The Friend May Be On To Something 👀

Sugar and Spice

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky Barnes x Baker!Female Reader Summary: You make a sweet impression on one of the new tattoo artists in the neighborhood. Word Count: Over 2.3k Warnings: Flirting, fluff, innuendos, brief moment of insecurity (reader's mom kind of sucks, sorry!), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). Future smut, slight angst, and feels. A/N: Because I "need" another tattoo AU, let me introduce you to Hottie and Sugar. ❤️ Thank you to @rookthorne , @sweeterthanthis, @dreamlessinparis, @11thstreetvigilante for listening to me ramble about this man and some future upcoming shennanigans. Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby (thank you!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Moodboard by yours truly, divider by the amazing @firefly-graphics, and Bucky edit by the wonderful Nix. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

The first time Bucky Barnes walked into your bakery, your best friend and co-owner, Tess, assumed he was lost. Maybe because he didn't appear to be your average customer. A confident aura surrounded him, like he took what he wanted without question. You hadn't encountered a man who looked like sin incarnate before.

It took you a moment to greet him with how dry your mouth had gone.

The stranger didn't smile as he made it to the counter in a few strides. It surprised you that he got through the door with his massive frame. The dark t-shirt and jeans looked painted on and the skin you could see was littered with tattoos. A handsome package wrapped up with chestnut brown hair past his ears, short beard, and steel blue eyes.

Lust at first sight was an understatement.

It was as if he walked out of your wet dreams and into your life.

Sin. Incarnate.

You smiled from ear to ear when you saw him up close, even though he still didn't smile back. You didn't take it personally. Tess once said you were too sweet for your own good, but you replied you never knew what was going on with your customers. Maybe a bit of kindness would brighten their day.

You weren't sure if it was friendliness that he needed, but he wouldn't stop staring at you.

You admitted to yourself later that his gaze made your heart pound and it wasn't out of intimidation.

"Hi. What can I get for you?" you asked.

He blinked and looked toward the display case, giving you a chance to exhale.

When did you start holding your breath?

"Something sweet," he said, his voice huskier than you expected as he jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Those were the exact words my punk friend said."

"That's extremely helpful in a bakery," you deadpanned.

His eyebrows shot up as you dropped the serious expression and started laughing. It surprised you when he laughed with you. Not only did you consider his reaction a personal victory, but it made him look even more handsome.

How was that possible?

"Exactly what I said."

"Well, not sure if he's allergic to anything or how many of you are eating, but we can do an assortment of cookies if you'd like," you suggested, walking to the end of the case to show him the different flavors.

"That sounds good. A dozen should work," he said, narrowing his eyes as he placed his large hands on the glass and looked it over again. Was it rude to stare at him? "And since the punk didn't tell me what he wanted, surprise me."

"I'll pick the best flavors," you smiled as you grabbed a box and tongs.

"What's your favorite?" he asked curiously, folding his hands and resting his chin on top of them as you selected the cookies.

Your cheeks flamed when you realized he was watching you. You hoped you didn't drop anything. "Can't go wrong with chocolate chip. It's a classic. If I had to pick a favorite treat overall, I'd pick the caramel chocolate brownie. Simple, but full of flavor."

"I'll take one of those, too, please."

"Sure. You'll have to let me know what you think," you said, placing the best brownie from the batch in a smaller box.

"So, you're saying you want me to come back," he said with a half smile as he pushed himself off the display to follow you back to the register. "Is that it?"

Is he flirting with me? No, he couldn't be.

Your mom chastised you for ending things with your recent boyfriend. According to her, you should've appreciated that a charming, good-looking man wanted you all of all people. It hurt to hear that, but he turned out to be a jerk and you refused to settle for less than what you deserved.

You also wouldn't let negative thoughts cloud your safe space.

"I wouldn't mind," you giggled before you cleared your throat. Even if by some miracle he was hitting on you, you weren't supposed to flirt while you worked. "We like having repeat customers," you added.

"I'm sure you have plenty. It's a cute shop."

You looked for a hint of sarcasm on his face and found none. "Thanks," you said, holding your head a bit higher. The shop was your baby and you took pride in it, always doing your best to make it as bright and welcoming as you could. "And I really would like to know what you think. Always looking to improve if we can."

"It's a good thing I'm just across the street," he said as he got his wallet out. "I can sample the entire menu."

You began to ring him up when you paused. "You don't happen to work in the new tattoo shop, do you?"

Some of the other business owners on the block weren't too happy about a tattoo parlor opening up, afraid that it would attract a rougher crowd. You knew better than to judge a book by its cover. You also felt bad that you hadn't had a chance to go over to introduce yourself.

"Co-owner. What gave it away?" he asked, reminiscent of your deadpan delivery moments ago.

"Oh, just this feeling," you teased, wondering how many tattoos he had hidden under his clothes. You cut that thought off and stopped him when he took some cash out to pay. "On the house as a small welcome to the neighborhood."

He moved his hand over to the tip jar and dropped the money in. "Thanks," he gave you a half smile again as he glanced at the nametag on your bright apron and said your name.

It sounded like honey on his tongue.

"I'm Bucky, by the way. Nice to meet you," he said, taking the boxes.

"Nice to meet you, too," you smiled back, a wave of heat rolling down your chest at the thought of him coming back to see you. "Enjoy the treats."

"I'm sure they'll be as sweet as you, Sugar," he smirked.

You stood there, stunned, as he walked out of the shop. Thankfully it was a slow time of day and you had a moment to fan yourself once you remembered to breathe. You had half a mind to get a tattoo as an excuse to see him again.

"Who the hell was that?" Tess asked from behind you.

You jumped and clutched your chest, forgetting that she was in the shop. "My new crush," you answered without thinking.

"Obviously. I thought he was lost until he ordered something," she snickered as she nudged your shoulder. "You were giggling."

"Yeah. Well, I doubt he'll be back," you mumbled, going to the case to wipe it down.

"Oh, he'll be back. I saw how he looked at you," she said, moving her eyebrows up and down. "You're the sugar he wants to taste."

"Did you see how hot he is? He has plenty of 'sugar' out there and I'm," you waved your hand as you tried to think of a good comparison. "I don't know. I'm Splenda."

"Okay. First, that sounds like your mother talking, which is not allowed in here. Second, you're not Splenda. You're the whole bakery. No putting yourself down in our sanctuary," Tess said sternly. She liked to give you a hard time as your best friend, but she was serious when it came to your love life and self-esteem. "For real. You're a catch."

"Maybe he'll fall in love after he eats the brownie I gave him," you joked.

"That's the spirit," Tess said, graciously not calling you out on your deflection. "He'll be back."

You didn't want to get your hopes up over a stranger, but you did want to see him again.

You just didn't expect him to visit your shop again the very next day.

"So," he said when he went to the counter and set his hands on it, blocking out everything behind him. "About that brownie."

"Yeah?" you asked breathlessly, praying you looked halfway decent. "What did you think?"

"Best fucking brownie I've ever had," he grinned and rubbed his stomach. The praise rendered you speechless. "What else is good here?"

Me. I'm good.

You wished you said what was on your mind, but you gave him one of the leftover sample cakes instead.

It went on like that for over a week. Bucky would stop in and select a new dessert. On the slower days, he tried the treat at the counter and chatted with you. Tess messaged you on your day off to tell you how disappointed he looked when you weren't there. He bought two items when you saw him the next day.

The brownie was still his favorite.

So you decided to surprise him when he showed up at his usual time. The blue Henley made his eyes stand out more and the smile he gave you sent heat through your core. Your hand managed not to shake as you held up a plate for him. You couldn't help but want to impress him.

"Is that my brownie?" he asked when he went to greet you.

"With a twist. Caramel chocolate brownie, but I added chocolate fudge frosting," you replied, handing it to him. His fingers touched yours and you wished at that moment that the counter didn't separate the two of you. "I hope you like it."

"I'm sure I will," he said, keeping his eyes on you as he brought the brownie to his mouth and took a bite. They slipped shut as he let out a deep moan. His head fell back briefly, too.

Your fingers twisted in your apron as you pressed your thighs together. Did he do that on purpose or was it that good? You didn't think your treats were worthy of pornographic sounds.

"Fucking delicious," he promised as he opened his eyes and took another bite. "It'll hurt my feelings if you don't add this to the menu."

"Thank you. I'm glad you like it," you said, wondering if the words sounded as breathless as you felt.

"I haven't tried a single thing here I didn't like, Sugar."

"Why do you keep calling me 'Sugar'?"

"'Cause you seem sweet, like these treats you make for everyone," Bucky stated as a matter of fact. "I can stop if you don't like it."

"Please, don't stop," you said. You liked hearing it from him.

He smirked as he licked a bit of frosting off his thumb, your mouth salivating at the sight. "Not how I expected to hear those words from you."

Blood rushed to your cheeks as your brain tried to process what he said. You could play it cool. Or play along. "Well, Hottie, if you're lucky, you might hear them in a different way."

Bucky's mouth shifted from a smirk to a full blown grin. "Hottie?"

You tried to summon the ground to swallow you up, but it didn't work.

"Well. Yeah. I mean, you call me Sugar, which makes you Spice. Spices can be hot and you're a hottie," you said with as much dignity as possible before you giggled. "Or I can just call you Bucky and we forget this entire conversation."

"I won't forget. My memory can be fuzzy at times, but I'll remember this conversation," he promised, tapping his temple. "And keep calling me that. I like it."

You leaned across the counter, trying to look as enticing as possible. At least, as much as you could in your work apron. He visited the shop multiple times now and he was definitely flirting with you now. You could make a move.

Don't be Splenda. Be the whole bakery.

"Bucky, would you want to-"

The door swung open before you could finish your question, your shoulders slumping in defeat. "There you are, Buck. Andy is actually smiling at someone. Hal's trying to get a picture. You gotta see this."

Bucky's nostrils flared as he closed his eyes. "Fucking punk."

He sounds as disappointed as I feel.

"Friend of yours?" you guessed.

"That's just Steve with his impeccable timing."

Bucky stepped aside so you could get a look at his friend. The man was just as large as your newfound crush, also covered in tattoos with long, blonde hair and a trimmed beard. And he was beaming at you.

"You must be Sugar. Buck mentioned you."

"Is that right?" you asked.

"Oh, yeah," Steve smiled. "Hasn't shut up about you."

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you gazed at the brunette. He didn't look ashamed or embarrassed as he stared back. You must have made some sort of good impression on him if he spoke to a friend about you.

"Are you working tomorrow?" he asked, ignoring his friend for the time being as he handed you his empty plate.

"Yeah. I'm opening the shop," you answered.

"If I'm not arrested for murdering my best friend, I'll come back and we can finish our conversation," he said as Steve frowned. You couldn't stop yourself from smiling. "If that's okay with you."

Who in their right mind would say "no"?

"More than okay. I'll see you tomorrow," you said, giving Steve a wave as Bucky stomped toward him. "Nice meeting you, Steve."

"You, too. Keep making those cookies! They're so good!" he chuckled as his friend chased him out of the shop.

"Oh, who the hell was that?!" Tess shouted from the back of the office.

"A friend with bad timing," you called back with a shake of your head.

"You were finally going to ask him out, weren't you?" she asked, poking her head out. "About time. Sick of hiding in the office so I don't have to watch you two flirt."

You scoffed when you caught her smiling. "You love being in the office. And tomorrow is a new day. I'll ask him."

"You better wear something pretty for your hottie."

She's never going to let me live that nickname down.

You weren't sure what you were going to wear tomorrow, but you knew you couldn't wait to open the shop and see Bucky again.

Hope you liked this sweet introduction and can't wait to share more of this Bucky and the other boys. Love and thanks for reading! 💙

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

ok, because i just saw a terrible take, i feel compelled to say that there is no "fic market" to "oversaturate" in fandom. good gravy.

HOLD STILL

written for @punkshort's AU August Challenge

RATING: Explicit (18+) PAIRING: Bodyguard!Dave York x f!Reader WORD COUNT: 3.4k CW: Dave's filthy mouth, pwp, smut (cockwarming, unprotected piv, creampie, sorta soft-dom!dave but really he's just bossy, sorta praise kink, a couple pussy pronouns don’t look at me), and one nonsense tense switch just for the hell of it I guess.

SUMMARY: On your last night together, Dave agrees to compromise.

read on ao3 | almostfoxglove masterlist

You want him, but he won’t fuck you. Not once, not even quickly, not even with just his hands. Dave York—ever stoic, unflinching—insists on doing his job and his job alone. And you, as he so enjoys reiterating, are not his job. Protecting you is. 

For three weeks you’ve smothered the calendar hung on the kitchen wall with another red X each morning, whittling the days until you give your polished testimony and say goodbye to him for good. Now the court date looms heavy on the horizon—it’ll rise tomorrow with the sun. 

In the meantime—these last, dwindling hours—you roam the grand rooms of an apartment rented for your protection, your anonymity, at the very skirt of the city where you’d surely have lost your mind if not for him. Stationed diligently at your side, hand never more than a twitch from the grip of his gun. So many hours spent alone you've memorized his form: how he looks scanning the curtained windows for any whisper of danger. How he's never complained when you choose cheesy reality shows from the TV guide. Teaching you how to play Spades with a deck of cards soft and worn—from his home, maybe, though you never ask—and letting you win the first hand, lips quirked when you call him out on it, then unapologetically wiping the floor with you for the rest of your isolation. 

Yes, you know him, though only in image. Broad and sturdy, shirts each neatly ironed and squarely tucked. The hard line of his jaw and the fullness of his bottom lip. His hair always swept neatly from his face, even when you know he’s recently woken up. Never scruffy, never stubbled. Clean shaven and the smell of nice hotel shampoo.

It’s wrong, how you try to prod him to no avail. No matter your efforts, he says nothing of the way you adorn your body: lacy slips and satin sets at night, hugging silhouettes during the day, hair always done, lipstick never out of place even though you can’t leave the apartment or stand too near the windows. Dave is the only one who sees you, save for the days or hours when he leaves you his clumsy understudy to step down from his post.

He must know you do it for him.

It’s wrong, but you asked once, early on. Tonight? 

And Dave’s mouth pinched into a flat, polite line. Unreadable, his face drained of its emotion. His declination drawled deep and heady, a voice that curled your toes and more than once kept you panting alone in your bed that’s not yours at all, just two doors away from his, fingers needy and swirling. No, honey. Not tonight.

Repeated in your mind until it warped like an overplayed tape.

No, honey.

Honey.

Honey.

Not tonight.

Tonight.

Tonight, he is gone—your last together before the trial—leaving you in the hollow apartment with his proxy, stung. Same dark clothes, same holstered gun, same little piece nestled in his ear, but not half of what you want. You want Dave: a man as solid as he is driven, immutable as he is tempting. Assigned to protect you until you deliver the account that’ll send a monster away.

Perhaps you’ve liked the game—how he watches you, but never gives in—but now it’s lost its shimmer.

Lights dimmed for the evening, all black curtains drawn, the vaulted ceilings of the kitchen feel miles high as you perch on a barstool at the breakfast counter to stare at the calendar taunting you across the quiet room. Beyond the pristine halls you’ve lapped all day like an anxious dog, the city serenades you. Traffic squealing through streets, sirens singing in the distance, the occasional shout of someone walking by outside, eight floors below. 

You are not, at night, permitted to part the curtains, lest someone get a glimpse of your illuminated face, but you long to open one now, see if Dave is out there, returning to your little castle turret one final time. Because it’s possible he won’t come back at all—that his coworker will escort you between lobby and truck, between truck and courthouse, between courthouse and whatever comes next. Maybe home. That you’ll never see Dave again, let alone throw caution to the wind and ask once more, tonight?

And then, just then, as your stomach begins to sink with disappointment, you hear the sudden crack of the front door unlocking and the creak of its surrender. You’ve conjured him, somehow, past the stroke of midnight. Then low, rumbled whispers, the unmistakable tone of Dave’s voice mumbling to his understudy. Your heart speeds as the door closes again and his stand-in retreats into the hall. How dizzying, the sound of locks settling into their rightful places, turned by Dave’s unerring hands. 

When he appears in the dining room behind you, bomber jacket hanging from one arm, he tucks a tiny apology into the twitch of his lips—or maybe it’s meant to be a smile. “It’s late,” he says, as your eyes drink him in. Polished as ever, despite the hour, not a stitch out of place. “Should be in bed.”

You shrug, hoping you might appear indifferent. “Couldn’t sleep,” you say, aware of how the satin of your robe slopes off your shoulder with no intention of righting it.

Does something darken in his face then, or do you imagine it? You can’t be sure, not in this umbra, at this time of night. Jaw ticking, Dave strides cautiously toward the dining table, drapes his jacket over the back of one glossy chair, and sinks into the seat at the head of the sleek table, same as usual. A quiet kind of reign, his claiming this position, always, for every meal. He scratches his cheek, slips the gun from the holster at his belt to rest on the table, and as he leans back you indulge yourself—how can you not—in the slight buck of his hips as he shifts to stretch out his legs. 

“Need your rest,” Dave chides softly. No edge to his tone.

Sighing before you can stop yourself, disappointed all over again as his gaze draws off you to the windows and drapes. On duty, still. On duty, always. Not you. Not tonight. “S’the last night,” you reply, staring at the calendar again. One little red X to go. “You weren’t here.”

Behind you, his deep and measured breath. The shiver of that unflappable restraint, you hope, but you don’t yet dare to look back. He might spook.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You don’t budge. Don’t move.

“You hear me?” Voice a little harder now, solidifying. When he speaks to you, you always look him in the eye—or you always have before.

Electric, your heart. Revving just a breath faster, just a hair harder, at the sound of him huffing in frustration. Your lips tick up in one corner, hidden, a secret meant only for you. When Dave says your name, your whole body purrs and you at last turn your head enough to let him glimpse your profile, still withholding your gaze.

“Pouting,” he scolds, this time meaning it. “That what this is?”

“Avoiding me,” you counter. “That where you were?”

Dave hmphs, darkness fading and softness returning to his tone. “Course not, honey.”

You look at him now, properly. Barstool spinning as you push off the counter to face him. Under the dusk of dimmed pendant lights over the dining table, Dave glows. In the time you’ve looked away, he’s unbuttoned his shirt one button lower than it’d been when he walked in.

One button lower than you’ve ever seen him wear before.

“Said I’m sorry,” he says again, head tilted. His foot comes out to nudge the leg of the chair beside his, angling it in your direction. “Come here.”

He means for you to sit, maybe play a hand of Spades, but as you slink off the barstool you have no intention of taking the seat. Warmth flushing in your chest, cool, conditioned air greeting your bare legs and collarbones, all the skin not covered by your sleekest sleep set. You swear he drinks the sight of you, for once, as you cross the kitchen toward him. Eyes dark not only from shadows, from the time. Or else you hope, as you come to a stop between Dave’s knees, that the way he’s not yet blinked means what you want it to.

Lips parting, a breath from speaking when you beat him to the punch and ask, “Tonight?” Your chin lowered and eyes searching his. It’s the last night. Might as well show your hand while you still can, before he slinks back into the underbelly of a city where you know he’s lived for years but you’ve never once glimpsed him, and not just because it’s busy.

Because invisible is what he’s paid to be, what he’s good at. Unseen until the fist of him is needed, the gun.

Pink striping his bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue, eyes boring into you. The slightest shake of his head, clean-shaven cheeks sharked in the shadow and golden light. “Honey.” Not a no, honey. Not a not tonight. Just honey, like you’ve imagined.

Emboldened, you caress of your fingertips across his shoulder, tracing the seam of his crisp, pale blue dress shirt. So handsome, always so handsome. A man who takes care of himself, who tidies and cleans without your needing to ask. Spotless, always. Reserved, always. Killing you, always, with every brush of his gaze. 

You draw your fingers towards his shirt collar.

“Can’t,” says Dave, softer still. Breathy, almost. You pet the knife-cut of his pressed collar, the button just below it, and his Adam’s apple bobs slowly in his throat. Again, he shakes his head so slightly it looks more like a twitch. A reflex to say no. Not a desire to. “Can’t fuck you, honey. Wouldn’t be right.”

You bite your lip, brows drawing together, not lifting your hand from the button placket of his shirt. “Just tonight,” you breathe, and bat your eyes a little.

At last Dave’s dark eyes drop from yours, scanning the length of you above him with searing precision. Consideration. You slant your head to one side as his gaze slides back up, hesitating on your silk-draped chest, and you suck a sharper breath before it returns to meet yours. He cuffs your wrist with his hand to halt your teasing as he shakes his head once more, licking his bottom lip again with greater meaning. A glint in his eyes, lust finally flaring. 

Pride swirls in your stomach, honeyed and wanting. Then he tugs you by the hips with such reflexes you hardly register the movement of his hands before you’re on him, straddling him in the chair, your thighs framing his hips. Held. Your robe fanning behind you, over his knees. Heart pounding dangerously close to a cardiac event.

Dave tsks softly, smirking when you whimper, trying to roll your hips over the heat of his crotch. Those careful, deadly hands lock them in a vice as he clicks his tongue. “Not gonna fuck you,” he murmurs, and you lean in to kiss him but he pulls his head away. “Not gonna kiss you either. Not right.”

You don’t care about right. Now you pout for real, forehead wrinkling, staring at his upturned lips. You feel the unmistakable twitch of him growing hard against you and your cunt throbs in reply, needy and slick. You try to wiggle again but Dave pinches your hips in warning. “Look at me,” he repeats, that edge to his voice that curls your toes, and your eyes snap to his.

“Good girl.”

You moan quietly, made liquid by the tender swipe of his thumb over the satin of your sleep shorts. Your eyes fluttering at such a tiny stroke, not even the meeting of skin. 

“You can’t move, okay? Only allowed to sit.” When you don’t answer, too lost to the throb of his cock against your begging core, Dave pinches you again, voice gravelly in a way you’ve not heard before. “You hear me?”

Nodding, you hum. Can’t quite get out the word. 

“Need to hear you, honey. Gonna hold still for me?”

“Mhm,” you whine, fighting your every instinct to grind down against him as you meet his lust-blown eyes. “Yes. Only allowed to sit.”

Dave puffs a hot breath out that sends a wake of goosebumps across your chest. “Good girl,” he coos, and your brows pinch at the praise. “Soaking me already, honey. Can’t sleep like this, can you? Just need to turn your brain off, hm?” The movement of his hips below yours is so slight you might imagine it, that tiny grind as his cock grows. You nod, whine softly, and both his thumbs stroke your hips gently before stilling again.

“Show me, honey.” So quiet. So little air between you, and yet too much.

You scan his face until he offers a small nod. Those brown eyes hooded by dark lashes, devouring you without need for the press of his mouth. It’d be soft, you’re certain. The caress of his lips. Maybe the rest of him is hard and deadly, but those would be tender, careful—they’d take you apart, breath by breath. With the same precision with which he darts between shadows and cleans his gun and beats you at cards and tucks your hair behind your ear when you’re falling asleep on the couch, he’d dissolve you kiss by kiss with a kind of grace.

It’s his lips on which you pin your gaze as you let one hand drift between your legs, dipping easily between silk and skin—your body made jelly so quickly and by so little contact, already wet. You pray you don’t imagine the sharpness of his breath when your knuckles accidentally graze against his slacks as you slip your fingers between dewy folds. Then: your hand rising in the dim light, shining, honeyed. Dave watching them, the corner of his mouth cracking just a little. Tensing into his cheek.

He grunts, good girl, and then he’s lifting you just enough to peel down the zip of his slacks, flick open the button, but when your eyes fall hopeful for a glimpse of him he tsks, hooks one finger beneath your chin to tilt your face up, whispers a soft eyes on me, honey as he pulls himself out where you can’t see.

As his knuckles brush against the wet gusset of your shorts, nudging them to the side. Finding no panties to move.

As the head of his cock—plush, warm, weeping—nudges against the ache of you, the thrum of your longing.

He grins, wicked.

Then pressure, a moan lost to the air you’re hardly conscious of and the stretch of him, the slow press in and the ache of your cunt swallowing his girth inch by inch. You whimper, eyelids shuddering like old film, catching only still frames of Dave’s expression as he lowers you gently, burying himself in your drooling heat until you come to rest at his base, flush and full.

So full. Light-headed, sparkling. Your hips must rock because he squeezes your waist. “Hold still, honey,” he coos. “Remember?”

The terms of his touch sounded alright just a breath ago, but now you can’t imagine how you ever agreed. How you’re supposed to stay still with him throbbing inside you like this, heavy and sweet, exactly what you need. A flicker in his eyes like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, how he’s scrubbing out every thought in your head. Cocky, yes. But earning it.

“Dave,” you sigh, breathy and desperate. Your cunt clenching and squeezing and pushing out slick, probably ruining his slacks but he won’t let you look down, just tilts your head up gently every time it hangs slack. “Please.”

His breathing catches for a beat, then it’s steady again. “I know, I know,” he murmurs, keeping his finger under your chin to keep your eyes on him—but he hardly needs to. You’d swear the whole world drained away the second he slid into you. There’s nothing else past your bodies, past this one dining room chair. Everything else disappears like magic. The trial, the dread, the drone of city noise. The slow leak of your heart knowing this is goodbye—all of it. Gone.

You’d have sworn it impossible to come like this, with no movement at all, but you will. You do. And months from now—safe in the swaddle of your actual apartment that for weeks has stood hollow and dusty, plants withering sadly on their windowsills—you’ll lie in bed longing, missing, remembering. Trying to recreate the swipe of his thick thumb on your clit as you replay this moment in your head. How you whined, wanna take care of you when Dave still wouldn’t let you move, even when you were close, just swiped and swiped his thumb until you were something more than alive, transcending.

How his pupils had set ablaze with your whispered plea. How you’d realized that was the point, for him. The begging and the not giving in.

How he’d growled, “Taking care of you is taking care of me. You don’t think I’m gonna come the second this pussy strangles my cock? ‘Cause I am. S’all I need, honey, just give it to me—”

His voice the thunder to your body’s crackle and lightning.

“Let her take care of me, that’a girl, that’s it, just like that honey, she’s so tight—fuck—so fuckin’ tight around me, just squeezin’ me, gonna come when you do, pretty girl, let me have it.”

How it hit you like a white bolt of heat and light, every cell in you tense and flaming, then melting, boneless on his lap as he murmured sweetly, grunted, tried to lift you off him just in time and you’d finally, finally touched him—lucid in an instant, hands slammed down on the muscle of his shoulders. Mumbling amidst your aftershocks, inside, inside, inside. Eyelids stuttering again, back to picture frames as your cunt seized and begged in tandem.

The snarl of his upper lip.

His knotted jaw.

Tongue sucked against his front teeth, resolve crumbling.

The allowance granted to your hands to stay right there, fisting his shirt collar as his locked your waist in a bruising vice. His hips bucking only once, grinding the head of his cock deeper, deliciously, almost too good to take. 

“Fuck, fuckfuck—yeah, that what she needs, honey? Needs me to fill her up?”

You’ll remember your own reply as you near a second-rate heaven in the nest of your duvet at home, all frantic hands and thrusting digits and eyes slammed shut, repainting him in your head. Golden in that gloomy light, hair straying out of position across his misted forehead for the first time. Yes. Please. Dave. Yes. Inside. Please—and his grunt, dark and sweet as caramel, as burnt brown sugar. That tiny grin dragging at his soft lips, pleased. You’d pleased him, surprised him maybe. 

That can make you sparkle now, to remember.

“Okay, honey. Okay—shit—gonna give it to you, hm? Gonna give you all of it, baby—she’s squeezing me so goddamn tight, fuck, wanna stay here all night—”

Then the granting of a wish, the heat of him spilling into your cunt, the unmistakable slide of slick leaking between your thighs and onto his; you didn’t have to look to know. You could feel it, that wholeness overflowing. You can almost feel it now; three fingers might be a poor attempt at recreation, but you fall off the cliff all the same, his name on your tongue, a cry in the night, all the curtains dark and drawn as you come down breathless and drowsy, your whole body limp and spent as it’d been that night with him—when he’d tucked himself away and petted your hair back from your face, so gentle with you, cooing that you did so good, honey. Such a good girl. Gonna get you into bed now, hm? Need your sleep, honey. Come on. 

Carrying you into your not-real bedroom, tucking you in so tenderly, like he hadn’t just taken you apart at the molecules. And Dave’s lips were just as plush as you’d imagined when they grazed your forehead, his big hand petting your cheek once more, then turning out the lights. That deep timbre whispering from the doorway, goodnight. The door clicking shut. All of it perfect. How you’d known you mattered more than a job for just one moment in time.

dividers by @saradika-graphics - tag list & some mutuals <3

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@noisynightmarepoetry @clawdee

Everyone always wants to talk about Hook or Pan. Everyone always wants to debate which one is good and which is evil - who we’re supposed to follow and who we aren’t. The Peter Pan mythos has pretty much shrunk down to nothing but Hook and Pan (Hook, SyFy’s Neverland, Pan, OUAT, etc). Occasionally Tinkerbell factors in (Hook, Disney’s Tinkerbell, OUAT, etc). There’s one character, however, that always gets sidelined - which is puzzling since they are the main character of both the play and the book. That character is, of course, Wendy Darling.

Peter Pan is Wendy’s coming of age story. Wendy who decides to run away from home. Wendy who realizes that she must grow up - and that there’s no shame in that. Wendy who sees Peter as deficient and sees Hook as empty and decides that, no, she doesn’t want to be a part of that. Wendy gets the adventure she’s always wanted and she turns away because she realizes that it’s lacking. She’s the only one who truly sees the hollowness of being young forever. Barrie even says “You need not be sorry for her. She was one of the kind that likes to grow up. In the end she grew up of her own free will a day quicker than other girls.”

People always debate on who the hero is. When they learn that Peter could be horrid they assume it has to be Hook. Of course, the answer is that neither of them are the hero. Wendy is the hero of the story. You’re not supposed to be like Peter, who kept every good and bad aspects of being a child and can’t tell right from wrong. You’re not supposed to be Hook, either. He let go of everything childish and loving about him and became bitter and evil. They’re both the extreme ends of the scale. You’re supposed to fall in the middle, to hold onto the things about childhood that make it beautiful - the wonder, the imagination, the innocence - while still growing up and learning morality and responsibility. You’re not supposed to be Hook. You’re not supposed to be Peter Pan.

You’re supposed to be Wendy Darling. 

i know ur not taking requests right now . but if i could just get a CRUMB of meeting ransom at a halloween party... a hc, a drabble, a fic, IDC i am so desperate for this. i need to know what he’d dress up as. please i am begging

Bwahahaha I could feel your shameless hoe desperation, nonnie, and I couldn't just leave you hanging. Consider this your very own Halloween treat 😘

Trick or Treat?

Pairing: Ransom Drysdale x Female!Reader Word Count: 2,943 Summary: You’d rather be anywhere else than a Halloween party thrown by rich Boston elite, but luckily a pretty asshole with a lame Halloween costume keeps you entertained. Warnings: Explicit language. Sexual themes. AU.

You didn’t even want to go to this Halloween party.

It wasn’t your normal scene and you had very little in common with rich Boston socialites. But your best friend had begged you, pulled out the puppy dog eyes and pouting lower lip and everything, and damnit! You couldn’t say no to her when she did that.

And she knew it.

She also promised it wouldn’t be as bad as you were already assuming, because her cousin was throwing the party and her cousin was awesome.

Her cousin was also a rich Boston socialite who lived in an actual facts manor on the edge of the city.

Your mouth literally gaped as you struggled with your costume as you got out of your friend’s car.

That was another thing you weren’t crazy about - wearing a costume. You hadn’t done that in years. But when you told your friend you would just dress in your scrubs and be a nurse for Halloween, like you were every other day of your life, she nearly rioted.

So you’d called in a favor with another friend, one who was a local theater director and gleefully helped you comb through his costume department to pick out something to wear to the party.

And you would be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit in love with the extravagant renaissance dress. It was from a Shakespeare play you couldn’t remember the name of, and it was actually very pretty and fit you surprisingly well.

But as you continued to gape at the many expensive vehicles filling the circular driveway, the type of high end cars you would never even ride in, let alone own in your lifetime, you couldn’t help but feel out of place.

And that feeling only increased as you followed your friend inside the manor and realized your pretty dress was a far cry from the various sexy Halloween costumes donned by the other women at this adult frat party you just stepped into.

You froze in the entryway, eyes so wide you were sure you resembled a cartoon character, as you glanced around.

There were people everywhere. Filling the excessive manor, with their excessive alcohol, and the too loud music making the floor vibrate beneath your feet.

“I just wanna find my cousin and say hi,” your friend chirped, adjusting her sexy witch costume as she grinned at you. “Go find us some drinks, and maybe a couple of sexy vampires or something to take home for the night, and I’ll catch up with you.”

“You’re not seriously going to ditch me as soon as we get here?” you scoffed.

“I’m not ditching,” she promised. “I’ll be right back!”

And then she was gone, lost in a sea of sexy doctors, sexy Red Riding Hoods, and sexy…you squinted - was that a sexy SpongeBob Squarepants costume?

“Oh my god, why did I agree to this?” you muttered to yourself, realizing that a few people nearby were smirking at your more traditional--and conservative--costume as they whispered to each other.

Feeling your face warm, you hitched up your dress and shimmied through the crowd. There were drink filled coolers, kegs, and tables laden with snacks and food throughout the space, so you grabbed a beer, just one, cause your ditching BFF could get her own, and planted yourself in a corner of one of the less crowded rooms.

It looked like some kind of sitting room and, bored from the party and trying your best not to make eye contact with the drunk, sleazy looking spartan a few yards away who was eyeing you up like a prime rib, you hedged around the perimeter of the room. You observed the various family photos and awards as you idly sipped your beer.

You were trailing your fingers along a familiar book on the built-in bookshelves when a voice suddenly spoke to your left.

“So what’s your deal? You an exiled princess? Or a lonely queen? I could probably help with that second one.”

You started, straightening and glancing over to find a ridiculously attractive man staring at your chest.

He was tall and lean, his shoulders broad and encased in an expensive looking maroon sweater. His dark gray slacks were perfectly tailored, hinting at muscled thighs and long legs. His dark blonde hair was neatly swept away from his face, his pale skin a beautiful practice in sharp lines and perfect angles.

He was, quite simply, the most handsome man you had ever seen in real life, and you fidgeted to be in his company.

His blue eyes finally lifted from your cleavage as he took a pull from his beer, and you remembered his question about your costume.

Your gaze narrowed. “I’m not exiled or lonely, I’m just--”

“A stuck up prude?” he guessed, eyes sparkling as your mouth fell open.

“Well who are you supposed to be?” you cried, waving a hand at his normal attire. He stuck out like more of a sore thumb than you did.

A smirk slowly curled his lips and he stepped closer, invading your personal space as he met your gaze. With a perfectly straight face, he replied, “I’m the guy who’s gonna be balls deep in that uptight pussy by the end of the night.”

You spluttered wordlessly, torn between the embarrassment that warmed your face and suppressing your giggles, because this guy was ridiculous...even as a tiny part of you rippled with excitement at his lewd declaration.

Because, honestly? You’d never had a man that pretty show you a lick of interest.

His snicker of amusement that he momentarily struck you speechless made your gaze narrow further. You rolled your eyes as you shoved him out of your space, very purposefully ignoring just how warm and firm his chest felt beneath your touch.

“In your dreams, asshole,” you snorted before hurrying past him in search of your friend.

Your search stretched on, and after what you guessed was fifteen minutes or so of your friend being MIA, as well as dodging a number of lecherous comeons, you needed air.

Even if that air was abnormally chilly for an evening in late October. You decided you’d much rather risk frostbite than spend one more minute inside that fancy manor with all those smug, outrageous partygoers.

Which is why you hedged away from a small group of people smoking a joint just outside of the manor and wandered around the side of the large home. Relief eased the tension from your shoulders as you found the dark, chilly grounds around you empty of anyone else.

With a quiet sigh, you leaned against the cold, gray stone of the manor, hugging yourself as you shivered in the evening chill. The grounds seemed to stretch on forever, in what you assumed were rolling hills of perfectly manicured grass, but you couldn’t really tell in the dark. There was a lake in the distance, and for a split second, you wondered what it would be like to be this rich.

It’s not like you were struggling financially. You lived comfortably, and you appreciated everything you had. You actually really loved your job as a nurse and enjoyed working hard and helping others on the daily.

But still...what would it be like to drive home to this at the end of each day?

It was a concept you couldn’t even compute, and didn’t spend a lot of time trying to.

Another round of shivers shook your frame and you crossed your arms tighter over your chest.

“You look cold, sweetheart.”

Your head snapped up, spying the pretty asshole from earlier rounding the side of the manor and sauntering toward you. He was wearing a long, tan coat, a colorful scarf draped around his neck, and your jealousy at how warm he looked was instant.

He kept coming closer, until he was standing right in front of you, no more than a foot away. His gaze dropped to your chest once more, which was now put on further display with your arms tightly hugging yourself to fend off the cold.

It was your turn to snicker, at his complete lack of shame. “I finally figured out your costume,” you said. “You’re a guy who can’t take a hint.”

He laughed. “You can call me ‘Ransom,’ princess.”

You blinked. “Is that actually your name?”

His eyes narrowed as he took an exaggerated step closer, his front brushing against you and making you straighten. You pressed yourself against the stone behind you even more, trying to keep some distance between the two of you.

It was strange, the gentle malice shining in his gaze as he planted his palm on the wall beside your head. It was so different from the smug amusement you’d witnessed in him thus far.

Ransom leaned in close enough that his body heat was chasing the chill from your body, and you shivered again, but this time it wasn’t from the cold.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, huh?” His hand fell to the curve of your hip, gently squeezing and you froze. “Wonder if you’ve got the talent to back it up. Feel free to drop to your knees and show me. For science.”

“Oh my god!” You half laughed, half gasped, trying to shove him away. “You are so disgusting!” Your eyes narrowed when you realized how ineffective it was - trying to push him away.

In fact, he only pressed closer, until your hands were pinned against his stomach and he was smirking down at you.

You huffed your defeat and instead glared up at him for all you were worth.

“Sticks and stones,” he faux pouted, chuckling as you gave him a waspish gaze.

You opened your mouth to tell him where he could shove his sticks and stones, but Ransom swooped in and kissed you quiet.

You were so stunned you went still, your breath catching at the warm play of his lips against yours. And then he was smiling against your lips and forcing his tongue into your mouth, until it was teasing your own and…

Well, sadly this pretty asshole was a very good kisser.

It was like all of your objections and offense literally evaporated as he worked your mouth with the filthiest, most thorough kiss you’d ever experienced in your life.

You moaned, prying your hands from between your bodies so you could touch him. One hand slid around the nape of his neck, the other groping his chest, exploring the muscles beneath.

Ransom hissed quietly as your cold fingers found their way beneath his scarf and collar and onto his bare skin. “Jesus, you’re fucking freezing.” He remained close, forehead pressed against yours, noses knocking.

You found your body curling even closer to him, craving relief from the cold, until you were flush to his chest, his coat now keeping you warm too.

“That’s my actual costume,” you murmured. “A frigid bitch.”

Ransom laughed, the amusement back in his eyes as they danced at you. “You’re funny, princess.”

You stared up at him, your hands tracing the smooth, luxurious fabric of his scarf. “Y/N,” you finally offered.

Ransom repeated your name softly, his lips curling into a hint of a smirk, but still more of a smile. “I’d be happy to warm you up. In fact, my house is fairly close and I have a very impressive fireplace.”

“Is ‘fireplace’ some kind of weird sexual innuendo or…”

“Why don’t you come home with me and find out?”

“It’s lame of you to prey on my hypothermia,” you told him.

“I’m pretty shameless when it comes to getting what I want,” Ransom returned. His fingers pressed into the curve of your hip, scorching you through the thick fabric of your costume. “Or who.”

At that, you grinned. “I have a feeling you’re used to getting what, or who, you want, Ransom.”

“You’re not wrong,” he smirked.

For some reason, you found his arrogance amusing, and oddly charming. Maybe you really did have hypothermia and it was affecting your judgment...or maybe that steamy kiss had thoroughly short circuited your brain.

And, if you were being honest with yourself, it was kind of fun, this sexy banter with a pretty asshole. More fun than hiding in the corner of a too loud party full of strangers.

“Sorry to say you’re gonna need to thaw me out a little more before I agree to go home with you,” you told him, gently pushing at his chest.

Ransom’s brows furrowed as he stared down at you, lips pursed with disappointment. “Meaning?”

“Meaning baby steps, Casanova,” you smiled mischievously, unable to help yourself as you gripped the lapels of his coat and tugged him close. “It’s gonna take more than a lame Halloween costume, lots of arrogance, and a decent kiss to get in my pants.”

“Decent?” Ransom scoffed, glowering as you pushed him away and stepped around him.

You immediately missed his body heat as the cool night air engulfed you.

“You always that enthusiastic for merely decent kisses?” Ransom huffed.

You hugged yourself tightly, glancing over at him with a wry smile as you blatantly ignored his question. “Does your car have heat?”

He blinked, thrown off by the change in subject. “...yes?”

“How about we sit in there and warm up, because I’d literally rather throw myself in the half frozen lake than return to that party.”

Ransom couldn’t suppress a smile. He shook his head, sighing as he shoved his hands in his coat pockets. He followed as you moved toward the front of the manor, then the driveway.

He pointed out his beamer, hand touching the small of your back as he guided you toward it. Then he was standing too close and pinning you against the passenger door as he dug around in his pocket for his keys.

“That kiss was way more than just decent,” he muttered, tugging his keys free. “You were practically putty in my hands. And those little gasps and moans, just from a kiss…”

Your face warmed as you blinked up at him, because he wasn’t wrong. It had been entirely too long since you’d had a kiss like that, let alone actually gotten laid. And just the thought of breaking your dry spell with this silver tongued Adonis was enough to make you shiver in delight.

Getting a whiff of his musky cologne as he shifted against you, you felt his hand sneak to your hip again. His proximity shielded you from the cold, and you couldn’t help but lean into him, just a little.

“Just imagine the noises I make when someone’s balls deep in this uptight pussy,” you teased on a quiet murmur.

Ransom’s breath caught, his grip on your hip squeezing hard as his gaze seemed to go dark with desire before your eyes. “Didn’t take you for such a tease, sweetheart.”

“What’s wrong, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

He smirked at your playful jibe, wedging his knee between your legs as he unlocked the passenger door. Even through the thick layers of your dress, you felt a dull ache spark to life in your core as Ransom’s thigh pressed against you with purpose.

“Mmm, careful, princess, you’re playing with fire.” His head dipped closer, lips hovering so close to yours you swore you could taste him. “You keep mouthing off like that, do all that teasing with no follow through, and you may just get burned right up.”

“Don’t threaten this frigid bitch with a good time,” you quipped. Your heart skipped a beat as Ransom smiled, white teeth flashing as those perfectly plump and tempting lips of his curled.

“We’re gonna have a lot of fun,” he hummed, his thigh pressing against your core hard enough to make you gasp. You didn’t resist as his hands cupped your hips, rocking you against him as his mouth teased along yours.

Your eyes fluttered as he kissed you, much slower this time. He took his time tasting you, gently pulling you apart with his lips and tongue, swallowing your needy little mewl as you wound your arms around his neck and yanked him close.

When Ransom finally pulled away, you were both panting. You pressed a hand to your chest, like it would quell the rapid pace of your heart, your underwear thoroughly ruined and sticking to you uncomfortably as Ransom’s leg moved away as he straightened.

“Better than decent?” he taunted, smile smug as you stared up at him, a little dazed.

You blinked, and then snorted in laughter as you processed his words. “I’ll give you and your ego a moment,” you giggled, patting Ransom’s chest before tugging open the passenger door and carefully folding yourself, and your dress, inside.

Ransom stood there, gazing down at you before ducking low, so his eyes could meet yours. “The thing about my ego, sweetheart? It’s completely justified.”

His grin was wicked as you stared at him.

“You’ll find out soon enough, once I completely and thoroughly ruin you.” His thumb skimmed your kiss swollen bottom lip, his eyes still glued to yours. “And then you’ll fucking thank me for it. As you should.”

You pressed your thighs together, warmth rushing through you and your earlier chill forgotten entirely as Ransom fucking winked at you before closing the door. And as he sauntered around to the driver’s side of the car, you couldn’t help but stare, fanning yourself just a little as you realized he may have just thawed your frigid bitch exterior a tiny bit more.

And you were totally okay with that.

Lol yer girl can’t write a short drabble to save her fucking life. 🤷🏻‍♀️

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Tags will be added in a reblog. If you’d like to be added to my tag list, check out the link in my bio!

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Awesome fall divider made by the talented @firefly-graphics

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Please note that my work is not to be reposted or published anywhere other than my Tumblr or AO3 account without my permission. Reblogs are most welcome though! ❤️

Oops, I never uploaded this one to Tumblr (which I only realized when someone else did, but then was kind enough to tag me, thank you)!

This is the comic that kickstarted my obsession with telling stories with as few panels as I could (usually 10-11 haha), so it’s got a soft spot in my heart. 

I'm feeling old... I only recognised like a third of them

Gen Z Slang (Steve Rogers)

Anonymous asked: Omg ur dream about teaching gen z slang…what if sam taught Steve “hip” phrases but misleads him into thinking they’re romantic even though they’re just straight up Pervy Rjxjdjdj

Thank you for sending this in lmao!! Masterlist linked in bio :)  Steve Rogers x Reader with Sam Wilson Warnings: sex jokes

Steve repeated what he read off the text Sam sent him, “I want to ram you.” He scrunched his nose up, not understanding how that sentence stood for asking someone out, in a romantic way. Sam was trying to teach him some gen z slang, so he could have the courage to ask you out, and flirt with you. Steve’s been crushing on you for a while now, and hopefully with the addition to his vocabulary, he’d go on a date with you.

“I bet you have a great WAP?” Steve tried out, saying it to himself in the mirror. He read a few more of the texts that Sam sent him, shaking his head in confusion. Sam texted him saying Steve needed to send a video of him saying it, so he pressed the camera app, sliding to the video.

He pressed record, facing it to the mirror, to see his whole body while he worked up the courage to say it in what he thought was a romantic way. “We should play strip Jenga together sometime.” He mumbled out, furrowing his eyebrows at the words. Jenga was a game that Sam told him about before, and it seemed fun, and saying “strip Jenga” was another way of saying he wanted to have a game night with you sometime.

“I’m a simp for you.” He pushed out, louder this time. Simp, by what Sam told him, was an admirer, someone that cared for another. And Steve smiled at that one, thinking it was a great way to start the conversation he wanted to have with you later.

“Hindsight is 2020 when I think about you.” That one sounded sweeter than the others to him, Sam told him that it was a very romantic statement. He shifted his hand through his hair, almost nervously as he thought of your smile.

“Wanted to let you know, you could hit it for free.” Hit what though? Steve wondered, shaking his head. He ended the video, pressing send. In the meantime, he saw that Sam sent more slang to use, and Steve walked out the bathroom, practicing them.

Steve groaned as he saw the long list, realizing that he needed to use at least a few of them to get your attention. “I’m baby, and I want to 69 you.” He said loudly, not caring that people gasped and stared at him as he walked through the hallway.

“Come and vibe check on this rocket ship.” He worded out, as he sat in the kitchen, looking up to see that Sam had arrived. He was laughing hard, replaying the video repeatedly, before he glanced back to Steve.

Sam grinned to him, wrapping his arm around his back as he laughed more. “Hey, these are good, you should go tell Y/n soon, I’ll take a video of it for you.” He encouraged Steve. He backed away before letting out another laugh, and Steve stood up with a beaming smile.

“Thanks, I’ll go do it now.” 

The little shit!!! I loved this

Bed of Roses

dark!Clark Kent x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ only; DUBCON, coercion, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, major size kink, descriptions of size difference, no plot

thanks to @/inklore for the divider

You had come to trust Clark, trust in his righteousness, and more personally, you trusted him to never hurt you.

Not only was he the hero the world needed; Clark had placed his secret in your hands. The least you could do for him was be there to support him in the little ways you could. It hadn't seemed enough at first, because compared to the fires he battled, the heights he flew, what could you dare hope to provide for Clark? But he kept coming back. In time, you overcame the shyness of beholding a hero. But the awe never wore off.

And how could you not grow to love this lonely soul that insisted you were the only balm for the sacrifices he made?

You hadn't been ready that first time, but he had been patient with you. You started out with so much going through your mind; afraid you would disappoint him, afraid that the next stage of physical intimacy would change too much of your relationship.

Then he came in, with a confident touch and encouraging words. There was so much, he was so much that night.

Hungry -- his eyes blazed up and down your naked form; his hands grasped and squeezed firmly so that were you to try and get away, you would have surely failed. His mouth had swallowed down your mumbles, nipped your skin until you felt dazed in submission.

You had been nervous, yet his cooing washed away your quiet words. His unrelenting weight kept you in place beneath him. Kept you secure, just as he insisted you should be. I'll always keep you safe. He could understand you so well, even better than your own mind, it had seemed. You don't let new things scare you off. You're my brave girl. He shouldered the responsibility of Earth's inhabitants, yet, Clark did not hesitate to pay extra attention to you.

"Just the tip, that's it." He cooed, nuzzling against you as your lips parted in mimicry of how he was opening you up. "So good, sweetheart."

He wedged the tip of his cock between the wet lips of your cunt, pressing, splitting, pushing until the bulbous head burst past that tight opening and stayed caught. You gasped, breathing shallow at the impossibly thick intrusion.

He took your hand. He kissed your fingertips, then licked your open palm and guided you, wrapping your little hand around his shaft and leading you in stroking him. He huffed, grunting how good you made him feel.

"Such a good girl for me. Fuck, this pretty pussy can't fit all of me yet, huh? Keep going."

You did your best, eager to please him, eager to be good so he could see how much you loved him being gentle for you. Even with the overwhelming heat of his skin on yours, the press and mix of sweat, you tried following his lead. The initial sting of his penetration had faded and all you wanted was to make him feel good. He had listened to you. When you were hesitant, he had encouraged you to trust in him and in yourself. He challenged you in a good way, knowing you could handle these new touches. Clark had told you he knew what was best for you, and see how he had proven it?

Your heart thundered, but you sped up, gripping him tight. You squirmed as he sucked hard at a nipple, sparking jolts of pleasure through you, making your whine at the way his teeth ran across your softness. He groaned. You felt his muscles under your free hand, contracted with so much pressure like he was holding all of himself back. He tried so hard, all for your sake. You would be good for him.

You felt sore and so tired after, and so safe in his embrace.

He kissed you as you fell asleep. Grateful that you could share this with Clark. He would never make you do anything you couldn't handle.

He held your knees wide apart and gorged himself between your legs. You grew sensitive after his eager mouth suckled and licked you so. When you tried to sit up, uttering his name, he yanked you onto your back and kept taking in your sweet slick. His tongue thrust into you, then one finger pushed in that had you whimpering.

Again, you were at his mercy -- no, you were receiving his love, his passion. He was so good to you. You could be good for him.

You hadn't expected so much of his attention tonight, and couldn't help writhing as he kept at you, kissing your sensitive core raw.

When he sat up, you groaned in relief. Clark dropped soft kisses along your hip, murmuring praise. You would have swooned if you weren't already a puddle of buzzing pleasure.

Tonight, he asked to touch you again just so. He missed you, couldn't get you out of his mind, needed to be close to you. Just the tip again, he said.

Now, you were trapped under him. The tip of his cock had found home in you once more. Just as tight of a squeeze as the first time. You wanted to make him feel good again. Just the tip. You could do it.

He was leaving wet kisses up your breastbone, when you felt another bit of his cock slide in.

You winced.

"You're okay. I got you."

A brief rut had you pressing at the side of his ribs. "...Cla..Ah..."

He licked into your mouth. His big paw captured your hand, holding it down. He flexed his hip and you whined at getting split more and more.

"Feel so fucking perfect," he groaned. He filled you so much now, you sobbed, trying to remind him of his promise, but he kissed you, his gravelly voice unrepentant in your ear.

"Knew you could take it. My good girl."

He drew out and thrust slow and slick into you, again and again. Each time he withdrew you felt your pussy clinging to him and you didn't know how but the heat in your center flared hotter and hotter. There was so much of him to fit in, and he had primed you for it, dripping as you were. But you had not been prepared for this, and there so much, so much of him to take.

Resting his forehead on yours, Clark took up all the space in and around you. He was everything, all that you could feel as his hips met the backs of your thighs.

Your body grew taut, ready to combust. Grinding against you lit up that nub of pleasure and you whined with your release. Seeing you lose yourself in climax drove Clark to a frenzy, hips snapping until you couldn't remember how it felt before he claimed you. He growled into the crook of your neck, holding you tight as he came.

As your mind slowly cleared, he shifted you, laid you out on top of him. You felt his hands all over, stroking down your back, kneading your shoulder, squeezing your bottom. His touch, heavy and warm, lulled you away from how overwhelmed you had felt.

Clark knew all along what was good for the both of you.

-

Churches got a whole new appeal

Sanctuary

Pairing: Robert Pronge x Fem!Reader Word Count: 2,265 Summary: You weren't seeking refuge because you almost died, you were seeking refuge because of him.

Warnings: AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Demon!Robert. Soft!dark elements. Paranormal elements. Dub con. Sex in a church. Vaginal fingering. Telepathy. Unprotected sex. Lots of cum, sorry not sorry lol.

A/N: I want to try to get out some spooky/supernatural fics this month, so let's start by revisiting Deal with the Devil!Freezy, shall we?

You were never much for religion, but after your attack, and the way you had almost died, you found yourself sitting in the small, dimly lit church on the end of a rundown city block within walking distance of your apartment quite frequently.  

It wasn't some kind of subsequent faith that you now had after you survived that led you here, it was because you had survived, and the way in which you did.

It was because of him.

The stranger who had saved your life. 

You remembered the satisfaction in his dark, inhuman gaze as he had tasted your blood before drinking from your lips.

You remembered the unnatural flavor of sulfur that had lingered in your mouth for days after the kiss.

And you couldn't seem to escape the way he kept appearing in your dreams, reminding you that you were his now, that you owed him.

You weren't sure what that debt could possibly be or lead to, but you were certain that you didn't want to find out.

So you weren't paying homage to a miracle whenever you came to church, you were a terrified survivor seeking refuge.

Tonight was no different as you sat a few pews back from the church altar, tugging at the gold cross pendant around your neck as you stared off into the distance without seeing, enjoying a few moments of quiet, solitary sanctuary.

And then he spoke from behind you.

"If you were hoping you could hide from me here, sweetness, sorry to burst your bubble."

His voice was rough–almost ragged somehow–the gravelly sound making all your hair stand on end as you went rigid in your seat.

He leaned forward, his breath warming the nape of your neck before he suddenly snuffled along your skin, his nose dragging up the arc of your throat until he was inhaling along the delicate hollow just behind your ear, making you whimper.

You went to launch yourself from your seat, but one heavy hand of his on your shoulder, his fingers curling hard enough to make you whine in pain, kept you in place and enduring the way his teeth nibbled on your earlobe. 

Tears gathered in your eyes, and you were trembling so hard that you dropped your purse. Your head dipped to follow its descent, but suddenly a big, rough hand was gripping your throat and tipping your head back until your cheek was sliding against the stranger's and you shuddered at the soft scrape of his facial hair along your skin.

"What do you want from me?" you whispered, a few tears finally escaping as you stared up at the church ceiling.

A husky laugh rushed past your cheek before he spoke his reply against your ear, "Think I can come up with something."

Between one blink and another, you were gone from your seat and suddenly in one of the dark, empty back hallways of the church. You were far away from the main space, from other people, your frantic mind trying to comprehend how you got here without moving, and so quickly, too.

Those thoughts were lost to you as the stranger pressed you against the wall, his body sinking flush against yours as he gently mouthed along the side of your throat, pausing at your pulse point and dragging his rough tongue over the fluttering spot.

"Please," you choked out, turning your face away and squeezing your eyes shut, not wanting to meet that unnatural gaze of his that had been seared in your brain since that night.

"Already did you one favor, honey, you sure you wanna make it two?" he teased.

As silence stretched on between you, his hand dropped along your body, shifting your sweater up and out of the way until he could thumb at the raised scar on your stomach, the mark that had been with you ever since that night in the alley.

It was instant, the way the warm drag of his skin over yours had a flash of agonizing pain shooting through you, the contact stealing your breath away completely as you went rigid and clenched your teeth against a scream.

"Promise what I want will feel much better than that," he husked against your ear.

He pulled back to watch the terror flashing in your gaze as you stared at him in horror like it was his favorite TV show, a wicked grin curling his lips as he basked in your distress. 

He held your gaze the entire time he worked open the front of his pants before doing the same to yours. When you struggled just a little, trying to shove him away, he encircled your throat in his massive hand and squeezed hard enough to cut off your airflow, his teeth bared in a sneer and his eyes twinkling with victory as you whimpered and went still against him.

As you surrendered to him and his dark desires.

You jerked at the first touch of his fingers to your bare cunt, your panties and work slacks bunched around your knees as this terrifying stranger pet along your most intimate parts like he had every right to.

"I do," he murmured. 

He smirked as your eyes went wide at the way his words were in reply to your thoughts.

Then he slowly sank two fingers into you as he husked, "I told you the cost of saving your life that night, that you're mine now." He licked at your parted lips as his fingers plunged deeper and rubbed. "And so is this cunt."

You couldn't help the sound that fell past your lips, the love child of a moan and a whine, and you weren't sure if was because what he was doing–how he was touching you–actually felt good, or because your body was betraying you by growing so sinfully wet at his wicked touch.

"There you go, sweet girl," he breathed against your lips, his fingers railing you harder. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

You tried to turn your face away instead of answering, but his grip on your neck just tightened, keeping you in place–trapped in his gaze–as he played with your pussy until your insides began to flutter and your thighs started to quake with your impending orgasm.

Just as you felt the first wave of your release cresting, his fingers retreated from your greedy hole, and a disappointed whine got trapped in the back of your throat.

He winked at you before gripping his hard cock in the hand he had just used to work you over, humming as he smeared your juices down the long, curved length of him.

You stared down between your bodies, feeling your cunt clench at the sight of his cock - you'd never seen one so big before, and curved like that, white droplets of pre-cum oozing from the crown as he slowly stroked and squeezed himself in preparation.

When he took a moment to yank off your panties and pants entirely, taking your ballet flats with them as he kicked everything a few feet away, you didn't even resist, in some kind of lust-addled state and desperate to know what that big, thick cock of his felt like inside of you.

"You're about to find out, sweetness," he laughed. 

His free hand dropped to your leg, gripping your thigh and hitching it up around his waist, opening you up for him as he took his weeping cock in hand and slowly filled you up right there against the wall. 

Your hand shot out to grip his shirt, your fingers fisting in response to the slow stretch and burn that was his cock plunging its way inside you for the first time, until your eyes were rolling back in your head, and your back bowed at the invasion.

"Mmm, fuck, that's it," he purred, giving a few rocks of his hips until he was bottoming out and you were gasping sharply at just how deep he was inside of you. 

Dazed, you blinked at him, a distant part of you registering the way his eyes were entirely black now as he gazed at you, and you weren't sure if you clenched around him hard in fear or excitement that someone was looking at you like that.

Like they could not wait to fucking eat you alive.

Another husky laugh fell from his lips as he said, "Oh, honey, that's the understatement of the century."

And then he started to move.

The first retreat of his cock was slow–almost careful–that inhumanly dark gaze watching you avidly as he departed just enough to leave the mushroom head of his cock stretching your hole before sinking back into you slow and deep enough to take you up to your tiptoes.

You squeaked at the invasion, your thighs already trembling, and he grinned at you. His pace picked up until he was gripping the undersides of each of your thighs in one of his hands as he fucked you against the wall hard enough to have you gasping and whining and whimpering with every snap of his hips.

And it didn't go unnoticed by you, how every single time one of those noises escaped you, you could feel his cock throb inside of you. 

The latest round of this sinful give and take made you moan as you clutched him closer and started rocking against him just as hard–just as desperately–as he was moving inside of you.

"Fuck," he laughed breathlessly, amused by your enthusiasm as a glimmer of red flashed through his eyes. "You may just be my favorite indebted yet, sweetness. Haven't felt a cunt this good in a long time. And you're so fucking into it too, you sweet little slut. Really hit the jackpot with you, huh?"

Whining at his words and the way they had your insides clenching and pulsing, you dropped your head back against the wall, feeling the peak of your pleasure closing in quickly.

"Oh no, honey, keep those pretty eyes open and fixed on me, wanna see that fucked out look as you cum for me."

Your eyes blinked open, glassy as you fisted his shirt tighter, your breath catching in your chest as that tightly wound coil deep inside of you finally, blessedly snapped.

You gave a sharp cry of pleasure as your body went taut before your orgasm rushed through you, gasping and moaning as you rocked against his cock, wanting to feel him even more than before, deeper and harder and owning you completely.

"Mmm, I can do that," he purred, dropping his forehead to yours, gripping your thighs tighter, and hammering into you without relent as you rode out your first orgasm before quickly descending into your second.

"Oh god," you cried, slinging an arm around his neck to hold on for dear life as he let loose and started going at you even harder, like a man possessed. 

"Not quite," he panted, splitting you open with one hard, deep rut of his cock after another. "Not even close, actually."

And it was the raspy, wicked husk of his laugh that had you cumming one final time, your body trembling and clenching, rattling with another powerful wave of ecstasy as your pussy rejoiced to be so full and so thoroughly, thoroughly fucked.

"Mmmm, god, that's it, fuck me," the stranger groaned, the next thrust of his cock going impossibly deep and lingering as you felt an unnaturally warm bloom of heat within you. 

Another soft gasp fell from your lips as his next thrust had another hot wave flooding your insides, and you could feel it, the unnatural heat and volume of his spend as he continued to pump you full of it with one eager rut of his cock after another. 

Just when you thought he was done, he sank against you, his face burrowing against the crook of your neck before you felt the sharp pierce of his teeth and a white hot flash of pain as he bit you, just hard enough to draw blood that he could lap at as he rode out his own orgasm with a few final snaps of his hips. 

The unexpected pain had another small orgasm rocking through your pussy, and he laughed against your neck as he felt it, groaning as you milked his cock and sent some of his cum leaking out of your overstuffed cunt and dripping down his balls.

Once his breathless pants died down, he pulled out of you with a satisfied hum, guiding you back to your feet and smirking at the way you wobbled and sagged back against the wall, your sweater rucked up your stomach and his ample amount of cum leaking down your thighs.

He watched you as he slowly redid his clothes, seeming unbothered by tucking away his still messy cock before shooting you a wicked grin. He stepped close, eyes sparkling as your breach caught and you stared up at him in a mixture of fear and awe. 

"You can keep coming here if you want, sweetness," he murmured, gently stroking your warm cheek with his knuckle. Then he leaned in close, so his next words filled your ear, "But really, at the end of the day, and especially after this, you should be worshiping at my altar."

Grinning, he pulled back and stole an obscenely thorough kiss from your parted lips. Then he shot you a wink, disappeared before your eyes, and left you standing there half-naked with his cum cooling on your thighs and the copper tang of your own blood staining your tongue.

WAIT. I KIND OF LOVE THIS?? 

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No Justice, No Peace.  Quote from Emiliano Zapata

Art by Liberal Jane