practical steps to leave their lives, because it was so early and your frazzled mind wasn’t really working right. "Maybe I shouldn't be here anymore. Maybe it's not good for them- I'm not good for them." You were rambling.
Jake moved in a few swift steps to stand between you and your easiest route out of the sheets. In a surprising move, his hand met your shoulder to stop you from doing something out of an unfounded fear.
His voice was low and strong as always. A single shrug let him know you didn't understand Spanish. He sighed, and translated: “Stop. Look at me,” he slipped his fingers under one side of your jaw to prompt you to look up. You shook off his hand and kept your gaze downward. He didn't need to see your tears. "What happened?"
"I told you," you mumbled. "Stupid nightmare.”
"'Bout what?"
You wiped the tear stains with the back of your hand and shrugged bitterly. "Harrow's people."
"They're gone."
"I know," you nodded and looked up with apology in your stare. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean-"
"Stop apologising," he said, then lowered the tension in his shoulders. He gestured around weakly with his gun-free hand. "It’s alright. You know that, don't you?”
Only then did you realise his earlier sentiment was meant to comfort you. The first it’s alright wasn’t him accepting your apology, but him saying you were safe here. So you nodded again.
He nodded back and exhaled slowly, “Good. Now go back to sleep."
Even though still domineering, his voice was softer around the edges, much more than you'd ever heard. It would be easy to mistake it as annoyance or disappointment but something in his demeanour only showed relief. Exhaustion, too; it was three in the morning and he was just catapulted into a body that was probably smack in the centre of its sleep cycle.
Either way, you didn't feel like fighting a losing battle. So you slipped your legs back under the sheets, cleared your throat of the final nerves, and attempted to lay down as naturally as possible to somehow convince him you were fine to be left alone.
Instead, he turned and took a seat in the plush dark green armchair that sat in the corner of your room, just eight or so feet from your bed. He rested the side of his gun against the top of his thigh. His finger was still on the trigger.
"You don't need t-"
"Jake Lockley finishes the job."
His eyes stayed fixed on the door. He left no room for debate.
You watched his body language for a few seconds. You took in his posture. He seemed shaken, but now prepared. Through your limited interactions with this person you knew there was no arguing. Jake Lockley would finish the job, even if that job was merely making sure you felt safe enough to go back to sleep.
Logically, you knew there was no one waiting to burst through your door. Selfishly, his presence soothed that nagging part of you that doubted your logic.
So Jake sat there, stare and barrel trained on the door, and he didn't say another word.
Perhaps more easily than you thought you would, you slipped back under sleep's spell.
When you awoke the next day, you wondered if that entire thing had been a multi-layered dream. Some kind of hyperrealistic inception that for some reason brought you to Jake. But Steven was complaining about the bad sleep he got. It must've been bad, he said, because he felt like he only slept for a couple hours. And his neck was stiff.
Almost like he’d slept sitting up.
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"I swear it's in one of these blasted boxes," Steven mumbled as you two searched around. It had been nearly half and hour of head-scratching, nose-crinkling confusion that was slowly mounting into exasperation.
"You're not wrong," you sighed, glancing around the rows and rows of shelves and boxes that held the catalogued minor artefacts and samples found at dig sites over the years. You clicked the pen shut against your clipboard and dropped your hands to your side, clutching the stack of papers in defeat. "Some intern must've put it in the wrong place."
"I suppose we'll need to check through every box."
"Not necessarily," you furrowed your brow in thought. Then, a lightbulb moment. "Come with me," you said, turning on your heel and making your way towards a side room. Your keycard let you into the smaller, dingier storage room which was far less organised than the great storage warehouse.
"Yeah," you breathed out and ducked your head, knowing what he must be thinking. "It's a tip."
"Who knows what's hiding in here?" He walked past you and into the space. The ceilings weren't nearly as high as the towering warehouse, but still about two dozen feet from floor to ceiling. The room was about thirty feet wide and forty-or-so feet long, every wall lined with cluttered shelves of boxes (some opened, some closed), a forgotten mug here or there (which would most definitely be growing something cursed), and another wide row of shelves straight down the middle.
You shut the door with your heel, without looking at it, and took in that familiar sound of the loud air conditioning unit in the far corner. "This room isn’t temperature controlled so it's become a dumping ground for anything barely salvageable," you explained, walking past Steven. "It's also private. Hardly opened. Very little foot traffic." You turned and gave him a knowing glance. His eyes widened and a blush graced his upper cheeks but he tried to seem cool about it. After all, Steven Grant wasn't usually one to think about workplace rendezvous. He was far too interested in the work itself.
"Oh," was all he said. Adorably bashful, you'd have to admit.
You digressed. "But the Miller-Kayes dig in Utah had obscene amounts of periphery material brought back. Most of it is in here, and most of what's in here is from that dig," you took another deep breath in and out, then gave him an apologetic look. "We have to find it."
"Right," he rolled up his metaphorical sleeves. "Where should we start?"
You suggested starting on opposite ends, meeting in the middle at the back and then scanning either side of the central shelf in tandem. He agreed, and you got to work.
You wouldn't call it groundbreaking or fascinating work, but you also wouldn't call it boring. Not when Steven would exclaim in a child-like wonder every ten or fifteen minutes because he was so infatuated with everything he was seeing. Sometimes he'd call out and tell you what he was so excited about, and sometimes that would turn into a lesson, and then a conversation. No, it certainly wasn't the worst day of work you'd had.
It was taking a lot longer than you'd anticipated though, and about the time you'd reached the halfway mark of the shelves on the perimeter, you started longing for lunch. Steven agreed.
"Just one more box," you called, halfway up the ladder. Steven emerged from around the corner to see where you were at, wiping his dusty hands on a dubious rag you definitely wouldn't have trusted.
Your hands closed around the plastic container and pulled it towards you. However, you didn't anticipate it to be as light as it was. Having spent the past several hours pulling on boxes that far outmatched your strength, you entirely overcompensated.
You gasped as your body was propelled backwards by the momentum of your pull. The large box flew past your head and ripped through your fingers, while your other gentle grasp on the ladder was pulled away from force.
You were falling backwards, sure to land hard and painfully against the concrete floor that lay ten feet below. With a sharp intake of breath, you braced to be badly hurt. Instead, you landed less than gracefully in Steven's arms. Your arms immediately looped around his neck as he made a minor adjustment to keep you from tumbling further, hiking you just a little higher into his arms.
"Steven," you gasped out, resting your head against his shoulder for a second in pure relief before pulling back to look him dead in the eyes. "The things this body is capable of, huh?" You laughed nervously. "My hero," you smiled cheekily, letting it grow into a grin. Steven cracked a small, awkward half-smile.
But it was different than the way Steven smiled, and Marc would've declared himself your saviour. Steven's heart would be wildly racing, he'd be asking you if you were okay, even though he'd saved you from certain serious injury. Marc would've cracked some joking comment that had the weight of someone concerned behind it. But he just smiled, and then looked away when it felt like too much to be so close to you.
Jake placed your feet gently on the floor, and you unwrapped your arms from around his shoulders.
"Sorry," you chuckled, taking a step back, rubbing your arm in a self-soothing motion and looking at your feet on the solid ground.
"What, you're sorry to see me?" He teased.
Wait, he... teased? You furrowed your brow for a second and then look up to see him looking more unsteady than you'd ever seen. You thought of some cute quip to say back, but thought he needed to hear the truth:
That seemed to catch him off guard. Especially since you'd said it so sincerely. He opened then closed his mouth, and then gave you a suspicious glance. Sensing you may have made it too much, you picked up your clipboard and turned to the box that'd been forced open by its fall. "Even though last time, you know, you kinda creeped on me while I was sleeping."
"Gracioso," he chuckled once. "You slept soundly with me close by."
That comment, mixed with the low timbre of his voice, sent a swell of flustered butterflies through your stomach and a strike of desire coursing through your chest. Thank goodness he couldn't see your face.
You gave him more honesty, while still ignoring that comment until you could figure out how to respond to it. "You've only ever kept me safe." You crouched by the cracked plastic container and then looked up at him with a wry smile. "Even from the clutches of a multi-legged insect," you grinned and then examined the contents of the box.
He walked over, wordlessly. You stood, after you'd surmounted it was a box full of trash someone was too lazy to throw away, and turned to find him an arm's length away. His gaze was penetrating, but also honest and, for the first time, a little vulnerable. Your lips parted at the intensity of his brown-eyed stare. He looked back and forth between your eyes and for a second you thought he might-
"Why?" He asked.
"Why what?" You turned to place the clipboard on the ladder, then turned back and met his gaze again. It was hard to not want to, considering how long it'd been since someone looked at you the way he did. It was hard to explain.
"That. All that," he gestured to you and you fought a smile. "Why are you tryin'… all of that."
You raised an eyebrow. It was nice seeing him so uncharacteristically cautious. "All of what?"
"To be… you know, nice."
"Jake," you laughed, a little sadly. "I'm just treating you like a person is supposed to be treated."
He searched your features desperately wanting to believe you. He looked for any sign of malice or manipulation. He looked for the tell that you were playing him, or just trying to figure him out so Marc and Steven could cut him off from the body. At least, that's what you assumed he was looking for.
From instinct, from being around this body, you reached out to place a comforting hand on his arm. Jake flinched and his eyes shut for a second, so you stopped your hand mid-air. Your heart sank, because you knew it wasn't personal. When someone reacted the way he did, they'd been taught to fear an initiated touch.
The thought reminded you of the first time Marc and Layla told you about Steven.
You'd been there for Layla when Marc had disappeared off the face of the earth. You'd held her through it, as much as someone like her would allow herself to be held. It would've been impossible to not explain where he'd been, what had happened, and the reality of his mental health when he’d returned.
Marc was careful, and not too open, when he explained that Steven existed because he needed to escape their mother, who violently blamed him for the accidental death of his little brother. His mind decisively split open to protect him from the times she'd thunder up the stairs with whiskey on her breath and false retribution beneath her nails.
For the first time, now remembering back in the kitchen when Jake recoiled at your hand, you considered the possibility that Marc wasn't the one protecting Steven.
Maybe it wasn't Marc who was bearing the undeserved punishment for that fateful accident.
Maybe it was Jake, who was being told over and over again that he deserved it. Every lash telling him he was a monster, every venomous word from her mouth reminding him that he should never feel anything good in this life.
Maybe Jake bore it all so they wouldn't have to.
Here and now, you gave him a level look and said, ”You’re not unworthy of kindness.”
Jake winced and shook his head, taking a step back and scrunching his eyes in a grimace. You'd crossed a line.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, letting your hand fall back by your side. "I didn't mean-"
"I know you didn't," he whispered back, then looked up in pain and tried to give you an apologetic smile for the way he'd reacted to you. "You're sweet," he grunted. You understood the meaning behind it, so you smiled sadly.
You'd made it clear that you thought he deserved something good, so it felt excessive to say it again. At worst it could sound pushy, and the last thing you wanted to do was push him away.
Still, you had to try something.
"You're hungry too, right? Steven said so." You turned and pretended to look at something on your clipboard, to make this whole thing less intense.
"Uh, yeah," he mumbled. You looked back up and him and saw the face of a conflicted man. So you didn't give him any chance to doubt.
You picked up the clipboard. "There's a good lunch spot just a few minutes away." Then, you walked past him with the confidence of someone who expected him to follow.
When you got to the door and pulled it open, you turned to see him rooted to that spot. He hung his head and then stood up straight and turned towards you. For a second, he looked too calm to be any of them. But you knew.
"Jake?" You called in prompt, holding the door open.
"Yeah," he looked at you for several long seconds and then allowed himself a brief smile. "Lunch sounds nice."
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once-upon-a-thigh · a month ago
Servicing and Inspection
Summary: Y/n brings lunch to the garage for her girlfriend, but it seems Nat is craving something else. REQUEST. 18+
Pairing: Mechanic! GP! Natasha Romanoff X Fem! Reader.
Class: Drabble; smut
Warnings: Swearing, daddy kink, fingering (r receiving), vaginal sex involving a penis, belly bulge, masturbating, degradation.
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Oh my god ^ right?
Closing my car door shut with a bump of my hip, I walked into the open garage where my girlfriend works as a mechanic. Her co-worker is off sick so she has been covering all of the work herself the last few days, and so being forced to work overtime. I miss her so much, not used to being way from her for so long. So I decided to make her favourite sandwich and take it to her work for a surprise.
“Baby?” I called as I walked in to the seemingly empty garage, eyeing the walls lined with tires and the car parked in the middle. It’s a- well, I don’t know. It’s grey?
Just as I was about to check the office, I heard her call my name. Rolling out from underneath the car, she removed her gloves and stood up to greet me.
“What are you doing here love? I am so happy to see you!” She took me into her strong arms, laying a chaste kiss on my cheek. She smelt of a mix of her cologne and diesel, just as she did whenever she came home, and yet I never grow tired of it. What was different this time however, was the black oil and grime smudged on her arms and cheek that she usually washed off before leaving work.
“You look so hot like this.” I couldn’t help but blurt out, dropping the bag of food to clutch at her tank top covered chest, peering down at her grey sweatpants where a slight bulge was visible.
She laughed, taking my hands in hers and smirking. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” I bit my lip.
She didn’t entertain me any further though, too distracted with opening the bag I had dropped on the floor.
“My sandwich!” She exclaimed, a cute excited grin replacing her smirk.
“Yeah, I thought we could have lunch together, are you not too busy?”
She glanced back at the car she had previously been working on and shrugged. “Nah, it’s just a servicing and inspection.”
“I could do with a servicing and inspection.” I mumbled to myself with a quiet giggle, taking the sandwiches out of the bag and setting them down on a nearby counter.
“What was that?” She gloated, grabbing at my waist and pulling me flush against her.
I snaked my own hands around her neck, I played with the loose strands at the back that had slipped out of her ponytail.
“I think you heard me.” I whispered seductively against her lips, desperate for her to put those fingers to good use for something other than fixing cars.
With a growl, she wrapped her buff arms around my thighs. I let out a surprised squeal, giggling as she carried me to the car, setting me down on the bumper.
“Wait, here? What if the customer comes in?” I grew nervous as she hastily pulled at the buttons of my jeans.
“Then they get their car fixed, and a show.” She panted, managing to undue the buttons and pull the jeans past my hips. I leaned back on my hands, lifting my ass up to help her remove my trousers off fully, ripping off my shoes in the process.
A moan left my lips when she brushed over my clothed slit with long fingers. “Oh babygirl, already so wet for daddy.”
Surging forward, she sloppily kissed my neck, biting at my pulse point as she ground the growing tent in her pants against my soaked panties.
“Please daddy.” I whimpered pathetically, grabbing hold of her muscly shoulders.
With a grunt, her lips moved to my own as she moved her hand up and slipped it past the band of my underwear to cup my sex. Whines slipped past my lips as she brushed over my clit before dipping two fingers into my pussy straight away, parting them to stretch my walls for her cock.
“Fuck, you’re such a needy whore coming here to get your pussy fucked. Couldn’t wait for daddy, hm?” She pouted condescendingly, bicep tensing as she pounded her slender fingers into me so fast my juices sprayed over my inner thighs with every clash of her knuckles.
“Mm.” she sucked in her bottom lip, pulling out her fingers and using them to rub over my clit aggressively, causing wetness to sound alongside my moans.
She pulled her sweats down as well as her boxers, leaving them to fall to her knees as she jacked herself off with her hand still covered in my arousal. Once she deemed her pulsing cock wet enough, she leaned over me and brushed the head up and down my sopping slit.
“What do you say baby?”
“Please daddy, I want your cock!” I practically screamed, wrapping my legs around her ass in an attempt to entice her closer.
“Fuck, that’s right.” She screwed her eyes shut, jaw dropped open as she penetrated my pussy with a sharp thrust and settled into a steady hard pace.
Moving back with the force of her thrusts, I laid back on the cold hood, hands spread out in an attempt to steady myself. She used me as leverage, taking hold under my knees and folding my legs against my chest as she drove her cock into me deeper, pounding me into the metal.
My screams filled the garage, hitching with every hit of my cervix. Her thick shaft massaged my walls, filling me to the brim to the point of the bulge created by her large dick being visible.
“Fuck look at you, taking all of me so good.” She pushed her weight onto me more, watching her slick cock disappear past my folds. “Are you going to take daddy’s cum like a good girl too?”
Nodding desperately, my mouth fell open as I reached my high. She grinned, feeling my walls squeezing her cock as I came to her relenting pace. Coming down, I slumped my head back on the car and let her continue driving her cock into me, using my body to get herself off.
“Shit, shit.” She gritted her teeth, hips stuttering as her abs tensed at the sensation. “Take off your top baby, I want to cum all over your tits.”
After I used the last of my strength to lift my shirt over my head, she pulled her cock out of me with a gushing sound, pulling me closer so she could quickly fist at her cock over my chest.
Pushing my tits together, I circled my nipples for her visual enjoyment as she towered over me, watching with blackened eyes.
“Fuck!” She grunted as spurts of cum left her tip, landing in splatters over the voluptuous mounds.
Slowing down her hand, she panted and wiped the sweat coating her top lip with the back of her other hand. As she began to soften, she pulled up her pants and tucked herself back into her boxers before helping me dress myself, as I found myself to be too sore to move much.
Pulling me off of the car with a laugh, she gave me a sweet kiss on the lips, completely opposing the dominance she exhibited moments ago. When she pulled away and glanced behind me though, her smile dropped.
“Oh shit.”
Turning around, I gasped at the sight of the dent, about the size of my ass, that had been pounded (literally) into the hood of the car.
Sighing, she set her hands on her hips. “I’m going to have to fix that for free.”
Please note that I will only ever write a GP fic if it is requested and approved by a friend of mine that is part of the transgender community. So I will not be taking requests for these!
Enjoy horny bastards.
Love, Meg
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barneswinchester · 6 months ago
MCU Masterlist II
check out my part I if you haven't already!
Bucky Barnes
Unfortunately Yours
3 AM
Pass Out
Bucky's Pastries
Been Like This
Nothing Wrong With You
Under the Table
Trainer Bucky
Friendly Neighbourhood Mafia Boss
His Love
On My Tongue
No Escape
Just a Scratch
It All Belongs to You
Fed Up
Dead of Night
Hungry Eyes
Move Out of My Way
Sweeter Than Sugar
Top of His List
Perfect, Doll
Caged Bird
Around Your Finger
Who Made You Cry?
My Girl
I Love You to the Moon and Back
Sleep Head
You And Me Against The World
Steve Rogers
I'm Not Finished Yet
Birthday Wake Up
Goddess of Worthy (ft. Thor)
Plus One
Wide Open
Pre Serum Steve
Baby Fever
Happy to See You
Nightmare Barns
We're Gonna Be Okay
Stucky x Reader
Snakes and Ladders
Mafia Men
Pretty Boy
Let Us Take Care of You
Laced Around Your Throat
Daddy Lessons
A Warm Place
Late Nights
The Mess We've Made
Late Nights
You Are My Homeland
Our Girl
No Control
French Fries
No Room Available
I Missed You
Happy 4th of July
Andy Barber
Good Behaviour
Look, Don't Touch
Happy Daddy's Day
Go Ahead and Cry Little Girl
In The Mirror
Necessary Arrangements
Good Little Wife
Ari Levinson
Ransom Drysdale
Love On The Brain
I'd Go Black And Blue
Lee Bodecker
Bad Days
Never Enough
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hiddles-and-skittles · 4 months ago
Not Just A One-Time Thing
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Pairing: Bucky x fem!reader
Word Count: 3,046
Summary: When in Rome-or some random event that you definitely don’t want to be at-and after pushing every one of Bucky’s buttons, you take it upon yourself to have a party of your own. In a closet. With Bucky.
Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, rivals to lovers, heavy teasing, blushing idiots, Bucky’s anxiety, smut, fluffy smut because it’s good for the soul, mutual pining idiots who don’t know they’re mutual pining idiots, a little angst but it all ends fluffy because I won’t be able to sleep otherwise!
Notes: I haven’t written much in a hot minute, I’m going through a lot right now (potential liver failure) and this is one thing I’m sorta proud of! I’ve stated before that I don’t typically write smut, which is true because ya girl is inexperienced and it’s completely unfamiliar, but I like to push myself out of my comfort zone and see what I can do. Sometimes it’s great, sometimes it flops. But you won’t know until you try. And me? I want to try everything.  
*Divider by @firefly-graphics
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"You're going."
Sam’s stern voice echoes in your head as you resist the urge to slap yourself in the face.
"No." You desperately hope the simple word is sufficient enough that he decides not to argue.
"I will drag you there in a dress if I have to."  
"If you're trying to threaten me you'll have to do better than that."  
He chuckles. "Alright fine. Then he’ll drag you there," he points a thumb in the direction of your third roommate, Bucky, and the corner of Bucky’s mouth slightly twitches. There’s always been a slight rivalry between the two of you, never a real reason behind it. All you know is that if Sam’s attention is on you, Bucky stares at you as if he’ll rip your head clean from your body. It can be intimidating sometimes, but you know it’s just what he does; he’s insanely protective of anyone he holds dear, and you’ll admit it’s fairly admirable. Maybe kinda hot.
Most people would probably cower from the former assassin’s lingering glare, but you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about those piercing blue eyes boring into you as he fucks you relentlessly into your mattress. So you challenge him by being as annoying as you possibly can to see how far he’ll go before he snaps.
"I’m not wearing a dress in this weather."
"Oh, so that's what this is about?" Sam asks, his hands on his hips.
You narrow your eyes. “It's almost in the negatives out.” He sighs and mumbles a quick ‘whatever’ under his breath, giving up and leaving the room. Bucky watches him intently until the door shuts, leaving the both of you alone. His eyes flick to you.
“This is big for him,” he starts, taking a breath. “Imagine having something this important to you and we don't show.”
“Well I'd encourage you not to, I wouldn't want to be there more than likely.”
His jaw clenches and he frustratingly huffs through his nose, taking a chair and flipping it around to sit with his arms leaning on the top of it. After a moment of silence, he tilts his head. “They have alcohol.”
You sigh, resting your cheek in your palm. “So?”
“So,” he shrugs suggestively.
“I don't like alcohol,” you simper.
He rolls his eyes and throws his head back with a dramatic ugh, his previously annoyed demeanor returning. “I'll drink for you then.”
“Yeah okay,” you snort. “And I have to be completely sober? Pass.”
“Just-” he squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing his brow with his thumb and index finger, exhaling sharply before looking you in the eye. “Wear a stupid dress, alright?”
You cock an eyebrow. “Oh? You went casual last time, were you the exception to the rule?”
He licks his lips. “Tell you what. I'll wear a suit if you go.”
You sit back in your chair, a sinister smile appearing on your face. “...I don't think that's enough incentive.”
“What do you want from me?” he growls.
“Hmm...I don't know yet.” His metal hand makes a fist and you chuckle. “I'll go.”
It’s only been about twenty minutes at the crowded event, but you’ve managed to situate yourself and try your best not to acknowledge the men staggering around leering at you. You thought this place would be far classier, but clearly where there is alcohol, there are people who lack self-control.
You don a sequined red dress that hugs your curves and goes past your knees, and a faux white fur jacket covering your shoulders to try and stave off some of the cold.  
Sam walks on stage and the crowd immediately cheers for him, and a small proud smile appears on your face. Your eyes find Bucky from across the floor and your breath hitches, finding it difficult to take your eyes off him as he makes his way over to you.  
He fidgets as he stands beside you and takes in the way you look at him. He buzzed off more of his hair, his scruff has grown out a little but it’s neatly trimmed, and as promised, he’s dressed in a navy blue suit with a matching tie.  
“I know. I look ridiculous.” His brows furrow as he tenses up.
“I wouldn't say that,” you purr. He turns to you, his cheeks tinged pink as he smiles bashfully. Cheering erupts once again as the host asks to give Sam a warm welcome, and he soon starts his speech.
It’s times like these Bucky wishes you weren’t such a punk, because he’d kill to tell you how he feels. Of course you don’t feel the same because you always push his buttons, and Sam never should have let him move in with you two because you’ll never accept him in fully, but he really wants to kiss you and sometimes bend you over a table but-  
You both stand away from everyone and around the refreshment tables and Sam eventually throws a mention to you both, a spotlight beaming on you for a second while the audience shouts. You give an awkward smile and wave, both of you hating the attention, and when it disappears Bucky is visibly uncomfortable with strangers’ eyes on him. You turn to him and place a hand on his arm.
“Wanna get a dri-”
“-Yes,” he interrupts quickly, apologizing immediately and making you giggle. You walk towards the alcohol and find an ice tub of beer. He watches your hips sway seductively as you leave his side and wonders if you’re doing that intentionally, but it doesn’t matter; in the end it’s got his mouth watering for something that isn’t alcohol, something that could get him just as drunk.  
He stays a few steps behind, raking his eyes over your body at least a dozen times. You turn around as if in slow motion and he can’t help but compare your beauty to that of a young Vivien Leigh, but he quickly dismisses his thoughts and grasps the bottle you reach out to him. He pops the top, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swigs the drink, causing you to swallow thickly and wet your lips at the sight. Fuck. After almost downing the entire bottle he nurses it in his gloved left hand, and you look away, feeling warmth spread over your body. He gazes at you when you’re no longer paying attention to him.  
“You look lovely,” he blurts out, interrupting his own thoughts and nearly choking on his drink.  
“Really?” you whisper in disbelief. He hesitates when you don’t fully react, but you give in and tug on his tie, twirling it around your fingers. “You don't look so bad yourself, Barnes.” You both lock eyes, his gaze darker than before, and that has enough pull on you to set a plan in motion. You glance around the room and notice the buzz dying down, everyone in their own little worlds. “Getting a little dull here, isn't it?”
He licks his lips. “Mmhmm.”  
“I have an idea.” You take the drink from him and replace it with your hand, leading him away from the crowd as he stumbles after you.
You creep down an empty hallway and discover a small utility closet that luckily is unlocked, so you open the door and find the light switch. You practically throw him inside, both of you tripping over cleaning supplies that litter the floor. You fall into his chest, both of you panting in anticipation. He gives in to his thoughts and quickly shrugs his suit jacket off, cupping your face with his gloved fingers and roughly kissing you to steal the breath from your lungs. All you can do is thank God that you gave in and wore a stupid dress, and went to the stupid party, and oh hell is he a good kisser. He pulls away for air, eyes scanning your face while he licks his lips. “I'm glad you came,” he breathes.
“Oh, I haven't done that yet.” You smirk as he shoves you against the wall and pins your wrists above your head with his hands, his mouth a breath from yours as he presses into you.  
“Was this what you wanted?” he whispers, brushing the tip of your nose with his.
“No, but I guess I'll have to settle.” One of his hands leaves your wrists to gather up the hem of your dress to where it sits just above your hips, granting himself better access to rock into you. Your leg instinctively hooks around him to pull him closer and you feel his hardness pressing into your stomach.
“Why are you always such a brat?” He grits out, diving to kiss you again as he parts your thighs with his knee. You can still taste the alcohol on his lips.
“Because you haven’t fucked it out of me yet.” You smile as his hand wraps around your throat to deepen the searing kiss and he tugs on your bottom lip with his teeth. He shifts to latch his mouth onto your neck and trails his way up to the sweet spot under your ear. You moan as you ride his thigh, the friction making you dizzy with lust. You wriggle your hands free from his grip and tangle one in his short locks and the other slides down the wide planes of his back to claw at his ass. He grunts and squeezes your hip in return.
“Tell me you want this,” he says between ragged breaths. You chuckle.
“You say it first.” He laughs dangerously, a predatory sound that sends a shock directly to your core. “You always did strike me as submissive,” you tease, testing the waters. Any trace of playfulness immediately dissipates from his face and a moment passes where he looks as if he’s about to devour you like a wolf would a deer.  
“I’m not giving you that satisfaction,” he simpers as he leans in close. Your eyes stay trained on his.
“Well, looks like I’m not giving it to you, either.” You condescendingly pat his chest and grin as you push the hem of your dress back down, lazily running your fingers through your messy hair. He stares at you in disbelief when you open the door to leave, collecting your discarded accessories from the floor and stepping outside the frame.
“Fuck,” he rolls his eyes to himself. “Wait.”
“Oh?” you turn around, tapping the shell of your ear. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you.”
“I said fine. I...want you. I want this,” he says reluctantly, avoiding your eyes as a light blush covers his cheeks. “But if you think for one goddamn second I’m sub-”
“Shut up and kiss me, dumbass.” You kick the door shut and throw your things down again, and he pushes your back against the wall once more. His lips descend on yours with more fervor than before and you waste no time hiking up your dress for him. He presses into you and successfully traps you between his arms, grinding into you as your hands grip the collar of his shirt. He detaches himself from you and in one swift motion yanks his belt out of his pants and slings it to the floor.  
“You won’t be telling me what to do after I fuck you through this wall,” he growls. Heat blooms on your face at his obscenity, but you can’t help your excited grin spreading from ear to ear.
“I don’t think you can handle me,” you tease, your voice quiet. He laughs like a madman on the brink of relapse.
“Oh, I think I can handle you just-” he hooks a finger into your underwear and rips it off completely, “-fine.” You yelp in surprise when he suddenly lifts you, instinctively wrapping your legs around him and gasping when you feel his clothed erection throbbing against your clit. Your hands grip his shoulders and he finally pulls his pants down just enough to spring himself free. You bite back a sob as he slowly removes his gloves and brings his cool, metal hand to your wetness, easily sliding two digits in, causing you to hiss at the stretch. He pumps slowly and you throw your head back, letting out a whine.
“P-please, Bucky, I need you.” He promptly pulls his fingers out and brings them to his lips, sucking your juices off loudly to get your attention. Your head slumps forward and you meet his boastful gaze.
“I’m sorry?” he asks, mocking your tone from earlier. “I didn’t catch that.”    
“What, going deaf in your old age?” you jab.  
His hands intentionally slip a little from under you and he smirks. “I’ll drop you.”
“Don’t be such a baby.”  
“Name calling isn’t the way into my heart, doll,” he tsks.
“No, but it is the way into your pants, otherwise we wouldn’t be in this room.” You both erupt into a fit of giggles and he nods in agreement. “So, honor that by doing me.”
“That’s not how you say it,” he laughs, his nose crinkling as he smiles.  
“Fine, then. Fuck me.”
His hand reaches to guide himself into you and you both moan as you fully sink down, seating yourself on his cock. Your eyes wrench shut and Bucky kisses you again, only this time there’s something else behind it. His forehead rests against yours and he doesn’t move until you open your eyes.
“You sure?” he asks, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” you respond with shaky breath, your hands connecting behind his neck. And with that, he draws his cock out, adjusting your stance and sheathing himself in you again.
He starts at a leisurely pace to give you time to accommodate his size but you impatiently meet his thrusts to spur him on, gasping each time your bodies connect. “You’re so tight,” he groans, his brows furrowing as he builds a faster rhythm. Every sharp snap of his hips sends you a few inches up the wall and you can feel the tangles forming in your hair, but you’re too intoxicated by him to notice.  
His hand pulls you in by your neck and he kisses you, licking into your mouth when you moan. You fixate on the sounds of his body slapping against yours and his shallow breath, the feeling of your slick running down your thighs and the way he smells. Your eyes roll back and his rocking accelerates when you dig your nails into his shoulders, growling out your name as he relentlessly pounds up into you. He dips his fingers between your bodies and your back arches the second his thumb meets your swollen bud, sending a sweet electric shock up your spine. Your walls begin to flutter around him as he feels you getting close and he massages your clit in tighter circles.
“Oh fuck,” you moan.  
“Cum for me,” he rasps, his mouth agape and eyes screwed shut.
It doesn’t take long for the coil in your stomach to snap, and with one look at his blissed out face you’re sent over the edge, crashing repeatedly as he continues to ride you through your orgasm. “B-Bucky,” you gasp, writhing at the slight overstimulation. He holds you in place by gripping your thighs as he slams into you, choking out a moan as he soon follows your climax.  
Had he not been holding you up, you definitely would have fallen. He nuzzles into your neck as you both come down, kissing your pulse point tenderly as you gently card your fingers through his hair. You relax into each other for as long as it takes for your breathing to level out.
He reels back, his calloused fingers brushing your cheek as he studies you.
“You’re beautiful like this,” he gushes, making your face flush. His eyes find yours and you both breathe out a laugh at your disheveled states. You lean forward to kiss him, your thumbs caressing his cheeks as he gently captures your lips. You both moan when he suddenly pulls out, sighing when you feel his cum dripping down your thigh.
Your legs are jelly when he finally sets you back down and you hold onto him for balance as he pulls his trousers up. He looks around the closet and finds a stack of towels, reaching for one without stepping away. He squats to clean you up, then tugs your dress down and smooths it out, extending an arm to pick up your purse, his jacket and belt, and your ruined underwear. He shoots you an apologetic look and you snort as he shoves them in his pocket.
“You owe me a new pair.” He stands and reaches for your hand with hesitance but you close the gap to hush his racing mind. “Then again, if you’re just gonna rip them off, maybe I shouldn’t bother wearing any at all.” He casts his eyes downward with a sad smile, avoiding your eyes. You squeeze his hand. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “Was this a one-time thing?” He watches you from his peripheral with caution. “Because I really like you.”  
“I like you too,” you assure him, taken aback by his question. His eyes flick to yours.
“This isn’t exactly how I wanted things to go with you.” A pang of guilt hits your stomach.
“Do you...regret this?” He shakes his head.
“No. It’s just, I wanted to ask you out first.” You smile at him.
“Then ask me out. You know I’ll say yes.” He timidly smiles back.  
“Will you-”
“God, yes,” you laugh, standing on your toes to kiss him. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” You both step over the cleaning supplies you haphazardly kicked out of the way earlier and open the door. “How long do you think it’ll take Sam to notice we’re a thing now?” Before Bucky can respond, another voice pipes up.
“I noticed about ten minutes ago.” Sam’s arms are folded over his chest and he’s leaning on the wall outside the utility closet, his eyebrow cocked with a smug grin plastered to his face. “And it’s about damn time.”
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Thank you for reading <3
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quinnwritestoomuch · a month ago
tony’s party
Bucky Barnes x female!reader
Word Count: 1.6k
Warnings: basically no plot, +18, unprotected p in v, fingering, edging, creampie, choking, METAL ARMMM, and that’s about it (:
|| Masterlist ||
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Parties really weren’t her thing but when Tony asked she couldn’t really say no. He was very persistent and managed to get both y/n and Bucky to join. The party was going on upstairs but the duo had managed to sneak downstairs instead. They tend to have more fun together anyway.
“Parties were never my thing.” She complains after the conversation dips into a lull. Bucky chuckles, watching her lips closely as they move. "Me neither." He mumbles and this time her eyes drift to his lips her mind reeling.
Y/n takes her chance, sliding her hands up his chest until they wrap around his neck, pulling him closer by his hair. Their lips meet in a fiery kiss, his hands drifting to her waist until he has a firm grip on her. He picks her up with ease, moving her so she straddles his hips. Y/n tugs on his hair earning a groan into the kiss. They break away for air, only for a moment before their lips meet again. The music is loud as it flows through from upstairs, hiding the sounds of y/n’s gentle gasps.
He pulls her hips closer, bumping her core against his clothed cock. She lets out a soft moan into his mouth, gripping him tighter as she slowly grinds her hips against his. A small patch of wetness begins to form on her underwear, her blue dress, sliding higher up her thighs until it reaches her pelvis. Bucky slides her dress up further, pushing it over her stomach, pausing to look into her eyes. They're so close their breathes mix together as he waits for confirmation from her. Y/n nods her head quickly, lifting her arms so he can slide the zipper down enough to slip of the dress from her body.
He's still holding the dress when he realizes that there's nothing separating them from the party upstairs except a sliding door and a staircase. "Fuck it." He growls, letting the dress drop behind the couch. He pulls her lips to his again, sliding his finger up through her hair, tugging gently to tilt her head back. Y/n moans softly as he pays attention to her jaw and neck, sucking and biting on as much of her as he can. She lets her hands drift down to his chest, pushing back his jacket upon noticing her current attire of only a red lace bra and a black thong. He refuses to break from her as he drifts back up to her lips, tongue grazing her bottom lip. He helps shrug of the jacket and sucks in a breath as she reaches for his pant button. "Lose the shirt." She whispers against his mouth.
Bucky pulls away, pulling his shirt over his head while y/n manages to undo his pants and belt in the same amount of time. Her hands reach his torso as soon as he loses his shirt, drifting along his abs until she reaches the scars along his shoulder from the metal arm. She dips down kissing up along the rim of the arm, distracting him as she takes off his gloves, guiding both hands to her chest. Bucky hesitates but she kisses up his neck making him lose his train of thought. He tugs on the straps of her bra, growling low in his chest. His hands drift back down to her chest, gripping her and twisting her harden nipples through the fabric, pulling a louder moan that she attempts to muffle into his shoulder. "I wanna hear you, let anyone who tries to come in here know what we're doing." Y/n can feel herself getting soaked at his words, the possessiveness behind the meaning.
Something strikes her suddenly and she pulls back, looking into his eyes softly. "We haven't got a condom." He pauses for a moment. "I'll pull out." He tells her, easing her nerves. She nods, leaning in to kiss him again, tongue sliding into his mouth. She slides her hands back down down his body until she reaches the waistband of his pants, gripping the edges. She lifts herself up on her knees giving him space to kick down his pants. Once she sits back down on his bear thighs she attempts to clench her own, getting hotter by the second at the way he's eating her up with his eyes. She flinches but is quickly cut off by a gasp as a cool feeling hits her lower stomach, she glances down to see his left hand, sliding past her thong and over her mound. She grips his shoulders, rotating her hips along his hand as he slips a metal finger through her folds. She moans into his ear, causing him to strain even harder against his boxer. "Fuck." She hisses as he adds a second finger into the mix while thumbing her clit.
She digs her face into his neck, moaning into him as he continues to finger her. He picks up his pace, adding a third finger. Y/n whines loudly unable to control her volume as he continues to pump his fingers into her. "Buck..." She moans out, earning a groan from him as well. "I'm close." She manages through heavy breathes. Suddenly she feels completely empty, moaning in near pain. "Please." She begs him, grinding herself against his clothed cock. He shakes his head, heavy lidded eyes and a cocky smirk. "I want you to cum around my cock." Y/n nods fervently.
He picks her up by the waist, twisting to place her down on the couch. Y/n lets out a breath of shock as he kneels between her legs, pulling his length out of his boxers, clearly the serum enhanced everything. She lets out a whine as she watches him pump himself slowly at the sight of her. "Buck. I need you." She reaches forward wrapping her arms around his neck to bring him down. "Fuck me. I'm yours." She whispers into his ear. He bites down on her shoulder gently as she reaches her hand down between their bodies to pump him softly, running her thumb along his pre-cum. Bucky grips her thong ripping it off in one swift motion, losing himself in the moment.
She guides him slowly towards her entrance, taking a deep breathe as he begins to enter her. "Oh, fuck." She groans out in pain as he stretches out her walls. "You're okay." He tells her softly, nipping at her ear. He crashes his lips back to hers in a sloppy kiss. She digs her nails into his back as he bottoms out in her. "You okay, doll?" She whines at the nickname, clenching around him. A tear rolls down her cheek as she nods her head. "Move please." He takes in her request guiding his hips into hers slowly. Eventually as the pain turns to pleasure she urges him to speed up with her heavy moans. "Fuck." Bucky moans, slamming into her pussy. His metal arm shoots out, gripping the couch roughly but y/n slides her hand up his arm, dragging it from the couch to her throat.
Her moans pick up as he grips her throat, the cool metal calming her hot skin. He leans up, using his other hand to lift her on leg over the back of the couch, fucking her into a different angle. Her near screams of pleasure let him know he's clearly doing right by her. She's a blubbering mess, unable to form coherent sentences. "Bucky." She moans out. "I'm so close. I- I need you to cum in me." She tells him, something new flashing in her eyes. "I'll get-" She cuts herself off as Bucky hits a certain spot in her, she looks down, watching as his cock pushes up into her stomach. "-Plan B." She manages to mutter between her moans.
Bucky nods quickly, groaning out as she clenches around him. He releases his grip around her neck and drops her leg so he can kiss her lips again. His pace quickens as she wraps her legs around his torso. "Shit. Shit. Shit." He moans into her mouth. "I'm-" Bucky shushes her gently. "I know. Wait for me." He tells her, no room for questions. She whines heavily and it sets Bucky over the edge. He taps her thigh. "Let go." And she does, arching up into his chest. He kisses her roughly, releasing deep into her, painting her walls with his cum. Y/n scratches down his back as he pumps into her a few more times. "Shit." He whispers again and y/n catches him this time. "Language." "Hypocrite." He shoots back with a smile, kissing her gently as he pulls out. He looks down at the mess they've made between the two of them.
"Tony’s gonna be pissed." Bucky comments and y/n lets out a breathy laugh, quieting down as she takes in Bucky's disheveled state. "You look good fucked out." He comments, looking down at her lying, hair sprawled on the couch. "I'll be right back." Bucky quickly says, pulling his boxers back up. Cringing as he sees y/n’s ripped underwear. He walks into the washroom, grabbing a wash cloth and some tissues. When he gets back y/n is examining her ripped thong. "Really?" She asks, an embarrassed and playful look in her eyes. Bucky only laughs, stepping closer to her and kneeling on the floor between her legs, running the cloth between her thighs softly. Y/n shudders at the gentle touch, aching at the feeling. When he places a gentle kiss on each inner-thigh she has to stop herself from getting lost in the feeling.
He finally reaches around her, giving the couch a quick wipe with the cloth and the tissues. "Never tell them about this?" Y/n suggest with a grin. Bucky leans in for a quick kiss. "Never." He walks back into the washroom leaving y/n time to pull on the dress once more and attempt to calm down her hair. She walks into the bathroom and closes the door to sort out her bladder while he changes. She steps back out, eyeing him as he slips his gloves back on. Glancing down at her dress she can still feel the lack of underwear. “Sorry.” Bucky mumbles towards her but she can tell he’s secretly proud of himself.
"It smells like sex in here." Someone grumbles as they walk in, spotting the two of them standing extremely close together. "No wonder." It’s Tony. He rolls his eyes. "Found him." He calls up and Sam steps and walks closer into the room, looking between y/n and Bucky, gagging as he takes in the state of her neck and Bucky's jacket still strewn on the floor. "I don't want to know." He tells them, rolling his eyes and walking out.
“So much for not telling them.” She mumbles, face flushed. Bucky only laughs shooing Tony off. He gladly leaves but not before leaning back in. “I’m selling that couch.”
Hey! Sorry to interrupt your flow of smut but I just started a editing account on insta! Go check it out (: @mimi.xedits
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phantomspiderr · 4 months ago
Loving Him
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Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!reader
Word count: 1k
Summary: turns out Bucky really likes hearing 'I love you'
Warnings: 18+, soft smut, way too many uses of 'I love you'
a/n: posting this and then running the opposite direction before someone puts me off writing again also genuinely not happy with the ending and haven't really proofread so apologises
(not my gif)
・☆: *.☽ .* :☆
“I love you,” Bucky pants, his face mere centimetres from your own. So close, his breath fans over your face as he slowly drags his hips away from yours. Bucky’s arms protectively cage your head in, his hands delicately resting just above your head.
“I love you so much,” the eye contact is intense but you can see the love and adoration swimming in his eyes. He thrusts into you again, quicker this time, before slowly pulling out almost completely. Your mouth falls open, breathy moans mixing with Bucky’s soft grunts. His eyes drift away from yours, off to the side, for a moment.
“I love you, Bucky,” your own hands slide up Bucky’s neck to hold either side of his face, fingertips ever so slightly digging into his cheeks. Dragging his gaze back to yours and you can see the faintest glint of insecurity like he’s still unsure of your affection.
“I love you,” your words are merely a breathy whisper as he continues his slow, drawn out pace. He holds eye contact with you for another moment until his head dips so your foreheads touch for just a moment and then his lips are on yours. It’s a hasty but careful kiss, a moment of silent promises.
“Say it again,” his voice is quiet, that small piece of insecurity still manifesting but he emphasises the almost command with a thrust of his hips.
“Baby- Bucky- Fuck-“ little whimpers escape you with every one of Bucky’s movements. One of your arms slips around the back of his neck, anchoring him down, your other hand still holding the side of his face. The constant eye contact should be awkward but if anything it makes you more comfortable, something so intimate that’s only for the two of you, “I love you.”
His breathing becomes more erratic as he picks up his pace only a little, your bare chests heaving against each other. He presses another kiss on your lips then one on your cheek and his head sinks down into the crook of your neck. His still somewhat slow pace never falters once—that is until you speak again.
“Have always loved you,” Bucky’s hips stutter for a second and a short muffled, whiny moan vibrates against your skin. The sound takes you by complete surprise and instantly gives you some ideas. Your fingers thread into his hair and you kiss the side of his head before leaning closer to his ear, “you’re the love of my life Buck, love you more than anything.”
This time his hips pick up their pace and he’s panting, his forehead pressed against your shoulder and you just know he’s close. More sweet words tumble out of your mouth before you even know what you’re saying but what you do know is that they are all 100% true. Bucky is the love of your life and you know the love you share is of the purest kind, you now just need him to believe that.
“Baby- Look at me,” your fingers tug lightly at his roots. He looks a mess, hair all dishevelled, face glowing with a thin sheen of sweat, eyes barely managing to keep open and mouth slack. Your other hand grips his chin and his eyes lock onto yours again, “I love you so fucking much.” You pull his face toward yours, crashing your lips together and he moans again. That heavenly sound is something you could listen to on loop forever and it seems your wish is granted. Bucky moves mere centimetres from your lips, his eyes screwed shut and an onslaught of short moans mixed with quick pants pour out of him. The sight of him alone is enough to send you over the edge but the beautifully filthy noises he makes are enough to make you dizzy. Affirmation of your love continue to flood the quiet room, every few words stuttering with each quickening thrust.
Bucky’s chasing his high, completely succumbed to the pleasure he’s receiving. You feel your legs begin to shake on either side of him. Your hands grip onto anywhere they land, leaving white spots on his exposed skin that fade almost as quickly as they appeared. Suddenly your name mixed with any and all the pet names he can think of coming out in a chant, his forehead pressing hard against yours. Your arms wrap tightly around his shoulders, pressing your slightly damp chests together.
“I’m yours, Buck, all yours.” Words fly out as your head falls back against the soft pillow, your back arching as much as it possibly can under Bucky’s weight. That’s the thing that makes him snap, you’d give your entire self to him and he fucking loves it. He loves you.
The bed creaks as Bucky starts moving erratically, hips slamming against yours so hard the air keeps being pushed out of your lungs. Your nails dig into the curve of his shoulders as he cums hard inside you but his movements don’t slow. Not stopping until only moments later when your walls clamp down around him, forcing him to slow down. In exchange for the change of pace, Bucky’s hand manages to slip between your bodies. His fingers take over, rubbing fast circles against your clit as his thrusting turns into more of a rocking motion. Your entire body tingles as your eyes roll into the back of your head, completely losing yourself in the feeling of him making you feel this fucking good.
“I love you,” a gentle kiss to your neck, moving up to your jaw, your rigid body relaxing as you come down from your high. A drowsy smile graces your face as you look up at him with half-lidded eyes, Bucky shares a similar blissed out look. His eyes slowly scan your face before that sweet goofy smile appears and before you know it you’re giggling softly as he presses kisses all over your face and down your neck. Your arms securely hold him close and Bucky relaxes further into you, not completely resting his full body weight on you but just enough he almost feels like a weighted blanket.
“I meant everything I said,” you press a kiss to the side of his head and he only responds by pressing his face further into your neck, “I mean it, Buck. You’re everything I ever dreamed of.”
He pulls his head back to reveal an obvious blush covering his face and you can’t help but giggle. Bucky immediately shushes you before moving in for another kiss, completely silencing you.
“I love you,” the muttered words escape you between quick pecks. Loving him was the easiest thing you’d ever experienced. The entire relationship came so naturally and in moments like this, you can fully appreciate how perfect this all feels.
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heavysoldat · 10 days ago
neighbor!bucky barnes x housewife!reader
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devastated by the spreading talk of your husband’s affair, you’re desperate to find a way to get back at him— and who to do it with.
warnings: smut (cunnilingus, unprotected sex, dirty talk, manhandling, praise & light degradation, creampie, breeding) mutual cheating, insecurities, hints to abusive relationships
(highly inspired by this song)
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“How is it?”
The incessant whirring of the washing machine is tunneling in your head, adding to the stress induced migraine you’ve already received. But the man in front of you is more than chipper, smiling as he takes in more of the pie you’ve prepared.
“Amazing.” James compliments, mouth full of cherries and crust.
You give him a smile; weak, barely breaching your smile lines- but if he notices, he doesn’t say anything.
“You just seemed hungry.” You muse. “Working outside all morning has gotta make you starved.”
“Well, I won’t turn down a fresh pie, that’s for sure.” He says, washing his mouth down with the lemonade you generously whipped up.
“Your husbands gonna be one happy man, comin’ home to this.” James wipes his face down with a patterned napkin, leaning back into the oakwood dining chair.
You stare ahead blankly, trying to push away the anxiety that’s eating into your stomach like termites— but nothing goes. You can’t explain what you’re feeling, what you’ve been hearing. The secret your husband has been keeping of his affair had no longer been kept, revealed to you by your best friend in town.
She told you about how she saw him, heard him with one of his female colleagues, noticed how much time they spend together daily. How often they both seem to be working late.
The pain you had felt had eaten at you rabidly. You spent days festering, barely able to clean the house without breaking down in sobs, thankful that your husband worked a nine to five and didn’t see the way he made you ache.
You couldn’t give him that. You wouldn’t.
“He’s working late today.” You say, smile deteriorating. “Probably won’t be home until I’m asleep. He’s not that big of a fan of my cooking, anyway.”
James’ eyebrows furrow, “Does he not have tastebuds? You’re a genius in the kitchen, I swear.”
That makes your cheeks heat up, adding to the warmth of the summer weather. “Well, thank you, James.”
“Friends call me Bucky.” He winks, crossing his arms against his chest.
“Bucky it is.” You say.
Bucky is a well-dressed, hard working man from across the street, always tending to his yard or making the exterior of his house fresh. You had always found him attractive. From the day he moved in a few months back he had been in the back of your mind, swirling.
You kept pushing it back, determined to be a faithful doting wife— but it seems that ideal was one-sided.
That gave you an excuse, and excuse to make your vaulted desires come forward. You won’t let your husband see you suffer, but you will let him see you thrive.
You even put on your nicest dress.
“You don’t work?” Bucky asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Oh, no.” You say, “I’m a homemaker.”
“You should be a chef.” He jokes, picking at his plate with a fork.
You giggle, “I don’t have the time.”
“Eh, well,” He says, cleaning off the rest of his dish, “Guess I’ll have to be your pie test subject, then.”
That makes you smile, but more genuine- a spread of butterflies flowing inside your stomach.
You stand up to grab his plate, picking it up and carrying it to the sink to wash.
“Oh, I would’ve gotten that.” Bucky says, sitting up.
“No, no, it’s fine!” You say. “You’ve been working. I got it.”
You bend down to get dish soap, making a show of letting your dress skirt ride up to air your white, lace panties. You linger for just a second too long, before coming back up and actually washing his plate.
As you head back, you wipe off your skirt, dusting off anything that had gotten on it. You don’t miss the way he stares at your thighs, nor the way his eyes drift to your chest as you lean forward.
“I should probably go. Gotta lot to work on.”
As he stands, you grasp his arm, stopping him. “So soon? I could make you some more lemonade.”
You watch as he eyes your hand on his arm, thumbing his flannel with rubbed circles, then gazing back at you.
“As much as I’d love that, I’m pretty behind. I’ll definitely be back, sweets.”
You smile, reaching to paw at his other arm. “I like your company. It gets lonely here, without my husband… having you around is nice.”
“I’m glad.” Bucky says, staring down at you. “I like your company, too, doll.”
You bite down on your lip, playing at the strings of his flannel. “Then why don’t you stay? Just for a little while longer?”
Bucky’s eyes narrow, taking a long, considerate pause.
“If I didn’t know any better-“ He notes, speaking slowly, “I’d say you had ulterior motives for invitin’ me over.”
You give him your best doe-eyed look, letting him sit in the silence.
Of course you did. You got up early, dawned on your nicest matching lingerie set and prettiest dress- just to bake a pie and lemonade for him. It’s pathetic, it’s desperate, but you haven’t felt this giddy since you first started dating your husband.
Bucky’s eyes widen just enough to expose the whites of it. He doesn’t know what to say, really, eyes flickering from to every point he can, debating every option that’s being presented to him on fucking porcelain.
“Your husband…” He trails.
“He’s not here.” You note. “He won’t be for a while. I told you he’s working late.”
“What are you playin’ at here, exactly?”
You contemplate what to say, how to say it. You’re unsure if it’s even a good idea, if you’re more motivated by revenge or desire— but both are clouding your head.
“I want you to fuck me like he never could.”
Bucky can’t help the way his mouth opens. He can feel his cock throb in his jeans, already half hard since he saw you in that godforsaken dress. You’re like the devil.
“I don’t wanna be the guy who ruins a marriage.” He objects, despite his own desires.
“Trust me,” Your hand rises up to grip his face, “It’s already been ruined.”
Bucky’s hands move almost against his will. Sliding down your back, hovering over your ass under your dress, his breathing shaky.
“He doesn’t fuck you right? That it?”
“He doesn’t fuck me at all, cause he’s too busy fucking another woman.”
That settles it for him.
His mouth practically swallows yours, hands grabbing your ass with force while his tongue invades your mouth. You can do nothing but moan, whining into his throat as you hold onto him.
He turns, picking you up and placing you on the kitchen table. You clatter against silverware, but he pushes them off before they stab into your skin- letting them clammer onto the tiled floor.
He moves to press open mouth kisses on your neck, already pulling the cups of your dress down, followed by your bra to reveal your breasts. He wraps a hardened nipple into his mouth, sucking as he massages the other one, reveling in the way you moan above him.
Bucky’s pushing up your skirt, pressing kisses down your stomach and your legs. He mouths around your inner thighs, teasing to where you need him most.
“Please,” You pant, pinching at your own nipples.
Bucky sliiiiides your panties down your legs, letting them fall to the ground beneath you. He lets out a grunt at the sight of your pussy, glistening and wet. Just for him.
“Your husband make you this wet?”
“Mm-mm,” You hum, “Never.”
That makes him grin. A shit-eating, cocky, son-of-a-bitch grin, but god, is it sexy.
He presses kisses to your mound, before licking a broad stripe up your folds. That has you moaning, legs squirming- but he’s quick to hold you back down.
You’re gasping while he sucks around your clit, fingers catching in your wet hole and sliding in and out. He’s moaning at your taste, sending vibrations against your clit that have you reeling.
He’s practically buried himself inside your cunt, devouring you like cherry pie. His mouth moves to suck down, before his tongue slides into your hole, his fingers replacing his tongues previous placement at your clit.
“I’m- I’m close,” You whine, pulling at his dark hair.
You feel his movements get faster, urging you to teeter off that edge. The high he’s building is unlike one you’ve felt— it’s cold, lighting inside your legs and stomach, building up so tight you can feel it about to snap.
And when it finally does, Bucky has to hold you still. He’s moaning with you, letting you ride out your orgasm by using his face.
When you come down, you’re panting, watching as he comes back up with a glistening mouth. He wipes off the sides, sucking around his fingers to get the last of your taste.
You reach out for him, which he gladly accepts. He brings you in for another kiss, reaching down to unbuckle his belt and pull down his jeans.
“You want me to fuck you?”
“Mhm,” You moan, legs still tingling with a post-orgasmic haze.
“Say it, honey.” Bucky grunts, pulling down his boxers and stroking at his cock. You whimper at the sight— it’s thick, bigger than your husband’s, tip practically weeping.
“I need you to fuck me, please, I want it so fucking bad.” You beg, watching as he slides the head of his cock around your folds. “Please.”
Bucky’s cock catches in your hole, sliding into your wet heat with ease. You both whine at the feeling of him bottoming out, pressing kisses around every piece of skin on the other you can reach.
“Fuck,” He moans. “So fuckin’ tight, honey— he really doesn’t fuck ya, does he? This was all you needed, a good fuck, someone to make you cum hard, treat ya like the little slut you are. Well I’m here, honey, and I’m fuckin’- shit, I’m not leaving.”
He starts to fuck into you, balls slapping against your ass with the furious pace he’s already set. He’s grunting, groaning at the feeling of your warm cunt, head thrown back in pleasure.
“Yeah,” You moan, whining at the feeling of him using your pussy, “Fuck, just like that, please!”
“Yeah? You like that?” He moans, “Like me fuckin’ using your pussy?”
You can’t reply- too fucked out. You just moan, mumbling incoherently, pussy clenching around his moving length.
Bucky slaps at one of your tits; making you yelp, but then he sucks the nipple into his mouth with a groan. You tug at his hair, reveling in how it makes him borderline whimper.
You rub circles around your clit, desperate to get off, despite already coming so recently. He grunts at the sight, pulling off your nipple with a pop—
“Fuck, you gonna cum again?” Bucky groans, grabbing your hips to fuck into you harder, “It feels that good? Fuck, Wanna see you cream on my cock, be a good girl. C’mon.”
Another orgasm washes over you. It’s not as intense as the first one, but still leg twitching, making you curl into yourself.
“Oh god, that’s fuckin’ it,” Bucky groans, gasping, “Feels so good, baby, you have no idea.”
You whine in overstimulation as he keeps fucking you, whimpering when he reaches down to start rubbing your clit again.
“Need you to give me one more.”
“I can’t,” You whine.
“You can.” He rasps, “You fuckin’ will. Be a good girl, doll, gimme one more. Fuck, I need it.”
You’re clawing at his back, wetness practically drenching his cock. You know you’re leaving scratch marks, probably even drawing blood- but he doesn’t seem to care. If anything, it spurs him on.
“I’m coming,” You whine, “Oh god, I can’t-“
Your third orgasm rips through you sharper than the others, leaving you trembling under his hold. All you can hear his harsh groans and grunts, praising you for how good you did for him.
“Shit,” Bucky grunts, sweat dripping down his face, “I’m so fuckin’ close.”
You wrap your legs around his waist, bringing him in closer and locking him inside.
“Fuck, honey-“ He stutters, “I gotta pull out, I can’t- you gotta let go, I can’t pull out.”
You shake your head, whining, “Cum in me, please.”
That makes him whine. “You want me to come in you? Fill up that slutty pussy?”
You nod rapidly, clenching your legs around him tighter. You can tell he’s close by how his thrusts stutter, cock throbbing inside your cunt.
“Your husbands gonna come home today, not knowing his pretty little wife has a pussy full of another man’s cum,” Bucky taunts, “But you love that, don’t you?”
“Yeah- yes, I love it.” You moan, grabbing onto him.
“Oh god- beg me for it.”
“Please cum inside me.”
“Fuck, you can do better than that,”
“Please!” You shout, “Cum inside me, I want it- I want it so fucking bad. I need you to fill up my pussy, please, Bucky.”
With one last, loud, bellowing groan, he stills above you, pumping you full of every last drop he has. He almost fully collapses, both of you left panting and spent.
After a moment, he stands up, wiping the sweat off his forehead before helping you correct your clothing malfunctions.
“Hey, uh,” Bucky says, pushing your hair back out of your face. “You ever make another pie that needs testing, you know where to find me.”
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khonshus-wife · a month ago
Marc: can we buy you a drink?
Y/N: No, alcohol is bad for my legs
Marc: Does it make them swell?
*Y/N turning their head towards khonshu and sighing*
Y/N: It makes them spread
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lokis-favorite-follower · a month ago
Couldn’t Wait, Huh?
Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff Warnings: Lesbian smut, dub!con, slight? somnophilia, threesome, oral giving and receiving, masturbation, fingering, face riding, praise kink, teasing, dirty talk, slight degradation, switch!Wanda, dom!Natasha, switch!Reader. A/N: This has been in my drafts for a bit, so I’m finally posting it. Have fun!
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You were all coming back from a mission. It was late at night and Natasha was driving back to the compound with you and Wanda in the backseat.
You were your head laying across Wanda's lap, sleeping as Wanda's hands carded through your hair. Natasha glanced back at the two of you, smiling at her girls before turning her eyes back to the road.
Wanda watched you as her thumb brushed over your cheek, moving to cup your throat. She saw the way you moved slightly, your lips falling open as a breath left you.
Her lips curled into a smirk, her fingers trailing down the column of your throat and to your breasts, squeezing. A slight moan caught in your throat, shifting again at the feel of her hands on you. She pulled her lip between her teeth, letting out a slow breath before letting you go.
She kept her hand sitting atop your head, her other hand smoothing along your side and over your ass. Again, she squeezed gently and marveled at the way you did not wake from her touch. Her smirk faltered only just a little when she saw you shift again, this time with more movement as you breathed in deeply. She knew you would wake soon, but she was beginning to have some fun. Scarlet tendrils seeped into your temples. Your body, which had tensed slightly, released again as you fell completely limp on her lap. Your evened out breathing confirmed your sleep and her hand continued to roam your body.
Wanda's hand played with the waistband of your pants, shifting to the clasp of your jeans and undoing them. Slowly and silently, she opened your zipper and cupped your mound in her hand. Your lips pressed together, a crease formed between your brows.
She dipped her hand under your panties, cupping you again as she palmed you. Her finger pressed against your clit, rubbing it gently, teasingly. Your hips wiggled slightly and she smiled down at you. It was when she dipped two fingers inside of your pussy when another tiny whimper escaped your lips. She pumped them slowly in and out of you, reaching deeper and deeper before curling them deliciously.
You were getting so wet already, covering her fingers in slick as she played with you. She bit her lip harder, getting more and more addicted to the way you began to squeeze around her fingers. A firm curl of her fingers pulled another moan from you, and this one caught Natasha's attention.
Through the rear-view mirror, Natasha's eyes found Wanda's smirking mischievously at her. She knew that look in Wanda's eyes, a dark hungry look that darkened her own gaze. Wanda added a digit, pumping her hands faster inside of you to bring you closer.
You dug your face into her lap, a hand curling around her leg to hold her. After a moment, she pulled her fingers from you and brought them to her lips. She held as much eye contact with Natasha as she could, licking your arousal from her fingers and suckling gently. Natasha gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles turning white as she groaned deeply in her throat.
Wanda hummed, her eyes fell closed as she sucked on her fingers. When she pulled them from her lips, she smiled and whispered to her peaking girlfriend, "She tastes so sweet, Tasha."
The latter clenched her jaw in response, letting out a breath as a smile took over her own lips, "Taste her for me."
Wanda's smile widened and unbuckled both your seatbelts. She shifted you so you were lying across the backseat. She stripped you of your bottoms, shucking them away and admiring your heat as she positioned herself with you. With a silky grin, she pressed her lips to your wet cunt and hummed. "I bet she's so good, baby," Natasha said, her voice husky as her breath became shallow.
Wanda agreed with another hum instead of actually replying, too busy pushing her tongue inside of you as your pussy clenched around her. Your tiny mewls fueled her as your hands balled. Her hands gripped your thighs tight, nails practically digging into your skin as she ate you out.
She thoroughly enjoyed the taste of you, her tongue plunged inside of you and she sucked on your clit almost harshly. Your hips squirmed and tried to buck against her, but she held you down to keep you still. It took a lot for Natasha not to stop the car as your needy sounds filled the car, accompanied by the sounds of Wanda sucking and licking you.
You were harshly pulled from unconsciousness as your orgasm rolled over you, an intense pleasure rushing through your body. A loud moan erupted from your throat first and your body followed as you arched your back, your hands tangling in Wanda's strawberry locks. Your eyes shot open and looked down to see Wanda's head between your thighs. The pleasure blinded you and the sight excited you. Your orgasm hit you hard as her name came from your throat.
Her fingers pushed back inside of you, curling and thrusting as she helped you through your high. She did not let a single drop go to waste.
When you eventually came down, your body fell back onto the seat as you caught your breath. You were still trying to recover from being woken so violently, your body still sensitive to everything around you. "Damn, Wanda," you sighed. "You couldn't wake me up first?"
She smiled, running a hand through her hair and sucking on her fingers. "You just looked so peaceful." You sat up and took her chin in your hand, kissing her deeply as you tasted yourself on her tongue. She chuckled against you. It took you a moment to realize that you were still in the car, which was now speeding down the road.
You looked at Natasha. "Nat, slow down," you told her gently, laughing a little. "We're gonna go flying out of the window soon."
The car then began to slow to a stop—it took a while because of how fast she had been going—and pulled to the side of the sleepy road. She opened the door and got out, rounding the car to the side Wanda was currently occupying and tearing open the door. "Move over, baby, it's my turn."
Wanda moved away and Natasha pushed you roughly back into the seat to lay you down, her hand pressing into your chest as her lips hungrily found yours. She easily dominated you, pulling a whimper from your throat as she slid her tongue between your lips. Wanda crawled over to the other side, and you started fiddling with her jeans when Natasha's mouth found your neck.
You got them off of her, discarding her panties as you looked at just how wet the two of you had collectively made her without even doing anything. Natasha kissed your belly, lips moving further along your body before pressing against your clit. You moaned loudly, still sensitive to touch as your cunt throbbed.
You looked back at Wanda, eyes finding her glistening folds as a smile came to your face. "Sit on me, sweetheart." Wanda bit her lip again, her canines digging into her skin and drawing blood. She let go of her lip with a sigh as your tongue found her pussy, licking and sucking on her with a shared moan. Wanda pulled her shirt over her head, undoing her bra quickly before cupping her breast in her hand, her free hand running through her hair.
Your arms wrapped tightly around her thighs as Natasha's hands dug into your own, her nails finding the same place Wanda's had only moments before. She buried her face between your legs, licking at your sensitive pussy as a her fingers pushed inside of you again.
Wanda rode your face, her tits bouncing with her in a hypnotic manner. One of her hands moved to tangle in your hair, a lazy smile on her face as she closed her eyes, needy please slipping from her lips at your good work. She shuddered against you, your moans from Natasha's tongue sending shivers of pleasure through her.
Natasha traced her hand along her body, raising her shirt and undoing her jeans. One hand kept you still while the other dipped under the waistline of her panties, pushing inside of her own pussy with a sigh. She pumped her fingers inside of herself, her palm pressing to her clit.
All of your moans filled the car, which was heavy with sexual desires and longing. With all of you at work, fueling and fucking each other, you were coming again in no time. You came first, most sensitive and stimulated. Wanda was after, her thighs trembling violently and her breath shuddering as your name fell from her lips. Natasha followed after the both of you, her fingers working against her clit roughly as her muffled groans shot through you.
You came down soon enough as you redressed yourself as much as necessary, rounding the car to drive. Natasha and Wanda were not quite done with each other, loading fully into the backseat as Natasha laid her down next. You pulled out from the side of the road and back onto the long path stretched before you.
As you drove, you could see them through the rear view mirror. Natasha attacked Wanda's lips with her own, muffling her moans with her mouth. Her fingers filled Wanda's pussy, thrusting into her and curling as she sucked hickeys into her skin.
You gripped the steering wheel, listening to the wet sounds in the backseat from Natasha's hand smacking against Wanda's soaked pussy. The sounds filled the car, serving as music that was very much not in the background. Her moans were loud and soon accompanied by Natasha's dirty talk.
"You like that, baby?" she breathed. "Does that feel good?"
Wanda nodded desperately, "Yeah, so good."
Natasha smirked, eyes lifting to you. "Doesn't she sound so pretty?"
You nodded at her, taking in a long breath as you smiled, "Like music to my ears."
"You hear that, baby?" Natasha cooed to her, teeth scraping the skin of her chest, lips pulling a nipple between them. "Y/N likes your pretty sounds, too."
She pursed her lips as her moans continued to rage on. "We love your sounds," she kept going. "Like our own personal whore. A little slut for our own personal needs."
The slapping sounds got louder, as did Wanda's moans. You could see them through the mirror, catch glimpses out of the corner of your eyes, feel the moans from Wanda's throat, smell the sex in the air. "Are you going to cum, babygirl?" Natasha asked, teeth nibbling her earlobe.
Wanda moaned, hands trying to find something to grasp. "Please, yes. Please let me cum."
You smiled drunkenly at her begs, wanting to reach a hand back and stroke a hand through her hair and let the other dip between her legs to give her what she wanted. But you kept your hands firmly on the wheel and simply told Natasha, "Come on. She's been such a good girl. Give her what she wants."
Natasha smirked down at Wanda, her words directed at you, "As you wish." She bent down and pulled her clit between her lips, still thrusting a curling her fingers inside of her. She pulled Wanda's orgasm from her in no time at all, raising her high as she came hard.
Natasha moaned against her, allowing Wanda to grasp her hair as tight as she needed and holding her down. Wanda practically screamed her pleasure. Loud and shameless, her sounds traveled through the small space of the car and filled your ears like a symphony. You got drunk off of her voice alone, which was setting hoarse from all of the exclamations of pleasure.
Natasha helped her through her orgasm, coaxing her gently with her fingers. As Wanda's body fell limp against the seat, Natasha moved up to kiss her again, a gentle kiss to her lips that contrast from the hard sucking of her clit and the harsh slaps into her pussy. Wanda sighed into the kiss and a lazy smile reached her lips, her eyes glassed over. She had started this, and Natasha had been happy to end it. She dipped her wet fingers into Wanda's warm, soft mouth as she sucked them clean.
"There you go," Natasha whispered. "You're so pretty." She pulled her fingers from her mouth and used them to brush some of Wanda's hair from her face, "Get some sleep. We should be back at the compound in a couple of hours."
You smiled, "Then we can all curl up in the nice, soft, warm bed and go to sleep."
Wanda laughed tiredly, "Or fuck again."
Natasha nodded with a love-stricken smile. "Or fuck again," she agreed. Natasha sat up better against the seat and pulled Wanda's head into her lap. She stroked her cheek and carded her hands through her hair. "Go to sleep, love."
Wanda smiled and nodded lazily, opening her eyes to see you in the front seat. "Love you, Y/N," she told you as she settled.
A smile stretched over your lips, "I love you, too, baby."
Wanda turned her face to Natasha, "And I love you."
Natasha bent down as best she could to kiss her, brushing more hair from her face. "I love you both."
"I love you," you told her. You met Natasha's eyes in the rear view mirror, eyes than shone with her adoration before she settled her head back across the back of the seat and closed your eyes. You smiled at your girls before looking back at the road and sighing contently.
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True Believer taglist: @xxromanoffxx @thelastpyle @likefirenrain @babypink224221 @autisticbrie Wanda’s West Viewers taglist: @mypoptartburnt @lucydiibi @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @daenerys713 @celestbarnes Red Ledger taglist: @thelastavenger-3000 @nat-romanoffdanvers @nowthisisliving27 Red-Head taglist: @natasha-danvers​
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foxilayde · 2 months ago
Where To, Miss? [Jake Lockley x Fem!Reader]
Warnings: 18+ ONLY. Blood, Violence, Guddling, unprotected Piv, Cigarette smoking, a Scottish Jake Lockley, an American writing Britishisms, Titanic references, and a pervy douche named Royce. 
Summary: Jake Lockley is your driver, escorting you safely in your nighttime travels. There’s something about him. Tonight, you’re going to find out what that something is.
Word Count: 7.5K
A/N: If I tagged you in this, it’s no pressure, feel free to ignore. Love you.
Shoutout to @laters-gators for proofreading and idea bouncing and to @samsspade for so many many Jake HCs and for this lovely moodboard: 
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You hate the nights he doesn’t show up. The strange cabs the service sends don’t smell as good as his and his absence always leaves you wondering where the hell he could be so late at night. What other waitresses or late night women is he playing guardian angel to?
You can’t figure him out. When he does decide to pick you up, he always arrives a few minutes before you clock out for the night. The fare he charges is obscenely low. You can see on his dash that the ticker always says at least twice what he tells you. He’s quiet, stoic, and polite- if not a tad gruff. Something glimmers under the surface of him and the first time you got in his cab you had the SOS button of your phone locked and loaded. But now… now he’s just “Jake”. Your driver.
He’s been outside for over 5 cigs, leaning against his car, leather jacket lapels pulled up around his neck, lighting the next one with the butt of the last. His black cab is bathed in the yellow slufuric street lamp, puffs of smoke rise out of him, mingling with the London fog.
You’re usually off by now, and you would be if you weren’t training the new hire, Royce. The till is off, but that’s more Annie’s problem than it is yours and you sneak peeks to check if Jake is still waiting for you. He’s framed by the white fairy lights that line the front window of the restaurant. Cig 6 has made an appearance. He doesn’t seem agitated, and in a way, bathed in the light he looks like that golden statue bloke from Trafalgar square. You roll up another bale of silverware and he catches your eye and salutes you with his cig hand. You give him a little wave and spread your hand wide and mouth “5 minutes”. He gives one short nod and looks ahead again.
“This place is a goldmine!” Royce interrupts your reverie, reaching into the bin for silverware and bundling them sloppily next to you.
“You make good tips today?” You grab his hand and fix the fold on the bundle, “Like that, or Annie’ll have your head, yeah?”
Royce laughs, “I’ll get the hang of it one of these days!” He attempts the fold again, getting it good enough for now. “But yeah! Got a tenner from the last table. Didn’t think they’d tip me at all, that bird was furious I didn’t get her order straight.”
You nod, noncommittally. Royce is a talker. Great for a waiter, but your social battery is drained after a long day of fake smiles, and all you can think about is getting in that silent cab drive home and taking a bath with a glass of chilled Riesling.
“Say,” Royce starts up again. “That show I was telling you about, I’ve got the first season on DVD, it’s really worth a watch.”
You’re not sure exactly which show he’s referencing. Royce must’ve given you ten recommendations during this one six-hour shift alone.
“Yeah, sounded good. Should give it a watch.” You glance outside. Cigarette number 7. You catch his steady gaze on you and you forget how to do the fold.
“You take the bus?”
“Sorry? No. Not at this time of night. Recipe to get harassed, that is.” You nod toward the street outside. “I have a ride.”
Royce squints out the window.
“He your boyfriend? Looks a bit-“
“No” you reply automatically before he can finish whatever he’s about to assess from Jake’s stoic appearance. ‘Dodgy’ comes to mind. ‘Fit’ as well if you’re being honest. But you doubt that’s what Royce was about to intone.  
“Okay, so he won’t mind giving me a ride, then?” Royce, you can tell, tries to sound nonchalant, but you get the feeling he’s trying to suss out if you’re… into Jake. If this is a thing…. It’s not a thing though. It isn’t. He’s your driver. He’s… Just Jake.
But the question. Would Jake mind? There’s something that tells you maybe he would mind giving Royce a ride. But that’s silly. Jake is a professional cab driver. It’s his job to give rides to strangers. You reach blindly into the bin, still staring out at Jake and the lamppost and the burning glow of the 7th cig, and there’s no more silverware.
“No,” you say to Royce, and at that very moment Jake’s eyes lock with yours again through the lighted window. You hold his gaze while you tell Royce, “he won’t mind a bit.”
Annie is nearly in hysterics, tugging on her graying red hair while she sits at table 10 and tabulates, once again, on a printout calc.
“Alright, Annie?” You ask as you tie up your long coat round your waist.
“Oh, you know, just the end of my career, nothin serious.” She doesn’t look up at you, continuing with the calculator  and shoving a yellow pencil between her teeth while she recounts the fives.
You fear you’ll interrupt her flow more than you’ll help with anything so you don’t even bid a good night when you walk out the front with Royce.
“Hi, Jake.” You give him a small wave, Jake nods at you with a slight smile, pushing off the side of his cab, he even tips his flat cap a bit before opening up the backseat for you.
You don’t make a move to get in right away, but you do hold his stare as you point at Royce. “Room for one more?”
Jake’s face falls only the amount that it had lifted. So, not much. Before Jake can answer, Royce is butting in with an outstretched hand and shakes Jake’s limp fist.
“Jake, is it? Royce, mate. Thanks for the lift, bruv. Much appreciated, cheers.” And he crawls in the backseat. Well… that’s Royce for you. You’ve only known him for the one shift, but yeah that tracks.
You give Jake an apologetic stare, squinting your eyes a bit. “I’m sorry,” you mouth more than whisper, “Is it okay?”
He stares at Royce in the cab for a moment before fixing you with his steady gaze, “Course.” He nods toward the door he’s still holding for you. Held for Royce. And you whisper “thanks, Jake” as you climb into the back.
For some inexplicable reason, Royce is already belted to the middle seat, like some kind of maniac. So you have no choice but to sit directly next to him. You buckle up while Jake gets adjusted and the car started up front. He tilts the rearview mirror just a tad, and when he does, you can see a perfect reflection of his shadowed eyes.
You shift in your seat, trying to put as much room between you and Royce as possible. At the very least, this ride won’t last long, your flat and your bath and your wine are only a short seven minute ride away. Jake takes off in the familiar direction, without you having to say anything, having taken you the same way many evenings before.
“We making one stop or two?” Jake asks, eyes on you from the mirror.
“Two”  “One”
You and Royce give different answers simultaneously. Jake’s brows raise. Only a little.
Royce turns to you with confusion, “You said you wanted to watch that series with me, yeah?”
“I- I don’t remember saying that?? In fact, I definitely did not say that.”
“No, you did, when we were doing prep… I said I had the DVD at my place…”
You aren’t looking at Royce, you’re looking at Jake and his clenching jaw and the way his fingers grip the patent black steering wheel. Knuckles golden and deadly, shadows moving over every bit of him as you drive down the lighted streets of London.
“Whatever you thought you heard, Royce,” you sound tired, “I’m not going home with you. Two stops, please Jake.”
Jake nods, “Where to, mate?”
The car makes a stop at a red light and Royce answers lightly, “Oh, you can drop her off first. I don’t mind.”
Jake turns around as far as his body will let him while still remaining seated, face level and and aimed at Royce.
“I said, where to, mate?” The subtext is implied in his tone. I won’t ask again, mate.
Royce gulps audibly and gives Jake the address of his flat in Putney and you sit, tucked back as far as you can with your whole body. Away from the palpable tension and the obvious disruption you placed on Jake’s ritual of driving you home.
Fuck, you should have just said no to Royce. You should have told him Jake was your boyfriend, should have said the show he described sounded like least common denominator drivel and if he was trying to get you over to his flat, he really wasn’t selling it with that rubbish.
Jake faces front when the light turns green and he makes a sharp left in the direction of Royce’s place and you breathe out a sigh of relief that at least you’ll be home soon-ish, not as soon as you would have liked, but still.
And then Royce slides a hand on your knee.
“Come up to mine for a drink, eh? I think I still have some questions about the… drink menu. And we can watch that series… I know you don’t go in tomorrow till late, so… no excuses, eh?”
He smiles at you as if he were being smooth, as if you only rejected him to make him play harder. Sure, maybe to some Royce would be considered smooth. He doesn’t seem the type who gets told ‘no’ very often and frankly seems like the kind of bloke who would throw a fit if things didn’t go his way.
And then, bugger, then you have Mr. White Knuckles MacDuff up front, and you’re afraid he’s going to tear the damn steering wheel off the column if Royce keeps talking about going up to his flat.
You swallow thickly for a moment, thinking of the best way to de-escalate this situation.
“Not tonight, Royce. I really am tired” you pat his hand dismissively, but he leans closer and nearly whispers in a clearly seductive tone,
“I don’t mind if you fall asleep.”
His breath is way too close for comfort and- Huh? He doesn’t mind if you fall asleep? Was he trying to say that seductively? And what did that mean exactly? Fall asleep? On his couch, during the boring series? Or in his bed? Or…during sex?
“Um- Royce!” Your voice grows panicked feeling his breath draw closer to your neck, his hand sliding up your black trousers.
Jake slams on the breaks just as you shove Royce off of you, the combined momentum causes Royce’s face to collide with Jake’s headrest, there’s a loud crunch and you hold your hands to your face when you see Royce’s nose drip with blood, tears springing up in his eyes.
“Oh my god, Royce! Are you okay?”
He fumbles with his seatbelt in exaggerated agitation, clicking it open and scooting far away from you.
“You’re a crazy bitch!” His voice is wet with snot, tears, and blood and he groans into his cupped hands. The car starts moving forward again.
“I’m crazy? Keep your fucking hands to yourself!”
“You didn’t need to crush my fucking nose!”
You don’t care that it wasn’t on purpose, that you only wanted to shove him off of you. You don’t care that if Jake hadn’t slammed on the breaks Royce would have only gotten a slight push.
“Apparently I did! I said no, didn’t I?” Adrenaline courses though you and you hold your elbows and grip your middle, securing yourself and trying to breathe steadily through your nose.
You meet Jake’s alighted eyes in the mirror and then look to Royce who is using the hem of his black polo to wipe at the blood. He mutters something that sounds like “leading me on” and “fucking bitch”. You bite your tongue, unwilling to further exacerbate the situation by shouting at him that he’s a pervy little fuck and for him to definitely NOT come into work tomorrow. That you don’t care if it’s Saturday and the restaurant will be packed, you’d rather wait on 18 tables by yourself than see his ugly mug ever again.
Oh fuck. Your job. If Royce wants to get you in trouble, he definitely could. And it’s not as though you’re Annie’s favorite employee. She probably blames you for the till fiasco this evening, not to mention the missed shift from two weeks ago. Fuck.
“Royce,” you sigh, “I’m sorry, It was accident, I swear, I-“
But Jake stops the car at a sign on a flat-lined street and Royce is out the door before you can finish your exhausted apology. Shit. He slams the door and jogs over to a red brick high rise down the lane and he’s inside before you can even fully register that he’s gone. You slump back in the seat and groan.
“Fuck!” You shake your head and meet Jake’s eyes in the mirror. “I’m sorry Jake, I definitely wouldn’t have-“
Your attention is caught by a glowing rectangle on the seat next to you. Royce’s phone. He forgot his fucking phone in the cab. Great. This just keeps getting better and better.
“Urrrggh, wait here. Royce left his phone, I’m gunna go up and give it to him.” You unbuckle your seatbelt and make to open the door, but Jake puts the car in motion and parks at a spot in front of the high rise that Jake disappeared into.
“Like hell you are. Give it to me” He turns around to face you with an outstretched hand and there’s no arguing with Jake. Not that you were particularly keen to face Royce’s bloody nose again, or to be anywhere near his stupid flat and collection of shit DVDs.
You slap the phone into his palm and he mutters, “Be right back.”
You call after him, “I’ll just keep the meter running, yeah?” You think you see his mouth pull up into a smile as he enters the building.
He drags his finger along the list of names, there’s only 7 and it takes no time at all to find “Royce”. He taps it twice and takes the stairs to the fifth floor. He’ll make it quick. He doesn’t want to keep you waiting, especially not in an unlocked running car so late at night. But he knows he’s efficient. At least he can trust that about himself. In and out.
The barmy shit is lucky the pistol is in the glovebox. Jake raps on the door twice, shifts on his feet and shoves his cap into his back pocket like he’s paying respects.
The door opens quickly, Revealing a damaged looking Royce, blood tracks down his chin and a washcloth dangling from his fingers.  Jake nods up at him casually,
“Oi, Royce. Got summa for ya.”
Royces eyebrows knit in confusion as Jake tosses the phone in a small arc at his pecs. Royce catches the device with both hands against his chest, and it’s only a split second between the moment he looks up at Jake and a firm fist collides with the side of his head.
It’s been five minutes. Should you go up and check on him? You start to get antsy. Maybe they’re chatting? Talking footie? The car is still running and the ticking of the meter is fueling your anxiety. You reach up to the driver’s side and power lock all the doors. There. That’s a bit better. One less thing to worry about. Now you can focus all your attention on worrying about what in the hell is taking Jake so long.
Maybe the lift is broken? Maybe Royce isn’t answering his door?
You sit back and actually twiddle your thumbs with impatience, staring at the glass door of the bricked Tennant building. You think about laying on the horn at this ungodly hour and nearly resort to it before you see Jake striding quickly out the doors, a flung glance over his shoulder before he puts his cap back on and reaches for the locked door handle.
“Bollocks” you mutter under your breath, you crouch forward to undo the power lock. Jake gets in and he’s heaving breath, buckling up and reversing, arm over the seat next to him, eyeline at his blind spot. He adjusts and looks ahead before angling his mirror to your new spot in the middle seat. Eyes on you in the oblong reflection. His eyes seem brighter, more wild and his breaths seem heavy, like he just ran several flights of stairs. The energy coming off of him is tense and electric and when he gruffly asks you “Where to, miss?” With a strain to his voice, it makes you tingle all over, recalling a line from a film.
“To the stars!” You say breathily before laughing with an embarrassed heat on your skin. Why would you have said that? What is wrong with you? A Titanic reference? Okay, yes the line he gave you reminds you of the movie, and he looks a little like Fabrizio or something with his flat cap, and you can’t pin it but there’s something hot and thick pouring off of him that makes you shift in your seat and your tummy twist being in such cramped proximity.
“To the wha’?”
You wave your hand at him, “It’s nothing, nothing. It’s just a line from a film.”
“What film would that be?” You can only make out his smile from the limited angle profile of his jaw, but the way the muscles in his face are pulled up combined with the squint of his eyes in the mirror makes you giggle like a fucking schoolgirl.
“It’s from… Titanic.” You cover your face with your hands and breathe out an “oh god”
“Is it a good film?” Jake asks, his eyes aren’t on the road, they’re on you, but you aren’t worried about his driving skills. You know he has it all under control and it strikes you as only mildly bizarre that you trust this man with your life.
“You mean to tell me,” you rest your hand on his seat, “that you haven’t seen Titanic?!” You’re flirting. You. Are. Flirting. With Jake. Yes, bizarre, of course… but? The way he basically told Royce to fuck off and then delivered the phone so you wouldn’t have to? There really is something about him, that thing you could never quite put your finger on, the thing that Royce was trying to suss out, that extra layer of simmering something that hangs around him like a curl of smoke.
You lean forward and rest your chin next to your hand on the back of the middle front bench.
He flips on his right front blinker and chuckles with a guarded sound.
“It’s a romance, innit? Nah, cannot say that I have.” He inclines his head a little toward you. You can smell him. Leather and something like cherry. Maybe a car freshener. The angle and the sight makes you nervous, but in a good way, in a way that makes you feel safe, like he’ll never have to look forward again and can keep staring at you like this forever, he can take you wherever you heart desires and not even need to glance at the road to do it.
“It IS a romance… but it’s more than that. It’s a tragedy! Downright shakespearean.” You bite your lip and his eyes flick at your teeth for a second before turning his attention back on the road and accelerating.
The vroom of the engine vibrates through the leathers of the backseat where your bum is perched, still leaning forward looking at Jake.
“Aye? And so what happens when she asks the cabbie to take her to the stars then, eh?”
You bite your lip again and smile, gazing at the lifted collar of his leather jacket. You have an urge to flatten it, to get a better look at his neck.
“He isn’t actually a cabbie. Just pretending.”
Jake hums in thought. “It’s just what I say to any lass. Force a habit. Where to miss”. He turns to face you again when the car hits another red light. “I know exactly where I’m taking you.”
You know he’s implying that he’s taking you home, but the way he says it makes it seem like he knows exactly what happened in the film after Rose said that to Jack. When she pulled him into the backseat and kissed his fingers.
He faces forward again and you realize you’re still crouched forward in a strange pose gawking at the side of his face, his angular scruffy jaw, and so you right yourself. Sitting back into the bench of the cab and breathing out a sigh.
“What took you so long, then?”
“What’s that?” Jake looks left and right before making a turn onto the main road.
“You were up there for a minute. Was afraid you’d taken up Royce on his offer to watch a series.”
Jake chuckles, “Ah, no. I couldn’t find the flat. Got ripped into by an old lady on the third floor for waking her up.”
You sit in silence and nod.
“Plus the lift. Broken.” He scratches the stubble at his jaw and you catch a flash of his knuckles in the yellow street light that whips past. They look… covered in something. Dirt, maybe? It's in such an awkward place though, coating the back of his palms, his knuckles.. His hands were clean when you’d started your journey. You’d noticed them earlier, fisting at the wheel.
“What’s that on your hands?” You lean forward again to get a better look.
Jake shifts his hands on the wheel from 10 and 2 to 5 and 7, out of your line of sight.
It sort of looks like…no. He didn’t. Did he?
“Jake!” You lean forward again, this time further, but still can’t make out what it could be with his upturned palms on the bottom of the steering wheel. Jake stops the car at a red light and his jaw ticks with agitation.
“Leave it.” He says with the same unwavering coolness with which he spoke to Royce earlier. You reach for his leather clad arm and try to tug at it, but his other hand comes up and grips your wrist- and in the red traffic light you can see the thick red-brown coating on Jake’s knuckles. The knuckles that have your wrist painfully seized.
Your eyes grow wide with shock, and when you pull your hand away from his coated arm you say steadily, “Jake. Let me out.”
The light turns green and Jake is off again, going a tad faster than before. Or perhaps it’s just your imagination that he is.
He sighs out in agitation, “Let me get you home first.”
“No. Now.”
He isn’t hiding his hands now, but his brow is furrowed at you in the mirror. “It’s not safe for you to walk the rest of the way, I’ll drop you off and won’t bother you again. Just let me get you home safe, lass.”
“Jake. Pull over. Now.”
Jake mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath and pulls over on the car-lined residential street, finding a free spot on the curb under an elm.
You didn’t realize you hadn’t put your belt back on, so exiting his vehicle is no problem, the only hindrance being your racing thoughts, hands not quite cooperating on the handle. When you get out, you slam the door and make your way quickly in the direction of your destination.
Jake bows his head forward, turning off the car and thunking his brow on the wheel once and closes his eyes. But his head quickly jerks up when hears you opening the passenger side door, sliding in on the seat next to him.
“What’re you doing, lass?”
You scoot as close to him as the shifter will allow and you hold your palms up this time in offering. Not trying to tug his hand off the steering wheel.
“Let me see?” You hold Jake’s searching gaze for a moment, he bites his lip and faces forward, not looking at you when he forfeits one of his blood coated appendages.
“Chirst, Jake….” You whisper, gingerly handling his rough hand, holding it at an angle near the windshield to get the most light. You click your tongue. You make a grabbing motion with your fingers and he gives the other one to you easily. The spattering looks almost identical, knuckles dipped in blood, flecks on his wrists. If his clothes weren’t so dark you’re certain you’d see stains there as well. There’s maybe slightly more blood on the left hand. A southpaw, perhaps. Good for driving manual.
“Are you okay?” You’re holding both of his hands in yours, transfixed by the brutality of the blood painted digits. You can feel his eyes on you and you absentmindedly stroke them with your thumbs, the blood is drying; already flaking and cracking in parts. Just a glimmering salty sheen that glides under the pads of your thumbs.
“‘m alright, yeah.”
You meet his gaze and there’s no other word for it but smoldering. His eyes are hot and glowing like the cherry end of a cig. You bring his knuckles up to your face for closer inspection and you- you kiss them. You kiss the warm, slightly sticky flesh of his knuckles, barely a press of your lips and you whisper into them, still holding his gaze, “You shouldn’t have done that. Didn’t need to do that… for me.” You kiss the other set of knuckles and his fingers tighten around yours slightly.
“I did what I had to.”
“And what… what did you do?” You’re not sure what you want the answer to be, but there exists some sick part of you that wants him to tell you that he beat Royce into an unrecognizable pulp. The thought of it makes you exhale shakily and you lick your bottom lip finding a barely there sheen of blood. Royce’s blood.
“He won’t bother you again.” Christ his voice is deep. Almost a growl. His eyes go half-hooded, taking you in now, your lips pressing more firmly into the flesh of his thick hands, you straighten out his fingers, mirroring them up to your own hands, and you kiss the more innocent, unbloodied pads of them.
As you kiss one set of fingers, his other hand cups your jaw and he smooths his thumb over your soft cheek. His hand is rougher than it should be for a cabbie and you suppose he has many callous deeds scattered on the trail of his past; and if you couldn’t tell by his fingers, then you ought to know by the look in his eyes- dark, haunted, and alluring: the maw of a door you probably shouldn’t walk through.
“You aren’t scared?” His eyes tighten slightly at the question, but you can’t help but stare at his lips and the slight gap in his brilliant teeth that peeks out of his now parted mouth, exhaling hotly when he swipes his soothing thumb across your bottom lip, tugging it to the side before letting it plump out again. His tongue peeks through his teeth slightly, only for a moment, like he’s halting himself from tasting you.
Your hip is digging into the shifter between you, but you don’t care; only wanting to lean into his palms, and let guide you with his bloody hands to the stars and back.
“No, Jake. I’m not scared.” You search his eyes, flickering back and forth between the hot lit ends of his burning irises. “Should I be?” You whisper against his fingers, placing another warm kiss.
Jake shakes his head. “Not of me. No.”
His eyes scan your face with a deafening silence. This neighborhood is quieter than yours. You look hazily at the delicate curve of his upper lip. He leans towards you and it knocks the breath out of you when he grabs the other side of your face and kisses you tongue-first, pulling your body even deeper into the handle of the shifter- you cry out in pain at the pressure in your side and Jake breaks the kiss at the sound.
“What’s the-”
But before he can get his question out, you're remedying the situation. Unbelting your long coat and shucking it off, letting it rest crumpled in the passenger’s seat. His eyes grow darker still- taking in your wanton desperation. He reclines his seat slightly to accommodate your maneuver over the shifter to straddle his lap.
Fuck. He’s hard as a fucking gear shift. His hands grab your hips and guide you back and forth on his straining length. Your breath mingles with his- hot and slow like the slip of his tongue against yours. You grab his hair, swiping his cap off and let it fall behind him, to floor the backseat. His curls are a beautiful flattened mess and your run your nails along his scalp, savoring the warm hum of air that mmmms out of his nose in pleasure against your cheek. He’s pushing down on your low back now, rising his hips to meet yours and you break the kiss momentarily in a pleased whine when you feel the head of his cock pressing lovely and insistent on your clit, evident and pronounced even through the layers between you. He slips his hands under your trousers, under the silk of your seamless panties, grabing the swell of your bum, squeezing the soft shapely flesh, pushing, pushing puuuushing you onto him.
Fuck, you could cum like this. Right here in the front seat, where anyone could walk by and watch you through the windshield. Even between your trousers and his, like a horny teenager in the back of the cinema, bloody hands squeezing your bare flesh, you could cum. You can feel the potential sparking at your spine and the open heat of your core that calls for his hardness.
And god, the way his fingers grip the meat of your ass, massaging the top of it with his deadly hands. Hands that protected and defended you, pushing you insistently onto his hard cock in a languid rolling dance that forces hot breath out of your nose while you continue to lick his competent tongue.
Those same hands travel up the curve of your low back, rubbing up the column of your spine, and as they rise, they take your polo tee with it. He breaks the kiss to lift it over your head and even without the guidance of his hands, you don’t stop your grinding on his lap.
You take in his dark eyes, hunger apparent in them, feasting on the sight of you in your plain black bra. He bites the top of your breast with a growl and you brace your hands on his knees, leaning back, spreading your torso out for him like a banquet. He flips your cups down and sucks greedily at your nipple and thank fuck every window of the cab is beginning to frost over with heat of your breaths.
His eyes glow up at you, nipple between his teeth and you bite your lip, bucking your hips into him at this new angle. He groans at your fervent action, unhooking the back of the bra and flinging it to who the fuck cares where. He pulls you flush against him- torso against his leather jacket, leaning himself back in the slightly reclined seat.
With you raised up on his lap, his face is at the perfect level for your tits, and fuck if this isn’t also the most divine angle to rub against him. He sucks your tits like a fucking dream, reading every ounce of pleasure on your face. He breaks the suction to lick flat and hot and whisper into you chest, “cum for me, lass. Cum on it.” Your abdomen contracts hotly with the command and you nod with a whimper, he sucks your nipple again, more gently and you soothe the curls away from his forehead.
“Jake,” you whisper.
His hands, his bloody hands, are squeezing your tits gently and his eyes are so fucking dark underneath his lovely brow, lips still sucking at your peak. You press down even deeper into his lap and you whine in frustration.
“Jake, need more.  Please.”
He plants his forehead between your breasts as he lifts your hips off of him, pulling your silk panties and trousers down, helping you to balance on one knee then the other to get them down your legs. He even removes your work shoes and socks. Squeezing your naked insteps lovingly with this brutal hands before grazing his hands up the curving length of you. Following your body with the tips of his fingers, tracing the span of your calves, over your knees, up your thighs and up to the swell of your undulating bum and back again. His mouth back at your chest, nipping and sucking.
Fuck it feels so much better like this; your whole naked body rubbing up on his rough, hard clothed exterior. You tilt his head up and lick into his mouth again. His lips are so plump from his attentions to your tits. Your bare sopping cunt rubs vigorously on the seam of his tented zipper and you moan hotly into his mouth. He swats your bum affectionately, and then he’s back to guiding you on him, back and forth. Back and forth.
You want more. You want him inside of you. His hardness is so tantalizing and your cunt is trying with everything she has to suck him into you. You don’t just want it. You need it.
“Jake," you press your forehead to his, “protection?”
“Uh huh.” He pants at you. Still grunting, still sliding your cunt over his encased length.
“Glovebox.” He whispers against your neck before suckling onto it. You lean over and back a little, Jake leans with you, licking and nipping at your neck, squeezing your bum and making sure your cunt doesn’t stray too far from his lap.
You find the latch of the box and search blindly for anything that feels like a paper box or a foil packet. Your eyes go wide as you grip onto the handle of….
“Oi, what’re you doing, lass? Give me that.” He takes the pistol from your limp hand and tosses it back into the glovebox, latching it up before fixing you with an inquiring expression. He smooths your hair tenderly with his gruff palms. “What’re you doing?”
What are you doing? What is he doing with a fucking gun in his glovebox?? “I’m looking for some protection, like I said!”
He squints at you and you roll your naked hips once again onto him and he “oh”s with recognition.
“Ah, well. I don’t have that brand of protection.”
“You have a gun and no Johnnies?”
“I have two guns and no Johnnies.” He bucks up into your hips.
“Why’s that?”
“I tend to use that sort of protection more often.”
Does he mean he’s a killer? Using his gun frequently. Needing two on hand at all times? Or is it because he doesn’t use prophylactics? You don’t ask, not sure you want to know, not sure which you’d prefer. You let him drag you ever closer to him, bringing your chest back in position, flush with his leather jacket and kissing your mouth sweetly.
“I’ve never needed a Johnnie on the job before.” He grunts, angling his hips even closer to you. Your poor cunt, rubbed raw from the harsh denim- despite the trails of slick darkening and dampening his trousers, it fucking hurts… even still, your hips chase the friction of his hot cock and you whine each time your clit smashes the damp straining material.
“Oh, fuck, Jake.”
“Can you cum like this, lass? Be good and cum for me, just like this?”
You grab his hair again and whimper. It’s not like your’re not trying, and of course if feels fucking good, but-
“I need more.” You whine, hips betraying you and galloping on him, soreness be damned.
Jake brings his left hand between your cunt and his cock and angles two fingers up into your slippery cunt. He slides in easily and you “oh” in releief, at your cunt having something to clench on. You rock your clit onto the meat of his palm as he strokes his fingers, curling into the spongy spot that makes you see stars.
“Jake” you cling to his shoulders and rock on his fingers with sloppy motions, grinding onto his palm and whining when his fingers rub that spot. Oh fuck. That spot.
“Like that, love? Yeah? Good girl.”
Your lip quivers and you mouth at his neck, “Jake” you breathe “Need more, please.”
Jake groans and shifts his hand, cupping your sex more forcefully with his palm and flexing his fingers harder inside of you, earning a wet little moan and rolling hips with a mind of their own, clamping down and sucking on his blood coated digits. You bite his ear gently.
“Fuck, Jake. Need your cock. Please.”
“I don’t have any-”
“I know, I don’t care, please, please, please,” each ‘please’ is a desperate roll of your hips on his hand. Begging, begging, begging. You don’t care. It can’t be worse than the blood on his fingers. It can’t be worse than the ache inside of you. You need to feel him. All of him.
Jake growls and doesn’t move his hand from your cunt as he undoes his trousers with his right hand, pushing the fabric down only enough to spring his length free. He still doesnt move his fingers from their place at your front wall when he lifts you with his cunt-coated hand, and eases his length into you. Fuck. Well you supposed you asked for it. Kept begging for more. And now you have it. You scream softly into his scalp, adjusting to the alien sensation of being so incredibly full of a thick cock plus two strong digits. Holy shit.
He fucks into you shallowly at first, never ceasing the rubbing of his fingers at your g-spot. His fingers are so coated with you that there’s no catch between his cock and his hand, the sensation unlike anything you’ve experienced and wholly overwhelming. You’re being so deliciously spread and speared, rubbed and reamed. He’s all directions inside of you and you don’t even need to move your body. You lay limp and helpless on him, clutching his leather clad shoulders while he bottoms out in you, and beckons your orgasm closer and closer with each curl of his fingers.
“Jake, so good. So good.” you whine, moving your hips only slightly to press your clit into his palm.
“Good, love. Good.” He kisses your temple tenderly, hot breaths fanning into your hairline where his nose presses against your scalp. “Such a good girl. Taking me so good, love.”
“Mmmmhmm” you cry into the raised lapels of his leather jacket. He’s bottoming out on your cervicx every time he lifts his hips, and you hit the base of his fingers with every hip rock down, like some kind of fucking seesaw made out of pressure and pleasure. Fuck, you’re a mess. The wet sounds fill the humid air of the cab, the windows fully fogged now, you can’t tell, but If someone were to walk by on this quiet street they’d definitely see the swaying of the vehicle and hear your soft whines from at least a few feet away.
God, he could have taken you home, has the fucking car to do it obviously. He could have stopped you at any point to say ‘let’s finish this back up at yours?’ Stopped on the way and got protection, stopped to wash his fucking hands at the very least. But somehow this is better. Naked, in the open, blood stained hands, and raw cock buried in you. Needy and quick, rough and dirty. That’s the thing about Jake. The glimmer of the animal bruteness with the guardian angel glow. He’s got you in his arms and even though you’re exposed, even though he’s bare inside you, you’ve never felt safer.
Jake uses his free hand to grip the back of your neck and he locks eyes with yours.
“You going to cum for me, sweet thing? Cum on my fingers and my cock like a good girl?”
He doesn’t demand it, he’s asking, sussing out if there’s something else he can shove up your quim, probably.
You tug on the wrist crushed beween your bodies. “Give me your hand.”
He gets in two more toe curling strokes before he slips his hand out from under you and lets you take his two pruny, bloody, slick fingers in your mouth down to the base, licking your tongue in between them. You grab onto his wrist with both hands, tasting yourself and his cock and the blood all mixed together in some kind of erotic tincture that makes you buck and grind onto him. loving the hard feel of his pubic bone against your clit.
“Good girl. That’s right, love. Fuck yourself onto me. That’s right.”
His other hand is still behind your head while you suck his digits and the position makes it seem like he’s feeding you his tainted fingers; maybe he is. You moan around them, salty and rough, clutching his leather-sleeved arm. The sucking sounds of your mouth match the sucking wet grip of your cunt. Fuck he’s making you such a mess. You never want to leave his lap, you could fuck yourself on his thick cock all night, in this parked car, right here, right here, right fucking here. Oh shit.
Jake feels it before you do, “Can feel ya, love. Can feel you right there.”
You nod as if he asked you a question and your mouth goes still and slack around his fingers as you grind deeply onto him and cum.
Fuck, you’re lucky it’s late enough that there’s no one walking by because when your knees buckle as your orgasm sweeps through you, you reach out your hand to the side and grip onto the sweat fogged window for balance, your fingers catch just barely before sliding down and wiping a big fucking ‘look-here’ hole right in the driver’s side window.
He pulls his hand gently out of your mouth and clutches you round your middle, fucking your limp convulsing form through the arcs of pleasure running hot down your spine.
“Oh good girl, love. Cumming on it so good. Christ, I wanna fill you up. Where, sweet girl?”
All you can do is whimper, still shaking with pleasure washing over every hot slick inch of your skin, melting into Jake and sliding down his length easier and deeper than before.
“Gonna need more than that love, tell me where you want it.” You can feel him strain and shake between your thighs and under the leather of his jacket, still fucking up into you, his cock getting harder with every thrust.
He���s gritting his teeth in concentration, dark eyes boring into yours and you wickedly wonder how long you can keep him here on the precipice, not giving him an answer. How long he’d wait for you to give him permission to cum in you. He’s bursting at the seams already. Woud he cum in you without you asking? Would he pull out and shoot it onto your belly?
“Fuck!” he swears, lifting your hips off him, but before he can detach, you press your hips down flush against his and he bites your shoulder when he cums, pulsing inside of you, a series of relieved groans, fingers gliding up and down your back. 
You push his head back to the rest and lick into his languid mouth, rocking on him gently, savoring the heartbeat and pulse of his cock as his pleasure gradually subsides. You catch your breath together, scratching his sweat-slicked scalp slowly
“Come back to mine, yeah?” You kiss his lips hungrily and grasp his hands, twisting his fingers with yours. “Let me bathe you. Pour you some wine? I think I might even have a DVD or two that’ll interest you.” You both laugh against each others lips.
“I’d love to,” he sighs. You attempt to raise yourself off him, but he grips your hips, keeping you glued to his lap. “Not yet, love. Let me hold you, yeah?”
You sink down onto him easily and sit luxuriating in relieved stillness for a few minutes more, stroking each other’s hair, licking and kissing slowly, still joined together, his spend lazily leaking out of you with every passive moment of gentle touch and encouraging whispers. You forget all about the viewing hole you wiped in the window. Let them see. Who cares? It’s not like they’d do anything to you, not while Jake’s here.
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spidey-webz · 6 months ago
reminder of her | p. parker
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Summary: You are Peter's best friend, yet he is not the one to save you from a fall...
Warnings: talk of previous loss, bit of angst, heights??, NO WAY HOME SPOILERS!!!!!, not proofread
Words: 1.1k
A/N: This is a combination of two requests that I have gotten. One was asking for a scenario where Andrew's spidey is reminded of Gwen when he meets the reader and another one asking for the reader, who's tom!Peter's best friend, to be saved by andrew!peter. I thought they could be easily combined, so see this as a fulfilment of both wishes. Enjoy!
Masterlist / Request here
Landing in another universe was not the only strange occurrence that Peter was confronted with all of a sudden. You were also a strange occurrence, something so coincidental that it was terrifying to him. Because for once in his life, he could not find some scientific explanation for it. He could not really find that one reason why you reminded him so much of Gwen with everything you did.
New York was as familiar as it could be, but Peter noticed a few differences here and there. In the technology especially, as well as what people were talking about. There were whispers of creatures that he had never heard of and also of events that sounded like something he couldn’t even imagine in his worst nightmares. Except for that one nightmare that kept plaguing him. It followed him every night and he woke up covered in sweat, panting, tears fighting their way into his eyes again. His throat was often sore for no reason, tight, unable to speak, because he kept seeing Gwen fall down and the inevitable image of being too late to catch her.
That’s why he had no words when he first met you. Being brought to a house he had never been in, by two people he had never met before, was one thing, but when he found two other versions of himself, one seemingly older and one much younger, was another. It was also something else when he met the youngest Peter’s other best friend.
His mind went blank for a second because you reminded him so much of Gwen in the way you were leaning against the counter in the chemistry lab at the high school. Arms crossed, looking around the room and smiling at your best friend. Even the smile gave him the same tingling sensation in his stomach that he had been used to when Gwen had still been around. When he had not been reminded of that fatal night every moment of his day.
As you joined in with finding a cure for every escaped villain, he couldn’t help but admire you from afar. Rolling around in the lab chair, mixing different ingredients together, you simply looked just like her whenever she had been in Chemistry class with him. Everything that you did reminded him of her.
It took him a while until he found the courage to actually start up a conversation. He was too afraid that it would hurt too much to see the similarity between you and Gwen so closely. The thought was frightening, especially when he thought of all the times that he had sat around with Gwen and had listened to her, just like she had always listened to him with her blonde hair falling into her face.
He eventually mustered up the courage and simply asked you how your work was going. Both of you were here to find a cure to whatever had made the evil people even turn evil when there was still good inside them. Another thing that he had not expected at all. That he would be here, trying to cure the evilness of someone and doing that with two other versions of himself.
Your head tilted to the side as you looked surprised for a second, before you answered him and told him about your thoughts on what might cause Spider-Man’s enemies to be that way. Your voice was slow, but so nice to follow. It spread a warmth in his stomach, in his cheeks and he knew that he probably looked like an idiot when he was so shamelessly admiring you.
Still, he tried to remember every word you said, because your theory seemed promising – also something that he found quite endearing. It did remind him of the times where he had sat around with his girlfriend. Would he even have the time to get to know you enough to just consider you a friend? How long would he stay in this strange variation of the New York he had grown up in?
The answer didn’t come immediately, but he got closer to it. The Statue of Liberty, that had been granted a shield for some unexplainable reason, was the location for a final chance to helping all the mislead people he and his other versions had been confronted with. It was a bit worrying to him that the younger Peter’s friends, including you, had to be so involved in the plan when so much could go wrong. And he was not wrong with his assumption, with his worry.
He made his way from one level of the construction site to another. He was focused, more than ever. It was getting much easier to fight with the other two Spider-Men and it felt good to have someone fight beside him, especially if his partners shared the same powers.
His focus was only disturbed when he heard your scream. It ran through his entire body, freezing him in place as his head turned to where you were just falling down. All air seemed to be gone. For a moment, his heart stopped and his mind went blank once more. Peter was back there again, watching Gwen fall, seeing the remainder of a scream on her lips. He could feel his body ache, just like back then.
The other Peter, your best friend, jumped after you, diving down just like he had done on that fatal night. He would not be quick enough. Or would he?
His feet carried him to the edge again, he watched you fall, like in trance, he watched Peter reach out for you so desperately, before he could finally take himself out of this temporary freeze. And then he jumped, as he had done before. He felt himself getting faster and faster, then he saw Peter being hit by Osborn’s glider and he knew it was now his task to catch you. He would succeed this time. He would not allow history to repeat itself.
Tears filled his eyes as you seemed to get further and further away from him. Not again, not again. It was like a prayer in his head, words that he spoke over and over again. He would not let this happen again.
And then he finally caught your hand, pulling you up as he stopped the fall by securing himself at a post with his webs. Slowly, he managed to bring you both to the ground, careful to set you down with as much care as possible.
“Are you okay?” Peter asked immediately. His voice gave away the worry, a worry that had been building up because you had not only been knocking on death’s door, but you had also been an overpowering reminder of the person he had lost. In the end, Peter didn’t repeat his mistakes.
“I am. Thank you,” you whispered, out of breath, your heart still furiously beating in your chest.
Peter had not been able to save Gwen. But if you were anything like her, he would not risk to see you fall ever again.
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2-fast-2-curious · 3 months ago
She said, "What's on your mind?"// I said, "Your skin"
Pairing: Matt Murdock x AFAB Reader
Warnings: Implied smut, Established relationship, Mirror stuff, like pussy worship if you squint
Author’s Note: I just think we should all be more comfortable looking at ourselves and getting to know our bodies and I like to image Matt would want that too. I really need to wash my hair but I also just ate so I wrote this while I waited for my stomach to settle
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Post-orgasm Matt was clingy and soft but he claimed that was only for you. After a round of morning sex, you and him were on top of the covers. You were leaning against the headboard. His head was on your mound with his right ear pressed against your crotch while you played with his hair. You weren’t sure if he was listening to his cum moving around in your uterus or the pulse that was still throbbing in your loins.
There was a mirror parallel to where you and Matt were laying, giving the perfect view of your post-orgasmic state. Even though you knew he wasn’t, the way Matt’s head was resting it was almost like he was looking directly at your body in the mirror. “Tell me what you look like”
You rolled your eyes. “Matt you know what I look like.” You went on to give a very utilitarian description of the colour of your hair, your eyes, your height, your body type all the standard stuff that would show up if you got roped into more of Matt’s shenanigans and ended up as a fugitive on Unsolved Mysteries.
“That’s not what I mean.” Matt hooks his hands underneath the flesh of your thighs and spreads your legs as far as they would go, having your plush, dewy folds completely exposed in the reflection of the mirror. You had never really seen yourself like this.
“Every time I think I’ve got your body mapped and figured out there’s always something new that I find that takes my breath away.” You smiled thinking about the other night when Matt shifted the angle of his thrust. He found a new spot inside of you that made his breath hitch and you moan so pretty around his cock.
Matt’s fingers parted your labia using two fingers to hold the puffy lips apart to expose your glistening flesh. “So tell me, gorgeous, what do you look like?”
Part 2
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writing-for-marvel · 28 days ago
The Third Wheel
40’s!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Summary: When Bucky finally asks you out on a date, the last thing you expect is for his high school crush Connie to also have been invited.
Warnings: angst, shy/insecure reader, Bucky being an idiot, reader doubting that Bucky actually likes her, happy ending
Word count: 2.2k
A/N: this fic was inspired by this ask from my beautiful friend @fluffycutecevans ❤️
Banners by @maysdigitalarts
Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Library
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“C’mon doll, the expo will be fun. Don’t ya wanna see a flyin’ car?” The cheeky grin curved into Bucky’s lips was enough for warmth to start rising in your cheeks, but it wasn’t until his calloused hands encased your own, gently stroking the backs of your hands did you shyly break the intense gaze of his steel blue eyes.
“What do ya say, will you let me take you out? We could even go dancin’ afterwards.” He squeezed your hands fondly, and you couldn’t stop the corners of your mouth twitching into a smile in response.
You had been friends with Bucky since your high school days - you had also been harbouring a pretty intense crush for him since then. Up until now you thought your feelings were unrequited, but a spark of hope glowed warmly in your chest at his invitation.
“You really wanna take me out, Buck? This isn’t some stupid bet you have with Stevie? Cause I’ll never forgive you if it is.” Bucky’s laugh in response to this was music to your soul, though it still didn’t answer your question. Your stomach twisted with anxiety in suspense for his reply.
“No doll, no bets. No jokes” It was only then that his hand let go of yours, moving up to your face to affectionately swipe over your cheek. “I want you to take you out on a date.”
You felt nervous enough to throw up when you met Bucky at the exposition - this date, regardless of a favourable outcome or not, would change the course of your relationship with him forever.
“Hey Buck.” You caught his attention, having spotted his dapper uniform from a mile away. His reaction to your dress brought that familiar heat to your cheeks, and you let out a relieved giggle as he took you in.
“Wow.” Bucky exhaled, his mouth hanging slightly open as his eyes travelled up and down your frame, spending ever so slightly more time on the curves of your waist on the way down and your chest on the way back up. “Doll, you look… just wow.” Confidence surged in your chest at how you had rendered the most gorgeous man you had ever laid eyes on essentially speechless.
“You’re looking very dashing, Buck.” A rosiness developed on the tops of his cheekbones as he thanked you, nervously smoothing the material of his suit down his chest and adjusting his hat.
“Nothing compares to-”
“Bucky!” A familiar feminine voice called from behind you, and Bucky’s signature charming smile bloomed on his features. Turning and following his gaze, you saw the wide doe eyes, elegantly styled hair and perfect toothy smile of Connie Coleman.
It felt as though a heavy stone had plunged through the pit of your stomach.
You hadn’t seen Connie since the day you, Bucky and Steve graduated from high school. Suddenly, all the moments where Bucky remarked how stunning she was and pined after her attention were all you could remember of your high school experience. And though she had never done anything to you personally for you to feel animosity towards her, there was currently a specific scorching jealousy burning a hole in your chest you hadn’t felt since you were eighteen.
However, that flaming jealousy quickly transitioned to a hollow despair at the bottom of your stomach as you watched them reunite. Connie leaned in, giving Bucky a sweet kiss to the cheek and saddled up beside him, interlocking her arm with his as if she wasn’t just saying hello in passing, but had also been invited on the date.
“Connie… hi.” You attempted to keep your composure, though you were fairly sure your disappointment was evident not only in your tone but in the dismayed expression Steve always told you you were terrible at concealing.
“Oh, hi… you.” Connie started, but it was clear in the years since high school she had completely forgotten your name. “How have you been?” She asked with an artificial smile and an overly exaggerated cheerful tone, tightening her hold on Bucky further.
“Fine, Connie. Just fine.” Quietly muttering the last part, you encircled your arms around yourself to provide some comfort, solace which you wished you could find instead in Bucky’s arms. A chill ran down your spine as you awkwardly stood hugging yourself as Bucky conversed with Connie, seemingly in their own little world.
“Here we go, four tickets to the expo.” Steve’s voice broke you out of your tormenting thoughts. Though you also hadn’t expected him to be here, he was a much more welcome intrusion than Connie had been. “It’s starting soon, we should make our way inside.”
“Steve, you remember Connie?” Bucky asked hopefully. Steve gave a tight smile and a shy nod of recognition. After a moment of awkward pause, where Bucky took the opportunity to flash you a sweet, encouraging smile, you all entered the expo together.
Bucky and Connie stayed close to Steve and yourself throughout Howard Stark’s demonstration but once his segment concluded, and you watched the way Bucky whispered closely into Connie’s ear so she could hear him over the noise of the crowd, you knew you had seen enough and wanted to be literally anywhere else in New York at that moment.
“Wanna sneak away and grab ice cream?” You whispered to Steve whose eyes lit up with excitement. Crowds tended to make him uncomfortable and you could tell by the way he hadn’t left your side since stepping foot in the exposition that he was feeling particularly nervous tonight.
As the mob of people herded towards the next exhibit, Bucky and Connie lost in the swarm, you and Steve hung back and managed to slip away out the gate you entered through and onto the street. His favourite ice cream parlour in Brooklyn not even a block away.
It really was a lovely night with Steve, he was always much more open and talkative when he was one on one with someone rather than in a group. But no matter the topic of discussion, nor the size of the sundae he ordered for you to share, could distract you from the thought that Bucky was currently having the time of his life with Connie.
Once you had finished off the sundae, and aired out your grievances about Bucky leading you on to the only other person who knew about your affection for him, you decided to call it a night and to make your way home. Stepping out into the cool night air, laughing at a remark Steve had made, someone called out from you down the street which soured your mood.
“Do you know how long I’ve been looking for you?” Bucky puffed slightly out of breath when he finally reached you, though what captured your attention most was that Connie was nowhere in sight.
There was a tinge of satisfaction in your chest that at a minimum the date hadn’t ended with her in his bed, but your overwhelming feeling towards Bucky was still bitter resentment.
“Stevie, can you walk me home?” You asked, trying your best to ignore how dashingly handsome Bucky looked in his uniform and the intense disheartened look in his eye at your refusal to acknowledge him.
Bucky placed a firm hand on Steve’s shoulder to stop him from walking off with you.
“Steve please, let me walk with her.” After a moment where a knowing look passed between them, Steve gave a silent nod of approval. This was met with an eye roll, a humph, and an abrupt, curt turn as you took off quickly down the dimly lit street in the opposite direction to where Bucky came from.
“Doll, wait up.” Bucky called after you, but your response was to pick up the pace of your steps as you heard his own start at a jog.
“Don’t ‘doll’ me, James.” You commented exasperatedly over your shoulder.
You rounded a corner into the adjoining street and even though you knew it would do nothing to deter Bucky from chasing you, it did allow you a couple seconds to wipe away the errant tears trickling down your cheeks without his notice.
“Would you please just stop and let me explain.” He reached for your hand but you forced yourself to pull away from his touch. Regardless of how much you craved his consistently comforting contact, you were upset at him for leading you on - or perhaps more so at yourself for believing you actually stood a chance with him.
“Barnes, I really don't wanna hear it. Silly me didn’t realise you were setting me up with Steve so he didn’t feel left out while you went on your date. Foolishly I got my hopes up thinking this date was really meant to be for us.” You couldn’t meet his gaze directly as embarrassment settled in your stomach, but in doing so you missed the pure guilt which completely filled his eyes.
“No, you’ve mis-” Bucky began, but you sharply interrupted him.
“I know it’s my own fault for deluding myself into thinking you were actually interested in me James, but please don’t make me feel stupid for it.” You asserted with a slight crack in your voice. Turning away from him, knowing the tears brimming in your eyes would betray you if you continued to look at him any longer, you tried to stalk away but Bucky’s firm grip on your wrist prevented that from happening.
“I know you don’t want to hear excuses, but please let me explain.” His grip wouldn’t budge, not tight enough to cause you any hurt, but to keep you from walking away again. “The date was meant to be for us. Connie was who I invited as Steve’s date.” These words, and the desperation in which he said them with, made you pause, though you were still sceptical given Connie’s closeness to Bucky all night.
“You looked pretty cozy with her given she wasn’t your date.” You argued, but you finally took the opportunity to look him in the eye and noticed the self-blame and regret stirring in his eyes.
“She misunderstood when I asked her to come out with us on a group date, she thought I was asking her to be my date.” There was no deception you could perceive in his words, and if sensing you were convinced enough that you weren’t going to run off again, he let go of your wrist. “She was rather embarrassed when I told her I wasn’t interested.”
“But I saw you together, you didn’t exactly do anything to reject her proximity earlier tonight.” You wrung your hands nervously as you spoke, and it looked like it physically pained Bucky to not reach out and steady them for you.
“I didn’t want to be rude or leave her out, not when she was going out with three people she hadn’t seen since high school and who have all remained good friends.” He sighed, shaking his head as if to curse silently at himself. “I am sorry I didn’t realise sooner, that was my mistake I wish I could take back, but I can’t.”
The street lamp above was bright enough to illuminate Bucky’s entire face, the sorrow and remorse clear as day in his expression as he gazed at you. Though there was still a small part of you annoyed at how he had handled the night's events, mostly you wished to pull him into a tight, consoling hug.
“Doll, I know it might be hard to believe right now, but I genuinely wanted to take you on a date tonight. I wanted to laugh with you at the expo and show you all those amazing exhibits we wouldn’t get to see anywhere else. I wanted to take you dancing afterwards, pull your body as close to mine as possible and just hold you for the first time in my life.” The conviction behind his words had your eyes prickling with tears - that was what you had been hoping for tonight as well.
“There has been nothing I’ve wanted more in my life than I want you, doll. Nothing. And now I fear I have messed up my chances with you beyond repair.” You held your hands out and let him take them as he had done the day he first asked you out. The feeling of his warm skin against yours elicited goosebumps up your arms.
“Bucky, you have not irreparably ruined anything. I have loved you since when we were in high school together, one misunderstanding isn’t going to change the way I feel about you.” You confessed, and the joyous smile he beamed at you made your heart flutter.
Bucky brought your hands up and hooked them around his neck before settling his own on your waist.
“I love you too, doll.” That cheeky grin which made your cheeks heat up had tugged its way back onto his lips as he leaned down and kissed you for the first time. His lips were surprisingly soft, melding into yours perfectly, his hands snaking around to the small of your back and pressing you ever closer to him.
“I promise, next weekend I’ll take you on an amazing second first date.” He pledged before kissing you again. “This time, it’ll be just us.”
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I will be scrapping my taglists soon. To be notified of all fic updates, please follow and turn on notifications for my library blog
Everything taglist: @imagining-harrypotter @tripletstephaniescp @asgardwinter @demonpoxballad @nagygreta @libbymouse @mayasreadingnook @thecraziestcrayon @hallecarey1 @sea040561 @smallmercies33 @buckysbirdie @moongoddessmox @coolbeans32 @foreverindreamlandd @pitifulbaby @seitmai @emi11ie @princessphilly @daydreaming-lightly @440mxs-wife @brasspistol
Bucky Barnes taglist: @badassbaker @gitasor @psychoticmason @ajeff855 @rosepetalsinwinter @buggy14 @leyannrae @blackwidownat2814 @honeywithemoney @prettylittlepluviophile @endless-summer-soldier @highlyintelligentblonde @mrsbarnesinmyimagination @kthynes @babybluebuck @twinerd14 @tlcwrites @matchat3a @multi-fandom-s @bxcketbarnes @mimilh @pineprincess @hannahg-thats-me @fluffycutecevans @awaywithtime @thebuckybarnesvault
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peterman-spideyparker · 2 months ago
Domestic Adonis (Steven Grant x Reader)
Author’s Note: I mean really, this fic kinda came about because I couldn’t get this gif out of my head and wanted a way to use it somehow. He just looks so damn fine and Daddyᵀᴹ (I literally hate that I just said that but there is no other way I can put it) therefore proves I’m a slut so🫣🤷🏻‍♀️ C’est la vie, non? And we just love to see Steven confident, comfortable, and adventurous😏Enjoy! :)
Summary: Steven gets some new reading glasses that make your heart skip a beat and make you think of something. One night in bed as the two of you read, you voice this opinion to him. When you get back from a work trip one week later, boy are you in for a treat.
Warnings: Fluff, smut (doesn’t the gif say it all? LOL. Oral–f/m!receiving, penetrative), swearing, mentions of babies
Other Characters: Marc Spector (It’s a primarily Steven x Reader fic, so where Marc does make an appearance and it is a Steven x Reader x Marc kinda deal, but where he’s just there for a bit is why I’m classifying Marc as an “other character”)
Word Count: 3,058
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You honestly don’t know how long you’ve been staring at Steven. You usually sneak glances when you read together before bed. The face of concentration that he has as he reads makes your heart flutter—a mix of contentment and fierce interest. Steven usually sneaks glances at you when he hits a section break or a new chapter, and you can’t help but blush when you both look over at the same time. You love seeing him and knowing that he has chosen you just as much as you have chosen him, and you’re positive that Steven feels the same.
And his glasses. You love his readers. The rectangular specks make him adorable, but he got new glasses, and it has been putting dirty images in your mind since. You don’t know what it is about those specs, but you simply cannot stop looking at your boyfriend of two years.
“What are you thinkin’ about, love?” he says with a small smile as he pulls his attention from the pages in his book to you, his chocolate eyes sparkling in the moonlight that comes in through the window, the beams clashing with the warm lamplight. Incoherent sounds escape your lips. How do you tell him what you’re thinking without sounding like you’ve always wanted it? Because it isn’t true. It’s just with the curls of his hair, the vibe of the new glasses . . .
“You,” you hum simply.
He gives you a tired smile. “Anythin’ beyond that?”
You shrug. “Don’t get mad?” you ask.
“At you? I don’t think I could, but, okay.”
“Have you ever thought about growing a beard?”
“What?” he asks with a lithe chuckle. “A beard?”
“See? Silly question,” you say, trying to return to your book. “Forget it.”
“Hey, hey, stop,” he continues to chuckle, pushing down your novel by its spine. “You think I could pull one off?”
“You don’t think you could pull one off?”
“Not without lookin’ like a ragamuffin, I don't.”
“I don’t know. I was just thinking, I mean, you have great hair on your head all pretty curly like that, and the, uh, t-the glasses . . .” you trail off, swallowing hard and providing him with a gentle shrug. “It could work, that’s all.”
He gives you a soft smile. “I’ll talk with Marc about it. It’s his face too, after all.”
“No, really baby. You don’t have to—It was stupid of me—.”
Steven plants a kiss straight in the middle of your cheek and then on your lips.
“Nothin’ that could ever come out of your mind or mouth is stupid,” he tenderly chastises. “Just different, that’s all. And sometimes, different is bloody brilliant.” He dog ears his page and places his book on the nightstand. “Now, I don’t mean to change the subject, but since your flight leaves while I’m at work tomorrow, I want to make sure my girl’s got everythin’ she needs. I know you have clothes and shoes and jammies since I helped you pack all that earlier, but you have your computer?”
“In my crossbody by my luggage."
“Brilliant. Passport and ticket?”
“In my center purse pouch, all zipped.”
“And your phone is chargin’?”
“Affirmative, captain.”
“By the door.”
“Well, that’s all I can think of.”
“Well, I can think of one more thing. I’m going the need . . .” you purse your lips to the side and playfully tap your chin. “Eight kisses from you before you leave tomorrow morning.”
“Eight?” he beams.
“Eight,” you confirm.
“That many might get you somethin’ a little more than you hope for, love.”
“It’ll just be a bonus, then,” you smile. “Unless, you want to preemptively secure that bonus now?”
“You see, as much as I would love that—and I really, really would—I feel if we do that tonight or tomorrow, I’ll only miss you more when you go.”
You look at him with nothing but adoration. “You are just too sweet. I swear, one day, you’re gonna give me a cavity.”
“I’d hate myself if I ruined that smile of yours,” he says with a playful smirk.
You can only smile at Steven as you pull him down for a kiss, moving your head to rest on his chest afterward as you each resume you reading until you both fall asleep.
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“Hi hon!” you greet as you push the apartment door open.
“You’re back early!” you hear Steven call from the kitchen, something sizzling in a pan.
“Yeah, well, turns out all the flight switches from the airline worked out in my favor,” you tell him as you put your luggage next to the table by the door and hang your coat up. When you see Steven, you lose all control of your mouth. It hangs open with a shocked, Cheshire Cat smile as you look at your boyfriend. He stands there in the living room, wiping his hands on a cloth towel with his hair slightly disheveled and a luscious beard on his jaw. He looks like a domestic Adonis. It takes all of your willpower not to rush over to him in this moment and jump his bones. Holy shit.
“Surprise!” he says.
“Oh my,” you giggle as your cheeks begin to hurt from smiling so big. “I didn’t think I was gone for that long.”
“This is almost a week’s worth of me not shavin’,” he blushes. “Do you like it?”
“Oh wow,” you repeat as you move towards your boyfriend. “Do I like it? You look so handsome! I mean, you always did but . . . Well, I mean, do you like it? It’s on your face!”
“It’ll take some gettin’ used to, but, it does make me look quite distinguished, don’t it?”
“Can you . . .” The words catch in your throat as you feel a blush and heat spread throughout your entire body.
“Can I what, love?”
“Can you put on your reading glasses for me?” you ask sheepishly.
His brows furrow momentarily as the corner of his mouth pulls into a confused grin before he moves over to the desk and slides them on.
Boom. Right there. Panties flooded. 
Steven was always undeniably sexy to you, but seeing him like this elevates him into another category of hotness. He looks like an older, sexy professor that everyone has the hots for.
“Just give me—,” you say as you hold up a finger, turning around briefly so you can let out a silent scream before you turn back to him, more composed this time.
“You know I saw that in the mirror, right?” he chuckles.
“I’m sorry, but this is really doing something to me and for me,” you breathe, still stunned at his appearance.
“Ooh,” he coos as he walks over to you with a spring in his step, placing his hands on you waist. “Someone is in a cheeky, saucy mood, isn’t she?”
“Uh, she was before she came home and now she really is,” you nod, draping your arms across his shoulders. Steven leans down for a kiss, and it sends your head into a spin. You knew the beard would probably tickle, but you are slightly taken aback at how soft the hairs are. You moan into his mouth and do what you can to deepen the kiss. Steven’s hands roam down your sides and squeeze the flesh of your hips. Your fingers comb through his long hair and tug at the roots, your body needing to get as much of Steven near you as possible. He grunts as your noses smush together and his hands move up your torso, scrunching up the cotton of your sweater in the process, the cool London air in the apartment tickling your skin. Steven’s fingertips graze the band of your bra, teasing you as you embrace and act on your desires.
“Mm,” you moan, your fingernails raking against his scalp. Put a baby in me.
After a beat, Steven’s hands unbunch the fabric of your sweater, pulling a whimper from your lips as he moves away.
“Is something burning?” you ask, trying to glance over to the range. You completely forgot he was cooking—he must smell something you don’t.
“No, no,” he says, his fingers gently pushing your gaze back toward him. “What did you just say?”
“If something was burning?”
“No, before that.”
“I don’t know. What did I say?” you ask genuinely.
“You said ‘Put a baby in me.’”
You look at him with wide eyes. “I said that out loud?”
“You didn’t mean to say it?”
“Um, not out loud, no,” you blush profusely. “I mean, I’ve thought about it, but, we haven’t really talked about it seriously or in-depth about it past the ‘Our kids would be so cute’ or ‘I want our kids to have your eyes’ stage. Marc and I haven’t really talked about it, either.”
Steven looks at you so tenderly you could fall apart. “I want to have a family with you,” he says softly. He looks over to the mirror, letting out a breathy chuckle as he grins and nods. “So does Marc. But we both agree that the beard might have made you a bit loopy and want to know if you’d be okay with delayin’ that for the moment.”
You smile and nod, bringing your lips back to his for a tender kiss. “Yeah, we can do that part later. When we talk about it more and decide if and yes, I’ll get off the pill and we can go from there.”
“Yeah,” he says warmly. “Yeah, we’d love that.”
“But, until then, uh, I do think you should turn off the stove and come to the bedroom.” You create some space between you as you remove your shirt. “The seats on the plane were really uncomfortable, and I have knots all over my body that need to be worked out.”
Steven’s eyes light up. He moves so fast across the apartment, you’re afraid he’s going to crash straight on his face. As Steven rushes back to you, his hands snatch your waist and lift you up and onto the mattress, his body serving like a cage has he hovers over you. You slip off his glasses and put them on the nightstand before his lips attach to the sweet spot on your neck, eliciting a moan from you. Not only does he know what that spot does to you regularly, but the sensation of his beard drives you wild as the hairs scrape against your skin. 
Like well-rehearsed actors in a play, you shed each other of your clothes, your hands caressing each other’s body while Steven’s lips take extra liberties along your skin.
“I missed you, too,” you breathe as Steven’s lips latch onto your breasts, worshiping the supple, fatty flesh. You squeak as his teeth nip at the sensitive skin, giving each boob careful and devoted attention before his lips place sloppy, wet kisses down your stomach. Steven spreads your legs open, places alternating, lingering kisses on the inner flesh of your thighs before he reaches your middle.
“Tap my hand if it feels uncomfortable, alright?” he tells you.
“I promise,” you affirm.
You take a sharp breath in as his tongue licks along your folds before his lips capture your throbbing nub as he sucks on it. The beard isn’t as uncomfortable as Steven probably anticipated—his hair is just so soft, it feels nice and plush, ticklish at most. Your body is too focused on other sensations to process the tickle, as your hips squirm at the movements of his mouth. The way that Steven moves from increasing his pace to slowing it down makes your head spin, and he leaves you on edge the entire time, pressing one fat kiss on your throbbing clit as he moves away.
“Oh, damn,” you chuckle breathlessly as he slides up from between your legs, the evidence of my extreme arousal glistening in his beard. Just as you think he’s hovering over your body to kiss you and let you taste your arousal, he flips you over, his hands on your hips as he guides your ass into the air.
“Steven!” you giggle, completely surprised by the action.
“I’m trying somethin’ a bit different tonight, love,” he tells you, and you can hear the smile in his voice. Steven leans down over your back, kissing a line right down your spine from your neck to your tailbone. You can hear him drag his hand across his mouth moments before you feel the tip of his cock press against your entrance.
“Ah,” you moan as he begins to press into you from behind. Every inch he puts in feels better than the last, and once he has bottomed out, he leans forward and peppers kisses all along your back and your shoulder blades.
“You look so lovely from this angle,” he praises, his hot breath and beard sending goosebumps all over your body. “So beautiful.”
“Steven,” you groan as he begins to rock into your body. “Oh my God.”
“Oh wow,” he pants, finding a steady rhythm. “Oh wow, you feel so good like this. Oh, you’re gonna be the death of me, love.”
His hands gently caress your waist, hips, and rear, unsure of where they should settle. Steven surprises you, keeping his left hand just above your hip bone as the other one gathers your hair in his fist. The slight yank at the roots of your hair is encouraging, causing you to tilt your head back just enough to arch your back and feel Steven in a new way. He must feel it too, because the groan that escapes his mouth is purely carnal. Letting go of your hair, he wraps an arm right under your bouncing breasts and lifts you up so your back is flush against his chest and he has access to the skin of your neck.
“Oh, Steven, yes,” you breathe, straining your neck to kiss whatever skin of his face you can find. “Right there.” The phrase turns into a chant, a chant into a prayer. With each utterance, he manages to hit deeper into you, and you relish the sensation. Sneaking his fingers down to your front, two of his fingers find your clit and begin rubbing tight circles over the bundle of nerves. You let out a high pitched moan as he kisses your shoulder. “Steven, I want to see your face. Please, baby, I want to see you when I come.”
Steven moves his kisses up your body until his lips hover just over your ear. 
“I’m gonna lie you down, okay, love?” he whispers.
You pant as you give him sort, quick nods. He pulls out and you feel empty, your body aching for Steven. He carefully puts you on the mattress, spreading your legs wide as he lines himself up to your entrance. He doesn’t push as slowly in you as he did the first time, but slow enough so he can admire how you look below him. One of his hands caresses your cheek, and you turn your face into it to press a kiss to his palm. Your moans harmonize as he bottoms out in you once more, leaning down to kiss you and rest his forehead against yours as he resumes the pace from the position on his knees. His hand slips in between your bodies, the pads of his fingers once more finding your clit and giving it a good rubbing. With Steven touching you like this, looking at you with nothing but tenderness in his eyes, and him looking like something straight from a fantasy is enough as you feel the band snap in your stomach, allowing you to come around him while he thrusts. Your grip and erotic cries encourage him to move faster towards his own release, and he continues to pound into you as far as he can as he finishes. You both stay like this catching your breath, how you always do after you find your release with one another. 
“I missed you so much,” he hums punctuating each word with a kiss.
“I missed you more,” you counter, pressing a long kiss to his plush lips.
Steven chases another kiss, a hand holding the side of your face to keep you there as he slides out and lies next to you.
“So, what do you think?” he asks, still panting slightly. “Is the beard here to stay?”
“If you want it to. The change is exciting, but I think I’ll miss that smooth jaw of yours eventually.” Steven presses a kiss to the juncture of your neck and jaw. “Although, if Donna ever gets that stick out of her ass and promotes you to tour guide, you might need to keep it. You ooze sexy academia right now.”
“Oh, is that it?” Steven laughs. 
“Mm, yeah,” you confirm. “You look so wise and smart and sexy and smart.”
“You said smart twice."
“Because you are. And I would have said sexy more than once, but I think by virtue of me being naked in your bed in your arms gets that point across pretty well.”
The smile that pulls on Steven’s face makes the corners of his eyes crinkle. Every time you think you can’t fall more in love with this man, he proves you wrong with things like this.
“I love you,” you tell him. “So much.”
“I love you, too,” he hums kissing you neck as he sharply inhales. “I second that motion.” Marc.
“Hi,” you chuckle as he continues to press kisses on your skin. “I love you, too.”
“Mm, I’m feeling a little more needy than that,” he whispers, and you can hear the smirk in his voice, dragging his beard along your skin in a way that he knows gives you goosebumps. “Did Steven tucker you out?”
You look over at his face, brushing the tip of your nose against his. 
“It’d be rude to reject the welcome wagon, wouldn’t it? Especially when it looks has handsome as my men do.”
Marc smiles briefly before his lips attach to yours, and the way that his hands grip onto your waist let you know that the welcome wagon will be making several stops with Steven and Marc as the conductors.
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