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okiedokrie · 22 days

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High Infidelity

Summary: There are many different ways that you could kill the one you love, the slowest way is never loving them enough. So what happens when you find someone who was all too willing to give you thee attention you craved, you said you'd only dip your toes into the idea, and yet, you find yourself already drowning. The novel you've been writing has been in progress for the better half of two years now, your writer's block beating you up, and your husband hasn't shown you any sympathy. Maybe a visit to the art exhibit from this new artist would jog your creativity, but what happens when this new artist offers you more than just relief from your writer's block?

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 10.6k

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, afab!reader, wears dresses, lmk if i miss something!! (Smut warnings under the cut)

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daemour!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

A/N 2: Thanks to @nebulousbrainsoup, @kwanisms, @the-boy-meets-evil, @wooahaeproductions, and @gongiz for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: tipsy sex (not drunk), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, nipple stimulation, masturbation, lmk if i missed anything!

The rain soaked into your skin—cold and icy—piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"I'm right here, honey, I love you." He whispers into your skin, slowly unbuttoning your shirt, one button at a time. He kisses your skin every time new skin is revealed to both of you, he kisses your skin so delicately as if you'd break at the slightest touch-

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? He has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making you more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

Xu Minghao is a passionate man, you can see his dedication to his craft in all the pieces in this gallery. He was a mixed media artist, sometimes his work was pops of color on a canvas, others were sculptures made of clay, made with the most delicate of hands, and others were more niche, like the stained glass piece in another part of the gallery.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throes of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You take in this sculpture, the light of the gallery display emphasizing the delicate attention to detail this piece had, you know the man who made this takes pride in this, his work, skills, and dedication finally being realized.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

You feel a presence beside you, a man around 5'11", slightly muscular build, in a turtleneck with glasses sitting delicately on his nose. He has a peculiar hairstyle, a mullet to be exact, and the most gorgeous face you've ever laid your eyes on.

"I see you like this piece in particular," He started, hands in his trouser pockets while smiling fondly at the piece, "'Passion' was a difficult piece for me to finish, ironically enough, I got bored of it quite easily." He continues, turning to face you.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

"Oh my, what an honor! I'm glad you also enjoy my work." You receive the compliment gracefully, "Although, I do want to hear more about why you got bored of this piece in particular, such a wonder to the arts community, surely you aren't downplaying your work?"

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you’ve never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

"I'm not saying I think it's bad, I just got bored of the creative process." He explains, "Although I do want to continue adding to this collection, perhaps we can go and get drinks together? Exchange ideas?" he offers.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

The mug in your hands warmed your palms, and your focus was fixated on the man in front of you. He talked about another piece of his, titled “Longing”; it was heavily inspired by his desire to find someone who shares the same passion as him, the longing to hold someone in a way that nobody else could, intimacy in its purest form.

“It sounds a bit pathetic, I’m known for my work in the art of passion and, to put it simply, sex; but I haven’t been able to find the company of a lover myself. Perhaps that’s just the consequence of being a hopeless romantic. Then again, you wouldn’t know the feeling of being lonely, I assume.” He said calmly, a small chuckle ending his tangent.

“Oh I wouldn’t say that,” You look into the mug in your hands, your reflection swirling in the tea. Your face looks back at you, eyes sunken in and sad, “To put it nicely… my husband robs me of solitude, but fails to offer me company.” You shouldn’t be talking about Haru like this. Your husband works many hours, tirelessly providing you with the house and connections for you to pursue a career in writing. But that wasn’t the reason why your anxiety was swirling in your stomach.

Looking back up at Minghao, the same dark expression sits on his face, a minuscule smirk, barely there even if you squint, “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we? I could keep you company.”

That. That was a quality of his that you noticed fairly early on. You can never read his true intentions, suggestive prose with just enough deniability to gracefully reject him without the conversation becoming inappropriate.

But your anxiety wasn’t caused by that, no, it was caused by the fact that you didn’t want to reject him.

“I’d like that, Maybe we could head to a bar and get drinks there too? My husband won’t be back for a few months because of a business trip in a few weeks. I could use the company.” You say, looking at him through your lashes; he knows his effect on you, and the mental gymnastics that both of you play over the table was just appropriate enough that to anyone listening, it’s just two friends agreeing to get drinks sometime in the future.

But to both of you, well, only the two of you know what’ll happen once the sun goes down.

“Of course, my schedule is free for the rest of the month. Be sure to think of me if you need company.” He offers you a soft smile, directly contrasting how intensely he’s making eye contact with you. The way he’s looking into your eyes makes you feel vulnerable like he’s directly using them as windows into your head. You’re half-convinced he could read your mind, if he could, he’s a master at hiding it.

You haven’t learned much about him, but from what you do know, you can never take his words at surface level, much less his actions. The way he’s leaning over the table, elbows on the surface, and his shoulders relaxed. His closing the distance, even if just by a hair, and the way his posture suggested the epitome of familiarity, shook you to your core.

His presence is almost suffocating, his dominance over your mind silencing whatever protest his suggestions may have created. You nod dumbly, “Of course, be warned though, I think of you a lot.” This causes his smile to relax into a smirk, the kind that could pass off as a smile if you don’t think too hard about it.

“I’m glad to hear that. I think about you a lot too.” He says picking up his cup of tea, “So much that a collection was born from the thought of you.” He takes a sip from the cup in his hands, eyes meeting yours over the rim of the cup, the way he holds eye contact with you always makes goosebumps litter your skin, the cup hiding the growing smirk on his face, silently enjoying his effect on you.

“Ah, speaking of the collection,” He started again, after setting the cup down, “Would you do me the honor of visiting my studio sometime? I’ll text you the address right now, you can come by at any time if you’re interested.” Taking his phone out from his pocket, feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket, you pick it up. The small device, usually light, feels like a heavy weight on your palm.

Opening your messages, you see that Minghao already sent the address, a building about 20 minutes from the cafe you’re in right now. “Lovely, could I trouble you to pick me up when I decide to visit?” You ask,

“Of course,” He replies, a gentle smile stretches across his face, “I’d love nothing more than to see you more often.”

The first time you entered Minghao’s studio, it felt like a dream. The studio wasn’t small by any means, the place was neat, neater than what you imagined any artist studio would look like. “Make yourself at home, I’ll brew some tea for us,” Minghao said as he took both your coats. Hanging the heavy fabrics on his coat rack, he gently guides you to the couches with a hand on your back, the light touch helping to ground you in this new environment.

He shoots you a quick smile before turning his back to you, setting his electric kettle to boil the water at the perfect temperature for tea. He rummages through his extensive tea set collection, settling on a simple white ceramic set with wooden handles. His eyes meet yours briefly, taking note of how you watch his every movement with care and curiosity, the way you were fascinated with the way his hand veins jumped every time he set a piece of the tea set down.

The kettle finishes boiling, he finally sets it down next to the tea set. “I want to introduce you to this teacake that my friend from home sent me,” He pulls out a teacake about the size of his head from the drawer under the table, wrapped in a slightly stained paper. He carefully unwraps it to show you the rich brown of the aged tea leaves, “This is a 15-year-old aged pu’er, I haven’t had the chance to try it yet, so I’d like to try this with you.”

“What an honor, I read from a recent interview that you were waiting for a good day to taste that right?” You ask, trying to gauge his reaction, if he’s surprised, he doesn’t show it,

“Of course, making a new friend is a special occasion, isn’t it? I’d consider that a good day.” He replies cooly, taking a tea knife and carving out a piece of tea to steep for a second, you watch as he delicately handles the porcelain set, the control in his movements reminding you of his mastery in sculpting, “You know, making tea is much like cultivating a new relationship,” he starts as he stands up to take the kettle off the stand.

“You carefully carve out your leaves, boil your water to the perfect temperature to bloom them, and steep the leaves a few seconds at a time.” You see him pour the water over the tea leaves, dried blades blooming like flowers under the delicate stream. “Each steep of tea is different, starting from the bloom until the flavor develops; and only then will you appreciate the true complexities of what tea has to offer.”

A small smile grows on your face as you watch him pour the first bloom onto his tea pets, “If my assessment is correct, you’re trying to correlate the developing flavors of tea with how our relationship is progressing?” He nods, confirming your hypothesis, “Then, I’ll ask you a question, which steep are we on?” you say with a cheeky smile.

Minhao grins at this, eyes almost disappearing with how wide his smile was, “Literally? The second steep.” He says as he pours more water over the leaves, you let out a chuckle at his little joke, “Figuratively? The fifth.”

You tilt your head a bit, “The fifth? I didn’t realize we were already at that stage.” you say as you accept his offer of a teacup.

He chuckles, “Well, I don’t just share my most expensive teas with anyone, so I might as well share it with one of the most brilliant minds I know.” he said while bringing the cup to his lips, sipping the drink carefully while making eye contact with you over the rim, winking playfully.

You raise your cup as well, the rising steam not being the only reason for your flushed face, you grin against the rim of your cup, savoring the rich and deep aroma of the high-quality tea.

After a while of banter and small talk, you finish your tea, setting down your cup gently on his expensive-feeling coffee table, he stands from his seat, “Could I show you something?” he said, holding his hand out to you. You place your palm on his, the warmth from his hand seeping into your skin. The touch was negligible, simple, even, but the contact with his skin sent electricity through you, like a violent jolt of excitement.

Minghao notices this and smirks, feeling pride swell up in his chest as he pulls you up from the couch, leading you to the other side of the room with a hand on the small of your back. He finally stops in front of a large canvas, laid across what looks like a bare-bones bed frame. You turn to him, curiosity growing on the expression of your face.

“What’s this? This looks fairly new, the paint on the frame still seems wet.” You ask, eyes raking over the splotches of color seemingly placed without much thought or care, it looked like the aftermath of a messy and angry paint spill.

“It is new,” Minghao starts, “I’m trying a new technique where I release frustrations by getting whatever paint catches my eye and throwing cups of it without much thought.” He shrugs, nothing particularly of note, but you do notice the amount of emotion that is in the piece.

“It’s not an elegant piece, but for a collection centered around passion I find it missing raw emotion.” He runs his hand through his face, frustration taking over his features, something you noticed early on was his emotions were closely tied to whatever art was around him, it seems as though the frustration in this one was affecting him at this moment.

“Yes, the human form and sex are great subjects, but pure, raw emotion is hard to capture.” He mumbled, eyebrows furrowing. “So, that’s why I invited you here. Tell me, as someone who’s written longing, despair, and everything in between. How does this make you feel?”

You pause and take in his words, turning back to the canvas and trying to soak in the colors, the shapes, and the emotion behind this piece. Yes, frustration is here. Yes, anger is here. But how does it make you feel?

“It makes me feel like I’m missing out on something.” You say simply, your stomach sinking just thinking about what that might entail. Minghao has a genuine look of shock for the first time since you’ve met him. His head tilted to give his attention to you fully.

“Really? Interesting. That’s the first time I heard that about this piece specifically.” He said with a lopsided grin, seemingly getting a new stroke of genius with your answer. He looks back at the canvas too, shoulders shaking from his restricted laughs. Your answer seemed to entertain him a lot. That much you can figure out, but you can never be sure what goes on in the mind of Xu Minghao.

Just then, your phone starts to ring, you only know one person who would call you at this hour—your Husband. You watch as the expression on Minghao’s face falls, face contorting into something short of a scowl for a split second before settling on his usual cool neutral expression. It was so quick that you barely missed the change, it happened so quickly that you decided it was all in your imagination as you ran to answer the phone.

You pick up the phone, “Hi honey-” You were cut off by your husband speaking,

“Get home, it’s getting late and you haven’t started dinner yet.” He said simply, before promptly dropping the call.

You stand there, the line going dead as you try to hold back tears. You take a deep breath, too afraid to show your face to Minghao in case tears were about to fall from your face. Grabbing your coat, you turn to face the door.

“Thank you for inviting me over, I have to get home now,” you said, your voice a little shaky, as you roughly opened the door.

You were out of his sight as Minghao stood alone in his studio, pondering. As silence took over the space, a dark smirk on his face.

'How long before you break?' he wonders.

The next time you and Minghao meet, you’re sitting on a park bench watching the autumn leaves dance to the silent song in the wind. You’re pulled out of your thoughts when you hear leaves crunch beside you, seeing the tail of Minghao’s long coat swaying in the wind.

He sees you, a smile spreading across his face, his long hair almost covering his face. His fast-paced walking makes the leaves crunch under his weight rhythmically. You think that he looks beautiful under the soft brightness of the autumn morning, only ever seeing him in the harsh rays of high noon or the constant humming of fluorescent lights.

You feel the heat radiating off his body through your and his coats as he sits next to you on the park bench. “Beautiful morning, the view is exquisite.” He says, looking directly at you. You giggle at this, he’s always been such a charmer ever since you met him. You peel the notebook from your lap, “I’m no artist, but the park is too gorgeous this time of year to not at least try to capture on paper.” you say as you open it to show him a relatively crude sketch of the scenery.

“Oh? This feels like a threat to my career.” He says with a chuckle, “But, genuinely, this is an amazing sketch. Are you sure you aren’t an artist?” You think you could get used to how relaxed you were around Minghao, conversations with him flowed so easily, it reminds you of the times your husband used to be invested in you as a person. Perhaps it was easier to compare the thrill of meeting a new person with feeling the start of a romantic spark, it was a dangerous game to play with him.

“No, I’m not, but I can appreciate a masterpiece when I see one.” You say, this time looking at him. He notices this and laughs at the fact that his joke is being used against him. He closes the notebook, handing it to you to put in your tote bag.

“The weather is perfect for a walk, care to join me?” He said, offering his hand for you to take. You accept the offer, the warmth of his palm being something to ground you on such a dreamy morning. Leaves crunch under both your weights in synch, your hand moves from his to hold onto his arm, and you try not to notice the lean muscle of it or the steady and secure way he guides you through the path.

You breathe in the autumn chill, enjoying the comfortable silence that followed the quiet whistle of the wind. “Your book,” Minghao said, his silky voice cutting through the silence effortlessly, “The one that inspired the collection, I’ve been following your publisher’s updates on the series, and I was wondering if you'd be able to share your progress on the second book?”

“Ah, about that.” You grimace, and you shake your head, quelling the urge to complain about your husband’s lack of sympathy for your predicament. “Maybe I’ll tell you another time, it’s not something I can talk about at the moment.”

Before you can correct the old man, Minghao speaks up, “Of course, could I take three of these?” He said, pointing at the basket of Jonquils.

He hums, luckily, Minghao was never the type to pry, “I get it, ever the tortured poet you are.” he said in a joking tone, you let out a chortle at this, agreeing that you may or may not be one.

Both of you are stopped by a flower vendor, “You both are a lovely pair,” The old man starts, as he turns to Minghao, he asks, “Could I interest you in some flowers? I’m sure your lady would appreciate them.” He smiles.

“Of course, you’re in luck too, these are the last off-season flowers I had in my greenhouse.” the old man said as his nimble fingers wrapped the flowers in some yellow tissue paper.

“I'm really lucky indeed.” He agreed while looking at you, your cheeks warming up at the implication. Minghao accepts the flowers and happily pays for them, gracefully handing the bundle to you.

Holding onto the stems, your fingertips graze over the delicate petals of the bright yellow flowers. “Thank you Minghao, they're beautiful.”

He smiles at the way you look at the flowers fondly, simply adoring the way your face lit up; literally, the yellow from the flowers reflected off your face and gave it a yellow hue.

“Shall we continue to walk?” He asks, offering his arm for you to hold again, you hold onto it, the flowers in your other hand. And you let the silence take over again.

Before you knew it, you've spent the entire day laughing and talking with Minghao, only stopping at several vendors for food and other trinkets, feeding the ducks berries, and watching the fish in the pond.

But the day has to end at some point.

You regretfully leave Minghao at the train station, waving goodbye through the glass of the train doors as you watch his figure get smaller and smaller.

Arriving home, you try to find a vase to put your flowers in, setting it down on the kitchen counter, your husband walks in and sees them.

“They're ugly, don't put them anywhere where I could see them.”

He said coldly, you try your best not to scoff at him, still searching for a vacant vase.

Finally finding one, you decide to place the flower vase on the windowsill of your office, the bright flowers contrasting everything else in the room, the dark and neutral furniture your husband got for you.

You jolt, realizing you're comparing your husband to another man.

You expected guilt to eat you up at the realization, but really, you couldn't find a reason to keep defending Haru.

“Could you come over to the studio later tonight? I don't think I should be alone.”

This text from Minghao worried you a bit, you've been spending a lot of time with him recently, you met him 6 more times after he got you flowers at the park, and you never noticed that he could deal with something so sinister.

Of course, you agree to come, your closest confidant in your adult life needs you right now. You wait for your husband to fall asleep in his office, again, before you leave the house, walking to the end of the block before calling a cab.

Arriving at his studio, you already knew the code, punching in the numbers 150526 on the smart lock, the studio opens with a click.

You take cautious steps into the studio, seeing the silhouette of a man on the couch, his back towards the door, nursing what you assume is a wine glass in his hand.

He turns his head to face the door, “You came.” He said, with relief in his voice, a little slurred from the alcohol you assume.

“You called.” You replied. Shrugging off your coat to hang, you join him on the couch. He looked a lot more disheveled compared to the usual clean and put-together Minghao that you know.

His hair is slicked back, some pieces of hair falling onto his face, his tie loosened, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. And glasses resting lowly on his nose.

You look at his face, and you notice dark circles around his eyes.

“Drink, and stay with me. Please.” He asks, no, almost begs you. You don't have the heart to decline. He pours you your glass and you both toast your glasses together.

You take the normal sip and he downs the rest of his, taking in a deep breath as if to steady himself. “Y/N, there's something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach drops at this, anxiety filling the pit of it as you nervously wait for the rest of what he has to say.

“I think I'm in love with-” he pauses, “someone I shouldn't be in love with.” He finishes, leaning forward to pour himself another glass of wine.

Your face falls only slightly, a minuscule change in expression that neither you nor Minghao catch. You cross your hands over your lap as soon as you realize your silence.

“Why can't you be in love with them?” You ask. Your head tilts as you take another sip of your wine. He hums, a smile graces his lips, but it doesn't seem to reach his eyes.

“They refuse to be vulnerable with me, opening up throughout our time together then closing back in the next time I see them.” He says with some fondness, “Also, they're married to someone else.”

“You probably should've led with that.” You mumble lowly, “I see, I know that all too well, wanting someone you can't have, someone so close yet so far. It's suffocating, especially when you haven't felt like yourself in so long, and then this person comes around and gives color back to your sad, gray, life. It's cruel, actually.”

You realize you've been rambling, turning to meet Minghao's eyes, you notice an emotion swirling behind them, something bittersweet, a realization that may change the course of your relationship.

“Anyway, how did you end up falling for them in the first place?” You ask in an attempt to bring the conversation back to him,

“Well, at first it was just a cure for boredom, I saw how receptive they were to my advances and I thought their marriage served as a fun, harmless challenge for me. But I got to know them, spend time with them, I got to witness the color come back into their face and I couldn't help but find it beautiful. That fact that I did that, bring color back into their face, slowly becoming someone again. The moment I saw their face light up with a simple gift I knew I was down, down bad.”

You hum, thinking the person Minghao was talking about is one of the luckiest people in the world right now. To be loved by him was like witnessing Orpheus’ choiceless grief that drove him to save his lover from the underworld, it was like feeling the devotee's dread-filled need to turn around, it was like experiencing the immediate forgiveness of Eurydice.

You wanted to be loved by him.

You both continue to chat and drink, and it isn't long before the two of you finish your second bottle of wine, Minghao offers to pay for your cab home, and he decides he's going to sleep in his studio.

You reflect on the events of that night as you slip into the cold covers of your marital bed, your husband’s side tidy as it was for the past month.

You run your hand over the pristine and cold sheet, imagining someone else filling its space on your bed, as he does your heart.

Minghao added a new piece to his collection, his gallery is still a work in progress and you walk through familiar doors. The very same statue you were entranced by still sits by the entrance, and you see a very familiar figure standing in front of it.

“I feel like this already happened before.” You said cheekily, he snorts at this, handing you a paper bag with tissue paper peeking from the top.

“Maybe this happened before in a dream, maybe we were destined to meet under the judgemental fluorescent lights.” He jokes as you feel the weight of the bag on your fingers.

“What's in the bag, Hao?” You ask cautiously, mischief flashing on his face before he fully turns his body to you, giving you his full attention.

“It's something you might like, maybe.” He said, his confidence faltering toward the end of his sentence. Tucking his hands into his trouser pockets, he eagerly waits for you to open the semi-heavy bag.

You carefully move the paper to the side of the bag, seeing white porcelain peaking back at you, you whip your head with with your face showing an expression of surprise. Minghao smiles, enjoying your reaction to his gift.

“You got me a tea set? That's so thoughtful, thank you.” You say with a smile, inspecting the frog patterns in the glaze.

“You mentioned your husband is leaving for a business trip soon, so I figured you'd like a set so we can have tea at your place. I'll even bring you a teacake to keep.” He said as he pulled a hand out of his trousers, fixing a stray hair that fell from your up-do.

“It's perfect, thank you.” You said, looking up at him, a smile still on your face.

“Do you want to walk around the gallery with me? I added a few pieces since then, and I'd like to talk about them.” he said, offering his arm. You wrap another hand around him, the familiarity of his arm under your palm giving you a sense of calm.

You spent the rest of the day walking around the gallery and chatting, other gallery-goers openly gawked at Minghao. It was obvious, really, the artist is here in the flesh, and he's gorgeous.

Minghao stopped to entertain other guests too, seeing him in his element made pride swell in your chest. His work, and by extension him, is finally being recognized by more people in the community. His hard work and dedication paid off handsomely.

Stopping in front of a mural, you noticed it was a replica of a really old painting. A painting of Ares and Aphrodite getting caught by Hephestus.

“Oof, poor bastards.” You joke, Minghao found this funny too, chuckling with you.

“It’s almost comical how this painting compelled me. I don't know what drove me to recreate the thing as a whole mural, but we both know I'm a little crazy.” He says with a playful groan, you try to hold back a loud laugh by giggling into your palm.

“Well, dear Xu Minghao, everyone knows crazy people are geniuses.” squeezing his arm, you check out the side of his face. His side profile was so sharp and soft at the same time, the dichotomy of his features was an easy subject to study. He's a gorgeous man, too gorgeous for his own good you think.

You both sat down on the bench in front of the mural to chat, and before you knew it, enough time has passed that the gallery was about to close.

Minghao calls a cab for you, and you arrive home in-tact, but not safe.

“Y/n, where have you been running off to these past few weeks?” Your husband questioned you as soon as you entered your home. Your mood instantly dropped, feeling the weight of your actions all at once.

“I'm hanging out with a friend, and it's really not that deep. It's not like I've neglected house work at all. So you should have a reason to care.” You snap back, a little too much for such a simple query. Your husband rises from his seat, cupping your face with a gentle hand for the first time in a long time.

“You’re my wife, of course it's my concern.” He said, just as he was about to make you fall for him again, he said, “We haven't been intimate in a long time, I'm leaving in a few days, so I want to make love to you before I go.”

Ah, there it was. He only ever shows affection for you when he's asking for sex nowadays.

You nod, what followed was unfulfilling and unsatisfying sex. Missionary, a few pumps just to get him off, and he didn't even kiss you.

And obviously, he didn't make you cum.

Your husband is fast asleep in your bed for the first time in months, and yet you can't find it in yourself to be happy about it.

You take out your trusty friend, egg.

The jolts to life with steady vibrations as you press the toy to your clit, relaxing into the sheets as you imagine a pair of calloused hands roaming the plane of your skin.

Controlled pressure and technique only a sculptor could have, his hair falling over his face, and his eyes holding you gaze as if you gave him everything he could ever want by simply existing.

He looks at you like you hung each star in the sky just for him, just so he could watch your skin bathed in moonlight, twinkling like the most precious diamond he could ever have.

This man isn't your husband, It was Minghao.

Your orgasm came unexpectedly, the realization that you were fantasizing about him snapped you back into reality so violently that you ruined your own orgasm.

You huff as you tuck the toy back into its drawer, pulling up the covers to try and sleep off the guilt.

Your husband left for his business trip a few days ago, and you made preparations for your first guest in a while. You finally set up the tea set when you heard a knock at your door, springing up, you head towards the door to look through the peephole, you see Minghao dressed a little more casually, a cap on his head and a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

You swiftly unlock the door for him, he smiles upon seeing you, tipping his cap, he says, “Good evening, it's a pleasure to finally be invited into your home.” You greet him back, stepping to the side to let him enter. As he does, he takes his cap off to let his hair fall onto his face again.

He offers you the flowers and you take them, “I'll go find a vase for these, make yourself at home, dinner is still cooking in the oven.” You said as you turned back to find another vase.

After finding one and setting the flowers in your office again, you find Minghao setting a record on your turntable, a slow tune plays through the air, instantly making the room feel calmer and homey.

“I didn't pin you as the type to have such an extensive vinyl collection, you have good taste too.” He said, swaying to the music by shifting his weight from one leg to another.

“I didn't feel the need to mention it considering I haven't touched those in a while. My husband hates them.” You say solemnly.

“Well, he isn't here now. Let's enjoy the music,” he said, holding his hand out for you to take, “Dance with me?”

You smile as you take his hand, he suddenly pulls you towards him and you land on his chest, his arms wrapping around you securely as you sway to the calm of the music.

You think to yourself, This is nice, this is safe. I wonder if this is what it feels like to be married to Minghao instead.

You turn your head and press your ear to his chest, hear him breathe slowly, his heart beating rhythmically. This is the first time you were ever this close to him, practically holding him in a loving embrace.

His woody cologne almost distracts you, so seductive and masculine and you almost reach up to cup his face, to kiss him. Before you realize that he isn't your husband.

You're both snapped out of your little bubble when the oven dings, signaling that dinner is ready. You break away from him, already missing his warmth as you set the dining table, one that hasn't been used in a while.

You eat dinner with him, talking about your days and how work has been. It's a welcome change of pace from your husband’s tolerance of your presence. You didn't have to beg Minghao for footnotes on his life, you didn't feel like you're taking up too much of his space or time.

It's safe, secure. It feels like you're being celebrated for existing.

You dwell on this feeling long after Minghao heads home, your stomach and heart full. As you slip into the covers you wonder what it'll feel like to hold him under them, for him to kiss the crown of your head and whisper the three words you desperately wanted to hear again.

You fall asleep with the fantasy that when you wake up, he'll be right next to you.

Minghao invited you downtown this time, various pop-up stores of luxury brands recently opened and he just secured a sale of a really expensive painting; so of course, what better way to spend that money than taking a shopping trip with his closest friend.

“This would look amazing on you.” He said while taking out a dress, it's a color that compliments your hair and skin wonderfully. Minghao always knew how to dress.

“Oh, I'm inclined to agree, but I'm not willing to look at the price tag for that one.” You joke, shrugging as you follow him around the store.

“Nonsense, I'm offering to pay.” He said, turning his nose up. “I'm getting this for you, I'll ask the salesperson for more sizes so you can try them on.” He said, turning to the salesperson doing just that.

The salesperson nods enthusiastically, bringing the dresses to the dressing rooms and ushering you in despite your protests. Minghao only smiles in amusement as the curtain hides your figure, he sits on the bench near the dressing rooms in silence, scrolling through Instagram on his phone.

He hears the curtains roll open, it only takes a moment of him looking at you in the dress to take his breath away. It fits you perfectly, hugging your body deliciously. Minghao almost drops his phone onto his lap, his grip loosening, star-struck by your beauty.

“How does it look?” You ask, awkwardly fiddling with the expensive fabric of the dress, feeling a little too expensive to be on your body.

Minghao wordlessly stands from the bench, looking a little dazed, he turns to the salesperson and tells them, “We're getting the dress.” As he walks toward the cashier almost in a trance.

You're a little taken aback by his reaction, but nonetheless you change back into your regular clothes. As soon as you walk out of the dressing room Minghao Pushes you back in with more dresses.

“Please try these on.” He says, not having the strength to look you in the eyes. You comply.

It took you hours of trying on dresses and accessories to the point that you almost bought the store out. Minghao couldn't get enough of the mini-fashion show you were putting on for him, and it's not like the salespeople are complaining either.

You walk out of the first store with multiple bags in hand, you thought that was enough shopping for the whole year maybe, but no, Minghao pulls you into another store, and another, and another, all leaving with bags (multiple) of clothes.

It got so bad to the point that Minghao had to leave your bags in his car so you could free up your hands to buy more stuff.

You stopped trying to fathom the amount of money Minghao was spending on you, yes, he did buy items for himself too, but he looked much more satisfied to provide for you rather than procuring items for himself.

The car ride back home was filled with way too many ‘are you sure's and ‘you really didn't have to's. But Minghao was insistent on you keeping all the items he got for you.

“I'm being serious, you're a gorgeous woman, you deserve to be spoiled like a queen.” he said, turning to you while waiting at a red light, “You need to visit my studio in the clothes I got you, you'll fit right in with my paintings.” He smiles.

Your face flushes at his compliments, a bright and happy smile stretching across your face. You couldn't remember the last time you were this happy with someone. To find joy in the company of another felt liberating, you felt like you deserved this.

Minghao drops you off at your place with your new clothes, helping you get them into your living room like a true gentleman.

“I'll see you next time, Y/n.” He said stopping at your doorstep, annd leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of your head, he took note of what your shampoo smelled like and left. Leaving you awestruck in your doorway as you watch his car drive off.

This studio has become so familiar to you, like a second home almost. Punching in the code was muscle memory at this point, the smell of drying paint and clay becoming a calming scent.

You smooth over the front of your dress, one that Minghao got you, as you enter his studio again. Shrugging off your heavier coat, the beginning of winter creeps closer as the trees lose the last of their leaves.

Minghao just got out of the bathroom, wiping his hands on his paint-stained shirt and apron. He looks at you, the dress, the way it fits on you. And he smiles widely.

“Hey there gorgeous, what are you doing all the way there? You should be over there with the rest of the art.” He says cheekily.

You giggle as you enter the space more, stopping in front of him taking his extended hand and following it, giving him a twirl.

He simply adores the way the fabric flows and shapes around your curves and contours, your skin practically glowing with life.

He fights the urge to kiss you, succeeding for now.

He guides you onto the couch, a turntable sitting next to his stone tea tray on the coffee table. ”Oh? This is new.” You said when you noticed it.

“Oh that? I got it for when you come over. I got a few records too, if you'd like to make yourself comfortable while I brew us some tea.” He said, untying his apron to hang on an easel, turning his back to you and he started preparing tea like before.

His movements and practiced, you'd guess this tea ceremony is second nature to him, considering he always talks about it. This scene is safe, familiar, it's comfortable.

He does this whole song and dance again, you've seen him do this over and over again but you can't seem to get sick of it. It's like you're giving yourself excuses just to keep seeing him.

But they don't feel like excuses, not at all, they're just more reasons why you feel deeply, and so quickly for Minghao.

Again, the both of you talk about everything and anything under the sun, him walking you through all his latest pieces, him plans for new ones creativity vibrating through ever cell in his body.

You imagine him talking so passionately about the future, maybe even a future with you.

Before you could realize what you were doing, you’re holding onto Minghao’s shoulders for support,

and you lean up to kiss him.

Minghao fights the urge to kiss back, he fails.

His hands come up to cup the back of your head tilting his head to deepen the kiss, pouring all his emotions into the simple, gesture of affection.

Your head was spinning, dizzy from his cologne and the wind getting knocked from your lungs as soon as your lips met his. It was electrifying, finally feeling the warmth of his body pressed so close, yet so far from yours.

Oh, you wanted him, so, so badly.

He pulls away first, heaving from the intensity of the kiss, eyes in a daze. Meeting your eyes again, he couldn’t help but lean in for another kiss.

This time he's really pressing into you seemingly drunk off of the feeling of his lips meeting yours. He's just a man at the end of the day, a weak, weak man in the face of paradise.

He came back to his senses once he felt the cool metal of your wedding ring on his neck. Jolting back, he pushed your shoulders back, creating a significant distance between the two of you.

“I, I think you should leave.” He said turning to hide in his studio bathroom to collect his thoughts.

You stood there puzzled, did he not feel the same way you did? But why did he kiss you, twice? Something isn't adding up.

But moreover, you can't ignore the painful sting this rejection gave you. You wanted him, did he not want you? What was the point of trying so hard to make you fall for him when he just decided to back down when he finally had you?

You gather your belongings and leave the studio, the door clicking to lock behind you. The ride back was suffocating, it felt like you left a part of yourself in that studio with Minghao. And you fear that this may be the last time you see him.

You haven’t spoken to Minghao in the weeks following the kiss, your nerves on fire every time you remember how his pillow lips felt so right on yours.

You're standing in front of the mural. The one where Hephestus caught Aphrodite, his wife, and Hephestus, her lover, having an affair and having sex on their marital bed.

It's funny, looking at this mural. You spent your last weeks wandering his gallery, searching for his shadow, but he always seems to evade you so easily. He's marked you like a bloodstain on a pristine white dress, lingering like fog on a cold autumn day.

Winter is still young, yet you feel cold. So, so cold.

As if your most desperate prayers were heard, Minghao practically materializes next to you.

“Hi. I'm sorry I wasn't able to speak to you for the past few weeks. I'm a coward, a fool to run from you.” He said, both of you looking at the mural and not at each other.

Silence follows, you couldn't look at him, you couldn't speak to him. “Y/n I-”

“This isn't the place to talk about this.” You said coldly.

Minghao flinches a bit, not used to how icy your voice was. It usually greets him so warmly, so lovingly.

“Let's go out to drink, there's a bar that's walking distance from here, if you'd like go go with me. I have too many things to say to you, too many thoughts left unsaid. You deserve to hear them, at least.” He said, remorseful.

You really couldn't find it in yourself to stay mad at him. So you agree to walk with him.

The walk to the bar is silent, unlike your previous walks. You're so far from him, you even refused to hold onto his arm like you usually do.

It's early winter yet Minghao is sweating bullets, he's almost vibrating at a frequency that could shatter glass. His nerves are all over the place, he's acting so out of character, nothing like the calm, cool, collected Minghao you've come to know over the past few months.

He takes a deep breathe before you both enter the bar.

A few drinks in and you’re already tipsy, “You know- hic- my husband is being a dick to me.” You drunkenly slurred, “This novel I’ve been writing for over two years now is fucking me in the ass- I- I want to finish it so desperately but all he does is sucks the soul out of me. He’s a giant pain in the ass-!”

Minghao snorts at this, loudly talking over the music of the bar, “Your husband is a fucking dick! Your work is amazing. If I were him, I would do anything to help you get rid of that writer’s block, you know, inspire you.” He tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’d do that?” You ask, clinging onto his arm, “Thank youuuu hao bear~ you’re the best-!” You giggle into his arm, your weight pressing against his side. You’ve only known him for three months at this point, but his ideas and influence on your work improved your writing and motivation drastically.

“Hao bear? That’s new, you’ve only known me for- what? 3 months? You’re already calling me nicknames!” He holds the back of your head gently, pressing his forehead onto yours, “I should give you a nickname too… Starlight, how does that sound?” At this point, you tune out every other sound other than the sound of his voice and the pounding of your heart.

This man had you in a chokehold the moment you met him, you were fucking doomed from the start.

“Starlight? Yeah, I like it more than a little bit.” You say softly, your words almost getting lost in the noise of the bar.

“Let’s move to somewhere quieter, yeah? Tell me more about your work. We can head to my place to settle down for a bit.” There it is, the same dark, barely there smirk that plagues your stomach with butterflies.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

Arriving at Minghao’s place, you take a quick look around his apartment. Everywhere you look is a pop of color, bold splotches of vibrant hues making the place look like it was pulled straight out of the 80s, “Hao, your place is amazing, the furniture brings me so much joy~” You giggle a bit, sitting down at the plush red velvet couch shaped like a seashell.

“Thanks! Most of the furniture is thrifted from retro thrift stores, I like this style more. It brings so much personality to the space.” He passionately talks about them, “Do you want anything to drink? I have water, juice, and beer here.” He says, rummaging through his fridge.

“Oh, just water, please.” You say you have a feeling that you need to at least sober up for whatever the night brings.

He takes two glasses of water and places them down on the coffee table. It’s the only piece in the entire house that is a neutral color, a fine hardwood. You couldn’t tell what it was at a glance, not that it was important anyway.

“So, let’s talk about this book that you’ve been struggling to write now. Could you tell me what it’s about?” He asks, taking a swig of his water, you stare at his side profile while he does, sharp yet delicate features, his Adam’s apple bobbing from his drink.

Bro’s so majestic.

“Well, it’s about an artist who’s losing passion for his work, told from the perspective of his lover. It’s a spicy romance, with, in my opinion, a correct amount of sex scenes-”

“Give me a percentage of how much of it is smut.” Minghao interrupts you,

“Like… 75 percent?” He snorts at this, “Anyway, I’ve been stuck on the last spicy scene of the book, the climax, pun not intended,” You take a swig of your water, “I mean, it’s not like I don’t have experience writing that sort of thing, or lack experience in sex either, but my sex life’s been such a drag with my husband being gone for long periods and-”

Minghao interrupts you again, “And he doesn’t fuck you right, does he?”

The forwardness of his words made you freeze, you contemplated whether to reject him here, to tell him it wasn’t appropriate to talk about this with you, especially about your husband. You know how Minghao looks at you. It wasn’t a secret to anyone that he wanted you, but he never acted in any inappropriate way. He never makes you uncomfortable.

This was no exception. The swirling in your stomach wasn’t because of unease, no, this was because of arousal.

“No, no he doesn’t.”

He leans in, kissing you. This time he's not rushing, no more pushing and pulling, no more things left unsaid. He wants you, he'll have you. That was a promise.

He lifts you from the couch, lips never parting as he carries you to his bedroom, peeling each other's clothes, bumping into walls and furniture. But you couldn't care less, you were lost in each other's embrace and you can't think of another place you'd rather be.

Half-naked on Minghao’s bed, who, need you be reminded, was not your husband.

His hands roamed your sides, the heat from his palms warming your skin, causing it to flush, his soft, plump lips pressing feather-light kisses to your neck. You could feel his breath behind your ear, his hair tickling your cheek.

“How would your husband feel if he knew what you were doing with me right now?” He asks, clearly getting off on the fact that you were in his bed, getting ready to fuck him, a man who wasn’t your husband.

“I hope he’d be disappointed, but at this point, I think he forgot about me.” You say with a chuckle at the end, trying not to ruin the mood.

Minghao gently pulls away from you from that, “What?” he asks quietly, the word almost getting drowned out by the hum of the air conditioning, “Sorry, I know this was supposed to be a taboo, forbidden relationship thing but… I’m angry at him.” He says, avoiding your eyes.

“I know I’ve only known you for a few months, but I never felt this way before. It fucking kills me to think that a woman like you would be forgotten, for what exactly? Work?” He said anger gradually filling his voice. His hand reaches for your face when your eyes meet, thumbs pressing down on your cheekbone. The controlled and purposeful movement reminds you just how pliable you are under his touch. He sculpted you into what he wanted you to be; beautiful, strong, unashamed.

You gently cup his face, still hovering above you, “Kiss me, Minghao.”

And he did.

His lips met yours in a searing embrace, just the force of his passion against yours was dizzying, fiery desire clashing to make fireworks behind the eyelids that fluttered close. You never felt this type of longing from your husband, never felt his devotion being kissed through your lips like Minghao’s tongue was exploring it.

At that moment, you knew you were gone.

Minghao pulled away from you, hazy eyes meeting yours as the string of saliva that connected your mouths broke. At that moment, Minghao was stuck in a trance, his lips coming to meet yours over and over like he couldn’t stop tasting your lips even if he tried. A sweet ambrosia, too saccharine to stop. He’s become addicted to your lips molding onto his like sickly sweet honey sticking to his lips.

Out of breath, he grabs hold of your waist, rolling over to get you on top of him. He reaches behind you, unclasping the hooks of your bra and letting your breasts fall free from it. He cups both of them while you sit up, grinding on his hardening cock through his boxers, he groans at this, reflexively squeezing your boobs.

Placing both of your hands on his pecs, you also give them a gentle squeeze. Minghao notices this and his gaze darkens, passing his thumbs over your hardening nipples. Your pussy clenches onto nothing at this, a soft gasp leaves you as you started to grind harder against Minghao.

His nails started to dig into your hips, his own desperately grinding up against you for more friction. Soft moans leave him as he throws his head back against the pillows, eyes fluttering close just so he could focus on the sensations of your clothed cunt grinding against his cock through his boxers.

“God, get off of me before I cum in my underwear like a teenager.” He says with a playful groan, lifting your hips off from his crotch.

“Right, you still need to cum inside of me.” You say back playfully, his eyes darkened at this.

“Fuck, you make me want to keep you forever,” taking one of your hands and placing a kiss on your palm.

He lifts his hips only enough to get his boxers off, shimmying them off to somewhere on the floor near his bed. You also take this time to take your underwear off, secretly hiding it under his pillow when you lean down to kiss him again.

When you both pulled away, another string of saliva connected you two. You took two fingers to swipe at the liquid, bringing it down to rub your clit while you lowered yourself down to grind on his bare cock now.

Minghao hisses, “Fuck, I can feel how wet and warm you are, sweet christ.” he breathes out a shaky breath as you grind your bare wetness on his cock, lubricating the shaft for later. You moan at the contact, body slightly shaking from the friction of the tip of his cock hitting your clit occasionally.

“God, Minghao, fuck I need you inside me.” You desperately whine out. You lifted your hips up to finally hold his hard cock to align it with your pussy, slowly sinking on the thick girth. You throw your head back at the satisfying stretch his dick was making you feel.

“Fuck, you feel so good, so tight and warm,” He moans, he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels with how vocal he’s being, he takes your right hand and holds it tightly, pressing it against his chest. You could feel his racing heartbeat under his skin, “Let me keep you forever, please, don’t make me beg, run away with me.”

You openly gape at him from this, You’d be a fool to accept this, especially since you’ve only known him for a fraction of the time you knew your husband, but god dammit.

“Take me with you, anywhere you want to go. I’m yours, please take me.” You say desperately. You’ve never been wanted this badly before, and god, you wanted more, for the rest of time.

Minghao abruptly thrusts up into you from this, tightly clenching your hand in his, still pressing on top of his racing heart under the skin. You cry out in pleasure, somehow the sensation of his heart under your palm elevates your pleasure, making you go dizzy at the thought that you’re doing this to him, and only you.

You come close to your climax embarrassingly quick, the sensation of his cock rubbing your velvet walls so perfectly made your head spin. Your ears are ringing so loudly that it almost drowns out your sounds of pleasure, and the sound of skin slapping against skin.

Minghao isn’t far from you either, the same dizzying effect taking hold of his mind too. He’s so close to finishing that he could almost taste it, his moans and whines of your name leaving his lips like a mantra, a prayer, even.

“Minghao I’m gonna cum-!” you say frantically, pressing your forehead onto his as he meets your lips with his for the nth time. You swallow the moans he spills into your mouth as you both climax at the same time. His heart still beating frantically under your palm.

“Did you mean that?” You ask breathlessly, “When you said you wanted me forever, did you mean it?” you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“Exactly, I meant it word for word. Let me replace the ring on your finger with mine.” He smiles at you.

In the end, he did replace the ring on your finger with his, much more extravagant, and elaborate. Your husband wasn’t surprised at your sudden request for a divorce, since your marriage was already failing before you met Minghao.

Still, time was the ultimate truthteller.

Your husband found out about your High Infidelity around the middle of your divorce proceedings, and in a rage, he threw you and all your belongings out onto the driveway. In the middle of winter rain.

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, and your soon-to-be ex-husband was angrily slamming the door shut, but you couldn't help but feel relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

You finished your book, it received critical acclaim and it was a New York Times Best-Seller.

And you got to marry Minghao, the love of your life. Who you were happily married to until the both of you grew old.

FIN.

197 notes · View notes

deathbecomesthem · 4 months

Text

Trailer Park Blues (one shot)

MINORS DNI, STRICTLY 18+

Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | wc: 3.7K

*This is a reupload from an old blog. It's one of my most favorite stories.

Summary: You've lived in the trailer park as long as Eddie has, and you've been frenemies the entire time. Today, though, the heat of the summer drives you into the cool arms of the air conditioned trailer next door. (I am horny for summer as well as Eddie Munson)

Warnings: Smut with feelings. Teasing, before the smut, nothing overly mean. Depictions of poverty. There are no body descriptions of the reader, BUT she is wearing a string bikini, her body "jiggles" when she walks, she has breasts (no size mentioned), and she starts the story sunbathing.

A/N: I feel the need to thank @blueywrites and @pinkrelish for the initial encouragement to write this story after only reading the first 200 words when I literally had no plot in mind. There are many other friends that also encouraged and tossed ideas at me while I was figuring out if I even had something. Thanks, I hope it doesn't suck!

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Hot days like this push you out of the stagnant air of the trailer. Stuffy smoke-filled rooms and the occasional fly buzzing around the trashcan in the kitchen. Some of the neighbors have little ac units sticking out of their windows, promising a reprieve from the unmoving Indiana summer heat – but not your hovel. No, that was an expense you couldn’t afford, and your mother wouldn’t.

The string bikini was your idea of rebellion, despite being too old to rebel against a woman that was never home and wouldn’t care if her adult daughter walked around the park in the nude as long as she brought home her rent money. The upside was less fabric to stick to your sweaty skin, the downside was that every exposed part of you sticks to the reclining beach chair you use for sun tanning.

The baby oil you have slathered all over your body has blocked every other summer scent your nose might seek out while you let the sun beat down on you. You already know you won’t last long and begin to think about heading down to the Hawkins Public Pool for a dip, as long as you can scrape together the couple of bucks for entry. A movie was always a possibility, but that would cost you even more of what you don’t have. You’re ready to start digging a whole in the ground to settle into, any relief.

Just as you push your sunglasses to the top of your head, trying to mentally work out your path back into the hell that is your home, you feel a presence behind you. You know who it is, your bikini is his siren call. You also know that he might have a little scratch today, since last weekend was full of grad parties that needed some herbal refreshments provided by Hawkins best boy.

“Whad’ya want, Edward?” It doesn’t even require a turn of your head to know his presence, it’s second nature to recognize him. Every day of your life in the park since the age of 9 has included him, for better or worse. Never a real friend, and never a true enemy, just Ed.

“Booboo, you’re going to give everyone the wrong idea in that thing,” playful and light but tinged with venom, his words are what finally draw your attention. The shorts he’s wearing are an old pair of jeans cut just above the knees, and the shirt an old tee that he hacked the sleeves off of. You two are a match made in white trash heaven.

“Wouldn’t want that, huh?” You flick your sunglasses back down against the bridge of your nose to obscure your wandering eyes, but Eddie makes no attempt to hide his own. “You didn’t answer my question, Edward, what can I help you with?” Your impatient hand twirls in a come-on motion while your hot eyes rake across his exposed biceps traveling down to his boney wrists and big hands.

“I’m bored and I saw my old friend Booboo outside, obviously desperately seeking the attention of someone in the tiniest bikini known to man.” Eddie reaches a hand out to play with the string at the base of your neck where the halter ties before pinching the edge of your sunglasses and tugging them off your face.

“Wow, you’re really hung up on that. You’re lucky I’m wearing anything, it’s so fucking hot today.” No words about it exchanged, but you start to reach back for your glasses while Eddie’s long arm reaches above his head to hold them out of your arm’s length. It’s a natural thing, what you do next. Something you’ve done so many other times you don’t really think about how much older you both are now. How inappropriate it might be. He has something of yours and you want it back. Your quick hand reaches easily into the loose arm hole and find its prize on instinct. Pinch hard and twist.

A swat, a yelp, a leg kicking yours out, and you find yourself wrapped up in Eddie’s much stronger arms. A sudden thought, the fact that you’re wearing nothing more than strings with small patches of fabric covering your most sensitive places, flashes in your mind. It makes your knees want to buckle. A small stumble met with a firmer grip from the boy standing behind you.

“Woah there, you alright?” A strong hand moves to steady your elbow and you sink back into your chair for a moment, and he’s crouching down to take a look at your face. His concern makes you heat up even more, because the face so close to your own is not that of the boy that used to tease you and chase you around. No, this is the face of a young man, and you’ve noticed those changes so much in recent years. Those big brown eyes have remained the same, open and full of shared memories.

It's your chance, so you take it, grabbing the frames from his hand while he’s still searching your face for any sign of distress. You put them on your face again, letting them shield any secrets you might not want him to see.

“Listen, Edward,” you give him a light shove to his shoulder making him wobble a little, “It’s hot, and I’m fine. Unless you have some sort of brilliant plan to turn the heat down, I’m gonna go take my third ice cold shower for the day.”

“Uh,” he’s turning a skeptical eye at the trailer behind you, the one you share with your mother, while you stand again using him as leverage. He stays where he is, his face level with the front of your bikini bottoms. You can see a thought, not unlike the ones you try to hide from him, scuttle across his face, “you guys still don’t even have one unit in that trash compactor you call a trailer?”

A jab and a miss, you know how everyone looks at your place. Even for the park, it’s low living. It’s been a rough go for your mom, and you both make do together. “Sorry, Edward, some of us don’t live in the lap of luxury.”

His laugh, a bark of joy, rings out. He looks like the boy right now, the boisterous laugh turned giggle fit at the absurdity of considering the Munson trailer the “lap of luxury.” He’s on his feet in a flash, suddenly close again, face still beaming.

“How about you spend some time with me in the Munson mansion, eh? Have a little smoke, you can read or watch a movie,” Eddie subconsciously licks at his lips, giving away the thoughts behind the words, “whatever you want, Booboo. I’m not doing shit anyway.”

Whatever you want is what he says. None of it passes your notice, the looks, the lips, the subtle leaning into your space, the hand at your shoulder absentmindedly rubbing your baby oil slicked skin. He probably doesn’t realize he’s doing it, the summer sun boiling his brain right along with yours.

“Yeah, ok.” The gaze between you lingers for another moment until a mosquito lands on his cheek. He doesn’t notice, but you smash it with a slap and laugh at his reaction. You show him the residual bug guts on your palm as explanation, “sorry, didn’t want it to bite you and mess up that pretty face.”

A spin of your heels and a job back to the porch of your own trailer gives Eddie the perfect view of your ass. You make sure to exaggerate the movements of your hips, letting his imagination run off to thoughts of his face between your soft thighs. The way your sweaty skin would taste against his tongue. By the time you’re jogging back towards him with the other half of your jiggling body on display, he’s sporting a semi and wishing the shorts he chose gave him a little more wiggle room.

“Edddddddiiiieee,” you’re pulling an oversized t shirt by the time you reach his side, and you find him a little dazed, “let’s go inside. We can order a pizza later, as long as you don’t kick me out by then.” Your elbow is hooked in his, an old habit from the days of tromping around the woods together when you were kids, as you lead him up the stairs to the sweet relief of the dark and cool Munson trailer.

“Oh, Booboo, you can stay as long as you want.” His admission is a light exhale of breath as he watches your hips sway up the steps in front of him. And you think, you’ll stay for pizza, you’ll stay for a toke, and you’ll stay for whatever else might be on the table.

You had greatly underestimated the effect the cool air would have on your sweat slicked skin. Your mostly bare ass is sat on the carpet of Eddie’s room where a small window air conditioner is clanking out polar air into the room. A sweet and acrid smell hangs in the air, no doubt a leak from the unit, along with stale smoke and dust. Crumbs cling to your skin as you shift your position, and your nipples are pebbled standing out against the layer of swimsuit and cotton.

“Goddamnit, Ed, have you ever heard of a vacuum cleaner?” You brush off what appears to be Cheeto crumbs from the backs of your thighs when a head appears next to your own hanging off the side of the bed. His hair tickles your shoulder where your shirt hangs off, and he’s close. He always gets so close when he talks to you. You can see every individual hair across the pale skin of his cheeks, every freckle scattered across the bridge of his nose.

“Sorry, the maid’s on vacation. Uh –“ he scans your body awkwardly from his current position and clears his throat, “You feeling a little cold, Booboo?” Poniente, the question hangs for a moment until he nods his head to your chest where your body has betrayed you, and you feel your nipples peak even harder at the implication.

You give his head a weak shove as an effort to break the tension he created. He grabs his cheek in mock agony, and you stand letting your shirt drift over his face giving him a prime view for the briefest moment. You think you hear something akin to a snarl from Eddie before you crawl onto the mattress next to him. You grab the crochet blanket that rests off the far edge of the bed and wrap it around yourself.

“Much better now, thank you.” Your painted toes wiggle under the skin of his calves in an attempt to steal their warmth and you find that there’s a chill to his skin too. “You can turn that thing down, can’t you? You’re freezing, Edward.”

“Oh, we’re back to Edward again, hmmm.” He crawls his way up next to you, throwing back his comforter and covering himself. He holds it open in invitation to you, patting the spot next to him. “It only works on high, we can get warm under here if you want.” That tension is back, you both know what comes next, and your heart is thudding in your chest along with a deep and hard pulse in your cunt.

But this is Eddie, your Eddie Spaghetti, and he can’t take the tension either. A quick wiggle of the eyebrows at his obvious attempt to get you close to him, and you giggle and work your way under the big blanket. A reward he deserves for being his goofy self.

“Is this ok?” a quick and quiet whisper against the top of your head while a hand snakes around your center. You nod, not trusting your words at the moment. It’s so natural, the way you shift yourself into him. The way you tuck your nose into his chest and breath in the smell of him – sweat, smoke, old spice – distinctly Eddie. The rough pads of his fingers move along the exposed skin at the top of your hip and you’re feeling bolder, now that you know – this is real and so is he.

“I can’t believe I’m in your bed, Edward. How long have you been planning this, hmm?” Your own hand snuck its way through the wide arm hole of his shirt, and it’s playing with the guitar pick that always hangs at his chest. You let the back of your knuckles brush against his soft skin eliciting a little gasp from him.

“I wish I could say I planned this,” both of his hands find your hips to shift you, make you face him, “I never thought this was a possibility, Booboo.” Every inch, the turn of his face, hot breath on your lips – his eyes stay on yours watching to make sure it’s real for you. You want this too. He sees no hesitation, no concern, no confusion; only your honest to god lustful eyes and pretty lips hanging open in anticipation.

The kiss starts small, lips moving cautiously. Feeling each other with the tender skin, testing the waters until, until, until in unison your tongues enter the silent conversation and permission to move freely is granted. Eagerness quickly overtakes caution, your leg thrown over his sharp hip to pull him into you and press himself against you and your aching need.

Years of sexual tension and childhood crushing explode between your bodies. It’s not soft, the way his teeth bite at your lip, the way your hands scratch at his chest. It’s hungry and needy. You run your fingers through his soft curls and give a tug increasing in strength at the soft whimpering moan he lets go of at the action.

“Off.” Firm words from Eddie and a firm grip at the edge of your shirt, his eyes are black, lips red and kiss bitten. You sit up, and he plays with the folds of your soft stomach while you lift and toss the shirt, adding to a pile of clothes already in the corner of his room. He’s pulling you in again, fingers running against the small string that is the only remaining barrier between Eddie and your bare chest. “This is real cute, ya know? Real fucking cute.” He finds the knot at the back of your neck and expertly unties it with his nimble fingers, freeing you.

An immediate slow down happens as dark eyes wash over your form and fingers softly stroke up and down your torso, barely ghosting touches across your hard peaks. You feel your back lift from the mattress, chasing his touch, but he keeps moving lightly across your skin savoring the moment unbothered by your obvious need.

“Eddie,” the desperation in your voice would be embarrassing if not for the fact that the bottom of your bikini is so drenched with your arousal it’s sticking to your lips. It’s uncomfortable, and his barely there touching has is deepening the ache inside. His eyebrows are knitted together at the sound of your voice. He’s lost in you already, just the sight of you laid out before him in his bed, something he’s wanted since the first morning he woke up surrounded by wet drenched sheets – a memory of a dream that featured you in a yellow sundress you wore so often a few summers ago.

“You really want this with me?” His touch is gaining surety while he waits for your answer, gripping at the soft mound of a breast while you rock your hips against nothing. “How do you want me, my sweet Booboo?” The sound of your nickname on his lips, a name he’s used to playfully ridicule you with for ages, is almost enough to hurtle you over the edge.

“I just want you, Eddie. Anyway, everyway.” Your words are a gasp, his warm and soft mouth take a nipple in your mouth, juxtaposed against the chill that still settles over the other from the overly cold air of the room. His lips suckle and nip at you, and again you find your body is pushing its way closer to Eddie. It’s not possible to play a game, no amount of willpower can hide how much you’ve wanted this. How long you’ve dreamt about him taking what he wants from you. A flitter of a thought, this is a dream, floats in front of you and quickly vanishes as the slight pain of teeth dragging across your sensitive skin bring you right back to the present and obvious reality.

It won’t do, this won’t do. Your hands tug at his shirt and shorts simultaneously. It all needs to go, and you can’t choose what goes first. Your brain is swimming in a lusty haze, but Eddie is still steady in thought.

“Hey,” his hand has a firm grip on your chin, calling you back to him, “you gonna stay with me? Where are you?” His eyes dart back and forth between yours until you’re back and focused on him. “I need you here with me, ok?”

You nod, breathe deep, and with more calm pull at his shirt. It’s gone in a flash, landing on top of yours in the corner. Your hand finds the waist of his shorts, and fiddle with the top button. You keep your eyes on his, staying with him. His mouth opens as the button *pops* and you unhook the teeth of his zipper.

“I’m here, Eddie. I’m right here, and I want you. Did you know that?” It’s his turn to look hazy and unsteady. Your words and your hands working his shorts and boxers off in one movement, leave him speechless. He’s putty in your hands, elbow drops and now he’s laid flat on the mattress while you work your way down his body.

You’re careful with the nipple you badly abused earlier, kissing around the still reddened and slightly purpling skin. Whispered apologies against his body, not just for the pain, but for waiting so long to let this happen. You lick your wet tongue across the black ink scratched across his torse moving closer to your goal.

His beautiful cock stands firm against his abdomen, already leaking in anticipation of your touch, matching your own need. Your bodies slick and ready for each other, begging, please let us do what we’ve been wanting for so long. Your intention is to meet his need with your own as you throw a leg over him, finally letting him feel how much your body wants this.

“Oh my god,” his fingers move to find out for themselves, not trusting the skin of his thigh to tell him, moving the fabric of your swimsuit to the side, and dipping between your lips to feel. “Oh you’re so wet.” His cock twitches in answer to your own drenching arousal. He doesn’t make a move, he waits for you.

Your fingers reach for one of the knots at your hip, free yourself completely from the ruined suit, but his hand stops you. It’s your Eddie in front of you, and he’s shaking his head eyes wide a grin spread across lips that mouth, “keep it on”.

You’re giggling again and kissing him against your laughter. Until he undoes it again with a rock up of his hips, the length of his cock rubbing against your slit and your laugh ends in an obscene groan.

You sit up, eyes narrowed down at the smirking boy as he rocks up again into you. You reach your hand behind you, gripping him and watch his mouth open in a gasp. You don’t need anything more, you’re soaked already. You push the suit aside, and run him against your slit once, twice, three times before you twist your hips up and slowly sink down onto him.

“Oh my god,” an exclamation in unison as your bodies connect. You let yourself take him in completely, fluttering at the full feeling. You can feel him pulsing inside of you, the slightest curve of his tip touching that hard-to-reach spot hiding deep inside of you.

It’s sloppy and unpracticed, but you’re both so drunk on one another it doesn’t matter. The sounds of skin on skin, whines, and moans while you rock into each other. The coarse hair at the base of his cock rubbing against your aching nub send you hurtling towards a powerful orgasm.

“Eddie, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you’re uttering on an inhale, and Eddie is practically crying at the sound of your voice. He’s pulling you down chest to chest, mouth at ear.

“Cum with me, baby, cum with me,” he’s panting against your skin, arms holding you tight against him and a flash of white spreads across your vision. Every part of your body is screaming out for him, and you only vaguely hear the literal scream coming from your mouth as your body tenses and you pulse around him. Every flutter of you around his cock brings his own release pumping deep inside of you, warm and sticky.

You stay with his arms wrapped around you and your pussy wrapped around his cock as you both ride out aftershocks and you slowly come back down to earth, to Hawkins, to this bed in this too cold trailer on the hottest day of the summer of 1986.

You eventually lift your hips enough to release him, letting his softened length rest against his thigh, but you stay in his embrace. He pulls the comforter, lost at some point while your connected bodies sought out pleasure, over your shoulders. His mouth is still close to your ear, and he’s humming in satisfaction. Neither of you care about the sticky and cooling mess between your bodies.

When you rouse, you find Eddie sitting in a folding chair, fingers moving against the strings of his acoustic guitar in silent and careful movements. You don’t move, watching the tendons of his fingers move, his lips singing a barely whispered tune. You think that maybe the summer’s not so bad, maybe the trailer park is actually the only place you’ve ever wanted to be. No where else has this perfect view.

#eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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i'll tell you my sins | b.b.

SUMMARY: If religion was the safe haven where Bucky found reasons to be alive and see the good in this world again, loving you was where he found the freedom to be more than just expectations once again. Human emotion, connection and need more than anything else. Also, devotion. Bucky already understood that one, but with you, it reached heights he never dreamt of before.

⚠️ This work is intended for 18+ audiences. Minors, DNI. Explicit depictions of sex. Religious theme. Smut. I do not allow for my work to be copied, translated, or reuploaded on any other platform. | WC: [7.5k]

Everything about her felt forbidden.

From the moment he met her to the moment they befriended.

Every step of the way, every interaction, smile, deep conversation outside the church, random encounters in the city—Bucky knew it. He was aware of it, and yet, he did it anyway. He fell for the power in your voice, for the mind behind those eyes, for the soft and electrifying touch of your hands. Bucky was presented with temptation and he fought it until he longer wanted to. Until all that was left inside of him was desire, longing, and need. Temptation won, but only because there was no game anymore: Bucky was presented with you in his life, and for the first time in many long years, his life expanded once again.

From the moment Laura brought you to the Church's congregation party for the holidays and introduced you, he knew he should stay away.

It was the eyes.

Laura pointed at you, and said, "Father, this is Y/n, my best friend who I'm always talking about."

He had been polite back then. Bit down on his usual winning smile when meeting new people because something about the glint in your eyes hooked a piece of his chest when they met his.

Bucky had given you the polite smile, and said. "I've heard quite a lot about you. Nice to meet you, I'm Father James."

He extended his hand, which you shook without breaking eye contact.

Then, you said: "Nice to meet you, Father," and Bucky's insides burned despite the cold weather surrounding him.

That day, he couldn't escape fast enough.

You were a friend of one of his congregates, so there was no way he could be rude, but every time he glanced in the direction where you were, talking and smiling with other people who frequented the church, your eyes met his and Bucky felt like a deer caught in the headlines.

An animal in the jungle, like one of his favorite documentaries—he suddenly understood the prey when they felt the eyes of tigers and lions on them.

Frozen.

Bucky's throat felt dry every time you did it. You looked at him over the rim of your cup, and it was like your eyes searched for something, and they could see beyond his cassock and coat.

Whatever you were looking for, Bucky wanted no part in helping you find out.

She'll be gone by the end of the day, he thought all night long. There's no need to worry.

If only he knew.

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It was a fun discovery to learn that while you believed in nothing, you believed in everything at the same time.

It took Bucky three months of meeting you outside the Church when you picked up Laura from the masses and having brief, but sweet exchanges with you to accept the fact that you were a really nice person.

Funny, intelligent, sweet.

He stopped escaping whenever you were around. Stopped running away whenever Laura brought you by force to one of the fairs or events, and surrendered with ease to the reality of it all: apart from your non-belief, you seemed like someone he'd be close friends with.

Which is where you two ended up after he found you drunk at the city square and walked you home.

That was the first conversation ice-breaker. And from then on, Bucky simply accepted you.

Which meant you know popped up outside the church with good beer and the newest thing you were reading about regarding space to talk to him.

For those visits, you usually showed up at the end of the day, after your work hours. You stayed for a couple of hours talking to him about nonsensical things until a real topic was approached and you two shared things that Bucky forgot he thought about sometimes.

"You know, these are starting to feel like my own confessional," he offered.

You chuckled, hiding behind your beer. He still saw the way your nose scrunched. "I don't know if that's supposed to be a compliment or not."

"It is!" He laughed. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Why wouldn't—Father. C'mon. Those things are creepy as hell."

"First of all: blasphemy. Second of all—stop laughing, I'm serious. That was very blasphemous." He adored listening to your silly laughter. "And second of all: they are not creepy. They're just... methodic."

"Yeah, the method being 'scare people until they talk'. I'll give it to the Church: clever, at least."

He's thinking about that day and the things you said about the hour of Twilight when he hears the doorbell.

Bucky halts everything he's doing.

It couldn't be you.

He looks at the clock—00:52.

Fuck.

What were you doing here?

This week had been hell, both figuratively and literally.

The tragedy that happened in the city and the heartache that followed everyone like a dark cloud ended up inside his church, as darkness usually does. It's where it goes to be diluted, but being the tool of change as he is, Bucky's the one who ends up feeling like a truck ran over his back.

It couldn't be you.

Bucky heard from Laura about how pissed off you were about everything. 'Religious people and their ways of meddling in people's lives and their bodies and their ways of handling life', as you claimed, and everything wrong attached to it.

He hadn't seen you around the city all week long.

"James Buchanan!"

That is definitely your voice.

Bucky swears under his breath, puts on the first hoodie he sees, and doesn't even bother checking on his reflection to know he looks like shit.

He's tipsy and tired, and there's no need to bother putting out his tobacco before he goes downstairs to open the back door for you.

Out of all the people who could see him in this state, you'd be the last one to judge him.

When he opens the door, he sees you're on the same boat as he is.

Tired, and trying to cope.

He sighs, opening the door wider. "Thought you had eloped town by now."

"I unfortunately am stuck to this hell hole."

Turning around, he sees you taking off your boots and placing them on the shoe rack.

"Put on a slipper, it's still wet outside," he tells you. "I was going to bed."

Behind him, he hears the sound of you scoffing. "No, you weren't."

"Yes, I was," he argues.

What follows is silence, and Bucky sighs. You know him too well.

He opens the door that leads to his small herbs garden outside where two chairs are already placed next to each other and waits for you to make yourself at home.

He wonders if it's one of those days.

"You know... you're really nice to talk to, Father James."

He kind of hated when you called him that. It felt teasing. Laced in the taste of wine.

"Do you?"

"I do. You don't shy away from answering questions. People nowadays don't wanna have conversations. It's exhausting. You, though—you... think about it. Answer me. I can talk without feeling like I'm being judged—"

"Oh, sometimes you definitely are."

He likes your laughter. The more it sounds like this—free and caught off guard, the more delicious it is.

"I'll take your word for it. That was just me wanting to thank you for being a nice ear, I guess."

"The same goes for you."

It's becoming more and more common for Bucky to be stuck in a memory of you before reality calls him back to the moment.

The door clicks behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see you holding two beers, a cigarette in one hand, and the tiredness in your shoulders.

Dropping your body to the chair next to his, you hand him the beer and then light up your cigarette.

For a while, all you two do is sit there sharing sips of your drinks and looking at the brick wall ahead of you. Bucky's hyper-aware of you and your movements, as always, and notices from the corner of his eyes when you start distracting yourself with the new flowers in his garden.

It's when he sees a single tear running down your cheek that his body comes alive.

Bucky feels alert in a second.

Sick to his stomach.

He wants to reach out and clean the tear from your cheek, but it wouldn't take away the pain that let it fall.

He waits, though, because he knows you wouldn't be here unless you wanted to talk about it.

Then it hits him—she trusts me.

He has to swallow that pill down with large gulps because it would get stuck in his throat otherwise.

He remembers as clear as day hearing you say how hard it was for you to trust people. To let people in.

"Sometimes, I barely want most people in this town to know I'm a human being. The less they see of me the better, you know? They're just—fucking vultures. Waiting for a sign of weakness to start roaming your body and getting to pick it apart."

Through the sips of his beer, Bucky wonders how many people have seen you cry other than him.

You clear his throat next to him, and all thoughts are vacant from his mind.

He turns his head to you, attention solely focused.

"Did you do a mass?" You ask, voice rough as sandpaper.

You're questioning whether the people who died got a mass this week. Bucky has to breathe through the 'why do you ask, why, but WHY' and simply answers. "I did, yeah."

You nod, sniffle and clear your face in your sleeve. "Cool. That's good."

Bucky feels he'll puke if he doesn't get a little more than that, so he takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he can be brave. "There'll be a lantern reunion at the lake."

You turn to him, eyes red and vulnerable, and Bucky has to grip tighter on the can to stop himself from cleaning your tear-stained cheeks once again. "A what?"

"A lantern reunion. It was Laura's idea, actually," your friend was a blessing to his congregation, and it made Bucky smile a little to think so. "People from the congregation will go in a fortnight to the city lake a little further in the mountains and light up little candles in their names. Push it into the lake as sort of a goodbye and a desire for good passage."

"Into heaven?" you ask, smiling sarcastically.

Bucky's gotten so used to it that it doesn't even rattle him anymore.

"Into anywhere," he answers.

The sarcasm drops from your face like rain does out of nowhere from the sky, and you sigh. "That's nice."

"Is it?"

"It is." You take a sip, and Bucky feels it in his chest the blow before it comes. "Naya would've loved it. Probably reminded her of Tangled or something like that."

The name hits clear as day as part of the list Bucky read on Sunday.

"Was she a friend?" He asks.

You shake your head. "Goddaughter."

Your jawline is sharper than ever before. Razor-sharp. Bucky realizes when he pays attention to more than just your eyes, the usual lovely, deep, and telling eyes, that the rest of your face lacks any of your kindness and softness—you're angry. Properly raging, he imagines.

It's the first time he's seen the emotion on you, and it rattles something in the attics of Bucky's brain.

Ghosts of his past, of guns, violence, and the range that humans could go to.

"Tell me about her," the words fall from his lips, and Bucky feels like prey once more when your eyes snap back to him. "If you want to, of course. I—I'd like to hear it."

For a moment, you only watch him, eyes searching all over his face.

"Why?" You ask.

Bucky shrugs his shoulder, sipping a little more. "Because... offering my condolences won't do any good, although you do have them. And talking about the occurrence serves no purpose, either." Both of those options are weak at best. "Hearing about who your goddaughter was, on the other hand, sounds nice." He wonders how close you two were. Was she the daughter of a best friend? Bucky knew you had no sisters. "D'you have sisters?" He asks to confirm. "I thought you didn't."

The ghost of a real smile appears on your face. "I don't."

"Right."

"She's—was... she was my best friend's daughter. Hugh." The smile turns more real than ghost-like. "He and I have been friends since middle school."

Wow. That's longer than Bucky's been in this town. "That is a long time."

"Not that long, c'mon Father. Don't call me old."

Bucky laughs. "You're not a sweet summer child, that's for sure."

"Wow!" You say, joining him in laughter.

"Your generation is a mystery to me, I'll tell you that."

"Ugh—there you go again with 'your generation'. You're not that much older than me, Father," you give him a pointed look.

Bucky hums. "I beg to differ. There's more than a decade bridging this," he gestures between you and him.

"Fine, old man. Whatever you say," you chuckle, and sip the rest of your beer, crushing the can in your hands. "Anyway. Hugh's not usually here—he works two towns over most of the time."

"Is he married?" He asks out of curiosity.

You shake your head. "Nope. Naya's mom was a fling."

"Got it." From that, he deduced you had a lot to do with the girl while growing up. "Was she a lot like you?"

You laugh. "A mix of Hugh and me, yeah. I spoiled her quite a lot."

Bucky smiles. "Tell me more."

And you do.

Bucky listens to you tell him about Naya, and she comes to life inside his mind.

He saw the picture of everyone involved, but now he can see the glint she had in her eyes, the quirks you mention, the passions in her heart.

He does his best to stay present in the conversation, letting go of any pain related to the tragedy in order to give you a good ear as you mentioned he has.

It hurts almost as much as if he was thinking about it all.

The oscillations in your smile between heartbroken and sad, and heartfelt. He feels the changes like shrapnel under his skin.

After a few more beers, the talk changes every now and then. From kids to raising them without parents, to the dangers surrounding newer generations—like always, talking to you is a rollercoaster of topics, and Bucky thinks he's done a good job of taking your mind out of the dark places it was.

Until you stop, look at the wall in front of you again, and the tears start streaming down again.

Bucky's heart breaks all over the wet ground, getting dirt all over the pieces.

He's closing the distance between your bodies before he thinks better of it.

His arms wrap around your shoulders and you bury your face in his chest, letting go of your pain in the safe space of his arms.

Bucky lets you cry for as long as you need to, and when the quiet sobs diminish to only your sniffling, he still holds you close.

"I feel... like barbed wire. I don't know." Your voice is thick with emotion, and Bucky squeezes around you subconsciously. "There's so much rage inside me, Buck."

"That's okay. It's the normal thing to fill you."

"You wouldn't say that if you knew all the things I'm thinking. I—I'm not the best person ever, but the things I'd do right now..."

Bucky shakes his head. You're human, he thinks. "You're a good person even with those thoughts."

"You don't know that," you argued.

"I do, though," Bucky counters. "All the things you want are a response, not an initiative. That's how I know."

At that, you stay in silence. Bucky feels you moving your head—before, you had your forehead resting against his chest, but now you move your head to the side and lay your cheeks against him, making yourself comfortable.

"You'd judge me, though," your voice is barely above a whisper. "They're horrible things."

Bucky scoffs. "I've done my fair share of horrible things in life, Y/n. I'll never be in any position to truly judge someone else," he tells you.

Then it hits him—I trust her too.

"I don't believe that," you whisper.

"It's the truth." Bucky's past is his own, but he allows you to have this. "I was a tool for a long time, one that did many wrong things. I hardly think that you wanting to kill the people who did this with your bare hands is something so atrocious."

"I'd think you'd judge upon murder, Father."

"Not my place to do so," and if he was being honest with himself, never would be. The things he believed in were symbolic.

"Is this what a confessional feels like?" you ask with a chuckle.

Bucky rests his head on top of yours. "It's the idea."

"I like it. It's not so bad." You take a deep breath, and Bucky feels it.

I like it too, he thinks. Why does it feel mutual?

"D'you want some food?" he asks. He needs something to do with his hands that doesn't involve holding you.

It takes you a moment to answer. "Sure." You pull your head back a few inches to look up at him, and the smile he sees in your eyes takes his breath away. "Thanks, Father."

This feels as holy as any of my prayers.

Bucky feels dizzy.

"Thanks for trusting me," he answers, and then lets you go. His arms feel empty and cold the minute they leave your frame. "C'mon. I'll make us sandwiches."

"That's not food," you argue behind him.

"It is in this house," he rolls his eyes, knowing you're just doing it to tease him. "Ungrateful youth, I swear."

"I'm not being ungrateful, I'm being factual. You know, back during the Roman Empire in Grece, they..."

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The night of grief changes nothing and everything at the same time.

Bucky knew you were a person beneath all the exterior of perfection, but it takes seeing you cry for him to realize why he deemed everything he saw to be that way—he saw beauty even in your imperfections. He met you by chance, befriended you by fate, and because the Universe wrote you and him to be this way, something about your existence read as beautiful from top to bottom. Breathtaking. It never occurred to him that he'd find something else to look at and see unadulterated and raw light, but there you were. Whether it was talking to friends, working, running past him at eight in the morning, or crying in his arms, the aura around you glowed in holy light, and Bucky had only one night of absolute existential crisis before acceptance washed over him.

He might have found his peace in god, but the god he believed in never excluded the Nirvana existing in love.

Accepting things as they were hurt much less.

— ✞ —

Everything about him felt holy.

The whole month you stayed away from him, that's all you could think about.

Bucky felt holy. His blue eyes on you, the gentleness in his words, and the shy cocking of his neck whenever he was under the light of a compliment—holy, holy, holy.

That's why you hated how much you desired to corrupt all the purity within every thought permeated by him.

It made you a little sick at first. Desiring him and still talking to him normally as if you didn't touch yourself to thoughts of Bucky fucking you and stretching you around his cock while filth dripping from his lips was a hard task, but no one could say you were one to shy away from a challenge.

All of that goes away when he cooks for you.

The shame in wanting him.

From that day on, you allow your mind to drift wherever it pleases.

To his words, his eyes, his lips, the feeling of how strong his arms were — how did I miss that, what is that damn black thing hiding, why does it feel so warm and firm, oh my god — and anything in between. His voice. The way he curses under his breath as if Jesus is not listening if he talks low enough. How much lower his voice can go.

Letting all those thoughts roam free is both a blessing and a curse.

When you see him the day following a dream where Bucky did all the things your mind wanted him to and a bit more, you realize where the curse part walks in.

It's hard looking him in the eye when you have vivid images of his hand gripping your neck. It's sad that all you have is images, but they're more than enough to make you take a step back every now and then.

You can't get wet if you don't get a whiff of his perfume.

Can't feel embarrassed and hot all over if he doesn't make one of his silly jokes under his breath.

It takes you a few weeks of escaping him here and there before you receive it, at 11:50 pm on a Monday night:

What would you say if I told you I need my confessional bubble?

The message stares at you, and you stare back.

The feeling of his hug around you comes to you like the scent of someone being dragged by the wind.

Where are you?

The church. I was organizing some stuff. Come over?

Not one to say no to him, you drive there with your heart beating in your palms and the familiar knot on your throat of someone haunted by their own thoughts.

At the church, you find Bucky with a glass in his hands and all the pictures and remains of the shrines packed in one corner.

"Evening, Father."

Bucky turns around sharply, and you see that he's not drunk nor tipsy yet. His look is sober, and his eyes lighten in color when they see you.

"Hey." He points to the stuff on the floor. "I'm gonna put this in the back. I'll be back in a minute—you're very fast. How fast did you drive?"

Probably too fast because I was anxious. "Maybe you're just slow, Father James."

Bucky's eyes narrow, and your mind goes oh-oh. He looks at you with narrowing eyes, but then the mirth is back on his face. "Ha ha." He picks up the boxes. "I'll be back."

"Won't I burn in your absence?" You call after him, trying to contain your smile.

Bucky looks over his shoulder just so you can see him rolling his eyes.

You chuckle. Was there even a need to be nervous?

This is Bucky.

James. Father James. He's a good guy, and a great friend, and a pretty funny person for someone who is so mysterious.

In his absence, you start walking aimlessly through the church.

You're here very rarely. Paying attention to the details of it is not the first thing in your mind but, with nothing to do, you notice all the beauty in the place: the colorful glasses, how polished and shiny the wood benches and every other wood surface looks, and then it catches your eyes.

On the far right corner, close to the altar, there it is.

The confessional.

You're walking to it before you notice what you're doing.

It's bigger than you expected.

Your hand comes up to touch the wood and its patterns—the velvet drape which closes one of the sides is blood red, and you raise both eyebrows at it.

Gorgeous.

The other side is closed with a wooden door, though. You imagine it's where the priest enters, and because you're friends with the one who runs this church, you let yourself in.

The space is big enough to fit two adults if they're squeezed close together.

You take a seat, looking over the side where you can see very little from the open spots in the wood.

Then, you hear his footsteps coming back out there.

"Y/n?" He calls out, sounding confused.

You think about coming out, but then...

Confessional bubble.

You open the door minimally, put only your hand outside, and wave. "Here," you singsong.

There's a second of silence in which you wonder if Bucky is genuinely offended for the first time about something you're doing, but then you hear his laughter approaching.

You hear his body passing through the drapes and sitting next to you.

"Not where I'd expect to find you," he says from the other side.

It's with the first sentence that you realize what a terrible, miscalculated, poor idea this was.

Your senses go from 0 to 100 in a second. They're all tunneled to his voice, and you can smell his perfume permeating the small space.

"Y/n?"

"I was curious," you answer. Your voice is low, and you swallow down the nervousness. It should be fine. What could go wrong? "Plus... this seems like a cool bubble."

"I told you it was, you never trusted me in that," he answers.

You chuckle. "I didn't know about all the velvet." And the stripping of your senses. God, I feel dizzy.

"It's charming, isn't it?"

You are, your traitorous mind replies. "Yup." You take a deep through your mouth and let it out slowly. "What was in your mind, young padawan?"

Bucky laughs. "Wrong religion."

"Right, my bad—what's in your mind, my sheep?"

"You're not so bad at this."

"And you're great at deflecting," you bite back, smiling already. Your body relaxes on its seat, and you start picking on your t-shirt. "I thought you wanted to talk."

"I did." Bucky hums. "Didn't think you wanted to, though."

What? "What?"

"I was gonna ask you to go grab a bite with me so I could hear how you've been doing these past couple of weeks. I haven't seen much of you," his voice sounds a little small, and you hate yourself for a second. "I imagine you're busy."

Does trying to get rid of thoughts of your naked count as busy?

You bite your bottom lip nervously. "Not that busy," you reply. "Just... processing."

"Right. I thought about that too," he says. Bucky takes a deep breath and you can hear that too. "I just... missed your company."

You smile at that. "Awn. Thanks, Buck. I missed you too."

"Did you?"

"Of course," you say. "You know I like your company better than most. More than, like, 99% of this town, for sure."

"I'm flattered," he chuckles. "I thought I did something wrong, that's all. I—you'd tell me if I had, right?"

That ties knots inside your brain. Your neurons seem to clash with each other, and you look from side to side trying to find out if that was a joke.

"What could you possibly have done to me?" You ask with laughter.

"Dunno." Bucky seems to be thinking, so you wait. "I can be annoying sometimes."

"Have you met me?"

He laughs again. "You're peculiar."

"Most people go for 'annoying'."

"Most people are pussies," he replies back so quickly that you burst out laughing.

"Father James!" You tell him in a reprehending tone. "This is not the place for such language."

"I think you'll find out that we're in the only place of holy grounds where you can say whatever the fuck you want," he chuckles.

"Is that so?"

You can almost see him shrugging his shoulders. "It's how I always felt."

"Cool. This is the blind spot, then?"

"Exactly." Bucky seems to be tapping on the wood, and you recognize his nervous tick. "Maybe you can use the blind spot to tell me why you've been avoiding me, then."

Shit.

The silence is as much of a confession as you trying to play it dumb would be.

"Y/n..."

You hate how he makes your name sounds like a plea.

"You didn't do anything wrong," you tell him. "I swear."

There's a heartbeat of silence, and Bucky seems to believe you. "Okay." The sound of a thud tells you he rested his head against the wall at the back, and you do the same. "So... did something happen? To you, I mean."

Yeah, you did.

Thinking that's not the reply he wants, you hum thoughtfully. "I'm... trying to work with life's limitations."

There's another moment of quiet, and then Bucky snorts. "That was vague as shit, Y/n."

"It's the truth!" you laugh.

"I know it is, but it doesn't explain anything," he counters. "What limitations?"

How do I answer this? How do I tell him it's him without putting him under the spotlight? I don't wanna lose you, Bucky. I like what we have. I like this.

You like him.

"No judgments. Remember?" He asks.

Fuck. Fine, here goes nothing, you think. "I... have been thinking a lot. About someone. In ways that I'm not sure this person would want me to."

Out of all the silences, this is the heaviest one.

You hear him breathing in deep, and it feels like his body has strings attached to yours.

"You're insecure about having... feelings for this person?" His voice is rough. Carefully curated out of any emotions.

You realize you're speaking to Father James rather than Bucky.

"Kinda," you reply, surprised that you don't care about the switch in roles.

"Why would they be bothered?"

The million-dollar questions.

Your palms are sweating. Your body has the low humming of when blood is pumping everywhere at a higher speed, and all the anxiety you had when you first saw his message rushes back.

"'Cause I'm pretty sure they'd view it as... something bad," you reply.

"Feelings are never bad."

"No?"

"No. They're natural. The person might not want them, but if they view them as bad, that means they're not worthy of it."

"No—what I meant is—maybe they would feel bad about being on the receiving end of it."

"Again, that makes no sense. Why would they be offended by it?"

"I don't know. 'Cause they don't want me?"

"That's their loss. Still doesn't mean your feelings are bad. They could be unreciprocated, but never bad."

"Maybe that's what I'm scared of," you confess. Fuck, this thing works. "I don't wanna face the fact that it could never be mutual."

"That is scary," he whispers. You still hear it.

"Yeah."

"You'll never know, though. Unless you tell them, you can't know if it is or not."

You laugh, humorlessly. "I don't think I need to. Not for this."

"Why not?" asks Bucky.

"Because the chances of him wanting me or anything are slim to none."

"I find that hard to be true, Y/n."

"What percentage of priests lead a personal life outside their calling, Father James?"

The question comes out breathless and it finishes the job of setting your body on fire.

On the other side, the silence is deafening. You can't see him, but your mind paints the picture easily: Bucky standing there, frozen in his spot as the realization dawns on him.

Then, his reply comes and what was left of your body turns to dust.

"A low percentage. But some of us do."

You have to bite your bottom lip to swallow a whine. His name still comes out. "Bucky."

"You've been thinking about me all this time and you thought I would be upset about it?" He sounds breathless. Your body is not only alive now, but it's also starting to respond to the drop in his voice.

"They're not very holy thoughts," you chuckle humorlessly.

"Tell me."

Two words and your legs constrict against one another. Your core feels like a furnace, heating up more and more by the second.

"I... are you serious?"

"Very." Bucky sounds as affected as you. "Tell me what thoughts were so bad they drove you away from me."

"I... I had dreams." You want to touch yourself so badly that you start squirming in your seat. "About you."

All he does is hum in reply.

"You kissed me. And then... you told me I was going to accept all that you wanted to give me. And I said yes. So you started to get... more—of me. You took off my clothes. And said you needed to let out some... steam. To let out some things that have been inside of you."

There, your words were cut short.

The images of Bucky kneeling in front of you and eating you out like he never had a meal before in his life.

"Go on," his voice breaks through the smoke.

It sounds like an order.

Your body shudders, and you try to grip on reality before the dreams take over. "You ate me out." The whisper sounds louder than any of his sermons you had the pleasure of hearing. "And..." I can't say it. I can't. You can feel the wetness dripping to your panties, and you have to sit on top of your hands to stop them from starting to roam your body.

"Finish it."

Where did he learn to command people like that?

"I asked to do the same." How could you not? All you wanted was to choke on the weight of Bucky on your tongue. "And then you fucked me. Slowly. And... kept telling me about how long it had been. How good it felt to stretch me out." Why am I going into details? You whimper. "Bucky."

"Is that why you were away? You dreamt about me being inside of you and that's it—your brain stopped working around me?"

"I got off to those dreams too many times to not think about them when I saw you."

"Fuck." Bucky must move next to you because you hear the sound of his clothes ruffling. "You touched yourself thinking about them?"

"Yeah."

You hear his breath intake, and the next sound drops your heart to your feet.

Bucky gets up, the drapes ruffle and then, the door of the confessional is opening.

The sight of Bucky standing tall over you with his black t-shirt tucked inside his pants and the tent of his dick straining against his slacks makes your mouth dry before it starts to water.

"Show me," says Bucky. Then he drops to his knees in front of you, reaches both hands to your knees, and places them there. He looks up into your eyes to ask, "Can I?" and you nod, dumbly and shaking, as Bucky spreads your knees open. You're wearing loose pants, and his hands go further up to their hem so he can pull them down.

Allowing him to leave you in nothing but your panties feels like a fever dream.

With your pants pooling in your ankles, Bucky lets hands drag on the skin of your legs and thighs.

"You're right," he says. "It's been years." His hands reach your waist, and your shaking comes to a halt with the firmness that they touch your pelvis bones. "And yet, I think I've thought more about pleasure and connection these past months than I did my whole life." Bucky moves his body closer until he's nestled between your legs, and when his head inches closer to your cunt you realize what he's about to do, whining at the thought. "I dreamt about this, too."

He presses his nose on the hood of your pussy, inhaling deeply and making your legs turn from solid to liquid.

Bucky runs his nose there, and when he hums against your core, you feel it inside of you. "You smell so fucking good, dove."

"Oh, god."

Bucky gropes your ass and shakes his head. "No. Forgot my name already?"

"James, please. Please," you whine, your legs coming up to his shoulders.

He lets you, helping your legs to secure around his neck, and when you look down and see he's smiling, you know you're fucked.

"It's been a while, so let me take my time. I think I still remember how to do this," Bucky says.

Then, he pushes your panties to the side and groans out loud.

"So fucking wet for me. Shit." He pushes his nose again, getting it wet with your slick. "Fuck," he dives in.

Bucky's tongue gives gentle licks against your clit, as if savoring it first.

When he feels your legs spreading wider and he has more room to work with, he truly starts his job. His tongue licks on your folds, then dips from the bottom all the way up, licking a stripe across your cunt before his mouth attaches itself to your clit.

Bucky sucks on the hard nub with his tongue, alternating between slow and hard-pressured jabs to quick flicks of his tongue from side to side.

Your hands are covering your mouth to stop the screams from coming out.

He slurps on the slick and the more the works his tongue on your clit and then pushes down to your open cunt, the wetter you get.

Time ceases to exist with Bucky knelt between your legs.

He goes slow, then fast, then very slow just to hear your whines getting louder. He laughs in your pussy, and the vibrations crawl up inside of you.

At one point he looks up and with a hard grope on the back of your thighs gets your attention on him again.

His beard is glistening, wet. He's smiling like he's seeing something funny for the first time in ages, and when he asks, "Do you like penetration?" as if he doesn't know the answer, you feel like crying.

"Please."

He takes pity on you. "It's okay, dove." Bucky's right hand leaves your legs and his fingers join his mouth between your legs. He coats his fingers in your slick before he pushes the middle one all the way in, slowly at first, then he removes it all the way and pushes back in with his tongue.

"Bucky!"

"Hmhm," he hums against your pussy. "Is this what you dreamt of, dove?" He asks before latching onto you again and sucking on your clit like it's a lollipop.

The coil in your lower stomach seems like a rubber band ready to snap, but you need more.

"Bucky. Bucky," you call.

"Hm?"

"I wanna cum with you inside me. Please?"

Bucky's hand squeezes involuntarily on your leg. He looks up and kisses your inner thigh. "You do?"

"Please."

"Will you let me take you for a bite afterward since I couldn't help myself and I'm doing everything backward?" He asks, already getting up.

You nod a bit desperately. "I'll let you bite anything, just—please."

He laughs. "Get up."

You do, and it's a tight squeeze to switch places with him, but you two manage. Bucky sits on the place you sat and unbuttons his pants, pulling out his cock from the confine of his briefs.

You step out of your pants and sit on his lap, trying to keep all the feelings daring to pool out inside while you feel like everything about you is already stripped bare in front of him.

"You sure you want this, yeah?" I asked.

At that moment, Bucky pulls you close by his waist. It's almost easy (keyword being almost) to ignore the outline of his hard cock between your legs when he's holding your face like this.

There's barely any light illuminating the inside of the confessional, but there is enough for you to see him glowing. Glistening. Smiling like he's watching something unfold.

He holds your face in his hand and pulls you in for a kiss.

I hadn't kissed him yet.

Bucky kisses you with slow, soft tenderness at first.

It's almost his way of saying he means everything—he means this, and he means what he said about being a part of the cleric who still allows themselves to have a life outside their work.

When his tongue opens up your mouth sinfully, that's when you feel him twitch underneath you.

His arm around your waist pulls you even closer, and you get him. You'd want to merge with him right now if you could.

"Put me inside you," he pulls back his face only a few inches to say those words, then dives in for another kiss.

Your mind is too dizzy with everything that is James to do anything but obey.

You reach beneath you to hold his cock in your hands and guide it to your entrance.

Perhaps you should care that none of you discussed the important things you should have before you let him inside you, raw and deep like this, but all you want is this:

Feeling him stretch you out.

When his tips fit and you can let go, both of you groan at the same time. He's big.

He's thick, and he's leaking, and when the tip pushes in, gliding easy with how wet you are, you have to pull back from his kiss so you can breathe.

Bucky groans louder and hides his face in the crook of your shoulder.

"You're big," you whisper, sliding down further until he's bottomed out. "Oh my..." can't call out for Jesus, but you're still shaking and finding a new reason to worship right there and then. You might be drunk on desire, or drunk on how high Bucky made you by eating you out, or how close you were to cumming before he made you get up. Maybe all of the above. "Father James—feels so good."

The slap comes as a surprise, but the sting and your scream are both pleasurable.

"Don't call me that again," he growls. He bites your neck, and moves his hip for the first time.

"Why not," you whine. It feels so good. You feel so full. "Feel so full, Bucky."

"I know, dove." He bucks his hip upwards, thrusting deep and slow. "You're so fucking tight," his voice is strained, and you pull his face back to yours, cupping his neck. With his eyes on yours, Bucky's face softens. "Feels good?" He asks with another pointed thurst.

You nod, riding him in the same rhythm as his thrusts. "Hmhm."

"You look beautiful on top of me," he mutters, kissing your chin, you cheeks, and your eyelids, each kiss pointed with another deep thrust.

"We're gonna do this again, right?"

Bucky hums, and thrusts harder. FUCK.

"Ah, there it is," he mutters, as if talking to himself. "Was looking for that." He thrusts again, confirming to see if he's found your g spot. The way you clench and moan his name is enough of an answer. "We'll do this many more times. I just—need—fuck, need to do this proper." Bucky pins your hips in place and takes over the movements. "Shouldn't be fucking you, dove. Not here, not like this."

"I'm so fucking wet, Buck," you cry. "You wouldn't let me go home to get off thinkin'—oh—about you—fuck, right there;"

"I wouldn't?"

"Bucky." It's louder than before. Both a moan and a prayer.

His thrusts become more erratic, and Bucky's own moans and prayers start sounding much like yours.

So tight, dove. Fucking made for me. Stop clenching your pussy, Y/n, fuck. I'm gonna fill you up, d'you want that? Hm?

"Don't pull out," you whine.

"No?"

"No." You shake your head. He should, your mind says. I don't care, your body responds, hips going harder to meet his harsh thrusts.

"Want to feel me leaking out of you?"

Fucking hell. Where was this holy mouth hidden? "Yes!"

"Say it," Bucky's grunting, and his forehead is sparkling with sweat, and you feel the sweat dripping down your back.

"Wanna feel you dripping out of me, Buck."

"Fucking—Y/n, I'm gonna cum. Are you close, dove?" He holds you by the neck, and brings your mouth to his. "Tell me how to make you cum. Tell me."

"Hard. Deep."

Bucky's a good listener anywhere. He pins your hip in one place, buries himself as deep as he can go inside of you and mutters about how good it is to feel your cunt stretching out around his cock, then pistons his hips in place just like that, hitting that spot inside of you so mercilessly that you're excused to scream as much as you do.

When you yell that you're gonna cum, all he says is, "Please. Please, dove. Show me. Cum for me. Cum only for me, Y/n."

With another scream that leaves your throat aching, you feel your walls convulsing and your legs shaking as an orgasm knocks you out.

Bucky cums by muffling his own screams in your neck, and you feel the warmth of him spilling inside of you.

If there were any ways for you to not surrender and devote to him, they're all burned and gone.

This feels like the beginning of all things holy for you.

part two →

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aetherdoesthings · 4 months

Text

LUFFY X READER - PART TWO

forethoughts: did you miss me? and yes this is a reupload because i messed something up.

notes: i have an entire story planned for this. dw i'm cooking something guys stay with me.

“She hates me. She hates me. She hates me.” the captain repeated to himself.

“Luffy.”

The boy took a deep breath, before standing up, meeting Zoro's gaze.

“Alright, i’ll tell you… but don't tell anyone else, okay?”

“Just tell me.”

The captain took a deep breath. “Yesterday…”

It was any other day for the Captain of the Straw Hat Pirates. Mess around, play with Usopp, annoy Nami and hope not to get hit, annoy Sanji and hope not to get hit, all the fun stuff. Life on the ship was fun for him; he was by his crew’s side, and most importantly, his girlfriend. Luffy loved annoying you; that was probably his favorite pastime compared to all the other things he would do on a regular day.

Luffy had met you on an island, fighting against some petty thieves who were trying to rob you. He immediately fell in love with you and your bravery and your want to fight, so he recruited on board. Truly, it was love at first sight.

Today Luffy decided to surprise you. A gift of some sort. He wanted to buy you something (with Nami’s permission) to just say ‘thanks for being my girlfriend’. On the last island, he had picked out a bouquet of your favorite flowers and a box of chocolates he resisted from eating. He had set up your bedroom with fancy decorations: candlesticks, more of your favorite flowers, and a meal Sanji had made after begging him, promising that he wouldn’t try to steal from the kitchen after dark ever again.

All that was missing was you, of course.

Luffy had told you that he had a surprise waiting for you in your bedroom, a surprise that you would surely love. You told him that you had to go use the bathroom, just to shower and freshen up before his surprise. Luffy agreed; he also took a bath prior to the meal just to make you even more happy. So he sat there, waiting. Waiting for you to come. What’s taking you so long in the bathroom? Luffy knew that women's stuff made you take longer in the shower, but you were already taking longer than your normal bath time. Curious, he crept towards your bathroom, pressing his ear against the door.

“...three days. Three days until we reach another island. That’s what the navigator said.” Luffy raised an eyebrow at your voice. Were you talking to someone?

“No I don’t know where they keep- I’m sorry.”

You were definitely talking to someone. Luffy remained quiet, trying to listen in on your conversation.

“Luffy? What about him?”

His heart tightened at the sound of his name leaving your mouth.

“I haven’t learnt much about him. He keeps to himself. I know I’m his girlfriend, doesn’t mean I still have the right to pry into his life- I’m sorry, I’m not talking back. I’ll try and gather more information before we dock. What do you mean Aokiji is going to- I’m sorry. Okay. Alright.”

You stopped talking again.

“The crew? What do you want to know about the crew?”

Luffy held his breath, his ears trying to fit into the keyhole on the door, trying to find out who you were talking to and what you were up to.

“Roronoa Zoro? He sleeps a lot, but is still as deadly as previous reports made. The cook? He likes girls. A lot. Such a creepy pervert, but a really good chef. Yes, Nico Robin is still part of the crew. She reads a lot, doesn’t do much except for that. She’s really nice, though, even if she’s quiet most of the- Sorry. The navigator? She likes money. A lot of money. The dude with a long nose? That’s Usopp. He’s kind of a coward and a wimp when it comes to things, but he is funny and nice.”

Luffy listened to you rattle off every single of his crew, giving a short description about them. He heart thudded, trying to come up with conclusions or speculate about who you were talking to and why. More importantly, why did you have to do it during your shower? You couldn’t have been a marine; Zoro had checked you out before you joined and cleared you. So who were you talking to? You had mentioned Aokiji, a vice admiral for the marines.

Luffy trusted Zoro. If Zoro said you were clear, you were clear.

Luffy also trusted you. He loved you. He was your boyfriend. The two of you were as close as Luffy was to Zoro.

“I know why you sent me here. I know my job. I know, I know. The Straw Hats are dangerous. We’ll be docking in three days. I’ll ask the navigator again just to confirm. Yes, yes, I know. The marines are justice, pirates are evil. I’ll talk to you soon.”

The moment you hung up the den den mushi, Luffy leaped back into his seat, pretending like nothing just happened. Shortly after, you came out, a smile on your face.

“Luffy! Did you set all this up! This is so romantic!” You squealed, hugging your boyfriend as you sat down across the glass table from him, looking at the meal. “Did Sanij make this?”

“U-Um, yeah? Yeah. Yeah, he did.” Luffy responded after a pause.

You raised your eyebrow at his sudden pause, and the stuttering in his speech. Luffy never stuttered in his speech. The only time he did was when he was trying to confess to you. “Are you okay, Luffy dear?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. I’m just concerned that the food is getting cold!” Luffy nodded his head vigorously, taking the opportunity to shove a handful of food into his mouth.

You laughed at his sudden action, as Luffy let out a sigh, thankful you weren’t suspicious of him anymore.

“So, what was all of this for? I don’t think our anniversary’s till next month.” You ask, taking a bite out of your dinner.

“I just wanted to say I love you! And thanks for being my girlfriend!” Luffy exclaimed with his excited voice, making himself forget whatever call he just eavesdropped on. That wasn’t his business to know what it was about, and he shouldn’t have eavesdropped.

But she was talking about your crew. A small voice crept upon his shoulder. He tried to ignore it, focusing on the good thing. You were his girlfriend. You made him happy. He made you happy. He loved you. You loved him.

Or does he?

The two voices in his mind argued against each other, bickering, as Luffy’s hand kept reaching towards the bread basket, shoving loaf after loaf as he tried to pay attention to what you were saying. He occasionally would nod his head in agreement to whatever you said, trying to act like he’s actually listening to you, but in his mind, he was thinking of something else… thinking of doing something else…

“So you kicked Y/N out because of that call?” Zoro scoffed.

“I didn’t want to… b-but, I don’t think Y/N is evil… I don’t think she is. Y/N wouldn’t do that. Y/N isn’t like that.” The young captain wiped his tears away.

“That call you described really sounds like Y/N is working for the marines.”

“She isn’t! You checked her.”

“I did. And nothing came up.”

The two stared at each other.

“I didn’t want to kick Y/N off… but until I figure out more about what that call was about… I can’t jeopardize the crew and the ship. If she…” Luffy choked. “If she is working for the marine… then I can’t have her on board anymore. But she’s not… I know it. There’s something else we don’t know. And I’m going to find out.”

#one piece #op #monkey d. luffy #luffy x reader #roronoa zoro

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julsvu · 12 days

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gn! reader

📒: mentions of fighting, bruises/injuries, headcanons, mentions of blood, hurt/comfort, might be ooc, some angst in nagi's part, this is a reupload cause my original post didn't show up in tags D:

reo mikage version

meguru bachira

this boy cares for you a lot

ever since he found someone that didn't find him weird aka you, he was as loyal as a dog. if not, more loyal; following you around, looking at you with nothing but love and endless devotion

so if he ever heard you get into a fight, he'd fight with you, defending you as hard as he could; he firmly believes in the quote, "eye for an eye"

you get punched in the eye? next thing y'know meguru punches your opponent in the eye harder than they did with you

he doesn't let you get hurt anymore the moment his eyes catch the sight

however, there are some times where he'd be cheering for you in the fight instead of fully jumping in

he'd be riling you up IMMENSELY and shoves anyone off if they tried insulting you

when the fight ends, he drags you to a private area, helping you clean your wounds as carefully as he can, while he comments how proud he is that he has such a strong lover

he makes sure you're physically, and mentally okay basically, giving you words of affection and kissing your bruises, wishing he could do more to ease the pain.

however, unbeknownst to you, he confronts the people that have messed with you, after every fight

once it happens, it'll never happen again - he doesn't want to lose you

y'know how he says that he thinks his weak point is how he doesn't worry a lot? he worries a lot when it comes to only you

the people that have messed with you delivered a 10-page apology letter in your locker the day after the fight

extra: he definitely doodles on your bandages, "meguru was here!" is something he'd doodle the most

seishiro nagi

i feel like he most likely wouldn't find out until someone tells him, since he often hangs out alone and plays games all the time

he finds out through social media, or from reo

worst case scenario? he'd be too late, and the next thing he knew he had to visit you in the clinic because he wasn't aware. he wasn't able to do anything

he's never been so awake??? it was the first time you'd see nagi actually profusely sweating without playing soccer

he holds your hand, giving you small, gentle kisses as well as soft apologies, his voice soft

ever since that incident, he's always with you- he makes sure to not leave you alone, at all

whenever you two are alone, he kisses your scars or healed wounds; especially if you're ever feeling insecure about them. he gives you a lot of reassurance and tells you that his love for you hasn't and never will change.

he makes sure to keep himself around you more, holding your hand and using his tall figure to intimidate anyone who messes with you

he'd also definitely doodle on your bandages whenever you have them on your body; he'd mostly draw choki, or small smiley faces

aside from his worry, there's also pride within him

YES you get into fights, but that means you don't back down?? that concept to him makes you attractive to him 10000x more.

extra: he cuddles you after everything that's happened, playing with your hair while you lay your head on his chest <3

#blue lock x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock imagines #nagi seishiro x reader #seishiro nagi x reader #nagi x reader #bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #bllk x reader #bllk fluff

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peachdues · 5 months

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Quick announcements relating to Part 3 of In the Netherwood and the overall future of this account.

Hi.

This is not a post announcing I’m coming back or deleting — I still haven’t made that decision. But I am committed to Netherwood’s completion, so here I am. That isn’t to say I haven’t seen all your lovely comments, DMs, and asks — I have, and I so, so appreciate them. I just need some time to work through them as I untangle my own complicated feelings about things right now before I’m in the headspace to respond.

Onto the important stuff: I will be doing a trial run posting with Part 3, once it is ready for publication. This installment is massive, and I’ve had issues in the past with tumblr not letting me post or not letting people reblog. If this happens again, I will delete the original posting and reupload it as two separate parts — Part 3 and Part 4. In that event, the final installment of In the Netherwood will be Part 5.

I ask that if I have to split Part 3 up, that you please, please re-reblog and re-comment on those separate parts — not only so it gets visibility but also because I hate the idea of losing any interactions that I might get on the original post. On tumblr, likes and comments don’t matter as much as reblogs, and splitting it up I know will damage that anyways.

I am not putting a particular date on the table for part 3, but I am optimistic it could possibly be done before the new year. Please don’t come at me in the event it’s not — once again, I can’t control life and how it happens.

Finally, I disabled the anon function on my asks, effective yesterday morning. If you see me reply to any anons in the future, it’s because I received them before I turned anon off. I’m sorry to the majority of you who don’t abuse the anon function, but for my own mental well-being, it needs to be off for now.

Take care.

🍑

#🍑 speaks #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #in the netherwood #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic

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cha5otic · 2 months

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Oh hey, a custom Bionicle/Hero Factory head pack

(cannot seem to find any on the web, or I'm bad at finding things, so)

There is mainly two head types in the pack, Matoran Universe head and Agori/Glatorian head. Had to differentiate them cause apparently they have different eye heights and the latter type is a lot less forgiving in space

The Matoran Universe head is compatible with Mata, Metru, Okoto connections (except Hewkii Mahri's Garai, rip, also prolly Teridax's Kraahkan). The Agori/Glatorian head is compatible with Agori/Glatorian, HF Breakout, HF Brain Attack (screw HF 2.0 and 3.0 heads)

(Edit) Things to note about the models:

-Garai is incompatible due to space needed for the Okoto's mask connections, may be revised soon

-had to cut a bit of the bar from the HF Brain Attack to make the head fit into Agori/Glatorian helmets

-Agori/Glatorian heads are smushed to make sure Brain Attack visor+helmet fits

-the heads are a little bit taller (half an axle/pin taller) for light pipings

-will prolly edit the models soon so the light pipings will work better, especially for the nyan head

-idk why but stud.io seem to make the parts ricochet wildly when inserted

Also bonus torso piece and foot, its articulated (why haven't they thought of this)

Also apparently every rendering software I had broke when I tried exporting the stud.io model for render

File is here, idk what other free anonymous file hosting sites there is, remind me if you want it reuploaded since PixelDrain only hosts it for a few months

#bionicle #bionicle moc #stud.io #stud.io custom parts #custom parts #hero factory #own moc

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allysunny · 9 months

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Interlude: Beach Day | Miguel O'Hara x Fem!Reader

Synopsys: What if Shadows to Stars never happened? What if you and Miguel led the blissful, romantic, domestic life the both of you have always wanted? And what if you all went out for a nice beach day?

In which I had a stroke of inspiration to finally write something happy for this man, as opposed to all of the angst that plagues my mind whenever I think of Miggy!

Words: 4.4k

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff! That's about it, it's happy, it's kind of short, it's sweet and it's not angsty at all, which is a first for me. Spanish translations are at the end! Also, again, as with all of my fics, I tried to make this as inclusive as I could, so other than the fact that reader is a woman, there's no big descriptions. Hopefully I captured that well!

A/N: Hey everyone! I'm back from my vacation! I'm actually on my way to another, ahaha, but I really needed to write this - hell, I missed writing sooo much! Anyways, this is a sort of "what if" to STS. It's not a sequel, it's not a part 2, it's simply a "what if this was a happy oneshot instead of an angst-filled, heart-wrenching, tear-inducing one? What if everyone was happy?" kind of deal. I quite like how it turned out, and I hope you guys will like it too! Hopefully I'll be able to write something else before I leave again.

Also, this is a reupload because yesterday I posted the wrong, unfinished version of the story. I apologize for that, I promise to be more careful in the future!

“Beach day! Beach day! Beach day!” Gabriel chanted happily as you undid his seatbelt and removed him from his chair. Your son was quick to put a (Spiderman themed, thank you very much) hat on top of his head and grin at you, tiny legs eager to touch the floor and feel the sand through his flip-flops.

“Honey, watch out for the cars, c’mere.” You told him, and since he was far too happy to complain, he followed your lead, now safe from the harm of the road and careless drivers.

“Beach day! Let’s go, let’s go, let’s goooo!” He jumped up and down, pointing towards the very visible horizon line.

Miguel could only help but chuckle. It was the first time this year you three were going to the beach, and Gabriel hadn’t stopped once minute ever since you told him to pick out new swimming trunks – he’d picked a very cute red and blue pair, tiny Spiderman masks adorning it. Gabriel was quite the Spiderman fan, which only made Miguel smile further.

While you carried a bag with food, Miguel carried a backpack with some essentials – sunscreen, your book, his newspaper, etc. It would be nice to get some alone time with his family, finally away from the responsibilities of the Spider Society, and the wary eyes of the Nueva York Police Department.

He was also eager to finally see you trying out that cute bikini you had taunted in front of him once or twice. He’d never seen you wearing it, but from the smile he saw you with when you got home that day and told him you had done the purchase of the year, he could tell it was going to be worth it. With his free arm, he slung one of the two beach umbrellas over his shoulder, and handed you the other. Gabriel was carrying a small backpack full of toys, and the sight of you three could only be described as precious. A beautiful family, all wearing the most beautiful smiles, ready for a fun beach day.

You were looking forward to every single bit of it!

“Mama, please, please, pleeeease, can I go in the water now?” Gabriel gave you his most adorable look – the biggest puppy dog eyes the world had ever seen, brown and bright and well, were you not his mother, and used to it, all his tricks would still work on you. As well as your husband’s, of course. But that didn’t mean your sweet boys did not keep on trying.

You sighed, and Miguel chuckled. What were you expecting? Your four-year-old son to sit still, waiting diligently for the moment you would finally tell him it’s okay to race to the water?

Squeezing a good portion of sunscreen into your hand, you smiled.

“Sunscreen first, alright?” You then proceeded to apply it all over his body, which proved to be a very difficult task, since the little boy in front of you kept jumping up and down, babbling on about all of the cool things he’d do once he was in the water, like swimming wish fish and meeting a mermaid, and then talking about the cool castles he’d build once on the sand. You watched him in complete awe and adoration, nudging him softly so you could apply some of the cream on his face.

“Alright, alright, now close your eyes.”

Gabriel did as he was told, giggling uncontrollably.

“I look like a snowman!” He exclaimed before you bopped his nose, smearing sunscreen all over it.

“You’re everything but a snowman my love, a snowman would melt, and you aren’t going anywhere.” You were rewarded with a smile and a big, tight hug from your son.

Miguel, who had been setting up the umbrellas, looked over at you and your excitable son. He could tell you were trying your best not to cave in, but it was just so hard when Gabriel got happy like this.

“Come on chaparrito, vámonos. I’ll take you to the water.” He said, taking off his sunglasses and glancing at you. When you opened your mouth in protest (going on about how he had to put on sunscreen first), he kept speaking. “Relax, I’ll do it when I get back. Are you sure you wanna deny this little guy of his water for much longer?”

When you turned to face Gabriel, you were met with his big shiny eyes and an adorable pout. Placing a kiss on his head, you smiled and gestured towards the water.

“Fine. But be careful, you two! I’ll organise things in here and meet you guys soon, ‘s that okay?”

Gabriel nodded happily and you turned around to organise your things – missing how your husband took off his shirt and placed it on top of his backpack. Miguel placed a kiss on your head and took your son by the hand, taking him to the water.

While this happened, you got to work.

You set the towels down next to each other, unfolded Miguel’s chair, applied some sunscreen on your face and arms, and checked everything inside the food backpack. You also decided to enjoy the few moments of peace Miguel had granted you and do some reading. There was no wind, so there was no sand to fly around and bother you. Today really did seem like the perfect beach day.

Within a few seconds, laughter could be heard coming your way, and a smile formed on your lips – you would always recognise this voice, no matter what.

“Mama! Mama! Mama, the water is fantastic!” You placed your book down and turned around to face Gabriel, whose hair was all stuck to his face, and whose smile seemed to grow as each second went by. “There were waves and Papa helped me jump over them!”

You chuckled and nodded along as Gabriel told you about all the nice things he saw. Like the family with the cute dog, or the girl whose brother picked up and threw in the water as a prank, or the group of friends that were playing volleyball – everything seemed to fascinate your little boy and you loved how enthusiastic he was.

The beach did seem to be very alive, crowded with all kinds of people. Families of all shapes and sizes took their children for a swim, friends cheered and laughed with cold beers, gymnasts showed off their backflip skills or their flexibility, and many, many others. It’s like the beach had a life of its own.

The sun was shining, and the sky was clear – it was the perfect summer day, with nothing but the sound of the waves, some seagulls, and all kinds of laughter filling your ears.

And then, it was as if all of the air got sucked out from your lungs.

The whole world seemed to move in slow motion – or was it just him? – as Miguel came out of the water, his hair dripping and making him look sinfully attractive, his figure tall and strong and broad, all strong cheekbones and veiny hands and wide back and large shoulders that you nipped and held onto while he sank himself inside of you again and again deep at night –

“Mama? Mamaaa? Mama, can you hear me?” Gabriel’s voice pulled you away from your thoughts, and your cheeks went hot when you realised what kind of images you were conjuring in your mind in such a public space. You looked away, slapping yourself mentally, which your husband seemed to notice as he approached you.

Goodness, he looked irresistibly handsome – and much to your dismay, you weren’t the only one who thought that. People around you – mostly indiscreet women who thought their sunglasses would disguise them – were gawking at Miguel, some going as far as to shamelessly open their mouths in awe and giggle.

It made you upset that people were openly staring, but all those thoughts went away once Miguel sat down on the towel closest to you and kissed your cheek.

“You look flustered, cariño. Is everything alright?” He teased, lips brushing softly against your ear, sending a full-body shiver down your spine. Miguel loved how easily he could get reactions out of you, how easily he made you squirm with only his words.

“Yeah, everything’s perfect,” You replied unable to meet his eye. When you looked away, you notice two women walking by, gawking at your husband, and giggling behind their sunglasses. You frown and turn to Miguel, covering him with the shirt he folded earlier.

“What’re you doing?” He asked, confusion on his face.

“Covering you up. You are far too handsome for your own good, everyone’s staring! I gotta lock you up for good so no one else will look at you.” You mumbled, faking a pout. Well, almost faked a pout. Miguel was good-looking. Terribly so. He got stared and gawked at on the street all the time. Women stopped to swoon when they looked at him, men wished they had his physique.

So, it wasn’t a surprise that oftentimes, you felt negative about yourself. What if you simply weren’t a match for his looks? What if he stopped finding you attractive? You had a son and your body had changed – and while you loved the changes motherhood had brought you, and you loved yourself and your body (just like Miguel, who spends every waking moment reminding you of how gorgeous you are, inside and out), you’re only human – and humans are bound to have sad thoughts sometimes.

Miguel laughed heartily, pulling you close to him by the hip. His fingers trailed along your leg as he placed soft kisses on your nose, cheeks, and finally your lips.

“No les hagas caso.” He murmured, lips still against yours, “Mis ojos solo te ven a ti.”

Warmth flooded your heart, and you were just about to reply, when your son interrupted.

“Nooo, Mama, Papa, stop kissing!” Having said this, he wrapped his arms around Miguel’s neck, clinging to his back. Miguel stood up, holding onto Gabriel’s legs so he wouldn’t fall, and pretended to shake him off his back.

“Oh no! I’m being attacked by the Gabriel-Man!” He shrieked, pretending to scream in pain. “The Gabriel-Man is kidnapping me! Mi amor, help me! He’s going to take me away!”

You laughed, heart swelling at the sight of your loving husband and your child playing together. Gabriel was playfully hitting his fists on his dad’s shoulders, attempting to “defeat him”.

“Don’t worry Mama! I’ll save you from the kissing monster!” He said bravely.

“Oh, my brave Gabriel-Man, always so thoughtful!” How could you not play along? You placed the back of your hand on your forehead for a dramatic effect and leaned back as if about to faint. “The kissing monster was going to kiss the life out of me! What would I do without you?”

This earns a gasp from Miguel.

“Qué?” He grumbles, putting Gabriel down and making his way towards you. “How dare you imply such things! I will steal you for myself now!”

“Noooo Mama! Be careful!” Gabriel yelled, pulling your arm, hoping you’d follow him.

But it was too late – within seconds, Miguel had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder despite your protests. You giggled and giggled, playfully punching his back, and begging him not to do what he was about to, but to no avail.

It didn’t take a scientist like Miguel to figure out what he was up to.

“Alright, alright, I take it back!” You tried pleading with your husband as he approached the water, but he seemed hellbent on his mission. “You weren’t going to kiss the life out of me! Gabriel-Man, you’ve gotta help me!”

“Noo! Mama, I’ll save you!” But for all the trying your little boy did, he couldn’t stop Miguel, nor could he help you down. After a while of pointless pushing and pulling, he stepped to the side and watched with a wide grin how the water touched your feet with each wave, and laughed loudly when Miguel dived, taking you down with him.

He let go of you, and upon resurfacing, you giggled and gasped in faux betrayal, throwing your arms around Miguel’s shoulders like Gabriel had done.

“How dare you!” You yelled, trying to push his head under the water but failing miserably. Gabriel looked at the both of you expectantly, and you quickly walked over to your son to include him on the family fun. He couldn’t swim yet, so you settled for picking him up and bringing him near Miguel, where the water was at the level of your hips and could do no real harm to Gabriel.

“It seems the kissing monster has won, wouldn’t you say?” Miguel inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m sorry Mama, but he’s too strong!” Gabriel wailed, holding tightly onto you. It was only when he did that, that you realised Miguel had brought you to the water while you were still wearing your beach dress. You looked at it and then at your husband, chuckling and shaking your head.

“It’s okay my love, don’t you worry. This monster’s not so bad after all. Although he did get my dress all wet!” You replied, eyeing your husband.

He just shrugged, as if a soaked dress was the least of his worries – which it technically was.

“Should’ve taken it off, princesa, not my fault.” Miguel splashed some more water on you, which just made Gabriel get even more overprotective – he wrapped his tiny arms around your neck, covering your face with his, and swearing he wouldn’t “let Papa bother you anymore”.

All you could do was smile.

“Don’t worry, Papa never bothers me.”

After a while of splishing and splashing around, you placed Gabriel on the floor, and with him holding your hand, started walking out of the ocean.

As soon as your feet were the only thing it could touch, you took off your soaked dress, earning a whistle from your husband.

“Mierda…” He mumbled under his breath, somewhat imperceptibly, before running a hand through his hair. You looked ravishing. That bikini did wonders for your figure, hugging your body in the perfect way, accentuating the shape of your breasts and panties gracefully flattering on the natural shape of your hips.

And the colour – holy shock, the colour rested against your skin tone, complementing it perfectly. Miguel had to say – you knew exactly what you were doing when you bought that bikini.

He slowly approached you, a sort of low groan erupting in his chest, and that’s when he looked around and found at least a dozen of people staring at you. Men raising their eyebrows comically, licking their lips, women’s jaws opening and closing, unable to form a single sentence.

In that moment, Miguel knew the very thought that was running through all their minds: “Fuck. What a woman.”

He himself felt his swimming shorts too confining for a few moments – Miguel could swear the fabric was tightening around him, but the public beach was not the time nor place to have such filthy thoughts about you. Not when he had to make sure everyone around you knew exactly just who you belonged to.

While you happily made sure your son wouldn’t go too far in the water, Miguel approached you from behind and encircled your waist with his arms, bringing you closer.

“Te ves deliciosa.” He whispered, lips pressing against your cheek, the shell of your ear, your neck. “¿Todo esto es para mí?” To prove his point, he tugged at the straps of your bikini, which filled you with confidence.

Just a few minutes before you were feeling self-conscious, wondering if your handsome husband would perhaps not find you attractive anymore once he looked around himself and saw what other people had to offer – and here we was, almost salivating at the sight of you.

“Like what you see, Mr. O’Hara?” You whispered back in an almost identically sultry voice.

“Muchíssimo.” Miguel answered, hands coming to rest on your waist as his head did the same on your shoulder. A gentle kiss here, a playful nip there.

“In fact, I think you’re the one who has to cover up and never leave the house again.” His sweet words were whispered against your skin, as if he was trying, with all his might, to embed him into you. How could he make sure you knew just how much he loved you, how beautiful he thought you were? Would you ever truly know the way Miguel looked at you? How he saw you in his eyes, what you really were to him?

You laughed, turning to him, cupping his jaw, your whole entire world, in his hands. You kissed his jaw, his cheek, his usual frown (now a gentle smile), before pressing your back to his chest once again. Miguel knew this to be your favourite position – the two of you, holding each other close, as you looked at your son.

For a while, the two of you watched as Gabriel played near the water, collecting seashells and making tiny pools, jumping over each wave and overall, just rediscovered the beauty of the beach. And you were smitten.

“Thank you,” You say, placing your hand on top of his.

“What for?” Was the reply Miguel gave you.

“For taking the day off. For being with us today.”

You could feel Miguel’s smile as you continued to speak.

“I know that things have been a bit hectic in the Spider-Society, and that you’re a busy man; but it means a lot to me that you’re spending time with us. Gabriel thinks it too. He couldn’t shut up about how ‘Papa was taking him to the beach’.”

It was true. All of it. Miguel was a busy man, but he always did his best to be around you, to be around his family and be the best father he possibly could. Even if he was tired and in the brink of exhaustion, he would always spare some time to read Gabriel a bedtime story and hear about your day.

Because Miguel O’Hara had found peace in life, he could allow himself to simply be Miggy, or Papa, as opposed to being Spiderman all the time. Because Miguel O’Hara had found you, he could rest.

How he managed to land such an amazing wife and child, he has no idea. Miguel thinks he must’ve done some really great thing in his past life, like sacrifice himself to save the entire universe, or find a cure to some rare disease. What else could explain how fortunate he was, to marry the woman of his dreams, the woman who filled his days with laughter and love, the one who was always there, who helped and cheered him on every step of the way? And to have a son with her? For her to have given him the honour of making him a father, Miguel is sure he must’ve discovered life in another planet and saved all humankind.

“I’m just glad we can have a good time. I missed hanging out with you both.” He says, hands delicately trailing your hips. “And I most definitely missed seeing you like this.” A wandering finger tugged at your bikini straps once again, and he was rewarded with the most melodious sound in the whole world, your laughter.

What can he say?

He is a lucky man.

“How’s your sandwich, honey?” You asked, looking up to face your son.

Gabriel had gotten hungry, so you gave him one of the tuna sandwiches you packed, along with a juice box. He was sitting on his towel, hat comfortably on his head (Spiderman themed, obviously), while you were lying down on your stomach, silently watching him.

“It’s good! I like the lettuce! It’s gonna make me big and strong like Spiderman, right Mama?” Gabriel O’Hara, ever the Spiderman fan. You nodded to his words.

“Absolutely, honey. You’ll grow up to be just like him if you keep eating your vegetables.”

There was a big chance of him growing up to look like Spiderman, vegetables or not, but you wouldn’t tell him that. Besides, Gabriel was unaware of his father’s secret identity, and you wanted to keep it that way for a long time.

Gabriel kept munching on his snack, and you sighed contentedly, deciding to close your eyes and listen to the sound of the waves hitting the shore. How relaxing it all felt.

Miguel had gone for a swim, and you were waiting for him to come back so you could also eat your sandwich.

So, you settled for watching your little bundle of joy have his lunch.

Just as you’re about to give your eyes some rest (safely assured that your son is okay since he started educating you on the amazing world of sandcastles), you hear Gabriel giggle, and then quickly become quiet.

And then again.

He giggles, and suddenly stops.

You open your eyes, confused as to why your son seems to be acting so weird.

When you look at him, you see him looking behind you and covering his mouth with his hands. What the hell is going on?

But before you can turn around and find out for yourself, you feel a massive weight on top of you.

And not only that –

It’s wet.

Freezing, even.

And that’s when it hits you.

“Miguel!” You shrieked, as your son laughed and laughed and laughed.

“Ah, so comfortable!” Miguel said, adjusting his body so that he wasn’t squeezing you under him, but still pressed his body against yours. “Mijo, have you seen your mother?” He asked comically, pretending to look around.

“Yeah! She’s right there!” Gabriel said with a wide smile, pointing at you.

You wanted to be upset, truly. You’d been lying under the sun for a while, and while your body was scalding hot, his was positively freezing. But anything that got your son to laugh was fine by you, and there was no denying the whole situation was amusing.

“There? Where?” Miguel looked around and scratched his head, appearing truly confused. “I don’t see her. Mi amor? Where are you?”

So you decided to, well, quite literally, flip the situation. You reached your arms up behind you (a rather difficult feat, thanks to the position you were in), and managed to run your fingers along the sides of Miguel’s torso, making him jump in surprise, and roll on to the sand next to you. Sure, he was tall and bulky and strong and somewhat intimidating to the average person. But you were his wife, and you knew Miguel O’Hara to be ticklish in a few spots.

You decide to take advantage of that power, seizing the moment. Miguel is on his back, so you’re quick to tickle him. Soon enough, Gabriel is next to you, the rest of his sandwich carefully folded on top of his towel, and the both of you are tickling the living hell out of your husband.

“Cariño – ah! Ah, mi Cielo, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He pleaded in between breaths, laughing loudly at the sudden attack. He could push you two away at any moment, but for now, he wanted to play into it. “I won’t do it again, ah – promise!”

Gabriel seemed to beam at his words.

“Then say Gabriel-Man is the strongest! Say I win!” He gleefully remarked.

“Vale, vale, Gabriel-Man is the strongest! I have been defeated! You win, Gabriel-Man!” Miguel fakes a defeated sigh and drops his hand on the sand with his eyes closed.

“Mama! Mama, we win! See? We won; I saved you!” Gabriel practically jumped on top of you, hugging you tightly. You hugged him back just as tight, smothering him with kisses. No place in his face was untouched by your lips – you covered him in affection and were rewarded with the joyful sounds of your son’s laughter.

“Yes, my love, you did save me! Thank you so much!” You smiled and looked at him with all of the adoration in the entire world.

Meanwhile, Miguel had been watching this interaction with heart eyes, completely smitten by the sight before him. How could he possibly want anything other than the two people in front of him? His loving wife and the amazing son you blessed him with. Miguel feels a rush of affection run in his veins and takes a mental picture of the display before him.

He slowly sits up and smiles at Gabriel, who drops the superhero antics and jumps into his father’s arms.

“I saved you too Papa! I did!” Miguel smiles and holds Gabriel close to him with one arm, using his free one to pull you onto his lap.

“You sure did, mijo.” He looks at you, stars in his eyes, hoping to convey just a fraction of the devotion he feels towards you and Gabriel.

He meets your beautiful eyes and – Fuck. You’re gorgeous. You’re so gorgeous, and you’re his, and he’s so, so lucky to have you.

You wrap your arms around the both of them – your husband and your son, the two lights that shine as one, the lights that serve as guidance in everything you do.

“Enjoying beach day so far?” You question him as you place your lips dangerously close to his.

“Mhm.” Your husband smiles, and you swear you could get lost in this beautiful smile at him. The smile he flashes you when he’s completely there, with you, with no burdens and responsibilities, the one he gives you when he is utterly happy, the one you love waking up to. “In fact, I think we should do this more often.”

You giggle – a the most beautiful sound, in Miguel’s humble opinion – and finally kiss him, hand cupping his jaw. You taste of salt and home, and Miguel wishes he could freeze not only this day, but this particular moment in time. He kisses you softly, savouring the unspoken promises between the two of you, the ones that promise you are not going anywhere. When you pull away for air, he rests his forehead against yours.

Gabriel quickly joined you both, attempting to do the same thing and resting his forehead against his parents’.

A smile graced your lips. You wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.

“Yeah,” You say, “We should.”

A/N: I love this man omg. I just know he'd be super playful when it's just him and his family, he'd come out of the water all wet and be like "Who wants a hug?" to his s/o, even though they're absolutely dry. My delusions are getting the best of me, I swear.

Spanish Translations

No les hagas caso - Don't mind them Mis ojos solo te ven a ti - I only have eyes for you Mi amor - My love Qué? - What? Princesa - Princess Mierda - Shit Te ves deliciosa - You look delicious ¿Todo esto es para mí? - All this for me? Muchíssimo - Very much Mijo - My son (It's short for "mi hijo", sort of a sweet nickname used by parents) Cariño - My dear (Another endearement term used for a significant other) Mi Cielo - My sky Vale, vale - Fine, fine

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tiger-willow · 6 months

Text

If SunnySideup had a voice [Part 1] [QSMP voice acting]

Voice acted by me :D

Inspired by: Fehdubs (Richas voice)

Hey y’all! Feel free to share or reupload this to another platform (Reddit Twitter YouTube ex.)

but please credit me and don’t claim it as your own thank you.

I would also love to see animations/animatics of this! I love seeing what peoples talent can do!! :D

PART ONE FINALLY DONE OMFG!!! Part two will be out when I have the time so feel free to send new Sunny signs so I can voice them :)

Have a wonderful day/night Qsmp community ❤️❤️❤️ :)

#qsmp #qsmp sunny #qsmp if Sunny had a voice #qsmpblr #qsmp community #Tiger_Willow posts

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hyperfixiation-station · 3 months

Text

Choice, Choices, Choices Pt. 2

TW: Swearing, canon typical violence

Pairing: Reader x Graves Summary: Well your week off wasn't very productive, hopefully a really stressful, fate-of-the-world-is-in-your-hands mission will help clear your brain. As usual, I didn't beta read, so lmk if there are an errors :) Also sorry for the reupload, I accidentally deleted it whilst trying to edit something lmaooo.

When Price said a lot, he meant a lot.

In the time you had been gone, a new terrorist threat had popped up, a man named Hassan who somehow had gotten ahold of American missiles. You didn’t even have time to unpack before Price was shipping you off to Mexico to help Soap and Ghost infiltrate a cartel to find the location of said missing missiles. It seems the talk with Graves will have to wait.

You get no rest on the flight to Mexico. Instead you spend the entire time focusing on your and Grave’s relationship. Maybe it’s the threat of imminent annihilation, or maybe it’s the fact that you are going to be seeing him soon, but whatever it is, you were thinking more clearly than you have all week.

Graves was a man of authority, and you had recognized it from the moment you had met him. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, and made sure everyone knew he was the top dog. In your relationship he always had the last say, always chose the restaurant, always chose the movie. And for the most part, you didn’t mind, enjoying the feeling of not having to be in control for once when all you did all day long was make choices that could mean life or death.

He had this belief that he could do no wrong, and was smug and uptight and sometimes even cruel about it.

And yet there was something…alluring about him. Some magnetic charm that drew you in every time you wanted to take a step back. He didn’t even have to try, hell, he had stopped putting effort into the relationship years ago, and yet you still found him almost irresistible.

You weren’t stupid, you knew what there were issues in the way your relationship worked, but you loved him, and he…loved you too. It wasn’t until Ghost stepped fully into the picture that you realized that may-

“Y/N!” You flinch, your eyes coming up to meet your pilots as his voice snaps you out of your musings.

“You okay in there? I’ve been yelling at you for at least a minute.” He says over the headset, “Anyways we’re about to land, so get ready.” You nod, shouldering your pack and making sure your vest is strapped correctly.

5 minutes later, the helo begins its choppy descent. The second it touches down you are ushered off, ducking under the blades in an odd crab run as you make your way to where Soap, Ghost, and 2 strangers stand to the side. The pilot takes off before you've even cleared the LZ.

“Good ta’ see yer no’ dead lassie.” Soap grin, clasping your shoulder, “Ah trust Price has briefed ye?”

“Aye.” You nod, “Though he didn’t mention these two. Who are they?”

“These are th’ Los Vaqueros.” Soap says giddy, “Means th’ cowboys”

“My name is Alejandro.” The taller one on the left tells you.

“Mine’s Rodolfo, tho y’ can call me Rudy.” The one on the right says moments later.

“Nice to meet you.” You incline your head, avoiding Ghost’s searching gaze, “I take it you’re the ones leading us through this, uh…whatever we’re about to do?”

“Aye.” Alejandro turns and begins walking, everyone else falling in line behind him, “Soap here is infiltrating Las Almas, we are looking for El Sin Nombre. We believe he knows the location of the missiles Hassan has stolen.”

You climb into the back of a truck, consciously avoiding sitting next to Ghost. The drive is tense, the silence only occasionally broken by questions from Alejandro and Soap. The truck comes to a stop, and you all pile out, getting Soap outfitted for his ‘Day in the life of a cartel member’ extravaganza.

“Y/n!” You spin around, seeing Graves walking towards you, “How was your week off?”

“It was good. Did a lot of…thinking.”

“Wonderful.” He says, his eyes already looking past you. He presses a quick kiss to your cheek and moves past, going to speak with his Shadows. You sigh internally, moving over to Soap and Ghost.

“How wis yer week off?” Soap asks as a Shadow helps fit his comms. He’s grinning, his blue eyes almost glowing in the dark, but you can see the faint lines of fear in his expression.

“It was since. Did a lot of thinking, I guess.” Ghost shifts, a subtle movement you notice out of the corner of your eye. Your face flushes, and you’re grateful it’s dark out so he can’t see.

“Let's roll!” Alejandro calls. Soap nods, and you follow him and Ghost back to the truck. This drive is tense for a whole other reason, everyone thinking about all the ways this could go wrong.

You get to the compound, and take your spot on a ridge with Ghost. No words are exchanged, but you know him well enough by now to tell he is worried about you. If Soap’s life, and the lives of millions of Americans, weren’t at risk, you would be grateful for this mission delaying the inevitable conversation you have to have.

You both get into position, sniper rifles trained on the building. You wince as Soap is manhandled, a deep pit of fear in your stomach once he disappears from your view.

Now all that's left is to sit and wait.

He emerges victorious, much to yours and Ghost’s relief. He brings with him El Sin Nombre, who apparently is actually a woman, and an old friend of Alejandros. You could see yourself liking her, if she hadn’t sold missiles to terrorists.

She is feisty, smart, and cunning. She keeps her mouth shut, refusing to volunteer the location of the 2nd missile, instead goading Alejandro into a frenzy. You watch, eyes narrowed in distaste, as Graves tries to make a deal with her. Not for the first time, you judge his ability to make decisions.

But she does give you all the missile location. In what feels like a matter of moments, you find yourself on a boat, heading through stormy waves towards an oil rig off the Gulf of Mexico. Grave’s Shadows launch an attack, only for Ghost to find that the missile not only has entered pre-launch phase, but wasn’t even on the oil rig to begin with. Instead, you find it on the deck of a ship, primed and ready to fire. You, Graves, Soap, and Ghost file onto the cargo ship, where you find that there is no way to disarm the missile.

Your heart sinks, until Shepard has the great idea to turn the missile on the oil rig. Alejadro and the Shadow Company clear out, and Soap hacks in and resets the missile's trajectory. The burning ball of flame is a beautiful sight to see, in your opinion.

“Gold Eagle Actual, Shadow-1. Good hit. Good hit. Missile and rig destroyed.” Graves crows, a grin lighting up his face. He grasps Soaps shoulder, and you watch him mouth a quiet Good work, his voice too quiet to hear over the noise of the shadows and everyone celebrating.

Without thinking, you press a kiss to Ghost’s masked cheek, the euphoria of victory clouding your senses. Soap steps in to give Ghost a moment to recover, and gives you a side hug, slapping you on the back a little too hard for your liking. You don’t notice Graves eyes on you, narrowing with your every action.

The ride back is still tense, the tension between you and Ghost so thick you can almost taste it. Luckily Soap either can’t sense it, or just is just ignoring it, the Scotsman happily chattering away as the sinking feeling in your heart grows and grows.

The crisis is over, and once you get back you won’t be able to put off your conversation with Graves any longer.

It’s still raining when you get back to the Los Vaquero’s base. The truck comes to a stop outside the gates, and you slide out of the truck after Ghost, confused and a bit wary.

“What’s this?” You hear Alejadro’s voice from the other side of the truck.

“This is the immediate future.” You stop short, Grave’s voice making your blood run cold, “Step away from the gate.” No. There is no way.

“You’re outta line Graves.” You blink, hard, realizing you had zoned out for a moment. You force your feet to move again, rounding the truck, stiffening as a barrel is pressed into your spine.

“Hey!” Grave’s voice echoes in your ears, “Let her go. She’s with us.” You inhale sharply, looking up at him in shock. Soap looks at you in betrayal, taking half a step towards you before the Shadows are on him as well.

“Don't do that. Don't... do that. No one needs to get hurt here.” Graves says, eyes narrowed.

“Are you threatening us?” You can hear the betrayal in his voice as well, though he does his best to hide it. You want to look at him, try and communicate that you have no part in this, but your mind is still reeling, and you’re unable to draw your wide eyes away from Grave’s face.

“Soldier, I don't make threats. I make guarantees. So, let's not do this.” The animosity in Graves' voice surprises you.

“I’m calling Shepard.” Soap turns, hand reaching for his radio.

“General Shepard sends his regards.” Graves' grin is predatory, and you have no doubt he’s enjoying this, “He told me you wouldn’t take this well.”

“He knows about this?” Ghost’s eyes are dark, his body tense and ready to spring.

“He's put me in command of this operation from here on out. So, y'all need to stand down. It's time to let the pros finish this.” You watch Graves still, eyes trained on his face, your brain numb with shock. Shock and…disgust.

“And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of a negotiation?” Graves continues, “It's not. I've got my orders and now you have yours.”

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabron? My men are inside!”

“I'm afraid not.” Graves pauses, meeting your eyes with a disgusting grin, “Your men have been... detained.”

“Cabron!” For the first time, you manage to tear your eyes away from Graves, your gaze falling on Alejandro as he launches himself towards your boyfriend only to be beaten down and restrained by his Shadows.

“Graves, what th’ fuck?” Your eyes dart to Soap as he lunges at the Shadow next to him, holding him hostage. You let out a small cry as Graves and his men open fire. You duck behind the truck, watching as Ghost elbows the Shadow behind him before stabbing another one in the neck, quickly ripping the blade back out and hurling it at another Shadow before disappearing into the dark.

“Get your fucking hands off me!” Your hands fly up to cover your mouth as you watch Graves slam the butt of his gun into Alejandro’s head, dropping him. You stare at Graves in shock, unable to move as your mind tries to process what's happening.

Soap yells in pain, snapping you from your reverie as you spin to look at him. He’s on the ground, the Shadow he had taken laying dead on top of him.

“Go, Johnny! Get out of there!” Ghost yells from somewhere behind you “Soap, Go!” You watch as Soap heaves himself up and throws himself over the barrier, disappearing from your view. You slide down the truck, sinking to the ground as your legs give out, your entire body shaking.

Graves' actions start to sink in, and gods does his betrayal hurt. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before, worse than the time you broke your arm, worse than the time you got shot in the thigh, worse than any wound you had ever received. It’s like a physical pain, your heart feeling as though it’s been ripped from your chest. Tears well in your eyes, your fingers digging into your palms in an effort to stop your tears.

You don’t know how long you sit in the rain, but it’s enough time for you to be completely soaked head to toe. You are surrounded by blood and bodies, and your mind reels as you survey the scene. Alejandro is gone, you’re not sure when he was taken away. Soaps rifle is still laying in the street, a very damming pool of blood underneath and around it. With the amount of blood he lost, you're surprised he's not dead. Oh gods he better not be dead.

“Y/n?” Graves' voice breaks the fog in your brain, “Darling? Are you alright? I know this was...a bit of a surprise…but I’m sure you understand.”

“Graves…”

To be continued.

Notes: Sorry for how long this took!!! But it's here now! Hopefully Pt. 3 won't take me another thousand years. Anyways I hope you enjoy, and sorry if this is not the direction you wanted it to go :/ Tags: @redhoodxsupergirl @infpt-zylith @scarletdfox

#cod fanfic #simon ghost riley #angst #cod x reader #ghost fanfiction #ghost x reader #no beta we die like men #cod #john soap mactavish #graves x reader #phillip graves #alejandro vargas #haha I finally updated #sorry for how long it took #call of duty x reader #cod modern warfare

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okiedokrie · 1 month

Text

High Infidelity (TEASER)

Characters/Pairing(s): Xu Minghao (The8) x F!Reader

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

AUs/Trope info: Non-idol!AU, Aged-Up!AU, Right Person (not) Too Late

Word Count: 882 for this teaser (estimated 8-10k final fic)

Warnings: Infidelity, very inappropriate conversations with a married woman, tipsy sex (not drunk), minghao smokes, smut warnings in actual fic

Rating: 18+

A/N: banner and dividers by @daesukiii!! tysm!! This is also a rewrite/reupload of my own fic, "High Infidelity" on @pyeonghongrie, yes I reskinned my own fic.

FULL FIC HERE

The rain soaked into your skin, cold and icy piercing you painfully. All your personal belongings were strewn all around you, your soon ex-husband angrily slamming the door shut, but you can't feel but be relieved.

After all, you were finally free.

"Y/N, you still haven't dealt with the dishes yet." Your husband, Haru, said monotonously just as you were starting to gain momentum in your writing.

You groan, the interruption making you lose focus and motivation to write. You stare at the last word on your document, gaze burning into each pixel as if hoping that this piece would write itself.

Unfortunately, life said, "Fuck you."

With another groan, you rub and pinch the bridge of your nose, a headache starting to settle in as your husband returns to work as if he didn't just cause you a serious inconvenience.

Standing from your comfortable computer chair, you take calm and even strides toward your kitchen, where only a handful of dishes are left in the sink.

And this little shit didn't even bother washing like, what? 8 dishes? he has to be kidding me, men.

You thought to yourself, your inner monologue only making yourself more irritated. But you wash them in silence, thinking of ways to calm down and clear your head so you have a clean slate to work with to get inspired again.

I think I should visit the gallery again, there's this new artist that I've been following. He's getting pretty popular, maybe I could draw inspiration from his work?

You think maybe this is the best idea you've had since you put bacon bits on mac & cheese.

Taking the time to visit this gorgeous gallery was the correct move.

One thing about Minghao's work is that his subjects are also subjects of passion.

Paintings of a man's devotion to worshiping his lover's skin, a stained glass recreation of The Birth of Venus by Botticelli, and his latest masterpiece, simply titled "Passion", a sculpture of a woman in the throws of pleasure, with her lover holding her close to him, no gap between their skin, eternally locked in a passionate embrace.

As a romance writer, this is exactly what you need.

You stare in awe at this piece for a little over 20 minutes, the more you look at it, the more entranced you become of the mastery of this craft.

"I'm Minghao, by the way, Xu Minghao. If you haven't already figured it out." He takes a hand out of his pocket, extending it towards you.

"Oh, I'm Y/N, Park Y/N. It's a pleasure to meet you, Minghao. Your exhibit is astounding, I love your dedication to your work." You take his hand to shake it,

He chuckles at the compliment, "Oh please, save your praise, I know that name from anywhere. I love your latest work, that book was what inspired this entire collection, to begin with."

You gawk at him, oh my god, he reads smut. My smut.

He smiles, perfect teeth on display, you swear you never looked at a man like this in your life. You were down bad for his smile.

You ponder on this for a bit. Going out to drinks with a budding friend wouldn't hurt, right?

"Could I give you my number? Let's set aside a day to chat. I have to get home to my husband before it gets too late."

A smirk came into his face, something dark about a seemingly insignificant change in his expression, “Of course, I look forward to our time together.”

Taglist: None yet! Send an ask, reply, or reblog to be added!

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ghostream · 1 year

Note

Would you do some MHA HC for Bakugo being jealous when his crush trains with their classmates?

Jealous Bakugou and his Crush Training with Other Classmates

A/N: Of course I can! Enjoy reading this!

Warning(s): none!

Character(s): Bakugou Katsuki

At first he doesn’t know it’s jealousy

He just knows that he gets super irritated (more than normal) whenever he sees you training with someone else

Why would you want to train with some extras when you could train with him instead!

He especially hates when you train with Deku or Half n Half

Eventually he is able to identify his feelings

That he has a crush on you (for some reason)

And that seeing you train with other classmates and having fun with them is definitely making him jealous

So he decided to take action...

In a typical Bakugou manner

Since he has been paying attention to your training schedule lately

(not that he cares or anything)

He decided to start go to the training area at the same time as you usually do

He spots you entering the gym, a couple minutes after he enters

And before you can even send a text to someone to ask them to join you

Bakugou has already approached you

He stares at you for a while

Not knowing what to do since he didn’t think that far ahead, he just moved without thinking

You, on the other hand, decided to take advantage of the fact he was there

And asked him if he wanted to train with you

His first instinct was to refuse (in his typical tsundere manner)

But then he reconsidered, this is exactly what he wanted, for you to train with him, instead of any of the extras

So his master plan worked (although it was mostly accidental)

He would go to the gym at the same time as you, and approach you before anyone else, and then you two would train together

It became a routine for you

Bakugou was satisfied initially with this arrangement, but he wants more

Which is why he decides to ask you out, post-workout/training

Literally just as you were parting ways, he blurts out a gruff “Can I be your boyfriend”

Did you expect anything else

You accept his proposal, since you also had a crush on him

Now you guys are an official couple

Bakugou still gets a bit jealous whenever you train with other classmates, but he is now reassured since you are dating him now

likes and reblogs are appreciated, thanks for reading!!

do not plagiarize, reupload, translate, and use my work for audio readings without my permission!!!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou headcanons #katsuki x reader #katsuki headcanons #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki headcanons #bnha x reader #bnha headcanons #mha x reader #mha headcanons #jealous bakugou #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou #katsuki #ghost’s writing 𔓎

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hungry-eel · 4 months

Text

The Gluttony showcased in Octavinelle (reupload)

Before I begin with the main content, if you see this and notice that it may possibly seem familiar, that’s because it is. I originally uploaded this onto an old and abandoned secondary account, where around the time I was still in a bit of denial of my stuffing interests. I decided to polish and RE uploaded this analysis onto here because one, it honestly suits this account more, and two, I want this to reach its intended target audience that this blog revolves around, I hope you enjoy this analysis, and with that, let’s get back to the regular scheduled program. —

Hello! I hope you are all doing well! In the past, I have mentioned that Octavinelle is the embodiment of gluttony, and that I would elaborate on that statement more. Well, this is the post where I elaborate on the statement.

Please be aware that although I am going to try and show some cannon proof, at least for this first part, this is still overall just something silly that I enjoy talking about, and having dumb fun with. This is something that doesn't have to be taken entirely seriously, nor is this a statement that I am trying to prove as absolutely true. It just happened to be that I found some cannon connections from my observations.

Be prepared for spoilers from here on!!!

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Azul ~

As of right now, the Azul we have currently doesn't seem to be all that much of a glutton (when it comes to food). However, something else that is also a highly crucial part of Azul’s character was how he was an ex-glutton. Azul goes out of his way to avoid going back to his old roots and maintaining a slim figure, often trying to eat a restrictive and balanced diet. Although Azul has the desire to maintain his health and slim figure, he still does not enjoy the process, and especially preferring fried foods over health foods. He still doesn’t like when others pressure him to eat a lot, even if it’s with his favorite foods, but will still seize any opportunities that he can to enjoy his favorite foods, weather it’s birthdays or other private occasions. Azul is also very well equipped in knowing how to run restaurants as his grandma ran a restaurant, and runs a restaurant himself currently, that being the Mostro Lounge.

Azul’s incessant want to create new contracts as well as the consistent desire for power and control, can also be interpreted as a form of overindulgence on Azul’s end; no matter how much power he has over those he is controlling, it is never enough for him and he always wants more of that power.

In Azuls Birthday Boy card, his groovy art has Jade handing him a plate of chicken and also has a couple of home screen lines asking what we were implying when we were giving him food.

Floyd ~

Floyd has his own personal knack for food, as he enjoys snacking, and indulging in various amounts of his favorite foods such as takoyaki and candy. Even the shelves in his room is lined by snack bags that he uses to have midnight snacks. Floyd has also mentioned in his birthday boy vignette, that he likes to play food games with Jade where they try the most outlandish food combinations possible. Whenever Azul comes back during any of these games, they would try and eat all of the evidence. There was also a brief moment in Treys lab coat vignette where according to Jade, he had to look for more strawberries as a result from Floyd gorging on their current strawberry supply.

Jade ~

Now with Jade, he is an entirely different beast in it of itself! I have always been fascinated with Jade in the sense that when you first see him, he would be the last person you would expect would have a large appetite, especially as he always appears to be very poise and classy, but the more you look into his character, the more clear his tendencies become and its so hard to not see. Because of such there is much more to talk about with Jade than with the other two characters.

Here is a list of canonical things that Jade has done already.

Jade loves to heavily indulge in his hobbies and passions especially when it comes to mountaineering, terrariums, cooking, and his fascination with mushrooms. When it comes to mushrooms in particular, he both enjoys eating mushrooms himself, and finds pleasure in watching others indulge in mushrooms as well (showcased in Jade’s Labcoat Vignette).

In Book five, Jade mentions to Grim that primarily goes to the mountains to search for food. More specifically to try and harvest edible plants and organisms. During which Grim asks, "So basically, you just go to the mountains and scavenge for grub?" and Jade responding with, "Heh heh. I certainly wash and cook what I find, but generally speaking, yes."

There are two notable Home Screen lines where Jade mentions about his eating. One with his PE uniform where he mentions how he has to eat before working out as he lacks energy efficiency. The other one is with his Birthday Boy where one of his lines states, “Are you surprised by how much I eat? Heh heh, I get that a lot. It's why I'm so tall.”

It is hinted and shown throughout various Home Screen lines and vignettes that Jade likes to try many various types of unique foods, either out of interest and/or to create new recipes for the Mostro Lounge.

Legitimately almost all of the harveston event! Just in his event vignette alone he ate over five servings with Sebek and even afterwards wanted to grab desert. Even Sebek, who is also a pretty hearty eater, even admits that Jade has eaten more than him. Jades and Sebeks escapades are just as prominent in the main even itself where Jade is tasked by Azul to try as many unique dishes as possible so they can be added to the mostro lounge menu. Jade proceeds to try out different kinds of foods at the vendors, and in the celebration the night before the game, Jade and Sebek were tearing through the buffet.

In addition, here is some other moments that revolves around Octavinelle in general.

At the very end of the Beans day event, Jade and Floyd have an exchange on how they were craving shawarmas.

Jade and Floyd generally point out how little Azul eats and occasionally tease him about it as well. In the Halloween event when Azul comments on how watching Ruggie eat gives him heartburn, Jade replies by saying, "I believe you could put him to shame if you felt so inclined."

In Jade’s Halloween Vignette, Ruggie mentions on how Jade and Floyd are well built for Apple bobbing as they are tall with pointy teeth.

Both of the tweels have mentioned at least once that they eat a lot because they are so tall or that they are growing boys.

=============================

A question that I have heard often is why say Octavinelle in particular? Besides, there are other characters that also showcase gluttonous tendencies, some may even more so than most of the octatrio.

I say Octavinelle in particular as it is the only dorm where all of the students exhibit the traits in one way or another, as well as serving the aesthetics of the dorm, with its lounge being a restaurant. Octavinelle is also the only dorm where this topic had at least a bit of a curtail point in its Book, that being with Azul’s backstory and how he used to be chubby and an ex-glutton.

=============================

Headcanons!

Here is a small list of some of the headcanons that I have that circle around the topic. I might add more headcanons to the blog as I go, and if anyone else has any headcanons of their own, feel free to share them with me.

Jade is the complete opposite of Azul regarding food and dieting. While Azul tries his best to eat healthily, with moderate portions, Jade eats the most unhealthy foods out of the trio and eats the most out of them as well. Jade also likes to taunt Azul with that fact as well.

Floyd is the kind of character who would most likely eat anything even if it seems inedible.

Jade and Ruggie like to often join together just to try out many different kinds of foods together, similar to what happened in Ruggie's School uniform vignette, and Jade's harveston vignette. There would also be times were I would joke that Jade, Ruggie, and Sebek would band together just to have food.

I like to imagine that the Coral Sea is like a dog-eat-dog world, and along with this, the tweels have to rely on hunting other live fish for their own survival. When coming onto land, the tweels had to learn that they shouldn't hunt for animals publicly.

Whenever there are instances where Azul has to leave the Mostro lounge for an extensive amount of time, Jade and Floyd would keep trying to take advantage of that time to play their game where they eat weird food combinations (mentioned in Floyd's birthday vignette).

=============================

Thank you so very much for reading my essay rambling on a topic that, to be frank, is overall goofy and silly. If there was anything that I missed or forgot to mention feel free to let me know. Otherwise, I certainly had a lot of fun making this, and I hope you found some entertainment or even some insight from this as well!

#foodie #hungry boi #hungry boy #glutton #big eater #twisted wonderland #jade leech #stu//ing #twst jade #twisted wonderland jade #floyd leech #azul ashengrotto #analysis

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nexusnyx · 1 year

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i'll tell you my sins | b.b.

part one

The sound of a storm, pouring heavily outside with wind howling, knocking against the windows, and being as loud as the skies allow, it was now tainted. Painted. It would never be the same for you.

Not when it was the soundtrack to Bucky standing right behind you, his whole body's front glued to your back, one arm wrapped around your shoulder as his hand held your face in his hand, and the other arm wrapping around your middle, his other hand busy making a mess of every cell in your body. Touching you. Buried inside your panties, his fingers circling your clit or dipping inside of you.

His breath on your ear and the stubble rubbed on your neck and cheeks turned you delirious. A whole month of doing nothing more than a few kisses and in one night, he does this.

In your ear, Bucky groans. "So good like this. I missed hearin' the little noises you make," his mouth kisses the part that it can reach of your face, and you want to tell him to speed up, but then remember what brought you to be bent over his kitchen counter with Bucky turning your reality to something mellow, and red, and sinful:

"I just wanna see you feel good for a little. I wanna touch you. Can I? Can I take my time just... touching you?"

That's when you learned Father James would be the death of you.

It all started because you decided to help him clean after the Church's latest event instead of going home.

Bucky accepted your help, and you two managed to update one another on your week as you helped him around the Church. Outside, the sky did its watercolor dance throughout the last hours of the daylight, and you two smiled and flirted while moving boxes, cleaning the kitchen, and discussing yourself as well as others.

After what happened at the confessional, Bucky had done what he said he would:

Took you on dates. Picked you up, asked you more questions now that were not only about the world and the wonders, and 'did things the right way'. For the past month, you got to know more of him than you did in a whole year.

It was fun. Exciting, emotional, and nerve-wracking.

Bucky's eyes on you made you feel things you thought could only be felt in books or movies—the way he looked at you sometimes did that.

The things he said.

"It's kinda hard for me to let... people in. Most of the time. But not with you."

"I like it when you tell me these things that go through your mind. No, really—don't look at me like that. I do. I meant it when I said I liked you, and you are who you are with all those things. Knowing what goes on inside that pretty head makes me... happy. ... Even if you can be a cute lil' weirdo sometimes."

All those things—the dates, phone calls, the kissing.

Bucky deserved for you to try and do the impossible too and allow yourself to try.

That's what you're thinking about when the noise amplifies out of nowhere outside the heavy wooden doors.

Not expecting a flood pouring from the sky, both of you are caught off guard:

Bucky only takes public transportation, you came with a ride: the only solution is to go for it; you two run until the bus stop and, soaked to your bones, opt for you two to get down at his place which is closer than yours.

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder right there, in the middle of the bus where anyone could see, and got as close to you as possible.

"Your mouth's so pale," he told you. It made your gaze drop to his lips, too, and you understood what he meant.

You nodded. "Yup." Yours too.

Bucky chuckles then kisses your temple. "My bad. You stayed to help me."

Even with the chill in the air freezing your fingertips, your chest warms up for a second. "It's ok, Buck. I stayed 'cause I wanted to."

"Thanks, dove."

Fuck. He used the nickname so rarely now that you shuddered when it came, and you were thankful you could blame it on the cold. If Bucky noticed the electricity running higher in you for a second, he kept quiet about it.

You should have seen it then on the bus.

The way the world diminished until only the two of you existed.

You'd been there before and yet, you missed it.

Too lost in how cozy Bucky's words and gesture of holding you made you feel, you missed all the cues, and when you realized that both of you had set up and walked into the Universe's trap again, it was too late.

Bucky welcomed you into his house with you two shaking so violently that all you wanted was some whiskey, to be quite honest.

"Stay put," he told you the minute you two walked in.

Then, he started removing as many clothes as possible right at the door.

Right, you remembered. My little neat freak.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you ignored it. Bucky took off his black pants, sweater, t-shirt, and socks, leaving nothing but his underwear on, and put down his shoulderbag there with all the wet clothes, then padded softly upstairs.

That's my cue, I guess.

You did the same as him after waiting a few minutes, giving him time to switch to warm and dry clothes and pick out some for you.

After you two were changed and the wet clothes were in the dryer, Bucky looked at you standing there in front of the door still.

He frowned.

Then you realized you never really came inside his house.

You two always hanged outside, or in the year.

When Bucky extended his hand, you walked in trying not to be too obvious about how giddy it made you feel.

"I'll heat up some of yesterday's leftover. Is that okay?" He asked.

"Sure." You felt like a caterpillar trapped in the blanket cocoon. Sitting on the chair, you looked around as he rummaged through his kitchen. "I didn't expect this many... stars," you commented.

His house was filled with space things.

Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled at you. "You're never getting inside my room," he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. The teasing was obvious in his face. "Duly noted, Father.

"D'you want anything else?" He asked.

There was nothing religious-themed in his house, and you felt weirdly relieved as you looked around. "Uh—do you have whiskey?" If there were Jesuses staring down at you from everywhere, you'd reluctantly pick to hang outside every time you came over.

Bucky closed the fridge with his foot, and you learned another neat trick of his crazy moby mobility.

He sometimes did stuff without even looking at them, like he had perfect air.

"You're for real?" He asked, making you look away from the constellation painting he has hanging up on the wall behind you.

"Yeah," you nodded. You gave him a cheeky smile. "Gotta warm my insides."

He gestured dramatically to the leftovers he was putting inside the pan. "What's this?"

"Sustenance," you answered. The smile widened. "I need hot."

In a rare display of cockiness, Bucky gestured at his own body.

Your cheeks flamed, and he laughed at you.

"No fair," you mumbled. It's not like you're giving it to me, a bratty voice said in your brain.

"I'll give you a shot, you pouty thing," Bucky said when he was done laughing. "Gimme a moment."

When you weren't thinking about all the cool things you did know and were learning about him, your mind diverged to his past which he disliked so much and hid in his mind attic.

Where was he from?

Bucky's accent was definitely not from here.

He had an easiness to his step that said big town, too—his cheekiness told you that Bucky's years had been well lived.

Even his leftovers tasted amazing.

What kind of man knew how to take care of themselves so well? Not many, that's who.

"D'you like it?" He asked.

You two sat on the couch finishing your food, and after the two shots of whiskey you both shared, the deluge outside was just great soundtrack.

Bucky's legs tangled in yours underneath the blankets moved a little and his foot poked your thigh. "Answer me," he said, smiling on the corner of his mouth.

As if you hadn't told him already you liked it.

Bucky loved the praise.

"Shut up," you whined, laughing with a mouth full of food. "I'm eating."

He nudged your thigh again, moving your plate. "Your cheeks are red."

"That was really good whiskey."

He did the foot thing again and you yelped when he moved your plate a little too much. "Tell me it's good—"

"Father James if you put that foot against my leg one more time I will bite it." He burst out laughing. "You're gonna make me drop my plate. That's blasphemy."

He laughed harder. "You're impossible."

"And you're a good cook, now shush and let me eat," you said.

He nodded, pleased, and put his empty plate on the center table.

Bucky watched you eat — like a weirdo! your brat teased — and made a few comments every now and then that you agreed with a hum or disagreed with a nose scrunch, and when the food was over, he pulled you to his lap, adjusting your legs on either side of them.

It was the most compromising position you two had been in weeks.

And then he used it to kiss your nose, and ask you, "'You warm, dove?" in a low whisper.

God.

"Yes, I am."

"Good," Bucky leaned his head up, angling for a kiss. "Gimme a kiss and I'll make you hot chocolate."

You felt even warmer if that was possible, but in more than just one place.

His face was so gorgeous.

Flashes of that closed booth and that pretty face between your legs made you shiver.

You hid in a kiss that you tried your best to keep innocent.

Four weeks ago, Bucky had told you, "I wanna take it... slow. So we can... think better, getting into this. Is that ok?" and yes, it was.

But at the same time—hmnm.

He tasted so fine.

When he pulled back from the kiss and smiled, you whined.

"Ah—don't," he warned. "I'm making you hot chocolate even though you're bad and told me my place is decorated like a ten-year-old with a Nasa obsession. No whining."

You snorted, trying to not laugh.

"You're so bad," he said, unable to hide his own smile.

That's how you two ended up in the kitchen for the second time.

You followed him there, too cozy in his presence to be too many feet away from it, and watched as he separated the ingredients: the milk, chocolate — which he was going to grate — and everything else.

You picked up your phone from where it was charging when you arrived and took some pictures. Then, you played some music while he stirred the pot, and you retired the blanket over the back of the couch, not feeling cold anymore.

When the mugs were served, Bucky opened his cabinet, put on the marshmallows in it and slapped your hand away when you tried to pick up yours.

"Ah. It's hot," he warned you off.

You rubbed the sting away from your hand, and stared at him. "Outch," you said.

Bucky was leaning against the kitchen counter.

The black sweatpants were identical to yours, but his navy Harley looked way cooler on him than the black one looked on you.

At least you thought so.

"—enough for you?" Bucky's voice finishes.

Fuck. You were staring.

Licking your lips, you look away from his body. "Huh?"

Bucky arches one eyebrow up. "You didn't hear me?"

Double fuck. You shook your head, feeling hotter out of nowhere.

Bucky nods. "Hm." His eyes rake you up and down. "I said... I know of your sweet tooth, so I wonder if this one will be sweet enough for you?"

There was a lump in your throat.

The energy this man radiated made you weak in the knees. "I'm sure it will," you replied with a weak smile.

On his face, a smile grew like a flower blossoming at night. "So polite out of nowhere..." he comments, feigning wonder. Bucky's head tilts to the side. "No one would believe you mean you were to me on that phone call yesterday."

Shit. Shit, shit shit—you thought Bucky's grunts and extended silences as you got ready to go out with your friends with him on the other side of the phone right after you shower, lotioning up your body, and talking about which outfits you'd wear were just him playing. He talked normally most of the time. You thought he was just going along with your teasings.

(You might've had too much wine before the shower. No one could blame you for teasing him.)

Right now, he looked like he was enjoying something.

You.

"That was me being nice," you said. it came off in a whisper.

Bucky stayed in silence for a second, his eyes on your face and his hands gripping the counter behind him. "C'mere," he said.

You walked over, and he held you close to him. One hand on your waist, the other holding your face.

His hand caressed your cheek and time started moving differently as you gazed into each other's eyes.

The air got a little thicker. Static.

Your eyes closed, and your face leaned into the touch.

"I like seeing you happy, dove," he whispered.

Whether it was the nickname or the sentiment behind his words that hit you harder, you were unaware, but the feeling took over at the speed of light: happiness, all over and around you. "Bucky," your whole body dropped against his, and you angled your head in search of a kiss. "You make me so happy."

His lips on his were his answer.

The short, weak grunt on his mouth as he kissed you hard, lips smashed on yours.

He pulls back only to say, "You make me happy too, dove," then he dives right in.

It had been so many days without kissing him like this that you forgot what it was like.

The power that he could have.

The way his kiss deepened with each stroke of his tongue on yours, and how the deeper and more in the rhythm that you two were with one another, the more his body came alive, limb by limb.

First, Bucky stood up straighter, cupping your face in both of his hands, and moving your head to his wish, opening your jaw wider. Then, his hand flew to your hair, and the other started exploring your body.

It was exactly like the rain pouring outside.

When it all started, it was too late already.

You moan so loud when Bucky pulls your hips to his with force and grips your hair in his fist that it's all fucked from the start.

"Oh," he mutters, a single inch and a string of saliva separating your lips. "Y/n."

"Bucky," his name already sounds like a prayer.

He closes his eyes, and nudges his nose on your face. "Baby..."

The way he extends the word makes you realize how hard you're holding onto him. Your hands grip his shoulders so tight that your fingertips hurt a little, but all you want is a little more.

Then, Bucky whispers. "Dreamt so much of you these weeks." He takes a step forward, guiding your body to where he wants. "It was so hard. So—fucking—difficult," the last three words he punctuates by caging your body against the counter instead of his, then pulling you up by your waist to sit on it, then pulling you by your ass to fit against his body.

You lunge forward like a starving madwoman.

Bucky takes it very well.

He gives back, much to your relief, and to your utmost pleasure.

With his mouth, Bucky manages to answer all the doubts you have not even dared ask yourself, and he tells you his secrets with his hands as they roam you, as desperate for a feeling of your burning skin as you are for him.

When he pulls back, Bucky holds you by the hand fisting your hair at the nape, and the sight of his swollen pink lips is a bit much.

"Dove," he groans.

"What?"

"I'm... I don't know if I'm ready to do anything, but—are you? Because—fuck, I miss touching you so much. It was only once but I miss my hands on you—making you feel good."

"Bucky, please," you nod, desperately. "Please."

He smiles, and nods too. "Yeah?" He confirms. "I just wanna see you feel good for a little," he says, starting to leave a trail of kisses on your neck. "I wanna touch you," he licks your earlobe in his mouth and hears chuckles when you whine like a cat made of puddy in his hands. "Can I? Can I take my time just... touching you?"

"Please," you beg.

"Okay, dove." There's one more kiss on your neck before he pulls you down from the counter. "C'mere."

That's when Bucky turns you around and presses your back against his front, bending you over the counter a little. He holds your upper body up with his left arm wrapped around your shoulders, his left hand gripping your chin and moving to his waiting lips while his right hand is doing the most.

On your sides, under his shirt, and on your breasts, getting a feel of them, pinching and grazing your nipples like a feather right next.

There's thunder and lightning, and then there's you, whining and moaning like you're in heat before his hand even drops to your panties.

Your soaked through panties.

"Oh, god, oh my god," Bucky mutters under his breath.

Bucky can fit one and then two fingers between your folds with ease due to how wet you are.

He tells you as much. "All of this for me, dove?" He asks, breathless. Your neck is going to be a red mess tomorrow—his kisses, teeth sinking on your neck and shoulders, the beard he keeps rubbing on you like he's a wolf and you're his to mark—it'll be a mess, and you whine even louder at the thought of it.

He takes that as your confirmation.

"So good for me," Bucky kisses your cheeks like he's thanking you. "Still your hips. I'm in no rush," he laughs.

He sounds like he's having so much fun. If it's possible, that aids in making you even wetter.

You can feel the outline of his cock through both the sweatpants pressing against your ass, and Bucky's hips buckle sometimes, grinding minimally against you.

If there's one thing to get on your knees for and thank this evening is how strong this man is underneath all his clothes.

Bucky spreads your legs apart wider with his feet and then goes to town.

He starts on your clit, with a light, but speedy touch. It's certainly a quick way to get your pussy clenching and begging for more in minutes. It makes your hardened nub so sensitive that you start begging under your breath for more, and Bucky ignores you for a couple of minutes until out of nowhere, he slips a finger inside of you.

You moan, happily, leaning your weight on his arm, in the direction of the counter.

Bucky's hips grind on you again, and then there's one more. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, fucking you with them properly until he stops, pulls them out and grabs your cunt with his whole hand, getting a feel of how drenched you are. Spreading your slick on his palm.

His breath on your ear and the stubble rubbed on your neck and cheeks turned you delirious. A whole month of doing nothing more than a few kisses and in one night, he does this.

In your ear, Bucky groans. "So good like this. I missed hearin' the little noises you make," his mouth kisses the part that it can reach of your face, and you feel like you're gonna cry.

He circles your clit more, and you want to grind back against them, but even in your delirious state, you remember what he said.

"Please," you cry. The only thing holding you up is his arm and his hand between your legs. "Please."

"Please what?" He says as he slowly pushes his middle finger in, curling it in the perfect spot.

"Fuck!"

Bucky sighs happily on your neck, and goes, "Hmhm," with another chuckle.

He enjoys this, and it's in the next few minutes you understand why:

In this position, Bucky can take all the time in the world.

He can go back and forth between fucking two or three fingers deep inside your cunt, moaning alongside you when you start filling his kitchen with your pleas of his name and your near-screams and then playing with your clit as he pulls you back from an impending orgasm.

His hand won't get tired like this; his wrist won't crane in a weird direction.

When your orgasm comes, it's a tsunami.

Bucky edges you three times before your body can't take it and you cum with a scream, chanting his name as your body convulses, legs shaking violently as you cum, probably more than once with how he doesn't stop.

He lets you come down from your high.

Bucky holds you up with his arm around your waist, pressing several kisses on your nape, and down your back.

The whispers of, "Did so good for me. You're amazing," are repeated until you hear them.

Bucky waits until you look back over your shoulder before he pulls his hands from inside the pants, and instead of going to wash them, he licks them.

"Oh my god," you whisper.

He shrugs his shoulder at you, and licks his fingers clean. "Hmmm," he hums. Don't say it, don't say— "You taste good."

Your cunt pulses at the words, and you hate yourself for wanting even more.

Can your legs move? No. Do you still wish to wrap them around his waist and sit on him, again?

"Shut up, Father."

Bucky laughs, "Alright. I see how it is," he kisses your cheek, and your lips. "I—" he takes a deep breath. "Am going to shower. You—hot chocolate. Drink it." He kisses your nose. "I'll be back."

You nod. "Ok."

Don't look, don't look, don't look.

You have to repeat the words to yourself as Bucky walks away to take care of his own problem. You'd call it 'little problem' if you hadn't felt that problem inside of you, and knew that there was nothing little about it.

Or about how much of a problem he was. To your health, at least—feeling this hot shouldn't be normal.

You get your mug of hot cocoa and put his inside the microwave for when he comes out, then go back to sit on the couch.

With your brain too fuzzy from the orgasm, most of Bucky's absence goes into white noise. Then, when you hear the shower turning off, your brain turns on.

It doesn't shut up when he comes back, or when he heats up his cocoa and sits behind you on the couch again.

"Watch something?" He asks, making himself comfortable as your couch pillow.

You shake your head. "Hm." If he loves hearing the thoughts in your brain so much, then he might not hate you for asking this. "Bucky?"

"Yeah?"

"Did I do something... wrong... that day?" You ask.

Bucky lowers his drink, and he has a hot cocoa mustache. "What?"

You wipe it off with your thumb, sucking it in your mouth. "That day. Confessional day."

Bucky puts his mug on the table and turns your body to the side a little so you two can look at each other. "You did absolutely nothing wrong that day. Why would you think that?"

"Because... my head likes to overthink?"

He narrows his eyes, but within a second, a look of realization dawns on him. "Right. Y/n—me wanting to take it slow has nothing to do with you, dove." He cups your face in his hands. "Please don't think that. I promise you it doesn't. It's gotta do with me."

"And I can't help you with it?"

He shakes his head. "Not really, no."

"How are you so sure of it?"

"Because you can't change the way my brain's wired, cute thing," he chuckles. His fingers caress your cheeks, then tuck your hair behind your ear. Bucky likes to touch you as he thinks. "I can, though. And I'm trying to."

Still feeling lost, you frown. "What's wrong with your brain's wiring?"

Bucky takes a moment to look at you before he answers the question, searching for something in your eyes. If you mean the question, you imagine. When he nods, all serious and taking a deep breath, you know you were right.

"A lot," he chuckles, deprecatingly. "But when it comes to this—to sex, it was never so bad. At least I think not. See... I wasn't interested in many people in my life, but I guess that even with the ones that were just a fling, I was always a bit... aggressive. Dunno if that's the word. Rough, maybe. And I know all of them liked it—I'm not—you know. They asked for it." Like you did, your mind provides. "But I always wondered why I didn't wanna all that sweet love-making stuff most people do. Never thought too much about it. Just enough to feel a little like a dick sometimes. Now... I don't wanna be like that with you, dove." He pierces you with his blue oceans, looking at you earnestly. "You mean too much for me to think about you and my brain to just use these—these degrading shit. You know?"

The words sink in slowly, like a body at the sea.

As they do, one single thought forms in your brain:

Am I this man's damnation?

To put it simply, you're turned on once again.

"Bucky..." give me a second to think.

He does it without you even asking for it.

It's a power he has—delivering your needs regardless of words.

"Okay." You take a deep breath, too, and then sit face to face with him, both of your hands laid on his chest. "I'm gonna try to... explain the way I see things, and then you tell me if they make sense to you, okay?"

Bucky takes a moment, then nods. "I'm listening."

Good. You swallow the knot his words twisted in your throat. "Bucky, I feel like... there's a lot of negative connotations on certain feelings we have, and they were placed there by people who want to weaponize our very fucking... human experience. You know? Like—how we're not allowed to be too curious, or how they make being educated so difficult, and how sexuality which is the most normal thing in our species became an issue, and then a... thing to repress." You swallow an even thicker knot, this time for being talking about the very institution for which he works. "Does that make sense to you?" Because continuing if that doesn't would be hard.

You see Bucky licking his lips, eyes going around his living room, but as they come back to you, there's knowledge there. "Yeah. Yeah, it does."

"Okay. Good. See—I hated myself for years growing up because I was never a very 'sexual' person or whatever the fuck that means, and I had to deal with everyone judging me for it. 'Prude', or 'virgin', or 'is there something wrong with you' or whatever. And then!" You laugh, humorlessly. "Then, when I started to be active because I wanted to and I found who and what makes me feel good, I was judged again. For being sexual, and for being safe about it, and for educating myself and other people around me on it. And then it hit me! They're gonna fucking hate me no matter what."

And I won't live like that.

You touch Bucky's cheek, running your fingers on his bear. "I'll never ask you for anything you don't want to give me. You know that, right?"

"Of course I do."

"Good. Here's the bottom line: what you want to give me, is mine to accept or not, Father James," you whisper. "I don't care if you think... I wanna ruin her. I don't care if you wanna wrap your hands and choke me 'till I can't breathe when you're manhandling me around like I'm a doll—like I'm yours, because if you're doing that, I wanted it too."

The blue that once was the majority is now nothing but a string.

There's very little light streaming through his tiny glass windows so high above in the living room, most of the illumination coming from the kitchen, but you can still see it.

He closes his eyes, shaking his head at you, and the knots start spreading to your stomach before Bucky leans in closer. "How on earth did I find you."

From the way it comes out, it sounds more like he's talking to himself than to you.

"Do you get what I mean?" you ask, feeling his breath on your face. "Those things can't be bad, or your 'brain wired wrong'. They're just—desire. A lot of it," you chuckle, breathless. You can feel it between your bodies—desire, licking its way up like the heat of the sun permeating through the skin. "And I want you too. If you ask me and I'm being honest here... I wanna ruin you sometimes."

Faster than you can catch, Bucky's lips are on yours and he's got your body in his hold.

The kiss is something so desperate that it's more you two biting and licking each other's mouths and kissing, but it's what you two as Bucky holds your legs around his waist and guides you to his room.

He had piggybacked you before.

"Aren't I a little to heavy for this?"

The deadpanned look he threw you almost made you whimper. "Y/n. I carried a backpack with your weight for hours roaming the desert with an arm almost as tall as you on my front. Hop on my back and shush, please."

"What?"

"Your feet's getting more swollen. Hop on, dove, Jesus Christ."

That had been how you discovered his past involved being drafted. It made you shut up now at least whenever he wanted to carry you.

There's no time for you to tease him about any decor because you're too busy pushing him against the wall and dropping to your knees the second he walks in and shuts the door behind him.

"Fuck," he looks up, rubbing his face with his hands. "I thought I couldn't get hard this fast anymore," he laughs at himself.

The hushed reminder that Bucky's in his forties hits you in the face.

So does how hard his cock is in his sweatpants.

He had taken care of his erection earlier on in the shower — you presume — and that thought brings you joy because it means you can taste him as much as you can, and he probably won't cum from it.

"You wanna do this?" Bucky asks as he watches you pull his dick free, sucking air between his teeth. "Fuck."

"I really wanna do this."

"Okay," he nods. "Here. I'll hold it for you," he grabs all of your hair, gathers it in one hand, and then secures it in his grip.

You guide the tip of his cock to your lips and it's inevitable.

His cock is so pretty. Dicks can be so ugly, but Bucky is so damn thick, and he's long — but not long enough that it feels like he's poking your stomach — and the tip starts leaking with your kitten licks on it.

Bucky's great at receiving head just like he's great at giving it.

He keeps his hips still at the start as a gentleman's courtesy: he gives you time to get all of his cock wet with your licks, sucking it into your mouth and pooling drool on your tongue for a better glide. You like this wet, and messy, and if his increasing groans are an indicator, so does he.

The praise doesn't lie, either.

"Look at you, dove." You love how awed he sounds. "Oh. You suck dick as well as you take it—yeah, like that." He looks at you, but sometimes gets lost when you start bobbing your head; his neck cranes back, and he groans to the ceiling. "F-Fuck—oh, your mouth's so wet. No, no—slower... yeah, like that. Wanna feel the tip sliding down your throat. Sounds so good. Suck harder—o-oh my fucking god, you take instructions so—fucking—well."

Bucky fucking your throat makes your hand fly between your legs in a desperate search for some relief, but he catches the motion somehow even with his eyes closed and he laughs.

"Nuh-uh, you better take that hand off." Bucky pulls his cock out of your lips and holds it an inch away from your face. "Did I tell you that you could touch yourself?"

Fuck.

"No, Father."

Bucky's dick twitches right in front of your face. He sighs, angrily, and lets go of his dick to grip your chin and make you look up to his face. "Then don't do it. I'm the only one to touch that cunt. That's all mine, dove. To make it cum, to touch, to make it feel good. Mine. Understand?"

You nod, "Yes, Father."

"Good, precious thing." His hips move slightest, and his dick is close enough that you can guide it back to your lips. "Yes," he groans, loudly. "Suck me really nicely, dove, and I'll ruin you like I've dreamt of."

If there is one truth, it's what James said: you are very good at taking directions and orders.

Guided by the grip he has on your hair, you let Bucky dictate how deep you should be and serve the purpose of being on your knees like this: eyes closed, sucking and bobbing your head on his cock with tears pooling in the corner of your eyes when you hear him lose himself in the pleasure and moan brokenly, calling your name.

It sounds divine.

When Bucky gets enough, he pulls all the way out, and then looks at you with drool running down your chin and your eyes teary and glazed, and he smiles.

"So beautiful," he whispers.

You close your eyes at the praise, clenching your thighs together.

"Get on the bed, dove."

Getting up on wobbly legs is difficult, but you manage. His bed is a queen size, thankfully, and when you lay on his white sheets, Bucky climbs between your legs, stripping you item by item.

"You have no clue how much I missed feeling you," he tells you.

"I do, I have," you whine.

"Poor dove," he coos. "You missed me, hm? Missed feeling my hands on you making you feel so good your smart brain goes a little stupid? Missed me stretching you out so nice you can't think?" When he has you naked and writhing on the bed, he starts taking his own clothes. "We were so irresponsible last time, dove. I just gave you all my cum because you asked so nicely, and I shouldn't have. Not without us talking first. I have condoms here, and also my latest medical check if you wanna confirm that I'm clean for—"

"I believe you," you tell him, sounding desperate. "I do. Please? I don't wanna hear a sermon, Father. I wanna feel you."

You notice the mistake of your words as soon as they're out and Bucky's eyes darken even further.

"What did you just say?" he asks in a lower, interested tone. Bucky kicks his pants outside of the bed and climbs on top of you. "Repeat."

Fucked before you're even fucked. "I—I said I wanna feel you."

Bucky grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him, and slaps your right ass cheek, hard. "Don't be a smartass with me."

It burns, and you moan. "I said I don't wanna hear a sermon, Father James. Want you inside me," you finish in a pathetic whimper.

Bucky takes a deep breath, and you hear him going tsk tsk close to your face. You open your eyes to see his smile.

"Get on all fours," he commands in a whisper, one hand cupping your face.

It takes you a second to digest it, but you do as he asks.

Bucky gets behind you, much like he was in the kitchen a couple of hours ago. Oh, how far we've come. He nudges your body until you're close to the headboard of the bed, and places all his pillows in front of you.

"Hands flat against the headboard," he whispers in the shell of your ear.

You place them there, your whole body tingling with the anticipation.

"Now, repeat after me: I should not be a fucking brat."

"What?" you ask, breathless.

The head of Bucky's cock brushes between your folds, and you see his other arm coming up, the hand gripping the headboard.

"If you don't repeat my sermon, there's no fucking, dove," he tells you.

Looking over your shoulder, you see he means it.

Bucky would give you both blue balls right now.

"I should not be a brat," you whisper.

He nods, very pleased. You feel the head pushing in, and both of you moan.

"Oh, I missed you," he mutters.

Bucky's got the same courtesy with his hips now as he did with his dick in your mouth—he knows he's thick and you need a minute, which he gives.

His movements start small and slow, gentle rocking of his hips back and forth until he's seated almost all the way in.

When he bottoms out, Bucky covers your back with his chest and you hear his delighted groan coming to rest on your ear shell again. "Say: I'll be good for you, Father."

Your moan comes out choked. "I'll be good for you, Father."

Bucky pulls out, and slams his cock back in.

"Do you want me to ruin you?" He asks, slamming in again.

"Yes!"

"Then say it."

"I want you to ruin me, Father," you beg, arching your back to him and whining like the heat has taken over your brain and fried it to dust.

"Oh, god," this one sounds earnest and honest, and it drapes over your skin like praise that Bucky is affected by this, too. "Say: Fuck the words out of me."

Whimpering, you say, nodding, "Fuck the words out of me. Please, please—"

Bucky does.

He holds onto the headboard of the bed and starts his hard thrusts with a pause between them, but the more you fuck yourself back on his cock, the faster he goes.

Bucky's hand that's on your waist suddenly comes up to your shoulder again, and you moan with nothing but pleasure clouding your brain for the second time that night: it's the same position as earlier, except instead of toying with your cunt, he's getting leverage on his bed to fuck the life out of you.

The words out of you.

"Say: Nothing feels better than this," he demands in your ear, slowing his pace a little.

"Nothing feels better than this—faster, please, please—"

"That's not what I said," he pulls almost all the way out, only his head still inside of you.

You cry, and arching again, your neck leaning on the touch of his hand, you mumble, "Nothing feels better than this," now please.

"Yes," Bucky goes back to fucking you, and neither one is able to stop this time.

He takes out his cock sometimes to slap your pussy and clit with it, and the filthy, wet sounds it makes are perhaps worse than your desperate moaning.

The next time Bucky asks for you to repeat his words, all that comes out is his name and please.

Your favorite prayer.

"Have I done—oh—done it, dove?" He sounds so far gone. His hips are faltering. "You close?"

"Bucky, yes!"

"Good. I wanna see it. Cum on my cock and I'll paint your back with mine."

"Nononono, want it inside me—"

The sharp slap makes you scream. "Don't. Y/n, please—"

"Bucky it feels so good," you babble. "Please, please? Don't wanna feel it? I want it—I need it."

"Fuckfuck," Bucky's hips starts hammering you, and your moans turn into screams. "Want me to breed you, dove? I fucking will."

"YES!"

"Then cum for it. Tell me you're gonna cum," he says over the sound of his hips slapping against your ass.

"I'm gonna cum!" You felt it, coiling around your belly and starting to zap in your brain. "Oh—FUCK! I'm gonna cum, James, James—"

"Do it."

You cum in a scream, and you grip the pillows as tight as your cunt grips his cock when it happens. You feel a few more harsh thrusts inside following but it's so tight that all that Bucky says is, "So—fucking—tight—all mine," before he cums too, deep inside you.

Heaven.

Divine.

All you can do is lay and feel it. So holy.

His touch makes you ascend to places you've never been.

When you come down from the white noise that's inside your brain, you realize you haven't moved.

Bucky has. He's gotten a wet cloth and is cleaning between your legs, and he looks at you peeking at him over your shoulder, smiling at you, shyly.

The audacity.

He goes to his bathroom to throw the towel in the washing bin. He removed all the clothes from the floor too and folded them.

Neat freak.

He lies in bed with you, and pulls you to lay on his chest. "You know, you gotta stop doing that—unless; wait. Do you want babies? Like, now?"

Your eyes go wide and you are suddenly very awake. "No!"

"Oh. Good," he laughs. "Then stop being a menace," he tells you, kissing your lips sweetly.

"It feels good," you mumble weakly.

"Oh, I know." He chuckles, kissing your cheeks and forehead. "We can pretend, though. Don't wanna do stuff we'll regret, dove."

He's right, you think. And you shouldn't take him by surprise.

"Bucky?"

"Hm?"

"Was that... good for you?"

Bucky feels the seriousness in your tone and lifts your chin with a finger.

He smiles, all ocean blue eyes, sedated smile, and pink cheeks. "You make me the happiest I've been, Y/n. And that was heavens above 'good' and you know it," he says.

It makes your chest breathe easy. "Okay... good."

"Now sleep. I'll wake us up tomorrow," he says.

With the rain still falling and him wrapping himself around you like an octopus, that's the easiest thing you had to do all day.

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