kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

baba face

[image ID: photos of sebastian stan, chris evans, and various stuffed animals photoshopped onto a yellow background. sebastian stan is holding a round wolf stuffed animal and looking into the distance. chris evans is hiding a smile with a hand over his mouth. the stuffed animals include four frowning stuffed animals and one smiling one. /.end ID]

masterlist

18+

wc: ~2400 words

warnings: reader takes a little tumble

a/n: this was inspired by @angelbaby-fics ! Chloe, thank you for showing me your turtle and inspiring this whole piece! (side note: if anyone would like to talk about their stuffies, I would LOVE to hear about them!!

pairing: stucky x gn!little!reader

summary: sam gets a stuffed animal for reader that frowns like bucky! things get out of hand when the other avengers join in and buy reader way too many grumpy stuffies

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ

It all started when Sam came back from a mission in late June. The Avengers would sometimes bring back presents when they went overseas. They didn’t always have the time to stop by a gift shop but when they did, the gifts were always cherished and held a little closer when the Avenger eventually had to travel again. 

Two weeks before his mission, you had gotten very close with Sam. Your daddies asked him to watch over you one day and he gave you a whole adventure. He took you to a pottery painting studio, then the park, and ended the day with the best ice cream you’ve ever had. From then on, you were inseparable. 

During group meal times, you’d make jokes with him across the table. If you were allowed in the room for a meeting, you’d pass notes back and forth. Sam would also play with you during Tony’s summer parties; he was going to let you fly with redwing before Bucky marched outside and confined you to his hip for the rest of the night. You didn’t mind too much though, the sky probably wasn’t as comfortable as being held by Baba. 

Your attachment to Sam made this mission all the more difficult for everyone involved. You, because you missed your friend. Sam, because he missed your happy giggles and felt bad for leaving you right when he finally gained your trust. And your daddies because they had to witness you get sad every time something reminded you of Sam. 

Fortunately, the mission was going well and he was expected to return right on time. On his last day, Sam was looking both ways to cross the street when a stuffed animal in a display window caught his eye. He looked at his watch to see if he had enough time to make his flight, then quickly entered the store and bought the plushie because he knew you’d love it. 

On the plane, Sam sat with the plushie in his lap to keep it safe. It was still in the bag from the store, looking like an oddly shaped lump in a now wrinkly paper bag. When Sam returned to the tower, Steve was the first to greet him before you nudged your Dada out of the way to give Sam a bone-crushing hug. 

“I missed you, Sammy!”

“I missed you too, peanut.” He kneeled down and handed you the paper bag. “I gotcha something.”

You beamed at him. “Thank you! I love it!”

Sam laughed. “You haven’t even opened it yet!”

“I already know I’m gonna like it because it’s from you,” you said, matter of factly. “But okay.”

You opened the bag and gasped when you saw the plush. 

It was a soft turtle with a slightly slouched posture, but that wasn’t the part you were focused on. Your favorite part was the plushie’s grumpy expression. It looked just like Bucky. 

“HE HAS BABA FACE! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!” You screamed your gratitude while running circles around the trio of Sam and your daddies. Sam and Steve were barely holding in their laughter, meanwhile Bucky stood confused, but happy that you were happy. Despite his super hearing, he wasn’t sure if he heard you correctly. Did you say baba face? Or maybe you said bubble face?  

Bucky figured that this wasn’t something he needed the answers to immediately, so he didn’t ask any questions and resolved to watching you tire yourself out. 

The grumpy turtle became your new shadow. Everywhere you went, so did the plush. You’d have it tucked under your arm while running through the compound. During mealtimes in your home, the turtle would get his own chair and toy food. Outside, you kept your turtle in a drawstring backpack with the head poking out so he could see the world too. When your daddies carried you around, you’d make a silly game out of making the turtle mess up your Dada’s hair or bite your Baba’s ears. 

Even before giving you the turtle, Sam loved to boast about how he was your favorite Avenger(you didn’t have a favorite, but you didn’t have the heart to correct him on that when he kept giving you all of his attention). When you all played hide and seek, he bragged for three days straight about how you chose him to be your partner. Your attachment to the turtle only heightened his pride. 

He always asked you where the turtle was, knowing it couldn’t be more than three feet away from you. Sam made a big fuss about the turtle having his own seat at the dinner table and fell victim to your strength and contagious giggles when you pushed him out of his seat to make room for your turtle. Sam learned his lesson that day and didn’t fight for the turtle to have his own chair in the debriefing room. However, he did bring in an extra stool for the plush. Sam even bought you the very drawstring backpack that allowed you to take your new friend on your outdoor adventures. In private, he’d ask you about how the turtle was settling into his new home and gave him the gentlest kiss when you said the turtle needed more lovin’. 

The others all thought your friendship with Sam was adorable, but there was one person who saw this as an opportunity for some friendly competition. Natasha knew that there was room in your heart for more than one avenger bestie, so she devised a plan to take her spot. She had two missions in August–the first: survey a crime group that’s suspected to have ties with Zemo. The second: give you a gift worthy of four days of bragging. 

After successful recon, Natasha’s plane landed in the Avenger’s HQ. She turned in her paperwork that she completed on the flight home, then went to freshen up so she could give you your gift. Natasha found you cuddled up with Steve in the movie room watching some old cartoon. She knocked on the door.

“Got any room for a couple more friends on that couch?”

“Natty, you’re back!” You untangled yourself from Steve and ran to give her a hug. You looked behind her expecting to see more of the group. “Where’s the other friends?”

She held up a bag with the arm that wasn’t hugging you. “Your new friend traveled a long way to get here.”

You squealed and hugged Natasha again before accepting the bag from her hand and kneeling on the floor to pull out the tissue paper and free your gift. 

“You guys are spoiling them, you know that?” Steve asked, lightheartedly from the couch.

“Oh hush, how many hours of screen time have you given them today?”

Steve opened and closed his mouth a couple times, not expecting the question.

“Doesn’t count if the movies came from your time, right?” 

Any response from Steve was cut off by your cheering. 

“BABA OCTOPUS!! BABATOPUS!!” you held up the plush proudly like it was Simba. “Dada, look!”

“Oh he’s beautiful, baby.” Steve chuckled at the round, bright red octopus plush with a deep frown on its face. “What do you say to Nat?”

“THANK YOU NAAAT!” you yelled. Excitement flickered across your face once more, then you ran out of the movie room with the octopus securely tucked under your arm.

“Where are you going, baby? And no running indoors!” Steve shouted as he chased after you. 

You slowed for a bit, but kept moving at a swift pace. “I hav’ta show Baba my new friend!”

Natasha watched your little race from the movie room with an amused grin on her face. During dinner that night, she enjoyed the shocked look on Sam’s face when you pulled up with two grumpy plushies and pretended to feed the octopus before the turtle.

Sam turned to Natasha. “You have no idea what you’ve just started.”

She smirked. “And you have no idea what you’re getting into.”

Steve leaned over to whisper to Bucky. “We’re gonna need more space in the playroom.”

𓏲 ࣪₊♡

The competition expanded beyond Natasha and Sam. All of the Avengers were determined to find the next grumpy plush to win your heart. There was a penguin from Peter, a frog from Thor, a cat from Tony, and a panda from Wanda. Your collection was starting to get out of control. You desperately wanted to carry all of your plushies everywhere with you to keep things fair, but your daddies put an end to that when you tripped on the sidewalk while trying to push a stroller full of scowling stuffed animals. 

Bucky decided to help you create a system so you could fairly pick one plushie from the collection to carry around for the day. He made small slips of paper so you could write down their names and pull one out of a cup each morning. He brought his supplies to you while you were having an afternoon snack at the dining table. His heart broke seeing you with your knees bandaged up and the streaks of dried tears from the fall earlier today still on your face.

“Hi, Baba,” you sniffled.

“Hey, sweetie. What’s going on? You eatin’ your snack?”

“Mhm.”

“Why aren’t you eating at the kitchen island, baby? You always eat your snack there.”

You pouted and gestured to the plushies sitting around you. “I can’t fit all my friends there.”

“Oh I know, bubs. It must be so hard carrying all these guys around, huh?” He mentally scolded himself for leaving you alone during your snack. He should’ve known better than to expect you to stay put when your little friends were trapped inside the stroller. It must’ve taken so long to arrange the plushies around the table with your injury. 

You perked up at his next words. 

“Baba has something for you.” Bucky spread out the slips of paper on the table and placed a cup next to them. “You can write down the names of all your little friends on these papers and pick one name out of the cup to decide which one you’re walking around with for the day. Does that sound fair?”

You shrugged, “I guess I can do that.” You really would’ve liked a solution that allowed you to bring all of the grumpy plushies with you everywhere, but deep down you knew that it just wasn’t practical. You took the pencil that Bucky held out for you and started writing down your plushies’ names.

Your Baba lovingly kissed the top of your head and rubbed your back while you wrote. He loved watching you focus on a task. He almost didn’t notice what you were writing down.

Bucky squinted then blinked a couple of times, not believing what he saw. “Baby, why are you writing ‘Baba’ on everything?”

You paused and tilted your head back to look at him. “That’s their names. Baba Turtle and Baba Cat and Baba Bear and Baba-”

“Why do you call them that?”

“‘Cause look!” You picked up the grumpy frog sitting next to you and held it out for Bucky to see. “They look like Baba!” You hugged the plushie before setting it back down to continue writing. 

Bucky’s heart melted. His sweet, wonderful baby was so attached to these plushies that reminded them of him. His signature scowl that often got him into trouble brought them comfort. His friends even noticed and spoiled his baby rotten with even more of these toys. 

Bucky continued watching you work. He looked at the plushies differently now. 

𓏲 ࣪₊♡

Steve and Bucky were cleaning your playroom. Normally this would be your responsibility, but you had gone to bed a little earlier, and they didn’t want you walking too much with your injury. Steve was putting your plushies into their designated bins. He wasn’t harsh with them, but his efficient method of gathering an armful and plopping them down certainly would have raised an eyebrow from you. 

“Hey, go easy with turtle me,” Bucky teased. 

“Turtle you?” Steve asked. 

Bucky nodded proudly, then held the plush up to his face. “Don’t you see the resemblance?” 

“Whatever, punk. At least my face isn’t the reason we have a 50 gallon bin of stuffed animals.” Steve turned around and kept cleaning, completely missing the look of excitement on Bucky’s face. 

The next day, your Baba volunteered to pick up breakfast while Steve helped you get ready. Bucky stopped by a toy store on his way to the bakery. He’d seen this particular plushie before and knew that this was the perfect moment to get it for you. Not too long later, he was entering your home with bagels in one hand and your new friend in the other. 

Bucky hid the plush behind his back when he heard you and Steve walking towards him. 

“Hi, Baba!”

“Good morning, baby.” Bucky leaned down to kiss your forehead, then kissed Steve’s cheek as a thanks when he handed off the box of bagels. 

You hugged Bucky and couldn’t help but notice that one of his hands wasn’t hugging you back. 

“Baba, hug me better,” you whined. 

Bucky laughed. “Hang on, I’ve got somethin’ for ya.”

You gasped in excitement and took a step back so you could see. Bucky revealed the plush with a dramatic flourish, then somewhat nervously waited for your reaction. The stuffed animal had you in shock. It was a stuffed giraffe that stood with the most perfect posture. It had spiky hair, blue eyes, and a charming smile. You knew exactly who it was supposed to resemble. 

“IT'S DADA!” You squealed and graciously took the plush while running to the kitchen where Steve was. He was already making his way to you when he heard your scream. 

“Dada’s right here, bubba. What’s going on?”

You held up the plush while doing a little dance. “Look! It’s a Dada giraffe!”

Steve laughed then ran a hand over his face when he made the connection. You ran off to your playroom, saying something about “finding a Baba for this Dada” while your daddies shared a look. 

Bucky brought in Steve for a hug, patting his dumbfounded lover on the back. He playfully whispered in his ear, “We’re gonna need more space in the playroom.”

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Hi!! I love your story’s and am always looking for little and daddy Bucky story’s!! I was wondering if you could do insecure reader who’s bigger. She has bigger thighs a bigger tummy and face. Could you do reader is scared to sit on buckys lap or for him to pick her up and carry her around the house. She’s too scared she’s heavy and will crush him and his legs. or that he will drop her because she’s too big. She also never cuddles and sleeps with him in his room always sleeping in her room after he puts her to bed because she’s scared about her breathing or how she sleeps.

Bucky gets her to tell him why and then comfort. Just fluff fluff fluff. If your not comfortable writing this I totally understand!!! If you do could you ad paci use? Thank you!!! Sorry for the rambling…

Strongest Man Alive

Bucky Barnes x Plus Sized!Little!Reader (She/Her Pronouns Used)

Notes - This is not my best work, and has been in my drafts for MONTHS, it's something cute, and a little angsty at the beginning, but it does get super fluffy at the end. It's a little bit different than my usual writting style, so I apologize for that, but I do hope you like it and if not I'm so sorry! I hope I did this ask justice, and I hope everyone is having a good week!!! <3

Warnings - Talks of reader being self conscious for being 'bigger', kept very vague as she uses the words "heavy" and "squishy" to describe her body type instead of more concrete descriptions, the use of a pacifier is very brief as it's something I'm not used to writing, though I would be willing to continue, mentions of reader eating food "snacks" and "sandwich" though never specified, FLUFF at the end, but there is a moment of angst, I DON'T KNOW IF THIS IS A COHEARANT STORY, it's from the drafts and I gave it a once over and I think it's 'good enough' so I apologize if it's terrible <3

SFW - Please keep all interactions with this post, and this blog, SFW.

. ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ . ☆ . ☾ . ☆ . ☽ .

Y/n often spent their time at the Avengers tower sitting, standing, lingering around Bucky Barnes. It wasn't on purpose, the man just seemed to be the other half of some magnet imbedded deep in Y/n's heart. He just had some ability to pull her towards him.

Maybe it was the way he cut her sandwiches into perfect triangles, or the way his hand always found hers when she got scared. Maybe it was the way he seemed to be reserved around anyone but her that made her feel so connected to him.

He never sulked but always seemed to walk around with a frown stuck on his face, only ever changing it to a smile when she walked by his office or stopped by his room.

As much as Y/n felt like she was pulled to him, Bucky felt it multiplied by 100. His hands always aching to hold hers, his chest always feeling heavy when he began to think about her needing something and him not being around to help her.

The whole tower knew about Y/n's regression. Wanda and Peter often joined in, hanging out in little space and colouring in books Tony had provided, watching whatever new animated movie had just come out and sleeping over in makeshift tents in the living room.

Often other Avengers would help supervise activities, Steve loved playing action fighters in the common areas, Nat loved cuddle puddle on the couch, and Thor was always ready for a park day. Bucky on the other hand liked to stay in the shadows, buying stickers for the group of littles, making them lunch and dropping it off.

Bucky only stuck around if Y/n asked him to hang out with her. "Bucky can you hold my hand?" She had asked him when at the park, he of course grabbed her hand and helped her up the jungle gym.

"Bucky can you open this please?" She had whispered during a movie, her baggie full of snacks too difficult to manage on her own. He opened the baggie and held it in his own grasp, handing her a piece of candy anytime she had finished the previous one.

"Bucky will you colour with me?" She had yelled her ask one day when he was passing by the kitchen, Y/n sat at the island with markers scattered across the marble. He silently sat down and diligently coloured the page she had given him, helping her chase markers that had fallen.

He knew she was comfortable asking for what she wanted, and he knew she wasn't afraid of him ... so, it made his chest tighten every time she asked him to grab something from the top shelf instead of asking to be lifted like Wanda and Peter often asked.

He also felt off every time a little would come running out of their room after a nightmare, rushing into someone's room for a cuddle, yet Y/n's door never opened and neither did his.

Bucky was sure it was his fault she didn't seek him out for cuddles, he thought he had done something wrong when she never asked for a hug. Was it his arm? Was she scared he would turn on her? He couldn't figure it out.

That is until he realised she never asked anyone for a cuddle, or a hug. Nat, Wanda, and Peter would be all comfy on the couch and Y/n would be sat on the chair, a small frown on her face yet she never tried to find a spot next to her friends. And when she scraped her knee on the playground she declined Thor's offer of a "healing" hug.

"Y/n?" His voice was quiet but direct as he called out into the playroom, Y/n sat on the softly coloured rug, her stuffed animals scattered about.

"Hi Bucky!" She smiled, her pacifier tumbling out of her mouth and onto the ground.

"Hi." He sat down across from her, quickly pocketing the fallen pacifier before sought out the, now, dirty thing. "What are you playing?" His hands brushed a stuffed teddy, Y/n tilting her head in confusion as she looked around her.

"'m just dressen 'm up." She smiled at him, grabbing a stuffed unicorn and brushing it's fur back into place, shuffling closer to Bucky as she gathered a few other stuffed animals.

The moment her knees hit his she shifted back, so Bucky shifted his towards her again. Like clockwork she moved and left a small gap between them. "Y/n?"

"Mhm." She looked back at him, her smile one he could easily read through.

"Am I scary?" He asked calmly, not once loosing eye contact as she shook her head 'no'. "Do I smell?" He asked, this time with a laugh.

"No!" She giggled.

"Then why do you run every time I touch you." Instead of answering she bowed her head, hands running over the stuffed animal anxiously. "Why don't you hug Wanda or Peter?" He was worried that all the questions would make her want to run, but as she huffed and leaned into his space slightly he continued. "I know Thor was pretty sad when you declined his hug the other day." That one wasn't a lie, the man had gone on a rant about how he thought he had done something wrong, how he was sure Y/n hated him.

"I jus', I don' want them t' be mad." She admitted, huffing at the end of her sentence. "'m jus', 'm heavy, an' squishy. Wanda and Pete aren't heavy an' squishy." She admitted, eyes locked on the wall, the stuffed unicorn held a little closer to her body.

"What do you mean Baby?" Bucky asked, confused as to what she was alluding to.

"It's harder t' pick me up." She finally looked back at him, tears beginning to gather along her waterline. "And cuddling wif me wouldn' be th' same." She shrugged, trying to play it off like she wasn't bothered by her own words.

The tightness in Bucky's chest didn't ease up with his answer, his worry only growing. He had hoped it was an easy thing to fix, yet knowing Y/n didn't hug her friends, or him, because she felt too big made him hurt. "Baby," He began, not giving Y/n a second to doubt him, he picked her up and sat her in his lap. "you aren't 'too heavy' to pick up." He hated how quickly she curled into his chest, how clear it was that she was missing human connection. "I'm the strongest man alive, and you saying that you're too heavy is going to bruise my ego a bit, Baby." They both laughed, a few of Y/n's tears hitting the fabric of Bucky's shirt.

"I thought Steve was th' strongest man alive?"

"I let him win when we arm wrestle." Bucky admitted, causing Y/n to break out into a fit of giggles.

"'m gonna tell him!" She stood up, bolting for the door.

"Oh no you don't!" Bucky ran after her, lifting her off her feet in the middle of the hallway, Y/n pausing with a gasp, bracing for the two of them to fall, yet laughing along with Bucky as jostled her around, threatening to take her new colouring page off the fridge if she told anyone his secret.

After a pinky promise and some juice Y/n began to trust Bucky a little bit more. She let him pick her up at the playground, and gave him a hug before bed every night. She still worried her hugs were 'bad', that maybe no one would want to hug her because she wasn't 'little' but Bucky never once complained, instead asking for hugs in the morning too.

It took her a while to truly trust that Bucky wasn't lying when he said his back didn't hurt after picking her up, but eventually she became comfortable enough to run and jump into his arms, something she had always dreamed of doing.

It wasn't until a month later that Bucky woke up at 4 am to the sound of Y/n's hurried footsteps rushing to his door. Light creeping in from the opened door she didn't close as she ran to his bed. The sound of soft cries and whispers of "Nightmare" filling the usually quiet space.

Instead of letting her think too much about how she 'should' be cuddling, Bucky just scooped her up and tucked her into his bed, letting her know he'd protect her, and her stuffed animal. He liked having her in his room, it made him feel at ease knowing she was close.

After a few months of staying in Bucky's room, Y/n began to get out of her shell a bit more, hugging Wanda and Peter, and eventually accepting Thor's 'healing' hugs. She finally joined in during the weekly cuddle puddle, laughing along side Nat and her friends as they all got cozy on the couch. And for the first time ever she let someone else, the second strongest man alive, Steve Rogers pick her up. A pride filled movement the man would never forget.

Even though it took her a little longer than everyone else to be comfortable hugging and snuggling, she was happy to finally be apart of the group in ways she wasn't before. Bucky, the man who still often stayed in the shadows, helping from a distance, couldn't help but feel a little lighter every time he saw his girl get over her worries, knowing if anything got to be 'too much' she'd come running to him.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

inspired by boop day, reblog this post if its ok for people to send you random asks and interact on your posts with no judgement. i want to talk to people.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

💸 — 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 (2/3)

summary. | The mob boss has an alternate way you can pay off your debt.

pairing. | dark!mob boss!Ari Levinson x naive!fem!reader.

chapter warnings. | NON/DUBCON, dark themes, obsession, stalking, mob themes, manipulation, pet names, age gap, innocence kink, abuse of power, corruption kink, power imbalance, smoking (ari), debt, Daddy kink, control kink, rules, verbal contract, loss of employee, anxiety/fear, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!

word count. | ~2k

author’s note. | series masterlist. here’s part two (finally)! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. any and all feedback (positive) is welcome. no beta, all mistakes are my own. taglist: @hansensfics. MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

When you arrive at work the next day—stocking shelves at a grocery store—your boss regards you with far more contempt than before.

Your brows remain knitted as she approaches you, your uniforms matching, except she’s allowed to wear a sweater on top. You must suffer in the cold, with an aching back and sore arms and legs. She says your name to grab your full attention, which doesn’t take much, what with the boredom that drives you to death here.

“Why are you here?” Lydia asks. You’re confused. “…I work here?” you answer with a slight laugh to your tone, though you aren’t amused. You prefer to just do your job without a hitch.

“You don’t. And I don’t accept volunteers,” she nearly sneers, and you halt what you’re doing. She’s never been very nice, but this is another level. The cans of beans can wait. “What are you talking about, Lydia? Is this a joke?” you question, placing your hands on your hips.

“I fuckin’ wish. Your little mob boyfriend came around last night—said you quit,” she explains, and her words are bewildering. Once the absurdity blurs and the meaning hits you, you start to think. You rack your brain as to who would’ve done something like that.

Ari.

“Listen, I’ve already got a girl coming in later today. The job isn’t hard, s’not like I’m dying for you to stay,” Lydia sighs. Her words are harsh, but you expect nothing kind from the woman who is all too eager to fill her pockets.

“Go home. Don’t come back here,” your boss demands. You flinch from how she spits her words, watching as she walks off to harass one of your coworkers. Ex-coworkers.

You’re filled with ire as you pack your things up and say goodbye to people you’ve known for so long. As you walk home, you think about Lydia’s words. Why would Ari do something like that? You never hurt him—so why would he hurt you?

You start to worry about the grander things, too. You have no source of income anymore, just what you’ve saved. Soon, the bills will come in, and your rent will be due.

You near your home and spy a car parked outside. It’s fancy—an emulation of a vintage Impala. But it doesn’t belong in front of your dingy condominium. You know who owns it.

Some neighbours that loiter outside watch you. You’ve never been subject to their nosiness, and the feeling of scrutiny—the knowledge of judgement—is unwelcome. But that’s the least of your worries.

The mob leader is inside your home, and you have to confront him. What if Ari changed his mind about the deal? And he’s here to kill you? Your hands shake as you open the door, unable to prolong the confrontation. There is no upstairs—therefore, nowhere to run.

You swing the door open to find Ari sitting on your couch, watching the news on your television. He wears another one of his fancy suits—similar to the one from yesterday, but in a different colour. He sips something from one of your favourite mugs and sighs in relief afterwards.

You close the door behind you quietly. The locks click in place, and the sounds prompt Ari to look at you.

“Hey, hon,” he greets, giving you a charming smile. “H– Hi, Ari…” you respond, shrugging off your jacket and handing it on the lone hook. “You’ve got a nice home here,” Ari compliments, and you awkwardly press your lips together.

“Thanks,” you murmur, inching towards the kitchen. It isn’t much—the epitome of honest work. You take the compliment, though you’re unsure how you should feel. He lives in mansions bigger than you could possibly imagine. What’s so impressive about your small world?

The fact that he can turn it upside down—put a dent in it, shake it up, and it wouldn’t take much.

The television switches off, and the mob boss sighs. He stands up and saunters into the kitchen. You never realized how tall he is until now. You crane your head up to look at him, but the intensity of Ari’s gaze is too much to bear. You guide your gaze to the tiles.

“I needed to talk to you,” he starts, and you set the mug you had grabbed onto the countertop. Your thirst can wait. “Y– You have my number, right?” you ask, hoping your tone doesn’t come off as rude. Your voice is shaky with fear.

Ari grunts, eyes never once leaving your face. “You’re right. I do,” he agrees. You never gave it to him—he took it.

“But I prefer this. Being with you—talking to you, not texting,” Ari explains. You nod, briefly gazing at him before resuming your staring at the floor. Suddenly, a warm, large hand comes up to your chin and tilts your head up.

You’re forced to meet the older man’s gaze. For the first time, you note that his eyes are a beautiful shade of blue. There’s even a hint of green swirled into the oceans. “There are a few things we need to discuss. Important things,” Ari tells you.

“Like what?” you breathlessly ask. “Rules,” he says.

The thought of having rules isn’t as insulting as you want it to be. They would serve as guidelines—lifelines, little things you can hold onto for the next few months.

“C’mon, honey. Let’s go sit. I’m sure you’re tired after your long walk home,” Ari urges, guiding you to the living room with ease. You let him do whatever he wants—and that more than pleases the mob boss. But he doesn’t let you sit down.

First, Ari sits on the wingback chair you snagged from a yard sale at a decent price. Then, he pulls you onto his lap. You let out an ‘oomph!’ at the rudeness of his actions. He’s brazen and confident, everything you will never be, even in your lonesome times.

Ari lets out an exhale of relaxation, settling you on his thighs until both of you are comfortable. He holds you gently yet firmly, thumbs stroking your skin to get you to calm down.

“Doesn’t this feel nice? Right?” the older man asks, but you’re not sure how to respond. Your honesty is embarrassing, but your deceit will offend him. “I– It does,” you admit, much to your chagrin.

“Exactly—so why fight it? Why fight me?” Ari questions, and you shrug. You’ve never been good at confrontation. “I– I’m not. I’m just… confused. I’ve never done this before. I’ve never even dated anyone!” you exclaim, though your voice is nothing more than a whisper.

Ari shushes you, one of his hands rubbing circles on your back so that you don’t get worked up. “Shh… It’s okay. Don’t worry,” he tells you, his tone gentle and full of patience—kindness, perhaps even love. The idea is baffling.

“All that purity is what makes you so precious,” he whispers in your ear, nose nuzzling the side of your head. He smells of cigarettes and expensive cologne. “And that’s exactly why I want you, sweetie. You’re… innocent. Perfect. All mine…”

You sigh shakily at his words. They have you flustered. No man has ever charmed you the way he has. “Th– Thank you…”

“I’m here for you, princess. Anything you need, you come to me. Got that?” he reassures, and you nod your head. You doubt you’ll ever ask Ari for anything—but you do have a question for him.

“C– Can I ask you something?” you wonder. The mob boss smiles and gives you the go. “Did you go to my job and tell them I quit?”

A few moments of silence pass. “Yes, and I wanted to tell you this before, but I had to take care of some other stuff,” he quickly explains, but his words are slow and calm. They’re not rushed or panicked.

“You always wake up early, so I didn’t have enough time to get here before you went to work,” Ari finishes, lips pressed into a line, showing just how disappointed he is in himself.

“I– I’m not upset about that,” you clarify, looking down at your hands. “Then what is it, sugar? Hm?” he presses.

The pet names make you feel so sweet in the mind, almost hazy. You’ve always dreamed of love like this—but you know what you and Ari have isn’t love. You’ve always been naive, but you’re a realist.

“What am I supposed to do? I need money to live, Ari,” you say almost incredulously. Ari’s smile grows like he’s holding back a secret that he’s been dying to tell you.

“I told you not to worry about these things, honey,” he chides. “I’ll take care of you—as long as you follow the rules,” Ari warns, but he remains kind. So far, in your eyes, the benefits are all too enticing.

Will the rules be the other shoe that’s been waiting to drop? No, impossible—Ari is too kind to be so cruel.

“What are the rules?” you ask him. “They’re pretty simple, nothing you need to worry your little head about,” Ari coos, making you feel much more relaxed.

“Firstly, you always have to look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he begins, spreading his thighs out just a bit as he settles further into the chair. You mindlessly nod before catching yourself and correcting your error.

You reluctantly make eye contact with Ari, which bears to be too much, so you settle for staring at the beauty marks littered across his face.

“Good girl,” he hums. The praise makes you feel warm on the inside—safe, even in the arms of the most dangerous man in the city.

“Secondly,” Ari resumes, eyes remaining locked with yours. You take the time to admire the little details on his face. The freckles and beauty spot, the grey hairs in his beard, and the battle scar on his forehead slightly covered by his long locks. “You don’t call me ‘Ari,’ baby. It’s ‘Daddy’ from now on.”

The question of why—and even a negotiation to have this rule only apply behind closed doors—fizzles on your tongue. Instead, you acquiesce.

“Yes… Daddy.”

Ari lets out a small growl at your words. You actually saying the word is much better than he ever imagined. The mob boss can feel blood rushing to his cock, but he wills himself to stay strong. Not yet—it’s too soon, he thinks to himself.

“Thirdly, honey,” he continues, voice laboured and a bit gruff. “You’re not allowed to tell me ‘no.’ Ever.”

Ari firmly lays down the third law, leaving no room for your freedom. You can feel your independence slipping away, but you reassure yourself. It’ll only be for a few months. Perhaps this is for your own good. Yes, that’s it.

“Okay…” you whisper under your breath. Ari ignores your slight mishap. He knows you’ll return to being his perfect girl in no time. He understands—ever the kind man.

“Lastly—and most importantly—is that you must always listen to me, no matter what,” he gently adds. Ari runs his hands up and down your back, soothing you from how he’s completely changed your world. “Got it all, baby?” the older man asks.

You hesitate before nodding. “Good girl,” Ari coos, and you can’t help but smile. He’s sweeter than you believed. “Now, I could make you sign a contract,” he sighs, his gentle face morphing into one that looks stressed, perhaps even disappointed. There is a pang in your heart.

“But I trust you. Don’t ruin that.”

A threat hangs in the air, but you’re too grateful to see it. Ari knows this all too well, and he can’t help but feel pride over how he managed to get you to fall into his lap. What would a girl like you ever do without a strong man like him by your side? Not much, that’s what.

“I won’t, Daddy. I promise,” you eventually break the silence, and you’re gifted with Ari’s knee-buckling smile.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

due to not wanting to. I will not be

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

SEBASTIAN STAN as BUCKY BARNES Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014)

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

why the FUCK are weekends only 2 days long do you really think that's enough to recover from the horrors of the work week. really.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

🧚🏻‍♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:

Steve + “Are you trying to hide from me?”

Thank you for sending the Hoe Fairy my way, through all the trials and dangers of time zones 😆💖

Grateful for it, I wrote something slightly longer than a drabble? Oops.

I'm creating a new dark-ish universe here, so brace yourselves.

New World Order

soft dark!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: After the snap and the breaking of the Avengers the world has turned into a darker place than it already was. Being under Steve Rogers protection should be your beacon of light, right? So why does it sometimes feel as if you're caught in a sticky web?

warnings: semi dystopian universe; soft dark Steve Rogers; manipulation; sprinkle of gaslighting; economical/situational power imbalance; dub-con; smidge of breeding kink; sex (p in v);

word count: 3k

Main Masterlist

A small creak startled you. Your body tensed and jerked, the jars in your arms almost falling to the floor. You held your breath, tightening your hold on the precious cargo.

The sound came from the other room, the one anyone from the compound could’ve walked into, so it shouldn’t scare you. Not when you made sure to cover any tracks leading to this special, secret unit, which you’ve discovered a few days ago. 

Slowly, careful not to make any sound that might alert whoever was roaming out there, you put the jars down on the shelf. One by one. Gently. You kept your breath shallow as you did, keeping your movements to the minimal. Then you stayed still, counting down seconds in your head and listening for any sounds from outside. 

As one minute passed into another, then another, until it was seven minutes, then eight, you began to relax slightly. 

No further sounds, steps, nor voices came. You assumed they were gone, whoever it’s been. 

With a little huff of breath, you turned around. The nose of your boot bumped into the box of supplies you sneaked inside. It made little to no noise, but it was enough for the domino to fall down completely.

Something clanked on the other side of the wall. Then the hidden passage in the wall opened. 

Bright daylight filtered through and the broad, dark silhouette filled nearly the entirety of the doorway. 

You lifted your hand to shield your eyes from the sudden burst of light, letting out a small squeak as you curled inwardly. It took you a mere second to recognize who caught you and while your heart eased at the realisation, there was still a part of you that feared the outcome.

“I was wondering what kind of mouse has been hiding in the walls,” came his soft, deep voice. “Turns out it’s my own little scrapper.” 

Captain Rogers walked in. Despite wearing heavy boots he still managed to move quietly. 

The wall closed automatically after him, leaving the two of you in a small room with light fixtures casting pleasant, but artificial glow from the ceiling. 

“Are you trying to hide from me?” His lips curled in a lopsided smile, but the way he slightly tilted his head made you aware that he wouldn’t like it, if you said yes. 

“Of course not,” you let out a nervous laugh, gripping the edge of the counter behind you. 

“Not from you, Steve.” Nervousness still buzzed inside you, spiking as he neared closer and closer. 

Steve Rogers, Captain America, could be a scary motherfucker, if he wanted to. Usually, however, it was reserved for anyone trying to harm people he protected. Or if his subordinates broke his rules in any way. 

He may not be the golden boy you remembered from the very few, rare press conferences and pap photos from a decade before. Too much has happened, since he was the poster of glorified values the government tried to sell. 

First, they stripped him of the crystal areola they put themselves on him. Named him a fugitive and a traitor, for wanting to protect his best friend and fight for justice. 

His other colleagues have turned away from him, leading to breaking of the Avengers formation, which was supposed to protect the people.

Then, when the ultimate threat appeared, the remaining politicians blamed Steve and the other heroes for being unable to defeat Thanos. Tony Stark never returned. So many others have dispersed into dust. For a few years - as the world around you spiralled into dystopian nightmare - phantom governments have been using Captain America and other Avengers as the arguments for why so many things were failing.

Living became hard. Well, even harder than it used to be. People turned jaded and distrustful, so very few still tried to show each other support. Unable to count on governmental help, people have started forming their own little groups. Little communities that took care of each other, but were very wary of anyone else. 

You met Steve when you shyly walked into one of the support groups he was leading. You’ve seen posters inviting people to the meetings, but for quite a long time you stayed away from them, because Captain America or not, these groups always meant selling your soul in some way. 

Steve lured you in with his patience and soft voice, but was firm in pointing out that if you’d like to take some of the provisions back home, or needed aid, you had to do some labour in return. 

You weren’t opposed to that, but you were wary. Still, you agreed. 

Each task seemed more and more important, or that’s what you told yourself, because with each you’ve somehow gotten to work closer and closer to the Captain himself. 

You worked dutifully, which was something Steve didn’t omit to praise you for on a few occasions. Which perhaps was the reason why he assigned you to a team that so often worked closely with him. 

As much as it filled your chest with warmth, your gut tightened each time he got a little closer.

And he always got closer. 

You always sensed his gaze on you. Felt your heart jumping whenever he grazed his fingers along your arm, in a seemingly innocent, sweet gesture. But there was something about his attention, about Steve himself, that made you feel uneasy.

He was charismatic, but also less lenient. 

Caring, but didn’t give second chances. 

Patient, but often merciless in his decisions. 

He was still Captain America, but bitter and darker. Worn-out and dirty, like his suit, with the trace of a star that used to shine hope to those who saw it. Now that faith trailed with darkness. 

When Steve approached you one evening, as your team was scavenging the territory the Captain and his Avengers have liberated from under the influence of bloodthirsty gangs, you felt that quickened pulse and whispers of self-preservation instinct telling you to be wary.

He said that he noticed you watching him. Which rendered you speechless for a moment. If anything, you always caught him looking your way. 

Did he really think you were the one checking him out? Was it why your gazes met every time?

You stuttered with your response, not quite knowing how to explain yourself. Steve offered you that disarming, comforting smile. He touched your hand. Slipped his fingers between yours, ever so slowly rubbing the pad of his index finger between two of yours. 

Such a small, meaningless gesture, but something about it had your cunt clenching in response, as if he was insinuating he wanted to rub you somewhere else. 

Before you managed to explain the situation, Steve turned the tables on you once again. He leaned in and confessed that he missed intimate touch, as well. That it was understandable and he felt honoured you would give him your attention.

Then he simply walked away, joining Natasha to make further decisions regarding the operation; leaving you dizzy with confusion and conflicting emotions. 

Was he right? Were you subconsciously seeking out his attention? Was your sense of unease in his proximity provoked by your attraction to him?

Because Steve Rogers was a very handsome man. From the soft strands of hair he had grown a little longer, to the way his broad chest tapered into narrow hips and possibly the sexiest ass you’ve ever seen. 

From that moment, the Captain often approached you, smiled at you, and touched you however briefly. The pounding of your heart increased each time, your thoughts still clouded. 

When he caressed your cheek one time, while having just returned all dirtied and splattered with blood from a mission abroad, your breath stuttered. He asked you to help him out with patching some bruises and you didn’t find the strength in you to deny a request from a wounded man. Captain America at that. 

He took you to his quarters. At Steve’s command, the AI closed the door after you. Your fingers trembled as Steve guided you how to unzip and take off his suit (since his shoulder throbbed so hard, he seemingly couldn’t do it himself). 

Steve’s fair skin was indeed marred with bruises and a few cuts, which you cleaned and patched. In response to your breathless “I better leave” after you were done, Steve slid his big hands onto your hips and softly asked you to stay. 

Perhaps it’s been too long since you kissed anyone. Or maybe his grip on you tightened enough for the fear of repercussions freezing you in place. 

With a tiny whimper, you gave in to his demanding lips and wandering hands. Despite your brain screaming at you to run away, your heart rate accelerated with pleasure, quickly drowning out the fear.

Steve had you sinking down on his thick cock right there, while he still sat in the chair and his suit was barely pushed past his hips. He groaned praises at how good you felt; how hot it was to feel your tight cunt stretching around him; how sexy you sounded struggling to take it all.

Even with some of your brain cells fighting against it, your whole body surrendered to Steve and the pleasure he drew out of you over and over again. 

Maybe he was right all along and you were starved for intimate contact. 

Maybe you were choosing to let him take you, so he wouldn’t hurt you or your family in any way. 

Later, as you laid in Steve’s arms, you debated with yourself how good it felt to be held and protected, and that maybe it was worth following Steve’s subtle commands. 

He took you again in the morning. On your side, sliding into your sore pusy from behind. When you hissed that it hurt, Steve slowed down, but didn’t stop. He distracted you by arousing other parts of your body - rolling and pinching your nipples, sliding his fingers between your lips and fucking your moth with them, using his wet digits to rub your clit. 

Both of you returned to your duties afterwards, but in the evening Steve simply wrapped an arm around you and greeted you with a kiss on your temple. Then guided you back to his quarters.

He talked to you about everything, asked about your past, as well simply about your day. 

But not once did he ask, if you wanted to have sex with him. 

As the days passed, the less brave and determined you were to reject him. Especially not after Steve started coming over to your quarters, to meet your parents and play this whole thing, as if you really were a couple.

So if he was this sweet and supportive, why did you still fear displeasing him in any way? 

“I mean I’m not hiding at all.” Your speech quickened slightly, as you explained your actions. “I may have hoped no one would find this spot that quickly. I would tell you about it, I was going to. But first I needed to, um, I wanted to-”

“Easy, honey.” Steve cupped your cheek.

He ran his thumb along your lip, cooing at you softly. 

He didn’t look angry, nor suspicious. Which lessened your worries. 

“So you found one of Tony’s panic rooms.” Steve took a quick look around. “Not many people know about their existence. Not many can find them.”

“It was actually an accident,” you laughed at that, remembering how you stumbled when changing light bulbs in a weird fixture in the main lounge room and instead of breaking the mirror on the wall the pressure of your fall activated sensor in the wall, opening the passage to this room. 

You told Steve the story, watching mirth form crinkles around his eyes. He kissed your forehead softly, before pulling away. Not enough to leave much space between your bodies. 

“And why are you storing provisions here?” He glanced at the jars and cans you stacked on the few shelves. 

“Just in case. We have a storage and everything is rationed generously, but-” your gaze dropped as you mumbled- “somemayhavebeenstolen.”

“What was that?” Steve’s tone chilled and you felt the hair on your nape standing to attention. 

With two fingers, he tilted your chin up. Blue eyes bore into yours, a Captain’s command in them snapped you into obedience without an order falling from his lips. 

“I think I’ve noticed someone sneaking out some portions. Often.” You admitted. “I wanted to make sure we wouldn’t suffer much loss, in case that person continued to steal.”

“Why haven’t you reported it?” Steve frowned, his hold on your chin turning into an unpleasant pinch. 

“Because the person I should report to first, is the one who takes it.” You also tried to convince yourself that maybe Walker simply was giving it away to someone in need. 

“You could’ve told me.” Steve pointed out, his frown deepening in displeasure. 

“But you always talk about the importance of chain of command,” you blurted out.

Which actually surprised Steve. His eyebrows arched up and then his disapproval was shifting into amused satisfaction once again.

“You’re so dutiful, honey.” Steve’s grin made you gulp nervously. 

His gaze slowly trailed down. When it returned to your face there was a possessive glint in the blue irises. A hot jolt stroke down your spine, pooling in your lower belly with heat in preparation for what was to come.

Because even if your lips wanted to part on a pitiful No, you knew Steve would take anyway. And he’d make sure your body was on board with his desires. 

“Why don’t you continue your impeccable service for your Captain, huh?” Steve dragged the zipper of your jacket down. 

It was butter soft brown leather; once belonging to Steve, but since it was too big on you, he graciously encouraged you to cut and sew it, so it fit you better. 

Steve parted the sides of the jacket, exposing your chest. One move was enough to yank down the stretchy top you had underneath. Your breasts spilled out and you clenched your fingers on the edge of the counter, forcing yourself not to cover yourself, even though you felt shy. 

Steve cupped your breasts with his hands; squeezed them and kneaded gently. The coarse fabric of his fingerless gloves provided additional sensation. He rolled one nipple under his thumb; pinched the other. His mouth swallowed each little moan of yours. 

He drew out a whine out of you as he tugged your bottom lip between his teeth, at the same time unzipping your jeans. Steve knelt down to take off one of your shoes and pull your leg free from the pant leg. Enough to have you spread for him as wide as he wanted. 

“Umm-” you swallowed hard as Steve stretched to his full height. 

He was so much bigger than you. So much stronger. Sometimes, when he had you in his arms, it truly made you feel safe. Other times it scared you; made you quickly comply. 

Steve picked you up so easily, sitting you on the narrow counter and standing between your legs. 

“I don’t have any more pills,” you revealed. “Contraceptives, I mean. Bruce said it will take a few weeks for the production to be finished, after that one ingredient turned out to be spoiled.”

Steve met your eyes. He listened to what you were saying, nodding his head intently as you spoke, but still unzipped his suit and freed his cock. 

You couldn’t help it, your gaze flicked down. Seeing it almost daily didn’t diminish the awe of the cock a primal part of your brain declared perfect. Your pussy clenched, growing wetter in preparation for what was inevitable. 

Steve’s hand closed around his girth and he gave a few pumps before guiding the angry-red tip into your hole. 

He slid inside with a groan. Your own choked cry responding. 

When he met slight resistance due to your position, Steve hooked his arms beneath your knees and pulled your legs upwards. Your ass tilted and your upper body angled backwards. It allowed him to sink fully in, until you felt that unpleasant pressure against your cervix and his balls met your buttocks. 

Then, as he bottomed out in your unprotected pussy, Steve regarded your words.

“Slight inconvenience. But we’re skilled in adjusting to new situations and challenges.” He rested his forehead against yours; his voice growing more raspy and breathless. “If fate wants us to have a child, then we will rise to that blessing as well.” 

He rocked his hips into you, his pelvis grazing your clit. You squeaked, bracing your hands on Steve’s shoulders. 

“Fuck, honey.” Steve withdrew a few inches then slowly thrust back in. “Your sweet cunt is so tight and wet for me.” 

It was tight, because he hadn’t prepared you thoroughly - sometimes it was a blessing, because there were other times when Steve was so focused on making you soaked that he turned you into an overstimulated mess. 

Also because his dick was so fucking thick. 

“My perfect pussy. Isn’t it?” Each stroke was a purposeful, unrushed torment, so that you felt those inches penetrating you. Owning you. 

“Y-yes, Steve. It’s yours,” you mewled when he poked your cervix again. 

“It was made to be filled, honey.” Steve’s pace started increasing. “Its purpose is to take my cock and milk every last drop of my cum, until your womb swells with it.”

There were protesting voices in your head, demanding that you shake your head no and that you tell him you didn’t want to get pregnant. But they never made it past the barrier of voices supplying that you always dreamed of having a family and that Steve would take good care of you. 

Even if the objections somehow made it onto your tongue, the moans and cries Steve was eliciting with each thrust and filthy word deformed them into agreement. 

“That’s it, honey. Taking your Captain so well. Going to take all my cum and thank me for it.”

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲’𝐬 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥✨🎀

Pairing: quarterback!Ari Levinson x naive!Reader

Summary: You have to do what daddy says, no matter how depraved it may be.

Warnings: smutt, dd/lg vibes, daddy kink, phone sex, riding of stuffed animals, dirty talk, Ari being depraved, Ari being a cocky asshole, innocence kink.

“But Ari, I’ve never sent nudes before.”

You bite your lip, moving your phone from one ear to the other. It was 2am, and you’re usually never awake this late. But you’d been working on a paper that was due tomorrow morning, and then Ari had called you.

Which was crazy. You didn’t even know Ari had your number. He was a senior and you were only a freshman and it was insane that he wanted to talk to you! You’d only ever met him once at a party last week, where he’d flirted with you sporadically throughout the night. You didn’t think much of it at the time, since he’d been flirting with a bunch of other girls too.

“Just lift your shirt up and send me a picture, sweetheart.” Ari insists, sounding smug on the other end of the line. “Maybe play with your tits a bit? Fuck, you have such nice tits.”

“Y-You think so?”

“Yeah, baby. I can’t stop staring at them whenever I see you in person.”

“Oh. Thanks!” You know you shouldn’t be happy with such a shallow compliment, but the fact that he’s interested in you is giving you butterflies. He was older than you, and he was the captain of the football team and the most popular guy on campus. You were, of course, none of those things.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting.” There’s a slight edge to his tone.

You inhale deeply, opening your camera and lifting your top up. You’re not wearing a bra and your nipples are already hard from Ari’s smooth-talking and his gravelly voice. You snap a quick picture before sending it to him.

A pause.

“Fuck, you are so hot.”

“Thank you!” You glow at the praise. But then your eye catches the clock on your nightstand, “ooh, Ari, it’s getting late! I need to sleep now.”

“No.” Ari commands. “Let’s talk on FaceTime.”

“But I’m only in my PJs!” (They were babyish pyjamas too, nothing sexy at all.)

He ignores you, cutting the call and then calling you again through FaceTime. You accept it, gasping because he was shirtless on his bed. You’d never seen him shirtless before! His chest and torso were so muscular and hairy—but it made him look so manly that you couldn’t help but feel sparks run down your spine.

“Cute PJs.” He snorts.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything sexier.”

“Don’t worry, baby. But maybe you should just take your top off completely, hm?”

“Oh, uh… I don’t know about that, Ari.”

“I’m not wearing a shirt, am I? So it’s only fair if you don’t wear one either.” He gives you a charming smile and you feel your insides turn to goo. Oh, you had the biggest crush on him! You can already feel every cell in your body itching to do exactly what he’s asked you to.

You shrug your top off, trying only to focus on Ari and how his eyes widen, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. He licks his lips and runs a hand through his unruly brown hair. His other hand is out of frame, and you can’t see what he’s doing with it.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn sexy, baby, showing off your hot, tight little body to me, huh?”

“I—I…uh… y-yeah, I guess—”

“Move up and down for me a bit, I wanna see your tits bounce. Mm, just like that, sweetie. Fuck, you love listening to me, don’t you?”

You watch in awe as he spits down into the palm of his hand, and now you can guess what his hand is doing and it makes your eyes widen but your core pulses with lust too.

“Look how hard your nipples are, baby. Touch ‘em for me. Play with them like a little slut, like how all the pornstars and slutty cam-girls do it. Like you’re being paid to do it, fuck! Goddamn, you’re so hot.”

He pans his camera downwards for a split second, and you gasp when you see his huge cock in his hand. He’s pumping it steadily, and it looks so big and fat and red and—

“B-But Ari, I’ve never watched porn before so I don’t know how a pornstar does it.” You blurt out.

A pause.

“Mm, you’re a real good girl aren’t you?” Ari chuckles breathlessly, running a hand through his hair again. He’s still pumping his dick, but more leisurely now, like a wolf who knows he has all night to play with his prey.

You shrug awkwardly, “I guess I am.”

“So tell me, how does a good girl like you like to be fucked?”

“Wh-What?!”

Ari snorts, “C’mon, sweetheart. You and I both know I’m gonna fuck you real soon. So I need to know how you like it. All sweet and slow? Because I can do that shit. Or are you a real freak in the sheets, and want me to shove your face against a pillow and take you hard and fast on your hands and knees?”

Your mouth drops open, and you suddenly feel so shy because how is he talking about such graphic things so easily???

“Mm, you like the sound of that second option huh?” Ari says, and now he sounds slightly breathless. His face is shiny with a layer of sheen, and his hair is falling over his face as he pumps his dick and his eyes look all over your topless form like he’s ravenous. “The innocent ones are always the freaky ones.”

“I’m not freaky!”

“So you don’t want me to fuck you doggy style with my hand round your throat like you’re wearing a goddamn collar, huh baby?” His voice sounds rough, gravelly, so infinitely turned on. And it’s crazy how quickly he switches back and forth from that to his casual, charming tone.

“Bet your little baby pussy is clenching right now, isn’t it baby? And I bet you’ve made a mess all over your bed because you’re so turned on.”

You glance down guiltily, hating how he’s right. There’s a huge wet stain on your sheets underneath you. You hadn’t realised just how wet you were because of all this. You bow your head and Ari smirks knowingly.

“Virgins get the wettest. And you’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Your eyes widen even more and you nod. Fuck, fuck, fuck, how did he know?!

“That’s what I thought.” Ari lets out a low groan, jacking off even faster. “Now listen, I want you to practice for when I fuck you.”

“Practice?”

“Yes, baby. I need to teach you so many things. But first tell me, do you have a stuffed animal in your room?”

Your face lights up, “Sure I do! This is Fluffy!” You grab your stuffed lamb and wave it in front of your camera.

“Give Fluffy a kiss.” Ari orders you darkly, his tone switching to more serious.

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Give your toy a kiss.” His normally blue eyes are now almost black, his pupils are so blown out with lust. And his order is kind of weird but you feel your pussy clench and leak some more, and you know you’re turned on by how authoritative he’s being.

You obey, pecking the stuffed lamb quickly. You feel embarrassed but you’re also feeling extremely submissive. And obeying him is turning you on so much.

“Not like that, baby. Make out with Fluffy properly. Like you would if it was me.” Ari says, and you look at him in shock only to see him smirking lazily back at you. His dick is throbbing against his hairy abs and he’s once again lazily stroking himself as he watches you intently. “Use your tongue.”

It’s by far the weirdest thing you’ve ever done. You scrunch your eyes shut and try to imagine your stuffie is Ari. And it’s not like you haven’t done it before — because you’ve practiced kissing on your stuffies in the past. But never in front of an audience, let alone a ravenous looking jock who’s jacking off while watching your every move intently.

“Mm, just like that. You like kissing Fluffy, huh?” He asks you darkly, and you can hear the steady thwapping sound of him pumping his dick.

“Uh. Not really, it’s kind of wei—”

“Use your tongue more,” he cuts you off, “get your little toy nice and wet, baby. Mm, just like that. Daddy loves it when you do it like that.”

You gape at him, “d-daddy?”

Ari smirks, “yeah. That’s what you’re gonna call me from now on. Got it?”

You gulp, “I didn’t know that was a thing.”

He licks his lips, “of course you didn’t know, you’re just a baby. But guys love it when girls call them daddy. It just means I’m in charge of you and that I’ll take care of you. That sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

You mull over his words. That did sound nice, and the idea of calling him daddy was kinda making you feel all hot and bothered down there…

“Try it.” Ari suggests, “Say that you’re just a little baby who needs her daddy to tell her what to do.”

You bite your lip, “uh—okay. I-I’m just a little baby and I need my… my daddy to tell me what to do.” You pause and beam, looking at him through your phone screen proudly, “how was that?”

He nods approvingly, “you’re a natural, baby. Now why don’t you put Fluffy between your legs so he can kiss your other lips?”

Your jaw drops, and yet you feel yourself clench at his words, “What??”

“Come on, sweetheart. Do it for daddy. I’m not here to give you your special kissies down there, which means Fluffy has to do it, right?”

“Special k-kissies?”

“That’s right. Little baby girls like you need their special kissies or else you’ll disappoint your daddy.”

You glance down at your pyjama shorts which are soaking wet. Despite you feeling awkward, you also felt immensely turned on by each word that came out of his mouth. How he was ordering you to do these depraved things… How he was talking to you all condescendingly like you were a baby… Oh, you didn’t want to disappoint him!

Slowly, you spread your legs and press Fluffy down against your clothed mound. You make sure to pan your phone downwards so Ari can see, and he groans appreciatively. His thumb strokes the head of his dick before he moves his hand up and down, now leisurely stroking himself as if he wants to savour these next few moments.

“That’s right, hump your sexy little baby pussy against your toy. Doesn’t that feel so sexy, baby?”

You nod, “feels good, Ari—I mean daddy. It feels good.”

“Damn right it does, daddy always knows what’s best for my little baby.” He runs his hand through his already dishevelled hair. His cheeks are flushed and he’s got a dark, determined look on his face as he continues to jack off, his eyes glued on you.

“Ride your little stuffie just like that,” he murmurs, “get that pretty baby pussy all wet and slippery and worked up, ready for my daddy dick. How’s that sound, princess? You ready for daddy’s dick?”

You bite your lip again, this time in pleasure as you continue to rub your pussy against the stuffie, “I think so. But you’re so big…”

That makes him smile, and he pans his camera down again to show you his fat, angry red cock. He’s got a huge vein running down it, and you get the sudden urge to lick it. God, he was so big! And thick too! You feel giddy and scared at the thought that he might actually be your first…

“H-How many girls have you slept with, daddy?” you ask shyly.

“Only a few,” he snorts, his tone vague before the glint in his eye returns. “I think I’ll only be able to fit my big dick halfway through your tiny snatch.” He says, “What do you think, baby?”

You nod, “I agree, you’re—uh— super big, daddy.”

“Mmhm, but you’d love it even more if I held you down and forced my fat cock inside your baby cunt till I’m all the way in, so deep you can feel me in your fucking womb, wouldn’t you?” he lets out a string of curse words as he pumps himself, “Tell me you’d like that.”

“I would!” You cry, feeling like you’re so, so close to cumming, “d-daddy, I—”

“Shhh, baby girl. Daddy knows,” Ari’s watching you like a hawk as your movements grow more and more desperate, your hips rutting against your poor stuffed lamb. “Put your phone up against your pillow or something, so I can watch you ride your toy properly.”

You do as he asks, no questions asked. And it’s times like this where you feel extremely lucky that you don’t have a roommate. And you hope Ari doesn’t either.

“Yeah, just like that. Get your toy all wet, sweetheart. Fuck, you’re so sexy,” Ari spits down on his palm before resuming to pump his cock, “bet you wish it was daddy underneath you like that, don’t you? Bet you wish I was eating your cunt just like that.”

You fist the sheets, trying not to look at your stuffie as you straddle it, humping it like a wanton whore.

“Yeah? You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” A few strands of his brown hair flip over his forehead, and he pushes them back impatiently, “Riding your daddy’s tongue, rubbing your baby cunt all over my face while you hold your little stuffed animal and cry like a baby ‘cause it’s too much for a little girl like you to handle.”

“Oh, I’d really like that!” you cry out, the pleasure within you mounting as you continue to breathlessly rub against your stuffie. You don’t even know what you’re saying anymore, but he’s painting such a vivid, hot picture with his words that you can’t help but agree. “W-Wanna ride you so bad, daddy. Would be so much – ah! – so much better than Fluffy!”

Ari smirks, “Damn right, it would. And tell me how you’d dress up for me, baby.”

“Would wear anything you want me to!”

“Yeah? What about a pretty pink princess dress? You’d wear that for daddy?”

“Y-Yeah!”

“A cute and flouncy one, where your cute little ass pokes out every time you bend over in it,” he grunts, leaning forward as his pumping gets faster, “Your bare ass just begging for a hard slap – fuck! Tell me you’d like that!”

“I’d love it!” you agree quickly, your whole body on fire just from his words. But then, despite everything, a thought occurs to you, “B-But, daddy. I don’t have a flouncy pink dress like that.”

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll buy you one.” Ari promises. “But first, you need to take your shorts off for me.”

You don’t even object this time. The fabric of your pyjama shorts is all wet and sticky against your pussy, so you quickly discard them before resuming what you’re doing. And you can’t help but throw your head back and moan embarrassingly loudly, because the stuffie’s fur catching against your bare clit feels heavenly. You circle your hips against Fluffy with renowned vigour, all while Ari watches you closely with carnal eyes.

“Show me your ass,” he orders you softly, and yet there’s a note of authority in his tone, “show daddy your cute little baby ass, sweetheart.”

You grab your phone, scrunching your eyes shut as you twist awkwardly, pointing it to your ass. But your heart skips a beat when Ari groans in appreciation.

“Fuck, you’ve got such a cute little butt, princess,” Ari murmurs, his gaze on you intense. “I bet it jiggles all cutely when you slap it, huh?”

“I – ah! – I dunno…”

His dark eyes flash, “Slap your ass for me, princess.”

Oh gosh, how embarrassing! You hesitate, “I…I…”

“Do it. Do what daddy tells you,” Ari runs his tongue over his lips, “I’m in charge and I know what’s best for you, sweetheart. Don’t disappoint me. Spank your little baby ass for daddy.”

You do as he asks, so completely under his control that you just can’t think straight. All you want to do is chase your own pleasure as you continue to ride your stuffed animal, and listen to the dirty talk coming out of Ari’s mouth. You gingerly slap your ass lightly, and Ari moans in appreciation before ordering you to do it harder. You comply once more, you’re so close to orgasming that you don’t even think twice.

“Yeah, fuck. Just like that, baby. God, I wish I could spank that cute ass of yours myself. Next time I see you at a party, I’m bending you over my lap in front of everyone. You’d let me do that, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes!” You’d have agreed to anything at this point.

“Damn right. And I’d flip your skirt over and spank your bare ass in front of all my fucking friends, because you’re my property and I can do that, can’t I?”

“Y-Yes! Ari, I’m so close!”

“Oh yeah, baby? Cum then. I’m not stopping you.”

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train, and you don’t stop moving your hips, imagining your riding his thick cock as you cry out in pleasure. And you can hear Ari talking you through it, calling you his good little girl, telling you that daddy’s so proud of you, that you’re doing so well, that you’re so good at following instructions. And fuck, you’ve never been this wet before, and you’ve never cum this hard before. It takes you a good few minutes to recover, limbs shaking and your core so sensitive.

Once you finally regain your senses, you peer shyly at your phone once more to see Ari throwing away a wad of tissues.

“D-Did you…?”

He snorts, “After that show you just put on? Of course I did.”

Heat rushes to your face, a part of you disappointed that you missed out on watching him orgasm because you were too wrapped up in your own pleasure. “Oh. Wow, okay.”

Ari grins, “Look at you, all shy all of a sudden. Cat got your tongue, baby?”

You purse your lips and stick your chin out defiantly at him, “No! Just… Tired is all.”

Ari nods thoughtfully, “Tired, huh? So then I shouldn’t come over tonight?”

Tonight? But it was so late! And yet your pussy thrums at the thought.

“Y-You wanna come over?” You breathe.

“Yeah, sweetheart. I gotta touch you in person, otherwise I won’t be able to sleep the whole night.” He flashes you a cocky smile, and you watch in awe as he zips his jeans and pulls a shirt over his head. You can’t help but bite your lip. God, he was the most attractive, hottest guy you’d ever seen in your life!

“So, you gonna text me your address, or what?”

“Yes, daddy.”

So like… when I get horny, I tend to write things like this. ANYWAYS, lemme know what you think! Love you guys! This was sitting in my drafts for ages and finally I decided to finish it! 🩷🩷🩷

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Fearsome predator

(via)

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

I have a feeling he's the kind of person that enjoys tears and making people cry.

He'd coo condescendingly at her, a mocking pout on his lips when he says "Am I being mean? Oh dear, how terribly awful of me."

Then he'd grin evilly and say "Wait until I get really mean, sweet lips. That'll give you a proper reason to cry."

Cupcake/sweet lips, whatever we're calling her, should call Lloyd a meanie. I actually think he'd love that.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Bre knows. She knows exactly who and what he is and no matter how harsh she seems, she is trying to protect Cupcake by firing her. Because that way, she won't come across the evil fiend again and be safe.

Too bad Lloyd is already one step ahead. Now she got fired for nothing AND is stuck with him following her around like some bloodhound.

Also, THE AUDACITY he has to ask her if she's had a bad day?! You threw a HOT drink at her TWICE! Even if she didn't get fired, that would be more than enough to make me cry.

I don't know if I want her to lash out or run away. On the one hand, I'd like her to give him hell, but considering what happened and the nature of this Lloyd in particular I think that might not be the best idea.

So if fight isn't an option, it's flight or freeze. And in her current state it might be most likely the latter. Poor sweet baby. I hope she survives his torment

The Man 3

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You think you remember. Or at least you’ve convinced yourself that you do.

You go through the painstaking steps as the dark presence looms across the counter. The man walks along, just on the other side of the machines as you steam the milk. Toffee nut, yes, you’re pretty sure that was it.

You put it all together, step by step, hands shaking. Your lips move as you talk yourself through your work silently. You can do this. You still feel how the man scratched you through your shirt when he grabbed you, your skin fiery.

You give one last look to the foam and send a prayer up to whatever deity will hear it. You slowly move to the till and place the cup down. You wet your lips and clear your throat.

“Almond, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” you declare, voice quavering as you stare at the bristle across the man’s upper lip. “Mr. Hansen.”

He clucks and leans on the counter, hooking one foot behind the other. He wraps his hand around the cup and slides it closer to himself. He stares down into as you fidget. You glance around at the baked goods.

“And a cinnamon bun?” You suggest but before you can carry through on the offer, a splash of liquid washes over you, hot despite the layer of steamed milk.

“Oat milk,” he crushes the empty cup in his large hand and throws it at your face. You sputter and blink as the foam drips down your cheeks.

“Sorry, sir, I’ll make it again.”

“Fucking right, you will, sweet lips,” he growls and stands straight, crossing his arms.

You pull the bottom of your apron up and wipe your face. You bend to pick up the empty cup and turn away. Your eyes sting and you wiggle your tingling nose. It’s fine. You can do this.

Oat, half blond, half regular, toffee nut, cinnamon on top. The smell of espresso and syrup clings to you as you make the death march back to the till. You set the cup down without a word.

Mr. Hansen, Lloyd, the boss, whatever he is, considers you as he lifts the drink and examines the careful leafy art in the foam. He turns it and inhales the scent, some of the foam catching in his mustache. He takes a breath as if about to dive into water and has a taste. The tip of his tongue pokes out as he pulls the cup away from his mouth. He hums. Does he like it?

Splash.

Another searing dousing and you stand there with a gasp, shaking off the dredge of his displeasure.

“Mr. Hansen, I--”

“First thing’s first. Shut the fuck up. You talk too much,” he tosses the cup. Bonk, right off your forehead. “Second, I changed my mind. Get me a mocha. Extra whip.”

You nod and keep your head down. You pick up the cup and stand, nearly slipping in the puddle around your feet. You dispose of the empty cup and go to the coffee machine. You begin your new task, hands clumsy and trembling. You add the whipped cream and return to the till. You put the cup down and grab onto the counter to keep from sliding through the liquid at your soles.

He lifts it and you wince, bracing for another deluge. He repeats the same deliberate examination. You swallow tightly as he samples your work. This time he doesn’t make a noise. As he lowers the cup, you flinch and take a step back.

He cackles, “relax, cupcake.”

You stare at him grimly. You flick your lashes and blow out your nerves. You hide your shaking hands behind you.

“Now you know who the fuck I am,” he says, “clean yourself up and get back to work.”

He grabs a package of the cookies along the small shelf beside the till then turns on his heel and struts to the door. You watch after him, damp and dripping. As the door opens and closes, you turn to face the mess. You sigh and go to grab the mop; you can clean the floor but you can’t do much for yourself.

You work at soaking up the excess then spray cleaner on the floor and wipe with paper towel to prevent it from getting sticky. As you work at sopping up the errant droplets from the counter, the door behind you swings open. You glance over your shoulder as Bre sweeps through.

“Alright, your turn--” She stops short as you face her. “What happened?” Her face slackens with dread and shock, “what did you do?”

“It was Mr. Jansen—Hansen,” you correct yourself, “he came by and--”

“I told you not to talk to him,” she hisses.

“I... I didn’t have a choice. He wanted a drink and--”

“Fuck. Fuck! What did he say? What did he do?” She snaps.

You recoil at her accusatory tone, “he... he threw coffee in my face? He took some cookies? I don’t know? He just... said now I know who he is. I didn’t really understand--”

“You don’t. You don’t understand. You don’t get it.”

You frown and cross your arms, “I’m sorry, Bre, I did my best--”

“Not good enough. You think it’s all fun and games. It’s not. That man is dangerous. Not just here, everywhere,” she shakes her head, “you’ll see. Out there, on your own. Give me your apron.”

“What?” You murmur.

“Get out. I’ll call Maurice and let him know it didn’t work out.”

“What? No, you can’t--”

“I am. Give me your apron. Now.”

You pout and sniffle. You reach back behind you and unlace the apron and lift it over your head. You hold it out to her, “it’s wet--”

“Just go.”

You hang your head and turn away. Your eyes begin to stream before you even get through the door. You grab your stuff from the backroom and give one last look around. You got fired. What are you going to do?

You fold your jacket over your arm and sling your bag from your shoulder. You let yourself out into the alley and head down to the street. You stop at the end and cover your face, sniveling behind your hands as you lean on the brick. You don’t want to go back home. You only just got there.

“Whatsa matter, sweet lips?” The low drawl is followed by a loud slurp, “bad day?”

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Winter's King 9

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, cheating, violence, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You are a maid to the Duke of Debray, a lord of the Summer Kingdom. That is, until the king of Winter appears with his particular air of coldness. (Medieval AU)

Characters: Geralt of Rivia

Note: I can't explain why but damn I'm so tiredddd.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

As you approach the capital, you can’t help but poke your head up to admire the domes of the great castle and the high towers. The gates stand open as the party advances, in wait of their new liege and lord. You shield your eyes against the sun as you gaze at the silhouette of the mighty architecture. 

“May as well get a good gander,” Bryce says, “doubt the kitchens are any more glorious than the ones you know.” 

“Mm,” you retract your gaze and sigh, “suppose. But they will still be new to me.” 

“Not all that is new is wondrous,” he girds. “For as much as I’ve seen in this world, it is the familiar that keeps me sane.” 

You nod and let the cart rock you. Ahead of you, the horses tread over rocks and dirt, wagons bounce and creak, and some servants walk afoot to ease the cramps in their legs. You lean lazily on a chest and fold your hands in your lap. It will at least be nice to stay beneath a proper roof again. 

The streets of the city are crowded with faces. They do not holler for you but you can hear the raucous uproar ahead as the king and queen ride between the citizens. There are even more black and grey soldiers stationed along the roads, awaiting your arrival. 

As you wind up to the royal castle, the noise grows tantamount. At the walls of the grand structure, clusters of people threaten to crush the party between their writhing bodies. It takes some time after the king’s entrance for the luggage to make way into the courtyard. 

The carts depart around the back of the castle as the horses make way for the stables. You climb out as Bryce lurks around, dismounting Daisy with a grunt as he rubs his lower back. You glance over at him as the other servants quickly fall into work. 

“Maid,” he calls to you before you can follow suit, “no doubt the queen will need to wash away the road before she faces the hordes.” 

He beckons you forth with his gauntlet and you diligently near him. He hands off Daisy to a castle servant and carries on inside. You scurry beside him as he stops and gauges his surroundings. He is not versed with the corridors but he presses on unimpeded. 

You turn back a few times before you reach the great hall. It is crowded and chaotic. The soldier strides through without pause. You nearly grab onto him just to keep from being lost in the stirring of soldiers and servants, and the tittering lords and ladies in their colourful garb. 

Up the stairs and a few questions grunted to his comrades, Bryce takes you down to a set of chambers with yet another soldier before it. You’re let inside without question. You find Queen Jazlene before a steaming basin as another servant cleans her face. 

The queen scrunches up her nose and swats the lady servant, the maid still in the former king’s colours; burnt autumn orange and goldenrod yellow. 

“Watch my eyes, you moron,” Jazlene chides and jabs her nail into the maid’s ribs. 

“My lady, I didn’t mean--” 

“I am a queen, not a lady,” Jazlene hisses, “be gone before I have your teeth knocked out of that stupid mouth of yours.” 

The other maid wrings the cloth and steps back on her heel, chewing on an apology before she spins to flee. As she nears the door, she notices you and gives a panicked look. You reach to take the cloth from her before you go to the queen. 

“Your highness,” you greet her and dip the cloth back in the steaming water. “Would you like me to put ribbons in your hair?” 

“Mm, I suppose,” she tilts her face up and closes her eyes, “once the dirt is gone. By gods, I hate traveling.” 

You gently wipe along her hairline and trace the outline of her face. You delicately but intently clean away the errant dust and streaks. You drape the cloth over the brim of the basin and turn to the table. 

“And would you like your lips painted?” You intone. “Your highness, I do think your natural tones are beautiful.” 

As you peek back at her, her eyes open and she stares at you. Her nostrils compress as she inhales. She puts her head straight and looks at her reflection. 

“Do you think so?” She touches her cheeks. 

“Yes, I do, if you line your eyes, they might appear bigger but they are so lovely and dark already,” you compliment. 

She hums and tilts her head, turning her attention back on you, “it’s you.” 

You lower your head, “your highness?” 

“You’re always flitting around like some bird,” she sniffs, “suppose you are not so... agitating as the other. Yes, ribbons and some kohl. Then I will have one of the former queen’s gowns. They have delivered her wardrobe to me.” 

“Yes, your highness,” you say and go to work. 

You settle into your usual lull. The queen sips from her goblet as you twine ribbons with her curls, a halo around the crown of her head as coiling strands hang down to her back. She looks even more immaculate than you’ve seen her before. 

She calls for a dress and you bring her several options from those strewn across the large bed. She chooses the lavender and you help her into the light silk. You relace it to account for her lither figure, the former queen having some extra years in her hips. 

When she is dressed, she twirls before the mirror. She stops and sets her chin straight and glares at herself. She arches a brow coyly. 

“I cannot wait to see Lady Florence,” she scoffs, “she will choke when she realises I am her queen.” 

You linger by the wall, blending into the tapestry as she sighs and eyes the glass affectionately. She primps herself and spins again. 

“Well then, I must be overdue,” she goes to the door, “I must go to the king and show him I can be his queen.” 

You open the door for her and follow her out. The soldiers outside glance at her but do not move or speak. Bryce comes up beside you as you trail after Jazlene. She struts to the end of the corridor and is stopped by another guard at another door. 

“Do not think to stop me,” she spits, “I am the queen,” she flicks her fingers in his direction, “don’t be absurd.” 

The man lets her through as she tugs on the latch and his dull eyes stare past her. She hardly has the effect she thinks. People do not admire her so much as they tolerate her. 

She sweeps into the chamber as you wait outside. Bryce lets out a gritty breath and taps his fingers on his sword pommel. He chews more of the sweet leaves he loves so much. Jazlene emerges with a doe-like look. 

“Where is the king?” She exclaims. 

“He has gone to address the people,” the guard picks at his teeth. “He tired of waiting--” 

“Do not tell me about the king,” Jazlene snaps on the soldier, “ugh, let us find my husband. How can he think to face my people without me at his side?” 

She storms onward and you can only follow. She will no doubt need wine sooner than later, though you wish she might take more water or milk instead. Bryce keeps your pace slowed as he makes little haste. 

As she descends the steps, you can hear the king’s voice. The crowd is hushed, almost hypnotised as he speaks from atop a chair. Somehow, he is both overwhelming and unassuming. Jazlene shows as she sees him. The crowd does not move out of her way as they are rapt in his words. 

“...do not come as conquerer, but as liberator,” he declares, “I am not here to suppress but to unite. Our kingdoms, forged together as one, can attain glory. Peace. Joy. Our people needn’t suffer the droughts or frost rot without relief. By coming together, we will join summer and winter in harmony,” the king holds his sword, the tip on the armrest of the wooden chair, “to you lords who stayed loyal to Waleran, I do not seek retribution. You only did your duty and served the king you put an oath to. You had no part in his violations upon myself. I am aware you could not rein in your greedy master. You will keep what is yours, as by rights, but you will swear fealty to the new crown.” 

King Geralt looks around the hall, “I have spoken to the farmers and the peasants, I have seen the beauty of your lands. I wish not to ravage it but to build it. You will not have only from me writs and declarations, you will have fields sown, you will have harvests reaped, you will have coin in flow, and you will have full bellies.” 

He raises his great sword over his head. The large weapon could be held only by two-hands in anothers grasp but he lifts it effortlessly. 

“I saw how your king tucked tail when he saw me on the field. After you good lords followed him to battle and sacrificed your men and your blood. He could not stand and fight, but many of you did, many of you not here today. I will not let their souls be spent in vain,” he pauses and his golden eyes rove around the room. He points his sword suddenly towards you but not quite, at Jazlene, “I have taken a summer wife.” He curls his fingers to gesture her to him. People swivel to see her and clear the path to the king, “a winter’s king must have a summer’s queen, if our kingdoms our to rise anew.” 

Jazlene sways before she gets her footing. She moves forward, chin high as she lets a grin break out over her face. She looks this way and that, gloating as she goes to her husband. He steps down as she approaches and he takes her hand. He helps her up on the chair herself and she seems almost confused by the act. 

“Queen Jazlene of Debray,” King Geralt proclaims, “she will return with me to the Hinterlands to see that order is kept across our realm and perhaps, the next time I look upon you all, I will have an heir to present to you. A young prince to lead us into the sun ahead.” 

He raises Jazlene’s hand as she fawns. The crowd breaks out in racket, voices swelling to the rooves as you’re jostled against Bryce. The lords and ladies, servants and soldiers, throw up fists and hoot and holler. 

The king brings his sword up again, silence falling at the gleam of its silver blade, “but first, a feast!” 

The fervour is even louder as the hall explodes in glee. You hear it ripple out the doors into the crowd without and like an ocean, the tides carry through the courtyard and front gates, streaming into the city. Peace has come and old grudges cannot take the shine from the gift of a king’s mercy. 

⚔️

“Your highness, we heard of what happened on Stag’s River,” an earl, you think he said his name was Kelvan, “it was a brave stand. Admirable, even standing upon the other ridge.” 

“You were there?” King Geralt muses, “mm, how fortunate our paths did not cross.” 

“Indeed, your highness,” the earl agrees, “I must admit, I dreaded it.” 

“But here we are, alive, together, as allies. It is all I ever wanted.” 

“And we knew it. We knew it, my liege, for when you let our men march back at all, we saw your grace,” Kelvan smiles. 

“Yes, but I have only ever admired your lands, never had I wanted to ruin them,” the king assures as he looks over at his wife. 

“He is a brave and good king,” Queen Jazlene praises as she puts her hand over the king’s. 

Lord Kelvan’s lips ripple, “mm, yes, I have not seen your father yet. If I shan’t happen upon the Duke, you will send my regards.” 

There’s an edge that makes you uneasy. You see how Jazlene bobs her head, “so I shall.” 

She doesn’t seem to notice the tick of resent in the earl’s cheek. How odd it is that they are so fond of the invader and yet their own kith and kin, they cannot help but revile. You’ve heard the whispers swirling already. It was not King Geralt who betrayed these people but this snakish woman and her blood. 

“Wine, girl, now,” Jazlene snaps as the early departs back to his seat. 

You stand against the wall, just behind the bench she shares with the king. You come forward with the jug reserved only for her, nearing between the shoulders of the royal couple. Before you can put the spout to brim, King Geralt’s hand catches the swollen belly of the ewer. 

“Perhaps you might have some more lamb before you indulge further, wife,” he girds. 

“It is a feast,” she slurs, “I am only celebrating. With you,” she touches his sleeve, “my king.” 

“I see that,” his voice is low but firm, “yet you are a queen and your subjects are watching.” 

“I can stomach my wine,” she sneers. 

He huffs and wraps his hand around the bottom of the handle, just below your grip. He wiggles it away from you and sets it on the other side of his plate. Jazlene lets out a childish gasp. 

“It is just wine,” she snivels. 

King Geralt runs his fingers along his collar, “we are having a good night,” he says as he peers out on the crowd, “please, let us not make a scene.” 

“I am not making a scene. I am the queen and I want more wine,” she insists. 

He faces forward completely. You stay as you are, trapped in their indecision. He blocks the jug with his elbow and she claps her hands on her lap and kicks her feet.  

“Perhaps you should have some of that wine,” she mutters, “it might make you kinder.” 

The king doesn’t reply and instead greets another lord; one who introduces himself as the Count of Bress. As they speak, Jazlene leans back on the bench and tugs your skirt. You look down at her. 

“Find more wine,” she growls, “and don’t be obvious about it.” 

“Your highness, but the king--” 

“I am your master, not him,” she snarls and nudges you harshly, “be away before I lose my patience.” 

You dip your head and notice how the king’s head turns towards his wife. You don’t look back as you critter off quickly into the shadows. You might be better to take your time and tell her you could not abscond any more wine. If you wait long enough, it might even slip her mind, as so often her desires fade into the next. 

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

mean!König x nerd!reader that has a soft spot for her:( making love to her. she’s so fragile and tiny and innocent he doesnt wanna hurt her! coddles her during sex, putting her in a mating press and kissing her tears away since she gets so overwhelmed from his big cock!!

he’s mildly annoyed by your sobbing, fat globs of tears running down your pretty cheeks as he tries to ease his thick cock into your tight hole, pushing past the resistance he’s met with. the pained vulnerability on your face when you look up at him is quickly dispelling his urge to ruin you, making him feel guilty for how impatient he is, and he can’t help cradling your head as he tries to calm you down so he can finally fucking fit.

“it’s okay, kind. don’t cry, ja? only making it harder for yourself.” he grunts out frustratedly, going against his very nature to try to comfort you. his voice is gravely and low, like it pains him to talk to you with respect. “just relax and let me in.”

every time he envisioned the day he finally fucked you, he always pictured it being rough and fast; making you scream and squirm on his dick as he ruined your innocence and turned you into a wanton slut for him — but now all he could do was hold you close and attempt to make it good for you. he imagined pounding into you roughly, fucking that big brain of yours empty, but as it is, your shaking legs are draped over his broad shoulders as his warm, burly body presses snugly against yours, rutting deep and slow inside your gummy walls like your fragile body will shatter if he makes any sudden moves. he presses kisses all over your tear-stained face, fixing your crooked glasses as his hips cant into you, mushroom tip leaking precum at how nicely you’re starting to open up for him, and he tells you as such, whispering sweet words into your ear and feeling you cling to him in response.

he hates how overcome with endearment he is by you, watching you sniffle and mewl cutely while he rubs at your puffy, sensitive clit, losing yourself in the pleasure. if it was anyone else’s cunt that took him this well, clenched him so tightly, he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself from blindly chasing his own release, but all your pretty noises and expressions make him want to take his time and savor you, anything to keep you feeling good.

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

konig with a cute civilian crybaby girlfriend ;D?

dropping him off at the airport for deployment is always the worst. you’re a bat signal for judgey looks and unwanted eyes, a comical picture the two of you make— a bulky, giant man trying to console his small, weeping girlfriend. he doesn’t know how you’re not used to it by now, this has been his job for as long as you’ve known him, and you must’ve done this a hundred times over, but like a pavlovian response, your plump bottom lip starts to tremble, pretty eyes watering with tears.

“no, no, no.” it’s a warning, too little too late. heavy sobs rack your chest, the dam in you breaking as tears flood your cheeks, arms wrapping around his large frame. even though he’s grown to expect it, he still gets uncomfortable at the sudden draw of attention to the two of you, self conscious as he engulfs you into his burly arms and attempts to murmur soothing words in your ear. he’s had better luck defusing bombs than calming you down when you’re all worked up.

you make him promise he won’t die at war, and he obliges on the one condition that you pull yourself together. the feeling of his leathery thumb pads wiping at your tears, his big hands dwarfing your entire face as he cradles it, is enough to sate you, at least temporarily… “be strong for me, häschen. no more tears, ja? or i’ll off myself.”

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

Pet desk gf with Konig pretty pleasee!

this with gamer!könig! he’s already suffocatingly clingy and obsessive over you as it is, so the fact that you willingly sit with him for hours while he games is everything he could’ve asked for. he can get fully submersed into whatever violent shooting game he’s into that month without worrying about your whereabouts or wellbeing, knowing you’re in the safest place you can be; right where he can see you. and plus, you make much better use than any of the other inanimate objects you gifted him to decorate his gaming setup, sitting pretty on his strong, broad lap while you sporadically feed him snacks you put together, rubbing his back and clinging to his burly arms.

he can tell when you get horny and achey from watching the way his jaw clenches in concentration, the way his fingers and biceps flex as he plays, from the way you start to huff and squirm for his attention. depending on how generous he’s feeling that day, he’ll either shut you up by bouncing his knee, letting you rub your swollen clit red and raw on his thigh, or with a few thick fingers stuffed inside your greedy, slick pussy, all without looking away from his screen. if you need something in your mouth, you’re always welcome to crawl under the desk and help yourself, so long as you’re not interrupting his gameplay.

cockwarming him is a special occasion — and one that almost always ends in your sore, stretched out pussy being pounded mercilessly after he turns off his computer. whether that be happy and victorious after a win, or aggressive and brutal after a rage quit. he’s broken countless keyboards and monitors by fucking you harshly into them, or throwing them off the desk in the heat of the moment, too eager to release all his pent up frustration inside your warm, welcoming cunt. and you lay back and take it like the good little toy you are, the best stress reliever he could ask for <3

[kind-of-crazy-butthatsokay]

hi im sorry for this random urge but like i have the horny thought of any of the cod men who have a s/o whos pleasure only comes from their clit so the poor guy does everything that he can to their little nub (cough like putting the shower jet on tbe nub COUGH)

in my mind, könig’s obsessed with your clit regardless, because he sees it as a cheat code. during sex, he’s sometimes more engrossed in chasing his own pleasure than worrying about getting you off, so he knows that when in doubt, he can always fiddle with your sensitive bundle of nerves and knock a few good orgasms out of you. it’s lazy and selfish of him, but that’s neither here nor there. however, if you only felt pleasure from your clit? oh, it’s getting bullied :(

because of his ego, he’d want to test out the theory, in complete disbelief that his cock doesn’t do anything for you but fill you up and stretch you out. but after that, he would never let the poor little bud rest. his favorite activity would be trying new methods and techniques to see just how many ways he can send you over the edge. suckling at it with his tongue, mercilessly rubbing it with his thick fingers, making you glide it along his throbbing cock until its puffy and throbbing. the shower jet was one of his more inventive ideas, your back pressed to his chest as he hiked one of your legs up, giving you no choice but to take the stream of overstimulation to your worn out button while you ground your hips into nothing :(

it also comes in handy when you’re being bratty, or if he just feels especially cruel that day. he’ll fuck you countless times, filling you up repeatedly until you’re sore and crying, begging to cum. he’ll pin your hands above your head when you try to give yourself relief, lift your hips off the bed if you try rubbing into it. he loves the authority it gives him over you, not letting you finish until he’s satisfied. safe to say, he’d have lots of fun with you.