Ajlovesfiction

22yr old fan girl stuck in her fictional worlds. I swear the stories are better than their descriptions. I suck at updating because I don't have free time. (If you know me outside of here. You saw nothing. Go away.)

[ajvocals43]

Ajvocals Masterlist

Hello there! Welcome to the list of chaos that my brain comes up with. (All stories are x Reader because yeah) Enjoy! 

Requests are welcome 

Dean Winchester 

Best Christmas ever 

Birthday 

Country Girl (Shake it for me)

Dream a Little Dream of Me 

Haircut 

Not a Date - Request

Mine 

Stars 

Te Quiero

U Got It Bad

What I’m Here For - Request

Matt Murdock 

Beautiful 

How to Say “I Love You” 

We Have a Problem 

Bucky Barnes 

Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You

Leon Bridges 

Sunday 

Loki Laufeyson 

Dress Up 

Peter Parker 

By Day & Night 

[clawxmoon]

── ⊹ ࣪ ˖ sleepyhead frank

the apartment is quiet except for the steady sound of rain tapping against the windows. it’s one of those rare mornings where everything feels slow enough to breathe, but frank is still dead asleep, stretched across the bed with one arm thrown over your side.

you’ve barely seen him all week. too many nights spent waiting up for the sound of his boots outside the door, too many mornings where his side of the bed had already gone cold before you woke up. now he’s finally here, and somehow he’s sleeping through the whole day.

you brush your fingers through the short hair at the back of his neck.

nothing.

“frank,” you mumble, nudging his shoulder. “c’mon.”

all you get is a low, annoyed grunt as he buries his face deeper into the pillow. you smile to yourself. “you’re ignoring me.”

“m’not,” he mutters, voice rough with sleep. “you’re just… talkin’ too much.”

“I missed you.”

he doesn’t answer right away. instead he blindly reaches for you, finds your wrist, and tugs until you lose your balance and land against his chest with a laugh. one heavy arm wraps around your waist immediately, holding you there like you’re not going anywhere.

“frank,” you complain, even though you’re smiling. “I was trying to wake you up.”

“bad idea.”

“it’s noon.”

“don’t care.”

his eyes stay stubbornly shut, brows pinched together in that little frown he somehow wears even while sleeping. you poke his cheek.

“you’re grumpy.”

"shut up.”

the words would sound harsh from anyone else, but they’re followed by the softest kiss pressed against the top of your head without him ever opening his eyes. you melt against him.

after another quiet minute, you whisper, “I really missed you.”

this time he sighs, the kind that seems to leave every ounce of tension behind.

“I know, baby,” he murmurs. “missed you too.”

his hand lazily rubs circles against your back before settling there, warm and steady. within minutes his breathing evens out again, already drifting back to sleep. you stay exactly where you are, tangled up in his arms, deciding the day can wait too. for once, you have him home, and that’s enough.

[ajvocals43]

Starting to really love Frank. Why did I wait so long to watch Punisher?

[chvoswxtch]

tell me i'm wrong

pairing: matt murdock x fem!reader

summary: you've been dancing around your feelings for matt murdock for over a year. what happens when he confronts you about it?

warnings: cursing, drinking, some fluff, explicit sexual content (minors dni)

word count: 7.5k

a/n: no one asked for this. this is purely me being a selfish slut for matt murdock. friendly reminder that if sexual content or smut makes you uncomfortable, please feel free to skip this! as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

I slipped the key into the lock and turned it quietly, quickly letting myself in and gently closing the door behind me. After twisting the lock back into place, I made my way down the entryway and turned the corner to head straight for the fridge. The light from inside was the only illumination coating the otherwise dark apartment apart from the quick flashes of light from the giant billboard outside the window of the living room. I let out a huff as I scanned my alcohol choices, standing up on my tiptoes to see if there were any better options on top of the fridge. No such luck. I was about to reach for one of the shitty beers inside when a voice cut through the silence.

“What are you doing?”

I screamed as I spun around, slamming the refrigerator door shut with my back as I braced myself against it. I squinted my eyes to see the shadowy silhouette of a figure sitting on the couch. I ran a shaky hand over my face, attempting to get my breathing back under control.

“Jesus Christ, Matt. What the hell are you doing here?”

“I live here.”

“I realize that, smartass. I thought you’d be out..doing your..thing.”

“It’s still early.”

“I didn’t realize criminals followed the designated hours allotted for illegal activity.”

I could hear him snicker, and I just knew he had that stupid smirk on his face. I had known Matt Murdock for a little over a year after I started working as an assistant at his firm along with Karen. After a few high profile cases, they were getting more clients than they could keep track of and needed the extra help. Thus started my complicated relationship with Matt Murdock. Well, it wasn’t really complicated. I complicated it. I immediately developed a crush on him, and he was a flirty little shit that only made it worse. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if he knew what he was doing, or if he was doing it on purpose.

I had accidentally found out about his nighttime activities two months ago when I walked in on him changing out of his costume. He hadn’t shown up to the office that day, and Foggy kept insisting he was probably fine, just sick, but I couldn’t let it go. New York was a dangerous city, and Matt was blind. Or, so I thought. I had used my key he had given me for emergencies and let myself in, calls of his name dying on my tongue when I saw him standing in the middle of the living room with his helmet in his hands. Suddenly, everything kinda clicked. He was always running off at odd times, bailing on drinks after work, constantly not answering calls or texts, and there were always bruises and cuts popping up he would make simple excuses for.

We had both stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. There were a million thoughts swirling around in my head. I honestly didn’t know if I was surprised or pissed. Panic was evident on his face as he approached me slowly, like he was terrified I would bolt if he moved too fast, and had both of his hands held up in front of him.

“I..I know how this looks.”

“It looks like you’re going to be late for court. Get dressed and move your ass, Murdock. I’ll deal with you later.”

For once Matt Murdock had been rendered speechless, and I took pride in that. That charming fucker always had something to say, always had to have the last word. Even though I had promised him we would talk later, I avoided him like my life depended on it. I didn’t show up to his place later that night. I ignored every single one of his calls and texts. I called in sick for two days. I wanted him to know how it felt, to worry, and to be on the other side of a broken promise. To have absolutely no idea what was going on. A piece of me felt betrayed. I know I didn’t have a right to feel that way. Matt was my boss, and sort of my friend, but he owed me nothing. Especially not a secret like that. But still, it stung. I felt like I had been lied to the entire time I had known him. 

He had showed up at my apartment that second night I didn’t come to work, letting himself in through the window. I had a feeling he would. He wasn’t known for his patience. Although I must admit I was a little disappointed he didn’t show up in costume. I was on my third glass of wine and feeling brave, swirling the burgundy contents in my glass as I stared over at him.

“Tell me, how does a blind guy climb up a fire escape? Or are you even really blind?”

“I told you about my accident.”

“You did. But how am I supposed to determine what comes out of your mouth is true and what’s bullshit?”

“I..it’s complicated.”

“Then spell it out for me.”

Matt had finally given me the truth. He came clean about everything, about his heightened senses, about how he was trained as a kid, when he decided to become what he was. I still didn’t fully understand how he was able to do what he did, but I tried not to push it too far. In an odd way, it made things better between us. He didn’t lie anymore about what he was really up to, he promised to keep us updated on where he was going in case something went wrong, and he always promised to be careful. His suit and helmet may have been damn near indestructible, but he was still human underneath. While I knew he could handle himself, I had seen the video evidence, I still worried about him. And every night for the past two months, I found myself unable to fall asleep until I got the one message I had made him promise to send me every night. 

I’m home.

“Are you just here for my beer?”

“I was hoping for something a little stronger, but I guess I’ll have to settle.”

“Wow, stealing from a blind guy. Have you no morals?”

“Hey, I was gonna leave a twenty on the counter.”

“How generous of you.”

“Do me a favor next time you do a beer run, get something good. Not this German shit. I’m talking Mexican Lager, maybe a little beer salt, some limes. Be considerate of those who raid your stash while you’re out making the world a better place.”

I twisted the top off the bottle and threw it into the trash, making my way over to sit down on the couch opposite the one Matt was sitting on. I could see him better from this spot. The light from the billboard made the red of his glasses almost glow. I rarely ever saw Matt not in his lawyer gear, or his other suit. It was refreshing to see him in a black tshirt, that looked like it had been dried one too many times, and a pair of dark gray sweatpants. He looked..cozy.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I feel like even if I say no, you’re going to anyway.”

Matt pursed his lips into a pout of contempt. I had been getting fed up with his teasing, so I decided to start dishing it right back. It was kinda fun to get him all riled up for a change.

“Go ahead.”

“You’ve been..oddly calm about all of this. I mean..even from the moment you found me in the suit. I was expecting you to-”

“Freak out?”

“Well, yeah. Or at the very least, lecture me. I got an earful from Foggy when he found out.”

Matt had sat up a little straighter, resting his elbows on his knees as he clasped his hands in front of him. There was a time when I thought I could shamelessly stare at him without fear of being caught damn near drooling. In the beginning, I did. I didn’t panic when he turned his head towards me, because I didn’t think he could see me. I didn’t think I was getting caught. Of course after Matt had told me the truth about his abilities, I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole realizing that he had been aware the entire fucking time.

Letting out a sigh, I ran my fingers through my hair and took another sip from the beer.

“You’re a grown man, Matt. Nothing I say or do is going to change your mind. You’re going to do what you want regardless of what any of us say.”

“Yeah but..you’re the only one that’s a little..warmer to the idea. You’ve had no apprehensions about it, not once. You don’t think it’s wrong?”

“I’m not exactly the person you should be asking that.”

“Why not?”

“Because my moral compass isn’t exactly as straight as everyone else's.”

“I want to know what you really think. You’ve been holding back.”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

“Aren’t you Catholic? Shouldn’t you only worry about what God thinks?”

“He’s..a little hard to get a hold of sometimes.”

“She.”

Matt perked his head up, a slight chuckle leaving his mouth as he looked over at me incredulously.

“I thought you weren’t religious?”

“I’m not. But if there is a God, she’s a woman.”

“Fair enough.”

There was no easy way to get out of a conversation with Matt Murdock. Once he had his teeth sunk into something, there was no letting go. My choices were to give in and give him what he wanted, or deal with his relentless pestering until he got it. I let out another deep sigh as I leaned back into his stupid expensive comfy couch.

“I know there’s an idealistic part of you that thinks the system works. But I also know there’s a more realistic side of you that can acknowledge that often, it fails. If you didn’t feel that way, you wouldn’t be running around rooftops in your little red number every night. I don’t believe in absolutes. I don’t think there’s just good and evil, or black and white; there’s a lot of gray area. I guess..that’s where you come in.”

“So, you don’t think it’s wrong?”

“The short answer? No.”

“But you feel for them.”

“You forget I come from a family of criminals.”

“But you didn’t end up like them.”

“Because I chose not to. That doesn’t mean I’m not sympathetic. I got lucky. I made my own choice. Some of those people out there..feel like they don’t have one. So yeah, maybe you get them put away and they’re out in a week or a month, but that’s a week or a month they have time to make a choice of their own. And if they make the wrong one, then you’ll be there. Look, I don’t like that you’re out there every night putting your life, and your career, at risk. But I also get why you do it. There are those assholes who think they’re above the law because they pay the ones that enforce it to work in their favor. So if they lie under oath, it’s only fair they get to meet the Devil.”

“You worry about me?”

There was that signature, shit-eating grin on his face. God he was insufferable sometimes. I wanted to climb across this coffee table and smack it off, but he would probably have me pinned down before I had a chance. On second thought..might not be such a bad idea. I groaned in exasperation, finishing off the bottle in my hand.

“Yes, Matthew. I worry about you, alright? Sue me.”

“I know a good lawyer.”

“Oh fuck off. Look, can we save our Hallmark moment? Or do you feel the need to milk it for all it’s worth?”

Every single one of his stupid perfect white teeth were on display as he grinned widely at me, his broad shoulders moving slightly with every snicker that came from his chest. Matthew Murdock had to be the most infuriating man I had ever met. It was like he lived to tease and test my patience.

A comfortable silence washed over us after a while. My thumb lightly brushed over the label on the bottle as I stared out the window, thinking about what might be waiting out there for Matt tonight. No matter how much I didn’t want to, my mind always drifted to him. I was constantly thinking about him. My thoughts often wandered to the night he had told me the truth, about everything. 

That night, realization dawned on me like the first sun after a long winter. He knew. He knew all along that I had been watching him, staring shamelessly. He always heard the way my heartbeat quickened whenever he entered the room, or was suddenly close to me. He could feel the rise in temperature in my cheeks from his lighthearted flirting. He knew..but never said anything. Never acted on it. After his confession, I crossed off the possibility that he had no idea what he was doing to me. Maybe it was really all a game to him.

“What is it?”

“Huh?”

“What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing.”

“I don’t know why you still bother trying to lie when you know I can tell when you are. Besides, I can practically hear the words buzzing in your head.”

“Okay, your hearing isn’t that good. And I’m gonna keep practicing my lying skills until one day even I can trick the human lie detector, Matthew Murdock.”

“Lie detectors actually don’t work very well. They’re kind of bullshit.”

Normally I wouldn’t concede in our banter so easily, but it was getting late and I was exhausted. I was also completely on edge knowing at any second, Matt was going to subject himself to the violent dangers of Hell’s Kitchen leaving me a mess of anxiety waiting on that one message that would finally put me at ease.

“Come on, talk to me. I still got some time to kill. Tell me what’s going on in that little head of yours.”

I racked my brain for anything I could use along the lines of what was running through my head without completely giving myself away. I curled up into the side of his couch, resting my hand on my palm as I looked over at him.

“What..what do you see, exactly? I know you kind of explained it to me..but I’m just curious. I mean is it like..sonar? Shadows or shapes? White noise?”

“It’s more like..a world on fire.”

“Well that sounds..pleasant.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why do you ask?”

Shit. I tapped my nail lightly against the side of the bottle, shrugging my shoulders a bit now that I knew he could tell when I did that.

“I’m just..trying to understand. Foggy..um..he always says that you always know when girls are pretty so..I guess I was just wondering what you saw. When you look at people, I mean. You can..see them.”

“Short answer, yes. In my own way, I can tell what people look like.”

Maybe that was it. Maybe he could see me, and wasn’t impressed. Maybe he didn’t think I was as pretty as all his other girlfriends and that’s why he never said anything. Leave it to me to not even be a blind guy’s “type”. It certainly wasn’t because we worked together. That didn’t stop him and Karen, which was a painfully awkward conversation to have with her once she found out about my infatuation with him.

“I know that you’re pretty.”

My head snapped in Matt’s direction and I expected to see his usual stupid smirk coating his lips, but he was just smiling. A real, genuine smile. I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Was this a trick?

“What?”

“I said I think you’re pretty.”

“Oh..Foggy tell you that? You know you can’t trust his judgment after tequila.”

The smile on his mouth only stretched further as he shook his head slowly, bracing his palms on his knees.

“No, I can tell for myself.”

I didn’t know what to say. Matt had never called me pretty before. He flirted with me like it was his own personal mission from God, but I never thought he actually found me attractive. I didn’t know he could. I promptly became self conscious of the fact that I was wearing a flimsy tank top with a cropped zip up hoodie and a pair of leggings that had small holes forming on the inner thighs where they had been worn down. I didn’t think he was going to be here, so I didn’t bother with changing. I had never had a reason to be self conscious about my appearance with Matt before. But now I knew that he could see me, and thought that I was pretty.

“Does that bother you?”

“What?”

Matt rose from his spot on the couch, taking careful steps around the coffee table until he could take his place right beside me. If he moved even a centimeter closer, his knee would brush against mine.

“Does it bother you that I think you’re pretty?”

“Oh..um..n-no. But..you knew that already..right?”

“I wanted to hear you say it.”

Matt was closer in proximity than he ever had been before, and the scent of his cologne was intoxicating. I had to stop myself from leaning in to nuzzle his neck. His large hands were braced against his thighs, as if he was waiting for something. I loved Matt’s hands. I knew what they were capable of, but I wanted to know what they could do to me.

“How does it make you feel?”

“What?”

“That I think you’re pretty. How does it make you feel?”

“Matt-”

“Don’t be shy, Y/N. Be a good girl and tell me how it makes you feel.”

Good girl. Those two words went straight to my core and caused me to press my thighs together tightly, which did not go unnoticed by Matt. He noticed fucking everything. His eyebrows rose slightly above his crimson colored glasses, that familiar smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Oh, did you like that?”

I didn’t know if my frustration was purely sexual or just due to Matt being a cocky son of a bitch but I couldn’t stand to be around him for another second. I hadn’t eaten since lunch so I was pathetically buzzed off of one beer, further intoxicated by the scent of his cologne that had weaved its way through my lungs, and internally begging to hear more filthy words fall from his graceful lips in that dangerously low voice. As much as my body was screaming for his touch, my brain reminded me just how much he pissed me off. I slammed my empty bottle on the table as I stood.

“I am so fucking over your little games, Murdock.”

Matt’s hand darted out in a flash to grip onto my wrist, not hard enough to leave a mark, but just enough to let me know I wasn’t leaving. I felt my breath hitch in my throat as I looked down at him and swallowed thickly. There was a somewhat pained look on his face and his jaw clenched slightly.

“Don’t. It’s not a game.”

Without warning, he pulled me down onto his lap with an ease that caused a sharp gasp to fall from my lips at just how strong he was. His arm snaked around my back, trapping me against his firm chest so that our faces were merely an inch apart. I flattened my palms against his chest, not like I could push him away even if I really tried. I could feel his warm breath fanning over my lips.

“Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me that I read this all completely wrong, and you can walk out that door, and we can pretend that this never happened. I won’t bring it up again, I swear. But if you do want this..God, I need to know.”

My heart was pounding so loudly in my ears it was deafening. I wondered what it must sound like to him. To me, it must have resembled a hummingbird fluttering around in a cage. But for Matt, it had to be far more intense, like a marching band plowing right through my ribcage. I reached up with trembling hands, grabbing onto the sides of Matt’s glasses and gently pulled them off of his face. 

I always thought Matt’s eyes were beautiful. There were swirls of deep caramel intermingled with honey golden embers and splashed with tiny flecks of jade. He brought his other hand down to rest on my waist, his thumb pressing light circles against my hip bone through the fabric of my leggings. God did I want to kiss him. I wanted to throw caution to the wind, bite the bullet and finally get what I had been craving since that first day.

But fear crept into the back of my mind and turned my blood cold. What did this mean? What would it change? Would I be just another shiny new toy that Matt would discard in a month once he got bored? I didn’t think I had the grace to carry on with business as usual like Karen had. This would change everything for me. There would be an entirely different rendition of “normal” if we crossed this line, and I had no idea what it meant to Matt.

“Let it go for tonight.”

“Let what go?”

“Everything you’re worrying about right now. I promise whatever happens, you and I will work it out together tomorrow morning. Line by line.”

“Matt..”

“Tell me you want this, Y/N.”

“You can hear my heart.”

“I want to hear you say it. I need to hear you say it. Please.”

My mind was swimming with curiosities and consequences. I could give in. I could relinquish complete control and finally get to have Matt Murdock like I had been dreaming about since we first met. And even if the flame burns out too quickly for my liking, at least I’ll always be able to remember this night. And if I don’t, I could spend the rest of my life wondering what I had missed out on. Agonizing if I had made a mistake. Which was worse? To have a little taste, or nothing at all?

“I..I want this. I want you, Matt.”

In an instant his lips were crashing onto mine, grabbing onto the back of my neck to pull me impossibly closer. Our teeth and tongues thrashed together with insatiable hunger. Matt’s kisses were rough and needy and it lit a blaze within me. I had never wanted someone so badly. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and tugged my head to the side, granting himself full access to my neck. He left a burning trail of kisses down my neck and I whined when I felt his teeth sink into the juncture above my collarbone. 

“Your scent drives me fucking crazy. Ever since you first stepped into the office..it was everywhere. It still fucking is. Doesn’t matter how many times I wash my clothes, how long it’s been since you’ve been in the office, or my apartment, your fucking scent is everywhere..and it goes straight to my cock. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had to excuse myself to go fuck my hand in the bathroom like a horny fucking teenager because of you?”

“M-Matt..”

His fingers swiftly tugged at the zipper of my hoodie, shoving it down my shoulders and throwing it across the floor. He gripped the top of my tank top and ripped it completely in half like a piece of paper, carelessly discarding the scraps. A gasp of surprise left me but was completely cut off by a loud moan when Matt pulled me roughly down onto his lap.

“Can you feel that? Can you feel what you fucking do to me?”

I could feel the entire outline of Matt’s hardened bulge as he grabbed my hips, pulling me down even harder against him. I let my head fall back and moaned wantonly at the feeling of his hard on rubbing against me right where I wanted him. I was surprised he had actually unclasped my bra instead of ripping it off with all of my other clothing. My nipples instantly peaked from the rush of cool air and goosebumps littered my naked skin. My mouth hung open at the contrast of Matt’s warm large hands fondling my breasts, squeezing them roughly. His mouth latched onto one of my nipples, alternating between sucking and biting down on the sensitive flesh. He splayed one of his large hands flat against my back, keeping me in place so I couldn’t escape the delicious torture. 

“I can fucking smell your arousal. I can smell how fucking soaked you are right now. Fuck..I can’t wait to tear you apart.”

I whined as I gripped at the collar of his shirt, giving it a light tug hoping he would get the hint. As he pulled his shirt off his head, I took the opportunity to rush forward and drag my tongue along the sharp outline of his jaw, nipping at the skin under his ear. He grunted as he suddenly shot up with me in his arms, turning slightly to drop me onto my back on the couch as he ripped my leggings down my thighs. I gulped as I watched him shove his sweats down, climbing onto the couch on his knees in front of me. He flashed me a devilish grin before sounds of seams ripping and tearing filled the ear. My mouth hung open in shock as I stared at the remnant shreds of my panties in his hand.

“Matt-”

Before I could register what was happening, he placed one of his large hands over my mouth and shoved two of his fingers into my soaking pussy. I whined against his hand, staring up at him above me with wide eyes.

“Shh, you’re gonna be a good girl for me, aren’t you? Gonna let me take what I want? Gonna let me use you like my own little whore, yeah?”

A fresh wave of arousal flooded between my thighs. The sweet, charming Matt Murdock was long gone. The devil had come out to play. 

Matt wasted no time settling between my thighs, diving face first into my pussy like a man starved. I cried out in pleasure as he bit down on my clit, soothing it with his tongue before sucking on the sensitive nub without remorse. His beard burned as it rubbed against my thighs, but it felt so fucking good at the same time. One of his hands clamped down on my thigh to keep it spread and he locked my hips down in place with his arm so I couldn’t move at all. All I could do was lie there and take it as he took what he wanted. As he worked me over with his tongue, his fingers explored deep inside of me, curling up upon exit every now and then and brushing against that special spot. I wasn’t going to last.

“Matt..M-Matt fuck..I..I’m g-”

I nearly cried when he roughly retracted his fingers and removed his mouth. I shot up instantly to reach out for him, face contorted in annoyance and ready to protest. His hand suddenly wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to get me to stay still. A warning. I grabbed onto his wrist with both of my hands. My entire body felt like it was on fire. His lips were red and swollen, and coated with my wetness that was dripping down his chin. The smirk on his lips grew more wicked by the second.

“I didn’t say you could come. You don’t get to come unless it’s on my cock, understand? You have to earn it. You have to prove to me that you’re a good girl, and beg for it. If I even think you’re going to come without permission, I will tie you up and leave you here all fucking night. Tell me you understand.”

“I..I u-understand.”

“Good.”

I sucked in a deep breath when Matt let go of my neck. His large hands gripped my hips savagely and he flipped me over without hesitation onto my stomach. He shoved his knee in between my thighs to spread them apart, pulling me up onto my knees so that my ass was straight up in the air. I whined loudly when I felt the sting of his palm slapping harshly against my ass. I didn’t have to turn around to know there would be a perfect outline of his hand. I could hear the rustling of clothing behind me as he shoved his briefs down his muscular thighs. 

“Give me your hands.”

I swallowed thickly as I turned my head slightly so that my face was flush against the cushion of the couch, reaching my hands behind my back. Matt took both of my wrists into one of his hands, holding them firmly against my back. I surged forward and cried out when he abruptly shoved the head of his cock into my needy pussy. He didn’t give me time to adjust and before I knew it I could feel his hips against my ass as he fully sheathed himself inside me. I heard a guttural groan rip through his chest behind me and it went straight to my core. 

“Fuck..you’re even fucking tighter than I thought you’d be. Gripping my cock so fucking good.”

Matt’s thrusts were rigorous and unrelenting as he pounded into me. My body surged forward with every powerful snap of his hips. I had never been fucked like this before. My head was spinning and it was becoming more and more difficult to stay up on my knees with the pace Matt was fucking me at. I felt him grab a large fistful of my hair, yanking me backwards so that my back was arched even more. I moaned sharply at the new angle that allowed him to drive deeper inside of me. He was so big and thick, and it burned delectably everytime he pushed in further. 

“M-Matt..please..please I-I can’t..”

“Gonna come already? Don’t be a greedy slut. I’m not done yet.”

“I c-can’t..c-can’t hold it..”

“You better fucking find a way to hold it.”

I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t think I could handle it if he stopped. I needed him. I dug my nails so hard into my palms I thought they would bleed. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying my hardest not to combust. I clenched my pussy around his length which earned a luscious groan from deep within his chest.

“Fuck angel..you want it that bad, don’t you? Want me to fill this pretty little cunt up?”

“Yes, yes, yes..please..please-fuck..”

Matt let go of my hair and moved his hand between my thighs, beginning to rub his fingers over my clit at a brutal pace. I jerked back against him and nearly screamed at the contact, feeling that band within me dangerously close to snapping.

“Go ahead, angel. Come for me. Let go, and don’t you fucking hold back. I want it all.”

My thighs shook as my orgasm hit me like a tsunami, leaving my body a convulsing mess against him. I moaned his name over and over like a prayer, grinding my ass back against him as I tried to survive the aftershocks. Matt moaned loudly as he spilled inside of me with a vengeance, leaning forward over my back to clamp his teeth down on my shoulder. I whimpered softly as I felt his tongue brush over the spot to soothe the pain.

I cried out again when I felt his length slip out of me, only to be replaced by his fingers as he cupped my pussy, keeping his release inside of me. His hot breath fanned over my ear as he nipped at it, speaking lowly in a gravely tone. 

“Don’t think I’m fucking done with you yet.”

I whimpered at his words and nearly fell apart all over again. It wasn’t a threat, it was a promise. Matt maneuvered me back onto his lap, spreading my thighs on the opposite sides of his. As fast as he withdrew his fingers from me, he was pulling me down onto his half hard cock until he bottomed out inside of me. My mouth hung wide open and I wanted to scream at the sensation, but I couldn’t speak. I could feel him everywhere. I had never felt so full and so whole.

“You gotta earn this one, angel. Show me how good of a girl you can be.”

Matt wrapped his arms tightly around my waist, caging me against his chest once again. My thighs burned and felt like jelly, I wasn’t even sure if I could move. I didn’t know if it was my own desire or my need to please Matt, but somehow I found my strength. I grabbed onto his broad shoulders for support, beginning to rock my hips back and forth slowly. I whined from the sensitivity, leaning in to bury my face into the crook of his neck.

“That’s it..just like that. Look so pretty when you’re taking my cock, angel.”

The embers had been reignited and the fire began to grow within my belly once more. I took the opportunity to leave open-mouthed kisses along his neck, sucking softly at the nape of it. The breathy little moans that left his lips only spurred me on further. I bit down gently on his neck and heard him hiss, roughly digging his fingertips into the flesh of my hips. I couldn’t wait to see the marks he had left on me tomorrow. I wanted to make one of my own.

I sucked aggressively at the skin just above his collarbone, testing my luck as I bit down harder than I had before. I gasped when I felt his hand wrap around my throat again, bringing our faces closer together as the corner of his lips curled up in a snarl.

“Did I say you get to fucking tease?”

“N-no..I’m sorry..”

“Then what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“I..I just wanted..wanted t-to make you f-feel good too..”

“You wanna make me feel good? Ride my fucking cock.”

Matt smacked his hand against my ass sharply, earning another loud moan from me. His grip on my waist tightened as he leaned back against the cushions to stare at me. I bit down on my lip hard, starting to move my hips in slow figure eights. I was trying so hard to keep a steady pace, but I couldn’t focus. My body felt weak and my brain was erratic from how turned on I was. Matt’s patience wore thin as he held me steady and began to snap his hips up into mine repeatedly, causing me to bounce on his cock at an unforgiving pace. I squeezed my eyes shut and threw my head back, digging my nails into his shoulder as I held on.

“Oh fuck..fuck fuck fuck..fuck Matt!”

The apartment was filled with sounds of his thighs slapping against my ass, his cock pistoning inside of my gushing pussy, and the violent growls that rang from his throat. I felt like he might actually tear me apart, and God what a way to fucking go. I grabbed onto the back of his neck tightly, pressing my forehead against his as I moaned even louder. I was gonna break.

“M-Matt..I..I..”

“Come. Come all over my fucking cock, angel. Let me have it.”

I crushed my chest against his, holding onto him as tightly as I could as my second orgasm tore through my body with retribution. I was a screaming, incoherent mess as wave after wave of pleasure racked through me. I could feel Matt’s hips stutter slightly as he came with a loud grunt, coating my walls with ropes of warmth once again. My heart pounded violently in my chest and I struggled to take in oxygen. I was shaking in Matt’s arms as he held me, nearly on the verge of tears. I had never felt so good.

Matt gently ran his fingers through my hair, brushing it out of my face as he pressed a soft kiss to the side of my head. He lightly trailed his fingertips up and down my spine slowly, brushing his nose along the curve of my jaw until his lips were on mine. His kisses continued along my neck as he whispered softly in my ear.

“Can you give me one more baby?”

I started to panic. I didn’t know if I could physically or mentally take one more. I whimpered as I hid my face in Matt’s neck, tightening my grip on his back.

“Matt..I don’t-”

“Shh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. I’ll help you. Just one more for me, baby. You can do it, I know you can.”

Matt slowly lifted us off the couch, his arms wrapped tightly around me and his length still settled inside of me as he carried me into his bedroom and laid me down gently on the bed. He kept himself inside of me the entire time. I panted softly as I looked up at him. He placed his hands on either side of my head, a soft smile on his lips as he leaned down to brush our noses together.

“I’m gonna go slow, okay?”

He gently pulled my legs up to wrap around his waist, taking one of my hands and intertwining our fingers together as he held it by my head. The way he was looking at me made butterflies erupt in my stomach, and I felt my heart squeeze in my chest. The devil had his fun, now my sweet, charming Matt Murdock was back. He kissed me gingerly as he began to lazily move our hips together.

My entire body felt like a live wire and every time our hips connected it sent a jolt of electricity through me that made me wanna scream. It just felt so good. I couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down my cheeks or the sobs of pleasure that sounded from my lips. Matt pressed his forehead against mine as he lightly brushed the tears away with his thumb.

“I know baby..I know. I feel it too. I’ve wanted this for so long Y/N..wanted you for so long. God, you have no idea. You belong with me, Y/N.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak. I didn’t know if I could tell you my own fucking name if you had asked right then. The only thing I could focus on was Matt and how perfectly we fit. I squeezed his hand tightly, feeling myself being brought closer and closer to the edge with every stroke. Matt leaned in to capture my lips in a passionate kiss. I reveled in the feeling of his body weight on top of me. It felt right. I felt safe. 

“Matt..”

“I know, baby. You’re doing so well for me..so so well. I’m so proud of you, angel. Just a little longer baby, I’m almost there. Can you hold on for me just a little longer? Gonna make you feel so good baby, I promise.”

I could hardly hear Matt’s saccharine voice as my third orgasm of the night was steadily approaching. Matt gripped onto the sheets beside my head and sped his pace up just a bit. I didn’t have time to warn him, but he knew. He could feel it. He gently grabbed the back of my neck and pressed his forehead to mine, his voice shaking as he spoke.

“Let go baby, let it all go. I’m right here. I’m right here..I got you. I’m right here, angel.”

My vision became fuzzy, somewhat resembling the inside of a kaleidoscope, and I thought I was going to black out. It was like a bomb inside me had exploded, sending fragments flying that left me shaking uncontrollably. Euphoria rushed over me in unrelenting phases, and it felt like I was free falling throughout space. Matt Murdock had completely ruined me. It took several minutes before I came back down into coherency. 

As my vision came back into focus, I could see Matt still hovering above me. He was lightly brushing his thumb across my cheekbone in a loving gesture, a small smile languidly forming on his lips.

“There you are. I missed you.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, turning my head to lean further into Matt’s touch. I was still trying to regain my bearings as I breathed heavily. Matt leaned down to press gentle kisses to my forehead, cheeks, nose, and lips. He slid his length out me as carefully as he could, but even just the brush of his pubic hair against my overstimulated clit sent another jolt through me and tears pricked at the corner of my eyes again. I whimpered as I could feel a rush of warmth between my thighs where his three rounds of release had begun to spill.

“I’m sorry, angel. I know. I’ll be right back, I’m gonna get you some water.”

I couldn’t move. It felt like there were invisible cinder blocks all over my body holding me down. No one had ever made me come like that, let alone three times in a row. Matt emerged a moment later with his briefs slung low on his hips, a glass of water and a small towel in hand. He sat down beside me, weaving his arm around my back to hold me up against his chest as he brought the glass to my lips.

“Here, baby. Drink as much as you can.”

Once he was satisfied with my water intake, he began to cautiously clean me up with the warm towel. I gripped onto his arm when he touched me where I was sensitive, to which he kissed my temple as a silent apology. He hooked his arms under my knees and back, shifting me over onto the part of the bed that wasn’t drenched with our release. As he laid down beside me, he carefully swung my leg over his waist and held me tightly against his chest.

I could finally hear his heartbeat for once with my head on his chest. It was fast, but steady and strong. I lightly traced my fingertips along the scars that covered his skin. The action quickly sobered me up as I glanced out the window, wondering how late it was.

“Matt?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you..still going out?”

“No. I used all my fighting bad guy energy to fuck you senseless.”

I immediately blushed and hid my face into his neck, lightly slapping at his chest.

“Matthew!”

“What?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re beautiful.”

My breath caught in my throat at his words. That was what had started all of this. Those little words had jumpstarted the best night of my entire life. But I couldn’t stop myself from letting my mind wander about how long this night would actually last. His words from earlier echoed loudly in my mind. You belong with me, Y/N.

“Did you mean it?”

“When I said you’re beautiful?”

“No..when you said..I belong with you.”

Matt turned his head slightly so that he was facing me, cupping my cheek in his large hand while his thumb lightly ghosted over my bottom lip.

“I meant it.”

There were so many questions I had, I couldn’t keep track. How was this going to work? How could it work? What if it ended badly? What if something happened to Matt? I was completely exhausted both physically and mentally, and every question that popped into my head only made me feel more lightheaded. I knew Matt could hear my heartbeat going frantic again when he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead.

“Hey, I told you. We’ll figure it out in the morning. Together. Alright?”

“Alright.”

“Get some rest, angel. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

I had no idea what tomorrow morning would bring, but at least I could take comfort in knowing that I was waking up in Matt’s arms. We would figure it out, together, line by line. And oh, it was definitely fucking better to have a little taste than nothing at all. 

[heldbybarnes]

Hear me out. Beefy!Bucky (because we love him in this house) and his plus sized girlfriend (not just chubby, but like size 20ish). She's never been able to wear her boyfriend's clothes because they're too small. Enter Bucky with his broad shoulders and big arms. The first time she wears one of his Henleys and it's BIG on her she gets all emotional. Cue Bucky being so sweet and soft with her. And maybe telling her how hot she looks in his clothes.

The soft hum of the heater filled the living room as rain beat against the tall windows.

You stood in the doorway of the bedroom, arms crossed over your chest, staring at the laundry basket like it had personally betrayed you. Your favorite oversized sweater, the one that usually made you feel cozy and cute, was now covered in coffee from an unfortunate spill during your morning Zoom call.

And nothing else in your drawer felt right.

Bucky wandered in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. Even in a simple black t-shirt and gray sweatpants, he looked massive. The serum had carved him into something broader, stronger, and unfairly gorgeous. His shoulders strained the fabric, biceps flexing with the smallest movement. At 6’1” and built like a walking wall, he made doorways look narrow.

“You okay, doll?” His voice was low, warm, that slight Brooklyn drawl still clinging after all these decades.

You sighed. “Laundry disaster. I’ve got nothing comfortable to wear, and I’m not squeezing into work clothes again today.”

He tilted his head, metal arm whirring softly as he tossed the towel aside. “Wear mine.”

You blinked. “Buck… we’ve had this conversation. Your stuff doesn’t fit me.”

It was true. In every past relationship, you’d been the plus-sized girl who watched wistfully as girlfriends stole their boyfriends’ hoodies. But Bucky’s clothes? They were tailored by necessity to a super soldier frame. You were a size 20—soft belly, wide hips, thick thighs, full breasts—and proud of it on good days. On bad days, the world reminded you that “one size fits all” was a cruel joke.

Bucky stepped closer, ducking his head to catch your eyes. “Try it anyway. For me?”

He pulled open the middle drawer and fished out one of his henleys—charcoal gray, well-worn, the kind that smelled like cedarwood soap and him. The fabric looked enormous in his hands. You hesitated, then took it, disappearing into the bathroom.

The cotton slid over your head like a dream.

It didn’t cling. It didn’t pull tight across your chest or stomach. The hem fell past your hips, brushing mid-thigh. The sleeves, meant to hug his massive arms, draped loosely over yours, cuffs hanging well past your wrists. The wide neckline slipped off one shoulder, exposing soft skin.

You stared in the mirror, heart suddenly too loud in your ears.

It was big on you.

Comfortably, beautifully big.

Your eyes stung.

You’d spent years making peace with your body—learning to love the way it filled out dresses, how it moved when you danced alone in the kitchen, the power in your thick thighs when you climbed stairs without complaint. But this? This quiet proof that someone else’s size could finally wrap around yours without effort felt like a missing piece clicking into place.

A soft knock. “Doll?”

You opened the door.

Bucky stood there, and the expression on his face made your breath catch. His blue eyes widened, then softened into something reverent. He stepped inside, closing the distance until his hands settled on your waist. His thumbs stroked slow circles over the fabric.

“Goddamn,” he breathed.

You let out a watery laugh, swiping at your eyes. “It’s huge on me.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “It looks perfect.”

He guided you gently toward the full-length mirror, standing behind you. His chin rested on top of your head, arms wrapping around your middle. In the reflection, you looked swallowed up by him in the best way—soft curves draped in his shirt, his broad chest framing you like he was built to shield you from everything.

“I’ve never…” Your voice cracked. “I’ve never been able to wear a boyfriend’s clothes before. They always looked ridiculous or didn’t close or just… didn’t work. I told myself it didn’t matter, but—”

“Hey.” Bucky turned you in his arms, cupping your face with both hands. His thumbs brushed away the tears that had spilled over. “You listen to me, okay? You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Every inch of you.”

His hands slid down, squeezing your hips gently. “These drive me crazy.”

One palm smoothed over the soft curve of your belly beneath the henley. “Makes me want to lay my head there every damn night.”

His voice softened further. “Your arms, your thighs, the way you fill up a room just by smiling… baby, I love all of it.”

You leaned into his touch, emotions swirling.

He kissed your forehead, then your temple, then the tip of your nose. “Seeing you in my shirt? Fuck, it’s doing things to me. You look soft. You look like mine. Like you belong right here, wrapped up in everything I am.”

His voice dropped lower, warm breath brushing your ear. “And hot. Really hot. The way it slips off your shoulder like that? I’m trying real hard to be a gentleman, but all I can think about is how good my hands look on you right now.”

A shy smile tugged at your lips. “Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.” He pulled back just enough to look at you fully, eyes dark with affection and heat. “Turn around for me?”

You did a slow spin, the hem flaring out. Bucky made a low, appreciative sound that sent warmth pooling in your stomach.

“C’mere.” He tugged you toward the bed, sitting on the edge and pulling you between his spread thighs. His hands slid under the hem of the henley, palms warm against your bare skin. “You feel that? How perfectly you fit against me? Doesn’t matter what the size tag says. You were made to wear my clothes. Made to be right here.”

You threaded your fingers through his hair, tilting his face up. “I love you, Bucky Barnes. You big softie.”

He grinned—that rare, boyish smile that still made your heart flip. “Love you more, doll. Especially like this.”

He leaned in, kissing you slow and deep, hands roaming reverently over every curve the henley now claimed as its territory.

Later, you ended up curled against his chest on the couch, his henley still on, now paired with his thick socks that bunched adorably at your ankles. Bucky traced patterns on your thigh, occasionally dipping under the fabric just to feel you.

“You know,” he murmured against your hair, “I’m buying you ten more of these. Different colors. Maybe I’ll start wearing your sweaters too, just to even things out.”

You laughed, pressing closer. “They’d be tight on you.”

“Exactly.” He kissed the top of your head. “And I’d still think you looked better in mine.”

The rain kept falling outside, but inside, wrapped in Bucky’s shirt and his arms, the world felt exactly the right size.

[angrythingstarlight]

Construction worker!Bucky who collapses on the couch after a particularly hot day at work. No shirt. Jeans tossed somewhere. Just a pair of boxer briefs across his thighs. He's debating if he's going to leave them on or not. Trying to will himself to get a cold drink from the fridge but its so far away (not even ten feet).

He feels a cool breeze on his heated face. Pure bliss. It gets even better when a cold piece of ice slides across his lips. Bucky groans your name, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. His eyes slowly open to find your pretty face staring down at him. A glass of water in your hand, condensation rolling down your fingers, splashing on his chest. You're too good to him.

"Marry me."

"The heat really got to you didn't it?" You laugh but he's serious. He'll ask again, once he peels himself off this couch.

[helluva-loss]

Heyoo!! I saw that you had requests open and I would love to submit kissing prompt #42 for Vox (media overlord) x fem!reader? Thank you!❤️

human resources | vox x assistant!reader

this is the first requested drabble based off of this kiss prompt list. if you’d like to make a request for a kiss prompt with either vox or alastor (or both ;)), give that post a read and send in an ask

kissing prompt list and rules

masterlist.

prompt #42: person A staring at person B’s lips for too long and when person B notices person A can’t hold themselves back from kissing them

pairing: vox x assistant!reader

divider credit: @steviebbboi

content: fem!doe!assistant!reader, boss/employee relationship, friends with benefits, size difference, vox is in love with his situationship, soft vox, fluff, banter, suggestive language, suggestive ending

summary: vox isn’t as subtle a he thinks he is, and his assistant catches him staring at her more than he thinks she does.

wc: 2.3k

thanks for the request anon! hopefully it meets your expectations! enjoy:)

Had she been employed under any other Overlord, she might have toyed with the idea that engaging in a temporarily one-sided staring contest with the blinking red light embedded next to her computer’s camera lens was a sign of hell-sent mania.

But she wasn’t working under just any Overlord.

And she knew her boss better than most of the other souls under his clawed thumb. Partly because she was one of the only sinners that worked at VoxTech without a soul contract to keep her there. But mostly because she knew him carnally, intimately, and secretly, in a way that a limited few had access to.

Which was why she knew he had such a petulantly difficult time keeping his hands to himself when they were sharing space. Public or private, he needed her close to his grabbing hands. Under meeting tables, behind locked office doors, or hidden away in the tangled mess of his bedsheets.

She supposed growing familiar with the itching feeling of wandering eyes tracing the outline of her figure sort of came with playing the role of the media Overlord’s best-kept secret. Of the feeling of mismatched eyes finding hers no matter how crowded the room, or the low burr of security cameras zeroing in on her as she traversed the winding halls of Vee Tower.

It was also why she’d long since learned what to look for when he wasn’t around.

Because every now and then, when she was sure that her employer suspected that she wasn’t paying attention, the little red dot would blink blue.

She caught it every time, out of the upper edge of her vision. And each time, it tempted the corner of her lips into an amused upward quirk. Her smirk was shadowed by the low lighting of her private office, face illuminated only by the soft cyan glow of her computer screen as she leaned forward in her office chair. Legs crossed and elbows perched on the flat of her desk, she interlocked her fingers to act as a flexible platform upon which she rested her chin, lidded gaze fixed and waiting for the telltale change of steadily flashing color.

And when it finally came, when bright blue blinked and she had her knowing eyes fixed to the camera lens next to it, fingers wriggling in a flirtatious greeting to the demon behind the screen. A self-satisfied and goading grin wobbled the corners of her mouth when the screen flickered and warbled with static, undoubtedly the flustered reaction of a man caught red-handed.

And just like she expected, like she anticipated, it didn't take long for the overhead lights of her office to flicker, or for the telltale ring of traversing electricity to sound out from above as the wiring connecting her security cameras to the Overlord who had put them there crackled and popped.

A familiar tickle of static traveled through the air behind her, lifting the fine furs on the back of her neck as goosebumps rippled along the arch of her spine and across the curve of her shoulders. A short burst of cyan and sparks illuminated her office for a few exhilarating seconds before the familiar sound of expensive shoes on expensive flooring narrated the closing of distance between her and her newly arrived boss.

“I know I said you just have to sit there and look pretty,” the Overlord started, voice lighter than a sinner as imposing as Vox ought to be. Not when he was addressing a soul that he should have considered to be beneath him. Neither sinner acknowledged the uncharacteristically softened edge to his tone, like always. Just the teasing lilt that overshadowed whatever fondness an outsider could glean from the flirtatious greeting.

Vox approached her desk, stopping only when he could rest his hip against the edge with his ankles crossed and his arms folded over the broad plain of his suited chest. He grinned down at her, smile wide and camera-ready despite the privacy her corner office provided. “But that really doesn’t seem very productive.”

She only hummed in response, hiding the girlish grin that had taken hold of her mouth behind her fist, teeth digging deep into her bottom lip as she let her hooves spin her chair just enough that she could arch a ponderous brow up at the taller sinner.

“I’m just wondering,” she mused aloud, slow and purposeful, head cocked ever so slightly as she smothered the urge to mirror his subtle movements and lean into his space with an aloof thrum of her fingertips against her cheek. She watched as his eyes twitched downward, to the newly presented angle of her chest, to the plume of fluff spilling over the neckline of her blouse. And then, catching himself, he jerked his gaze back up to find hers. “Does VoxTech have an HR department?”

He practically swooned to dip by the waist and take her much smaller hand in his, barking a laugh as he pulled her up from her chair and into his proximity. He sat on the edge of her desk, and she followed his wordless command to step between his spread legs only because she wanted to, letting her free hand instinctively slide along the outside of his thigh until it rested against his hip.

“Oh, doll,” he crooned, lids dipping low over mismatched eyes. “You’ve been here long enough to know we don’t do ‘Human Resources.’”

He said it through a mean, knowing chuckle, relinquishing his hold on her hand to laugh off the mention of such a department with a sharp bend of his middle and pointer fingers to add sanguine quotation to the idea.

She made a short noise of acknowledgment, a quiet hum vibrating behind a tight-lipped smile as her gaze zeroed in on his curling fingers, and leaned heavily on the hand resting with an unprofessional familiarity on his upper thigh. She rocked on her heels, head tilting as her other hand skirted under the lapel of his jacket, lips tipping into a coquettish smirk. “So who do I talk to about my boss spying on me through company computers?”

Vox’s grin broadened the closer she got, large hands finding the gentle curve of her hip and dragging across the tight fabric of her skirt until he could slip his thumbs beneath the waistline. He pulled her closer again, eradicating any modicum of space between them and closing his legs around her to hold her there with the lean muscle of his thighs bracketing either side of her hips.

“You could always take it up with him,” he purred, clawed fingertips walking up the line of her spine until he could entangle his long fingers in the loose tresses of her updo. He felt something roused and lustrous stir deep in his gut when she tilted her head back into his palm, mouth watering as she exposed the subtle jut of her larynx to dangerous teeth and curious hands. The Overlord dragged his thumb under the shadow of her jaw, pressing lightly against the front of her throat as he murmured; “I’m sure he wouldn’t mind squeezing you into his busy schedule.”

And though he felt her shudder under his hands at the husky tone he’d adopted, her expression didn’t waver or falter. The smile curving her painted lips remained, cocky as ever, and her lidded gaze shifted only to twitch to find his own.

“Nice try, Vince,” she crooned, smirk sharp and sexy as she retreated from his orbit with a deliberate slowness meant only to rouse a needy groan from his speakers. Her hands left burning trails of desire in the wake of their journey from his hips to his knees. And Vox could only watch with rapt awe as she used the hold she had on his knees to lift herself enough to rub the tip of her nose across the center of his screen.

The affection made his internal motors burn, fans working at a rate he was almost certain they didn’t reach even when the doe before him was wearing much less and pressed much closer. He was vaguely conscious that his mouth was opening and closing without uttering an intelligible word, like a fool. A fool that was either lovesick or purely idiotic, he wasn’t sure which would be less humiliating to admit to. And he was distantly aware of the reflexive lean of his body as he tried to follow her when she stepped away from him.

“But unlike you, Mr. CEO,” she snarked, pressing a pushing finger to his sternum and halting any efforts to close the distance she was putting between them. She collapsed into her chair, crossing her legs and peering up at the taller demon through her lashes.

Vox felt something old and longing twist low in his gut when she scooted her chair closer to the computer , lap disappearing under the edge of her desk as her attention returned to the numerous windows overlapping on her screen. “I have important stuff to do, so…”

Her voice trailed off, unfinished suggestion hanging in the air and punctuated by a click of her mouse a teasing quirk of her brow.

Vox felt his eyes trail down the slope of her nose, gaze departing from lovely eyes to watch her mouth with rapt anticipation. Awaiting the tell-tale twitch of her cupid’s bow before she embarked on a playful admonishment of his unprofessionalism. Eyes fixed on the plush flesh of her bottom lip, watching for the scrape of her canines over delicate flesh as she bit back a laugh at him.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to take her right then and there. He wanted to bend her over her own desk so that he didn’t have to look her in the eyes as she came undone around him. He wanted to pretend that his undeclared longing to hold her lips to his own was nothing more than lust and instinct.

“Are you even listen-?”

And, with all of the unprofessional vigor of a man devastating every boundary that should have been drawn between boss and employee, Vox interrupted her complaint with a sharp press of his lips to hers. Before she could question why he’d gotten so quiet, so suddenly, and ever so uncharacteristically. Just as she turned her head to arch an inquisitive brow at him, right as her eyes found his and realization dawned on her simultaneously to the bloom of heat above her cheekbones.

Teeth clattered, and lips molded together in a familiar debauched dance of possessive secrecy. Swallowing the small noise of surprise she let out, the Overlord instinctively let his hands cradle her jaw, pulling her face into the glow of his.

And, though he’d eternally deny it, instinct puppeteered his limbs. He shoved her chair away from the desk and found himself sinking to his knees before her. He kept his lips on hers as he descended, situating himself between her knees, letting his hands latch onto her smaller wrists when she grabbed onto the edges of his screen.

Eventually, when her hair was a tangled, disparaged mess, and his jacket was thrown in a rumpled heap, he let his mouth depart from hers. Not by much, just enough that their breathless huffs for air could intermingle and fan across the other’s blissed-out expression.

Vox regrouped his brain cells before she could, a smug smirk tilting his lips as he dragged his claws down her sides, palms settling over the stuttering cage of her ribs. He watched her for a couple of stolen seconds, from the residual wetness of her parted lips to the hazy glow haloing her widened pupils, before he he shifted on his knees to purr into the perked ears crowning her head; “I’ve got important ‘stuff’ to do too.”

And, before she could let out a wincing groan at the play on words, before she could roll her chair away from his with a reluctantly amused roll of her eyes, he grabbed onto the arms of her chair. Climbing to his feet, he leaned his weight on the chair for a few authoritative seconds, holding her gaze the same way he held her in place.

“So whattya say?” He proffered one larger hand, palm up and awaiting the familiar weight of her smaller one. “Think you can clear our schedules for the evening?”

She eyed him dubiously, lips pinched in a faux contemplative pout as his fingers twitched in a wordless bidding motion.

And as she finally relented with an exaggerated huff, letting her palm slide over his and pointedly ignoring the gentle sweep of his thumb across her knuckles, she answered through a wry sigh; “I could probably move some stuff around…”

Vox’s toothy grin only widened, tugging on her arm and catching her when she stumbled into his chest with a halfhearted glare and a soft fist to his chest.

“I knew I hired you for a reason.”

“Yeah, you wanted easy access.”

“Oh, trust me,” he emphasized with a triumphant chuckle, reacquainting his hands with her waist, claws skimming along the waistline of her skirt until they caught in the fluff of her tail, raking through the fine furs there and relishing in the subsequent shudder that ricocheted through the column of her spine. “You don’t make anything easy, babe.”

She hummed, head tilting with a coy smile as she allowed her own hands to wander.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she crooned, mouth hovering mere inches below the Overlord’s, lips brushing with every taunting syllable. Her smile stretched wider at the sharp intake of breath, at the low groan that whispered across her lips when her traveling fingertips found the hardened tent in the front of his pants, palm cupping the enticing protrusion firmly as she closed the barely there distance between their mouths. “Babe.”

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kissing prompt list

masterlist.

comments, reblogs, and likes are appreciated, always

thanks for reading

-route

taglist: @fictionallover98 @thatonegirlag @electricblueceo @calico-queen @genderlessdude92 @yani707

[buckysgirlll]

“melting into the kiss” with tfatws!bucky

cw: fem!reader, sunshine!reader, bucky being a grumpy old man who’s also very much in love with his gf, tiktok trend

𐙚ྀ authors note: ive been seeing these typa fics for so long and no one that ive seen has included my husband so yk i can’t leave him out ahaha.

bucky barnes masterlist ⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ navi

“i wanna do a thing.” you say, standing in front of your boyfriend with a shit eating grin on your face.

bucky looks up at you unamused.

“please.” you plead. “you’ll love it i swear.” you whine, still trying to pull bucky up from the couch.

you hear your boyfriend let out a long, loud sigh before he eventually lets you pull him off of the couch.

he stands in front of you, his thick arms crossed over the other.

your lips curve into a smile, “raise your arms.”

bucky’s eyes narrow at your choice of wording. “what the fuck for? you want to fuck?”

you gasp, “why is your mind so dirty? i just want you to raise your arms.” your lips form a small pout, knowing that no matter how much your boyfriend tries, he cannot resist saying yes.

with a very rude, roll of his eyes. bucky slowly raises his arms in the air causing his tight fitted henley, to lift a bit.

you can’t help but ogle at the bare sight of his defined stomach before you have to focus at the task you have to complete.

“right, my arms are fucking up. what else?” you almost let out a giggle at the bored look on his face.

“just… stay there.” you say, stepping closer so you’re both chest to chest.

“that’s exactly what im— mmph” you interrupt his words, quickly leaning up on your toes and pressing your lips against his. you wrap your arms around his neck, pulling the back of his hair softly, just how he likes. almost as soon as you do that, you hear a groan and the touch of his hands on your arms, sliding down your waist until they reach the curve of your hips, pulling you impossibly closer.

you smile against bucky’s lips, pulling back and seeing his lust filled gaze, still focused on your full lips. “you melted.” you pant, cupping his cheek.

“i- what?”

“you dropped your arms, which means you melted into the kiss.” you giggle, giving him a small peck. “you’re so adorable sometimes.”

“i hate it when you call me adorable.” bucky frowns, tightening his hold on you.

“and yet, im still the love of your life.” you grin.

[dollfacies]

biting bf!dean’s bicep

⟢　ྀ𓈒♱⃓ the morning light peeks through the curtains in a soft, golden glow. dean is still half-asleep next to you, an arm tossed loosely but protectively over your waist with the other tucked beneath a pillow. you’re laying on your side, staring at the face you fell inlove with when your gaze slowly drifts down to his strong physique—his biceps. warm, big, and unfairly solid.

you’re not that fully awake either, brain still not functioning properly, but just enough that you quite consciously begin to lean in, pressing your lips to his arm first—then experimentally, bite him. dean twitches immediately, one eye cracking open where he can meet your almost guilty (not guilty) gaze. his brows furrow and he makes a face down at you where your mouth is still attached to his skin.

“.....the fuck?”

you crack a small smile, playing innocent like you didn’t just sink your teeth into a six foot something man who looks like he can throw a car. dean looks down where you bit him, spotting a barely there mark—evidence of your teeth that was there a few seconds ago. if you had to guess out of context on why he was staring at you like that—you’ve just severely, offensively insulted him and three generations of his bloodline.

“did you just bite me?”

“uh-huh.”

“....why?”

a pause. just silence for a moment as you smile proudly, “you’re strong.” you shrug unapologetically.

dean raises an eyebrow, letting a short snort slip, eyes closing shut again as he yanks you closer to him, your hand resting on his bicep.

“weirdo,” he mutters, voice softer now. and best of all? when you bite him again, he just lets you.

[heldbybarnes]

Thinking about bucky just like laying on you like a weighted blanket, head on your chest, either because he just likes it or because it helps you like relax/sleep or something (totally dont sleep with a weighted plush on me to keep nightmares and anxiety away xD) idk sounds nice and comfortable ya know? Sorry if you did something like this before

It one of those nights.

The kind where the apartment is too quiet. Where the dark feels heavier than it should. Where your brain won’t turn off, replaying conversations and worst-case scenarios and half-formed fears until your chest feels tight and your hands won’t stop fidgeting in the sheets.

Bucky notices.

You’re curled on your side when he slips into bed, careful as ever, metal arm cool against the mattress while his flesh hand finds your hip. You try to pretend you’re asleep. You try to regulate your breathing. But your inhale catches just a little too sharp, and that’s all it takes.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly, voice low and warm against the back of your neck. “You with me, doll?”

You hum noncommittally.

He shifts closer. Close enough that the heat of him bleeds into your back. His chest presses lightly between your shoulder blades, solid and grounding. “Bad night?”

You hesitate. Nod once.

He doesn’t ask you to explain. Doesn’t make you put words to it. He just makes a quiet little sound of understanding and then—without another word—he moves.

“Roll onto your back for me.”

There’s no edge to it. Just gentle instruction. You comply, blinking up at the ceiling, and before you can ask what he’s doing, he’s climbing over you.

He settles carefully, mindful of his strength, lowering himself until he’s half-draped over you. His metal arm braces beside your shoulder, but his flesh arm slides beneath your waist and tugs you closer. Then he lets his weight sink down slowly, chest to chest.

His head comes to rest right over your heart.

All of him.

Warm. Heavy. Solid.

You let out a soft, startled breath. “Bucky—”

“Shh.” His cheek presses against your sternum. You can feel the scratch of his stubble through your sleep shirt. “Tryin’ something.”

“You’re crushing me.”

“I’m not,” he mutters, adjusting slightly so the weight is distributed but still very much there. His thigh hooks over yours. His torso molds to yours. You are thoroughly, unmistakably pinned. “I know exactly how much I weigh.”

“You absolutely do not.”

He huffs, and you feel the puff of it against your skin. “Serum math. I got it handled.”

And then he just… stays.

His full, steady weight sinks into you like a living, breathing blanket. Not suffocating. Just enough pressure to make your nervous system go oh.

Your hands, which had been restless and curled into the fabric of the sheets, slowly move on their own. One slides up into his hair. The other settles at the back of his neck.

He exhales.

“You’re tense,” he murmurs against you.

“You’re heavy.”

“That’s the point.”

You can’t even argue, because as the seconds pass, something shifts.

Your breathing starts to match his. Slow. Deep. His ribcage rises and falls in a steady rhythm against yours, and your body unconsciously mirrors it. His heartbeat is strong and even beneath your palm, a low thud-thud that seems to drown out the noise in your head.

The pressure anchors you.

Keeps you from floating off into anxious spirals.

He rubs his thumb absently along your side, slow circles just above your hip. “You ever notice,” he says quietly, “that your heart races when you’re thinkin’ too much?”

You swallow. “Maybe.”

“It’s slower now.”

You hadn’t realized it was. But he’s right.

“Sometimes,” he continues, voice soft and thoughtful, “when I can’t sleep… when my head gets loud… I put something heavy on my chest. Back at the compound, it was usually a dumbbell.” He gives a faint shrug. “Grounds me. Reminds me I’m here. Not somewhere else.”

Your fingers tighten in his hair.

“Figured,” he adds gently, “maybe it’d help you too.”

Your throat burns a little.

“You don’t have to carry it by yourself,” he murmurs. “Whatever it is.”

You don’t even know what it is half the time. Just a swirl of old fears and stress and dreams that feel too real. But right now, with him draped over you like this, it feels… manageable.

Like the world can’t touch you under the weight of him.

“You’re basically a 200-pound security blanket,” you mumble.

“Rude. I’m at least 220.”

You laugh softly, and the sound vibrates between your bodies.

He tilts his head just enough to press a kiss over your heart. It’s slow. Tender. Like he’s sealing something there.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Yeah, I think so.”

He shifts minutely, letting just a little more of his weight settle into you, as if testing. You don’t protest this time. You welcome it. Your legs wrap loosely around his hips. Your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp, and he practically melts.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, already sounding drowsy. “Just breathe with me.”

You do.

In. Out. His chest rises. Yours follows.

The tension in your shoulders loosens. The tightness in your jaw eases. Even your thoughts seem to slow, softened by the steady pressure and warmth and the quiet rumble of him.

He hums low in his throat when your nails drag lightly at the nape of his neck. “You pet me, I’m not movin’ all night.”

“Good,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

He smiles against your skin.

“I got you,” he says, so simple it almost hurts. “Long as you need.”

And he stays.

Heavy and solid and warm, breathing slow against your chest, metal arm curved protectively at your side. Every so often he presses another absentminded kiss to your collarbone or sternum, like he’s making sure your heartbeat is still there.

Like he’s counting it.

Your eyelids grow heavy. Your fingers slow in his hair.

The last thing you register before sleep finally takes you is the feeling of him shifting just slightly, careful even in his half-asleep state, making sure you’re comfortable. Making sure you can breathe easily. Making sure his weight never becomes too much.

But it never is.

Because with him like this—solid and present and impossibly real—your nightmares don’t stand a chance.

[luciismyman]

Slow Mornings with your Boyfriend

You just woke up from your much needed rest for being the head marketing manager at Voxtek is no easy feat. You were about to get up and start your routine, only to have cold metallic claws wrap around your waist and pull you back into a sturdy chest.

"Doll, it's 3 am why are you getting up?" a glitchy voice looked down at you with his neon screen. Who knew that your boyfriend was also your boss, and the biggest, influential overlord.

"Vox, you start work at 4 am." you said in a tired but loving voice.

"So? It's 3 am and you're getting up." he shot back in a irritated tone.

"Yeah and you said you wanted the project ideas by the time you step into the office, so I have to wake up." with a finality of your words you boop his screen where his nose should be.

You can feel his eyes trailing up and down your body as your walking to the bathroom to freshen up. "I can feel you staring Vox," you should out from the bathroom while you're washing your face.

"Can't a guy appreciate his sexy girlfriend?" he said, you could hear him smiling in his voice.

"Besides, it's not like I get to see you every day, it gets lonely being the head hunch sometimes." this was one of the few moments where you could hear the vulnerability in his voice.

"Vox, we see each other every day, and everyone knows that you only call me into your office so we could "talk"," you said using air quotes with both your middle and index finger.

You dried your face off with a towel and turn to him, with his back facing you. Dipping yourself in the bed to hug him from behind, planting your face in the junction is his neck and shoulder.

"You're too sweet for me, doll.", he said with a gravelly voice, before taking one of your arms and bringing them to his lips.

"Well, I am the only one who can tolerate your bullshit," you said in a teasing voice before kissing the side of his screen.

"Now c'mon, get ready so we can get breakfast sandwiches!" yous aid enthusiastically before pulling away and hopping to your closet. He specifically made it walk in.

"You are so lucky you're hot, otherwise you would've gotten a ZAP!", he does it every time sends little but non lethal shocks of electricity, basically his way of saying 'love you'.

"Asshole."

"But I'm yours." he said smugly, while putting on his white button up. Followed by his usually get up, of wingtiped shoes, bow tie, blazer, and hat.

During the drive to the Voxtek building he got you two breakfast burgers, cups of coffee, and a cake pop for you.

"Vox, why was the computer late to work?" you looked at him with feign innocence. He sighed, his voice strained with annoyance.

"I don't know, and I'm not a computer doll."

"Beacuse it had a hard drive!" and immediatley bursted out laughing.

"You are so lucky I love you." he said before pinching your cheek.

a/n: wow my first post, after who knows how long currently writing this at 9:43 pm, even though I have a math test tomorrow but here you are you delusional ppl, and the people who still follow me thank you so much! I got 5 people who know me!

[pawfuldayz00]

Vox:Dating Head-Cannons

Vox x Reader

| No specified gender |

Detailed head-cannon list

1. Extremely protective of his partner over any situation Vox doesn’t approve of.

Vox: *Sees some random sinner talking to reader

Reader: And so then— AH!

Reader: Vox! You have to warn me before you teleport me!

Vox: You’re lucky I didn’t evaporate that fucker before anything. I’m simply protecting you doll.

Reader: That’s not how protection works Vox…

2. Personal space doesn’t exist to Vox: Shoulders, Waist, Back, Arms his claws are all over you whenever he’s within arms length.

Velvette: Vox! Your dumb boy toy—

Vox: *Affectionally holding reader that’s almost out of breath in his private office

Reader: Vel—Help

Vox: I’m in the middle of something Velvette. Come back later.

Reader: Vox—You can’t keep doing this every time I step out V-tower.

Vox: You’re being dramatic.

3. Vox gets irritated at himself how easy it is to see him show obvious emotions because of his screen.

Vox: Who’s the best shark in hell? You are Shok.wav! You—

Reader: Vox I have news from…I’ll come back later

Vox: No sweetheart! I just was—

Reader: You’re… blushing

Vox: Ridiculous! I don’t blush! That’s weakness!

Reader: Your face says otherwise with how much it’s brightening.

4. When throwing a tantrum Valentino or Velvette would always contact you in order to make Vox calm tf down.

Vox: *Throwing a tantrum over Alastor (probably)

Reader: You called…?

Velvette: You better stop this shit! I was about to hit my viewer goal before my phone glitched out!

Reader: Sigh— Let me talk to him.

Vox: THAT STUPID RED PRICK—!

Reader: Vox breath.

Vox: BUT THAT OLD TIMEY BI—

Reader: Vox! Just breath.

Vox: I— Ugh whatever.

5. Whenever Vox would plan “movie night” in the main penthouse Velvette and Valentino would crash the date every time (I think just to piss him off).

Vox: The ONE night I actually need you two gone…At this point you both are being cockblocks!

Valentino: *Clearly offended

Velvette: *Not looking up from her phone

Velvette: Agree to disagree.

Vox: I STRONGLY disagree

Reader: Next movie just put on Jaws.

Vel and Val: NO!

Valentino: We see that movie every month…

Vox: It’s cinema!

*Everyone quiet

Reader: Babe… it’s a 6/10 at best.

6. Show off. No explanation other than Vox taking his partner to the highest rated places in hell.

Vox: I ordered my assistant to grab a new designer outfit for tonight.

Reader: May I ask why?

Vox: I reserved the best table at Dante’s Interno.

Reader: Vox didn’t have to do that. I can settle for the burger spot you showed me.

Vox: Oh come on doll if you’re with me, the whole pentagram should know.

7. Programs his sharks to see you as the other parent however Vox dislikes seeing you get more attention than him.

Vox: Has Shok.wav been letting you give him belly rubs?

Reader: What’s the matter with that?

Vox: I programmed all my sharks to be protective not affectionate.

Reader: But you said they’d see me as family.

Vox: Not as the favorite parent!

8. His antennas are sensitive. So in a situation where Vox needs convincing I imagine all it takes is dragging your finger down one antenna. Let’s hope most employees should expect the tower to malfunction for a few moments.

Reader: *Pleading with Vox

Vox: I can’t leave work early babe. Wait. What are you—

Reader: *Grasp his antenna softly

Reader: Please Vox? Just this once?

Vox: …

Ethan: Sir! The systems went blank! Should we run a protection diagnostic?

Vox: *Vox. Exe. Rebooting.

Vox: No Ethan. Just cancel my damn 5 o clock meeting.

Vox: Sigh— Seriously though, warn me first next time you do that.

Reader: It’s not my fault that’s the only way you listen.

9. Vox WOULD manipulate his partner into staying with him for any reason. If that was the relationship or something as simple as a friend’s night out.

Reader: I made plans to go out with friends tonight.

Vox: Leaving me here alone?

Reader: Vox.

Vox: After I spent a long day working? But I guess I don’t fucking matter.

Reader: You know that’s not true.

Vox: Just say you don’t love me anymore.

Reader: You’re such a manchild!

Vox: Then prove me wrong.

10. Whenever Vox has a bad day he will automatically expect his partner to relive him in any way he chooses.

Vox: *Grabs reader pushing them on the couch

Vox: Today was unbearable.

Reader: What happened?

Vox: Irrelevant. I need you to fix it.

Reader: Fix… what exactly?

Vox: The rest of my night.

Reader: I’m not even going to ask what you want because I have a few ideas.

Vox: Then why are we still talking?

Authors Note— I hope you enjoyed! I tried writing this before midnight to post this on the 15th but then procrastinated.

[hazblog-hoetells]

Vox would be doing weaponized incompetence to get out of doing chores, he'd be a whiny shit about it UNTIL you bring out "You're a smart boy, I'm sure you'll figure it out" and at first he's pissed that you sound so condescending but then a switch flips in his brain like "I AM a smart boy I'll be the smartest boy you've ever seen" and by the end of the day your dishwasher has been optimized to 300% efficiency. But he didn't actually do the dishes. He was hyperfocused on the dishwasher. The whole day. He did not remember to take the chicken out of the freezer to thaw, nor did he eat lunch. So he's whining again.

But the dishwasher is kinda dope as fuck now so you can't really be that mad. You can play doom on it

[lila-lou]

✨Baby, It’s Cold Outside✨

Summary: You and Dean have been dancing around the tension for years. Stuck in a snowstorm mid-hunt, with a virgin-hunting witch on the loose and your secret suddenly not so secret, things finally boil over in the backseat of the Impala.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 7322

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

Right now, Sam was buried somewhere in a town library, trying to charm some overworked clerk into handing over files that probably hadn’t been digitized since the '80s. You and Dean? You were holed up in a bar that smelled like stale beer and desperation, pretending you were working, even though you both knew this was just the part where you'd argue over who was reading the reports wrong.

You sat across from him in the booth, bundled up in layers that still weren’t enough for this freezing Rocky Mountain hellhole, flipping through a local police blotter with half-frozen fingers.

“Look”, you said, jabbing at the paper, “three hikers go missing in less than a month, all around the same ridge, no signs of animal attack, no blood. That’s not nothing”.

Dean took a long sip of his beer and leaned back, smirking like he had all the time in the world. “Or it’s a bear that doesn’t like leaving evidence. You ever think of that, Sherlock?”.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yeah, Dean. A bear that drags people off into the woods and vanishes into thin air. Totally logical”.

He grinned, satisfied he was getting under your skin. “Well, stranger things have happened. Remember that haunted raccoon last year?”. You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “That was your theory. And it was a cursed ring in a taxidermy shop, not a ghost possum or whatever you called it”.

He snorted. “Still say that raccoon had it out for me”. You shook your head and muttered, “Maybe it had bad taste”.

Dean just raised his brows and looked at you over the rim of his glass, that stupid smirk still playing on his lips, the one that said he enjoyed this, the banter, the push and pull.

It had been worse lately. Since that night. The one where he'd stumbled back into the motel drunk off his ass, rain-slicked and whiskey-soaked, with that half-lidded look that used to mean trouble. You'd just gotten out of the shower, towel in your hair, arguing with Sam over the phone about some case detail. And then Dean, without warning, had closed the space between you in three uneven steps and backed you up against the wall like it was a hunt.

“You ever think about it?”, he’d asked, voice low and wrecked from liquor and years of things unsaid.

You hadn’t answered. Just stared up at him, stunned, heartbeat in your throat. Because yeah, you had thought about it. More than once.

But that night, you’d shoved him off gently, told him he was drunk, and left it there. He hadn’t brought it up since. Not in words, anyway.

Now, as he shifted in the booth and nudged your boot under the table with his, you felt that tension coil again.

“Why are we even here?”, you muttered. “The cold’s gonna kill us before anything supernatural does”.

Dean leaned in slightly, tone lazy but eyes too sharp. “You sure it’s the cold that’s getting under your skin?”.

You kicked him lightly under the table. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shut him up. He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows like it was trying to warn you. Something was out there. Something old, hungry and buried under too much snow. And inside, something else was clawing at the walls between you and Dean.

-

It was nearing midnight when you and Dean finally found something that matched. You’d commandeered the back corner of the bar and were nursing your third cup of bitter, over-brewed coffee when you spotted a local blog post buried in an online forum. A hiker’s brother had posted about dreams, visions even, his missing sibling supposedly had before vanishing. Weird symbols carved into the trees, animals acting wrong, time slipping.

Dean leaned over your shoulder, his warmth too close, and read it silently. His shoulder brushed yours, but you didn’t move.

“Symbol matches that weird-ass sigil we saw near the trailhead”, you said, pointing at the photo embedded in the post. Dean let out a low whistle. “Yeah… that ain’t bear country. That’s witch territory”.

Just as the thought settled, Dean’s phone rang. “Sammy”, he muttered, already standing and pulling it from his pocket.

You sat back, watching him pace near the bar as he answered. His face went serious, brow pinched in that way it did when something clicked, that hunter instinct, sharp as ever. “Wait, say that again?”. Pause. “She only targets what?”.

You straightened, tension prickling at the back of your neck.

Dean turned slightly away from you, like maybe he didn’t want you to hear. His voice dropped low. “No, no, that makes sense. That explains why the victims didn’t have anything in common age-wise. Yeah, thanks, man. We’ll head back to the motel and regroup”.

He hung up and didn’t look at you right away. You raised an eyebrow. “Well?”.

Dean ran a hand over his face and sighed. “It’s a witch. Real old-school. The kind that feeds on purity rituals or some twisted version of 'em. Sam says the lore matches. Appalachian, pre-colonial, likes to hunt in remote woods and lure… virgins”.

Your coffee cup paused mid-air. “Come again?”.

“Yeah”, Dean muttered, clearly uncomfortable, like the word itself was gonna bite him. “Sam confirmed it. All the vics had one weird thing in common… turns out they were all virgins. Didn’t show up in the initial reports, but medical files, some background stuff… it tracks”.

You tried to school your face into something neutral, heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Dean didn’t know. No one knew. You’d never told anyone. Not because you were ashamed, but because in your world, secrets were safer than honesty. And hell, who had the time for love or awkward fumbling in between salt lines and monster guts?

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “We should be fine, though. I mean, obviously we’re all… uh. You know. Not the target”. You forced a smile. “Right. Obviously”.

He didn’t catch the hesitation. Or maybe he did, but didn’t want to. Either way, he nodded and tossed back the last of his drink, then gestured toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get back before Sam freezes to death with his head in an archive”.

You stood, grabbing your coat and trying not to let the panic bleed through your carefully trained calm. Because if this witch really did go after virgins… You weren’t just part of the hunt anymore. You were the bait.

-

The road back to the motel was a stretch of black ice and blowing snow, flanked by trees that looked like skeletons clawing at the sky. Dean’s knuckles were tight around the wheel, his eyes narrowed in that way that meant he was half focused on driving, half focused on something in his head. You sat in silence, watching the headlights cut through the darkness. The heater wheezed as it struggled to keep the Impala warm and the familiar rumble of Baby’s engine was oddly comforting… until it wasn’t.

“I’m cold”, you whined, dragging the word out dramatically as you hugged your arms across your chest and sank lower into your seat. “I’m freezing, Dean. My bones are turning to ice. I think I’m dying”.

Dean snorted without looking at you. “You’re wearing two coats”.

“Not enough”, you shot back. “I’m gonna get frostbite and lose a toe. Or several. Then you’ll feel bad”.

“I’ll feel bad for Sam”, he muttered, adjusting the heat dial like it might magically work better. “He’s gonna have to listen to you whine the whole way back to Kansas”.

You gasped, mock-offended. “I don’t whine. I contribute atmosphere”.

“Oh yeah?”. He glanced over at you with a crooked grin. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Freezing to death with flair?”.

“Exactly. And for the record, your heater sucks”.

Dean gave the dashboard an affectionate pat. “She’s doing her best”.

“You’ve said that about your liver too”.

“Also doing its best”.

You chuckled, watching him shake his head, lips twitching in amusement. There was always this. This stupid back-and-forth that felt more like home than anything else you knew. Even when the world was frozen and broken and full of monsters, Dean could still make you forget for a second that it wasn’t normal.

But the second shattered.

A loud POP jolted you in your seat, followed by a gut-deep crunch and the awful, unmistakable sound of rubber tearing itself to pieces. “Son of a—”, Dean yanked the wheel, fighting to keep the Impala from fishtailing across the ice. You grabbed the door to brace yourself as the car skidded, then gradually slowed to a halt on the side of the desolate road.

Dean exhaled hard and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. “That didn’t sound like frostbite”. You were already unbuckling, peering out your fogged-up window into the dark. “You hit something?”.

“Wasn’t a pothole”, he muttered, reaching for the flashlight in the glovebox.

You climbed out into the icy wind, boots crunching on snow. Dean circled to the back of the car, crouched low and aimed the light at the tire. “Shit”, he said. “Glass. Thick pieces of it — looked like a bottle, maybe. Someone busted it across the road”.

You leaned down beside him, shivering now not just from the cold but from the way the air felt. Still. Too still. “You think it was random?”. Dean didn’t answer right away. “Nope”, he said finally. “It wasn’t”. He stood slowly, sweeping the flashlight along the road’s edge, toward the woods, where the trees leaned in too close. You followed his gaze. The shadows there didn’t sit right. Like they were waiting.

Dean turned to you, eyes narrowing. “Get your knife. We’re walking”.

You didn’t argue. Because deep down, you knew: the witch wasn’t just picking off victims from behind some veil. No, she was watching now. She’d already made her choice. And she was coming for you.

-

The trees swallowed you up within minutes. Dean led the way, flashlight cutting narrow slices through the dark while your boots crunched softly behind him. The snow came down in lazy spirals now, the storm easing just enough to let the cold sink deeper into your bones.

“This is a stupid idea”, you muttered, hugging your arms tighter as a branch smacked you in the face for the third time. “We should’ve stayed in the car, called Sam, waited it out”.

Dean snorted. “Sure, let’s just hang out in the middle of the road like sitting ducks while some virgin-hunting witch takes her sweet time carving runes into our guts”.

You made a face. “Way to paint a picture”.

“You’re the one who wanted to be an artist”, he said over his shoulder, smirking.

You squinted at him through the falling snow. “I was four and I wanted to draw unicorns”.

“And now look at you”, Dean said, “slinging silver blades and complaining about your toes in the middle of a haunted forest. You’ve really peaked”.

You shoved a branch aside, nearly slipping on a patch of ice beneath the snow. “Yeah, well, when we both die of hypothermia, I hope you know I’m blaming you. Loudly. From beyond the grave”.

Dean stopped suddenly, turning to you with that shit-eating grin that meant trouble. “Oh, I know you’ll be loud”, he said. “You always are”.

Your breath caught for a second, just half a beat, before you rolled your eyes. “Real mature, Winchester”.

“You love it”, he said, a little too easily.

And the worst part was, you did. You tried not to smile as you passed him, pushing ahead through a tight patch of trees, the wind picking up again. You could feel his eyes on you, even in the dark. Not in the way a partner watches your six, but something heavier. The forest was closing in around you, but that heat between you? That was growing by the second. “You keep staring at my ass”, you said, not even bothering to look over your shoulder, “we’re gonna miss the witch creeping up behind us”.

Dean chuckled low behind you, unbothered. “If she’s smart, she’ll wait her turn”.

You snorted. “Gross”.

“Accurate”, he shot back. “Can’t help it. That view’s been distracting me for years”.

You turned, walking backward now just to give him a look: unimpressed, flat, but not entirely serious. “Yeah? That why you thought trying to climb on top of me soaking wet and half-drunk was a solid plan?”. Dean didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened. “Worked out fine for me. I remember you not exactly shoving me off right away”. You held up a gloved hand. “I was stunned. You were babbling about whiskey and destiny and how my ‘smart mouth was a goddamn turn-on’”. He grinned wider. “Still is”.

You huffed, but the truth was, that night had never left your mind. You could still feel the weight of him, the press of his hands against your hips, his breath hot and heavy against your neck when he leaned in and whispered your name like it meant something. You’d told him to back off, to sleep it off. But it had been close. Too close. And if you hadn’t— Another snap in the woods. Closer this time. You both stilled instantly, your instincts taking over. Dean held up a hand, listening. The teasing disappeared from his face like someone had flipped a switch.

You whispered, “Left”. He nodded, swinging the flashlight around. Snowflakes caught in the beam, swirling like ash. Nothing but trees. Again. And then… A whisper. Barely there. Just your name. But not in your voice.

Dean stepped closer to you, body tense and protective. His hand brushed your lower back. It lingered half a second longer than it needed to. “This bitch is screwing with us”, he muttered, eyes scanning the shadows. “Trying to separate us. Get in your head”. You nodded, grip tightening around your blade. “I hate witches”, you muttered.

Dean leaned in, lips near your ear now. “If she tries anything, she’s gonna learn real quick—she picked the wrong girl. She´s not that good at her game if she can’t tell purity from practice”. You stiffened. Your heart flat-out stopped.

Dean was already pulling back when he froze, realizing what he’d just said. You saw it happen in real time, the split second his smirk faltered, brow furrowed, and his brain put the pieces together. He looked at you. You looked away.

“Wait”, he said, voice lower now. “You're—? You mean—?”.

You took a sharp breath, heart hammering in your chest. “Dean, not now”.

His voice was softer. “You never told me”.

“It’s not exactly something I put on my hunter résumé”, you muttered, glaring out into the woods like that would somehow erase the embarrassment knotting in your gut.

Dean moved in front of you, flashlight lowered, eyes on your face. “Hey. Hey”, he said gently. “I didn’t mean—it's not a bad thing, okay? It’s just—hell, I should’ve known. You’ve got standards”.

You scoffed. “That’s your takeaway?”.

He grinned. “Well, that and… explains why you didn’t jump me that night”.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself”.

He leaned closer, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth, voice thick with something darker now. “Not flattering. Just… makes me wish I’d tried harder”.

The trees creaked. The cold deepened. And somewhere beyond the reach of the flashlight, something moved. Dean exhaled hard, his eyes flicking toward the shadows again.

"Shit", he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "Now we’ve got a real problem". You looked at him sharply. “What?”.

He gave you a look. One that said, you know what. “That witch”, he said, voice low and rough. “She’s definitely out for you”.

You rolled your eyes, but the sarcasm couldn’t quite cover the chill that ran down your spine. “Great”.

Dean shifted his weight, glancing back toward the trees like he half expected something to come crawling out of them any second. “You should’ve told me”, he muttered, quieter now.

You frowned. “Dean—”.

“Not now”, he cut you off, holding up a hand, eyes still scanning the dark. “Not yet. We’ve gotta stay focused”.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Well, forgive me for not blurting out my sexual history while we’re dodging shapeshifters and bar fights”.

He turned to you then, eyes locking with yours, intense and unreadable. “I just mean…”. He paused, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was saying it. “Back then. In Oklahoma. That night. When I tried to get into your very virgin pants…”.

You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched, even as your cheeks burned. “Wow”, you said. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”.

Dean gave a dry half-laugh. “I didn’t know, okay? I wouldn’t have—if I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone at it like a wrecking ball”.

You arched a brow. “So if I hadn’t been a virgin, then wrecking ball was the plan?”.

He smirked. “You’re dodging”.

“And you’re deflecting”, you shot back.

You both stood there a second too long, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, even in the bitter air. There was something in the space between you, fragile and heavy all at once. Words that hadn’t been said. A decision neither of you had made. Dean opened his mouth to say something more, but then the trees screamed. Not wind. Not snow. A shriek echoing through the forest like nails down your spine.

Dean's face snapped toward the sound. “We’ve gotta move. Now”.

And just like that, the conversation dropped dead. You tightened your grip on your blade, heart pounding. Later. You’d finish this later. Assuming the witch didn’t get to you first.

-

The witch didn’t go easy. She bled black smoke and bones, hid her sigils in frostbitten bark, whispered in voices that didn’t belong to anyone you loved and for a few terrifying minutes, she had you separated from Dean, breathless and staggering through the trees, trying not to let fear take the wheel. But you made it. You always made it.

When you finally sank your blade into her chest, she shrieked like the forest itself was dying and then her body crumbled, nothing more than ash and old teeth.

Dean found you moments later, blood on his jaw, eyes sharp and wide with relief. “Damn”, he muttered, pulling you in just long enough to check you over with a rough hand on your arm and a look that said more than it should’ve.

You both limped back to the road, bruised and exhausted, only to find Baby exactly where you left her, looking just as broken as before. Dean crouched to check the damage, cursing under his breath when he saw the spare tire was shredded too. Like something had bitten into the rubber. Perfect.

-

Now you were back inside the car, huddled under the one ratty emergency blanket you kept in the trunk, shoulders trembling despite the few layers you still had on. Your phone was still dead. Dean’s was too. The signal was useless this deep in the woods.

You sighed dramatically, your breath fogging the air. “I’m cold”.

Dean glanced over from the driver’s seat, where he was slumped with his boots up on the dash and his coat pulled tight. “You’ve said that”.

“I’m still cold”, you grumbled, burrowing deeper into the blanket like a human burrito. “I think I’m dying. Again”.

Dean gave you a long, amused look. “You know, if we were in a real survival situation…”.

You peeked out from under the blanket suspiciously. “Don’t”.

He grinned. “I’m just saying — it’s basic science. Body heat. Skin-to-skin contact. Totally practical”.

You snorted. “Dean”.

“Totally unsexual. Very noble. You take your clothes off, I take mine off, and boom, no hypothermia”.

“Wow, you really are a giver”.

He smirked, leaning his head back on the seat. “Don’t act like you’re not curious. I’ve got excellent circulation”.

You narrowed your eyes, hiding the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible”.

“And warm”, he added smugly. “Seriously, we could die out here. You’d be doing it for science”. You laughed, despite yourself, a breathy, tired thing that fogged up the cold windshield. Dean’s smirk softened just a little. “You okay?”.

You nodded slowly, still bundled up. “Yeah. Just… tired. And cold. And glad we’re not dead”. His voice dropped, just a bit. “Same”.

Silence settled for a few beats.

“Sam’ll find us”, Dean said after a minute. “Give it another hour, he’ll have a whole search party out here”. You hummed, eyes closing.

-

An hour passed. Or maybe two. It was hard to tell with your phone dead and the Impala’s clock blinking wrong. The cold had settled deep into your bones, not sharp anymore, just heavy. Your fingers were numb, your lips tinged with purple despite the blanket cocoon you’d made for yourself.

Dean glanced over at you for what had to be the fiftieth time. His smirk was gone now, replaced with a furrowed brow and a jaw so tight it looked painful. “You’re shivering”, he said, voice low, but lined with concern.

You opened your mouth to argue, purely out of principle, but your teeth chattered when you tried to speak.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose. “That’s it. Scoot”.

“What?”, you blinked.

“We’re doing it”, he said, already unzipping his jacket. “Full Winchester body heat protocol. Come on, get the blanket open”.

You frowned, too cold to tease. “Dean—”.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?”. He shot you a crooked half-smile. “I mean, I am, eventually. But right now I’m just trying to make sure you don’t turn into a popsicle before Sam gets here”.

You huffed out a weak laugh. “So romantic”.

“Shut up and take your clothes off”.

You paused, raising a brow. “Wow”, you deadpanned. “Really nailed the mood with that one”.

Dean smirked, shrugging off his flannel and then his t-shirt, muscles twitching against the cold air. “Hey, if I’m getting frostbite on my ass for this, you’re committing too”.

You hesitated only a second before peeling off your coat and sweater, biting your lip when the air hit your skin. You slipped out of your undershirt next, cheeks flushing more from nerves than the temperature.

Dean looked at you, but there was no smugness in his eyes this time. Just something soft and warm and a little bit in awe. “You okay?”, he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… don’t let me die half-naked in a car, okay?”.

Dean chuckled. “Deal. Now get over here before I start charging rent for personal space”.

You slid over, blanket pulled around both of you as Dean pulled you into his chest, bare skin against bare skin. The shock of warmth surprised you. He was solid and steady, his arms curling around you like they’d always been meant to.

“Well shit”, you whispered, pressing your freezing nose to his collarbone. “You’re actually hot”.

He snorted. “Told you. Excellent circulation. It’s basically my only superpower”.

You nestled closer, feeling the tremble in your muscles start to ease. “This is weird”.

“Not weird”, he murmured against your temple. “Survival”.

The silence wrapped around you both, softer than the snow falling outside. Dean’s heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, his hand slow against your back, drawing absent circles like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Warmth was finally returning to your limbs, and with it, awareness. Of everything. His breath against your hair. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The fact that you were pressed flush against him, skin to skin, with nothing but the thin blanket and years of complicated tension stretched around you like a net.

And then… you felt it. A shift beneath you, unmistakable. His body tensed. His jaw twitched. His hand froze mid-motion on your back.

You bit your lip, hiding your smirk as the realization hit. Slowly, carefully, you shifted just slightly, enough to feel it again, the very clear, very human response he was failing miserably to hide.

“Now that”, you murmured, voice low against his throat, “is what makes it weird”.

Dean let out a low, frustrated sound, something between a groan and a laugh. “God, don’t do that”.

“Do what?”, you asked innocently, though your grin said otherwise.

“Move. Speak. Breathe”. His voice was tight, low in a way that made your skin heat all over again. “I’m barely holding on over here”.

You looked up at him, chin on his chest. “You said this was about survival”.

“Yeah”, he muttered, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “I didn’t realize I’d actually have to fight you for my life”.

You laughed quietly, the sound muffled by the blanket. “You’re such a guy”.

Dean rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. “In my defense, you’re naked”.

You grinned against his chest, lips brushing the warm skin there as you mumbled, “Technically… only half naked”.

Dean huffed a laugh, shaky and low, but before he could say something smart, you moved, just a little, careful not to shift too much under the blanket, your fingers sliding behind your back with a practiced ease. The faintest click of a clasp coming undone broke the quiet between you. Dean froze.

You didn’t move away. Didn’t make a show of it. Just let the tension hang there, your body pressed against his a little more freely now. He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to physically keep himself from reacting. “You’re not playing fair”.

“Not playing anything”, you murmured, eyes still closed, cheek resting on his chest. “Just warming up”.

His hand tightened at your waist, just briefly, before he seemed to remember his own rules and loosened his grip. “You’re killing me”, he said, and you could hear the smile in it, even under the strain. “You know that, right?”. You tilted your head just enough to glance up at him. “Figured I’d return the favor”.

Dean’s eyes met yours, green and unreadable in the dimness. His thumb brushed over your hip beneath the blanket. “This isn’t how I imagined this going”, he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You gave a soft chuckle. “Let me guess — fewer frostbite warnings, more candles?”.

“Kinda”, he said, shaking his head slightly.

You grinned, your fingers idly toying with the worn leather of his belt under the blanket. Just the faintest tug, no pressure. And no rush. “I think it’s pretty romantic here, actually”, you murmured against his chest. Dean let out a shaky breath, his hand still at your hip, unmoving, like he didn’t trust himself to move yet. “Snow”, you continued softly, lips brushing his skin, “a fire hazard of a blanket… and you’re not drunk this time”.

His head tipped down just slightly, his voice rough at the edges. “Is that the only reason why you said no?”.

You nodded, your nose grazing along his sternum. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It’s just… that night, it felt like you weren’t really there. Like it was about something else. Numbing something”. Dean’s silence was enough of a confession. “I wanted you”, you said honestly, still fingering the edge of his belt. “But I wanted this more. You. Sober. Real”.

He let his forehead rest against the top of your head, voice barely audible. “You deserve that. All of it”.

“I know”, you said, your grin returning, playful but grounded. “That’s why I’m here. Half naked. In your lap. In a snowstorm”.

Dean huffed out a laugh, the kind that came more from relief than amusement. You leaned back just enough to look up at him, your hand still gently resting at his belt, unmoving now, waiting. “No whiskey”, you whispered.

He nodded. “No motel room with flickering lights and my boots still on”.

You smiled. “Just you and me. Finally on the same page”.

Dean leaned in slowly, eyes on yours the whole time. No rush. No game. Just a kiss. So soft. Barely there at first, like he was still giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t. You leaned into it, let yourself fall into that warmth, into him. His lips deepened it gradually, hand rising to cradle your face beneath the blanket, thumb brushing your jaw as your fingers finally undid the buckle of his belt with one slow, deliberate motion.

Dean’s lips curved into a smile against yours, his breath warm and unsteady. “You better get real quick in that backseat”, he murmured, the words pressed to your mouth like a secret, half a tease, half a promise.

You laughed softly, pulse thudding in your ears, the sound swallowed by the snowy silence outside. With careful, quiet movements, you shifted across the seat, dragging the blanket with you, trailing heat and nerves in your wake. Dean followed without hesitation, all warmth and muscle and that infuriating, irresistible smirk.

In the tight space of the backseat, everything felt closer. Realer. You lay back against the seat, the leather cold against your skin, until he was above you.

The blanket slipped slightly as Dean settled over you, careful and steady, his hands braced beside your head. Only his hips were still covered, but the rest of him was bare. Skin dusted with freckles, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep his balance. You shivered, partly from the chill, mostly from him.

Dean leaned in again, nose brushing yours, his voice low and tender. “Still okay?”. You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. More than okay”.

His eyes searched yours, checking, double-checking, because that’s who he was. Even now. Especially now. Then, slowly, gently, his hands slid down your sides, fingers grazing goosebumps as he nudged your thighs apart with his own. No rush. No pressure. Just the steady warmth of him filling the space between you.

“You’re shaking”, he murmured, thumb brushing the edge of your hip. “Let me warm you up”.

You grinned, eyes soft, teasing. “Is that your way of saying ‘trust me, I’m a professional’?”.

Dean chuckled, forehead falling to yours. “Baby, I’m the only professional”.

And then he kissed you again. Deeper this time, like he was finally letting himself. Not just lips, but a quiet kind of truth. His hands were careful as he eased the rest of your clothes away, then his, like he was taking his time with something he didn’t want to ruin.

When he shifted, the blanket rustled, warm against the cold air pressing at the fogged-up windows. He paused, his body hovering over yours, one hand still steady on your hip, the other brushing hair from your face like you were something fragile, precious, even.

Then he dipped lower, positioning himself with a breath that was half nerves, half reverence. “Might hurt a little”, he murmured against your jaw, lips grazing the skin there. “Just… gonna take it slow”.

You smirked. “You giving me the talk, Winchester?”.

He let out a breathless laugh. “Hey, someone’s gotta be the responsible adult here”.

“You?”, you teased. “The guy currently naked in the backseat of his car?”.

Dean grinned, eyes bright even in the low light. “We got a blanket. That’s practically domestic”.

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension in both of you. Your hand found his cheek, thumb brushing his stubble. “I trust you”, you said again, and meant it in every way.

Dean’s smile softened, and his next words came quieter, but with that unmistakable edge of mischief. “Not gonna lie”, he muttered as he kissed the corner of your mouth, “the whole virgin thing? Kinda hot”.

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip to hide your smile. “You’re unbelievable”.

“Unfairly attractive and modest, too”, he added, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Just don’t be smug after”, you whispered.

Dean grinned, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “You nervous?”. You smiled, eyes soft but mischievous. “A little”.

“Don’t be”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I got you”.

You rolled your eyes lightly, still smiling. “You always say that”.

“Yeah, well, I mean it”.

Your fingers played lazily at the back of his neck, teasing. “I dunno… you might be overhyping yourself. What if you’re not all you’re cracked up to be?”.

Dean pulled back just an inch, pretending to look offended. “You saying I’ve got a big ego?”.

“I’m saying”, you said with a grin, “maybe you think you’re bigger than you are”.

Dean let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, you did not just say that”.

You nodded, deadpan. “I did”.

Dean blinked at you, stunned, and then let out a laugh that rumbled low in his chest. “You really wanna die in this car, huh?”.

You shrugged, trying not to grin. “I’m just saying… there’s a decent chance you’re, you know… average. Statistically speaking”.

Dean’s eyes flashed with amusement and something deeper, something more heated, as he leaned in, cutting your teasing short by capturing your lips in another kiss. Gentle at first, but quickly deepening into something fuller, more demanding.

“You know”, you started, breathless and smiling against his mouth, “I’m just saying that statistically speaking, you’re probably just—”.

Dean didn’t let you finish the sentence. With slow, deliberate care, he pressed forward, gently but steadily pushing past the resistance until he felt it give way beneath him. “There we go”, he murmured softly, smirking slightly against your cheek, his voice full of quiet triumph and tenderness all at once.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes widening just a fraction at the sudden sting, your nails instinctively digging into his shoulders. It hurt, but only for a heartbeat, quickly fading beneath the warmth and closeness of him. “Dick”, you muttered quietly, but there was no real venom behind it.

He chuckled softly, pressing his forehead gently against yours again, the teasing still bright in his voice. “Average dick, apparently”. You laughed, breathless and genuine, shaking your head as the brief tension faded into comfort again, replaced by something warmer and deeper, blooming softly between you.

“You okay?”, he whispered after a pause, his voice turning serious, searching your eyes carefully. You nodded, breath still uneven but softening, your gaze finding his, sincere and vulnerable. “Yeah. I’m good”. You let out a slow breath, your body adjusting to him little by little, and all at once the cold that had burrowed into your bones earlier felt like a distant memory. Your voice was quiet, more to yourself than him. “You’re… really warm”.

Dean chuckled softly, brushing a kiss across your cheek. “That’s what they all say”.

You rolled your eyes, still catching your breath. “I wasn’t talking about you. I meant… you know. You”.

Dean froze for a split second, then grinned, that grin. “Ohhh”, he said, smug now. “You mean my average—”.

“Don’t”, you warned, swatting his shoulder, though you were laughing through it. “Do not make this a thing”.

“I mean, I’m just saying”, he murmured as he shifted slightly, his hips rolling gently with almost excruciating patience. “Someone was out here questioning my stats not two minutes ago”.

You sucked in a breath, nails tightening at his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Maybe you’re slightly above average”.

Dean gave you a look. “Slightly?”.

You met it head-on. “Don’t push it, Winchester”.

Dean leaned down, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Still warm?”.

“Just move”, you whispered, voice low and breathy.

Dean let out a soft laugh against your neck, warm and teasing. “Can’t, sweetheart”.

You blinked up at him, confused, until he leaned in a little more, his nose brushing your temple.

“If you’d relax”, he murmured playfully, “I’d actually have room to move. But right now? You’re gripping me like you don’t want me going anywhere”.

Your face flushed, the heat blooming from your chest to your cheeks in an instant. “Dean”, you hissed, half-scandalized, half laughing.

He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Hey, I’m not complaining. You’re… clingy in all the right ways”.

You swatted his shoulder again, but your hand stayed there this time, fingers curling against his warm skin as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up and try”, you muttered against him.

He kissed your jaw, slow and sweet. “As you wish”.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he rolled his hips. Just enough to pull a quiet breath from your lips and make your fingers tighten where they rested on his back.

He stilled for a moment, like he was testing the reaction, and when he looked down at you, there was something in his eyes that almost made you forget how to breathe.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah”, he murmured, voice low and smooth, “that’s more like it”.

You opened your mouth, ready with some clever, cutting tease, something about how he was finally living up to the hype, but the words never made it out. Because in the next breath, Dean shifted his angle, just slightly, and pressed his hips flush against yours in one smooth, deliberate motion.

The sound that left your mouth wasn’t planned. It wasn’t pretty, either, not the usual quiet laugh or sarcastic jab. It was raw. Instinctual. A moan so loud and unfiltered, it startled even you.

Dean stilled, just for a second, blinking down at you like he hadn’t expected that reaction and then his lips pulled into that slow, wicked smirk. “Well”, he breathed, his voice thick with heat and affection, “was that approval?”.

You could barely think, let alone answer. One hand gripped his shoulder while the other curled into the blanket beside you like it might keep you grounded. Your heart was racing, your breath uneven, and your whole body felt like it had been rewired with him at the center of it. But eventually you managed to blink up at him, barely finding your voice. “Shut up”.

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you slowly, lazily. “Not a chance”.

And then he did it again. Same angle, same perfect pressure and whatever clever comeback you’d been planning scattered into dust. This time, you didn’t even try to speak.

Dean kept moving, slow at first, finding that angle again like he’d learned your body in a heartbeat. Each time, the heat built higher, your nerves sparking bright and electric with every steady roll of his hips.

He watched you, eyes hungry, but also soft and a little amazed, as if seeing you come undone was the greatest victory he’d ever won. Every time your breath hitched, every quiet gasp or desperate whimper, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, your temple, your lips.

You could barely hold onto the teasing now. Every word faded under the growing wave inside you. Too much and not enough, his hands strong and grounding where they held you close. “Dean”, you gasped, the sound tangled between a plea and a promise.

“Yeah”, he whispered, just for you, “I got you. Just let go. I got you”.

And you did. It hit you hard. Waves shivering up your spine, curling your toes, making you moan his name louder than you’d meant to, like there was nothing else in the world. Just him, and the feeling, and the way he held you together while you came apart in his arms.

Dean followed, groaning your name as he pressed even closer, shuddering with you. You felt him tense, then relax, every muscle in his body softening as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot against your skin.

For a while, neither of you moved. The only sound was the harsh rhythm of your breathing and the quiet hush of snow against the Impala’s windows.

When Dean finally pulled back enough to look at you, his face was flushed, eyes shining with something warm and almost vulnerable. “Still cold?”, he asked, his smile a little crooked, a little dazed.

You shook your head, smiling up at him with nothing left to hide. “Not even a little”.

He laughed, rolling onto his side and pulling you close, blanket tangled around you both as you melted into his warmth, your heart still pounding.

You lay there for a long moment, tucked into Dean’s side, his hand lazily tracing circles along your back under the blanket. His breathing was steady now, a quiet rhythm beneath your cheek, and for once, everything was still. No monsters. No running. Just heat, closeness, and the hum of something that felt suspiciously like peace. You closed your eyes, your body starting to relax fully for the first time in days. Maybe longer.

Just then, there were three sharp taps against the fogged-up window beside Dean’s shoulder. You jolted, sitting upright slightly, yanking the blanket higher over your bare chest as your heart jumped straight back into your throat.

Dean sighed dramatically, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me”.

Outside the window, barely visible through the snow and condensation, was a very tall, very bundled-up figure with one gloved hand pressed flat over his eyes.

“Uh”, came Sam’s voice, muffled through the glass, “I really didn’t need to see that”.

You groaned, dropping your forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “Tell me he didn’t”.

“Oh, he did”, Dean muttered, half-laughing, half-mortified as he reached out to crack the window just enough to talk. “Dude, could you not knock like the FBI during the one moment of peace we’ve had all year?”.

Sam sighed, clearly exasperated. “You two were missing for hours. I followed your GPS and then found the car with tire tracks and… well, that”. He gestured vaguely toward the fogged windows with an air of resignation. “Next time, maybe text before you get snowed in and start playing house in the backseat”.

You winced. “You’re gonna bring this up forever, aren’t you?”.

“Oh, absolutely”, Sam deadpanned. “I already regret saving you”.

You couldn’t stop the whine that escaped, muffled into Dean’s chest as you tried to disappear into the blanket entirely. Dean kissed your temple, clearly amused now. “Alright, alright”, he called through the crack in the window, “give us ten minutes”.

Sam stepped back, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “gross” as he walked away toward the front of the Impala.

Dean leaned back against the seat, looking at you with a crooked grin. “Well”, he said, tugging the blanket tighter around you both. “Guess the honeymoon’s over… for now”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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[dreamersentity]

just thinking about college!dean winchester eating you out in your dorm room with your roommate right next door..

“dean.. we can’t..” you exhaled, face buried into the softness of your pillow while your fingers ran through dean´s scalp, threading through his hair, “she’s gonna hear”

dean watches you, pretty green eyes focused on your worried expression as he peppered small kisses around your neck. he pulls away from you briefly, steady hands circling your hips “i’ll be good.. i promise baby” he murmurs, voice muffled against your jaw, “just, keep that pretty mouth of yours quiet, ‘kay love?”

before you could even respond, you feel him venture lower, tongue grazing around your cleavage while his hands maneuvered around your back, unclasping the lacy fabric of your bra. a moan falls from your lips when his tongue hooks around your sensitive bud, swirling around it — slow, deliberate, eyes focused on getting a reaction from you.

and he did. your back arched into him, pretty mewls desperately leaving your lips. you feel his fingers on the side of your jaw, two digits next to your mouth as you take them in gladly, muffling the small sounds that kept bubbling from your throat.

“shh baby, gotta keep it low” he pulls away from your nipple, greeting the other one with an open-mouthed kiss, making sure they both got the same amount of attention.

he looks up, steady eyes watching you like a predator looks at its prey — patient, unblinking, almost as if he´s studying even the smallest tremor of your body. he bites down gently in a challenge, eliciting a small gasp from you that vibrated against his fingers, “can you do that for me princess?”

you nodded hazily, mouth still full with the taste of him. he wastes no time in going back down, knees placed on the sides of your legs, wet kisses leaving small traces of his saliva behind to prove that he owns you, every single inch of your body was his and purely made for him.

he hesitates when he reaches the elastic band of your panties, eyes shooting back up at you for permission. with a feverish nod from you, his teeth hook around the edge and pulls them down in slow fashion, chucking the soft material aside.

he licks his lips at the sight, your pussy completely drenched in your arousal, desperately fluttering around nothing. “fuck baby, this wet for me already?” he hums, a firm hand on your hip to keep you from squirming.

“does getting caught turn you on this much?” he says playfully, letting out a small “ow!” when he feels you bite down on his fingers gently, but hard enough for him to stop teasing you, “m’sorry baby, guess i struck a nerve” he chuckles, giving your thigh a soft, reassuring pat when he sees you pout.

he releases his fingers from your mouth, now completely covered in your saliva and inserts them inside you slowly, your gummy walls clenching around the intrusion. dean groans, the sight of you straight out of a porno — back arched, nipples hard and thighs already trembling when he hasn´t even started with you yet. he feels his dick hard against his jeans, swelling in sweet anticipation.

his fingers continue slipping in and out of you, slowly picking up pace and gently opening you up for him. his eyes are still locked with your entrance, like he´s memorising how well you take him. “fuck look at her, just begging for more”

“dean- ah, m´ close-” you moan between gasps, the knot in your belly growing tighter. dean takes note of this and releases his fingers from you, thumb rubbing soothing circles on your clit. you whine at the sudden emptiness, your head hanging back against the pillow.

just when you were about to ask him why he stopped, his lips are on your clit, tongue flat against your entrance as he licks up a stripe, lapping up your juices.

dean eats you out like he wants to devour you whole, pace slow at first — tongue exploring your pussy to taste all of you, the sweetness of your arousal fogging his brain and making his dick throb against his thigh.

then he licks, faster, nose nudging your clit as he dives impossibly deeper in you, thumb applying pressure as his other hand occupies himself with his jeans, fiddling with the buckle of his belt and pulling down the zipper, allowing his cock to spring freely from his boxers.

you muffle your moans with the back of your hand, biting down to try to control your sounds somehow, but you were positive that anyone could hear through the thin walls of your room. your other hand threads through his hair, pulling him down until you could feel his gold locks tickle your belly.

dean groans into you, fingers making haste on his dick as he strokes sloppily, the squelching sounds of your pussy and your filthy moans filling his ears. pre-cum drips along his shaft as he strokes faster, a guttural groan escaping his lips whenever you tug at his hair.

he senses you´re close, thighs trembling and squeezing around his head like you´re afraid he´d run away. dean´s tongue is relentless, panting against you like a fucking dog in heat as he rubs himself on your leg to try ease the painful throb of his cock.

“fuck baby— go on pretty, cum for me—” he moans, low and rough, breathing growing more labored by the second “—show me how much this pussy loves my mouth”

that´s when you feel it, that familiar snap in your lower abdomen — his warm breath fanning your clit as he flicked his tongue in a punishing speed, his strong grip on your thighs and his leaking tip dripping down your leg all adds up and sends you into a spiral, cumming hard on his tongue with a desperate cry.

with a heavy groan, dean follows you shortly after, hot white liquid spurting against your leg and ending up on the bed, fingers still stroking his flustered tip while he busied his mouth with your orgasm, drinking every single drop until you were left dry.

he presses one last kiss to your clit, leaning back to get a good look at you — strands of hair stuck to your forehead, sweat droplets covered your chest as you breathed heavily. god, he could never get tired of this.

“damn baby, could do this forever when you taste this good” he lets out a breathy chuckle before closing the small gap between you with a passionate kiss, tongue dancing against yours as he pulled away with a last bite to your lip.

your lips quirked up in a sheepish smile, humming in satisfaction while your fingers stroked the back of his neck soothingly, “think she heard?” you ask dean, cheeks growing pink from embarrassment at the thought that your roommate might´ve overheard everything. he could only smirk, capturing your lips in one last kiss.

“oh sweetheart, she definitely did.”

cybella’s thoughts⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡ i absolutely adore jensen´s hair in dawson´s creek, made me think of how dean would look like in college... and i also have to say that i´ve fallen for the gif propaganda, so please bear with me for the next two weeks before i get sick of it.

i swear this started as a drabble but ended up being 1k ? lol anyways, happy super late birthday dean winchester <3

⤷ looking for more ? here’s my masterlist !

[godmadeaterribleerror]

✦cool✦

✧･ﾟ:Bucky’s seen it. How you stare at his metal hand. How whenever he grabs something with it your eyes flick down, how when he grazes you with it—even only in brief passing—your body seizes up. At first he thinks it’s aversion, but then he spots the way your breath catches. Sees how you start to lean into the touch. Like you can’t enough of it. Of him.

✧･ﾟ:He runs an experiment. He touches you more. Offering a shiny palm when he helps you out of the car, squeezing your upper arm when he walks past you, even just wiping something off your chin with a light, cool touch. It pays off fast. One night he grabs your thigh during dinner, and you make a low, soft sound. A moan. You grab his wrist, face flushed and lips parted. Then you let go like he burned you, stumbling slightly back and ignoring his affectionate smile.

✧･ﾟ:You’re not expecting him to bring it up so suddenly. You’re hoping to ignore it for a while longer. But you’re on the couch, and he’s lying next to you, and suddenly you feel the chill of metal on your inner thigh. It’s electric. You start out of your seat with a squeak, but Bucky pushes you back down. His fingers tease on your sensitive inner thigh, and you gasp, grabbing his wrist with pleading eyes.

✧･ﾟ:His brows raise in a silent question. He’ll let you push him away, and you’ll never speak of it again. But that’s not what you want. You want to feel how that hard, deliberate hand feels inside of you. How every part of Bucky fits with you, how he can abuse the machinery for your pleasure. You push his hand further down, letting the tips of his fingers brush over your clothed core. Bucky smiles, and gives you exactly what you want.

✧･ﾟ:The first time he touches you there, you don’t think you’re ever going to be able to use a toy again. He filles you up so well your eyes roll back, rushes of delight shooting through you as the cold contrasts your dripping heat. Bucky crooks deep inside of you, and bullies that gooey, hot space inside of you with an efficiency that should be criminal. You’re writing and breathless just on his hand, and he moves to his knees to watch himself work you. Awe shines in his eyes, when you spasm around him.

✧･ﾟ:When he’s done, he licks the fingers clean, and you almost cum again at the sight. He learns that he can vibrate them, and kisses you back down into the mattress, the light feeling tickling near your core before he fucks them into you, and you scream in delight.

✧･ﾟ:He starts to use them more and more. Sometimes he feeds them to you while he drills into your already puffy cunt, making you suck every bit of him in. Other times you’ll be folded under him, his mouth working your core until you shine on his beard, and metal fingers roll and pinch your nipples as you squirm.

✧･ﾟ:Soon there are whole nights where he splays his warmer hand over your abdomen, pinning you to the mattress as he fingers you into oblivion. Other times he lets you buck and roll around, enjoying the chase for when your legs get too weak to scramble away. The pleasure is overwhelming, but you still chase it. There’s nothing but bliss in you, when Bucky drags you to his chest and watches you ride them with a dreamy expression and hazy eyes.

✧･ﾟ:Sometimes he just sits them inside of you, forcing you to feel them. How hard and thick they are, just like his cock, but with Bucky under so much more control. He presses on your g-spot and doesn’t falter when you spasm around him, his cock only pressing near your ass as he keeps your pinned in his lap. You try to grind onto him, but he’s stronger and holds you still. He just wants you to feel them. To take him.

✧･ﾟ:Some part of him likes this even more than you do. He likes that you want this part of him. A part that used to be a curse, now turned only into a bringer of your flushed, pretty face and doe-eyes as you watch him like he’s an angel. Every time you cum on his metal fingers, the arm feels less like a mocking, phantom limb, and a little more like Bucky.

✧･ﾟ:You call his name when he touches you, after all. And Bucky doesn’t much care what part of him is making you do that, as long as you never, ever stop.

✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist✦ ✦Author's Note: can you guys tell how normal i am about the metal hand.✦ ✦Buy me a coffee!☕️✦

[brunchable]

Rough day, baby?

 ݈݇— pairings: BF!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader  ݈݇— themes: Bad day at work, being pampered after a stressful day, no use of y/n, smut with a bit of plot. SMUT: soft!dom, pleasure!dom, praise kink, pet names: my love, baby, good girl, bathroom sex, foreplay, fingering, unprotected p i v, cow girl, creampie, cockwarming, dirty talk, size difference.  ݈݇— summary: You get pampered by Bucky after a long stressful day, He takes care of your every need, just so you can unwind. A/N: its fanfics like this where i wish i could freakin come inside it. ENJOY BEING PAMPERED BY BUCKY BESTIES.

You make it three steps into the house before the day catches up to you. Your bag slips off your shoulder with a thud; your keys miss the hook and clatter to the floor. You stand there, jaw clenched, blinking hard like you can hold yourself together with willpower alone.

Bucky is up from the couch before you can try a smile. 

“Hey.” Gentle. No questions that feel like traps. He takes your bag, sets it aside, then opens his arms without closing the distance—an invitation, not a demand.

You go. His chest is warm and solid; his chin tips over your head like it remembers where it belongs. 

“Bad day?” he asks, voice a low hum against your hair.

“Just… a lot,” you say into his shirt, the words wobbling.

“Okay.” He sways you, slow. “Give me the ‘a lot.’ Thirty-second rant or full director’s cut?”

You huff, unwilling and grateful. “Director’s cut.”

“Hit me, baby.” His hand makes steady circles on your back. “I’m all ears.”

You unload. The email that moved the goalposts. The meeting that could’ve been an email. The co-worker who “just had a thought” right after you said the exact same thing. The way your chest felt tight at 3 p.m. for no reason except the thousand tiny reasons stacked under it.

He doesn’t interrupt. He nods in the right places. He goes soft-mouthed and furious in a way that means he’s on your side, not just mad at the air.

 When you finally run out, you expect him to fix it. He doesn’t.

“That sounds exhausting,” he says simply, forehead resting to yours. “No wonder you’re wrung out. I’m proud of you for getting through it.”

You swallow. Something unknots. “Thank you.”

“Always.” He kisses your temple. “Couch. Shoes off. I’m making you tea.”

“You don’t—”

“I know,” he says, already steering you with a palm at the small of your back. “I want to.”

He tucks you into the corner of the couch like you’re the most valuable thing in the room, plucks your shoes off, slides a throw over your legs. The kitchen light clicks on. You hear the kettle, the small domestic music of a spoon against a mug. He returns with chamomile and honey and the good mug—the one with the chip you like—and kneels to hand it to you with two hands like an offering.

“For my queen,” he says, soft and proud.

The steam kisses your face. You take a sip; the honey blooms on your tongue. Bucky moves behind the couch and sets those hands—one cool, one warm—on your shoulders. He doesn’t push. He listens with his thumbs.

“Here?” he asks, kneading lightly at a knot.

You melt. “There.”

“Mm.” His fingers go to work. Slow pressure, careful mapping. He finds the line where tension hooks behind your skull and rubs it until your breath evens out. Then he cards through your hair, scritching lightly at your scalp the way he knows will make your eyes heavy.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, a litany of comfort leaking out in between slow, sure strokes. “You did more than enough today. You don’t have to be anything for me except here. I’m so lucky I get to take care of you. That’s it, baby. Let it go.”

If you were standing, you’d fall over. As it is, you sag back into his hands and the couch makes a contented little creak like it approves.

“You want a warm bath?” he asks your crown. “Epsom salts, the lavender stuff you pretend you don’t like and then steal. I’ll run it. Wait here.”

You nod, boneless. He kisses the top of your head and slips away.

You try to obey. You last nineteen seconds.

He’s in the bathroom when you pad down the hall—sleeves shoved up, faucet purring, steam frosting the mirror. He’s set a towel on the radiator to warm and your favorite candle is already flickering on the counter. He glances up when he hears you and smiles, that private one he saves for you.

“I said wait,” he teases lightly, reaching for the bath oil.

“You don’t have to go above and beyond.” You lean in the doorway, hands tucked in your sleeves. “Really.”

He looks over his shoulder, brow lifting. 

“What do you mean I don’t?” He turns the tap down to a perfect, steady run. “I said, I want to.”

The way he says it—like it’s obvious, like wanting to is enough—lands in your chest and spreads. He tests the water with his metal fingertips, adds a dash more hot, then pours a ribbon of lavender that sends the room to a field at dusk.

“Arms,” he says gently, and when you lift them he peels your day off: cardigan, top, skirt, then the weight of your bag strap that still ghost-hangs from your shoulder. He doesn’t rush. He doesn’t reach for more than you give. When you shiver, he takes the warmed towel from the radiator and drapes it around you like a cape.

“Phone,” he prompts. You hand it over; he flips on Do Not Disturb and tucks it in the drawer. “Crime scene handled.”

A laugh escapes you before you can stop it. “You think you’re funny.”

“I know I am,” he says, smug and soft. He taps the counter. “Jewelry tray.”

You pass him your jewellery; he lines them up in the little dish your aunt gave you, careful as a museum curator. 

Then he tilts his head at your hair.  “May I?”

At your nod, he steps behind you and gently gathers it. He twists a loose bun high on your head, secures it with one of your scrunchies like he’s handling something priceless, then smooths your flyaways with his palm.

“Look at you,” he says to your reflection, sincere and a little awed. “Prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, even on a terrible day.”

You roll your eyes because that is the law, but your mouth betrays you with a smile. He sees it. He always does. He winks and turns back to the tub; the water has climbed into that sweet spot—warm enough to unravel you, not so hot it scolds.

He kills the tap, swirls the bath once with his hand to distribute the heat, then sets a folded washcloth on the rim like he’s setting a table. 

“Okay,” he says, stepping back to make space, “we have: perfect temperature, cozy towel staging area, candle that smells like cinnabon, and a playlist that is ninety percent piano and ten percent songs that make you roll your eyes but secretly relax.”

“Which ones make me roll my eyes?”

“Any that start with ‘acoustic version.’” He grins when you snort. “Come here.”

You let the towel slip, and he looks at you like you’re something he’s allowed to gaze at, not devour. He offers his hands—one warm, one cool—and helps you step in. The water sighs around you; you do, too.

“Too hot?” he checks.

“No, it’s perfect.”

He kneels by the tub, forearms on the porcelain, chin propped on his wrist. Close enough to be there, far enough that you have space to float. 

“Sip,” he says, passing you the mug he somehow thought to bring along; the steam curls up to kiss your face.

You take a drink. The next breath you release feels two pounds lighter.

“That’s my girl,” he murmurs. “We’re gonna soak for ten. Then I’m gonna wash your hair, put you in my biggest hoodie and your stupidly soft socks. Then we’re ordering dinner from the place that puts too many sesame seeds on everything you love, and we’re watching that show where everybody stares out windows and says ‘We can’t.’”

“They do more than that.”

“They occasionally kiss dramatically in the rain,” he concedes. “But mostly? Window-staring.”

You bite your smile and sink until the water kisses your collarbones. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Mm. I’m yours.” He traces a fingertip over the top of your shoulder, a barely-there touch that says I’m here more than any speech could. “And I’m not leaving you alone with your brain tonight.”

You look at him. He looks back like he means every word.

“Thank you,” you say, because it doesn’t cover it and is all you have.

He leans in and presses a kiss to your damp forehead. “You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

“I know.” You reach, wet fingers curling around his wrist, the cool metal and warm skin both yours. “I just like saying it.”

“Then say it,” he says, smiling. “Say it as many times as you want. Say it while you eat dumplings. Say it while I blow-dry your hair. Say it while you fall asleep on me in the third episode because you always do.”

You laugh, full-bodied now, and the day loosens its grip for good. He watches your shoulders drop, watches your face soften, and you can feel the satisfaction roll off him like sunlight.

He stands, squeezes your hand, and starts for the door. “I’ll grab the hoodie and the socks,” he says over his shoulder. “And the remote, so I can pretend I’m not gonna give it to you.”

“Bucky.”

He pauses. “Yeah, baby?”

“Can you… join me instead?”

His smile tilts—soft and a little dazzled. 

“You want me to join you? Of course.” He toes off his sweats, peels his top over his head, and in two unhurried motions he’s bare and beautiful in the lamplight. “Scoot, my love.”

You slide forward through the lavender water; he steps in behind you and sinks with a pleased exhale, long legs bracketing your hips. Heat and him close around you like a second bath. His chest warms your back; the cool kiss of vibranium settles at your waist, anchoring.

“Hi,” he murmurs against your temple, like it’s the best word he knows.

“Hi,” you breathe, already melting.

“Turn for me.” He lifts your hair, fingertips reverent. “Let me take care of you.”

You tip your head forward. He finds your scrunchie and eases it free, letting your hair spill into his palms. He reaches for the cup on the tub ledge and pours a slow ribbon of warm water from crown to nape. It runs over your scalp, your neck, your shoulders; his thumb follows the path in lazy circles.

“Pressure okay?” he asks.

“Mmm—perfect.”

“Good.” He works a little shampoo into his hands, then into your hair, massaging with careful, hypnotic strokes—temples, behind your ears, the base of your skull where all the day’s sharp edges hide. 

Your eyes flutter. The world narrows to the rhythm of his fingers and the steady rise and fall of his breathing at your back.

“Want me to make you forget your day?” he whispers, all praise and promise. “Can I make you feel good, my love?”

“Yes,” you sigh, boneless.

“Good, now lean onto me.” 

He tips a cup of warm water over your crown, shielding your eyes with his palm while he rinses you clean. The lavender slips away; his touch doesn’t. Those hands map lower—slow, reverent passes down your neck, along your collarbones—thumbs drawing lazy circles at the dip of your sternum. He hums like he likes the way your heartbeat stutters under his fingers.

“Just relax,” he murmurs. “That’s it, baby.”

His flesh hand glides over your chest, cupping you with tenderness that turns your ribs to honey. He teases, feather-light at first—fingers skimming, circling, learning the way you arch into the touch—then a gentle roll of his thumb that has your breath catching. 

“So responsive,” he praises, voice a low current in your ear. “Look at you, my love. Such a good girl for me.”

The cool band of vibranium anchors you at your waist while his warm palm coasts down your belly, lower—patient, sure—until his fingers slip between your thighs. He finds heat and slick and groans softly against your temple like he’s the one being touched. 

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, circling your clit with slow, perfect pressure. “Let me have it. Give me every bit of that tension. I’ve got you.”

Your head tips back to his shoulder; he follows the line of your throat with his mouth, dropping kisses like breadcrumbs—tender, claiming—while his hands work in tandem: one coaxing soft, aching sparks over your nipple, the other stroking you in tight, pressured rhythms below.

“You’re doing so well,” he breathes, pace unhurried and coaxing. “Such pretty sounds. You feel how easy you open for me? Mmm. Take what you need.”

“Bucky—” it escapes you, a small, helpless plea that makes his jaw flex against your cheek.

“Right here,” he promises, tightening the arm at your middle to hold you when your knees go warm. “Do you want more pressure? Want me to for faster, Mm?”

“Please.”

He gives it to you—just enough—and you shiver, hips answering for you under the water. He smiles against your skin, proud and a little wrecked. 

“Let me draw it out of you. Let me replace every bad minute with this.”

His fingers circles faster but keeps you exactly where the heat crests and curls, praising you in that low, sinful voice that melts your bones. 

“You deserve to be worshiped after a day like that. Can you feel it building?" Your fingers clutch his forearm; he groans at the cling, at the trust, at the way you anchor yourself to him like he’s the only solid thing left in the room. "Uh-huh, I know. I know.”

A helpless sound catches in your throat. His fingers keep the rhythm—patient, coaxing—until your knees go loose and the tub cradles you both.

“Should I put a finger in?” he asks, voice low, checking your eyes even though your body’s already begging.

You nod, breath hitching. “Please.”

“Yeah?” His smile tilts, tender and a little wicked. “Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you, my love? Tell me what you need.”

“Need. . . Your fingers,” you whisper. “Fill me….”

“As you wish,” he breathes, and does exactly that—one thick finger sliding in, warm and sure, knuckle by careful knuckle. He waits, letting you melt around him, then curls. Electricity skates through your belly. Your free hand finds the back of his neck; you pull him closer, mewling into his jaw as his thumb draws tight, merciless circles over your clit.

“That’s it,” he praises, voice going husky. “Hold on to me. Use me. I'm right here.”

He strokes again, precise and . Your hips answer on instinct, a small roll that drives him deeper. He groans softly, forehead tipping to your temple. “So sweet for me. So soft. You’re squeezing my finger like you never want to let go.”

“More,” you breathe, trembling. “I can take more.”

“Anything for you, baby.” He eases his middle finger out just a hair, slicks it with your heat, and slides his ring finger in beside it—slow, careful, praising against your ear. 

“There you go… open for me… good girl.” Both fingers seat to the hilt; you gasp, nails biting the nape of his neck. He stills, gives you one heartbeat, two, then curls both in tandem and finds the spot that makes your vision spark.

Your head falls back to his shoulder; a wrecked moan spills out before you can catch it. He hums approvingly and keeps working that angle—steady, toe-curling pulls, thumb never breaking rhythm.

“Oh baby, you sound so beautiful.” He feels your answer shiver through you. “Right there. Feel it… let it roll through you. You’re doing so well.”

Water laps the porcelain, lavender steam rising while he plays you with unhurried skill. 

The cool arc of vibranium bands your waist; his warm chest cages your back. You’re strung tight between them, every nerve tuned to the slick slide of his fingers and the low river of his voice.

“Listen to yourself,” he murmurs, kissing the hinge of your jaw. “That pretty little whimper—music to me. Give me more. Give me everything.”

You do, helpless and greedy, rolling into his palm. He answers by tightening the circles of his thumb, by scissoring the slightest bit and then curling again, relentless and sure until your thighs start to shake under the water.

“Bucky—” your voice breaks, “you feel so good.”

“Yeah?,” he chuckles, pace tightening. “Let go for me. I’m right here. Fall, baby—I’ll catch you.”

The edge pulls taut—bright, inevitable. He curls just once more, thumb pressing perfect, and the world snaps. Heat bursts low and fast; you clamp around his fingers, shuddering, breath snagging on a fractured cry as he murmurs through it:

“Good girl… that’s it… give it to me… so beautiful… I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”

He keeps moving you gently—lighter strokes, reverent circles—working the aftershocks until the tremble becomes a lazy ripple and your whole body goes molten against him. He kisses your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth, smiling when you chase the last one.

“Hi,” he whispers, thumb stroking slow at your hip. “You with me?”

You nod, boneless, fingers still looped around his neck. “Y-yeah.”

Your fingers still looped at his nape, you shift to face him—slick, giggly—and your knee slipped on the porcelain. Water sloshes; you both laugh, breathless and bright.

“Are you okay?” Bucky braces you instantly, big hands steadying your waist.

“I’m okay,” you grin, climbing into his lap and kissing him like the relief of a long day breaking—deep, hungry, grateful. Your hand slides down, stroking his thick length under the water until his breath hitches against your mouth.

“Baby…” he groans, forehead tipping to yours as you guide him. “Easy. Take your time.”

“I’ve got it,” you whisper, lining the thick crown to your entrance. You breathe, sink—slow, thick inches—until you’re seated all the way and both of you swear into the steam.

“God, my love,” he rasps, palms spreading over your hips to hold you there, not forcing, just anchoring. “So warm. You feel like heaven.”

Water laps the rim in soft waves as you start to move—small, rolling circles that grind you down on him. His head falls back; his jaw flexes; then he’s looking at you again like you’re the only thing that’s ever made sense. One hand drifts to your lower belly, splayed to feel the depth of him; the other slips between you, thumb finding your clit with that patient, perfect pressure.

“That’s it,” he praises, low and wrecked. “Ride me, baby. Let me see you feel good. You deserve every bit of it.”

You take what he offers—pace unhurried, greedy, wet sounds turning the tiny room into something holy. He meets your mouth between breaths—kisses that land on a sigh, on a moan, on your name. 

When your rhythm stutters, he bucks up—once, hard—and your breath breaks against his mouth. 

“Faster,” you whisper, fingers curling at his shoulders. “Please.”

“Yeah, baby.” His hands lock your hips and he drives up to meet you, turning those slow, rolling circles into a slick, urgent bounce that sends water sloshing in greedy sheets over the rim. The tub rocks; the candlelight jumps. He keeps his thumb steady on your clit, tightening pressure just a breath with every snap of his hips.

“Just like that,” he grits, eyes on your face like he’s memorizing each stutter, each gasp. “You look so beautiful riding my cock. Take it—all of it.” 

You do, chasing the pace he sets, thighs burning, breath gone ragged as the rhythm sharpens—up, down, grind—until you’re helplessly meeting him, matching him, losing track of where you end and he begins.

“Bucky—” Your voice pitches high; his palm slides to your lower back, arching you into the angle that ruins you.

“I’ve got you,” he rasps, fucking up into you harder, deeper, water spilling warm around your hips. “Come on, my love, that’s it—come for me.”

It hits—fast, white, toe-curling. You clamp around him and keen into his mouth; he swears, breaks, and follows with a guttural sound, holding you down while his seeds pulses deep, thumb still soft on your clit to milk every last tremor.

You collapse against him, both of you laughing breathlessly when another wave slaps over the edge. He strokes your spine, kissing your temple, then your smile. 

“Worth the cleanup,” he murmurs, smug and tender.

“Totally,” you pant, nosing his jaw.

“Stay,” he says, easing you down until you’re draped along his chest, still joined, water lapping gentler now. “Catch your breath. Then I’m wrapping you in a towel and carrying you to the bed like the princess you are.”

“Bossy,” you tease, eyes half-closed.

“Devoted,” he corrects, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead, thumb idly tracing your hip as your pulse settles. “And completely yours.”

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[metal-armed-muse]

LEFT OUT (bucky barnes)

boyfriend bucky x fem reader || smut, MDNI ! wc : 1.3k notes : a silly little drabble (to all the tit girls out there!)

The kissing had started on the couch and migrated. It's the way it always happens with Bucky, until you're somehow on his bed with his hands in your hair and his mouth doing something to your throat that has made coherent thoughts absolutely non existent.

This is not new. You've been here before, many times, enough times that you know exactly what his hands feel like and exactly what sounds he makes.

Knowing all of that has done precisely nothing to make you less affected by any of it. If anything it's worse, because now you know what's coming and your body starts responding approximately three steps ahead of what's actually happening.

His mouth drags down from your throat to your collarbone. You tip your head back against the pillow and and try to remember how breathing works.

He gets your shirt over your head with the easy familiarity of someone who has done this enough times to know the most efficient route, and your bra follows.

Then he pulls back to look at you with dark eyes and that specific expression that still, every single time, makes you want to put something over your face.

You don't. You've learned not to. He moves it back everytime anyway.

"You're so beautiful," he says. Which he always says, but has the same effect everytime regardless. your lips curve into a small smile that makes his expression soften.

Dipping his head, he takes your right nipple into his mouth and your back arches clean off the mattress.

He's learned you. That's the thing, that's what makes it so overwhelming. He's catalogued everything over these months, every reaction, every sound, every specific thing that makes your hips shift or your breath catch.

And he uses all of it with a thoroughness that leaves you with nothing to hold back.

His tongue circles slowly, the flat of it pressing before the tip traces. His lips seal around the peak and suck with a gentle, devastating pressure that makes your fingers press into his hair.

His other hand finds your left breast, palming it, his thumb tracing circles over that nipple while his mouth is occupied. The dual attention makes you squirm, hips rising off the mattress toward nothing.

"Bucky—" his name comes out unsteady.

He hums against you, which you feel everywhere, and sucks a little harder. Your thighs only press together. He rolls the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger with a careful pressure and releases it only to do it again, and again. And again.

You're making sounds you're only partially aware of, these embarrassing little sounds he loves so dearly.

He spends a long time there, switching between tongue and lips and the occasional graze of teeth that makes you gasp and grip his hair harder, your whole body focused to that single point.

By the time he pulls back, both nipples are oversensitised and aching, and there is a warmth between your thighs that has become a very specific and insistent problem.

He presses a kiss to the curve of your breast and starts moving down.

His mouth traces your sternum, your ribs, while his hands skim your sides.

You're so focused on the warmth trailing down your stomach that it takes you a moment to register something.

He'd only used his mouth on the right one.

Your left nipple, which had received his thumb and forefinger and nothing else, is oversensitised but neglected by his tongue.

It doesn't sit right with you.

Bucky reaches your navel and his tongue traces it. You make a sound that's both in pleasure and in annoyance because he's moving south. You don’t want him to move south.

The thing you need to say becomes more urgent.

You grab his hair.

He stops immediately, head coming up, eyes finding yours with a concern that's instant and genuine. "Hey." He moves up slightly, enough to look at you properly. "You okay? Want to stop?"

You shake your head, which is true and accurate, but the words that are supposed to follow get tangled somewhere between your brain and your mouth. The way they always do when he's looking at you like that.

What comes out is a mumble that communicates nothing.

He tilts his head. "What?"

You press your lips together. Try again. "It's fine." It is not what you meant to say, also doesn't explain why you're holding his hair.

"It's fine isn't a sentence. Use your words, sweetheart."

The endearment does not help with the word retrieval situation. You look at a point somewhere past his ear. "You didn't—" you don't finish your sentence.

"Didn't what?"

Your face is warm. "You did the thing with your mouth… on the one side."

Something moves through his expression that is the very beginning of understanding. "Yeah…"

"And your hand on the other."

"Right."

"Which is fine," you add, quickly, because you don't want him to think you're complaining, "it was… obviously it was really good, it's always really good, I just—" you make a small gesture in the direction of your left side that you hope communicates the rest.

He looks at where you're gesturing. Looks back at you. His mouth is doing something it's trying not to do. "Are you telling me that your left nipple feels left out?"

The words ‘left out’ said aloud in that voice makes it so much worse. "That is not how I phrased it."

"That is exactly how you were gonna phrase it."

"I said it felt—" He's right, that is exactly how you should've. Your face, ears, chest are all extremely warm now. "You could just fix it instead of repeating it back to me."

He makes a sound that is a laugh that he's converting into something else through sheer effort. Hovering over you, he takes your face in one hand and makes you look at him. His eyes are dark but entirely too fond. "You are the most adorable person I have ever met in my life."

"Please just—"

"I'm getting there." He kisses you first, slow and thorough, until your hands are in his hair again and the embarrassment has mostly dissolved into warmth.

His mouth starts from your throat, moves to your chest. He pulls back to look at your left breast with a solemn attention that makes you want to put the pillow over your face, or to hit him with it, you're not entirely sure.

"Better?" he asks before he even does anything.

"You're enjoying this."

"Oh, completely," he shamelessly agrees. "You're cute when you're all shy and embarrassed." His mouth closes over your left nipple and the laugh you'd been building evaporates.

He gives it everything. Full, focused attention, his tongue circling slowly before the flat press, lips sealing and sucking with that devastating patience, everything he'd given the other side and possibly more, like he's making a point.

His hand cups your right breast, his thumb returning to that nipple with the same careful rolling pressure.

The restored symmetry makes you flood with warmth.

You stop thinking about being embarrassed. You stop thinking about much of anything.

His mouth works over you slow and thorough, reading every hitch of breath, adjusting. You realise you're making continuous and helpless sounds again, your hips shifting up toward nothing while he takes his time.

He grazes his teeth across the peak and you gasp his name. He does it again, softer, before sealing his lips around it.

He pulls back and presses his lips to the curve of your breast once, soft.

"Better?" he asks again, and this time it's different, the teasing with something warmer underneath it.

You look at him, thoroughly undone, your face still warm but for different reasons now. "Yes."

He looks up at you with dark eyes and that expression, the one that's fond and filthy in equal measure, and presses a kiss to your sternum. His hands are already moving to your hips. "Now where were we..."

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