Sweetheart!Gator is absolutely in love with his girlfriend !!
Sweetheart! Gator always visits you at work. He loves to show up unannounced while your busy to tease you for a bit before inevitably giving you some money “just because”
“I don’t need to get tipped for doing nothing, Gator” “Alright, okay..give me a kiss and I’ll tip you for that?”
Sweetheart! Gator is obsessed with anything you do. It looks like he’s watching his favorite show when he’s really just watching you make yourself a snack or pick out a movie. He loses his sense of personal space when he watches you. You’d turn to ask if he wanted a snack or drink only to bump into him the second you turn. “Oh-Hello..do you mind backing up?” “You don’t want me close? What did I do to deserve getting punished? I’m just—c’mon, let me stay close t’ya.”
Sweetheart! Gator who almost always lets you pick what to do for date night. A movie, dinner, shopping, summer swimming..he does get severely annoyed when you try to pay for any of it though. He huffs and groans-he’ll even take your wallet if you get too persistent about paying for your items.
Sweetheart! Gator who insists you model every outfit before date night as well. Any dress, skirt, shorts, or swimsuit must be modeled before you leave the house. Not because he would make you change, he rarely ever made you do that. He just liked to admire you like his prize. Like you were something he won-Like you made him a winner at something.
Sweetheart! Gator who lovesss tasting your lipgloss or chapstick. He loves to steal quick pecks and mumbles his guess of the flavor. “Mh..strawberry?” a whisper against your lips that made your smile go wide and your heart melt. “Mhm..good job.” He also has a habit of buying you dozens of flavored lip products-you have enough for a life time because of him.
sypnosis: based on this anon request (tysm for sending this can't wait for more 💕 steve has recently started his new job at family video and requires him to wear polo's that make is biceps look exceptionally delicious
pairing: steve harrington X gf! reader
cw: bicep riding, making out, light teasing
a/n: as y'all can see i learned how to do gradient text and now i'll never go back lmaooo (tut i followed if you wanna learn!!) also this does not follow cannon timeline perfectly, alot of my stuff is cannon adjacent
Steve has recently taken up a new job to help support your guys’ new life, with you guys finally deciding to move in with each other after a year and a half of dating. Let’s just say his new uniform for his new job had you clenching your legs together in the mornings when getting ready to work with Nancy.
As did most mornings, you woke up in your beautiful boyfriend’s arms.
“Good morning, baby,” Steve said in a groggy voice, hugging you tighter and planting a kiss on the top of your head.
“Good morning,” You replied with a smile on your face, then rolled over to look at his, then gave him a soft kiss on his lips.
You stayed in his arms for a little longer, stealing more kisses before it was time for the both of you to start reluctantly getting ready for work. It was an understatement to say that you didn’t wish Steve was with you at all times; you wished you could spend all your days engulfed in his love.
“Okay, it’s time for us to get ready, baby,” Steve muffled into your neck.
“Five more minutes,” You pouted, giving him your best puppy-pleading eyes.
“We can’t, sweetheart.” He said, cupping your face and giving you an ephemeral peck before getting up from the bed.
You let out a groan, but he is right; you don’t want to be late for work. So, Grudgingly head to the bathroom, brushing your teeth and mentally envisioning what you’re going to wear for work, but it’s quickly interrupted when Steve joins you in the bathroom shirtless in a pair of dark-wash jeans, holding two polos in his hands.
“Which color?” He asks, holding the two shirts up.
“Ummm, the striped one,” You answer, muffled.
He gives you a smile before throwing the one you chose over his head and fixing his hair slightly before gathering his hair products together. As he gathers his stuff, you can’t help but stare at his bulging biceps each time he grabs something or moves his hands through his hair.
“You’re staring,” He laughs, looking at you through the mirror.
Your face begins to feel warm. “Sorry,” You say shyly.
“What are you staring at?” He asks with a smirk, even though he already knows exactly what you’re gawking at.
“You”
“Yeah, but what about me?” He asks, turning and examining you more intensely.
“Your biceps,” You say in a low tone.
“Sorry, baby, didn’t quite hear you.” He says, closing the space between the two of you and gripping your chin to make your eyes meet his.
“Your biceps,” You say once again, feeling even more embarrassed.
“My biceps?” He smiles. “My dirty girl, is that what’s been getting you all worked up lately?”
You nod your hair timidly.
“I’ve been noticing you focus more on me in the mornings,” He says, running his thumb lightly over your lower lip.
Your eyes widen at the statement. You couldn’t feel more embarrassed.
“Umm, I should get changed,” You state in a sultry tone.
“Yeah, you should, already spent ten minutes squeezing your legs together because of my biceps.” He replies in a teasing tone, releasing you from his grasp.
You roll your eyes and exit the bathroom, then open your closet to pick out a nice baby blue top that had embroidery detailing and a nice long white skirt. You walk out of the bedroom to see Steve leaning against the kitchen island with your coffee already made for you.
“So,” He says, looking you up and down as you walk closer to him.
“So,” You reply in a mocking tone.
“These bad boys have been distracting you in the mornings?” He flexes jokingly.
“Ugh, get over yourself,” You joke, smacking him on the shoulder and taking a sip from your coffee.
“Really? Because I think you're enjoying this,” He says with a smug smile before drinking his coffee.
“Whatever,” You roll your eyes. “I’ve gotta get going. I love you, baby; see you at dinner,” You say, giving him a long kiss and squeezing his biceps before you leave.
–
After a long day at work, you kick off your shoes, change into your pajamas, and sit in front of the TV, waiting like a sad puppy for Steve to walk through the door any minute. Halfway through an episode of Magnum, P.I., you hear the lock turn on the door. You shoot up from the couch in excitement, practically tackling and showering Steve in kisses the second he steps through the door.
“Hello to you too,” He laughs, scooping you into his arms.
“I missed you,” You say before kissing him.
“I missed you too,” He smiles back. “But I think we both know what you missed more,” He jokes, giving your butt a quick squeeze.
“Hmm, true,” You hum, and continue to kiss his neck as he makes his way towards your bedroom.
He lightly plops you onto the bed as he works off his family video vest. You perch yourself into your elbows and stare at him with hunger and clamp your legs together. He laughs softly at your actions, climbing atop you, kissing and sucking on the delicate skin on your neck.
“Steve,” You whine, tugging at the hair on the nape of his neck, as he rocks his hips against your aching core.
“I know, baby,” He says in between kisses.
“You’re being a tease,” You pout.
“I’m sorry, baby, but I can’t help but get so turned on by the fact you’re getting yourself all worked up thinking about my biceps.” He says, looking at your distraught expression. “You wanna ride my biceps, honey?” He asks with a mischievous smile.
You nod your head with eagerness.
“Whatever my girl wants, my girl gets,” He says, kissing your cheek before lying back on the mattress, as you work off your pajama pants and underwear.
He looks at you with longing as you crawl onto the bed towards him. Once you fully make your way towards him, you give him a messy kiss before straddling his bicep. You start to rock yourself slowly as he stares at you, pupils blown. You grip his shoulder tightly to stabilize yourself; soft whines escape your mouth.
“Go faster, baby,” He orders, flexing his biceps under you, causing you to moan loudly.
You pick up your pace, dragging your slick all over his biceps, moaning each time he flexes beneath you.
“Steve,” You moan loudly, digging your nails into his shoulder.
“You look so pretty like this, using my bicep to get yourself off,”
“ ‘m gonna cum, Steve,” You groan as your pace gets faster and your rhythm becomes sloppy.
“That’s it, baby, cum all over my bicep. You like riding my bicep, don't you?”
“Oh fuck,” You yelp as your orgasm rushes over you.
You lie your head on Steve’s shoulder for a second as euphoria runs through your body.
“You did so good, baby,” He says, as you get off his bicep and licking your juices off of him. “I think next time you ride the other one? Compare.” He smiles, pulling you in for a deep kiss, making you taste yourself.
Summary: You told Bucky that the only time he’s allowed to wake you up is under three conditions: He has coffee. It’s an emergency. Or his head is between your thighs.
And today, he really, really wants to wake you up.
Pairing: Beefy!Biker Bucky x Reader
Word count: 1.6k
Warnings: Smut, Oral (fem receiving), consensual somnophilia, praise kink, body worship (Bucky has a thing for thighs).
A/N: Beta’d by the amazing @lunarbuck and @cwbucky. Based off an anon ask.
《Masterlist》《Biker!Masterlist》《Library》
You’ve always said that the only time he’s allowed to wake you up before your alarm goes off is under three conditions: if he has coffee waiting for you, it’s a dire emergency or if he has his head between your thighs.
Otherwise, you won’t be responsible for what you would do to him if he doesn’t allow you to sleep in.
He learned this after he woke you up one bright and way too early morning to ask if you remembered where he put his book—it was next to his watch by the way. You found it in less than three seconds and turned on him with a disgruntled gaze.
He can’t lie, he loved the fiery way you glared at him.
Do not wake me up again without a good reason, Bucky.
You pulled him down to your level and repeated yourself so slowly and with so much malice, that he instantly got hard.
The way you aggressively manhandled Bucky, turned him on more than either of you expected. He spent a few hours apologizing to you, mostly with you on top of him.
It’s a little after six, muted pinks, burnt oranges and streaks of blue mar the skyline, and enough light filters through the spaces around the curtains to illuminate the room in a dusky glow.
Bucky’s been awake for hours. He spent the first two on his back, staring at the ceiling, willing himself to get up and do something, anything.
But that would mean leaving you, all warm and soft and sleepy, he tried once, even got his leg over the edge of the bed but the light weight of your hand splayed across the ridges of his lower abs rendered him immobile, he has no choice but to stay in bed.
omg queen i loved your “i want my boyfriend post” like it was pure gold 😭
if you feel comfortable and don’t mind, could you do it again but where the roles are reversed and Joe is the one drugged up?😭💕
do you have a boyfriend?
joe keery x reader
includes: anesthesia silliness, flirting, clingy post-surgery joe, teasing, soft cuddles, forehead kisses, joe falling in love with you all over again while drugged, and you trying not to laugh through all of it.
the nurse had barely finished explaining the aftercare instructions when joe started blinking at you like he’d just discovered something life-changing.
his pupils were huge.
his curls were flattened awkwardly on one side from the procedure cap, and there was gauze stuffed into one cheek while he stared at you with intense concentration, like he was trying to solve a mystery.
you were sitting beside his recovery bed, already trying not to laugh.
“hey,” he said suddenly.
“hey, baby.”
his eyebrows furrowed.
“wow.”
you blinked. “what?”
he leaned closer very slowly, like the movement required all his remaining brainpower.
“you’re… really pretty.”
you immediately pressed your lips together.
the nurse coughed into her clipboard to hide a smile.
“thank you,” you said carefully.
joe kept staring.
then his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“do you have a boyfriend?”
that finally broke you.
you laughed softly, reaching over to fix one of his flattened curls. “yeah, actually.”
his face dropped in genuine disappointment.
“seriously?”
“seriously.”
joe stared at you for another long second before shaking his head slightly like he disagreed with the information.
“that’s unfortunate.”
you laughed harder this time.
“unfortunate?”
“yeah.” his voice came out muffled and sleepy from the gauze. “because i was gonna ask you out.”
the nurse fully turned away now, shoulders shaking.
you bit down on your smile. “is that so?”
he nodded very seriously.
“you seem funny.” he squinted at you. “and nice. i like your face.”
“baby, you are literally on pain medication right now,” you laughed.
“and?” he asked immediately. “i still have eyes.”
you had to look away for a second before the grin on your face got completely out of control.
joe watched you like he’d just said the smartest thing in human history.
then, after a pause—
“your boyfriend sounds dumb.”
your eyes widened. “don’t be rude! he’s actually really nice.”
“where is he?” he asked, looking around the recovery room dramatically. “why would he leave you alone looking like that?”
“looking like what?”
he gestured vaguely toward you with sleepy determination.
“pretty.”
your entire face went hot instantly.
“okay,” you laughed, “you’re flirting with me while wearing a hospital bib.”
“is it working?” he mumbled confidently.
the nurse snorted loudly this time.
you shook your head, trying to stop laughing while joe kept staring at you with painfully affectionate concentration.
then his expression softened suddenly.
“seriously though,” he murmured quieter now, reaching clumsily for your hand. “your boyfriend should be here.”
your chest tightened a little despite yourself.
you squeezed his fingers gently. “he is here.”
joe frowned immediately.
“no, he isn’t.”
“yes, he is.”
“i think i would remember being your boyfriend,” he whispered very seriously.
you completely lost it after that, laughing so hard you had to cover your face with your sleeve.
joe looked deeply pleased with himself.
—
a couple hours later, you finally got him home.
which had been significantly harder than expected because joe had apparently lost all ability to walk in a straight line after the anesthesia.
now he was stretched across the couch in one of his hoodies, half asleep under a blanket while you brought him water.
his eyes followed you immediately the second you walked back into the room.
“there she is,” he mumbled.
you handed him the glass carefully. “how are we feeling?”
“much better. i think it wasn’t that bad.”
you choked on your own breath.
joe blinked slowly up at you.
“what?” he asked, suddenly looking nervous.
“what did i do?” he added quickly, starting to panic a little.
you sat down beside him, already laughing again while he grinned lazily against the couch cushion.
“you spent the last hour flirting with me like we were strangers.”
his eyebrows pulled together slightly.
“what do you mean?”
“you were literally calling me pretty and trying to ask me out even after i told you i have a boyfriend. aka you.”
he stared at you for another second before his eyes widened in realization.
“what?” he said, blushing slightly in embarrassment.
“yeah, baby. i couldn’t stop laughing because you were so committed to it.”
“oh my god,” he muttered, sounding genuinely horrified. “what did you answer?”
“i kept telling you i had a boyfriend, but you were really determined and kept calling him an idiot.”
he leaned back against the couch cushion, looking completely overwhelmed by the information.
“i was really loyal though, by the way. i didn’t give you my number even though you asked like ten times.”
“oh, shut up,” he said, dragging you toward him.
you settled carefully into his lap, still laughing.“i don’t know if i should be offended because you forgot about me.”
“i literally fell in love with you again while i was drugged,” he said.
a laugh slipped out of you immediately.
“that’s… definitely one way of seeing it.” you brushed your fingers gently through his messy curls, smiling when he immediately leaned into the touch without even opening his eyes.
“lets go to sleep.”
he smiled faintly.
“only if you stay.”
“i’m staying.”
“good,” he mumbled sleepily. “would’ve stolen your number if i had more time,” he added teasingly.
After living together long enough, the Thunderbolts essentially develop their own secret language. Not on purpose, mind you. And they don’t even realize how strange it is until they have to work with other heroes and everyone stares at them like they have two heads.
It starts with the others making fun of Bucky for using outdated slang from the 1930s. He doesn’t care to break the habit or learn the modern slang, but he decides he has to get back at them somehow. So he starts making things up. At first, they’re close enough that only he can tell they’re fake, but then he starts pushing to see how weird he can get before they realize he’s fucking with them.
Once she figures it out, Yelena follows suit by mixing made up Russian phrases with her real ones. Alexei soon joins her (after she had to explain what she was doing multiple times so he wouldn’t ruin the joke), then Bob and John start throwing out fake Southern phrases left and right. And Ava gets to join in twofold, because she adds in fake and real phrases from both England and Argentina.
It doesn’t take them long to figure out they’re all doing the same bit, but it doesn’t take the fun out of it. They keep doing it, and some of the fake slang starts to stick. Eventually, they’ve created a mishmash of phrases pulled from across time and space, as well as from their own asses, that they all understand perfectly. It’s more secure than any code any intelligence agencies have ever come up with.
Sksksksjhdhdhdhd the look on his face when Val is trash talking the only friends he's ever had and yapping about being the only one who really understands him meanwhile he's just like "Okay that's nice but where is Yelena? Is she safe? Is she alright???????"
pairing: blind gator tillman x fem neighbor reader
summary: after being discharged from prison, gator locked himself in isolation—refusing to let anyone hurt him ever again. but when he meets you, his considerate neighbor, he realizes the life he dreams of is guarded by one thing he never felt before. fear.
word count: 12.6k
warnings/tags: blind gator, explicit language, blasphemy, HEAVY religious themes, angst, petnames, flirting, fluff, strangers to lovers, meet cute?
a/n: this is my first ever series!! i am so excited to see how everyone likes it. just wanna preface this series by saying all of the titles trace back to christianity, however, i am an atheist. i make no attempt to insult or change anyone's beliefs. religion is a complex thing that i have no desire to comment on. having grown up in a christian/catholic household, i have come to love religious metaphors, themes, and connections in my fics. (if you can't already tell by my other fics) that being said, i hope you enjoy this series!! ily <3!!
Frank Castle stuffing his fingers in my mouth so he doesn't have omto hear me say mean things abt myself >>>>
apologies, this was only supposed to be something that I respond to with my own thoughts etc, but got really carried away🫣😦🥴 does this count as kinky comfort???
REPEAT IT
frank castle x implied fem reader, 631 words, comfort
frank doesn’t much like it, the way your brain works. it’s not something that he necessarily tries to stop or prevent, rather acclimate to. he knows there’s nothing he can say that can penetrate deep enough to make a difference in the way you see yourself, but it doesn’t mean it should be something he disregards entirely.
he catches you sometimes, catches you in the morning getting ready in the mirror, or in the bathroom while you’re unwinding for the evening. sometimes you’re much better at hiding, others not so much.
frank knows there are certain times where you’re most fragile, where you’re particularly sensitive to your own reflection. typically, after the shower.
he catches on from outside the bedroom, the door ever so slightly ajar as he listens to you sigh and puff and exhale in front of where he presumes to be the mirror. everything screams out to you: your skin, the way your nose looks in this angle, your thighs, your stomach, your arms — all of it, you, whatever it is your mind can pick at, it picked at.
you hear the floorboard creek from outside the room, a cause of frank, and it’s then you wrap your towel tighter around yourself. you make your way to your vanity dresser and take a seat, pretending nothing out of the ordinary to be happening this side of the door.
you sit in front of the mirror, forced to look at yourself and pretend nothing to be the matter as frank makes his way into the bedroom — footsteps heavy as he draws in closer and closer.
“who were you talkin’ to?” he asks, standing behind you, quirking a brow.
“huh?” you play dumb, avoiding his eyes in the reflection as you busy your hands with your face cream.
he rests either hand on your shoulders, palms rough and grounding as he pushes down on them. he shakes his head at you, not buying your coy ignorance.
"cos, I know you weren't sayin' all that to yourself."
"what?" you deflect. "I don't even—"
“repeat it,” he directs, giving you a nod in the mirror.
“what? no.”
“repeat it.”
he gives you a stern look, one that tells you that he’s very unlikely to ask again. one hand runs from your shoulder and up the length of your neck, palm settling at the base of your throat as it continues to slowly itch upwards.
“I said…” you stall, seemingly struggling to say it aloud with another set of ears present. “um…my body—“
though before you can actualise it, verbalise it, franks hand covers your mouth, blocking your words.
“… is sexy,” he completes your sentence. "is beautiful."
you deject it and muffle against it, against the salt of his palm.
though he accommodates your lack of acceptance and slips his two middle fingers into your mouth — the act an effort to completely hinder the chance for you to oppose it further.
he lowers behind you, reaching for your ear as he looks at you in the mirror.
“no more of that,” his eyes narrow, expression growing rigid, as if to make you really listen to what he has to say. “you hear me?”
you only look at him, completely surprised by these new tactics of his. you don’t know what to say, nor do you know how to respond. and so you give him a nod.
he slips his fingers out from your mouth and holds them several centimetres away from you. “understand?”
you swallow thickly. “yeah,” you reply, response coy.
he places either hand on the sides of your head and tilts it back, pulling you backwards so he can see your face. your eyes. he thumbs over your cheeks within his hold and lowers to speak against your lips.
Hi I love your work so much !! And you write reader with diabetes so well. You should be very proud of yourself in how you help people he seen and comforted.
I was wondering if you could do a Joe x reader with sleep apnea ? I have it myself and it can be a struggle when I stay at my friend’s house. It can be a little scary for others to witness.
Take it in any direction you like !!
Thank you in advance if you decide to write this. No pressure 💕💕💕💕
thank you so much honey!! thats the sweetest comment i could hope to receive x
and thank you for sending this request in! i actually didn't know a huge amount about sleep apnea before receiving this ask, so i spent some time doing a bit of reading first. i'm obviously not an expert, but i tried my best to make it feel respectful, accurate, and true to the experience you've described
i really hope you enjoy <3
nothing to apologise for
Joe Keery x sleepapnea!reader
Summary: The first time Joe stays overnight, you're far more worried about him seeing your sleep apnea equipment than Joe is.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleep apnea, cpap machine, medical equipment, vulnerability, emotional comfort, soft joe keery, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.6k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
The first time Joe stays over, you spend three hours worrying about a machine.
Not Joe. Not the fact you've been dating for three months. Not the fact this is technically the first proper overnight stay that isn't interrupted by work schedules, early call times, or one of you needing to leave at some ungodly hour before sunrise.
A machine.
A grey plastic box that sits permanently on your bedside table and has spent the better part of two years keeping you breathing while you sleep.
Which is objectively ridiculous.
You know that.
The machine does not care.
The machine simply continues existing.
Unfortunately, so does your anxiety.
By the time Joe arrives at your flat, you've already considered approximately seventeen different strategies for addressing the situation. One involves pretending the machine isn't there, which immediately falls apart because it is physically impossible to ignore. Another involves explaining it casually, which sounds sensible until you attempt a practice run in the bathroom mirror and discover that nothing about your tone resembles casual. A third involves simply never sleeping.
You are beginning to suspect this may be the frontrunner.
"You okay?"
The question arrives from the kitchen.
You blink.
Joe is standing in front of the open fridge holding two cans of lemonade and looking at you with the familiar expression of somebody who notices the tiniest things in other people.
"I'm fine."
The response comes too quickly.
Joe raises an eyebrow.
You immediately regret speaking.
Joe never seems particularly interested in accepting the first answer when he knows there's a second one hiding behind it.
Most people hear I'm fine and move on. Joe hears I'm fine and starts investigating. Not aggressively or invasively. Just patiently, like somebody waiting for a frightened animal to decide it is safe enough to emerge from hiding.
"You sure?"
You nod.
Joe continues looking at you.
You continue pretending to be fascinated by absolutely anything else. The kitchen clock. The fruit bowl. The weather. The concept of walls.
Eventually Joe sighs. Not frustrated. Amused.
"Sooo..."
You groan immediately. "No."
"You were doing that thing."
"What thing?"
"The thinking thing."
"That narrows it down."
"The anxious thinking thing."
Unfortunately, it does.
The corner of Joe's mouth twitches. Not because he's laughing at you. Never because he's laughing at you. Because he knows you. Because he recognises the particular look that appears when your brain has taken hold of something and refuses to let it go.
"You don't have to tell me," he says after a moment. "But whatever it is, you've been thinking about it since I got here."
That startles you slightly.
Because he's right.
Of course he's right.
Joe can read you better than anyone.
You make it until bedtime, which feels like an achievement.
The problem arrives the moment you walk into the bedroom and find Joe already sitting against the headboard scrolling through his phone, one knee bent beneath the blankets, completely relaxed in the way people are when they aren't spending every waking moment thinking about the exact thing you're trying not to think about.
And beside him is the machine.
Waiting. Visible. Impossible to ignore.
Your stomach drops instantly.
Which is ridiculous. You know it's ridiculous. The machine has lived on your bedside table for years. It is not new. It is not frightening. It is, objectively speaking, a piece of medical equipment doing exactly what it was designed to do. Unfortunately, embarrassment has never been particularly interested in objectivity.
Joe glances up when you enter, smiling automatically before his expression shifts almost immediately. Not dramatically. Just enough. The smile softens around the edges as he notices whatever is written across your face.
"What?"
You look towards the machine.
Joe follows your gaze. Then he looks back at you. Then back at the machine.
Realisation arrives.
"Oh."
You wish it wouldn't.
For a moment neither of you says anything. The room is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic beyond the window and the faint rattle of the fan turning lazily in the corner. Suddenly you become fascinated by adjusting your pillow. Then adjusting it again. Then a third time, despite the fact it was perfectly fine to begin with.
"I probably should've mentioned it earlier."
Joe blinks. "Okay."
The response throws you slightly. "Okay?"
"Yeah."
You stare.
Joe stares back. Patiently waiting. Not pushing or filling the silence. Just leaving space for you to decide what you want to say.
Eventually you gesture vaguely towards the bedside table. "I have sleep apnea."
Joe nods. "Okay."
"You don't seem surprised."
"I mean..." He shrugs. "You said you had a medical thing you sleep with."
"That wasn't very specific."
"No," he agrees. "It wasn't."
You wait for more. For concern. For awkwardness. For questions delivered with that careful, uncomfortable tone people use when they don't know what to say.
"I figured you'd tell me when you wanted to."
The answer lands somewhere deep in your chest.
Because that's the thing Joe does. The thing that catches you off guard over and over again. He never demands access to the difficult parts of you. He never treats vulnerability like something he's entitled to. He just leaves the door open and waits for you to walk through it whenever you're ready.
"I know it can be a bit..." You hesitate. Joe waits. "A lot."
His eyebrows pull together slightly. "A lot for who?"
You laugh once, weakly. "Other people."
The words sound different once they're spoken aloud. Smaller somehow. More fragile. More honest.
Joe's expression changes, a familiar softness appearing around the edges.
"Has somebody been weird about it before?"
You look away, which is answer enough.
Joe sighs quietly. Not annoyed with you. Annoyed on your behalf. The distinction matters. It always does.
The conversation that follows is so profoundly normal that it almost makes you emotional. Joe asks questions, but not the kind that make you feel like a medical curiosity. Genuine questions. Curious questions. Questions that come from wanting to understand something because it's part of your life.
How long have you had it? Does it help? Can you tell the difference when you sleep without it? Is it comfortable? Did it take a while to get used to?
Not because he's alarmed. Not because he's worried. Because he's interested. Because it matters to you. And therefore it matters to him.
Somewhere during the conversation, you realise you've stopped bracing yourself. Stopped waiting for the awkward reaction that never arrives.
The machine never becomes the centre of the discussion.
You do.
Later, much later, the room is dark.
The machine hums softly beside the bed.
You are lying on your side facing away from him, staring into the darkness and trying very hard not to think about whether the sound is annoying. Whether it keeps him awake. Whether he secretly finds the whole thing strange.
Your brain has always been talented at inventing problems.
Tonight appears to be no exception.
A warm hand settles lightly against your arm.
Not stopping or trapping you. Just there, grounding. A quiet reminder that you're not alone in the room.
"I'm still awake, you know."
You close your eyes. "Sorry."
"For what?"
The question is immediate. Genuine and confused.
You open your mouth, then stop. Because suddenly you realise you don't actually have an answer.
Joe shifts slightly closer behind you. The mattress dips beneath his weight, his hand remaining where it is against your arm.
His voice is quieter when he speaks again. "You know you don't have to apologise for existing, right?"
Something painful twists unexpectedly in your chest.
Because that isn't what this was about.
Except, maybe it was. A little. Maybe it was about the machine. And the embarrassment. And every awkward conversation before this one. And every time you'd worried that needing something would make you difficult to love.
Joe's thumb brushes lightly against your arm. A tiny movement, barely noticeable, but somehow it undoes something anyway.
"I know," you whisper.
"You don't sound convinced."
Despite yourself, you laugh softly into the darkness.
And Joe laughs too, quiet and warm beside you.
Not because the situation is funny.
Because he's relieved.
Relieved you've finally stopped carrying this particular fear by yourself.
The next morning, you wake slowly beneath a stripe of golden sunlight spilling through a gap in the curtains.
The machine is still humming softly.
And Joe is still there.
One arm tucked beneath the pillow. Hair sticking up in every direction. Fast asleep and entirely unaware that you've been staring at him for the better part of five minutes.
Completely unbothered. Completely unmoved. As though the thing that kept you awake half the night worrying had never been a problem at all.
You lie there for a moment simply looking at him, feeling something warm settle quietly inside your chest. Not relief. Not quite. Something gentler than that.
The feeling of being known.
The feeling of discovering that somebody has seen the thing you were most worried about showing them and decided, very simply, that it changed absolutely nothing.
A few minutes later Joe blinks awake, squinting against the sunlight before his eyes settle on you.
His smile appears instantly. Automatic and unthinking. The kind that only happens when somebody is genuinely happy to find you there.
"Morning."
"Morning."
His eyes flick briefly towards the bedside table. Then back to you.
"Sleep okay?"
And just like that, the machine becomes what it always should have been.
Not something embarrassing. Not something frightening. Not something that needed apologising for.
Just one more ordinary part of the life the two of you are building together.
When period cramps leave you barely able to move, Steve makes it his mission to take care of you every step of the way
The first sign that Steve knew something was wrong was the silence. Normally, you would be bantering with each other on a morning like this, debating on which book to read or where to go out first.
Instead, you were curled up on the couch beneath a blanket that obstructed his sight of you, staring blankly at a television. Maybe you just weren’t up for it today, but Steve missed his girl.
He leaned closed, “sweetheart?” He asked in a soft tone.
You couldn’t open your mouth to respond, the pain that was radiating downwards made your muscles spasm and stole the breath right from your lungs, leaving you curled tighter into yourself as you waited for the worst of it to pass. A sharp sting suddenly shot through your lower stomach, drawing a small gasp to slip past your lips as a single tear rolled down your cheek.
Steve immediately noticed, abandoning his past hesitation to scoop you up into his arms. He hated seeing you hurt—especially when he couldn’t do anything about it.
“Oh baby, I know. What hurts?” He had one hand around your waist, rubbing slow circles over your back as he offered a cocoon for you to hide in.
You buried your face into his chest, inhaling his pheromones deeply and letting out a small sound—the only thing close to words you could speak.
“Everything, huh?” He said gently, keeping that syrupy tone to his voice that made your sensitive self want to cry.
You nodded against his chest, “mhm.”
“How about we get you somewhere you can properly rest, I bet that cushion isn’t so comfy on your back. That way I can bring you all the things you need.” Steve offered, though you didn’t feel like moving, wanting to stay right where you were.
You never end up having to move anyway. The moment Steve sees the tiniest wince you make trying to sit up, he was already shaking his head. “Absolutely not.”
Before you could protest, he slid an arm beneath your knees while the other held you protectively towards him, getting up to make the journey to your shared bedroom. He carried you like you weighed nothing, like taking care of you was instinct to him.
Steve lowered you onto the mattress with impossible care, nothing rough or hurried about his movements. He reached behind your head to fluff the pillows, whispering low, “you know you don’t have to suffer in silence?”
His shoulders visibly relaxed at your much more comfortable state. “I’ll be right back.”
Before you could ask where he was going, begging him to stay, he disappeared. A few moments later he returned—carrying everything you’d been secretly wishing for.
He carefully lifted the hem of your shirt just enough to slide the heating pad against your lower stomach, right where the ache had been burning the most. Steve chuckled at your immediate sigh of relief, his expression softening.
Then he set the bundle of snacks beside the bed within easy reach, already opening the wrapped chocolate bar to break off a small piece.
You blinked at him when he raised it to your mouth. “You don’t have to feed me.”
Steve rolled his eyes, keeping the piece hovered patiently in front of your mouth. “I want to.”
You accepted it without further delay, the smile that appeared on his face was entirely too pleased. “Good girl.” He spoke. You ignored the way your face had turned warm.
When the mug of steaming tea had cooled enough, he lifted it to your mouth with a hand cupping the underside. “Slowly.” He instructed, watching as you took a few sips.
The warmth of it spread through your chest, similar to the warmth you felt whenever you were reminded of Steve’s love. Steve set the mug back down before turning towards you once again, waiting for whatever else you wished for.
“Anything else you need?” He seemed almost excited as he asked the question, ready on his hands and feet to accommodate you.
You took a second to look at him, knowing immediately the last thing you didn’t just want—but needed.
“Only you.” Barely above a whisper, yet Steve heard every word.
His heart melted in his chest, letting out a found scoff. “I can do that.” He settled on, climbing into the bed beside you.
He moved slow enough in order to not jostle you or make things worse. His arm draped loosely around your shoulders while his fingers slipped into your hair, combing through the strands of your scalp repeatedly.
The steady motion gradually pulled the tension from your body, until your focus remained on the low breathing of Steve behind you. Your eyes grew heavier at the quiet reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, Steve lowered his mouth to press a lingering kiss just above your eyebrow.
“Get some sleep, baby. I love you.” He hummed softly, but you had already knocked out.
Even in your sleep, you felt your body tucked safely against his side, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat, knowing that the only reason it kept going was for you.
⋆.˚el talks: ofc! I really loved writing this one! wc: 753 cw: reader has old sh scars, soft!Gator
As you stood in front of the mirror, you were contemplating your outfit once again. It was the third one that you had tried on, a white milkmaid dress that hung around your mid thighs with your favourite brown cowboy boots. The dress was pretty, especially with the braids you had put in your hair, hanging down on either side of your neck, resting on your shoulders. The only problem was that your thighs were exposed. It wasn’t something that you normally considered when dressing, but in this case, you were getting ready for your third date with Gator, and you hadn’t exactly explained the past to him yet, not beyond that you had a few rough years as a teenager.
The scars were quite faded, it had been a long time, but the little white lines across your skin were still visible up close. Just before you could overthink it any longer, your phone buzzed.
Gator: Outside, sugar x
You took a deep breath in, and walked out of your room, your boots clicking against the hardwood floor before you could change your mind. You locked your front door behind you and skipped down the steps as Gator removed his helmet, letting the mid-morning sun shine through his hair that you’d specifically requested he didn't slick back today. He swung his leg over his motorcycle to greet you, leaning down to place a deliberately soft kiss against your cheek as his hand pressed against your lower back, the leather of his glove brushing against the fabric of your dress.
“Hard to get on the bike with a dress like that, sugar.” He said, his voice a low, raspy sound as he straightened up, pushing his hair back before moving to the back of the bik to pick up a second helmet, one he’d bought specifically for you. Not that he would tell you that detail, and confess that he hadn’t had anyone to ride with before.
“I’m sure I’ll manage,” you shrugged, standing still as he lowered the helmet over your head, fastening the clasp underneath your chin, and knocking playfully on the side just so that you’d giggle, and swat his hand away. He dropped his hand to yours and curled his fingers around your palm, leading you closer to the bike.
“Alright, just like you’re gettin’ on a horse.” He said, keeping hold of your hand as you climbed onto the back of his bike. Your dress rode up on your thighs as you straddled the seat, and Gator’s eyes dropped to the new bare skin visible. When you realised he was looking, and that his eyes were flicking over your thighs, clearly taking in each and every scar, you pulled the hem of your dress down to cover them again.
His brow creased, and he looked up at you, his head was still lowered, so that he was looking at you through his lashes. Silently, he raised his hand and used his index and middle fingers to push the hem of your dress back up, watching your face closely for any indication that you were uncomfortable, but he saw no change in your expression. He dropped his eyes again, using the same fingers to trace one of the thicker scars printed on your skin. You swallowed, your eyes rapidly flicking between his fingers and his eyes, as if you could read his mind.
Then, before you could speak, he dropped to one knee, leaning closer to your thigh to press his lips against one of the faded white lines. Your breath hitched, your thigh tensing under his lips, cold yet soft against your skin. His gloved hand slid round to the back of your thigh, as if holding it against his mouth. You looked around the street, wondering if there was anyone bearing witness to Gator on his knee in front of you, but there wasn’t a soul. After a long moment, he pulled back, and stood whilst pulling his own helmet back on.
“Ready to go, sugar?” He asked as he stepped over the bike carefully, sitting himself in front of you, your heart still thundering in your ears as you realised he wasn’t demanding explanation, he was simply acknowledging, and moving on. You blew out a long held breath and nodded.
“Yeah.” You said hoarsely when you realised he couldn’t see you nodding, and let him guide your hands around his waist before he turned on the bike with a loud rumble, and steered into the road.
⋆.˚el talks: always down for some soft Steve! wc: 549
Steve’s mouth chased yours when you pulled back, sitting upright to pull off your shirt. His hands moved up your thighs where they were straddled over his hips, following the curve of your hips and waist as your skin was slowly revealed. His touch was light, his calloused fingertips skimming against your skin as if it were fragile, as if any pressure would taint the perfection of your skin.
He reached up to smooth down your hair where your shirt had tangled it around your ears, his fingers cupping your head as he moved his thumb across your cheekbone, a soft smile on his lips and his pupils wide as if he was scared to blink and miss even a split second of the view of him above you. His smile faded slightly as your hands trailed down his shirt, your fingers running over the soft fabric before curling around the hem. Your eyes flicked up to his, noticing the change in his expression, the way that his eyes had widened slightly, his chest rising and falling a little faster than before, your brow creased.
“What’s wrong?” You asked softly, flattening your hands on his stomach, your fingers idly twitching in the fabric. Steve’s eyes flicked up from where he had been watching your fingers to meet yours. He cleared his throat, threading his fingers through yours, the touch a comfort to his racing heart.
“I, uh.” He shifted his hips, holding onto your hands tighter to keep you from wobbling. “Just, have some shit going on under there.” He mumbled, his thumb pressing against your palm as if regulating himself through your pulse.
“Steve.” You said, your voice so gentle it was almost a whisper as you pried your fingers from his hands to the hem of his shirt again. This time, he let you, watching as you peeled the fabric away from his skin, pushing it up towards his chest. The lifted shirt revealed marks that shone pink in the dim light, scattered around his torso. There were circular marks near his hips and chest, and lines across his waist, the hair scattered over his body hiding some of the scars, but highlighting others more.
His breath hitched as your fingers moved to trace the lines, his eyes wide as if watching in wonder as you didn’t recoil at the sight of them. He stuck in place, paralysed with bewilderment as you shifted off his lap, and bent forward. Your lips brushed the scar by his hip, and he swallowed thickly, your mouth was soft against his skin, and the sensation was almost overwhelming. Every insecurity came rushing back, every time he had stood in the bathroom staring at his marred skin for hours, how he wouldn’t swim, or go to the beach anymore. How this was the first time he had let anyone see him, and you were being gentle with him, as if he deserved it.
You lifted your head to look up at him, catching the way his eyes had turned glossy, and his smile was wavering at the corners. “You okay?” You asked, resting your cheek against his stomach. He gave a small nod, not trusting his voice to stay steady, watching as you continued to kiss the marks that littered his body.
✧･ﾟBucky moans your name, and it’s the prettiest sound in the world.
✧･ﾟ“Please, baby,” he mutters, fingers digging into your hips. “Just- Fuuuck-“
✧･ﾟHis words fall off into a tiny whimper, and you giggle softly. Whenever you roll your hips, his whole body shudders under your hands. His head pushes back into the pillows, his jaw tight and eyes squeezed tight like he can barely take it. You know he can’t. The heat and softness of you around his cock, fluttering and squeezing deliberately around him.
✧･ﾟ“Come on, Buck,” you tease, scraping your nails slowly down his abdomen. “We’ve barely started, you can’t already be begging for me.”
He tries to glare at you, but it just makes you giggle again. You lean down, kissing over his face and rolling your hips cruelty down. You know just how to keep him on the edge. He hits deep inside of you, right against your g-spot as you use him to get off. He looks up at you with glossy, star-struck eyes and parted lips, and you smile sweetly.
“Hi,” you whisper, and he groans.
“Don’t- Don’t be mean, doll-“
“Hmm.” You pout, dragging your hips in a slow, torturous circle. “But you like it when I’m mean.”
A broken whimper escapes Bucky’s lips, and you hum, picking up the pace just enough to make him pant.
“You want to cum for me, baby?” You whisper, and Bucky nods frantically.
“Please, please-“
You start to rock back and forth, shoving down on his chest and purposefully clenching your tight, sweet walls around his cock. Bucky cries out your name, his face slack and eyes unfocused as you pull him right to the edge.
“Still trying to hold it for me,” you whisper. “Good boy.”
He moans, staring at you hopelessly, and you take mercy. He’s too pretty like this, for you to say no.
“Let go, Bucky,” you whisper, and at your command—just as always—Bucky cums.
Beautiful sounds escape him, as he does. His whole body trembles with the force of it, his hips rutting up into your heat as thick ropes of cum paint your walls and dribble down your thighs. You don’t stop when he’s sensitive and moaning, using his orgasm to get yourself off. When it’s done, you roll over and guide Bucky’s face into your breasts, petting his hair with a lazy smile.
“Good?” You ask softly, always just to be sure.
He makes a garbled sound and holds you tighter. Good.
✦Bucky Masterlist - Main Masterlist - read on AO3!✦
✦Author's Note: sub bucky? in this econamy? more likely than you think✦
We all know by now that Gator Tillman fucks. He (and you for that matter) loves rough shit -- pulling your hair, spitting, smacking, railing you through the mattress into the floor, then kissing your wet, mascara-stained cheeks as he helps clean you up after.
But sometimes, once in a blue moon, Gator just wants to feel held. Whether he's in his own head or something rough happens on the job, you're not always sure. He's getting better, but the man still isn't the best at putting his feelings into words.
It'll usually start with a soft trail of kisses across your shoulders and warm palms smoothing over your belly while you busy yourself with some mundane task, folding clothes or making breakfast on your shared days off. Then, this little whine escapes him -- just slips right past his lips like he can't help it -- so you turn and tangle your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck to kiss him slow, and deep.
His posture is even different. Gator can easily tower over you, crowd your space, cage you in, but when he's like this he bends at the knees to put you in the driver's seat.
"You need me?"
He says nothing, just nods as he continues to plant his lips down the column of your throat and rope his arms around you, lifting you with ease without taking his mouth off of you. His eyes are softly closed, long, dark lashes resting easy on his cheek.
He settles you both down on the couch and you card your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp as you grind over his growing bulge beneath you. You lean into his ear and whisper praises that you're happy to dish out, but usually he's too stubborn to accept.
"You make me so happy, Gator." A light nip to his earlobe. "You make me feel so safe and strong." A lick along his sharp jawline. "And beautiful, god you make me feel so beautiful." A deep, slow circle over his rigid cock that has you both shuddering. "I just love you so much."
When you place a soft kiss on his cheek, over the two little prominent moles that you find so endearing, you taste salt. You sit back and see two streaks of tears that he quickly tries to sniffle and swipe away. You grab his wrist with more strength than he's used to from you, and lean back in to kiss the rest of the hot, stinging tears away.
"S'okay, baby. I've got you. Let me tell you more."
So you ride his lap and tell him all the good things you know about Gator Tillman, slipping his cock inside of you and moaning his name proudly, whimpering how good he makes you feel, licking away the tears as they spill down his cheeks.
He watches you calmly and quietly, drinking in your flushed skin, how tight you're squeezing him, that you somehow manage to make both of you cum at the same exact time, and mostly how beautiful your words are...
...maybe he'll actually starting to believe some of them.
