#twinkle pop glittering eye stick

[cybercore-creations]

All good things

Summary: Life played him for a fool again, he was stupid for thinking he'd get a single good thing

Tw: Suicide, Kidnapping, implied Stolkholm syndrome

He thought everything was okay. He thought you finally accepted this was where you were staying. Giving him a kiss every morning, helping Vincent with the sculptures, taking Jonsey on walks with Lester. You didn't scream or cry anymore. Didn't have to be locked up. Everything felt normal. A normal spouse, A normal family, A normal life.

But nothing ever went right for Beauregard Sinclair. He could never have a normal anything. Never had one normal thing in his life.

Maybe it was hopeful thinking or straight denial. Just playing pretend. But he didn't expect when he entered your shared bedroom to find you with bleeding wrists and one of his knives weakly clutched in your hands. There was no note. No closure. Not a simple thing to tell him it wasn't his fault.

You didn't have to say it, but he knew it was his fault. He shouldn't have kept you alive. Shoulda just threw you in the museum like everyone else, but he didn't. You were a spitfire from the beginning. That's what he liked about you. He never expected a victim to hot wire Lester's truck and try to run him over but there you were smiling as you pushed the old thing as fast as it could go. He laughed when you'd slammed your face onto the steering wheel when he shot out the tires. It wasn't even a sadistic one, he genuinely found it funny.

You saw the man. He was distracted, looking off into the distance, probably trying to find you but you hit the gas hard. The pedal slammed to the ground as you changed gears (He always liked someone who could drive stick) Bo heard the truck before he saw it. The loud rumble of the thing much too old to still be driven. It was like second instinct as he hopped out of the way, shooting out the tires. The truck spun out and all he heard was "FUCK" and then the slam of your forehead on the uncoushined wheel accompanied by a "ow"

His eyes drifted towards the now bloodied silver band on your finger. You were supposed to get married. You'd been in Ambrose for a little over a year when he popped the question and he remembers the bright smile before squeezing him tight. The memory would make him happy but instead he felt nothing but betrayl.

As the night draped itself over Ambrose, The two of you found yourselves perched on the rooftop of the old, weathered church. The stars above twinkled like glitter strewn across a velvet canvas. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves of the nearby trees, and the only sound that echoed through the quiet night was the faint chirping of crickets. Bo took your hand in his, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know, Peaches, I've been thinking about a lot lately" You raised your eyebrows "And what does that thinking gotta do with Hun?" He fiddled with the ring in his pocket before taking a deep breath. For the first time in his life, he was nervous. "Our future together. How I wanna turn ya into Mx.Sinclair." "W-What?" You stuttered. "Peaches, the second I laid eyes on you went you came in for that fan belt, I was hooked. Every second since then I've been falling harder. So uh, will you be my spouse?" He pulled out the ring, hands shaking. You grabbed onto him. Squeezing him tightly, he could feel your smile against his shoulder. "Absolutely. I wouldn't want anything else."

He went soft and he absolutely hated you for it, well thats what he tried to tell himself when he ran to your side trying to find a pulse. It was obvious you'd been gone for awhile. Blood was already dried on some places and your body was cold to the touch. He was frozen in time like one of Vincent's statues as he stared before he dropped to his knees. Bo let out a scream. A noise so deep in his chest that it didn't even sound human. An animalistic sob that you could probably even hear the town over. The one good thing in his rotten life was taken from him

"I hate you. I hate you. I HATE YOU." He yelled. Tears now rolling down his face. "Why did you have to leave me?"

#house of wax #house of wax (2005) #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #slasher x reader #slashers

[f1crecs]

Fic Rec List - Charles/Max (Top Five)

if your fic is on this list and you don’t want it to be, please let me know and I will remove it immediately, no questions asked. I have contacted most of the authors on this list, but sometimes people fall through the gaps - just pop me a message🤍

have a pairing you want me to do next? please read the faqs and then head to my inbox.

don't forget to give the authors featured on this list some love in the form of kudos, bookmarks, and comments!

I'm sorry you've not been feeling great recently, anon. I hope things start to look up soon, and that you enjoy these recommendations. 😚

This is my personal top five. Let me know what yours is! 🤍

the consequences of domesticism by @altisssimozucca | G | 3.6k Charles and Max live in the same apartment building: slowly, their lives intertwine. This fic is just so sweet. The slow build of their relationship, from acquaintances/co-workers to more is so expertly done, and feels so organic. I didn't stop smiling once reading this fic. Also - Dot. I want her.

'They’re in Max’s kitchen, Max watching Charles fry some eggs for breakfast, when Max has the startling realisation that he knows far too much about Charles.'

heart on your sleeve by @nyoomfruits | T | 4.8k Charles' emotions appear on his racing helmet. The concept here is so unique, and so beautifully done - I loved every moment of this. Typical misunderstandings give way to just the most tender, sweet relationship. Gorgeous.

“Hi,” Max says, and that stupid crinkly eyed smile is back, looking at Charles all fondly. His race suit is soaked in champagne, and his hair is wet with it too, sticking in every which direction. There’s a flush on his cheeks, and he’s taken off the top part of his race suit, revealing his fireproofs underneath, stretches across his broad chest and muscular arms.'

heart of the wind by @piastriachios | M | 13.8k Max and Charles are neighbours, who meet when Charles rescues Max's flying laundry. The relationship build here is stunning - you truly get the feeling that they bring out the best in each other. As always, the imagery and use of colour is beautiful. I love this author and I love this fic.

'They let it sit between them. Floating between the specks of dust that look like golden glitter in the afternoon suzn. A shared understanding. A sense of longing. The more it simmers, the more Max’s smile seems to cut through the light.'

oui chef.by @sunshineyoujustwait | G | 16.2k Max is initially irate when Charles is hired to his kitchen - but not for long. This fic is absolutely stunning. The humour and dialogue is spot on, and the Charles characterisation is genuinely some of my favourite in the whole fandom. The single-minded focus. The competitiveness. The found family of it all. God, I wish I could read this fic again for the first time.

'He’s still staring, he realises belatedly, as Charles glances up and catches his gaze. Amusement twinkles in his eyes, almost as if he knows he’s caught Max staring and he finds it funny.   Max looks away quickly, but not before his brain registers, unhelpfully, that Charles’ eyes are green, not brown like he’d originally thought. Not that it’s important.''

Breathe You In (Like a Vapor) by @fabbyf1 | E | 53.3k Max and Charles start up a friends with benefits relationship, that quickly evolves into so much more. This was one of the first Charles/Max fics I ever read, and it changed me a little. Such a joy. So genuinely funny, beautifully paced, and the smut- yes. Fantastic! Everything this author writes is amazing.

'But now, the sun was starting to dip in the sky, and the living room was mostly dark. Somehow Max had spent the entire afternoon here. It was like they both came out of their trance simultaneously and realized how dark it had gotten in the room.'

#lestappen #pairing:charles/max #driver:charles #driver:max #charles/max

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Younger Gods: Epilogue 2 (Quiet Storms)

18+ Smut

Younger Gods Master List

Morpheus x Female/femme!reader (female parts described)

Summary: Morpheus and the storm god enjoy (and make) winter weather.

A/N: Happy holidays, my darlings! Please enjoy this filth, I mean fluff, I mean... fluffy filth? Again? The next epilogue will be something more than smut, I swear.

Quiet Storms

Pale as the snow crunching under foot, Morpheus appeared entirely inhuman. His shadows looked so dark against the white fields he could be a hole in reality. A living void. Perfect and impossible. But he walked hand-in-hand with her through her little realm, and human or otherwise, for the moment, he chose to be with her.

She belonged to him.

He belonged to her.

And they strolled together.

The day before, she went to see Taliesin in the waking world, and the scene outside his window glittered with fresh snow. Ice hung from gutters and streetlights. Sunlight shattered in countless, twinkling rainbows, caught in millions of crystals, and she couldn’t look away.

She woke to a few inches of snowfall carpeting her realm, and her Dream Lord came through the door just as she was tugging on her boots and mittens.

They stepped out into a snowy fog. Nothing properly fell, but the grey sky felt like a blanket trapping the coziest cold she’d ever felt. And it really was cold. Her nose and cheeks went numb quickly, and her eyes watered in the wind whenever she looked up to Dream. He was always worth it, though.

A dusting of flakes scintillated in his hair. He looked wonderful every day, of course, but she loved seeing him in her weather, with a little rain dripping from the messy tips of his wild hair or lightning reflecting in his eyes. Just now, he looked like he’d been gilded with powdered diamonds, almost whimsical.

He turned from the wonderland she’d created to meet her warm assessment, and there was nothing whimsical about the heat in his gaze.

When he looked at her like that – with his full, endless focus wrapping her up in his attention – she was so happy she couldn’t bear it. She looked away and bit her lip, giddy, heart trilling a note too high to hear but deeply felt, dancing out through her ribs, tickling her lungs until she couldn’t quite breathe right.

She knew what that feeling was called. It filled the name he’d given her, and like he could hear her thoughts, he bent to murmur in her ear.

“Beloved.”

Actual, proper snow manifested from the fog, big, fat flakes of it swirling down to stick on her exposed skin as his breath summoned goosebumps down her neck. She shivered from the prickling cold and the rush of warmth in her belly. Smiling lips pressed the cusp of her ear, earning another shudder, and Dream tugged her closer by their joined hands.

“You are chilled.” His smile carried into his tone, lending a teasing lilt to his dark voice. “I should warm you.”

Turning just enough to reach, she popped onto her toes to land a peck on his jaw. “I’d like that that.”

She let to of his hand to take his arm, cuddling into his side as they turned back towards the cottage, his care mingling with his pride, filtering into the air around them like one of his shadows. Snug, smug, and secure. A bubble of their own that was part him and part her and entirely apart. The snow fell thicker, catching in her hair and melting on her coat. A flake caught in his eyelashes, and she watched them flutter with quiet appreciation as he cleared his vision. Dream had such lovely eyes. Whether they were blue and nearly human or dark with a thousand stars, they expressed his feelings much better than his words usually did. Even when he tried to keep a straight face, to remain firm and aloof, she’d seen emotion fringe his lower lashes in tears, had seen amused sparks when he tried to appear strict.

Just now, they were very soft. Warm. Like the sun came out and agreed to stay through the night.

If he kept looking at her like that, he wouldn’t need to do much at all when they got home.

The instant the door closed behind them, he pulled the scarf from around her neck. He let the fabric drag along the sensitive scars, drawing her attention to the cool air on her bare flesh as the garment fell free. He loved her neck. Maybe it was the history, or maybe it was a pet project of his – teaching her to savor all the wonderful things he could inspire in her most vulnerable places when she trusted him. And she did trust him.

She trusted him so much she loved him.

The snow was melting, dripping down from her hair to run over her skin. Dream caught the rolling drops in open-mouthed kisses along her neck, and the stark contrast of cold and heat set her alight. She pressed into him, groaning as he set about warming her an inch at a time.

She’d had plans to offer him mulled wine when they returned, to sit and drink together in front of the fire as she thawed, which might lead to spice-laced kisses between warm lips and all the sweeter things that came after. Matthew told her once that his master sometimes drank wine in the waking world. It seemed like a good idea, a seasonal, festive thing to spark a different kind of fire, but none of it mattered as he started plucking at the buttons to her coat. If he didn’t fuck the capacity for higher thought out of her in the next hour or two, she’d revisit the idea later. Dream was on a mission, and she happily took up service as his guide, pulling her arms out of the heavy outer layer so he wouldn’t be tempted to take his lips off her neck.

He never needed encouragement. He barely even needed a suggestion. Since their first tryst that broke in the bedroom – Taliesin hadn’t let her hear the end of it for weeks – Morpheus took every opportunity to touch her. Deep kisses in greeting. Clasping hands or linking arms when they went out. Finding clever ways to get his hands under her clothes and onto her skin. Never exactly rushed, but always eager. Always hungry for her in any way she’d have him.

She wasn’t complaining.  

She didn’t have as much experience, and she lacked his confidence, but she felt the same. Every time he smiled for her, every time he pulled her in for a kiss, a part of her stopped to wonder. Me? Really? Are you really choosing me when you’re so wonderful? When I’m small, and you’re so grand it’s dizzying?

Happiness stunned her each time. She couldn’t worry over losing his affections because she was still in awe of winning them at all.

Coats off, boots discarded, mittens long since surrendered to a dark corner from which they may never emerge, the two moved towards the fire.

When he surrendered her throat for a kiss on the lips, he bumped her frigid nose and nearly startled. Long pale fingers brushed down her face as he pulled back, and he murmured, “You truly are cold, beloved. Come.”

Keeping one hand in hers, he pulled two blankets from the couch, arranging them in front of the fire. He would have her, but he would have her comfortable and well. He tugged her towards the nest before he even finished building it, but she stopped to open the hope chest in the corner – one-handed – to retrieve another, larger blanket, which she set to the side, ready to wrap around the both of them. His eyes lit in approval, and he pulled her down all the faster, eager to get her out of her clothes. She returned the favor. A dozen kisses interrupted their progress, but eventually they were both naked and protected from the growing chill by the furred cover she brought.

Morpheus drank her sighs and gasps like the wine she’d almost offered him. He arranged her in his lap with his fingers kneading her thighs as she straddled his, pressed chest to chest in the firelight. She kissed him just as eagerly, convinced she’d never have enough, that she’d burn alive with desire, no matter how much skin brushed over his, no matter how long he let her taste him.

Careful fingers slipped between her legs as his other hand came around her waist to keep her close. He didn’t break the kiss as he stroked along her drenched slit, following her as she jerked at the sensation. He made a meal of her moans when he circled her clit. Every whisper of friction set her alight, and she keened as granted the pressure her rolling hips chased. When she needed to breathe, he pulled back to introduce the kiss at a new angle. He barely left her at all, and only by millimeters. It rekindled her faith that he ached for her as badly as she craved him. That he found delight in her storms and her little cottage the way she lost herself whenever she so much as glanced in his eyes.

She had more freedom to move than she did in many positions they’d tried, when Morpheus hovered over her like an all-consuming storm, but Dream had lost none of his power. She was helpless as he toyed with her, slowly gathering slick, teasing her, and finally sinking a slow finger into her core. Her mouth fell open over his, soundless, and he plundered it as his finger continued its exploration. When he touched her, it wasn’t a preliminary exercise before he moved on to the main act. He studied her, searched out new shivers and groans, and he always took his time, enjoying the sensation as she fluttered along his fingertips, spasming against the brush of a knuckle or a curled digit.

He told her as much once, when she’d tried to hurry him along. At the time, she’d been convinced this part of her pleasure was an inconvenience, and she didn’t want to make him wait. He’d smiled down at her, the loveliest nightmare as she broke apart under his attentions, and asked, “You think this does not please me?” He ground his dick against her thigh as he continued working her through the aftershocks just to make his point.

With his finger buried inside her, moving slowly, she clung to his shoulders to steady herself. He’d never let her fall, not unless he wanted to shift her to a new position, but she needed something to touch, something to hang onto as every flickering nerve tried to explode. She felt almost too good with him, and while he never frightened her when they were like this, she scared herself a little. She imagined she’d unmake her own soul and he’d consume it by accident, or something would break because a person wasn’t supposed to climb such heights without crashing back down. True safety was a new concept, one he eagerly helped her understand, and each time he made love to her, she worried a little less.

A second finger crept inside, working her open as Morpheus pressed her closer, offering an answering groan through their kiss as she whimpered into him. She was close, and she suspected he read the signs of her impending release like a fortuneteller – in her trembling thighs, in her unsteady rhythm against the heel of his palm as it pressed against her clit.

“Let me feel you like this.” He spoke against her lips, still reluctant to put any distance between them. “Let me feel you.”

She had no defense against Morpheus’s voice. It swallowed the daylight so it could introduce the stars. It rippled over her skin like a velvet kiss, soothing, and urging, and flooding her thoughts. Enraptured and too far gone to stop herself anyway, she did exactly as he asked.

He kissed up her quivering sigh as she came, helping her navigate her way back to earth so she could melt against him. Turning her face into his neck, she took the opportunity to breathe. Woodsmoke, sweat, and sex filled the air. The hand on her back moved in broad circles, almost innocently compared to his other hand, which kept two fingers sheathed inside her.

Wind sent the windows shivering in the frames, and Morpheus kissed the crown of her head.

“Are you warm enough?” Sneaky fingers stroked deep inside, stirring banked embers to new life.

She looked up at him through her lashes, smirking, mimicking a look he’d often sent her as he drove her to fantastic distraction. Mischievous and far from sated. “Not yet.”

He hummed, answering her smirk with his own. “Good.”

The fingers left her, and something much larger nudged her entrance. He took a brief moment to coat himself in the fluid all but dripping from his fingers, and every bump and shift conjured unwitting little noises from her. Without asking if she had the stamina to ride him after her first orgasm – she did not – he picked her up by the hips and set her higher on his lap. As he lowered her, he pushed inside, stretching her open until their hips were flush.

His hands rubbed up her hips to her waist, curling possessively into the natural dip. When he found the grip he wanted, he began to move. A shallow thrust to ensure she was ready. A groan. A deep roll of his hips that drove him in to the hilt as he tugged her to meet him.

In this position she was a little taller than him, and he looked up at her like something wonderful. Regarded by stars, she felt her love returned. It moved between them, a silent song, and it grew in her chest like the waxing moon. Making her glow as he tenderly destroyed her.

She writhed with his rhythm, robbed of the breath she’d just caught, panting open-mouthed as his pace quickened.

The movement sent the blanket sliding from her shoulders. It gathered just over their joined hips, leaving her chest very naked and very close to Dream’s hungry gaze. His hands didn’t leave their grip on her waist, determined to drive himself even deeper as he leaned in to worship her breasts. Her nipples hardened long before she even joined Morpheus in their little blanket fort, but the cold air set them tingling, and Morpheus’s hot mouth sent rippling shocks of delight down her spine. She folded around him, breathless, cradling his head as her fingers caught in his midnight hair.

The fire crackling beside them might as well be ice. Heated flooded her veins, ready to combust as he thrust up into her.

“Morpheus.” Begging. A prayer. A promise.

He groaned into her chest, and her heart skipped a beat. Or he’d stolen it. The beat or the entire heart – impossible to tell.

Once she’d said his name, she couldn’t stop. It became a wild chant as she raced towards her second breaking point. “Morpheus.” She didn’t want to let go. “Morpheus.” She didn’t want to stop. “Morpheus.”

But he didn’t give her a choice. Somehow she found enough air to shout as she fell apart, and she took some satisfaction in drawing Morpheus with her over the edge. He always looked a little frantic when he came. He was so rarely out of control, and he chose to surrender that kingly command in these moments. With her. Inside her. A true lover who’d fallen in love with her long before he fell in lust.

They tumbled into the blankets together, still tangled up.

As Morpheus gathered himself and pulled out, he arranged the blanket back over them, and she nuzzled shamelessly into his chest. Warm and content at last.

He chuckled, arranging an arm around her so she wouldn’t roll away when she inevitably dozed.

“It occurs to me, Beloved,” he said, “you might’ve wished your realm cold as an excuse to be close.”

What a thought. She liked it.

“Mm.” She rubbed her cheek over his pale skin, just as warm as she was, and she hoped just as happy. “And if I did?”

If she had, it wasn’t intentional, but now he’d gone and given her ideas.

He smiled, kissing the tip of her now-toasty nose in the softest gesture he could muster. “Then perhaps you should try snowing us in.”

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x reader #morpheus x oc #morpheus x female reader #younger gods

[beefromanoff]

Going Under Ch. 29

summary: christmas. online comments. an emotional spiral. angst. new years. missions. heartbreak.

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: exile - Taylor Swift and Bon Iver

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: GUYS PUT DOWN THE PITCHFORKS PLS, first of all, so sorry it's been a million years! the holidays and my birthday and vacation and everything has just kept me too busy. i've tried to alternate between my other story (linked here) and this one, but I still hate that it's been so long. also, I know this story is a lot of your comfort fic, so I'M SORRY for the angst and heartache! just stick with me pleaseeee!

ilysm, thank you for reading! please let me know what you think!

chapter list

________________________________

The city lights glittered outside the panoramic windows of the penthouse, casting a soft glow over the sleek, modern furnishings. A fire blazing in the center of the living room illuminated Gianna’s gaunt face. The past month had taken the youthful roundness from her face and the twinkle from her eyes. Bringing her knees to her chest, she took a slow sip of her wine as she stared out the window at the New York night. Across the horizon, a sharp knife to her heart, glowed the trademark ‘A’ of Avengers’ Tower. 

The infamous building, once filled with laughter and shared moments, sat dark and empty. Gianna gazed through the floor-to-ceiling glass, her reflection staring back at her—a portrait of a woman who had lost something irreplaceable.

Her thoughts were a hurricane, a montage of memories that wrecked her mind and haunted the solitude of the room. The past months had unraveled like a thread, leaving behind a tapestry of emotions that she struggled to make sense of. The laughter from Thanksgiving with the Avengers echoed in her mind, but now it seemed like a distant melody she no longer knew how to play.

She spun the stem of the wine glass in her fingers, ignoring the blue glow of the phone on her coffee table. Texts, calls, social media alerts…nothing she cared to check. She knew what they’d say, all variations of the same headlines that had been running for weeks. 

Pop Star and Winter Soldier call it quits after whirlwind romance!

Gianna Cruz spotted on solo coffee run in Manhattan!

Who Made Gianna Cruz Cry?! Pop Star Spotted with Red Eyes Amid Split with Famed Assassin.

As bad as the tabloids were, nothing wrecked her like the truth that played on a loop in her mind.

---

Early December, New York

The glow of holiday lights adorned the city streets as Bucky and Gianna strolled through Central Park. Snowflakes danced around them, and the air buzzed with the energy of the season. 

They paused under a streetlamp, his eyes meeting hers. "You know, you're too good for someone like me," he confessed, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze.

Gianna chuckled, playfully nudging him. "Oh hush. You’re the first guy to ever think he doesn’t deserve me, and it’s one of the many reasons I’m certain you do."

Bucky's laugh echoed through the crisp winter night as he held Gianna’s hand in his own.

“If you say so.” 

---

Early December, Upstate New York - Avengers’ Compound

The soft glow of the evening sun streamed into Bucky's room as he idly scrolled through social media. His fingers danced over the screen, swiping through images and updates. A photo caught his eye—himself and Gianna, smiling, carefree, fingers woven together as they crossed a street in the city.

The initial wave of warmth quickly gave way to a sinking feeling as he caught a glimpse of the comment section. Many were positive, gushing about how good they looked together, how happy they seemed. Bucky couldn't help but smile at those.

However, as he scrolled further, the tone shifted. Harsh words leapt off the screen, cutting through him like a knife. They weren't strangers to him—the names, the insults—all a reminder of the Winter Soldier's haunted past that some couldn't let go. Comment after comment confirmed his darkest fears, the things his mind taunted him with late at night.

"Can't believe she's with a killer."

“Of everyone she could date, she chooses him? A freak of nature with blood on his hands?” 

“I hope he knows he’s ruining her life. He should be with a monster like himself, not someone innocent like Gianna. I hate this relationship.” 

“Does she even know everything he’s done? I can’t support her after she knowingly dates a murderer.”

"She deserves better."

The words became a relentless cascade, a torrent of doubts and insecurities that he had fought so hard to suppress. The shadows of his past seemed to stretch and loom, threatening the fragile happiness he had found with Gianna. He felt guilty, shameful, stupid for ever thinking he could escape them, thinking he could find some semblance of peace. 

Gianna's voice interrupted his thoughts as she cracked open the door to his room, a soft and cheerful invitation to join the team for dinner. A part of him wanted to tell her about the comments, to seek reassurance in her presence, but a darker instinct held him back. The shame was too great. Something nagged at him, told him maybe they were right. Their relationship was a fluke. Maybe she didn’t realize what she’d gotten herself into. Fear crept into his mind, convincing him that if he put those thoughts into her mind, even seeking comfort from them, they’d take root and she’d wonder what the hell she was doing with him in the first place.

Forcing a smile, he silenced the turmoil in his mind and pocketed his phone, choosing not to burden her with the weight of his doubts.

“Let’s go eat,” He put a hand on her lower back and kissed her cheek, ignoring the nagging feeling that at some point soon, he would no longer be able to. 

---

Christmas Morning, Avengers’ Compound

The cozy warmth of Christmas evening found Earth’s Mightiest Heroes lounging by the fireplace in the overly decorated living room. Gift wrapping strewn everywhere, the smell of hot cocoa and spiked cider filling the air. In a mess of holiday sweaters and new presents, the team fell into a quiet but comfortable silence. This had been an over-the-top, Hallmark-esque Christmas season. Thanksgiving had been the crack in the stoic dam that they all previously kept in place, and now the full on family festivities were unleashed. 

Wanda and Gianna had baked so many Christmas goodies that Tony swore he wouldn’t even be able to wear the Iron Man suit. They’d arranged a team “Secret Santa” after insisting the guys couldn’t be trusted to buy a good gift for everyone on the team, so they limited it to one person each and repeatedly reminded Tony of the $200 limit. 

An absurd number of stockings hung from the mantle, cramped and hung nearly overlapping, but everyone had their own. Christmas music had played over the built-in speakers in their living quarters since the day they’d touched down after Thanksgiving. The most surprising part was that no one seemed to mind the excess holiday cheer. 

Now, as Christmas Day wound down, it had all culminated in a picturesque holiday.

As the festivities wound down, Bucky caught Gianna's eye, his expression softening with a secret.

"Come with me," he murmured, jerking his head towards the balcony.

Gianna followed him through the common room, away from the heart of the celebration. They slipped out onto the balcony, a quiet alcove overlooking the snowy landscape.

Bucky handed her a steaming mug of hot chocolate. "Merry Christmas," he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Merry Christmas," she replied. The night air was crisp, and the stars above shimmered in a vast, dark canvas. One of her favorite things about being away from the city.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a carefully wrapped gift. "I made something for you," he confessed.

“What? Bucky…” Curiosity turned into wide-eyed surprise as she unwrapped the present. Nestled within the paper was a beautifully bound book. On the cover, in elegant script, read the simple title MMXXIII -- or 2023. The year they met. 

Her fingers traced the cover, and when she opened it, she found a chronicle of their tour—all told from Bucky’s point of view. He had meticulously compiled entries from his journal, filled with his thoughts and feelings about her, paired with photos both snapped by fans or paparazzi and by Gianna herself. It made for a comprehensive timeline of him falling in love with her. 

Tears welled up in Gianna's eyes as she flipped through the pages. Bucky's writing, which she’d read before, but to have it gifted to her with all the photos and scrawled footnotes and thoughtfulness…she felt dangerously close to melting into a puddle on the ground.

"I remember the first time I saw you on stage," he recounted. "There was this light about you. It drew me in, and little did I know, it would change everything."

Gianna was speechless. Shaking her head, she looked up at him with watery eyes. “This is, undoubtedly, the best gift I have ever been given.” She leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “James Buchanan Barnes. Thank you. I love you.”

His chest tightened. No matter how many times he’d heard those words come from her mouth or said them back to her, they never felt any less miraculous. 

“I love you too, G.” 

Giving a shy smile, she stood. “I have something for you, too. Be right back.” She darted through the doors. 

Returning swiftly with her guitar in hand, she plopped back down on the chair beside him. Her breath came out in steamy clouds against the cold air. Gazing up at him through her lashes, she began to strum.

“This one is called…My Hero.” 

As she played, her angelic voice echoing across the quiet night, Bucky felt his stomach twist. Sitting across from him was the most beautiful, kind woman he’d ever known. She told him she loved him. She slept beside him every night. Here she was on Christmas Day, singing a song about him. As her poetic words heralded him as her hero, he couldn’t help the guilt he felt reminding him that he would always be a villain.

---

New Years’ Eve, New York - Avengers’ Tower

The New Year's Eve party at the Avengers' Tower was a spectacle to behold. Tony Stark had outdone himself once again, transforming the common area into a sea of crystal champagne flutes and ice sculptures. The clinking of glasses and laughter filled the massive room. 

Sam had taken over bartending -- flipping bottles with flair while the actual paid bartender stood awkwardly to the side. Peter hung from the chandelier, showing off for a group of this years’ Sports Illustrated models. Steve and Nat, shared a quiet moment away from the dance floor, looking suspiciously comfortable together. Tony, to no one’s surprise, had been the life of the party. He bounced from the DJ booth to the dance floor to the bar, never being seen without a champagne bottle in hand. The atmosphere was infectious, a perfect ending to the year's highs and lows. 

Meanwhile, Gianna and Bucky had spent most of the evening cozied up on a plush couch toward the back of the room, taking it all in. Her laughter seemed to drown out the music and the crowd, Bucky's eyes glimmered with a softness that only her presence could invoke.

As the clock crept closer to midnight, the anticipation in the room grew. The sequin and glitter-clad Avengers had found their way together in the final moments of the year. 

Tony, ever the showman, took center stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, Avengers and friends, let's welcome the new year with a bang!"

The countdown echoed through the room, a chorus of voices rising in unison. Ten, nine, eight...He raised an arm, clad in one single sleeve of the Iron Man suit, and aimed it for the rafters.

Bang! Confetti rained down from where his shot hit as the clock struck midnight, and cheers erupted. Amidst the celebration, Bucky and Gianna only had eyes for each other as they pulled away from their first kiss of the new year, only feet from the barstools where their first ever kiss had been shared.

Gianna’s eyes were bright as she looked up at him, "I can't wait to spend this year with you."

Bucky, his smile carrying a mix of emotion, replied, "You're going to have an amazing year, G."

---

End of January

The Quinjet soared through the night sky, cutting through the clouds like a sleek shadow. Bucky, sitting in the co-pilot seat, stared out into the vast darkness. Steve glanced at his friend, sensing the tension in the air.

"Something's been eating at you, Buck," Steve finally broke the silence, his eyes focused on the controls. "You've been volunteering for every mission lately. More than usual. What's going on?"

Bucky hesitated, his gaze fixed on the city lights below. He was wrestling with a storm of conflicting emotions, unsure of how to voice them, even to his closest friend. Steve was persistent, his concern etched on his features.

"Bucky, we've been through too much for you to keep things from me," Steve urged gently. "Talk to me."

Bucky sighed, the internal struggle evident in his eyes. "It's Gianna."

Steve raised an eyebrow, silently inviting Bucky to continue.

"I can't shake this feeling, Steve," Bucky confessed, his voice laced with uncertainty. "Like I'm holding her back. Like I'm not good enough for her. I love her too much to see her stuck with someone like me."

Steve furrowed his brow, concern deepening. "Bucky, you've been through hell and back. She knows that, knows it wasn’t your fault, and she chose to be with you. You're not holding her back. You saved her life, remember?"

"But what if she deserves more? What if I can't give her the life she deserves?" Bucky's words carried the weight of his self-doubt. “She’ll always have to pay the price for my past. I want more for her than that.” 

Steve understood the root of Bucky's turmoil. He reached over, placing a reassuring hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You're not giving her enough credit, Buck. Talk to her. Share what you're feeling. She deserves to know. I’m sure if she had any idea you were feeling this way, she’d be devastated."

Bucky nodded, but his gaze drifted back out the window to the night sky. 

“Where did all this come from?” 

“I saw some comments online.” 

“Buck…” Steve sighed. “You can’t do that to yourself. None of us can go online without finding something day-ruining written about ourselves. It’s never good.” 

“At least you guys have saved more people than you’ve killed.” Bucky’s tone was gruff. 

“If we’re looking at deaths at our hands while under our own volition, I’ve got you beat by a long shot, pal. Hell, I bet even Pete’s got you.” He gave his friend a reassuring smile. 

“Yeah.” 

The conversation was interrupted by the Quinjet's navigation system signaling their arrival at the mission site.

"We'll continue this, Buck. But for now, focus on the mission. And don't do anything stupid until we can talk more.”

---

End of February

Sweat dripped from Bucky’s forehead as his fists pounded into the punching bag. 

The chains clinked as Bucky moved from the bag to the bench, his breathing heavy. The dim glow of the overhead lights cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the lines etched by years of war and the burdens of a tortured past.

His inner dialogue was a relentless companion, the voice of doubt whispering in the hollows of his mind. 

She'd be happier without you. She could be back in New York, performing, living the life she deserves. She could find someone without your dark history. Someone she doesn’t have to defend.

The weights lifted and dropped with a controlled precision, the repetition an attempt to drown out the insistent thoughts. Bucky's jaw clenched, muscles straining against the heavy load. The gym became a battleground, his internal conflict manifesting in the physical exertion.

You're a relic of a bygone era, Buck. She deserves someone who can give her a future, not someone haunted by the ghosts of his past.

The voice echoed, each word a reminder of the perceived inadequacies he felt.

He moved back to the sparring area, still running from his own demons. The stark sounds of his combat training echoing in the empty space. The punches were precise, calculated, a dance of muscle memory and suppressed rage. His metal arm moved with deadly precision, nearly knocking the bag out of the ceiling with one blow.

Bucky paused, chest heaving, a sheen of sweat covering his body. His reflection in the gym's mirrored walls showed the anguish and exhaustion on his face. He spent more and more time in the training room as sleep continued to evade him. Despite himself, he couldn’t help but read more of the same comments that began this spiral in the first place. Subjecting himself to them felt like a fair punishment for everything he’d done, so he continued to scroll, hoping that facing the ugliness would somehow atone for his past. Instead, he found his guilt growing alongside the chasm between him and Gianna. 

The truth was, the weight of his past had woven itself into the fabric of his identity. He doubted if he could ever truly be what Gianna needed. He’d thrown himself into missions, avoiding time with her. When he looked at her face, saw her beautiful, earnest eyes…his heart cracked. He couldn’t stand to be with her and think of losing her. He couldn’t stand to be with her and stomach how much better she deserved. So he stayed away. 

He told himself she didn’t notice him sneaking out of bed every night after midnight, and maybe she didn’t at first. But as the weeks crept by, she felt him pulling away. When he came home between missions, he wasn’t fully there. She’d even asked Steve if something had triggered his PTSD, sending him back into a dark place. No matter what she tried, she couldn’t pull him back. Even when she initiated sex, he never seemed to be in the mood. She was at a loss. 

Their reality that had once been passionate, sweaty, tangled in the sheets had given way to a new reality. One where she pretended she didn’t hear him leave their room to go to the gym every night. One where he convinced himself his absence was better for her. One where neither of them felt happy. 

As he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, a pang of realization hit him in the gut. 

I have to let her go. For her own good.

The gym, usually a place of solace, now echoed with the tortuous thoughts that crowded Bucky's mind. He stood there, caught between the pull of love and the push of self-doubt, wondering if sacrificing his happiness might be the only way to ensure hers.

---

End of February, The Next Day

The air in the common room hung heavy with tension, a storm brewing in the otherwise quiet evening at the Avengers Compound. The team exchanged uneasy glances, as the thin door to Gianna’s bedroom did little to mask what was happening behind it. Natasha shot Steve a concerned look, her instincts honed from years of reading between the lines. 

Gianna and Bucky stood on opposite ends of her room, the echoes of their argument reverberating through the walls.

"Why can't you just talk to me? Do you know how much it hurts that you're making this decision without even discussing it with me, without giving me a chance to change it?" Gianna's voice quivered with the rawness of her emotions. “I have to feel you pulling away for weeks, beg you to talk to me, and now…this?”

"I thought it would be easier this way," Bucky admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

Gianna shook her head, tears streaming down her face. "Nothing worth having is easy, Bucky. Love isn't easy. But you don't just throw it away because it's hard."

“I’m not throwing it away because it’s hard, Gianna. I’m giving it up because you’re better off without me, I -”

"What do you mean I'm better off without you?!" Gianna's voice rose, a crescendo of hurt and disbelief. Her eyes, usually filled with warmth, were now ablaze with anger. “You don't get to decide what I deserve, Bucky! All I did was try to love you the best way I possibly could, and this is how you repay me? By pushing me away? By dumping me?”

Bucky's expression was a mixture of regret and resolve. "I can't give you what you deserve, Gianna. You deserve a life without the shadows of my past."

“Bullshit,” Her laughter was bitter. "That’s a bullshit excuse and you know it.” 

She crossed the room and jabbed a finger into his chest as angry tears filled her eyes. “I know your past, all of it. You sat there in my hotel room and you decided to trust me with it. Not once have I judged you, not once have I used it against you, not once have I given you any reason to regret trusting me. So don’t you dare stand here and tell me I deserve better than your past when I saw all of it and decided for myself that it changed nothing.” 

His jaw clenched, the weight of his decision etched into the lines of his face. "It’s not about that, Gianna. I don’t regret telling you anything, but you deserve to be with someone without a past you have to overlook -”

“I don’t overlook your past, Bucky!” She cried. “I don’t love you because I can ignore everything you did, or in spite of who you are -- I love you because of who you are! Everything you’ve overcome, how strong and kind and good you are. I don’t want someone who has a perfect past, I want someone who knows how ugly the world is and chooses to be good anyways. I want you.” Her voice broke at the end as her rage gave way to heartbreak. 

“I would never be able to live with myself if I kept you from everything you deserve,” He spoke softly.

“You don’t get to decide what I deserve!” She interrupted, staring up at him with angry tears streaking down her face. 

 “You deserve a man who doesn’t get called a murderer when he walks down the street.” Bucky hissed. “Your kids deserve a father that hasn’t committed fucking war crimes. Hell, you deserve someone who can give you a family at all, because who the hell knows if I even can!” 

“That’s not fair,” She protested. “I never asked for those things from you.” 

“You shouldn’t have to ask for a good life, Gianna.” His eyes softened as he ran his fingertips down the back of her arm, a gesture that used to make her heart clench now shattered it even further. “That’s why I’m letting you go find it.” 

She wrenched free of his grasp and stormed out of the room, throwing the door open. The team looked up, caught in the crossfire of a relationship unraveling, unsure if they should acknowledge or intervene at all. Gianna ignored the audience as she whirled to face Bucky who’d followed her out of the room. 

“Do you know where I was before I met you?” Her eyes narrowed. “I was alone. Completely and utterly alone. The only people who cared if I woke up in the morning were the people who worked for me. I would go weeks without anyone asking how I really was. I was a spectacle, a circus act. I was a commodity.” She paused to take a shaky breath. “So this ‘better life’ you’re so nobly sending me back to? It doesn’t fucking exist.”

Gianna stepped further into the living room, finally acknowledging the group. “And do you know the worst part?” She gave that cold, foreign laugh again before turning back to Bucky. “You already knew all of that. You knew because I trusted you and I told you. Yet here you are anyways, sending me right back into the life I loved you for saving me from.” 

There was no sound in the room except for Gianna’s ragged breathing. The look of pure anguish on Bucky’s face was enough to break even the coldest heart. No one dared intervene, not when so much hung in the balance between them. 

“I spent months crying myself to sleep before you came along.” Gianna spoke softly, reigning in her emotions. “But what difference does it make now, considering for the past two weeks you haven’t even cared to stay in bed long enough to know that I’m right back to my old ways.” 

Her eerily calm delivery struck the final blow. Bucky’s face crumpled as he looked at the ground. Guilt rose up inside him. For weeks, he’d been avoiding her, sneaking out of their room, doing anything he could to deal with his own shit. Not once did he think of what that was doing to her. In trying to protect her, he’d been slowly breaking her heart anyways.

Gianna turned her back on Bucky, his broken expression still locked on the ground. 

“Can someone take me back to New York, please?” She spoke softly but firmly, eyes scanning the pained faces of her friends. Her fists clenched at her sides.

The group shifted nervously on the couch, unsure what to do. The recent tension between the couple hadn’t exactly gone unnoticed, but this explosion had caught them all by surprise. No one wanted to move, to acknowledge that this was real. To take Gianna back to the city would be to cement both of their broken hearts. 

“Nat?” Gianna’s lower lip quivered. “Please?” 

The redhead stilled beside Steve. His hand squeezed hers in reassurance that everything would be okay. It had to be okay. 

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.” Nat’s voice was soft, kind as she stood, weaving through the group. “Do you want to grab your stuff?” 

“No.” She didn’t look behind her as she turned to leave the room. “There’s nothing here I need anymore.” 

And with that, she walked away, leaving Bucky standing in the ruins of a love he was convinced he had to sacrifice.

---

Present Day, Mid-March, New York

Gianna's eyes stung with tears that wouldn’t come. For once in her life, she had no tears left to cry. 

The phone continued to vibrate, a cruel reminder of the messages she couldn't bring herself to read. The truth she didn’t want to acknowledge. 

Bucky Barnes had left her. She was alone. 

This time, no one was coming to save her. 

#james bucky barnes #avengers #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x oc #bucky fanfic #bucky fluff #winter soldier #sebastian stan #winter soldier fluff #winter solider x reader

[hotforharrysheart]

The Pink Room: Part 2

The light in the bathroom flickered from the glow of candles the scent of coconut and vanilla swarming you in the tub. Harry had pulled a small table in next to the tub where two partially filled glasses of dark, rich, red sparkling wine sat reflecting the flames. In the candlelight the bubbles looked like little round glitter globes twinkling like stars in the sky. You could hear them popping softly along with the occasional trickle and whish of the bathwater around your intertwined legs. You’d pulled your hair up in a high bun, but wisps had fallen wetly sticking to your neck as you leaned back against his chest. You feel deliciously well-worn, truly, and properly fucked from Harry’s introduction to the new room he’d had renovated here at the pink cottage; your place, no, our place, where there were no screaming fans, no podcasts to be recorded, just plenty of privacy and the priceless perfection of living in a bubble of warmth and togetherness. God forbid anyone who attempts to break that bubble. You’d realized just how invasive people, even friends from long ago, could be over the last 24 hours and Harry had known how much you needed the comfort of some time here. He’d also known how much you needed to feel his love and protection, at least as much as he could offer. You released a deep sigh, closing your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the water. However luxurious you surroundings, your deepest satisfaction came from being wrapped up in his long arms.

Hearing your sigh he tightens his arms, hand splayed below your breasts. "Y’Ok?" He whispers next to your ear.

You take a sip of wine while your free hand intertwines with his on your tummy. “Mmmm…so good. I just…being close to you…your arms wrapped around me just soothes me. You’re like human Xanax and I’m utterly addicted,” you say, leaning your head back and kissing down his neck.

He smiles placing both yours and his glasses back on the table and wraps his arms around your shoulders tight. “I feel the same way. It’s…never had this befo’…no’ sure I ever wanted it ‘til now.”

You raise your foot outta the water and curl your toes over the edge of the tub. He looks at your shiny wet leg and asks, “How’re ya legs. Ya sore at all? Were stretched open for a good while.”

You angle your head back again, feeling the scruff on his face against your cheek. “I’m ok. Might feel it in the morning, but,” you rest your lips below his earlobe and continue with a whispered, “I’m fine right now, perfect actually.”

Turning his head toward you, he kisses your lips softly. “Good.” He clears his throat. “So d’ya really like the room?”

“Harry, its beautiful and private and…sexy,” you answer with a shy smile.

He smiles proudly, “Well, ’s ours ta fill wi’ whatever we wanna fill it wi’. D’ya have any ideas about wha’ else ya’d like to see in there?”

"Hmmm...not sure? I mean...I…, those tricky ankle cuffs were a surprise, are they attached to the bed?" You ask quietly.

"Yeah, there's a couple at the bottom an' the top tucked away." He says a matter-of-factly. “D'ya see there's a leather covered bar across the headboard and the footboard so we have something to hold on to for balance or leverage," he says. "Course I can tie ya there too if I wan'" he whispers kissing the shell of your ear. "D'ya like being restrained?"

"More than I care to admit," you whisper shyly.

He smirks against your ear and tightens his arms around you, your breasts lying over his forearm. "But see, tha's wha' I'm talkin' 'bout. Wan' ya to admit it. Wan’ ya to admit everything. Don' hold back on me. This is our place to play."

You run your wet hand back and forth across his arm as he sways gently from side to side. "Ya screamed for me earlier...I liked it. I liked it a lot." He confesses kissing your temple. “Made me feel like a fuckin’ king.”

You giggle, “Yeah, well, I was feelin’ pretty amazin’ myself at the time.”

You shift slightly in the water feeling the bubbles popping on your rigid nipples causing your to shiver. “Harry, do you think we can look at some stuff on-line and see what we might like to add?"

"Sure thin', love. Can order somethin’ if ya like.” He says into the room while he takes another drink of wine and returns his glass to it’s resting spot.

"How will we order stuff for here, I mean, it's not like we can have it shipped here, there's no one here to receive it?" You think aloud.

"Well,” he shifts sitting up a little straighter, “wanna talk to ya 'bout that. We can have things shipped to Ron and Helen." he says casually.

You quickly sit up and turn to look at him brows furrowed, "No way! We couldn't have them accept a delivery like that!" You whisper-shout incredulously.

He takes your cheeks in his hands, "Don't be mad, yeah?"

"Mad about what, Harry?" You say eyes as big as saucers, brows still furrowed.

"Well, Ron's the caretaker of the house, righ’?” You shake your head. “Needed someone ta oversee the renovation, an', so he made sure everythin' was done the way I wanted and expected it ta be done.”

You mouth drops. "You mean he knows we have a fuck pad in our closet!"

He actually laughs out loud at that, out loud...he laughs.

"Harold Edward Styles! What the...! Oh My God, I could die!" You screech slapping your hands over your face. "Does Helen....I mean... she doesn't...?" You stammer shaking your head.

He just gives you a squeamish look and nods his head.

You flip around in the tub on your tummy between his legs your feet crossed at the lip of the tub and bury your face in your hands on his chest. “I cannot believe those sweet people know we have a room with a bed that has restraints attached to it.”

“Baby, I couldn’ do this wi’out them. Don’ be embarrassed. They’re actually very cool an’ I tell ya, they dinna even flinch when I told them wha’ I had planned. It was almost like they knew…like ever since ya brought up their dining room table. Everythin’ in there was custom made by the both of them.” He emphasizes proud at their handiwork.

Still buried in his chest, you muffle, “They don’ think we’re perverts?”

He laughs his little laugh and kisses the top of your head. “I mean maybe, yeah but…they’re cool abou’ it.”

You finally raise your head and he drags his fingers down your cheek. “They get us. I think they did from the mo’ we met.”

You shake your head.

“Fuck pad’, really babe?" He chuckles, "can' even believe ya called it tha'.”

You roll your eyes and smack your hand on his chest and he throws his head back laughing.

He pulls you up so your face to face. “Ya no’ mad are ya?” He asks, pouting, bottom lip sticking out.

"I mean...no, not mad, shocked and slightly embarassed, yeah, kinda." You whisper, "but I guess H, if we’re gonna trust them with our special little bubble world, they might-as-well, know what's here."

He smiles, "Yeah, exactly, an’, babe, ya see how in love they are, no? 'S not like they've never had sex, they know it feels good an’ it's part of bein' in love."

Your eyebrows raise and your mouth opens. “Ohhhh…I wonder what kind of sex they used to have,” you say with a giggle.

He laughs again. “Ya mean ‘have’, they prolly still get their freak on, I mean, we will when we’re their age.” He says, matter of fact ky.

You shiver a full body shiver at his reference to being together at that age. You smile fingering his cross pendant.

He carries on without notice. “Ya can’ ever tell. Maybe they were wild 44 years ago. Who knows wha’ kinda furniture Ron built fo’ them…” he says, waggling his eyebrows and chuckling.

You giggle. “Ok, I don’t want to know that.”

“It’s ironic that I hafta trust s’many people with my life when my life itself makes it hard ta find good people ta trust.” He murmurs looking down at your fingers on his necklace.

You can’t help but look up into his eyes. They convey the uncomfortable aspect of his talent and notoriety, but he plants a false smile on his face immediately, like he has no right to feel even the least bit of regret. You reach up and smooth out his wrinkled forehead with your thumb and place a soft kiss to his lips.

He leans back, runs his wet palm down his face and shakes his head like he’s shrugging off a bad feeling then places a soft kiss to your lips. “Yanno, I don’ care…I jus’ wanna make ya feel good (kiss) Wanna make ya scream (kiss) an’ writhe because of me (kiss).” He smiles against your lips. “God, jus’ wanna make ya cum. Fuckin’ love makin’ ya cum…’s fuckin’ sexy.” He says, kissing you again.

“Yeah, well, can I tell you a secret, mister?” You say looking up through your lashes.

“’Course, can tell me anythin’,” he rasps in his deep, slow voice.

“I like watching you cum too,” you murmur into his chest blushing. “It’s a powerful thing to see and hear, H. And I really like knowing I can take you there. Makes me feel very sexy.”

He slides his hand down your back, “Ya are sexy…very, very sexy.” His hands continue down to your bum and taps lightly and you gulp down a moan. “Look at me, ya like tha’ too doncha?”

You blush again furiously and then nod once.

He coaxes on a whisper, “Nah, don’ hav’ ta hide it, sweetheart…’s ok”

You nod your head again and meet his eyes, “yeah, it feels good when you spank me, it feels like…like you want me,” you shake your head, “I mean I know that doesn’t make sense..”

"Actually, ta me,” he shakes your bum slightly to get your attention back to his face, “it makes complete sense, ya feel like ya can trust ya body to me, an’ that feelin’ ‘s amazin’." He says brushing your hair behind your ear with his fingertip.

You turn your head to kiss his palm. “Mmmm…we should get outta here before we permanently prune," you say looking at his fingers. “As much as I love being in here with you all wet and slick...

"Stop talkin’, babe, or we won't make it outta here before I've fucked ya again," he tweaks your nose. "Maybe later, yeah? I'm getting cold and it's warm in the bedroom." you say with a shiver. You’re just about to move when his tummy growls loudly. "Ha! And it sounds like you need somethin' to eat,” you giggle drumming his tummy with your hands.

"Can think of somethin' I'd like ta eat..." he rasps with a thick accent and a salacious grin.

You get out and dry each other off and he hangs the towels up to dry. "Grab that basket of fruit and I'll get my laptop, he says turning to leave the bathroom. He stops and turns around looking at you.

"What?" You ask with surprised eyes.

"Just..." he walks over and bends you backwards for a passionate kiss. "Love you." He taps your bum and walks into the bedroom to fetch his backpack where his laptop is.

You move to your regular bedroom with the basket and two bottles of water and climb into the beautiful bed with the tied curtains and pull the warm duvet over you. Harry returns, places the laptop on the bed and turns up the temperature on the gas fireplace. The flames cracke to life.

“Ohhh…thank you. That feels better already. I’d be warmer but someone won’t let me wear clothes in here,” you say tongue in cheek.

He chuckles and leans on the bed to kiss you. “Too sexy ta wear clothes,” he says, and crawls into bed next to you, placing the laptop on his lap on top of the duvet. He taps the keys and you grab a muffin out of the basket and pull a piece off for him to eat. “I found this website…think it’ll give us some ideas.”

You scoot closer and take a bite of muffin, giving him another one as well. He goes to the section he wants to review, and you see the product page fill up with all kinds of things. Your eyes go wide and brows go up as you look at the page. You take another bite of muffin to distract him from the flush of your skin. He notices anyway, of course. He opens his mouth waiting for you to place a bite of muffin on his tongue.

You gulp and stare at his tongue just a second longer than necessary and place a bit there.

He chews his muffin slowly, then moves his mouth close to your ear, “Ya obviously saw somethin’ ya liked. Tell me what it is,” he breathes.

You break off another piece of muffin for him and he eats it from your fingers…slowly. You look at him and smile shyly. “Ummm…the swing, you say and briefly close your eyes. “I…ummm…I saw us using that in my mind.”

He smirks. “Ron would hafta install tha’. Y’ok wi’ tha’?”

“I mean….I may never be able to look him in the eye again but it’d be worth it if you fucked me in that swing,” you say with a giggle.

His eyebrow quirks. “My sweet, dirty girl. Comes in hot pink too.”

“Can we look at it again?” You ask.

“Sure,” he says and opens the product description.

You lean in to have a closer look and Harry doesn’t even notice the screen, he’s too busy smiling and watching you look at each picture and read every word of the description. He’s proud to see you embracing her sexuality with a sense of adventure.

“Look,” you say pointing to the picture, “it has a brace where my knees would go and you’d just swing me back and forth on it.”

“Sounds wonderful to me,” he says still staring at you.

He finally looks down and puts it in the cart, selecting the pink color and goes back to scrolling through. “Babe, wha’ about a camera and telly in there?”

You’re peeling a banana for him. “I’m ok with that.”

You hold the banana up to his mouth, he pops his tongue out and then takes it as far back in his throat as he can. “Jesus H,” you say as he pulls back and takes a regular size bite. He smirks as he chews his banana. He keeps scrolling and gets to a selection of vibrators, dildos and butt plugs. He clears his throat.

You look at the section he’s on small butt plugs and then at him. “For me or for you?” You ask, taking a bite of banana.

“Well…uh both of us, I guess,” he says with a smirk.

You suck your lips in your mouth and hold the last bite of banana out to him. “I..I…I’ve never used one but I’m…curious.”

He nods, “ok,” he breathes out with a puff.

You’ve reached your arousal limit, you’re not sure how much longer you can look at this site. You’re wet and you can tell by his shifting to uncross his legs, he’s hard under that computer.

You place the food basket on your bedside table. Then turn around and see Harry intently looking at something on the laptop screen. You watch his expression as he's clicking around looking at cameras, something he’s always been interested in. You slowly take the laptop from his lap, close the lid and make a big show of leaning across him, tits raking his chest, to set it on his bedside table. He keeps his hands midair where he was typing and smirks at you.

"Whatcha doin' babe?" He questions eyeing your face.

"It's time to put the computer away," you say biting your bottom lip.

"Yeah?" He asks quirking his eyebrow. You nod your head up and down while crawling over his thighs to straddle his lap.

"Oops, you have muffin crumbs on your chest," you say leaning down and licking along the cross pendant and the hairs in the middle of his chest. Leaning back you say, "Tsk, missed one, I'll get it," you lean over and lick closer to his nipple.

"Mmm.." he groans deep in his chest.

You run your tongue up his pec, over his collarbone, up his neck and to his ear. Laving his earlobe you breath into his ear and kiss the place just below his hairline. He runs his hands up the sides of your thighs to your bum and then scrapes his painted nails up your back.

You giggle in his ear, "Tickles, but in a good way."

"So does tha’," he mutters shrugging his shoulder up over his ear. "Somethin' on ya mind, love?" He asks with a smug smile.

"Oh yeah, there's something on my mind," you say saucily.

"Yeah, mmm…whatcha thinkin'?" He asks in a sing-song voice.

"Couple of things, and one big thing," you tease stroking your hand down to his cock.

"Oh, really? Care to share?" He says playing this game with you.

You cock your head and pout your lips to one side, "Hmmm? You sure you wanna hear?" You ask with a mysteriously thoughtful expression. His breathing as picked up slightly and he's swallowing. "Absolutely."

“Actually I was thinking about getting my mouth on your cock, but the big thing I can't seem to get off my mind is..." you lean back up to his ear, "Fucking. Can't stop thinkin’ about… fucking. Think we can do something about that, honey?" You say running your finger up from his cock to his nipple and circling it.

He pulls you flush to him by your bum. “Can’ stop thinkin’ abou’ fuckin’, hmmm?”

You shake your head no. “H, I’m so wet for you. Can’t get enough of you. Ever.”

He gulps. “Baby, can’ get enough of ya either. How d’ya wan’ me ta fuck ya?”

“Mmmm…” you raise yourself, so your feet are flat on the bed, knees bent, bum hovering over his pelvis. His hands are gripping your hips hard helping you maintain the squat over him. You use your feet to pull back on him. “Put yourself in. Wanna feel every inch of you inside me.”

“Fuck,” he says, as he uses his hand to guide his cock to your entrance.

You gasp as you lower and he slides into you. His hands pull you down just a bit further on his cock and you both groan.

“Kiss me,” he pants out. You slant your lips over his. The only sound in the room is the sound of your lips smacking. Your tongue runs across his lips and then you gasp again as he opens his mouth, and you tangle your tongue with his. His hands are everywhere. Down your back, on your hips, up to your breasts, circling your nipples. You move your feet and raise yourself on his cock and start a slow rhythm, in and out, in and out. Every drop back down tickles your clit on his pubic hair and it doesn’t take long before you’re panting against his lips.

“Jesus fuck…can feel ya clenchin’ on me,” he mutters through gritted teeth looking down where his cock is disappearing in your cunt.

His thumbs rub your nipples, causing them to harden even more and then his fingers pinch them.

“Ahhhh…” you cry out and clench down hard. “Harry, I’m close…so close…gonna cum, gonna cum!”

He’s panting against your mouth, lips wet and red, curl hanging down his forehead. “Fuck, do it, babe, cum fo’ me an’ then I’ll make ya cum again.”

You move a little faster and then your cumming for him, head thrown back, mouth slack you cry out his name. You’re contracting hard around him. He latches his mouth to your nipple and moves you along his cock to prolong your release.

You grab his neck and fall forward breathing rapidly against his neck.

"I wan' another, love, I need another from ya." He’s flexing his hips like he's a man on fire. Panting you kiss his shoulder. "Mmm, Hahhh… I'm still hangin' there, Harry...you feel that?" Your voice is high pitched as he tightens his arms around you.

"Fuck ya so tight around me right now!" He's still hard as a rock. "Lay back for me baby," he says leaning forward to lay you down on your back gently. He turns you over on your tummy, and jams a pillow under your pelvis propping your bum in the air. "Can ya take my weight on ya again?" he checks.

"Yes, please..." you whimper as he drapes his body over your back his pelvis aligned with your bum. He strokes his hands up your arms and threads his fingers over the top of yours burying his nose in you neck just below your ear. He slots his legs between yours and spread his knees wide, the position spreading your knees wide as well. You arch your back down tilting your hips back making your pussy more accessible. He groans, lines up his cock and tries to push in.

"Hahhhh," you moan with an open mouth.

"Babe, ya gonna have ta relax and lemme in. Ya clamped down hard I can' get in." He tries again and manages to get the head in, but your contracted tight. "God damn, feels so tight, love."

“Harry, it’s too much…” you sob out forehead digging into the duvet, hands gripping his fingers and the duvet. He pulls back and rakes his painted fingernails down one arm with his right hand.

He feels your hips lax a bit. He gets in your ear, "Feel good, hmm? Babe, I love ya an' wanna fuck ya till we both cum, but ya gon' halfta lemme in." he soothes. He continues to run his fingernails along your arm, cooing in your ear and little by little he's rocking his pelvis, pushing inside you a little bit more at time. "Feel so good, love, s’wet and warm. Is your clit touching the bed? Bet its pokin' outta your swollen ‘lil lips an' draggin' across the duvet. Ya gettin’ our bed wet, hmm?” He kisses the shell of your ear. “Gon' lemme in all the way?" He pushes and the rest of his cock pops past that contracted muscle inside you and you both groan like wounded animals. "'M gonna stay still just like this and I want ya to cum again., I'll talk yeh through it."

You nod and whimper.

"Can ya give me a color, please?"

You groan out, "Green"

"Good job, good girl,” he says with a pleased smile. “Can ya clench on me, please." he asks nicely and you contract your inner muscles.

“Mmmm, Harry…” you say moaning.

"Do it again." He demands, and so you do. "Keep doin' tha’ over and over, just clench down on me again an’ again an' let's see if we can cum tha’ way. Go on, sweetheart, do it."

You begin to contract your muscles on his cock over and over repeatedly. You roll your head until you’re face down in the duvet. “Hahh, Hahh…feels so good, H! So deep…”

“’M hittin’ our spot, hmm? Made me s’hard…,” he says biting his bottom lip.

You turn your head back to the side and take a deep breath and contract hard on him. “Jesus, Harry!” Before you know it, that feeling has become so intense you just can't stop. You’re breathing like you've run a marathon.

"Fuck, love, come on...I'm not gonna last much longer." He slips one hand under your pelvis finds your clit, runs his fingers on either side of it and pinches. You’re flying and he can’t take anymore. He rears back and thrusts forward hard and deep.

You pull your knees up on either side opening yourself wide and arch your back, tummy still on the bed. You look like a cat stretched out on the bed with your arms stretched out in front of you

Harry groans and pulls his knees up as he fucks into you. He raises up on his hands to make room for your pelvis to angle your pussy to him. This position puts him deep to the point he’s bottoming out deep. He grunts and thrusts deep, hips slapping your bum. He splays his hands on your waist and lower back and picks up a punishing pace. “Love fuckin’ ya so much,” he says on a hard thrust.

“Ungh…Ungh… please don’t stop…,” you plead, “I…mmm, want your cum.”

“I can feel…fuck, baby…,” he plunges deep and pushes back raising up on his knees. “’M gonna cum!” He slaps his hand down hard on your right asscheek about to lose his balance, but the unintended effect is more than either of you expected.

“Harry! Do that again!” you screech.

He slaps down on your ass and stills deep roaring head thrown back with a tightly clenched jaw, and eyes squeezed shut tightly. “Errrahhhhhh!” he groans.

You feel his cock pulsing his cum inside you. It’s warm and squeezing out around the edges. You can feel your mixed warm cream roll down to your clit and drip onto the duvet. It’s the most erotic feeling you can every recall. He pulls out and you squeeze your thighs together and fall over to your side breathing hard; Harry falls flat in your place breathing equally as fast.

“Oh. My. God. Harry.” You say in-between breaths. “That was so….,” you shake your head trying to find the word.

“Fucking hot?” he says muffled by the duvet in his face.

“Umm…yeah,” you say.

He smiles and holds up his hand waiting for a high-five; you reach up and slap his hand and he grabs it after pulling it to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Tha’, babe, ‘sa hellva teamwork job.”

You roll your face into the duvet giggling. “Yeah, H, it was.”

He reaches over his head and pulls up a folded blanket spreading it over you both as you lay upside down on the bed, “C’mere, wanna hold ya,” he says pulling at your waist.

You roll over and settle into a spooning position, your back to his front and tuck the blanket under your chin wiggling in.

“Ya warm ‘nough?” he asks tucking in the blanket around your midsection.

“Yes, I’m good,” you say with a contented sigh.

Arm slung over your ribs, leg tucked between yours, Harry settles and in a matter of minutes his breathing is steady and he’s lightly snoring. You feel your eyes droop as his breathing and heartbeat lull you to drift as well. You place your hand over his on your tummy and move it up to your chest between your breasts then bending your head to kiss the inside of his palm. “I love you Harry…” you whisper into his fingers knowing you won’t get a response.

A few minutes later you hear him, rasp, “Love you too, baby,” and he kisses the back of your head.

Then you drift off into a very well-deserved sleep.

#the pink room part 2 #harry smut #harry styles smut #original content

[kayssweetdreams]

Camp WonderDream: Temple Trouble Part 3

Balan clapped his hands "Alright, Blindfolds on, Mirrors up, NO ONE look at that idol under no circumstances." Balan said, bringing out his own sparkly blindfold. Leo brought his bandana down over his eyes while Cuphead Mugman and Chalice spun their heads backwards to not see in front of them. "Um...Mr Balan? Are you sure that the idol is even in here?" Yinu asked, bringing her rose patterned blindfold up to her eyes. Balan nodded "I'm positive, I have been studying this map for a few days, I know that the hall of Promise is here. And in it is the Idol." He said.

After everyone had prepared themselves, Balan led them forward. "Alright everyone...stay together, don't do anything crazy..." He said, leading them to a large door. "You seek the future...Timeless Youth...and Glittering Gold...it is yours..." a deep voice boomed and the doors in front of them opened. "Let's go everyone." Balan said, creating a rope for everyone to hang on to to stick together. The sounds of coins clinking together, water dripping and stars twinkling filled the campers ears, colors could be seen peeking through the blindfolds as they ventured to one of the rooms.

Balan sensed that they were getting closer to the treasure room, and urged the kids to follow him "This way children, we're almost there!" He said, as they walked into another room. Golden Light leaked through the blindfolds and Balan smiled, they have reached the treasure room. He removed his blindfold and the shimmer of golden coins, goblets, pearls and treasure nearly blinded him.

Balan waited until all of the kids and Counselors made it in before he told them "Alright! We're past the idol! It's time to take off the blindfolds." The gasps of Wonder flooded out of the kids and Counselors alike. Cuphead didn't waste any time "MONEY!!!" He yelled, diving into the gold like it was water. The other children and Counselors followed him quickly after. The children grabbed as much gold and jewels as they could "Mama is gonna love this!" Yinu cheered, grabbing a bunch of necklaces while Yuri picked up a bunch of bug shaped golden treasures.

Balan watched as Saltbaker, Mayday and Zuke grabbed their own fill of treasures "I'm gonna get a bigger bakery!!" Saltbaker cheered, stuffing the gold into his top while Zuke filld a bunch of music trunks with gold "May! We're finally gonna get our own place! Maybe we can get a penthouse or something!" Zuke said, a few golden cuffs sticking to his dreads

However, among the cheering kids, Leo had found a small opening to another room. He grabbed his blindfold just in case there was another idol and slipped inside. The light got dimmer, and more purple as he could see what looked to be moons, sun's, and a skylight. When he made it inside, he found a large observatory with a million stars twinkling in the distance. "Whoa..." Leo said in awe two stars floated down from the skylight and directly in front of Leo's eyes, before popping like fireworks and throwing him against the wall.

"Ow...What was that?!" He asked, closing his eyes to try and get whatever it was that popped in his eyes out. Suddenly, on the backside of his eyelids, He saw what looked to be Saltbaker getting a bottle and filling it with water from a fountain surrounded by blooming flowers and vines, and pictures of elderly people drinking the water and becoming young again. He opened his eyes, and saw himself back in the observatory, as if it didn't happen yet.

Leo quickly slipped back into the golden treasure chamber, only to overheat a conversation with Saltbaker "It's just a little bit. I promise, just ONE bottle." He bargained. Balan sighed "Alright. ONE bottle." He warned, giving the salt shaker a crystalline bottle "There should be a door that leads to the fountain of youth over there." He said.

Saltbaker nodded as Leo's mouth dropped, if he was right, Saltbaker was holding that bottle in that strange vision he saw when he closed his eyes. It couldn't be...could it? Could he really? Have...

"Did I...just see the future?!"

This is a story inspired by @julili 's VERY adorable camp pic! I hope you enjoy AND go check out her work!

#Balan Wonderworld #Balan #Leo Craig #Yuri Brand #Yinu #Mayday #Zuke #Cuphead #Mugman #Mrs Chalice #Chef Saltbaker

[jangofctts]

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)    

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT  

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace. 

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy. 

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.    

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.   

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.” 

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.       

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it. 

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.     

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…  

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.” 

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.  

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.” 

You smile. “Lovely.” 

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like  a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.  

                                        -=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality. 

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.     

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.” 

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—  

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home. 

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.  

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare. 

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement. 

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.” 

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors. 

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.” 

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.        

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.  

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—   

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.  

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot. 

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away. 

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle. 

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder. 

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.   

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.” 

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.     

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.” 

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat. 

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.      

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—        

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder. 

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind. 

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile. 

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.  

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll. 

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit. 

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak. 

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement. 

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses. 

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short. 

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”  

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more. 

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains. 

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.         

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his  calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself. 

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist.  Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes. 

Fuck yeah.    

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock. 

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh. 

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—    

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge. 

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.     

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.   

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.” 

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.   

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.   

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation. 

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.” 

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from  your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.   

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark. 

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now. 

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.      

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.  

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?   

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs. 

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question. 

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command. 

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.   

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.    

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff. 

Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.    

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight. 

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you. 

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.    

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.        

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.  

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“ 

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.” 

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs. 

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.  

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days. 

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.          

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs. 

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much. 

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”      

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.” 

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.       

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.   

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.    

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat. 

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.” 

There we go. 

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes. 

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness. 

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile. 

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep. 

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sorry if I missed you AH!!!!

#well yall im #bucket fucker supreme right here I guess #enJOY #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba fett #din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #boba fett x reader x din djarin #din djarin x reader x boba fett #star wars fanfiction #my writing

[rukunas]

THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG WITH TUMBLR IT KEEPS DELETING THINGS FROM MY INBOX !! luckily i’m screenshotting things now

also anon, i feel u sm. i hope this helps <3 gonna make this a sfw

“Bad day?”

“Bad day.”

You practically belly flop on the couch, pained by the aches in your back and the mental exhaustion of work. Gojou’s in the kitchen, experimenting on different mochi flavors (he forced you to try his Taro mochi the other day— let’s just say that Gojou’s skills are limitless everywhere but the kitchen).

The steady sound of the blender is strangely calming, urging you to shut your eyes and sink further into the cushions.

“Hey.” Gojou stands above you, gently shaking your shoulder. Opening one eye, you see that he’s wearing the Kiss the Chef apron he bought because you laughed when he picked it up at the store. “Now you’ll have to kiss me every time I wear it,” he teased when he tossed it in the shopping cart.

Except you don’t feel like kissing him right now. You feel tired, like the life inside you was seeping out of your bones.

Gojou can tell— his eyebrow was creased ever since you walked into your shared apartment without giving him a kiss. He knows you don’t want him to push, but he wants to do whatever he can to make you feel happy. He picks up a smile, nudging your shoulder to get you up.

“Try this.” He thrusts a soft doughy ball in your face. “Your favorite.”

You throw him a fake glare, pretending to be annoyed at him for breaking your sulk, but you are terribly intrigued. Leaning forward, you bite into the mochi, letting the flavors explode on your tongue, the sticky, sweet substance clinging to your lips.

“Really good, Toru.” You’re being genuine, the delicious mochi being the one thing today to put you in a decent mood. “You’ve gotten good at this.” Yet, when you move to take another bite, Gojou pulls his hand back.

“Uh, uh, uh.” He scolds you like a teacher addressing a student— probably from experience. “You have to eat dinner first, darling.”

You blink at him, unamused, with your hand out. “Give me the stupid mochi, Satoru.”

He snickers, blue eyes twinkling. “Catch me, then.” A second later, he’s gone, mochi gone with him.

“Satoru!” You yell, and you hear him laughing upstairs. Pulling yourself off of the sofa, you run, taking two steps at a time to reach him. He’s standing at the front of your bedroom, the plate of mochi in his hand as he thrusts one in his mouth. When he sees you, he blinks before disappearing again.

“Fuck off!” You giggle now, rushing towards the guest bedroom after catching a flash of his white hair. This time, you make it a foot away from him before he disappears again.

“You gotta be faster than that, Y/N!” He taunts, his voice echoing from who knows where.

Sighing, you try to walk towards his voice before an idea pops in your head— There must be more mochi in the kitchen. Of course.

The dash to the kitchen is your new goal. You can hear Gojou behind you shout “Wrong way!”— luckily he won’t catch onto your plan until it is too late.

There, on the kitchen counter. A plate of nice, dusted mochi, awaiting to be eaten. Just a few steps away—

Gojou appears, right between you and the counter.

“No!” You shout, pounding his chest playfully as you try to move around him, but he won’t budge.

Gojou points to his apron. “Ehem. Darling, I think you’re forgetting something.”

“You’re insufferable.” Tugging at the cloth, you pull him towards you, tilting your chin up. He meets you halfway, leaning down until his lips press against yours, the mochi slightly sticking them together, but you don’t mind at all, not when he tastes so sweet.

When he pulls back, his eyes are glittering, ocean blue waves that makes you feel like you’re drowning. Your heart swells— he’s the only one who lets you see his eyes all the time. When you brought it up one time, asking him why, he said: “You’re the only one who deserves to see them all the time.” You assumed he was joking, but when he looks at you like his, as if you’re the most precious thing in the world, you know that he was telling the truth.

Gojou sees your gears working, not sure what you’re thinking, but he sees the corners of your eyes crinkle, your lip quirking up into its familiar smile. Bingo.

“I guess you’ve earned it,” he sighs, handing you the plate. Greedily, you pluck three of them, shoving one in your mouth.

Gojou turns you so that he can hug you from behind as you chomp away. He gently swings the two of you in silence, as if dancing in music that only the two of you can hear. “Bath? Dinner? Movie? What do you want, sweetheart?” He whispers into your hair.

“I love you, y’know that?” You smile, reaching for his hand. “I just want you. Is that okay?”

He kisses the crown of your head. “Always.”

Turning back around, you see Gojou with a crooked smile. “As long as you kiss the chef again.”

You spot a bowl of leftover flour still on the counter. You take a handful and toss it at him.

Gojou keeps his infinity off around you, so the white plume hits him directly, his face and clothes as white as his hair. His shock keeps him frozen on the spot, whereas you giggle and run up the steps.

“You better catch me, then!”

this was a BAD fluff attempt but i hope it was cute

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#as you can tell i am craving mochi rn #sigh gojou please handfeed me mochi #rue’s 🐍 anon #saturo gojou #jjk gojou #jjk gojo #gojou x reader #gojo sensei #gojo satoru #gojo headcanons #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojou fluff #gojo imagine #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff

[forever-rogue]

Patricia!! First of all congrats on a new follower milestone! Those are always so exciting and asking and you deserve every one of them! Could I possibly request 39: “I wish we could stay like this forever” and 80: “let’s run away together” from promo list 2 with Oberyn? I love how you write him and would die to see what you do with this 🥺 ily Patricia! And congrats again! ❤️

Anything for you, my love! Enjoy 🥺

(also not necessary but I am a fool - this could totally be read as a slice of life in INO)

Oberyn Martell x Fem!Reader ; warnings: references to sex

Pedro Characters Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

The warmth, golden light filtered in through the sheer curtains, and the fresh, salty smell of the ocean and sound of chirping birds hit you all at once. It was a late, but beautiful and blissful morning and you were loath to get up. All you wanted was to stay here forever, wrapped up in the arms of your beautiful lover. Almost as if he sensed that you were up, you felt him grinning against your skin as he pressed a flurry of gentle, saccharine kisses to your chest and collarbones. You mumbled something into the soft pillow, something about wanting just five more minutes of sleep, but he just chuckled. 

“Sleep is for the dead, sunshine,” he murmured as he worked his way up your neck and stopped at your lips.

"I wish we could stay like this forever," a small huff of air escaped your nose as you pouted at him, slowly opening your bleary eyes. You found his soft brown ones, crinkled sweetly in the corners as he grinned at you, studying your face intently, “good morning.”

“Speak for yourself,” you teased him, “it cannot be a good morning if I am being woken up at such an ungodly hour!”

“Ungodly hour,” Oberyn laughed - a twinkling, beautiful sound - before laying back down and pulling you on top of him. You made a small sound of surprise at the sudden motion, but quickly quieted down when you felt his warm, bare body against yours. His golden skin on yours was delicious and warm, soft and strong at the same time, a perfect juxtaposition - just like him. You laid your head onto his chest, “it is almost the afternoon, sweet girl, it’s hardly ungodly.”

“Why can I not enjoy the day in bed with my prince?” you sighed softly, running a hand through his dark curls, “why should I allow the world to part me from my lover in such a manner?”

“Unfortunately the world requires us to be present,” he chuckled as kissed the top of your head. You huffed lightly although you understood what he meant. You'd always known - from the moment you had met the handsome prince.

“And what’s more important? The world or me?” you joked as he grazed his fingers up and down your spine, leaving a wake of gooseflesh under his fingertips. You sighed into his touch before pressing a few kisses to his bare chest.

“You, of course,” he promised, “and you have me always, first and foremost. But sometimes the world needs their prince.”

"And what about me?" you said softly as his large hands landed thoroughly on your backside, giving the firm flesh of your ass a squeeze. You giggled wildly before turning to look up at him and grabbing his jaw, "play fair!"

"I am," he insisted as you kissed him, "you will always manage without me. For the world needs their prince, but what is a mere prince to the queen?"

"Shut up," you groaned at him before moving to sit up so you were straddling his lap, his body humming with gentle love under yours, "you are not even a prince - only a mere fool!"

"A fool for you," he insisted softly as his hands found purchase on your hips. You beamed at him, golden as the sunlight and causing his heart to melt, "let me show you how a queen - my queen - is treated."

"Oberyn," you gasped slightly as his hands wandered up your body and to your breasts, "I thought we had to get up and rejoin society?"

"I've changed my mind," he grinned, "the prince needs you instead."

»»————-　♡　————-««

"Its beautiful here," you were sprawled out on the lush, soft blanket, soaking up as much sun as possible. You were near the edge of the stunning lake, secluded and alone, as you listened to the soft lapping of the waves onto the shore. It was so serene and blissful, for a few moments you almost forgot that a world outside of this place existed. 

Oberyn hummed in content as he popped a few fresh, plump berries into his mouth. He grabbed a particularly plump looking strawberry and held it out to you, dangling it just in front of your lips. You made a show of taking a large bite from the berry, letting the juice dribble from your lips and down your chin.  He tuttled lightly before using his thumb to collect the juices and holding it out to you. 

Grabbing his wrist, you pulled his thumb into your mouth before sucking it clean before slowly releasing it with a loud pop. He grinned at you, before pulling you in for a kiss. 

"You are a very tantalizing little thing," he licked across your bottom lip, savoring the sweetness that lingered. You grinned against him before pulling away and lying back down on the blanket. Oberyn watched you for a few moments before lying next to you, his large hand grabbed yours and he defty laced your fingers together, "you're thinking much too loudly."

"I am doing nothing of the sort," you shrugged innocently, keeping your eyes closed in order to shield them from the sun - and Oberyn. He had a knack for being able to read every thought and feeling almost as if he was able to see into your soul. Naturally, there were a million things running through your mind at once, but you weren't going to tell Oberyn any of that - not yet anyway, "perhaps you're being too analytical."

"It wouldn't be the first time I've been accused of such a thing," he snorted in laughter, "but I, my sunshine, am also able to read to you - easily. Tell me what's going on in that pretty head of yours."

"And if I refuse to speak my peace?"

"Then I shall be forced to pull it out of you," he insisted softly as he brought your hand to his lips and pressed a delicate kiss to your knuckles. Sighing contentedly, you rolled onto your side so you could properly face him.

And he was beautiful - so stunning in his golden glory. He was older now, than when you'd first met him, calmer after everything he'd survived in King's Landing, even more wise and world weary than the best men. Which you supposed he was; a man with words as sweet as roses or sharp as hawthorne - it was easy to see why everyone fell at his feet, but he still reminded them of why he was the Red Viper.

The soft brown of his eyes, flecked with gold in the light, always seemed to betray him.  At least to you anyways. His hair was longer these days, softer much like him, lightened by the sun and flowing into luscious curls. His facial hair has greyed slightly (from keeping up with all of the kids he always claimed), and he was more...him. 

You'd always loved him, from the day he seemed to save you from a life of uncertainty and domineering men. But it has been a privilege to watch him grow, to see him become the best version of him - it was always thanks to you, he claimed, a guise you greatly disputed. But you loved him - your husband - more than the moon and all the glittering stars in the night sky. 

Playing with you a lock of his soft hair, you continued to brush off the insinuation that anything was wrong, "nothing is the matter, Oberyn. I am merely enjoying the private company of my husband."

“And yet there is so much going on in that mind,” he mused, as you shrugged innocently, “so much buzzing, I’d think we were in Honeyholt and tending to the bees. My dear sunshine, you should know better by now - when have I ever let such a thing go?”

“You are incessant,” you groaned lightly, but appreciating the care and concern nonetheless, “it is silly - a mere folly that should not even worry me and alas, here I am.”

“If it matters to you, then it is not a mere folly,” he promised, “you can tell me anything.”

“I know,” you agreed with a small. You sat up slowly pulling your knees to your chest as you looked out into the sparkling water. Oberyn followed suit before moving to sit in front of you, putting his hand under your chin and turning your face up to his. He almost left you breathless with his easy beauty and warmth, “it’s just...I like this. Just you and me, no one else around, no worries, no duties. I...I hate to think once we return home it will all cease to exist - you will be forced to your duties, as I understand you must, and I? Well, I suppose I will be your dutiful wife, hoping and wishing for a chance to see her husband.”

“Then I suppose we should run away, shouldn’t we?”

“I...Oberyn...what?”

“I’m serious,” he insisted softly as you just laughed at his idealistic ways, “let’s run away together, even if just for a while. No one has to know...and when we are ready we shall return.”

“That is a temporary solution for a permanent problem, my love,” you gave him a weak smile before pulling out of his touch, “what about when we return to Dorne?”

“Always so serious, my sunshine,” he chuckled softly as you huffed at him, “you must ruin every little surprise, mustn’t you?”

“I have done nothing,” you insisted, sticking out your tongue at him, “all I do is care about my husband and I am teased and punished for being woeful and caring!”

“You have not been teased -”

“I have too, Oberyn Martell!”

“I will make it up to you, sweet girl,” he praised with a glint in his eye, “however, whenever, and wherever you should fancy. Now - will you let me finish?”

“I have not been-”

“Your prince demands it.”

“Well your queen insists that she hasn’t been doing anything of the short,” gave him a little smirk, “but go on and tell me about this so called surprise.”

“When we return home to Dorne, things will be different,” he promised as you raised your eyebrows in question, “I have been thinking, and don’t even say a word, and I think it’s time for me to...take a step back and let Doran and Arianne, as his heir, handle things from now. I am getting tired...weary, of all these tasks that should be left to the next ruler. Besides, Arianne is more than ready to take over. I think I should quite enjoy a quiet, leisurely life.”

“Oberyn,” your mouth dropped and formed a small o as you studied him to try and see if he was being honest. A smile tugged on the corners of his mouth before he broke out in a wonderful grin. You leaned over and kissed him, unable to stop yourself, “do you mean it? Please tell me this isn’t some sort of cruel joke.”

“I would never do such a thing,” he whispered as he pulled you into his lap and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “I just think...it’s time. Besides, there is nothing more I want than to spend my day with you, and the girls - think of all the things we can do. There are still ways to help our people, but we will do it together.”

“You continually amaze me,” a single tear, this one of nothing but happiness and love had rolled down your cheek as you pressed your forehead against his, “and I will never know what I did to deserve you, and I will be forever grateful to the universe for bringing you to me.”

“Now you’re just flattering me,” he reached up and gently wiped away the tear, “for it should be the other way around. I take it as though you are not opposed to the notion?”

“Not at all,” you smiled softly, “I could have asked for nothing better.”

“Then what do you say?” his hand found the back of your neck as he gave you a gentle squeeze, “shall we run away? To Essos - the Summer Isles - far away from everything? Only to return when we decide we are ready to?

“Yes,” you eagerly agreed, delighted by the prospect of spending the days and nights at your husband’s side, without a care in the world, “I want nothing more.”

“Then it is settled,” he promised, “now, will you let me show you every way in which I love you?”

“Oberyn!” your face flushed with warmth as you looked around to make sure no was within ear shot, “we are out in the open! Anyway could...see.”

“And that is not our problem,” he shrugged simply, “we have told them not to disturb us, hopefully they heed our advice. But now, sweet girl, you are all mine.”

“Always,” you promised softly, “I am forever yours.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#oberyn martell #oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #got #oh my sweet prince #forever-rogue's follower celebration

[muffindaddystyles]

Harry Styles x Barista!Reader.

Smut, pain kink and over-stimulation.

Mentions of past trauma and healing!

MASTERLIST, LETS TALK LOVIES!

Author's note: Your reblogs and appreciations means alot to me, token me a smile with your love.

His breath smells of strawberries and coffee, plushie lips dangerously close to her's making her half voracious gaze flicker between his lips and up at Tofu, kiss him kiss him you bloody fool, reeled in her head, "here lemme . . ." He notices her jitteriness fetching the birdy for her. She hiccups with a suck of breath when his knuckles brushed the inside of her palms while giving Tofu to her.

"Oi, Harry budge over you bugger!!" She hisses with sleepy voice but in return he squishes her more.

OR

Y/N has a phobia for needles and Harry's her damsel in distress.

//

Something about bungalows not having stairs makes Y/N's cheeks puffs out in disappointing amazement. The fact she couldn't even climb at the rooftop when the summer sky's ornamented with cosmic stars twinkling with the each buzz of music from inside. She hiccups a giggle when the cool zephyr blew her frock away giving out a glimpse of her itty-bitties, glad no-one's in the diameter to have a show. The discernment falls to nothingness when she hears distinct rustle of someone behind the fat‐very-rooty-tree, it widens her eyes into saucers as she blinks comically.

It's not a squirrel she could tell. Couldn't be Ronny who went to take a wee cause all the darn washrooms inside were occupied and his bladder being the weakest, he went for a bush.

But, that bush's behind her and for a moment she forgot her friend even existed since she muted out his piss taking whistle a while ago.

All her frenzied assumptions fails when two figures camouflaged in the darkness tumbles from behind the tree. Her cheeks splashes with burning crimson when they separate with a loud, wet kissing noise and the two men doesn't seem any shy about it unlike Y/N who's foozling the frill of her dress as if she got caught in the middle of a fuck in public loo. Not that, it everrr happened with her, still she has an example set for such incidents.

"Oh, hi." The warble of unprevious voice wins in gaining her attention and she tries to squint through the pocosin of his eyes which glimmers under moonlight if she glances away too quick, she startles in her spot when a gruff voice speaks over them, "Ronny couldn't even occupy a shot of vodka in his bladder." She couldn't seem to flit her gaze away from his cherry of lips glistening from whatever activities they were having before (the only features she could see in such illumination) as the other guy and Ronny bantered off passing a cig in between them.

"Oi, shut up will ya." Ronny locks his arm with Y/N and she flinches that he hasn't even washed them yet, "c'mon truffles we don't wanna be here." He announces dragging her away and the humid air around them bubbled with chuckles.

"Huh." She quips all lost between the interaction and accidentally bumping into two beautiful men kissing eachother, she's totally jealous! Poor thing tries to jerk the mud from her toes and to have a last glimpse of the man with marble irirses.

"D'ya think I've a chance with that daddy-long- legs-one? Dunno, but he intimidates me so bad." Ronny whispers to her and she frowns sniffing with her already runny nose from being a bit tipsy, it's making her bouncy little by little and she knows the bevvys she had will have a full swing within the night, "why? He seems nice."

"His hotness truffles, it intimidates me." He scrapes his already chipped nail polish after washing his hands from the basin throwing towel at her face, she just sighs putting it back in the rack.

"How about you talk to him first." Parties has teeny perks of them and gigantic disadvantages 1) Ronny gets a school crush at every boy he looks at. 2) They get more sweaty, stinky, gluey and more wilder till the clock hits 4 am. Honestly, even if it wasn't for the free bevys she would have never stepped in.

"That's the hard part." They push people aside like stuffies getting cursed and groped in return.

"He's not gonna know himself, Ron, you dump-stick." Good she doesn't need to yell like before as the music has dimmed to a hum possibly about to shut down within minutes. Halting, beside some people crowded alongside the couch some sitting on it and their confused heads shots up at first at the sound of familiar vibrations.

The worst scenarios of someone having a bullet up in their hole and peeps around having a show passes for a mere sec in their heads, together, that's why they're friends since the first semester of UNI.

But, upon seeing what's the ruckus about Ronny shakes his head in utmost panic, "oh no . ." He tries to escape from her grip but she tugs him from collar, "Please Ronny, swear 'm ready to over come my fear! Nothing's gonna happen to me." They stand beside the guy sheepishly (like two elementary kids deciding who'll step inside the staff room first) a gun perched in his hand and Y/N realizes that he indeed's the same guy she met outside, this time she could see him properly and those hickorey of curls brushing the eternity of his popping clavicles.

His back to them but she could see the flex of his muscles from under the sheer black of his shirt with the each movement he does with his gun, she admits that he got prettier back than her.

"Ey Harry this's my friend Y/N and she wanna overcome her phobia of needles, be a damsel in distress pal." So, they know eachother. The whizz of gun stops midway and he dismisses the drunk dude under him tilting his chin to meet her eyes, and it was worth it as it took tiny gasp from her.

He's way beautiful than he was in the darkness.

Ronny was right. It daunts her a bit. The name Harry itself is some kind of royalty.

"Oh, hi there, again." He greets her with a warm smile and it glitter-glittery her insides, will you please not she scolds herself. It's probably the alchol her subconscious assures her but her nervousness from the idea of really doing this says otherwise.

"Have a seat, love." Oh holy goodness. He's as sober as judge and she at whole is miffed.

//

Harry isn't a popular senior. No. His charm's something that woos everyone and his name's always on the top list of invites, he avoids them though unless it's his closest friend. Him remaining to himself has casted a spell on everyone that his personality's intimidating and he's this sex god who has an only concern with fucking people.

He could be called a nerd from his grades everytime being higher than last semester but his attire and being a shining star of the Christmas tree gives it away.

Everyone likes him, ah-ah no everyone absolutely loves him. The thing's he has never felt the same in his twenty-one years of life and that's a fat bummer.

He just gives that "please stay away from me" aura, brows always sewn together and bottom lip jutted makes him appear rather passive aggressive to strangers (well the people who knows him loves him for being the most chill person walking around them).

Right now, he got a tat gun in his hand and everyone's getting a drunk tattoo for the remembrance of this stupid party or just that they've a kink for pain, possibly for humiliation too because what could a tattoo gotten in an unconscious state could bring you?

"Y'alright there?" He asks her and she bobs her head clamping her hands shut in her lap. The rainbow broch on his loafers intrigues her about his fashion senses, it makes her jealous she can't afford to have her own style, "Yeah!" She avoids to even give a spare glance to the gun in his hand because she knows the moment she'd, it will make her dizzy.

She feels bad for cliff hanging him to herself only but he doesn't seem to mind at all. Waits patiently for her to guard herself as Ronny pats her back like she's about to summo wrestle.

"Want me to start it?" He knows how bad it's for some people. Many times he had an encounter with weak hearted persons who got dragged into his parlour by their friends and ended up running away, "Can you give me a moment?" She lifts her head towards him and it makes his forehead knit into concerned lines.

The poor bug's giving a purple face as if she's about to throw up and her ears pink.

"Take all y'want, darlin'." His gentleness flows over her head, she thinks that the music has died or she has gone deaf, can't be neither, cause no-way that such a sweet call wouldn't make her toes all gooey.

"'M ready!" She puffs out a huge exhale moving her shaking wrist nearer to his grasp and he gives her a comforting look before wrapping his fingers one by one around her delicate wrist, skidding the stool he's been sitting on closer to her, "al'ight truffles 'ere we go — wouldn't hurt promise." He decides to stick with truffles since Ronny calls her with the nickname everytime he's at Harry's. Thought his blabbers of his friend were exaggerated coating of sugar but when she's sitting infront of him with those glinting eyes and soft flesh in which his lanky fingers seems to turn pudgy, he gets it why he calls her that.

He keeps on glancing up at her to see if she's okay — she has her hand placed atop Ronny's thigh while he distracts her with his "let's throw shade at mean bitches together" game and Harry just hovered the nib of it over her skin when she passed out but Ronny quickly placed his palm against her cheek to pull her back towards his shoulder.

"'M good . ." She comes back from it with a weak whsiper-y voice trying to straighten up but the instant her already blurry vision falls at the needle again making a line so small it isn't even visible she passes out again and this time Ronny seems unfazed talking to a girl beside him (trust the lad they've done it multiple times but the pain and fear of needles never let her have a single tattoo inked on her skin), leaving Harry to sweat over her.

Sighing he shuts down the machine putting it aside and presses the back of his hand against her forehead --- to be more appropriate, and when she remains as if in the land of nod completely knackered out and woolly in Ronny's arms he realizes that she has passed out for real.

"Truffles?" He doesn't get a response from her.

//

She puffers out her lips blowing raspberries gazing at the sunny sky from the clear glazed window of the shop, chin resting in the softness of her palm as the cosy hall of it emptied from the rush the time it striked noon. The start of her shift's always effete and warm with honey-bees buzzing over the pots of pastel flowers outside, but the evenings are most tiresome and she has to do the closing in a grumpy mood.

"Can you pass me the icing tube, forgot it under the counter shelf 'cos of that pain in ass customer." He's their regular. Has constant complaints that their tarts are too sugary and they need to thicken the formula for their lattes, Y/N just bobs her head at his tantrums finding a way to shoo him away with a promise of next time, "yeah uhh — " Gripping the edge of marble counter she squats down and giggles at herself as she looks funny with her knees making a tent of her ruffle frock.

The door-bell chimes indicating the presence of someone but she goes for her rampage knowing Cora's there to attend them and she was about to pull her head back when she hit it quite painfully against the upper shelf, "Ow!!" She squeaks rubbing the sore spot stabling herself while Cora chuckled taking the tube from her hand to go inside.

She never expected someone to occur at this hour, moreso, she never expected someone like him to pop out of nowhere at their shop. He just doesn't seem like a person to have a merry making at little cosy cafés all to himself, it's been driving her crazy, she cringes at herself everytime when the humiliation of passing out infront of him invades her thoughts.

Half of her heart wanted to see him again and other half was glad she never bumped in him — but seems like nature was evily against her.

"Oops hi!" When she couldn't fiddle with anything she adjusts her frilly apron and with her wrist brushes her loose tresses away which her bow failed to keep. He blinks for several times sipping in the consequence, though it gives her time to take in his appearance.

He's yet again, wearing a sheer shirt with white flower buds spiraling from his abs towards the broad of his chest displaying his inked skin underneath beautifully — it shimmers every time he shifts on his feet letting the sunlight fall on him. His curls tamed and silkier than before, he groomed himself too good it puts Y/N to shame for being a girl, a careless one.

"You work here?" He asks with a drawl as if he has a all the time to dedicate to her, "nope just broke in to do a fat robbery — wanna join?" He cackles, hard it quelled his tummy and it also made her smile blushy-ly that he didn't find her humour boring.

"Okie . . S' what you'll have?" Brassing the belly of his nose he clears his throat roaming his eyes to catch a perfect spot, "'s okay if'll be waitin' fo' someone there?" He points at the nook aligned with the fuchsia coloured book shelves, wooden pots hanging and embroidered throw pillows piled and some overflowing from the love seats.

"Totally!!" She chirps. The thought of him waiting for a date sinks summat a tiny globe of mud in her stomach and dunno why — She wishes she could've things that other people have without burning themselves in effort unlike her.

She watches him getting comfortable, scrutinising around with curious and adorable big peepers. He'd give her a shy smile everytime he'd catch her staring and she'd just shake her head treating her back to track, that he's on a date, but not with you.

She didn't forgot to ask him if he needs anything putting a glass of water at his coffee table without him requesting, it's perpetually hot and even her throat'd get dry after some minutes. He's been here for two hours and even though the weather cooled down spotting pearly drops of rain, perspiration still beaded at his forehead.

The bustle of on goers kept on dying and she feels bad for him, knowing the end of it, she's been there before many times. Even visualised it at this same shop far more she should thinking the world's kind enough to even let their date know with q single message.

Sensing his timorousness she paddles towards him getting a coconut cookie from the jar, onto the plate and sliding it in his line of vision. He seems flustered — everytime they've interacted she's the one to be not in one place and now he's ripping the threads of his tattered skinny jeans.

"You can munch on this cookie, if you want to!" He looks back and forth between the cookie and her, fuziness spreading in his chest glad at her kindness and enough trust in him to not to kick him out, "Thank you." He grabs it taking a bite and she giggles when in the single one he left no crumbs behind, his mouth's big, shut it already! and so pink so pulpy, oh my goodness I hate youuu!!

"'M sure your friend's on way, it's rainy, might —" He cuts her off with a dissapointed spurt of breath, "dunno." He sulks into sofa folding the corner of book's page.

"You still've an hour till the cáfe closes, don't loose hope!" She pats his shoulder and he gives her a weak smile doing that bunny scrunch of his nose, combing his already wrecked hair and thanks her for the next thousand time.

//

Harry had worst dates. This seems to top them. To be honest because of Y/N being here. What will she think? What if she thinks it's his fault? That he's a broken dummy who nobody wants to date? He wants to grumble and call his date to end things but he waits patiently as the sky turned lilacs of night.

Y/N feels remorseful and angry at the person who stood him up this pathetically. With a sad sigh she turns the closed sign to display outward silently looking at him while he's in his own trance, she disappears into the kitchen and Cora gives her a knowing eye.

"Not believing in love's my greatest descion up till far. It's impossibly hard out there." She retorts. Placing a hot chicken steak atop the alfredo pasta and sprinkles parsiman making it appetizing, "Tell him to better end things with a pig like them." She says in all seriousness handing the tray to Y/N.

He's there. Gazing outside with lips pressed into a thin line and he seems down with his loose errand of curls tucked into a man bun now, a perfect hairdo outta frustration "Harry." She keeps her voice low not to startle him gaining his attention.

"You didn't have to." He shakes his head and she made a noise un-recognized by him putting the tray on the table and moves the ottoman with her feet closer to him sitting on it, "let's be eachother's date for a day." She hands him a fork and he accepts gladly. His sulkiness wooshing away when she digs in taking a bite and smearing the sauce all over her lips.

"If you don't mind me asking, is it the same behind-the-tree guy?" He nods. She frowns spitting grumpily, "what a prat." With the help of knife she tears the steak equally sliding it to his side and he smiles boyishly sucking the corner of his lip inside.

"'M sorry, Harry." She squeezes his knee and it bundles up the air in his lungs, "'s okay truffles — glad you were there fo' a rescue."

"Y/N." She tells him forwarding her hand to shake and he slips his calloused ones to envelop her warmth. His cheeks turns pink when his stomach made noises of starvation, "you need to eat c'mon!" She nudges his elbow and he obliges.

After, filling their tummies satisfied and full she hands him a cuppa of latte with a foamy sleeping kitty floating over it she even made two eyes and the uwu kitty smile with the cocoa powder, "pardon me if it seems like I murdered the poor thing . . . 'm still learning from Cora." His giggles were absolutely amazed and gleeful.

"It looks so good, I don't feel like stirin' it." He pats the bum of steamed floffy kitty with the curve of his tea spoon and it makes her giggle some. Relishing onto strawberry pastries and crumpets oozed into butter, sipping onto their lattes, watching the sky turning dark with the rain while Cora left them hours ago to themselves.

She puts a velvet cloak around herself after closing the shop and Harry waits for her as she takes her bicycle, "Thank ye' Y/N. 'S kind of you." He stirs his gaze from his shoes to her face smiling brightly at her and she waves him off with blushy cheeks, they walk along under the shelters of sideways shops avoiding to get soaked while she holds the steering of her bicycle.

"You can lounge at my place, till the rain stops." When he shakes his head she quips turning into the street, "I insist." They stop infront of the old white sculptured building having two floors in total.

The first thing she does entering into her flat's greet Tofu (it's a Bush-tit a white furball with two curious tich button eyes) leaving Harry to get out of his shoes and slip into her house ones (they barely fits him -- making him chuckle at the size difference).

His eyes giving a beautiful glimmer under the glow of the yellow light as he looks around the space, it's simple, with a bedding on wooden floor, a circle shelf against the window lined up with green plants, a desk opposite to it and a golden standing cage of her pet bird.

"Hi bubba missed me much?" She opens the cage to let it out and the chonky white bird sits on her fingers happily, "Harry meet Tofu." His lips curve upward at the lil thing as he caress it's fluffy head.

"Tofu looks like a snowball." He muses with bambi eyes and she agrees with excitement, "Sometimes I wanna squish him, cause he's just too cute." His eyes widens comically laughing softly at her statement.

"Evil thought said out aloud with cuteness still remains evil, love." Tofu hoped over Harry's finger and he takes him towards his shoulder making it sit there but he has another plans, to rest his furry bum over Harry's head making both of them giggle, "c'mon now birdy time to fill your tummy." She tip-toes to catch him in her palms and knocks her nose with Harry's in the way.

His breath smells of strawberries and coffee, plushie lips dangerously close to her's making her half voracious gaze flicker between his lips and up at Tofu, kiss him kiss him you bloody fool, reeled in her head, "here lemme . . ." He notices her jitteriness fetching the birdy for her. She hiccups with a suck of breath when his knuckles brushed the inside of her palms while giving Tofu to her.

"Make yourself home!" She announces going to feed her pet and Harry flops onto her bed quite comfortably with his sweny legs stretched wide over the floor. They watched episodes of 'Bridgeton' wounded under her blankets and she almost fell asleep when he offered her genuinely.

"I'll help ye' have a tattoo, tiny atleast."

"Means alot to me." She yawns pondering with lug brain whether to snuggle into him or not, she did anyways. In the morning she was woken up by cold sheets and beeps of messages from Harry that made her feel she endured wings of fairy and she's bathing in the glitter of happiness.

//

She stares at the shop infront of her in amazement. It's friday night. She winded up all her assignments and came to this place exactly how it was mentioned in the address, when she enters inside spare teens and a bulky man was waiting outside the office thing-y . . .? Y/N presumes — an assistant chewing loudly on her gum talking onto phone with someone in hushed bratty tone and when Y/N knocks at the counter her piercing stare startles her a bit.

"Yes?" How rude! Y/N thinks with a pouty lip at her striking tone and she clears her throat, "'m here to meet . . . Harry." The snarky assistant rolls her eyes dismissing Y/N quickly to move back to her lazying, "He's busy." Y/N picks her finger to interject murmuring something under her breath and strolls back to wait with everyone.

Sun sets outside shimmering evening pink inside the lobby and the door atlast opens making her head perk up, "pet?" He looks sternly to his assistant but she doesn't seem fazed.

"Harry." Y/N grins, "Fo' how long you've been here?" She feels good someone's caring for her even though it's just for the fact she waited some hours for him, "doesn't matter can 've a tour?" He nods and the bratty assistant eyes him furiously taking Y/N's hand to lead her.

Harry watches her with dimply smile when she babbles at the details of his working station, "do I sit here?" She asks excitedly and he shakes his head, "yes, you may." They scrutinise through his sketches of designs together and she squeezes his wrist.

"Harry you're so talented! Look at 'em." He never felt this flustered with the compliments before button nose scrunching adorably. She chooses a a small plain jamsine flower nothing more, nothing less watching collect things for the process, "it's one of me mama's favourite." He exclaims rather proud snapping the latex gloves round his wrist.

"Where d'ya want it?"

"Where it hurts less." She replies wiping the sweat away with her frock, "it's outer shoulder, yer arm, calves and arse — " His mischievous grin awfully stretchy and she she slaps his bicep playfully.

"Outer shoulder?" She tells him confused to herself. He agrees strolling his stool near to her as she turns her back to him; his fingertips twitches when he pushes her hair to the side.

"Can you uh . . mm." She groans trying to reach for the zipper of her frock and he smoothes down his erratic heartbeat muttering, "yeah sure." She digs her nails into the delicate flesh of her palms when his calloused cold knuckles brushed deliberately against her skin while skimming the zip down slowly. Her eyelids flutter like butterfly wings when he slides her sleeve down her arm revealing her shoulder and it's so supple that Harry had to come back from his reverie; lick his lips to moisture.

He applies the numbing cream and she hisses softly the leather of seat sticking to her calves, her nerves jumbles and body startles when Harry starts the gun without warning her.

He loops his arm around her waist atop her thigh massaging it assuringly — sure it did nothing but to make her core throb insatiably as his rasp melted in her ears, "you're okay puppy." She gulps saying no word feeling her body getting hot at the each stroke of his thumb over her waist line.

"Ah -- Harry." She gasps out of air grasping his hand tightly at the sting of pain. She's baffled at the reactions of her body, her panties getting wet and the displeasing constant pricking of needle quenching out noises she never thought she was able to give out. When she whines and squirms Harry presses her down with force shushing her, "bug just a mo' it's smaller and would be done in seconds." She kisses her teeth bobbing her head vigorously and Harry chuckles at her effort remaining polite.

"Done!" He announces pulling away to admire it and when he hears the lil sniffles he quickly leaves everything sitting infront of her on the seat, "darlin' don't like it when ye' cry." He wipes her tears away not even glancing at her exposed collarbones and the plump flesh of her tits barely covered with her arm.

Soft and squishy, soft and squishy, soft and squishyyyyy.

His mind screams but her whimpery voice distracts him, "'m just gleeful that I've a tattoo because of you." He wraps it up expertly and zips her dress back with ever gentleness, "happy tears then?" She giggles with a grateful nod.

"Want a hug?" He thinks she deserves one for being brave and nice against her fear, "cuddle me up." She murmurs with swollen eyes and peachy cheeks. Uff — it stirs his cock in his jeans arousing the need to be with her everytime.

He rests his chin mushily into the crook of her neck swarming his arms around her waist to squeeze her warmly and she snuggles against his throat, damp lips puckering against his adam apple making it bob.

He feels jammy to be able to have a moment like this with her.

"Chinese takeout?" He collects his sketch journals, his phone, fedora apparently, keys of his motorbike and a spare helmet for her, "Yes please!"

//

They ate the take out perched against his bike with the meadow vast laying feet aways from them, under the breezy sky they conversed and Harry already got a tender spot for her in his heart. He never reaches to a stage where he could get to know someone with this passion and Y/N isn't from someone who'd guard herself from him just because his father was in the bad business.

As the evening brisked with cool dew of summer grass Harry leaned into her more and more.

He finds her little things infatuating, her bonding with Tofu and her dire wish to make good bum steamed kitties on the lattes, she has an irrefutable love for floral dresses and her homely habbit is doing ribbon work.

She got to know that Harry owns the tattoo shop, teaches few blokes the skill of it in free hours. He'ad attended lots of parties raving ones and the boring ones of higher socials, never lets any stranger step inside his loft which's situated upstairs of his shop. His father does all the criminaly things, he's this master mind in doing the evil things for people from getting money out of their enemies yada yada and Harry despises him for it, moreso, that he left them. He doesn't want to be associated with him in any case — he's none like him, he's kind and soft-hearted like his mother.

Y/N loves his goofy side. The one that cracks jokes and puns -- makes her fall in love with him without her even trying.

Last and foremost he has the render love for sheer shirts — told her he has shimmery ones for the fancying off.

"S'm no stranger then." She quips beside his shoulder as Harry unlocked his home's door. He glances her timidly amicably hovering over her lips, "absolutely not, yeh me bezzy." He raises his fist and she bumps it giggling.

//

Y/N that night sleeping on his bed dreamt of them laying together into the pillows of growing daffodils of meadow, lining up the stars in the sky and tell each other what they made ----- galloping rabbit, a slipping cake and she'd laugh with ugly snorts when Harry tells her that he sees a massive dick.

His grin proud and mellow to make his bezzy laugh. She squeaks when he pulls her onto him but soon her dreamboat sinks as she stirs at the warmth swallowing her whole.

She startes from her blurrines at something trapping her down till she recognizes the familiarity of two mascular arms sewn around her waist and what the fuck?

Harry made a makeshift pallet on the floor and right now she's all over him, pressed tightly against his chest — her cheeks turns red with embarrassment from being this clumsy and falling over him in her sleep.

"Oi, Harry budge over you bugger!!" She hisses with sleepy voice but in return he squishes her more.

Taking her face out of his neck she admires the softness of his features when he's asleep and the dotting of beautiful moles, sighing a huge relaxed puff of breath and canoodles into him like an affection starved kitty.

//

It's another cool rainy day and Y/N keeps on swabbing the droplets of water off from her eyes with her elbow trying to paddle her bicycle. She was on her way to Harry's when the skies betrayed her. Standing on his doormat she soaks it completely waiting for him to answer the door, sad, that her gift was ruined too.

"Lovin' ye'll catch a cold – shit come inside." Concerned he ushers her inside his loft, halts in his tracks when she remains behind adoring a gruffy pout, "what is it?" He asks walking to her and cups her cheeks the instant.

"Embroidered ye' a shirt 's destroyed now." She raises it to show him and he stares it for good seconds before swiping her off the floor – hugging her to radiate the sentiment of endearment he carries for her in his heart. It bloats her cheeks pressed against his clavicles and her feet dangles as he sways them with a happy noise of favourite melody she's unfamiliar with, "Thank you, thank you, thank you." He kisses her temple and it lingers at the tip of his tongue.

I could kiss you right fuckin' now, pet.

"Harry you got wet too, dummy!!"

"Oops, guess we both have to change now."

Harry already set mixers for her on the luke points so that she wouldn't have to pull out her hair just to take a shower (his shower's quite complicated) leaves his shirt and boxers for her on his bedside, putting the lilac sheer shirt she embroidered for him in the dryer.

When she comes outside with trippy hair he already has two glasses of wine filled and windows closed to keep her warm.

She isn't a wine person. She was never able to afford it and it never settled with her tummy (she shares too much and feels bubbly with the rose coloured bevvy). Harry's gaze rakes from floor to her ankles snapping directly to her face and it's just snoggles his heart with fondness, seeing her drooled in one of his shirts.

"Need ya not to worry ye'r gift is good as before." He assures her and she flops onto the sofa beside him, "Thank you Y/N." He says genuinely and she waves him with small smile, "hush you."

They drink in silence, then soon it rośed their cheeks and noses making them giggly and floaty. A bottle gone in just a span of a time. She rumbles her lips stretching out, the twinkle of her belly showing and he does the same, eyeing him she slides down on the floor perching her elbow over the coffee table and YET AGAIN HE FOLLLOWS HER ACTIONS.

"Are you mimicking me?" She squints at him and he squints back, "are ye' mimickin' meh?" She smacks his bicep playfully and when he does the same though the force of it lighter than her's adoring mischievous grin making her squeal with chuckles, "Harry!"

He quips back in equal girlish pitch, "Harry!" blinking peepers up at her softly — to test her fates, the recipe of her drunken state and her heart bursting with affection for him she jests at him.

"I like you and might be falling in love with you." She says without holding back a breath and his eyes widen in an animated way chin slipping from his palm, "You what?" He's in utter shock. He has never come across the words she just said with so much delicacy and sincerity — it boggles him to an extent his tongue got tied.

"Say it back now, huh?" She smirks at him shaking from inside counting on to get rejected and ridiculed. Upset at herself more than him at his lack of response, clearing her throat she whispers.

"So — " But, her apology strucks in her throat when he pulls her to himslef with a gentle grip to her elbow. Grabs her jaw tenderly and with the ardent boldness smushes his lips against her's to seal his affinity for her in a kiss that's so soft it melts her inside. His hands brews at her sides and glides up to their destination, to cup her cheeks and deepen the kiss while billowing her in his lap comfortably. He devours the plumness of her lips, tracing the curve of her bottom one with his warm tongue and kisses the corner of her lips again and again making her puff out air from her nostrils.

He has kissed people and it was always to lead something to satisfy the cavity of loneliness, but this, this already feels like home sitting infront of the Autunm fire eating cookies and drinking milk. She feels like the mold he's meant to melt into and explore every ridge of it.

She doesn't not know what's filthier the string of spit that's connecting them or his raspberry lips that she could kiss and kiss for forever, he doesn't stop there pecks her several times with lil smooches, "You're really good at it." She winds her arms tight around the nape of his neck murmuring against him (she wants to make him feel appreciated), his cock chubbing up in his trousers and it lulls her head against his cheek upon feeling it. The thought of having him hard for her boasts the genitilty in herself and she kisses his smiling mouth.

"Wanna make ye' feel good." He presses his lips back against her's with more passion than before and tips her chin with his thumb to stamp lil pecks down her throat feeling his lips tingling to kiss her again, it's way better than he envisioned. Her softness could swallow him and the thought makes his hips stutter imagining his hard prick sucked inside her swelled up walls. His large calloused hands meander down her bottom taking the ripeness of it in a bunch of squeeze.

"On the bed." He pats her bum pinching it playfully and she squeaks obliging him giggles when she bounces over the bed. Him crawling behind her as lion ready to feast over a hare.

Leaning against the head of the bed he lays her between his wide spread legs, her back against his chest and their fronts facing the tall framed mirror infront of them.

"Comfy?" She bobs her head gulping cause no one has ever cared what'll be consuming for her and what not, "I want ye' to look in the mirror sweet girl, at us." He rasps in her ear stroking the hilt of her jaw in continuous circles and when she hums fluttering her eyelids, arching her back at the throb of her pussy and his dirtiness making her slick down to her bum he glides his thumb inside her mouth telling her to, "get 'em proper wet for me." She does coating his thumb with her saliva and flicking her tongue over it many time while he glazes his palms over her ribs, under the crescent of her tits shirt pulled to her collarbones.

She gags around his digit when he took her perky nipple in between his middle and index pulling it then kneads it with a kiss to her earlobe getting her out of his boxers telling her, "enough, pet." When she doesn't listen to him and kept on sucking thinking of his cock in her mouth he gruffs splitting her thighs apart and pressing the soles of her feet tightly against the mattress with his own ankles, "I said enough." Shushing her hungry kitten whimpers he trails his wet thumb down her fallen lip and chin, popping her shirt open and rims it around her areola, "s' soft wanna rub me cock between 'em tits." The shiver that hits her makes her squirm and Harry gives a chaste kiss to her open mouth putting his thumb at her entrance ready to play with her cunt.

"Your eyes open 'em fo' me, puppy." He ducks down to kiss her not letting her turn around himself so that her neck doesn't strain while caressing his fingers up and down in her slickness making soapy noises on purpose, when she finally looks in the mirror locking eyes with him as if he's holding the most precious gem in his arms — the sight turned her spine into a sharp arrow, "c - ca-can I've more?" She gasps squeezing his bicep pussy lips fluttering and her hole palpitates aching for him.

"My polite girl." He smiles awfully fonded at her and she nods licking her lips to speak, "'m good, good always." He pushes his two fingers inside her cunt and she moans with her whole will trying to sink herself to his knuckles nails digging into his shoulders, "I know ye'r." He assures her sliding them out and teasing her little pink asshole turning her into a whining mess.

She twitches around his fingers when he pumps them back along with her sticky wetness and fucks her with them, flickering her clit with his other hand and kneads the inside of her fleshy thigh. She gives out a gaspy moan of unbearable pleasure when his cock's stiffeness rubs between her asscheeks, "ye' feel it? S' fo' you, gonna stuff yeh full of me cock, fuck you nice n' warm and cum all over yer pussy. How you deserved to be fucked, is that okay?" She never expected him this much of a lewd talker — hell she didn't even expected him to step out of his conserved, rather shy demeanour, "yes, yes, yes." She visioned him as a curt dom, who's more into BDSM but he's warm and caring with her. Just in few second of them doing it he proved it how much he's loving to please her.

"Ah! 'm gonna cum . . . gonna —" His sweet vulgar words combined with him toying, rubbing and fingereing her already swollen pussy tips her to the edge she was desiring to get from him, "cum all over me fingers. Want it s' bad from ye darlin', to see you." He says in a tone that's on the verge of pleading but holds a commanding hint under it and with her bones all stiffing, her skin burning and heart buzzing she snaps into her own dreamy world gushing over his fingers with her juices.

"Oh . . Harry." She loudly mewls thrashing in his arms from the intensity of her orgasm and he holds her tight with his arms wrapped around her torso, kisses to the curve of her neck and exposed collarbones. He notices her stiring away from his hand due to sensitivity and takes out his fingers with a squelching popping noise that made her blink from her semblance. Her chest heaves as she watches him in the mirror licking her cum off his wrists with the tip of his pink tongue, "mhm tastes s' sweet." One by one he sucks his finger humming around them seductively spiking her insides yearing to be fucked by him, "just like you sweet puppy."

Gently laying her down he knees infront of her getting out of his flimsy shirt and Y/N admires the flounce of tattoos trailing from his pecks down his adorable love handles. Her gaze stops at the his happy trail leading down to where he's swelled up against his zipper and she hasn't seen someone so beautiful in her entire life, he shimmies his joggers down teasingly with a smirk and she whines hiccuping when his cock slaps against his lower abdomen making her eyes go wide.

"Oh my . . " She gasps at the gorgeous sight of his rock-hard cock between his supple thighs. He's beautifully big, satiny and a dot of shade lighter than his lips making his prick so kissable, would it even fit?? She could already imagine it stretching her out gracefully and stimulating her in ways her fingers could never, "you're so gorgeous button."

The shiny swollen tip, and the dollop of pre-come weeping down his slit alluring her to have him in her mouth but he strokes it not to waste it.

"What's the pout fo' darlin'?" He asks as she stares it making him all shy but he overcomes it persistent to make her feel good (she shared with him that she never knew what being cared feels like) he wanna gives her all lovin' as she did to him the day in cafe. Cups the nape of her neck to bring her for another kiss splitting his thumb into her hair and the moment is so vulnerable and saccharine as he snogs her to floatiness, "will make sure it fits — make you cum many times, baby." He flips her gently.

"On ye tummy fo' me, like an atta pup ye're." It knots her stomach into ropes and she jolts squealing softly into pillows when he smacked her peach watching it jiggle while tugging at his prick to coat it with his thick wetness.

He moans biting his lower lip lulling his head over his shoulders stroking the head of his cock between her asscheeks and round her entrance not pushing at once torching both of them, "you're so delicate wanna be slow with you." He whispers to her pressing his front against her shoulders while wrapping his hand around his shaft to push inside her.

"It's okay!" Her tiny squeaks rolls into a moan when the head of his cock settles inside her and when she twitches around it he cruffs a groan coaxing her sides, "shhh baby 's okay relax fo'me." Taking his hand away from around himself he places it atop her ass withdrawing and looking down to see her cunt glistening with his and her's wetness — then bottoming out deep inside her till his balls are snug against her bum. His stomach twists with pleasure at the warmth that blankets his cock completely making him hunch but he recoups with his arms pressed beside her temple.

The stretch that burns through her core's so pleasing and fulfilling. It hurts in a good way. She knows how patient and composed he's being for her, from the way he fattens tucked inside her walls and he slides his hand between her front and the sheets to caress her soft breasts moving with rough pace.

"Don't stop, please." She recites the mantra almost crushing his fingers with her grip around, it's alot, the constant rub of sheet against her clit and him driving inside her from behind with moans sexier than in erotic audio books. He draws loose circles over her mound making her thighs spread wider with the inability to hold them as he pinched her clit coercion her sensitive button, "oh my god . ." With the whimpers of his name she squirts around his cock and it makes her throw her hips at him.

When he pulls out to turn her on back she whines with a frown, heaving chest and coral cheeks looking totally fucked already, "wanna see ye'r face when you come . . . s' beautiful." He hisses hauling her legs around his waist lowering himself down to enter her with lil smooches to her cheeks, "cum again fo' me baby — yeah just like that squeeze on meh." He pounds her over and over grinding his pelvis against her's to stimulate her in every way.

Feeling the heat crackling in her bones and tummy she takes him by shoulders to cuddle him closer to her chest raising her hips to meet his's, a crying mess, with glossiness twinkling at the corners of her eyes as she comes with euphoria dawning upon her and Harry works her up again.

"Once more, love, i know you've one more fo' me." He gives out a purry groan biting her throat and the valley of her chest, snuggling against it with kisses — when she shakes her head through around him he lines up his nose against her nose petal–ling his lips over her's, "yes you could puppy my sweet — " His eyelids bolting shut at the built of up of his own release and the moment she cums with his cock now he shoots his thick spurt deep inside her.

"This's what it only took fo' you? Callin' ye mere sweet names." He fucks her through it and Y/N admits that he went with his promise --- fucked her like she had never before, they remain like that for some time catching their breaths and then he pulls out of her gently and pumps himself to empty his load shooting it over her pussy and abdomen, "you came so much." She says completely baffled and he steals a chaste kiss from her looking at the white ribbons sticking to her skin.

"Just for you, babyhun."

He tells her not to move and whisks away coming back with a pack of baby wipes. Her hearts swirls with so much fondness for him when he pats the wipes between his palms to get them less cold and shushes her with pecks when she hisses with sensitivity.

They take another shower, this time together and it's not sexual at all though alot of tired poofy kisses and cute yawns were included as they gave eachother shampoo massages and she'd cooe everytime untangling his long hickorey curl.

They changed the sheets (unapologetically very clumsily) and he fetches a glass of water for her making it drink her.

When they were cuddled awfully good he lifts his head up from it was nuzzled between her titties. His accent drawly and slippery from tiredness, "Y/N." He checks if she's asleep and she hums in response starting to play with his hair lazily.

"That day when me date didn't show up?" Witha half heart she hums again, she doesn't like to talk bout that day, because the hopelessness that conquered him that evening still makes her sad.

"I was glad ye' were there 'n 'm so so so thankful that he didn't show up. Else we wouldn't be here in eachother's embrace 'n me heart still'd been mournful to sleep in cold sheets waiting fo' me person." It's the most he has talked in his soberness. It wells up tears in both of their eyes.

"You're my person." She cradles his face hating it that he was kept so love starved his entire life and she gazes him dearly, sweetly, affectionately all the words that could describe love for someone spilling out of the chambers of heart.

"I want to love you so much, pet, make you me most treasured human hershey."

"I'm in, cuddle me up." He grins smauching a loud kiss to her lips and cosying back to his previous spot purring like a kitten thrown into heaps of fluffy blankets.

#HARRY STYLES SMUT #harry styles smut #harry styles #harry smut #harry x y/n #harry styles blurb #cute harry #hsh #fluff #harry angst #harry styles fanfiction #dom harry #HARRY WRITINGGGG

[wild-karrde]

Reunion - Part 18

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A/N: As always, thank you to the wonderful @teletraan-meets-jarvis for beta-reading this chapter for me! :)

Senna felt overwhelmed. She’d never been one to worry much about a wardrobe, but now, she’d spent the last hour surrounded by Sabé, Omega, and Ahsoka, going through the meager offerings of the base to see if they could find something worth salvaging for the gala that she and Rex were supposed to be attending. There hadn’t been much, and even less that would be appropriate for a high-level Imperial social event. She sighed, running her hand over her braid, which had slowly come undone in the last few hours, giving way to flyaways that were sticking out at odd angles as her frustration grew. Rex got the easy job here. Took them all of five minutes to dig up a kriffing Imperial dress uniform someone stole.

Sabé huffed, tossing aside a wad of fabric. “There’s nothing here.”

“Is there anywhere we could go shopping?” Omega offered, but Senna shook her head.

“Not exactly swimming in credits at the moment, and the kind of dress I’ll need won’t be cheap.”

Sabé paused, and Senna noted the way she suddenly turned and began sizing the Jedi up.

“What?” Senna asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious, shifting back and forth on her heels.

“I’ve got an idea,” the former handmaiden said, crossing her arms and tapping her foot as she took mental measurements of the Jedi’s figure. “It’s a long shot, but might just work.” Without another word, she turned on her heel and marched out of the storage room they were in. Senna glanced at Ahsoka, who shrugged, tossing aside the musty garment she’d been holding up. The other three followed Sabé down the hall to a different storage area that contained some of the crates she and Gregar Typho had unloaded when they’d arrived.

“I knew I kept these for a reason,” Sabé muttered as she popped the lid off one of the crates, and Senna’s eyes went wide. Beautiful beadwork glittered on delicate fabric in the dim storage room lighting, twinkling like stars on dark velvet. Sabé reached inside, lifting out one of the most intricate gowns Senna had ever laid eyes on. Glancing to her left, she could see Omega’s eyes had gone as wide as saucers.

“Where did you even get these?” Senna gasped, carefully cradling the garment as Sabé handed it to her before diving back into the crate.

“They were Padmé’s,” she said evenly, and Senna felt Ahsoka stiffen next to her. Looking out of the corner of her eye, she noted the sudden flex in the young Togrugta’s fingers and the glisten in her eyes.

You alright, Snips?

Ahsoka looked over at her, meeting her gaze and giving her a subtle nod.

Sabé was already pulling a long purple gown from the crate, holding it up to Senna, unaware of the unspoken conversation happening around her. “She was much shorter than you, and you’re a little broader in the shoulders, but there should be enough fabric on some of these to where we could tailor these to fit you.”

“Sabé, are you certain? I know what these…what she meant to you,” Senna said quietly. She and Echo had talked about Sabé, both on Naboo and since she’d returned. She knew that the former handmaiden had been in love with her queen, and that love was what continued to drive her to understand the secrets behind Padmé’s death. She almost felt unworthy to hold the gown in her hands, one of the last tangible reminders that Sabé had of the former senator, but Sabé shook her head.

“They’re just collecting dust, and if they aid in this fight, then I guarantee Padmé would call me foolish for hanging on to them as mementos. Let them carry on her mission.” She smiled, and Senna could see it was genuine, her eyes twinkling at the thought.

“Alright,” the Jedi conceded. “But you’ll have to find something with a set of gloves. Don’t want my hardware to draw unwanted attention.” She flexed the fingers on her cybernetic, and Sabé grinned.

“I think I’ve got just the dress then.” She dug around, pulling out a black leather corset and a long, shimmering black and silver patterned skirt. It had a set of long, black fingerless gloves and a beaded neck piece paired with it that Sabé tossed aside. “Stitching fingers onto those shouldn’t be an issue to cover your hand,” Sabé noted. “I think we can forgo the neck piece that goes with it in favor of some sleeker jewelry. Padmé hated that part of it anyway. Now if I can just find the blasted headband,” she muttered, moving to a small chest tucked into one corner. “Ah, here it is.” She slipped the sleek silver band over Senna’s forehead, smoothing some of her flyaways back underneath the metal. “Good. That at least fits. You’ll need to style your own hair, but I’ve got faith you can at least do that part. Now, let’s try and get the dress on you to see how much work I need to do.”

“Since when are you a seamstress?” Senna teased.

“There are a lot of things you have to learn as a handmaiden to the queen of Naboo. Espionage, weapon handling, hair and makeup, and how to sew in case one of the queen’s outfits falls apart or needs moderation at the last minute.” She winked at the Jedi. “No worries, I’m up to the task.”

Senna grinned as she undid her top, slipping it off of her shoulders. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

The handmaiden considered it for a moment as she undid the fastenings of the dress and slid the corset around Senna’s middle. “I can’t sing.” She paused. “Don’t tell Echo.” She eyed Omega, who crossed her heart as a promise and smiled.

“I thought you came from a long line of musicians,” Senna joked.

“Oh, give me a musical instrument, and I can make some magic happen. But if I’m relying on my vocal cords, you may as well hire an Aqualish,” Sabé laughed. “Alright, suck it in Senna.”

Senna held her breath as Sabé seemed to rearrange her internal organs to close the top piece. “Any chance I can get a little bit of breathing room put into this?” she gasped.

Sabé eyed it. “Yeah, I should be able to let that out a bit. Now, pants off so we can try the skirt.”

Senna rolled her eyes, kicking off her boots and stripping out of her leggings. Omega took the clothing from her dutifully, folding the pants neatly and placing them next to Senna’s boots and belt. The skirt went on easier, but was significantly too short. Ahsoka, who had been silent throughout most of the fitting, giggled. “I’d forgotten how short she was.”

Sabé smiled tenderly. “She wasn’t tall, but she always said she liked that about herself. People underestimated her because of her height, which made it all the more satisfying to watch her absolutely dismantle people in debates or negotiations.” She walked around behind Senna. “The train probably has enough fabric in it for me to add some length. Shouldn’t be a problem.” She handed Senna the gloves, and they easily slid on, covering her arms all the way to just past her elbows. Sabé stepped back, taking in the entire look, and she grinned. “You should see yourself.”

“Hang on, maybe she can!” Omega said, running over and turning the lights up to a brighter setting. The reflection on the durasteel wall became clearer in the brighter lighting. Senna couldn’t make out all of the details, but enough to come to one conclusion: Rex is really going to like this dress. She smirked before turning to her three friends, all of which were smiling ear to ear.

“Just make sure the captain knows I want that dress back in one piece,” Sabé teased, and Ahsoka glanced down at Omega, who didn’t appear phased by the comment. Senna flushed.

“Sure thing. Now help me out of this so I can breathe again.”

Senna stripped back out of the gown, sliding back into her own clothes as Sabé collected all of the pieces and promised to get to work on modifying them that night. Senna, Ahsoka, and Omega headed back towards the mess hall, leaving Sabé to her work. As Omega skipped out ahead of the two of them, Senna leaned over to speak quietly to Ahsoka.

“You sure you’re alright?”

Ahsoka nodded again, wetting her lips. “Yes. It was just…that was the first tangible reminder of her that I’ve had since it all happened. I couldn’t keep the lightsabers Anakin gave me. The reminder was too painful. But Padmé…”

Senna nodded as Ahsoka trailed off. “I kept wondering if he’d seen her in that dress. Or if he’d touched the fabric. It was a reminder of both of them for me.”

Ahsoka glanced over. “You knew then.”

Senna chuckled. “Subtlety wasn’t Anakin’s specialty.”

Ahsoka huffed a laugh. “You’ve got that right. I figured you knew. He never explicitly told me, but once I figured it out, I knew if there was anyone he’d tell, it’d be you and maybe Rex.”

“Oh, he definitely dragged Rex into it as well. He had the poor captain cover for him more often than he could count. He had to lie right to Master Kenobi’s face a handful of times. He hated it.”

Ahsoka laughed again, but this time the joy was there. “Rex couldn’t lie if his life depended on it, so I imagine that means Master Kenobi knew as well.”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

The two of them were still laughing as they rounded the corner into the mess. “Who’s that over there with Echo and Fives?” Ahsoka asked, squinting at the group of clones sitting at a table near the other entrance.

Senna followed her gaze, her brow furrowing. “Another clone. But that can’t be Gregor. His hair is too short.” The two of them shared a puzzled look as they approached the group. As Fives turned and grinned at them like a child with a secret, Senna reached out through the Force and all of the pieces began to fall into place. No way…

The new clone turned and smiled at the two of them. His dark hair was shorn close to his scalp, and he didn’t sport any noticeable tattoos or scars that helped identify him. He grinned at Ahsoka before his eyes flicked to Senna and her theory was all but confirmed. She suppressed a grin as she watched Anakin’s former padawan approach the clone and narrow her eyes. The clone stood almost at attention, not saying anything as Ahsoka circled him, pausing when she came around to the back of him, a smirk breaking across her face. “You’ll need to wash the dye off the back of your neck if you really want to pull that off, Rex.”

Rex glared at Fives. “Thought you said you got it all off.”

Fives walked around behind him, pushing Rex’s head forward as he inspected the back of his neck. “Ah, kriff. Well, good thing we caught it now.”

The captain gave Fives a playful shove before turning to face Senna. “You weren’t fooled, were you?”

She shrugged. “Maybe at first, but I get to cheat a bit.” She reached up, running her fingers across his scalp. “Your Force signature is the same, no matter what color your hair is.” Gripping his chin, she turned his head, taking in the new look. “This hides your scar better,” she noted. The thin line that served as a reminder of Rex’s inhibitor chip was normally slightly visible, even when his hair was a little longer, but the dark dye had done a good job of obscuring it. “Also hides your grey hairs,” she teased. “But I must say blonde suits you better.” He grinned at her.

“Maybe so, but Tarkin’s seen me before, and there weren’t exactly an abundance of blonde clones during the war. I figure it’s better to play it safe and blend in.”

“Probably,” Senna agreed. “As long as it’s not permanent.”

“Oh, don’t worry. You’ll have my grey hairs back before you know it,” he teased, slipping his arm around her waist. “Honestly surprised I don’t have more of them. Between the stress of the war and the accelerated aging, some of us went grey a long time ago.”

“Like Crosshair?” Senna teased.

“Nah, I think his just comes from being an asshole,” Rex joked, squeezing her gently. “You get everything sorted?”

“More or less. I’ve got something to wear. Now all we need are the cover stories and chain codes to get in.”

“Tech’s working on that,” Echo said. “He thinks he should be able to have something pulled tonight, but he wants to run several checks before you leave tomorrow.”

“That’s appreciated,” Senna replied, shifting nervously. “We’re walking right into the rancor’s den. We’ll need a solid cover story if we’re going to make it out in one piece.” She glanced up at Rex again, and he smiled down at her. Something about the darker hair and the lack of grey that she’d started to note shook her to her core. The occasional grey had started to appear in the stubble on his chin, but it would only be noticeable for a rotation or so before he’d shave his face clean. His blonde hair did a good job of hiding most of the grey, and she’d barely noted it since she was sporting several of her own that now peppered her temples and wove through her braid. She’d always known her time with Rex would be limited due to his accelerated aging, but she hadn’t realized how significantly he’d started to age before her eyes until this moment. They’d never discussed it explicitly, and that had made it easy to push to the back of her mind, a problem to be dealt with later, but here it was, staring her in the face. Something about seeing him with dark hair made her focus on the lines that were beginning to crease his forehead and the corner of his eyes, and the realization that Rex was at the point where he had surpassed her in age biologically hit her abruptly, giving way to a sudden, unbidden thought.

It’s not fair. We’re already running out of time, and it’s not fair.

“Everything alright?” he asked quietly, and she shook her head, trying to banish the thought from her mind.

“Yeah. It’s just very different. I know it’s you, but you look…”

“Like every other clone you’ve ever met?” he teased.

“Something like that.”

—

Rex stared into the mirror hanging off the wall of the small refresher on his ship. The face of his brothers stared back at him. Of course, he’d always shared their face, but his blonde hair had set him apart. Now, he was looking at a face more similar to Hevy, Cody, Echo, and countless others. He also noted that Senna was right, he looked younger. Much younger.

“You gonna stand there looking at yourself, or are you gonna come to bed?” Senna teased from the bunk. “Didn’t think you’d get all vain with a hair change.”

He rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t call it vanity so much as shock,” Rex replied. Pulling his shirt over his head, he carefully folded it and set it aside to be washed before climbing in next to Senna and sliding his arms around her. She giggled, moving closer and rolling onto her side to face him. Her eyes wandered across his face once more, her fingers trailing along his scalp.

“You ready for this?” he asked.

“Sure,” she replied. “We’ve done undercover work before. Should be simple enough.”

“It was different on Lothal,” he said softly.

She stilled. “How so?”

Rex shrugged slightly. “Things were different between us then. We weren’t…well, us.”

Senna smirked. “Maybe not. I actually think we’re better suited for this kind of job now. We know each other better, have a better understanding of how the other will react to things. Plus, the non-verbal communication will be helpful in a pinch.” He felt her watching him. “You’re worried though for some reason,” she said softly.

She knows me too well.

“It’s more dangerous now. It grows more dangerous every day. For you especially.” He ran his fingers through her hair. “What if there are Inquisitors there?”

Senna sighed deeply, slipping her cybernetic up to take his hand in hers. “Then we face the danger together. Remember? That was the deal.” Her words brought little comfort, and he knew his face betrayed that as her eyes searched his. “We’ll be careful,” she tried again. “We’ll be smart about it. Won’t take any unnecessary risks. But we’ve got to find out where Wolffe is.”

“He may not even be on that ship anymore,” Rex said gently. It was a possibility he had tried to prepare himself for, but he wasn’t sure Senna had done the same.

Senna chewed her lip. “Maybe. But the record said his hold was indefinite. To me, that sounds an awful lot like they’re locking him up and throwing away the key, hoping to forget about him.”

“Then why not throw him in a prison? Why keep him on a ship?”

“Yeah, that part has me scratching my head too,” she conceded. “But either way, I think we need to see what we can find out at this gala.” She smiled wickedly. “Plus…you’re going to want to see me in the gown we found. Trust me.”

He felt his eyebrows raise at that, and she smirked.

“Well, I can’t say no to that,” he agreed, leaning down to place a kiss to her lips. He felt her giggle, and he pulled back, a look of confusion creasing his brow.

She shrugged, grinning mischievously. “It’s just…a bit weird. It’s like I’m kissing one of your brothers.”

He laughed before rolling her onto her back and climbing to hover over her. “I promise you, Master Atiniir, none of them will kiss you the way I do.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against her ear as his voice grew husky, sending a shudder through her body. “Or do the things that I’m planning to do to you in this bed.”

—

“Alright, let’s run through it again,” Senna said, her heels resting on a corner of the flight control console as she lounged in the co-pilot seat as the blue and white streaks of hyperspace flew by the viewport.

They’d left Yavin 4 a few hours ago, headed towards Cantonica together onboard Rex’s ship. Tech had supplied them with a datapad that listed their covers that morning prior to their leaving, assuring Rex and Senna that he’d vetted their identities enough for them to stand up to a fair level of scrutiny. Not perfect, but enough… hopefully, Rex had thought. He hadn’t missed Senna asking if Tech had uploaded the file pertaining to Project Phoenix to the datapad. Rex wasn’t sure what additional information she hoped to glean from the cloning project, but she’d been insistent, and Tech had obliged as usual.

Senna had clearly been nervous all morning, checking and re-checking that they’d packed everything. He’d noted the small crate Sabé had handed off to her, passing along some last minute instructions before giving her a reassuring smile. Senna had placed the crate almost reverently in the cargo hold before asking him at least three more times if he had his uniform.

No one had gone with them for this mission, and Rex thought it was for the best even though it did make him slightly nervous. They’d carefully considered it, but quickly realized Tarkin had interacted with all of Clone Force 99 and Ahsoka, so bringing them along would only add risk. Even Gregor had met the former Republic captain during a training facility inspection, so he had been ruled out as well.

“This guy gets around,” Senna had muttered.

“Indeed he does,” Tech had agreed. “You’ll have to be careful not to reveal yourself, Rex. Tarkin has always been known for his attention to detail.” Senna’s nervous chewing on her lip hadn’t gone unnoticed by Rex as she took the datapad from Tech, and he largely suspected that Tech’s statement was what had driven Senna to drill him incessantly on his backstory for the last few hours.

“My name is Commander Derk, designation CC-8274-25. I was transferred to the 501st just before the end of the war after my battalion was wiped out in the battle that occurred in orbit around Rodia. I was promoted to Commander and went to serve General Skywalker on Coruscant just as the war concluded.” A little bit of truth to the lie. They’d hoped that no one would want to ask him about the massacre of the Jedi at the temple, and Rex could rely on his knowledge of the 501st to paint a believable picture for any innocuous questions that might come up. He went on, “I continued to serve the Empire until the decommissioning of the clones, and then I re-enlisted and have been working my way up ever since. I have been told I will be serving aboard one of the new Star Destroyers, although I haven’t been assigned a specific ship yet. After the war concluded, I met my lovely wife, Ana, and we’ve been together ever since.” He shot her a disarming smile, and she felt herself flush slightly. “Your turn,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her blush. At least that got a bit of a smile out of her.

She took a deep breath, tipping her head back and closing her eyes.

“My name is Ana Treven. I was born on Naboo and am an inventor by trade. I met my husband Derk after the war during the first Empire Day celebration on Coruscant while there visiting a friend, and we quickly fell in love, marrying a few months ago just before his promotion to Imperial Commander. I’m as proud as proud can be, doting some might say.”

“How did we meet?” Rex asked, and she glanced at him out of the side of her eye. “We’re newlyweds. You know they’ll ask. And it’s got to be good.”

She rolled her eyes. “We were standing on the main street outside of the Senate building during the fireworks display for the celebration. Some drunkard knocked into me, and I stumbled against you, ready to fight the guy. You held me back and also offered me your jacket since it was chilly and the man had dumped half of his drink down the front of my dress. I was shivering from the cold, even with your jacket, so we watched the fireworks display together with your arms wrapped around me. You swear it was a strategic move on my part, I swear I was just cold. After that, you walked me back to the place I was staying, and as I was handing you your jacket back, you asked if you could see me again.” She batted her eyelashes at him dramatically. “And I was swept off my feet. The rest is history.”

“See, it’s not that hard,” he teased, but she rolled her eyes again and huffed.

“You heard Tech. We can’t afford any screw-ups.” She punched at the datapad’s buttons a little harder than necessary, and he could see she was reviewing the file for Project Phoenix, her teeth digging into her lip as her eyes roved back and forth across the screen.

“You were so calm and confident last night. What’s changed?” he asked, trying to pinpoint what had her on edge.

Senna sighed again. “I’m not sure. Just woke up with a nervous feeling this morning. I don’t know if it’s because I want so badly to find information that will lead us to Wolffe or if it’s the fact that this place will be swarming with high-level Imperials, but I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Rex’s brow furrowed. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have said anything about Inquisitors. They likely won’t be there. They’ve been working from the shadows for the most part, so I highly doubt the Empire would bring them to such a public event.”

“I’m not so sure it’s even that,” Senna replied, ruffling her hair before piling it into a bun on the top of her head.

“No dreams or visions, right?” Rex asked. Senna had seen trouble coming before, and they’d ignored it, thinking it was just a nightmare. He wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

“No, nothing like that,” she said, and he felt himself relax slightly.

“Omega maybe?” he tried again.

Senna mulled it over. “Maybe. I am worried about her, but that seems to be a constant thing ever since I found out about her abilities.” She waved her hand dismissively. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Please don’t worry.”

Sensing she wasn’t going to reveal what was really bothering her, Rex leaned over, gripping her thigh and giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’ll be alright, and even if it’s not, we’ll figure it out.”

Senna rested her cybernetic hand on his, the metal cool against his knuckles. “I hope you’re right.”

#karrde writes #reunion #star wars #tcw #the clone wars #fanfiction #fan fic #captain rex #captain rex x oc #captain rex x ofc #captain rex x original female character #captain rex x senna aven #senna aven #the bad batch #tbb #echo #tech #wrecker #hunter #omega #ahsoka tano #ahsoka #slow burn #romance #established relationship #fluff #angst

[blackacre13]

ahhh could you do one where debbie and lou decide to visit a bdsm club together and debbie wants to do a scene on the stage with everyone watching

“Imagine,” Lou chuckled, nodding her head towards the black double doors covered in chains and tattered posters. Even the ambiance surrounding simply the doors bore a striking contrast to the rainbow and glitter of the street and other stands, loud hollering from the parade passing by as the blonde stomped out her cigarette.

“I take it we’re quitting the idea of quitting?” Debbie asked, looking down at the crushed embers below Lou’s chunky heeled boot.

“It’s pride,” Lou shrugged.

Debbie took another look at the door Lou was talking about, as if she hadn’t actually observed it the first time. The Australian didn’t miss the exhale of shaky breath the Ocean let out somewhere between excited and scared.

“Let’s do it,” Debbie decided, tugging at the blonde’s wrist as Lou shot her a look of disbelief.

“Deb, you know what it is, right?” Lou asked, wanting to be sure the brunette knew what she was getting them into.

“Like you said,” Debbie shrugged, looking down at the crushed cigarette before she met Lou’s eyes again with a wink. “It’s pride.”

The brunette crossed in front of Lou with a smug look, hoisting open the double doors before striding in, Lou close behind her, guiding her hips gently to make sure they weren’t separated.

The club was spacious. Dark corners. Deep red lights. Different stations scattered around with people of all different walks of life scattered around. The scent of arousal thick in the air. There was the light laughter and hum of conversation like a dinner party or an art gallery gathering, but with the unusual added feeling of heat and sweat. Shrieks and moans.

“Watching or participating?” Someone asked, stepping up to them. The only recognizable facial features sticking out from a black mask, green eyes that popped and lips painted black.

“Wa—“ Lou started before Debbie stepped in front of her, grabbing the offered clipboards.

“Participating,” Debbie declared, handing one over to Lou.

“Consent forms,” the stranger explained. “Abide by these rules or you’re out. Consider lack of consent a cardinal sin within these walls.”

“Already do,” the blonde nodded, making Debbie smitten and proud.

Satisfied with their signatures, the stranger walked away as Lou tugged at Debbie’s wrist. “Debs, you want to—“

“Do a scene,” Debbie nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

“It’s not like at home,” Lou warned her. “Or even a private club. It’s out here. In front of anyone who gathers to watch.”

“Hot right?” Debbie grinned, stripping her shirt over her head and thrusting it against Lou’s chest. “How do you want me, baby?”

Lou watched, awe-struck, as Debbie wiggled out of her jeans and walked out of them, apparently already dressed for the occasion in black, scrappy lingerie that screamed bondage.

“You’re sure about this?” The blonde confirmed, taking Debbie securely by the shoulder. “You trust me to do this with you like this?”

“More than anything,” the Ocean whispered, her eyes twinkling. “I trust you.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” Lou smirked, licking her lips before throwing her leather jacket to the ground with force. She nodded towards a wooden cross a few paces from them. “Your spot awaits.”

Debbie walked over to the area, her back against the wood, spreading her arms and legs out as she gave Lou a nod.

A man in a black t-shirt came up to Lou as the blonde traced one of Debbie’s arms soothingly, almost taking inventory of her body as she whispered something to Debbie alone.

“I can tie her up for you,” he offered, gesturing to a bundle of twine in his hands. “Make sure she’s safe and secure.”

“Oh, I’ve got it from here,” Lou winked, grabbing the rope from him as she threw it over her shoulder, removing the end as she played with it between her fingers. She pressed her leather-clad thigh between Debbie’s naked ones as Debbie let out a quiet moan. “Ready, honey?”

“Oh,” Debbie hummed. “Yes, sir.”

#queue #writing #my writing #blackacre13 #ask #ask me #ask me things #prompt ask #prompt request #prompt asks #writing ask #writing request #writing prompt #Debbie ocean #lou miller #lou x debbie #Debbie x lou #loubbie #heist girlfriends #heist wives #lou and debbie #oceans eight #oceans 8 #ocean's eight #ocean's 8 #top!lou #bottom!debbie #dom!lou #sub!debbie #pride AU

[amerrierworld]

Staring back at me

for @idrewbedraggledbreaths​: Carol/Therese with top Carol and mirrors. 

Summary: Carol gets what she wants.

Characters: Carol x Therese

Word Count: 2,254

Warnings: mirror sex! strap ons :) Carol being a raunchy girlfriend, as always

Therese heard the dressing room door clicking shut before seeing her blonde lover in the reflection. Her perfume drifted slowly towards her as Carol stepped into the space, watching Therese tidy up after her most recent model had come to the studio for a modelling session.

Carol had shown up a tad too early to pick Therese up, but rather than waiting in her car, she lingered by the door and watched Therese submersed in her work. 

The model was some tanned, European beauty who giggled with a twinkle in her eyes and enamoured people with the gap in her teeth. But Carol didn’t care much for her, because Therese was wearing a button-down and vest, with loose jeans cuffed at the bottoms and in just her socks. She sat cross-legged on the studio space floor, so that her camera tilted up towards the model arching her shoulders and arms in numerous sensual and bewitching poses.

When Therese noticed Carol watching patiently with her arms crossed and eyes glittering, she had only stuttered a moment before finishing the shots. And as the model had gotten her things and changed her clothes, Carol nearly pounced on Therese right there on the floor, because the brunette had to gall to undo one of her top buttons.

Therese introduced Carol -her roommate- to the model, who amicably shook her hand, said they should all go out for drinks sometime, and was eager to see the finished product soon. 

“I’ve got to clean up,” Therese said to Carol once they were alone, pecking her cheek. “Give me 15 minutes?”

Carol had contently hummed in the back of her throat and watched her lover scuttle back to the studio, putting away equipment and tidying up, then going to the dressing room and making sure nothing was left behind. Though Therese used the space for her work throughout the week, it didn’t belong to her, and the owner rented it out over the weekends for other creative minds. So, she liked to be thorough and not leave anything behind at the end of the week.

Now, it looked quite bare. There were no windows, and only the bulb lights framing the mirror were on, bathing Therese in warm light as she wiped down the desk space. That’s when Carol noticed the photographer had rolled up her sleeves, and her nostrils flaring at the sight. 

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” she asked, seemingly oblivious to Carol’s reaction. “I was thinking we could stop by that Chinese place, the one Dannie recommended, on the way home?”

“Oh, sure,” Carol replied. Therese ran a cloth over the mirror, stretching up to catch the top edge of it. Her shirt rode up, revealing milky skin underneath. Carol came closer.

“Was it very busy today?”

“Hm, not really. I’ve managed to finish a lot of print orders. The last appointment only ran late because that girl was such a talker.”

“I bet,” Carol was practically flush against Therese’s back at this point, distracted by the way she seemed to glow in the lights. Therese was teetering as she tried dusting the top lights off. She nearly tipped forward had two hands not gripped her hips, making her squeal but holding her steady.

“I don’t think your landlord will care much about the dust on the top lights, darling,” Carol brushed her lips over the shell of Therese’s ear. 

“I know, but you know me,” Therese protested, “I like to be-”

“Thorough,” Carol finished, before nudging Therese’s head to the side with her nose and pressing a firm kiss on her neck. She felt the muscles tense and quiver underneath her mouth and couldn’t help but run her teeth along the skin as well, making Therese gasp, and press back entirely against her. 

The brunette stilled, breathing heavily as she realized what the firmness was that she felt underneath Carol’s slacks. And when Carol caught her lustful gaze in the mirror, with her mouth hanging slightly open, she knew that Therese was done for. Chuckling, Carol kissed her neck again, leaving a second bright red lip stick stain on the fair skin.

“You didn’t come all this way to pick me up just to-” Therese trailed off as she rocked her hips back against Carol, feeling the strap through the fabric of their clothes.

“No, I wanted to surprise you when we got home,” Carol mumbled, her fingers making quick work of the buttons on Therese’s outfit, “..you know how much of a hassle it is to put all those buckles in place. But when you took so long with your last client, I was thinking...”

She finished her thought with a sharp grind of her own hips against Therese, whose hand flew up and pressed against the mirror to catch herself before she fell forward, barely balancing on her tiptoes. When she slipped her arms out of the shirt with Carol’s help, her hand left a print behind on the newly cleaned mirror, and Carol clucked her tongue.

“Oh, dear, looks like we’re not done cleaning here yet,” she said. “You’ve made a mess of your work.”

“You’re lucky no one else is booked for the evening,” Therese gasped. Carol ran her fingers over her breasts, teasing at the edges of her bra, before tugging it down and using her fingernails to raise goosebumps on her skin. 

“I don’t think you would’ve said no either way,” Carol whispered cheekily, making Therese huff out a laugh, quickly replaced by another grunt of pleasure as Carol rocked her hips again. 

Carol let Therese go only for a moment, to unzip her own trousers and clumsily untuck her blouse, lust beginning to cloud her mind. Therese threw off her bra and spun around on the spot, dropping to her knees before Carol could protest.

“Baby-,” the blonde began, but Therese had already yanked everything down and took the toy in her mouth as deep as she could. Carol let out a low groan as the sudden push against her made her clit throb. 

Therese knew how to make her quiver, knew how to make her beg, but Carol wasn’t having any of that today. Not even when Therese spat on the strap and sucked so loudly that Carol’s ears flushed red at the sound of it. 

She put a hand in the fine brown hair and pulled, sharply, letting the strap go with a ‘pop’. Therese pouted at the loss, and her hands, which had been gripping Carol’s firm thighs, traveled up towards the harness. Her fingers wiggled underneath the contraption and brushed lightly against Carol’s clit, making her curse loudly. 

Therese took the distraction to her advantage, dipped her fingers to her entrance, and took the toy in her mouth again. Carol could become addicted to the way her cheeks hollowed as she sucked in, the way her green eyes stared at her hazily. But when Therese’s fingers started rubbing and prodding a little too confidently, she knew she wanted control again.

She yanked Therese up, her chin wet with saliva, and attacked her mouth with a vengeance. They kissed roughly, Carol pressing Therese up until she was teetering on her toes again and she had to fling her arms around the blonde to keep from falling.

Carol pried her away and let her catch herself to pull Therese’s jeans down as far as possible, running her fingers over her panties and chuckling at how damp they were. 

Therese mewled, her neck and chest shining with beading sweat. She wanted to spread her legs, wanted to wrap around Carol, open herself up, but Carol kept rubbing firmly but slowly, and she could only tremble.

Her legs still confined with her jeans up to her mid thighs, Carol urged her to turn around again for her, her torso completely exposed in the mirror’s reflection.

“Oh my...” Carol breathed in Therese’s ear, rolling her nipples between her fingertips. “Someone should be photographing you, my dear.”

She was a vision, dark eyeshadow smudging, her stomach rippling with tremors and hasty breaths. And then Carol tugged her underwear down and slid two fingers against her, and she cried out. 

Carol sucked her fingers, tasting the musk of her lover and smelling her heavenly scent before reaching down again, from behind, and firmly pushing those two teasing fingers inside.

“Oh!” Therese gasped at the intrusion, and Carol’s other arm wrapped around her middle, enamoured by the little twitches in Therese’s eyebrows that she could watch in the mirror.

“You’re so tight, angel,” Carol growled. “Do you like it like this? Like how tight it feels?”

Therese nodded. Carol had her hoisted up where she could feel the edge of the vanity desk nudge at her clit with every thrust of Carol’s hand, shooting shivers of pleasure up her spine.

“I’m almost tempted to urge you to be one of those Playboy models,” Carol groaned, “take photos of how gorgeous you look, especially when you're like this. Why no one has taken you on as a model yet, I’ll never understand.”

“Because I’m much better behind the camera,” Therese huffed. 

“Oh, I beg to differ,” Carol gripped her jaw, and Therese opened her eyes, staring into the mirror, into Carol’s sultry eyes. “Look at how fine you look; how elegant, yet disheveled. I’d pay a fortune to have this look hanging on my wall forever. You, coming undone; absolutely perfect, my perfect angel.”

Her fingers thrust hard, and curled up, and Therese felt her clit grind against the wood, and she came. It was a sharp, short orgasm, one that faded far too quick, but left her incredibly wet and aching for more. 

Carol, impatient as ever when she was aroused like this, pulled Therese’s jeans down to below her knees, to allow her legs to spread, but only a little more. And then, with the slick from Therese’s cunt and her saliva, she pressed the strap inside, filling her up with a hasty, inelegant thrust. They both groaned as their bodies joined together, and Therese could barely hold herself up as Carol set a furious, demanding pace, jaw clenched. The brunette pressed both hands flat against the mirror, looking at how Carol grabbed her hips, how her eyes raked up from her ass, to her back, and then met her gaze in the mirror. 

It was such a tight fit, such a deliciously tight fit, and Therese felt herself losing her mind with how dirty and ferocious it felt. 

Carol wormed her hand around and between Therese’s legs, finding the hard tip of her clit with ease. The thrusting must have hurt her hand at least a little as it came in contact with the desk, but it barely took three thrusts for Therese to tip over again, because the consistent rubbing of Carol’s fingertips made her see stars. 

Carol didn’t stop, chasing her own release as she kept pounding, and Therese choked out incessant whimpers as the toy kept rubbing inside her. 

But Therese knew she wouldn’t be able to come like this; the angle wasn’t right and the harness wasn’t enough friction against her clit. She pushed up with what little strength she had, halting her lover’s thrusting. Carol watched her questioningly, barely containing herself, and then Therese reached around to push her fingers underneath the harness, until it was between the base of the cock and Carol’s mons. 

Carol cried out, biting Therese’s shoulder as her young lover reached for her clit, rubbing firmly and as quickly as she could in the confined space she had. Carol seemed to lose her control, forehead creasing and hands grabbling at Therese’s waist. She managed to thrust against Therese’s fingers, making her whimper at the cock pressing deeper again, but the brunette didn’t relent until she felt that familiar tremble, and then the gush of warmth over her fingers. 

Carol’s hands were nearly gripping her hard enough to bruise. It took several moments for the heat in them both to settle, and Therese kept her fingers pressed against Carol’s clit for as long as the shocks racked through her body.

Then, Carol tugged her hand away and slipped out the toy before practically ripping the harness apart and shaking off her pants in the process. Her naked form bracketed Therese’s in the mirror, rubbing soothingly up and down her arms, her back. 

“Fuck,” was all she managed to say. Therese giggled, pressing her head back onto Carol’s shoulder as the blonde enveloped her, “love you so much.”

“Love you too,” Therese whispered, her throat dry and feeling exhausted. 

Prying away, Carol grimaced at the sound of her body unsticking from Therese’s, their sweat and juices making them gleam in the light. Therese laughed at the expression, the feral sex beast not as present anymore as Carol checked her smudged makeup. She turned and grabbed Carol’s face, tearing her gaze away from the mirror as she began kissing her languidly and slowly, until Carol melted in her hold again.

“There’s a bathroom down the hall on the left,” Therese suggested as Carol fanned herself, trying to get rid of the flushed look spread over her chest and face. “You go first, I have even more things to clean up in here now.”

Carol grinned lovingly, putting on her underwear and blouse as Therese hoisted her jeans up again. They were sticky and uncomfortable, but it would have to do, at least until they got home. Chinese takeout would have to wait.

A/N: WHAT’S UP, i’m alive. Yeah if you’ve been here for a while, you’ll probably see that I tend to go through phases of *very present online and posting lots of content* to then *disappearing for days or weeks at a time*. I always come back, I promise! Sometimes it just takes a while to crank up the motivation again, but I appreciate all of you who have stuck around thus far <3

#carol #carol aird #carol movie #carol fanfiction #carol & therese #cate blanchett #rooney mara #therese belivet #The Price of Salt #patricia highsmith #todd haynes #carolxtherese #carol/therese #carol aird x therese belivet #wlw #lgbt #fanfiction #merry writes #idrewbedraggledbreaths

[potentialproblem01]

Minor Acts- a Jan/male reader fic

For @thesunflowersutra You wanted some fic, I have delivered. A week late but who’s counting.

Also posted on my AO3 if you prefer to read it there, mark for later, etc, whatever. 

Minor Acts- 1.6k E-rated pwp smut

Jan looks at you over the cherry of his burning smoke. You'd been planning this for a while now, pouring out papers and schematics across the floor of his room. The work was finally coming to fruition. 

Tension had been growing since you’d levered yourself off the floor earlier that day, nearly slipping on a stray paper before hauling Jan up too, ending up pulling him into your space. There'd been the hum of tension and anticipation as you packed bags and gathered supplies. 

The plan was solid and it worked. The two of you watched the bomb go off from across the bay hidden by the night and old ocean-swept trees and distance. Coffee in one hand, cigarette in the other behind matching smiles watching the flames catch, shockwaves echoing across the water. The collapse of the human anaesthetic of TV. 

You turn to him, euphoria of a well executed plan simmering and transforming into something a little more wild and further untamed; less satisfaction and more hunger. The discipline of the fight slinking out of you as you catch his eye, trailing over his nose and his scruff. 

He sees you looking and like always, it’s a battle of who gives in first. You chuck your cigarette aside.

You’re never really sure who wins or loses these games but you lean in first, catching his bottom lip. The night stretches unlimited by possibility as you push him over on the blanket, climbing on top and sitting across his hips as you feel his interest start to grow. He can feel yours assuredly as you press him down, ribcages preventing you from getting closer. 

The wind had died down from the day and the peace of starlight and calm water tempers the flare of need you have despite the carnage across the bay. You go slow, enjoying his taste; nicotine and the sweet remnants of the joint from earlier, cheap wine from lunch, the salt and freedom of the sea. 

He gets his hand under your shirt, trailing over your abs and toying with the band of your jeans. His eyes glitter in the dark, full of mischief with the promise of indecent misconduct. His hands move back up, across the thin lower ribs and brushing against your nipples as they push up, encouraging you to lift your arms and discard your t-shirt. The worn out cotton lands in the grass and you move your hands back down to him, getting one hand in the longer hair on top of his head and a forearm to the side to keep from smothering him. His arms come around your middle, digging into the soft muscles of your back. 

You give him another kiss before peppering his face with them: cupid's bow, tip of his nose before dropping them across his beard line. He lets out a soft sigh and grinds up against your ass, using his grip around you to lift himself into you, being his usual needy self. You press down with your hips, angles of your bones clicking with his, your arousal trapped between you. He still struggles with trying to create some friction but you don’t let him. 

You latch onto his neck, nibbling and sucking to bruise, pulling his head back to give you space to work. Torturing him when he so clearly needs you. You pull on his hair a little more, not to hurt but to tell him to behave. 

You sit back and pull him up a little, letting go to get his shirt off too. His rough skin tastes like the sea as you lick at him. Down over the soft swell of his pec to lavish his nipple in reward for a job well done today. He mewls so pretty, soft chest fuzz sliding against your afternoon coarseness. 

You nose along his skin before crossing over to the other side, giving the same reward to the other nipple. He moves his hands to your hair, dragging fingers across the shorn velvet part at the base of your skull before tugging on the longer strands. You resist his insistence to hurry as you back down his body, savoring his impatience as you kiss down his linea alba, playing with the hair there. 

You hook your fingers into his waistband, sliding them around to undo the button and pull them down and off. You stand up to shuck your own jeans off too, reaching for the backpack. He props himself up, watching you halo orange in the firelight. The night air is cooling you faster than the draining remnants of danger. 

You packed the lube in the side pouch. 

You settle back between his legs popping the cap and squeezing the cool liquid across your fingers. Tracing down the seam, pressing the soft skin before skipping down and pressing gently into his hole. He’s still a little open from the morning and your finger sinks in so easy. He’s wiggling, begging for another and you oblige; he did so good today, he’s earned it. 

You dip in a second finger, pushing at the heat of his ring before hooking up and pressing gently at his prostate. He lets out a soft shout, not prepared for you to get to him so quickly. You usually take your time, but you have no patience for that tonight as your work burns behind you. There’s something driving you to skip the foreplay and get right to being close, like a final closure to the plan. Like spending the stolen cash. Like hanging the stolen art.

The papers in the morning will speculate about an accident but the evening editions will display the note he left about TV being the opiate of the masses on the front page. 

You dip in a third finger, pulling at his ring teasing and lilting. Feathery touches to his thighs and the cut of his hip bones. He’s a squirming mess beneath you, so beautiful in the dark and smelling like the remnants of plastic explosives. 

You withdraw your fingers and pull him in by the hips, grabbing the lube again and drizzling some over your cock before spreading it over yourself. You grab his hips to line yourself up before pulling him up your thighs to get close enough. You angle his hips with one hand and guide yourself to his hole with the other before pushing in, the resistance light as you enter him. 

His face makes the most exquisite scrunch as you stretch him open again. You fit yourself in and let go of his hips to drag a slick hand up his stomach, lube sticking to his happy trail. You tweak a nipple before leaning in to steal a kiss. He kisses back with a whimper, chasing your lips as you pull away and grip his waist. 

You thrust slow and sure, his heat incredible in the night air and you want this to last. 

His skin is warm against you, sticky with the ambient salt, his hair stiff with it. When you run your hand through the strands, they stick out in every direction, softening him in your eyes. Here, under you, he’s hardly just a hard-eyed revolutionary, he’s one of the most beautiful people and minds you’ve ever met. You’re pretty sure the image of him spread on your cock as a satellite station burns behind you casting long orange shadows across the salted bay will stay with you forever. 

You keep thrusting in with easy and slow strokes until he looks so fragile he might cry. You like when he cries but now is hardly the place to put him back together after. You pick up the pace, changing the angle by getting further under him. 

He soon starts to shake, tightening around you. You’re not near enough to the edge to come at the same time but you think you’ll have plenty of chances to synchronize in other aftermaths. With another drag across his prostate, he’s coming, ropes painting his stomach and reaching up his chest. Some hitting you. In his blissed out state, you fuck into him with abandon, seeking your own release until you find it burning through your core and burying deep inside him.

You stay there, buried in him, panting. He’s starting to come down to earth himself, looking at you with hazy brown eyes. Your breaths eventually even and a calm settles over your little beachy cliff. The stars are obscured now by the smoke and light of the flames but you can feel them up there, twinkling away because everything is as it should be. 

You pull out of him, cock soft and wet with lube and come. You back away to wipe off with the edge of a blanket and lean in to look as your come dribbles out of his ass. It’s one of your favorite sights. You plant a kiss on both his thighs, licking up some of his cooling come before wiping the rest away with the blanket too. 

He lets out this beautiful sigh and you know he’s about to pass out. You’re safe for now. Content. Something bordering happiness crawling up the base of your brain stem. You hate to think it’s love but if the bomb detonates...

He falls asleep after he comes like he usually does, exactly in the position you left him in. His arms are splayed on the blanket, legs pushed out from his hips where you cleaned him off. 

You let him sleep for a while. The sirens have only just started blaring, red and blue lights not yet flashing across the water. He’s gorgeous when he sleeps, looking much less angry with the world. He’ll have another idea when he wakes but for now you bask in the heat of the flames and his love. Tomorrow will be another plan.

After all, what’s a minor act of terrorism between lovers?

#daniel bruhl fanfiction #jan weingartner #jan edukators #the edukators #jan x reader #male reader #daniel brühl #daniel bruhl smut

[xbunnybunz]

Daybreak (6/?) [Wolf Keum x Reader x Alex Go]

Summary: The day brings to you Alex Go, and in the night, Wolf Keum. Your past is inescapable. They build you up and tear you back down, but this is what you need to survive.

Genre: Romance, Angst, Drama

—–

The sun was making it’s way down the city horizon when Alex and you stepped out of the restaurant, thick spills of orange and yellow and pinks washing over the peaks of buildings and drenching your world in a sickly honey hues.

“The sunset’s amazing today!”

Alex, like a fool, proceeds to shield his eyes and look directly into the sun. He doesn’t flinch away like you thought he would, instead he closes his eyes to bask in the sun, eyelashes skimming his cheeks and fluttering, catching the fading rays of light and scattering shadows across his face.

The colors splash over his nose bridge and cheekbones and high arches of his browbone, dripping from his visage in a manner that make him look less like a high school boy and more of an angel.

You turn your gaze from Alex to the pastel laden sky, squinting up at the pale brewing clouds overhead, wondering if you should’ve brought an umbrella. The setting sun brings a chill that reminds you that autumn lingers around the corner. You wrap your arms around yourself, a silly attempt to keep the heat in your body.

The uneasiness from earlier still swims in your gut, pushing out of your fingertips and branching through your body like streaks of lightning, searching for something to strike, something to ignite to warm your somber heart.

“Should we go?”

Alex turns to you, a relaxed smile splayed across his lips, green eyes practically glowing.

Your fingers clench into the fabric of your uniform sleeve, heart yearning to skim fingers along his jaw, card your hands through his hair, feel his warm skin against yours, bitter with the cold.

But you fear the darkness that drips from your body like a staining ink, fear that his light will vanquish the grasp it has on you that strangulates yet holds you together. You fear that the moment you lay a touch upon Alex Go, he becomes dyed with a black tarnish, and you fall apart.

“Where are we going?”

He laughs, “Taking you home, where else? I can’t show you all the good places at once, or I won’t have anything else to wow you with next time.”

He pinches a piece of his black hair between his fingers, rolling, voice taking on a quieter tone.

“Well, if there’s a next time.”

Your breath comes out closer to a shudder than a sigh .

The fragments of yourself tear at each other. They demand happiness, demand misery, demand punishment—but you want happiness. You do.

“Yes, I’d like that.”

Alex smiles and you drink it all in while he’s still here in front of you. The darkness is building in the sky and in your soul and you know that you have to pull away soon, before you become too greedy.

“I forgot that I had some errands to run before I go home, so can we save the walking home for next time?”

You flash a grin and tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, distracting Alex from seeing that the smile doesn’t reach your eyes.

His gaze follows the movement of your hand and his lips quirk upwards into a smile.

“Sure thing. This is a goodbye then?”

“I guess so.”

You take a step back, carefully.

Quietly.

Hungry thoughts in your head are swimming and sloshing, threatening to spill over the cusp and consume both of you.

Alex stands still, not moving. His eyes are shining in a way you can’t understand, but it makes your heart pound and contort. It takes him a second to step forward, another second to grasp your hands in his own.

You try to yank them away, you really do, but his hands eclipse yours and they’re so tender, so warm. They make you feel safe. Your mind fogs and resistance melts into a puddle at your feet.

“I had a lot of fun today, and I’m glad you entrusted me with something so important about you.”

His grip on your hands tightens and the pressure tenses your jaw, anchoring your body into the cement to prevent doing something you might regret.

“If you ever need anyone to talk to, I’ll be here. I promise.” He leans closer and you can see the rings of viridian orbiting his dark pupils like the bands on looming Jupiter.

You can feel the heat from his body, his face. His breath hits your lips and puts a seal on your proximity, locking you in place with the enticing promise of something more, something you didn’t dare name.

Then he begins to lean in. He’s tall, long legs, lean body-- he has to angle his head slightly. His black hair brushes your face, lashes fluttering, deep green eyes reflecting the golden rays of the falling sun, the world spinning around him with you at the very center.

But it echoes, oh how it resonates!

The sound of the streetlight flickering with a dull electric hum, the counter in it’s hellish loop of tik tik tik, and the horrible grating sound of his palm- Alex’s palm- smashing into the back of the light, thunder ripping into your eardrums and brandishing fear into your heart. It startles you out of your leaden state and you jerk away from him like you’ve been burned, like you’re scared of the fire that blazes so brilliantly.

He stands there, looking shocked. You can do nothing but stare right back, wide-eyed and chest heaving.

“I-I’m sorry, I-” He stammers, searching your face for something, for a reason, for a sign. “I wasn’t thinking, I should have asked first, I-”

You intervene.

“I’m really sorry, I have to go.”

Your mind is racing, it’s fighting, telling you to stay please stay, begging you not to run anymore, not to be alone anymore, but it’s telling you to turn and flee before he can say anything more, far from here, from him before you hurt him again, before you hurt yourself again.

You take one staggered step back.

This time he doesn’t follow you. The heartbreak is audible, like black ice popping in the heat of the winter sun.

You take another step, then another, and suddenly you’re running. The wind is whipping at your cheeks, and it’s nonsense, you know it is.

You can’t understand why you began to run if you knew Alex could easily catch up to you, why you couldn’t just let a good thing happen, why you had to sabotage everything for yourself when you already had nothing left.

The thudding of your feet on the pavement slows only when your surroundings become unrecognizable, no karaoke bar, no green scaffolding, no Alex.

You struggle to breathe, lungs burning and sweat beading on your forehead regardless of the dropping temperatures.

The sun has long gone, plunging you into a world of blackened skies and scattered stars.

There’s a park entrance by your left so you walk in, legs heavy, searching for a place to rest while your breathing becomes regular.

You find a bench across a stone fountain and take a seat, resting your elbows on your knees and taking deep breaths in, then out, in, then out.

The steady stream of water calms your nerves as you try to piece reality back together. You close your eyes, concentrate on picking up the pieces of yourself you keep dropping until all that’s left is the splintered image of who you used to be.

You recall Alex’s face when you had stepped away, brows furrowed in concern, lips downturned and eyes frantic, like he had committed the single most atrocious act in all existence.

You drop your face into your hands and try to shake the thoughts out of your head, but they keep worming their way back into your head.

Your sigh is deep and scoops out the insides of your lungs. You hold it for a while, trying to memorize the carve of the void inside your chest. When you inhale, you feel nothing has changed.

“…Shit.”

Your spine curves to the shape of the park bench when you stretch, and you drop your head and allowing it to hang over the edge, looking skyward.

You take the time to admire the night, the dark sky draping like a blanket, stretching further into the universe than you could comprehend. This was the home to stars, twinkling like shiny little gems embedded in an inky pool.

Suddenly, the park lamps turn on with a click, flooding the park with soft yellow light. When the two beside your bench go off, your shadow reaches far and long to skim the edge of the fountain, stone and water illuminated an artificial glow, glittering softly.

You stay like this for a while, finding the sound of water soothing.

Some time passes and the night is stagnant until you catch a scent of something bitter and tart.

You pull yourself upright and peek around for the source of the smell, disbelieving your eyes when you see a familiar mop of purple hair through the shrubbery, moving closer to you.

You want to preserve your moment of solitude and consider diving into the bushes, but he turns the corner and catches your eye before you can scramble to your feet.

A divot works it’s way into his cheek. He pulls the cigarette away, smoke billowing from his mouth like a dragon, lips turning upwards in a smile that didn’t seem like a smile at all. His bandages were sparser now, though the bruising was more prominent now that they weren’t obscured by patches.

You sit silently when he’s approaching, when he’s nearing, and when he’s in front of you.

“Do you mope everywhere you go, or do you like to explore new places?”

He raises the cigarette to his lips again and your eyes watch as the bandage by the corner of his lip folds and stretches as he wraps his mouth around the stick of tobacco. His chest expands up and out when he takes a deep puff, holding it in his lungs for one, two, three seconds before turning away to release it into the air.

“…I was just in the area.”

He nods to acknowledge your answer but you are unsure if he was even listening. He sits beside you, crossing one leg on top of the other.

It stays like that for a few moments. The sound of water streaming from the fountain accompanied by the occasional deep inhale, then exhale beside you. It feels strange, feels empty, yet whole.

“How’s the face?

He doesn’t answer immediately, takes another slow drag before turning his head in your direction.

“Better, nothing too serious.”

You want to ask what he deems is “serious,” but decide against it.

“That’s good to hear.”

You’re both dancing around each other. You knew it, he knew it.

All small talk and avoiding the tension that was thick enough to cut through with a hot knife.

Wolf seemed interested in your bravado and the moping manner in which you carry yourself. You wonder if he finds you funny for being the anomaly to approach him like a drunken buffoon, or pathetic for bringing storm clouds to wherever he’d find you.

“Jagga High?” He’s staring at your uniform, and you subconsciously fold your hands over your thighs, where the skirt ends. He looks away, but a smirk rests precariously atop his lips. “Didn’t think you were the type.”

The challenge rests at the tip of your tongue, burning to ask him what exactly he meant by “the type,” but you bite your lip and stop yourself.

“You’re right. I’m not the type.” You watch the smoke curl from his lips and swirl into a dance before vanishing into the air. “But I was.”

You expect him to laugh at you, to mock you, but his lips are set in a straight line and his face is stoic, still facing the fountain.

“People change.”

There’s a peculiar and unanticipated softness in the usual hard edge of his voice. It takes you by surprise, but you push down the reaction because the incident seems delicate, like a layer of glass tempered so thin it would shatter with the slightest of touches.

Your attempt to reel in your emotions makes you miss a beat, then another until it extends again into silence.

You wonder what it is with Wolf Keum and silence. There’s always a part of you that wants to hear him speak more, curious what’s going on in his head, yet it seems unholy, sacrilegious even, to break the quiet and demand his attention.

“Why are you out here?” He asks, and the moment the question leaves his lips you know there’s no room for lying.

“It just happened. I wasn’t feeling good.”

Inhale. He assesses it as the truth, releases his breath in a cloud of methanol and nicotine. Exhale.

“You should know not to sit in a park at night. Dangerous bastards everywhere.”

You look at him, the hum of the streetlights buzzing in your fingertips like adrenaline.

“Are you dangerous?”

It’s a dare, a gauntlet of challenge thrown at his feet. You don’t know why you asked or what you expected, but it was funny to you in that strange, twisted way. It meant you knew Wolf wouldn’t understand your intent either, wouldn’t be able to read into it and take you apart like a puzzle. And you wanted to keep him on his toes the way he did you.

He glances over at you, the burning end of his cigarette pooling a rich ember light in his glasses and cheeks. He tries to understand you, comes up empty handed.

Your lips quirk up and he notices with a flash in his eyes.

His voice drops a bit, a whisper bordering on soundlessness. “Depends who you are.”

Inhale, exhale.

The moon hangs full and low in the sky, melting through the foliage in the trees and casting strange dancing shadows upon your forms.

“Me.”

Wolf lets his eyes slip shut upon hearing your response, a rumbling chuckle sitting low in his throat, dying out before it can make it past his lips. Eyelashes flutter and his eyes are open again, settling on you, on your face, peering into your eyes, into your soul, and again he manages to break you down.

His answer is spoken in a strange manner, thick and dripping with something that sounds like a sickly cross between temptation and a threat.

“Very.”

The simplicity of it is enough to make your mouth run dry.

You wonder how a single word could be spoken with such tenacity. It underscores the overwhelming presence he carries with him-- adrenaline chasing Wolf Keum, risk taking Wolf Keum, takes-what-he-wants Wolf Keum. It raises the hairs on your arms and sends a dark shudder down your spine because it sounds like a promise, and you tear your gaze away from his when you find confidence too becoming on him.

You search for something to return in wit but find that the list of things that come up can’t be spoken without volatility creeping into your voice. So you don’t say anything, and Wolf takes the silence as a viable answer.

He smiles, you can see it from the corner of your eye. A wicked smile, a close lipped smile, a risky one that pumped the blood through your veins faster, made your head spin.

You despised that it set your body and mind alight, so you spit out a question you knew would throw him off.

“How’s Donald?”

The persona he was fitting onto his form drops like a heavy cloak and his smile fades. A frown deepens on his face, bearing irritation at your reminder of his boss.

He leans back and doesn’t seem to want to play any longer. You’re both thankful and disappointed it worked.

“Th’fuck should I know?”

The two fingers pinching the cig exert more force, folding the crisp clean exterior. He doesn’t show it much other than the soft brush of a scowl, but you can tell he’s tenser now because his shoulders bunch more tightly, he breathes less with his stomach and more with his chest.

“Did you talk to him after that?”

He’s quiet. Just when you think he won’t answer, he does but avoids the question.

“He’s a fucking lunatic.”

You hum and choose to stop asking, wondering if you had picked a bad topic to throw his attention with. He seemed sour now, more so than you had anticipated.

You direct your gaze wayward and into the stars, pondered on this Donald character and wondered why someone as fearsome as Wolf Keum should have any reason to dodge an attempt to stand his ground.

Crickets begin to concoct a symphony of the oncoming night, a haunting refrain that eases your bones and melts into your muscles. In your periphery you think you see Wolf take a deep breath and soundlessly release it, shoulders slumping and head dropping.

You consider asking him what’s on his mind, but there’s no point if you know he won’t be honest.

Instead, you both soak in the swathing stillness that always seems to tail the both of you like shadows, an eerie calm that lingers like an aftertaste of something that could’ve been sweet, might’ve been tooth-rottenly addicting, could still be, if either of you chose to do anything about it.

In this moment, neither of you do.

Somehow, sitting under the veil of the night with nocturnal lifeforms coming to life, the gentle hum of the odious lamps and water playing in the background, just the company of an almost-stranger is enough.

Smoke wisps wordlessly about in the air, carried away by a slight breeze and teases your nose with a bitter tang. Then he’s offering you something, palm turned up, the burning stick of tar and nicotine between two lithe fingers. Holds out the cigarette to you, dark temptation.

The hesitation that bars your mind is thin and frail. You part it like a curtain and feel it’s tendrils grasping at you, but it does nothing to stop the endeavor.

A hand is reaching out, and suddenly the source of the acrid odor is pinched between your index finger and thumb.

You can see it in the haze of yellow lights, the darker tinge on the end of cigarette that Wolf had wrapped his mouth around, still moist from sitting upon his lips. Raising it to your lips, there’s the sensation of irredeemable depravation lying heavily in your mind, Wolf Keum’s cigarette. Green eyes flash in your vision, but the decadence sways you, beckons like a siren’s song.

When you seal your lips around the smoke it feels shamefully intimate, paper slightly damp from his use and cooled with the night air. You swallow thickly and you swear the sound does not go unnoticed by Wolf, though he doesn’t turn to look at you. Like a tease, like a taunt, like staring at the water spouting from the fountain is so much more entertaining than you.

You close your eyes and take a slow drag, mordant smoke filling your lungs like a balloon. Hold, then back out again. You cough once, and extend it back to him, deeper in the dregs now than ever before.

When he takes the smoke from you, his amber gaze meets yours and he doesn’t dare break away until he’s wrapped his lips around the filter, where your mouth had been seconds ago.

It coils something tight and hot in your stomach but you wipe your face clear, posing a tranquil air and refusing to give him the reaction he seeks.

His eyes linger, one, two, and it’s gone.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asks.

You know what he means but scoff anyways, shaking your head slightly. “Do you try to sound as rude as possible, or does it come naturally?”

Inhale, exhale. At this point, it’s rhythmic. Calming.

“I just like to get to the point.”

You give a dry chuckle and he pretends he doesn’t notice you dodging his question.

With his wit and banter, you begin to fit together pieces of Wolf Keum’s personality. Dark, elusive, and volatile.

It begs the question, “Have you done things you regret?”

You don’t expect him to respond right away, because he never does. He always turns over the question in his head, examining it from all angles- examining you from all angles- before he puts together an answer.

But this time is different. This time, his answer comes out almost too quickly, snatching the shroud of confidence from him with breathy exhale.

“So many times.”

You look at Wolf in the pooling light of the low hanging moon and the way he stares into the inky blue is sad and evocative. He’s reminiscent of olden renaissance art, eyes gilded with gold, shimmering in the dark, body collapsing into itself like drapery.

The charring ember cigarette dangling from his lips paints an orange hue across his cheeks, his lips, his eyes-- they’re so deep you feel gravity sucking you in, beguiling with dark lashes framing a spiral into inky depths.

He was fragmented.

You could tell with the way he inhaled the fumes without flinching, with the way he could stare at and straight through you at the same time. And yet you could still see pieces of yourself through and within the jagged cracks, like a mirror reflecting the abominable image of itself.

You close your eyes and feel his presence, inhale his scent, sharp and jarring like ink, earth, and smoke. He sounded pained, remorseful. And you understand him.

“Me too.”

It doesn’t take a single word to pass between the both of you, but you both know the conversation is done and you’re fine with that. You don’t get up to leave for a long time, and neither does he.

Not when he finishes his first smoke, the second, or when the owls begin to coo.

#weak hero #webtoon weak hero #weak hero x reader #WEAKHEROFANDOMUNITE #wolf keum x reader #wolf keum #alex go #alex go x reader #fanfiction #reader insert

[bottlesandcats]

Just posted the latest chapter of "Good Investments," my first fic in over 8 years, and featuring everyone's favorite idiots in love! Thanks to @3dg310rdsupreme for sticking with me and beta-ing this beast!

Read on for a sample from the first chapter!

When Bucky opens his eyes he’s alone. A damp chill has settled into his body, and he’s stiff and aching all over. For a brief moment he thinks he’s just woken up from cryo, but when he looks around he realizes he’s outside lying in the snow. At least he thinks it’s snow; but it’s bright red, just like the cherry snow cones he and Steve would get when they went to Coney Island. He hears water rushing by, but sees no river. There’s the taste of copper in his mouth and a gurgling sound every time he takes a breath, feels it in his throat like he’s choking on it. His skull is pounding, there’s a ringing in his ears and he’s having a hard time focusing his vision. Pain comes in violent waves, wracking his whole body. He tries to move his arms and legs. God, everything hurts so fucking much. He manages to wiggle his toes, and the fingers of his right arm; his left arm feels like lead.

He glances down and, to his horror, sees a bloody stump where his arm should be; it’s been torn off just above the elbow. Strips of shredded skin and muscle hang limply, and the bone is broken like a snapped tree branch. He tries to scream but nothing comes out. His vision grows fuzzy, everything keeps shifting in and out of focus, and there’s a darkness creeping in around the edges. Then everything goes black.

The next time he wakes, Bucky finds himself no longer in the snow but inside. It's musty and dark, and smells faintly of mildew. There’s a steady dripping sound coming from somewhere - tap...tap...tap… The room is frigid and it makes his teeth chatter uncontrollably, he can’t stop shivering. He’s strapped to a table and the cold metal is freezing against his bare back. The room is dimly lit and Bucky sees that he’s actually in a VFW hall where he used to go dancing. Everywhere he looks, he sees remnants of a party: colorful streamers, balloons, glitter in the corners, a half-eaten cake. Tin foil stars are suspended from the ceiling, twisting and turning from a mysterious breeze, and strings of twinkle lights are suspended from the rafters. It should be a cheerful sight but there’s something ominous about it, lurking in the outskirts.

Bucky glances down and sees his mangled arm, blood running freely off the table and onto the floor - tap...tap...tap... He tries calling out to Steve but he’s shaking so hard he can barely get the words out.

“Steve,” he croaks, after several attempts.

Steve will come, he always comes. That’s what they do, Steve and Bucky; they look out for each other.

Somewhere music begins to play, the kind you’d hear coming from a music box, and Bucky recognizes it as the opening number from the Stark Expo. Several nurses enter but they’re done up like pin-up girls, like the ones Bucky used to see in the dirty magazines he and Steve would steal from his pop: heavy make-up, low-cut uniforms, little nurses’ caps prettily balanced on their pinned-up hair. One of them he recognizes as Dolores, Dot, a pretty redhead he’d once won a stuffed bear for at a carnival. Hadn’t she been a secretary or typist or something like that?

A surgeon comes into his view, but where his head should be there’s a dusty old TV set instead. The screen switches on and Arnim Zola’s face slides into view, the picture grainy and tinted green.

“Is the asset prepped?” comes Zola’s voice from the TV, sounding tinny and digitized.

“No!” Bucky cries out, but it comes out choked. He tastes blood in his mouth and feels it dribbling down his chin. He struggles against the straps holding him down, and two nurses tighten the restraints. He recognizes them, but he can’t think from where. One is shoving a bite guard in his mouth when he remembers: the two girls he and Steve doubled with at the Stark Expo. What were their names? They had rhymed; he’d teased them about it that night, making them laugh. One of them (was it Connie?) switches on an overhead operating lamp and Bucky’s eyes burn with the sudden brightness, colorful spots filling his vision. The light allows Bucky to see the room in its entirety and he sees that the streamers are actually faded and torn, the balloons are covered in cobwebs and the string lights flicker eerily. Over on the dessert table, the cake has turned black and moldy, and roaches scatter into the dark recesses of the room.

Zola approaches, pushing a table of cruel-looking instruments in front of him. They flash in the bright light, casting flecks of light across the walls like stars. He goes whale-eyed as he watches Zola’s fingers dance across each tool, like he’s playing the piano, until they settle on a large bone saw. Bucky’s heart beats painfully against his ribs and he’s breathing so heavily he feels like his lungs might burst; he feels like a rabbit caught in a snare and his fear, hot and sour, soaks his fatigues and pools beneath him.

“Oh James,” Zola tsks, “you do always make such a mess of things, don’t you?” Then louder to the room, “We’ll need to remove the shoulder to situate the prosthetic correctly. I shall begin now.”

There is no anesthesia, and Bucky feels everything as the serrated blade cuts into his flesh. Zola braces himself against the table as he hacks at Bucky’s shoulder, violent and brutal. Beads of sweat run down his TV Land face; Dot daintily dabs the screen with a lace handkerchief. There’s blood everywhere and the sharp metallic smell of it fills the room. Bucky starts screaming against the bite guard, screaming until his throat feels like he’s swallowed razor blades. Hot tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, and he starts choking as bile and blood bubble up around the bite guard. The whole table rocks with Zola’s effort to slice into the tough muscle and tendons in his shoulder, the sound of tearing tissue nearly drowning out the 40s tune. The pain is indescribable and Bucky prays he will either pass out or die. Another nurse, whom Bucky hadn’t noticed before, tightly grips the stump of his arm and begins yanking, blood spraying across her breasts and white uniform. Zola keeps cutting while the nurse pulls, trying to literally rip the humerus bone out of Bucky’s shoulder socket.

‘I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.’

“Oh but Sergeant Barnes, this is the end of the line.”

#tfatws #sambucky #slow burn #domestic!sambucky #fan fic #self promotion #AO3 #fic with a playlist #sam wilson #bucky barnes #long post #WIP #creative writing #winterfalcon