youknowwhatted

[youknowwhatted]

I absolutely love how feral he is for her and how she can tame his rage and he listens to her❤️

How would Bucky react if Bee came home one day and had a bouquet of flowers that one of the PTA dads gave her for Malyshka? 👀

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumbleebee

Word Count: Drabble

A/N: Written on my phone, unbeta'd. Part of the bumblebee series.

Bucky carefully takes the flowers from Bumblebee's hands, his affable grin sliding off his face when he stands up, towering over you.

"Who gave you these?" His voice is deceptively calm, in stark dichotomy with the storm brewing in his keen blue eyes. His darkening gaze sends a shiver down your spine and it takes every ounce of your willpower to suppress your smile. This is probably not the best time to tease your mobster. Bucky knows the answer without even glancing at the card attached to the bouquet, he merely wants confirmation.

"Bucky," you stretch out his name, wrapping your arms around his neck, going on your tiptoes, you smooth the lines forming between his furrowed brows. "I barely remember the guy. Chris something I think. It's not important."

"I remembers Mommy. Mr. Cole gave 'em to you and remembers how he—" Bee states, squishing a stray lavender petal in her palm, blissfully unaware of what she started when she skipped in the house straight to Bucky to show him Cole's flowers."—he wanna touch your butts. You remembers?"

Don't laugh. Don't laugh.

"Thank you, Bumblebee." Bucky sees your lips twitch and a dark, menacing glint creeps over his bearded face. God, he's sexy when he gets like this. One day you'll figure out why that particular look makes your knees weak.

"You welcome, Papa," she sings out. Done with her part in this fiasco, she heads off to her playroom, leaving you alone with Bucky.

"Oh Cole. Right. That one. Yeah, they might be from him," you admit.

"Cole Turner. Farmer. Divorced father of two. Works upstate. Asthmatic." His gaze flicks to the flowers crumbling in his grasp. "Cheap."

Bucky knows all about the farmer, ever since the man first flirted with you. Bucky's been biding his time, content to let you handle him.

Until now.

If the way he's crushing the stems in his large tattooed hand or the way his heady gaze pins you in place wasn't enough to reveal how your mobster feels about another man giving you flowers, his accent slipping out as he lists off what he knows, says more than his words ever could.

Oh, he's furious.

And jealous.

It's not a bad look on him. You glance down and see the veins along the back of his hand, your eyes trailing up to his thick bicep barely contained by his tailored suit, and over to his face just in time to catch his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. Not bad at all.

Still, you can't let him hurt the asthmatic farmer even if Cole can't take a hint.

"James, whatever you're thinking, the answer is no." You clutch the sides of his jaw, making him look down at you. "I don't care about the flowers. Or what's his name. I love you." His expression doesn't change but you see his eyes soften. Pulling him down, your lips brush over his ear as you whisper. "I only want you. No one else. And if you agree to leave him alone, I'll show you how much you mean to me."

He knows that and he trusts you. He's not concerned about that. Bucky believes you're fucking irresistible and he can't blame other men for wanting you as badly as he does. Actually, he can and he will. Bucky drops the flowers and takes your face in his hands, his warm palms brush over your cheeks as he tilts your head back. "I'm going to need a lot of convincing Malyshka. It's going to take all night."

"Promise you're not going to do anything to him."

"I won't hurt him," Bucky offers with a casual shrug.

"Bucky."

"That's the best I can do. And Malyshka, you should be focused on how you're going to handle all the things I'm about to do to you." A smirk pulls at his lips and his unrelenting gaze skates over you in one smooth pass. His voice deepens, the sound vibrating over your skin as his lips find the side of your throat. "Remember what happened the last time you promised to make me feel better?"

Oh.

"I--"

"Don't worry, I'm about to remind you."

The following Monday.

You're dropping Bee off when you overhear Keaton talking to another mother. "We'll need someone to cover Cole's snacks for the rest of the year. I can't believe he up and left like that."

Your eyes widen as you subtly glance over your shoulder, listening carefully while taking Bee's little backpack off.

"What happened?"

Bucky what did you do? Without being too obvious, you take a step closer to the gossiping duo, their voices carrying over the sounds of the classroom.

"Apparently he just inherited a house in D.C. He told Kristen that it was left to him by some uncle but one of the conditions is he has to live there for ten years to keep it," "And get this, right after he finds out about the place, I'm talking two seconds after he hangs up with the lawyer, he gets an offer to take over some vendor that's a mile or two from his new place but they wanted him to start immediately. So he...." Her voice starts to fade as she strolls down the hallway.

No, he didn't. Laughter spills out, you slap your hand over your mouth to conceal the sound and wave goodbye to Bee. You spend the entire walk back to the car teetering between amusement and astonishment.

Bucky's waiting for you, leaning against the side of the car. A gorgeous, colorful bouquet of flowers in his hand. But it's the smug grin on his face that has your attention. He doesn't have an ounce of shame in him and you both know he'll do it again.

"You're ridiculous, you know that right?" You say, taking the flowers from his hand. That cocky grin of his widens as he opens the door for you. "And insane."

"Only when it comes to you."

#star #amazing writing #mob bucky barnes

[youknowwhatted]

Two for the Show: Act I

summary - When it comes to relationships, Jake Seresin is hardly conventional. He exchanges money for company and stress relief. He clears out a Tiffany's just because he can. He gives you everything you want like it's his job. But the one thing Jake Seresin doesn't do is fall in love - no matter how badly you wish he did.

warnings - sugar daddy au, ceo au, grumpy x sunshine, language, brief smut, reader has a somewhat toxic relationship with sex, themes around sex work and objectification, Jake is 6'7" because I said so

word count - 3.0k

million dollar man masterlist

Your body bounces slightly on the firm mattress, the bed sheet already sticking to your perspired skin. It’s almost uncomfortable—like hotel bedding—and it rubs up against you in a way that has you arching to get away from it. Your hand falls limply next to your head and you extend it downward to grab a grounding handful of the sheets under your raised thighs. 

A pillow slides under your tailbone, keeping you propped up, and then he’s sliding back in and continuing his pace. A large hand grabs at your breast, squeezing it lewdly as the new angle has gentle moans leaving your lips and your eyes fluttering closed. His head drops to your chest, following his hand and biting and nipping at the skin roughly. In your head, you can see him looking at you, those green eyes teasing and lustful as he covers you in hickies. It feels good.

“Fuck,” he groans, raising his head suddenly. “You’re so tight.”

You preen, feeling saliva cool on your skin, and pat blindly for his hand. You want to hold his hand. But suddenly both his hands are holding on to the meat of your hips, fingers squeezing into you so hard you know it’ll leave bruises in the morning. You take it though, it almost feels good, your body bouncing as he thrusts into you harder.

Grunts fill the room, deep and masculine, overpowering your soft gasps. Eyes cinched closed, you let a hand trace up sweaty, muscled skin, your fingernails digging into his tough shoulder when a particularly rough thrust has you shifting against the mattress.

Still shrouded in darkness, your fingers trail up the soft skin of his neck and tangle in blond strands. They’re soft and just slightly wet against your skin. They remind you of something, it stirs in your belly like a kindle of recollection. You know the feeling and you’ve felt it before. Something so familiar, but so long ago you’ve almost forgotten.

It hits you suddenly. 

A feather boa. 

His hair almost feels like a feather boa against your palm and fingertips. But not just a feather boa, no, a purple one. The purple one your mother had that she’d whip out every Halloween, laying it out on her shoulders on top of her black dress. She wore the same thing every year, a black dress, a pointed hat that she’d always take off at some point during the night, and a purple boa. “I’m a witch,” she told you when you asked. And you wanted to argue that the costume hardly made her a witch and that she couldn’t just dress up as the same thing every year, but then you couldn’t really imagine her being anything else.

She’d hand out candy and the pointed hat would slip down to her eyes as she leaned down to drop chocolate bars in pillow cases—that was part of the reason she always took it off so quickly. She’d gasp softly at the costumes she saw, complimenting them and playing along with whatever they were dressed up as.

“Oh! Good evening, your majesty.”

“Batman… you probably want dark chocolate, right? No? Good choice.”

“A witch! I’m a witch too! Here, you get extra candy.”

When the night got later and the trick-or-treaters were few and far between, your mother would put on festive music on her old portable speaker. She’d dance in circles around your living room, playing with the boa and tickling your cheeks with it as she tried to convince you to dance with her. Being a tween, you never agreed easily, rolling your eyes and ducking away in embarrassment. But she’d get you eventually and then the two of you would be a dancing, laughing mess of purple feathers.

“Yeah, that’s right. It feels so good you’re crying, huh?” Large thumbs wipe your wet cheeks and it’s enough for your brows to cinch together. You hadn’t realized you started crying.

Your hand falls from purple boa hair, wrapping around that firm shoulder as his thrusts become more intense. A dominant hand wraps around your thigh, holding it open as you feel as though the air is being pushed from your lungs. There’s a stretch you feel, though it’s a familiar one, right in your pelvis and you let your grip on his shoulder tighten.

“Ja—” It comes out a strained gasp, hardly the beginning of a word and more a garbled mess of sounds. Your back arches, your eyes rolling, and throughout it all the steady thrusts continue.

Finally, you let your body deflate, regulating your breaths as a guttural groan fills your ears and then the thrusts stop. You wince when he pulls out but say nothing, blinking your eyes open as his weight lifts from the bed. Goosebumps rise on your skin from the sudden chill and you delicately reach for the bed sheets, pulling them over yourself as Beau rolls the condom off and starts getting dressed.

You watch him from where you’ve propped yourself up on the pillows. How he buttons up his shirt quickly and pushes back graying brown strands from his face. It’s when he’s firmly situated in his slacks, fingers moving to zip up the zipper and adjust his belt that you finally build up the nerve to speak.

“Are you coming back tonight?”

Beau sniffs, not even looking up from where he’s sliding his belt buckle through the strap. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

He doesn’t expect an answer from you—he never does—but you give him one anyway. “Okay.”

Not another word is spoken between the two of you. Beau looks down at his phone, lets out a quiet curse, and leaves without even looking at you. The second he shuts your door behind him, you fall down to your mattress, fighting the way tears fill your eyes by shoving the heels of your palms into your eye sockets. You let out a shaky breath, ignoring the dull ache between your thighs as you lock your bottom lip between your teeth.

This is the third time you'd pictured Jake Seresin while you were getting intimate with Beau. The third time you imagined his olive green eyes and his rugged hands trailing all over your body. The first time had been an accident, it had happened almost immediately after you’d met him. Beau hadn’t liked seeing you so close with the successful hotelier—especially when he realized you were wearing Jake’s jacket. Beau had you in the back of his car, but your thoughts couldn’t help but drift to the handsome stranger who had spilled his drink on you and suddenly it was his voice that was groaning in your ear and his hands holding you firmly by your hips.

You felt guilty. Of course you felt guilty. It felt like infidelity. Regardless of what your relationship was, you did have a relationship with Beau and he certainly wasn’t paying you to think about other men while you were having sex with him. You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t think about Jake again. That he was just some man who paid attention to you and that’s why you feel this way about him. 

So the next time you had sex with Beau, you focused on him, and the way he spoke, and the way he touched you. And you couldn’t finish. You faked it—not that Beau could tell the difference—and you spent the night alone in bed wondering if you’d ever see Jake again. Finally you just gave up on trying to be a good person and went back to pretending that all the intimacy you were experiencing was at the hands of Jake Seresin. It was just easier that way and Beau never really seemed to care that you hardly ever opened your eyes—he probably preferred it if you're honest. It was just easier.

You hold your breath until you’re sure that Beau has left. The sound of the front door closing just makes it to your room and, after five minutes, you still haven’t heard it open again. Carefully, you get up, stretching out your somewhat sore limbs as you rock on your feet hesitantly. Beau’s gone, you know he is, but still you can’t help but wait for him to come back.

That’s how it was when you first started living with him, you felt like a new puppy. You’d spend your days just waiting for Beau to come home and your nights trying to hide your excitement when he did because he never had that excitement for you. In the beginning, you craved his attention. You reveled in the moments he’d take care of you, the moments where he was even a tad bit soft.

As time went on, you got a better sense of what Beau Simpson wanted from you. He wanted someone to fuck when he was stressed and someone to be beautiful and polite at parties so that people would think that Beau had finally settled down with someone high class. He didn’t want someone who waited on the couch for him to come home or someone to take to dinner just because. Beau Simpson was not often inclined to take care of you.

Eventually you stopped expecting him to. You took the morsels of comfort you could get from him and didn’t ask for anything more. You stopped waiting for him to come home and you stopped wishing you could change him.

Your legs are still a little shaky as you make your way to your closet. You drop down to a squat, pushing past the skirts of expensive dresses and the rack of even more expensive shoes. Patting around a bit blindly, you wait for the sound and feel of plastic under your fingers. You pull out the bag, sparing another glance at the door even though Beau is long gone.

That night, Jake had insisted that you keep his jacket and, after Beau had finished reminding you who you belong to, he didn’t give it another thought. It had been far too easy to sneak the jacket up to your room.

You don’t really know what compelled you to keep it, but something about Jake Seresin had taken over you obsessively. And it’s not like you’d ever see him again, not while you were with Beau at least. Sliding your arms through the sleeves, you wrap the large jacket around yourself. It still smelled faintly of Jake, cedar wood and musky vanilla, and you feel your body relax under the soft fabric.

And maybe it wasn’t such a mystery why you couldn’t stop thinking about Jake. He was the first person in so long to treat you like you’re a person. There’s something about that—your whole conversation with him and the way he spoke to you—that you just can’t forget.

Getting up, you make your way back to bed. Exhaustion hangs heavy on you and you know you should at least clean off first, but you’re too tired. Physically and emotionally. Jake’s jacket stays wrapped around you as you pull up the blankets and finally let your eyes droop. You wonder if he’d think you were human now—if he saw you like this. If he’d still call you beautiful and answer your questions like they’re worth answering. 

You only get a few hours of sleep before your body wakes you again, but you blink your eyes open to find that you feel rested.

Letting out a breath, you gently peel yourself from bed. Delicately, you put Jake’s jacket back in the bag and hide it in your closet. You’ll take a shower, you decide as you pad to the en suite, picking up your phone from where it had been lazily discarded among your clothes on the floor. The device lights up as you lift it, two notifications revealing themselves once you get the item closer to your face.

Missed call from Penny

Penny: Call me when you have the chance.

Your nose wrinkles in confusion and you continue your walk to the bathroom. Penny had always been a notification you looked forward to seeing on your phone. She’s kind and was one of the first people in this life to actually care for you. She scooped you up where Pete had left you discarded and made sure you were always safe and comfortable with the men you were living with.

While she checked up on you occasionally, most of her texts came around the time your contracts were expiring and Beau still had several more months before that would ever become an issue. Fearing the worst, you click on her contact quickly—still standing naked in your bathroom as you bite at your nail anxiously.

“Hello?”

“Penny?” You check quietly. “You said you wanted me to call you?”

From the other end, Penny sighs and you feel your stomach plummet. “Honey…” She starts, sympathy heavy in her tone. “Did you ever have a conversation with Jake Seresin?”

You feel sick. She knows. She knows that you haven’t been able to stop thinking about Jake Seresin, that you sleep in his jacket, and want him to want you more than anything. She probably thinks you're pathetic and naive. Just some little girl who likes pretty things. She’s probably here to remind you what your job is and to whom.

“Honey?” Penny tries again and you realize you haven’t responded yet.

“I have,” you confirm quickly. “I did the night Beau took me to his hotel opening.”

Penny’s quiet for a moment and you take the time to swipe your bathrobe from its hook and throw it over yourself. Something in you tells you that this isn’t the kind of conversation you want to have naked in a bathroom.

“Did you tell him about your arrangement with Beau Simpson?”

Her words dump over you like ice water and you almost drop your phone. “What?” You lock eyes with yourself in the mirror and they’re wide and startled, you feel like a little kid with her hand caught in the cookie jar. Your chest starts rising and falling more quickly. Your throat feels like it’s constricting, like you can’t even bring oxygen into your lungs let alone keep it there.

“Honey,” Penny starts again slowly, a sense of knowing in her voice as she speaks to you calmly. “I need to know if you told Jake Seresin about your relationship with Beau—”

“It was an accident!” You confess finally, tears pricking at your waterline.

Penny sighs heavily. “I know that, I know. But apparently he came to Beau Simpson a few hours ago and revealed what he knew of the situation in a… less than private way.” Penny stops speaking for several beats. “Beau Simpson called me a bit ago and said that he no longer wishes to continue your arrangement. He— He requested that you be gone by the time he gets back tonight.”

“What?” You’re hyperventilating now, eyes darting around the bathroom. Everything's happening so fast. You just woke up. All you wanted to do was take a shower. Beau wanted you to leave? He didn’t want you anymore? That can’t be true, just a few hours ago he wanted you. He wouldn’t just discard you like that. “He can’t— I— We have a contract! He signed a contract, Penny!”

“You broke that contract, honey,” Penny tries to put delicately.

“But I didn’t mean to! Please, I didn’t mean to! I don’t want to go! Why is he making me go?” You feel hysterical, tears rolling down your cheeks as you sink to the floor of your bathroom. Except, it’s not yours anymore.

You just don’t understand. Mere hours ago he was having sex with you. And now he never wants to see you again? You know Beau Simpson doesn’t love you, you know that. But you thought he at least cared about you—he was nice to you in his own way and he bought you so many things. But suddenly you make a mistake and all that doesn’t matter?

No.

No, you may have made a mistake, but it was Jake Seresin who weaponized it. Because all he saw you as was a way to get back at his so-called rival. That’s the only reason he bothered talking to you in the first place—he saw you come in with Beau. And then you told him something that he could use against the older man and suddenly pretending to be interested in you and answering your silly questions was all worth it because he got what he wanted. 

You can’t believe you ever thought Jake Seresin was different. That he actually cared about you and your feelings and was the kind of guy who could make you feel so special. No, he’s just like everyone else.

“Honey, I know. I’m so sorry.” Penny pulls you back to the current phone call and the tears dripping down your chin. “But…” She trails off.

There’s more?

You sniffle. “What?”

“Because of how… unexpected this is, I don’t have another client lined up for you.”

You feel more tears well in your eyes. So you were stuck. All you can do is wait around, unpaid, and just hope that a client comes to you fast enough. “So that’s it?” You wipe at your cheek. “Isn’t there anything I can do?”

“Well,” Penny suddenly sounds nervous and you find that incredibly odd since you’ve never known Penny Benjamin to be nervous. “I don’t have any clients lined up for you, but there is a client who’s interested…”

You know the name before it even leaves her lips.

“Jake Seresin has asked to make an arrangement with you.”

join my Jake Seresin taglist here or follow my library @jupitercometgold

comments and reblogs are always appreciated! thank you for reading!

Jake taglist:

@dempy 

@kmc1989 

@s-u-t 

@lonelywitchv2 

@cottagecori 

@avengersgirllorianna 

@under-the-seas 

@auroraacrane 

@olivia21blunt 

@dreamlandcreations 

@blue-aconite 

@averyhotchner 

@sgt-barnesveins 

@lillunna 

@mamachasesmayhem 

@appledressing 

@bradswolfe 

@lynnevanss 

@babyyy2020 

@thekebs 

@deliriousfangirl61 

@callsign-cacti 

@yoonbutterfly 

@liliana234567 

@uniquedreamlandcheesecake 

@redbarn1995 

@wishingwell-2 

@justenoughmadness 

@petemitchells 

@hookslove1592 

@pietrothemovie 

@tiredqueen73 

@linkpk88 

@daddymack01 

@smallishbook 

@cheesecakeinahole 

@berryjuicyy 

@ohsolvingaddiction 

@takemetooneverlanddd 

@fangirling-4-ever 

@sveetnn 

@queerqueenlynn 

@yuckosworld 

@scoopsr0bin 

@bobgasm 

@sailor-aviator 

@agentorange9595 

@trickphotography2 

@lunamoonbby 

@valianttyrantexpert 

@katiedid-3

@beezusinc 

@loveofvernonslife 

@katima-silline 

@krispybearbouqeut 

@shadeds-library 

@rogersbarnesxx 

@et-homephone 

@fangirlvibez 

@lilacwh0re 

@moonlight-addisyn 

@alana4610 

@sanfransolomitatm 

@topnerd03 

@illicithallways 

@talktomegooseman 

@callsign-magnolia 

@shadowsndaisies 

@taytaylala12 

@blindedbyyourgrace17 

@formulapierre 

@shakespeareanwannabe 

@starswin 

@bloop-bleep-sheep 

@ephemeralninon 

@devil-angel-winchester 

@rosedurin 

@staringmoony 

@emma8895eb 

@parkerschurros 

@karsinner 

@rhettsluvr 

@crybaby-21 

@seresinslady 

@minejungwoo 

@tinka490 

@oscarisaacsleftknee 

@deliriousfangirl61

#to read

[youknowwhatted]

#I had to scroll back up because I thought it was Christian slater #apparently it’s ce 😂

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Very curious if this is a common experience (only answer skeleton if the first 3 don't apply)

#had to take blood from a fresh corpse when I worked at a hospital #had been in the room many times whe ppl died in the er #funerals

[youknowwhatted]

Paul Dano in Dumb Money - Official Trailer

#dumb money #paul dano #great movie #to the moon

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Okay who has watched Dumb Money and what did you think? Side note sebs character is an absolute bag of dicks irl. I’ll admit, I did lose some money because of the shady shit robinhood pulled.

#dumb money #sebastian stan #fuck robinhood #to the moon #it was a great movie though #roaring kitty

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Do you ever feel so bored you could cry? No. Just me and my pregnancy brain? Ok cool cool

#I want to do all the things but am so bored by all the things 😫 #can something please bring me joy!

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TOMORROW IS HALLOWEEN!!!

[youknowwhatted]

Quick question: in The Fall of the House of Usher, why is every guys voice so sexy? Except frodricks. Someone tell me!!

#the fall of the house of usher #mike flanagan

[youknowwhatted]

When you read a fic for smut and it turns out to be well written with a good plot. 

[youknowwhatted]

[youknowwhatted]

Mmm mmm mmmm 🫠

I love a good mob! Thor

And you made him so delicious

Re your dream: That smacks of MobBoss!Thor. Your current boyfriend is one of Thor's higher-ups and he brought you along to a dinner meeting and Thor is immediately taken with you. Thor is of course very charming and starts working on how to steel you away from your boyfriend.

Take a Seat

Warnings: allusions to mafia/crime, intimidation, suggestions of verbal and mental abuse, toxicity.

This might just be a drabble, but I'd appreciate a reblog and some feedback! You are loved and appreciated. ❤️❤️❤️❤️

"Those are mostly capos," Travis keeps his voice low as he points to the table nearby, keeping the glass in hand to hide his gesture, "I think…" he cranes around, "I might be the only soldier here…"

"Really?" You raise your brows but quickly resume your neutral preen.

You're intimidated as it is. You don't know much about Travis' business, and this is your first time seeing it from the inside. However, it doesn't seem to be anything more than an overly fancy dinner party.

"Oh, and that's Loki," he darts his eyes sharply to a slender man strutting at the other end of the room. He has a short liquor glass in hand and stops to lean on close to a blond man along the head table, "the boss's brother. The one he's chatting up right now." Travis leans in, "Thor…" he explains, "hon," he puts his hand on yours, "try not to stare. Lot of guys in here don't appreciate it."

"Sorry, I…" your eyes catch the pair of blue irises at the near table. The ones set into the chiseled face of that man proclaimed boss, Thor. Your lips part in surprise before you quickly avert your gaze. "I'm just nervous."

"Yeah, uh, well, try not to look like it," he reproaches. "Maybe…maybe I shoulda come alone."

You try not to frown. He does that. When you go out to dinner, if you don't keep a smile pasted on, suddenly the night is spoiled. Or even at home when you're having a quiet night in, you can ruin the night with one wrong word.

"I'll keep my eyes to myself," you promise, "okay?"

"Right," he nods past you and greets another man as he passes by. "Make sure you do. And if someone says hi, don't be so shy. I don't need you getting on the wrong side of these guys." He grabs his glass and takes a gulp, "this could be my in."

"Got it," you pinch the stem of your champagne flute and draw it closer but don't drink. Better not, sobriety will keep you out of trouble.

💍

Travis ends up at another table, enthralled in conversation with a pair of greasy haired gangsters in patterned velvet jackets. You stare at the table, trying not to attract any unwanted attention. Dinner is over and dessert has mostly gone untouched. You're just waiting for the end.

Thinking of the drive back, you should try to hit the bathroom before that. You peek around cautiously and stand, hugging your clutch to your side as you carefully sidle out from between the table and chair. You keep your head down and make your way to the wall, following it to the short hallway that leads to a set of restrooms.

Inside, you take your time, relieved at the moment of privacy. As you wash your hands, you watch your reflection. You look tired even through your makeup.

You grab your purse and go back out. You hold back a yawn as you get to the end of the hallway and you stop to search the room, making sure Travis is where you left him. You take a step, nearly tripping as a deep voice rumbles from closeby.

You think of ignoring it, assuming they're speaking to someone else, but then you remember what Travis said. You turn and look around.

The blond man, the one with the burly shoulders that threaten the seams of his tailored jacket, grins at you. His fingers are woven together and his elbows rest on the table. He winks at you as you peer around in confusion, expecting someone else to be closeby. It's only you.

"You," he separates his hand and points in your direction, "I do not know you."

You open and close your mouth. You step closer as you swallow and find a smile through your nerves. You grip your purse tight and pronounce your name.

"I'm with Travis. Er, Mallory. My boyfriend. Uh, sir."

His eyes twinkle with amusement, "Thor," he introduces, "sir? Please, none of that is needed. Not for a pretty woman like you."

"S-thank you, Th-Thor," you sound utterly stupid as you try to keep your calm. If Travis saw you talking to this man, you know it would be bad. He wouldn't want you messing up his prospects.

"Sit," his invitation is more a demand.

You can't refuse. What little you know of this business suggests he is even more dangerous than Travis. You go around the table as Thor stands and pulls out the empty chair next to him. You sit and make yourself breathe.

"Boyfriend?" He resumes his seat, angling to face you, "not husband?"

"Not yet," you say.

"And why would he wait?" He wonders as you wilt against his handsome gaze.

"I'm sure he'll propose soon," you shrug, "dinner was great."

"Ah, it was delicious," he sits back, "though my company was not so pleasing." He bends his arm against the table, "not like you."

"I… thank you. That's very, uh, flattering."

"It's the truth. I'm afraid I was probably poor company myself. Being as distracted as I was," his eyes cling to you, "wondering who this beautiful stranger is."

You look away. He's charming, if not a touch cheesy. You don't know how to handle it.

"There you are," Travis saves you from your conundrum. "I was just thinking we should–" he stops and clears his throat, "sir," he stands at the end of the table, "hi, er, I didn't see you there," it's obvious his surprise is fake, "Travis Mallory, I work with Haakonson."

"Ah, yes, he is a reliable capo," Thor shifts and puts his hand on the back of your chair, "I was only just having a discussion with your… girlfriend."

"Oh? That's…great," Travis is less than convincing.

"Yes, I was just agreeing with her that it's really too bad you haven't proposed," Thor asserts and your eyes widen. "A girl like her should have a ring on her finger."

"Yea, sir, I agree, I, um, I was… trying to surprise her–"

"Ah, so you have a ring? Diamond? I think a teardrop becomes this one but she might do well with a princess cut," Thor proclaims as he takes your hand, drawing a wince from you. "She should be adorned in gold and gems."

"Sir, I know, I've been working on it–"

"Ah, ah," Thor keeps his hand on yours, "I don't like excuses. And she shouldn't settle for them."

Thor raises your hand and kisses your knuckles. You can only let him. Your scalp spatters with heat as you nearly combust between the two men.

"She deserves a throne… look at her, a queen."

"Sir, thank you. She is. I take care of her–"

"Do you?" Thor accuses, "how do you take care of her?"

You don't dare tug your hand away despite the urge to do just that. You sit frozen as his hand crushes yours. You slowly turn your head to glance at Travis, his cheek twitching in agitation.

"I…" he swallows and tries to wet his dry mouth. He can't yell this man into submission and he knows it.

"Let me give her the throne she deserves," Thor snickers and leans over. His nose tickles your ear and he lowers his voice to a whisper, "come, kitten, sit in my lap."

He sits back and you gape at him, shocked by his suggestion. No, it's an order. You blink and look at Travis again. Thor hits the table with his large hand, the plates and cutlery clattering.

"You don't need his permission," he pulls on your arm, "you need only my word."

"S-sorry," you slide forward in the seat and stand stiffly.

Thor releases your hand and shoves his chair back, running his large hands over his thighs. You step in front of him and he frames your hips, pulling you down before you can think to refuse. You fall into his lap, bracing his forearm to keep your balance.

"Now that is where a woman like her belongs," Thor leans into you and rests his chin on your shoulder, "with a king, not a peasant."

You look at Travis, horror pumping in your veins, a fear reflected in his drawn face. Thor brushes a hand up your stomach and turns his head to nuzzle your neck. The tickle of his beard makes you moan.

Thor lifts his head at last, his arm hooked around you as he clings to your tightly, "what a wonderful gift you brought me, soldier."

Travis does not move. He just stares, blinking as his fingers twiddle at his side. Your lip trembles. What do you do?

"You are dismissed," Thor enunciates harshly.

Travis bites down, jaw clenching tightly, and he murmurs, "yes, boss."

His sole scuffs as he drags his foot back. You watch him in disbelief. He's just leaving you there.

"You see, kitten," Thor reaches to pet your head, "he is not good enough for you. You deserve more than a coward."

#dark thor #thor x reader

[youknowwhatted]

#lol #relatable

[youknowwhatted]

[youknowwhatted]

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

[youknowwhatted]

Beneath His Breath

Kink: Forced orgasm

Dorm room Marc deserves this.

*

“I can do it,” he mutters softly, not to you, but to himself. He repeats it again and again, his head slowly lolling to the side. He suddenly jerks against his bonds, cock twitching in your grasp as he loses the battle against relaxing his muscles and thinking of something—anything—besides your lubed hand smoothing up and down his shaft. Marc lets out a frustrated breath, head thudding backwards against the headrest.

“Don’t you want to cum, Marc?” you murmur.

“No,” he mutters. His lips start moving again. Maybe he’s whispering song lyrics, like he was ten minutes ago. Or praying, like he had briefly twenty minutes ago. You glance down toward his cock and give your own shaky sigh. You have never seen him harder than he is now, his cock a dusky red. To switch things up, you let your lubed hand down to cup his balls, to feel the heft of them and how tight they’ve become after thirty minutes of focused edging.

Except it isn’t really edging if you’re trying to make him cum.

“You’re so pretty, Marc, you know that?” He doesn’t respond, lips still moving. Your thumb brushes along the spot where his sac meets his shaft. No response. “This iron clad willpower you’re scraping together is truly impressive.”

“Thanks,” he mutters. You lift his balls gently, searching for that spot behind them, pressing the pad of your thumb against it softly. Marc’s eyes open, staring at everything and nothing all at once as his jaw goes slack. Then his mouth shuts with a click, eyes squeeze tight as he swallows down the groan that vibrates through his entire bare, sweat-slicked chest.

“Very impressive,” you remark. “But baby, we both know you’re a little slut for me. How long do you really expect to last?”

“Til you give up,” he mutters, feet shifting restlessly beneath him. Though his hands are bound behind his back, you left his legs free. You know he likes to bounce his knee when he needs to distract himself. A glance toward your time shows that you have ten minutes and thirty-three seconds to make Marc cum or it’s Game Over.

“I’m never gonna give up, baby,” you whisper. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with your pretty dick in my hand. I’m gonna fuck and suck it as often as I choose, because you’ll always be hard for me, won’t you?”

“Stop,” he says, breaths growing even shallower. You know Marc’s body well: the length and girth of his cock, the spots that make him groan, the ones which give him goosebumps. The scars. The freckles. You know just where to touch and with how much pressure to coax a symphony of different sounds from him. All that, and you know that nothing turns him on more than getting inside his head, and the best way to do that is by talking to him.

“I don’t know why I’m even trying to make you cum,” your murmur. “I should leave you just like this, on the edge. Maybe put a ring on your cock. Then you’ll just be my toy, won’t you baby? A pretty toy. Prettiest cock I’d have ever fucked myself with, that’s for sure.

“Please,” Marc mutters, eyes flickering beneath his lids. He loses the rest of his breath, just mouthing the word again and again. Please, please, please.

“I’m gonna fuck myself so loose with you,” you sigh happily. “Keep you inside me even when I’m sleeping, ‘til my pussy feels empty whenever you—”

Marc cums. The first indication that you’ve pushed him over the edge is the breath he takes: full, chest expanding in a way he hadn’t let himself dare until now. His head lolls back, baring his corded throat to you as his mouth parts. In your lubed hand, his cock twitches, lengthening that last little bit before it bursts, cum splashing against the hard line of his abs in one, two, three spurts before spilling down over your knuckles as you work him through his orgasm. The groan that rips free of his throat is enough to haunt your dreams in the best way.

When at last his body has stopped trembling, you pump your other fist in the air.

“Haha! Take that, Spector! Now who’s doing the dishes?”

“Me,” he sighs.

“Say it, say it all in one sentence, it’s so beautiful—”

“I am going to do the dishes.”

You lean in and place a smacking kiss on his lips. He grins against your mouth and laughs at your enthusiasm, shaking his head a little as you untie him. Watching him flex his wrists and fingers, you see his mouth mutter one more thing.

You think he says, Worth it

#marc spector x reader #amazing writer