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jmagnabo92 · 7 months ago

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2024 AO3 Wrap Up

Thanks @onthewaytosomewhere

Wow, I wrote a lot of different fics this year for 4 different fandoms.

Fandoms: HP, RWRB, Ghosts CBS and 911

Number of Fics: 241

HP - 212

RWRB - 24

Ghosts CBS - 3

911 - 2

Number of Words: 459,191

Long list below the cut.

January:

Good Godfather Sirius Black Fest: Sirius & Harry - 62 fics -> link to series

Prongsfoot Micrfics - Sirius/James - 205, 206 & 207

If Hats Could Talk - Alex/Henry - When Alex finds a hat on the subway, he goes to any length to find the owner despite his friends teasing him about it. Luckily for him, the owner finds him.

February:

Prongsfoot Microfics - Sirius/James - 208 to 257

Mirror Talks - Sirius & Harry - Ch 18-25 -

Almost Expelled - Sirius & Harry - After the DA is outed, although Harry isn't expelled, Sirius has to talk him through the betrayal, which is difficult given his feelings about rats.

Lingerie Games - Alex/Henry - When Alex and Nora make a bet, Alex ends up learning some new things about himself - like he enjoys lingerie - and Henry really enjoys Alex wearing lingerie. Or. 5 Times Alex surprises Henry with lingerie and the 1 time Henry surprises him.

Midnight Munchies - Sirius/James - When James can't sleep, he convinces Sirius to take a trip down to the kitchens.

March:

Almost Never Apart - Sirius/James - James loves that he's almost never apart from his boyfriend, but on one of the rare times they are apart, certain Slytherins attack Sirius and James is not happy.

Prongsfoot Microfics - Sirius/James - 258 to 296

Getting Lucky - Sirius/James - Six months after they started dating, James and Sirius finally have a date outside of school. Thus, James makes a plan to get lucky for the first time.

Umbridge Squad - Sirius & Harry - Umbridge has taken over and chaos ensues. Harry and Cho finally deal with the Marietta situation hanging over them and Sirius helps him through his first heartbreak.

April:

Not a Dog, Bro! - Trevor & Jeremy - When Jeremy comes to visit, Trevor's desperate to keep him around and the episode ends a bit differently.

Prongsfoot Microfics - Sirius/James - 297 to 300

Massage of the Future - Sirius/James - After a tough quidditch practice, James returns home expecting that Sirius will give him a massage and pamper him like always only to overhear a conversation that leads to a fantasy come true.

May:

The Worst Memory - Sirius & Harry - With no buffer and things going crazy at Hogwarts, Harry still ends up seeing Snape's Worst Memory, and it causes a rift in Sirius and Harry's relationship when he confronts him.

Princess Alex - Alex/Henry - After the boys celebrate their engagement, Alex teases about if he's going to get the chance to be Princess Alex.

June:

Prongsfoot Microfics - 301 to 304

July:

Prongsfoot Microfics - Sirius/James - 305 to 308

Underwear Mishap - Alex/Henry - When Alex gets back to his hotel room the evening after Zahra had caught them, Henry reveals that he's been accidentally wearing Alex's underwear all day, and some fun ensues.

August:

Prongsfoot Microfics - Sirius/James - 309 to 312

September:

Prongsfoot Microfics - Sirius/James - 313 to 316

Mistaken Advice - Buck & Bobby - When Abby doesn't believe him about the catfisher, Buck breaks up with her and returns home to Connor and the frat house and gets a happy ending he deserves

Loyalty of Friendship - Alex/Henry - When Henry leaves him at broken-hearted at the Lake House, Alex struggles with returning to life before Henry, but he's lucky to have a good support system with very loyal friends.

Making You Proud - Trevor & Family - All Trevor ever wanted was to make his parents proud, when the conversation at the end of Trevor's Body goes a little differently, he finds the answer to getting sucked off and peace at last.

Trevor's Sam Day - Trevor & Sam - When Trevor's not himself during his Sam Day, Sam learns that he's more upset after the memorial because he realizes what his 'bros' did didn't just affect him.

Lucky Mirrors - Sirius & Harry, Sirius/Kingsley - After the attack on Harry, Sirius NEEDS to see and talk to him, and luckily his boyfriend, Kingsley has an idea to make that possible.

Lucky Secrets - Alex/Henry - While Alex and Henry can be out in the open now, Alex did likes his secret notes to elicit endless teasing from Henry.

New Year's Gold - Alex/Henry - “Do you think I could win a gold medal in dick sucking?” Henry nearly chokes on his drink that he’s holding in his free hand (tea to warm him up) while he’s holding hands with Alex on their walk. or. A conversation about dick sucking leads to the happiest New Years, yet.

Race Maze to History, Huh? - Alex/Henry - Alex put his blood, sweat and tears into creating a corn maze on his and Henry's property in Texas, and it's time to test it out and have fun :)

It's Getting Hot in Here - Alex/Henry - Alex decides to play a game of hot or cold to help Henry find his ring.

October:

Little White Quiches - Alex/Henry - Alex has always had a problem remembering to eat when he's in the zone, so Henry takes it upon himself to remind him and cook for him... if only he were good at it.

Sour Soulmates - Alex/Henry - Before Alex's twenty-first birthday, he fully doesn't like the idea of soulmates, mainly because he's been burned before, but what he doesn't know is that he's already found his soulmate, he just doesn't know it, yet.

Hatred For Snape - Sirius & Harry - The day before fifth year, Sirius can't sleep and checks on Harry. This check leads Sirius to give Harry the mirror that night allowing them to forge a new fifth year with Sirius supporting Harry as much as he can.

A Moment at Your Side - Alex/Henry - After getting outed, Henry takes Alex with him on his visit to his father's grave.

Love of the Sea - Sirius/James - When Sirius Black was fifteen, he was cursed to be a merman until he kisses his one true love. He never imagined meeting that one true love while he was captive at the DOM.

Puppy Love - Sirius/James - Sirius comes home to discover James has gotten Harry a puppy.

Puzzle Lovers - Sirius/James - James and Sirius celebrate six months together with their love of puzzles.

All I Want is a Mini-You - Sirius/James - All James wants is a mini-Sirius, while all Sirius wants is a mini-James.

The Broken Hearted - Buck & Bobby - When Bobby gets the emergency contact call on Halloween when Buck helps the guy stuck in the girl's windshield, he assumes the worst and resolves to make up with Buck entirely.

Return From the Veil - Sirius/Harry - When Sirius falls through the veil, he's met with James, Lily and Regulus, who give him a mission to protect Harry throughout the rest of the war (and their lives). OR In a world where Sirius doesn't actually die but returns out of the veil looking like he's sixteen, he relishes the chance to support Harry through the toughest times of their lives and struggles with falling in love with his godson along the way as they fight the school and the second wizarding war.

The Casanova of James' Heart - Sirius/James - James has been pining for his best friend, would a stranger's comments help him realize that Sirius has been pining for him, too?

Birthday Blues - Sirius/James - James is mad when it appears that Sirius has ignored his birthday...

A Spin of the Bottle - Sirius/James - After Sirius' housewarming cools down, he and some friends decide to play spin the bottle so he can finally get that kiss from James that he's been craving.

The Broken Sort - Sirius/James - When Dumbledore decides to flip it so the sorting is reverse ABCs, and eleven-year-old James Potter opts for Slytherin so he'll be with Sirius Black (his destined BFF), things don't go to plan and instead a rivarly is born.

Fun in the Sun - Sirius/James - When Sirius' divorced is finalized with the result of his ex-wife's gotten full custody, James finds a way around that by getting Sirius and his kids with James and his kids to his summer beach house. He never expected a little fun in the sun would change things between him and his best mate in the best way possible.

Just Benefits - Sirius/James - James and Sirius have been friends with benefits for years until James decides to end it so he could save his friendship and have someone to be with romantic with since that's not Sirius... or so he thinks...

The Obvious Choice - Sirius/James - Three times everyone assumes James and Sirius are together and the one time that they actually are together.

Wouldn't Have It Any Other Way - Sirius/James - When an order mission goes awry, James and Sirius get stuck in a shack together... naturally things get... interesting.

Kiss Me Before It's Too Late - Sirius/James - James and Sirius share a kiss before it's too late.

November:

Totally In-Sync - Sirius/James/Lily - When Lily feels like there's something missing in her friendship with James and Sirius, she decides to ask them out in a big way.

Lacey Birthdays - Sirius/James/Lily - James tries to overdo it for Sirius' first birthday with the three of them as a throuple, but Lily has a better idea for what Sirius would like.

Tipsy Kissing - Sirius/James/Lily - As they celebrate their last party at Hogwarts, James doesn't know how to tell both Sirius and Lily that he wants them - good thing they're ten steps ahead of him.

A Midnight's Change - Sirius/James/Lily - Sirius thinks that Jily will tire of their friends with benefits thing, but Lily and James are determined to start the New Year as more than just Benefits.

Best as a Trio - Sirius/James/Lily - When they are celebrating ten years as best friends, someone asks them how they make it work as a throuple prompting James to question why everyone assumes they're together...

Who Wants a Normal Marriage? - Sirius/James/Lily - When Sirius gets a letter that makes him question why he's hiding with Jily, despite their three-person marriage, and out there fighting for the Order.

A Mission For Love - Sirius/James/Lily - When enemy aurors are forced to go undercover at a sex club, they come away with more than a vanquished Voldemort.

A Valentine's to Remember - Sirius/James - Prongsfoot has the most mutually over-the-top, elaborate, honeymoon of a Valentine’s Day during their 7th year and Remus and Regulus get to very platonically hear about how amazing Prongsfoot is - not only from Sirius and James, but from everyone else, too.

My Thoughts of You - Siirus/James - When a mission goes wrong, James' thoughts are of his first and last kiss with Sirius.

For Now, Not Forever - Sirius/James - When James and Sirius' parents insist on a summer split before magical university, James has the worst summer of his life, but luckily, the reunion is worth it.

Don't Have to Play Hero - Sirius & Harry - It's time for Harry to pick a future career so, naturally, both he and Sirius struggle with his certain expectations.

December:

Fancy Letters - Alex/Henry - After the leak, Alex and Henry decide to write letters, but when Henry asks for some clarification, Alex thinks his handwriting sucks and takes up calligraphy as a surprise.

Hug Me to Save Me - Sirius/James - When the Slytherins go after Sirius, James has stop him from getting into trouble by hugging him.

Playing Their Parts - Alex/Henry - When they get home after playing their parts as the prince and the first son, Alex decides it's time for some playing fun.

All Mine - Sirius/James - When James sees people flirting with his husband, he decides to stake his claim.

First Son of My Heart - Alex/Henry - The death of the queen means Alex is stuck in the US without Henry during all of the pomp and circumstance of his gran's death, until now. Finally, they're reunited.

Never Again - Sirius/James - The Order tries to keep James away from Sirius because they think he's the traitor despite their relationship, which naturally hurts them.

Super, Cuddly Alex - Alex/Henry - When the duo revisits the lake house for the second time, Alex's abandonment issues turn him into super cuddly Alex, not that Henry minds.

Start of the Show - Alex/Henry - When Henry sees a couple flirting with Alex, he doesn't care that he's breaking the rules when he kisses Alex to make sure everyone knows that Alex is his.

Lucky Charms - Alex/Henry - Alex and Henry have different ways of dealing with things as the one-year anniversary of the leak moves closer.

Can't Put My Finger On It - Sirius & Harry - Sirius has an itch under his skin that something is off, but he can't figure out what it is. The itch isn't helped at all by Harry's story about grawp.

A Life Together - Alex/Henry - Alex is surprised to learn that Ellen assumes that Alex isn't moving in with Henry, causing an interesting fight with Ellen.

To Protect and Watch Over - Sirius & Harry - Summary of recent events - Sirius and Harry have been using the mirror to help them both have someone to talk to. It's made 5th year better for Harry, and living in GP better for Sirius, but Sirius has an itch about something being off as we near the end of the year... Voldemort sets a trap, an elf is an ass, and chaos ensues.

Mirror Talks - Sirius & Harry - The day before fifth year, Sirius can't sleep and checks on Harry. This check leads Sirius to give Harry the mirror that night allowing them to forge a new fifth year with Sirius supporting Harry as much as he can.

Making it Up to You - Alex/Henry - Alex's first finals stress out his relationship with Henry, so the day after they end, he makes a promise.

Comforting Kiss - Sirius/James - When Sirius is feeling down about something, James knows how to make him feel better.

Sailing to Freedom - Alex/Henry - After making up at Kensington and deciding to come out someday, Alex jokes that if things go awry they could always get on Henry's yacht and sail to freedom of being happy and in love together, he never expected to repercussions of doing just that on the election and their relationship.

Tagging @roalinda @lovelymasks @iboatedhere @padfootastic @goldenlionprince @strugglequill

#RWRB #HP #Ghosts CBS #911 #Alex/Henry #trevor lefkowitz #Prongsfoot #evan buckley #sirius black #james potter #Bobby Nash #Jen's writing

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boscostickwrites · 8 months ago

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Welcome!

Hello All.

After a poll, I decided to make this separate side blog just for my writing. I'll be reblogging my work from my main blog and my CBS ghosts side blog for reading soon.

I do sometimes ask for smaller prompts, but I also have a billion ideas, so here's my AO3 and top tags filtered down.

Here's my AO3

If you're look for:

Sirius/Harry

Sirius/James

Sirius & Harry

Harry related

Sirius/James/Lily

Trevor related

Alex/Henry

Once Upon a Time

Buck related

If you're curious, you can always send an ask, and I'd be happy to show you my giant list of ideas and/or my pivot table with info.

#Jen's writing #Jilypad #Sirry #Prongsfoot #evan buck buckley #trevor lefkowitz #alex claremont diaz #firstprince

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underworldobsessed · 1 year ago

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Might upload something in the next few days.

#personal stuff #jen's writing #I'm almost done with my guidance fic #It's gonna be a collection of drabbles #because why not #And then I have a fic that's been done for a while that might get uploaded #I'm still deciding on that one

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yourauthorjen · 1 month ago

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| THE BEST DAY | — joaquin torres

MASTERLIST

| synopsis: | a dating couple, a bouquet toss, and a wedding. what could go wrong?

| includes: | joaquintorres x fem!reader, fluff, cliche, no use of, no use of y/n, teasing, wedding stuff, reader wears blue dress, really nosy relatives, manspreading

| word count: | 2.1k

| a/n: | inspired by the song the best day by taylor swift and like half a dozen bouquet toss reels on instagram. also i have limited knowledge on southern american wedding culture/traditions so if there is anything wrong please correct me!

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

IF YOU HAD known that an after party for a wedding could contain enough energy to fuel two Cirque Du Soleils, you would’ve worn sneakers instead of heels, jeans instead of a dress, and harnessed enough mental capacity to be tackled by Joaquin’s entire extended family before you even reached the reception tent.

You adjusted the soft blue satin of your dress, smoothing the fabric where it hugged your hips, feeling suddenly aware of the way it caught in the light. It was simple but stunning—a cowl neckline that shimmered with every step, and something you had spent eons debating on whether or not you should’ve gotten it.

But it was worth it, because you had barely stepped out of the car, before several aunties rushed over, each one of them in brightly patterened skirts and tops, all surrounding you and Joaquin in a flurry of hands and flower scented perfume wafted.

One by one, they pulled you into a hug, spewing question after question; and by the time one of Joaquin’s uncles managed to wrangle them away you had answered “are you going to get married?” one too many times.

Joaquin on the other hand, was no help whatsoever. He just stood there, all smug in his navy suit and open-collared shirt, cheeks flushed with pride. He looked devastating in the sun, and he knew it, too—but instead he just watched you get circled by half a dozen women who shared his nose, his smile, and his never ending enthusiasm for you.

But it wasn’t just the aunties that took an interest in you. Several of Joaquin’s little nephews and nieces had begun trailing after the two of you, half of them already covered in grass stains and mud, giggling and whispering behind your back with large, dutiful eyes.

One of the braver girls—probably no older than six, swallowed by a white dress full of pristine lace and an aggressively large bow—marched right up to you as you were nursing your champagne under the reception tent. Her shiny black shoes were scuffed to hell, and curls frizzed from the humidity as she stared at you with curious eyes.

“Are you his girlfriend?” she asked, pointing directly at Joaquin, who stood a few feet away, talking to his uncle.

You blinked in surprise, completely caught off guard. “Uh… yeah, I am.”

She narrowed her eyes at you. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you repeated, smiling a little. “Is that okay?”

She crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side in pure judgment. “But you’re way too pretty to be his girlfriend.”

Your jaw dropped with half a laugh caught in your throat. “Oh my god.”

“And he’s like… medium-handsome,” she continued with a shrug. “But you’re, like, really, really pretty.”

Joaquin turned just in time to catch that. “Did you just call me ‘medium-handsome’, Alejandra Luciana Torres?”

The girl ignored him, still studying you like you were an exhibit. “Are you also smart?”

“I—uh—”

“She is,” Joaquin interrupted, marching behind you before resting a hand on your waist. “Very smart and way out of my league. So let’s all be cool about it, okay?”

The little girl tilted her head up at him with still narrowed eyes. “Then how did you get her?”

“Great question,” you said under your breath, sipping your drink to hide your grin.

“I have charm,” Joaquin told her, pressing a hand to his chest. “And skills.”

“No,” she said flatly. “You have bad haircut.”

A loud “OHH!” rang out from the other kids, and one little boy collapsed onto the grass dramatically, while Joaquin’s mouth dropped open like he’d just been slapped in the face.

“What? My hair is fine,” he cried patting his loose curls resting across his forehead. “Your just mad that I look this good without trying.”

“Okay, Mr. Medium-Handsome,” you teased, “Let’s go before you end up throwing a tantrum.”

He sputtered, “I— you— you’re lucky I love you.”

You snorted and cupped his cheek, giving him a quick sloppy kiss to shut him up. The kids however, weren't as impressed. Behind you, a chorus of 'EWWW!''s rang out as you pulled away, and Alejandra— Joaquin's little cousin recoiled with enough force to make a rubber hand snapped. A few other kids screamed, one boy slapped a hand over his eyes while another started shrieking: "She's got Uncle J's cooties!"

Joaquin on the other hand looked completely smug. "See told I could get her."

The kids scurried away, as you rolled your eyes and patted his chest. "God, you're such a dork."

The sun had just begun to dip when the music started pounding over the speakers, and the soft afterglow casted a gold shine over the venue. You were halfway to the drink table, reaching out for a glass of wine when Joaquin slowed beside you, eyeing the growing crowd with a dangerous glint in his eyes.

You raised your eyebrow at him with a suspicious look. "Joaquin, absolutely not."

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. "What?"

"You're trying to convince me to dance, aren't you?"

"No..." he trailed off. "Well, okay, maybe I do. But y'know if you want to break a poor man’s heart—”

The words hadn't even left his mouth before you were already dragging him towards the sea of bodies, swishing their hips as Reggaeton blasted from the speakers, and cheers going up from the crowd. Music pulsed through your body, and Joaquin was already smiling. His moves were suave and easy, twirling you around like he’d done it a hundred times before. There was no resisting the way he moved with it, smooth and confident, one hand finding your waist, the other catching your wrist mid-spin.

Laughter bubbled out of you before you could stop it. It was impossible not to smile with him looking at you like that, especially with the scent of citrus and champagne drift in the air. Joaquin pulled you closer, cheek brushing yours for a beat, his voice low against your ear.

"Te estás divirtiendo?”

You blinked at him, caught between the rhythm of the song and the heat of his breath. “I have no idea what you just said,” you yelled over the music, laughing. “But I love you too!”

His grin was as wide as yours, shaking his head as he leaned in again. “That works.”

It didn’t take long before the layers started coming off. His suit jacket was the first to go slung somewhere over a chair between Suavemente and Chantaje. His tie was loosened, then vanished entirely, stuffed into his pocket after you pulled at it with a teasing smirk. And by the time he spun you into his arms again, the top few buttons of his shirt had popped open, sleeves rolled high up to his biceps, skin glowing under the lights and that ever-present grin stretched across his face like he hadn’t smiled in years.

His forearms flexed, and his face was flushed with a sheen coat of sweat. His hair was messy and fell over his forehead in a sweep, loose curls stuck to the back of his neck. You had barely noticed how long you’d been out there until he leaned down, your hips still swaying to the music as his lips brushed against your temple.

“Water?” he asked, voice warm against your skin.

“Please,” you breathed.

The two of you peeled off from the crowd, his hand slipping into yours as you made your way toward the drinks. You grabbed a glass of something cold and fizzy, pressing it to your cheek with a sigh, fanning your red cheeks.

When you glanced over at Joaquin, he was sprawled over his chair, legs wide open and hands tucked neatly behind his head. He looked far too pleased with himself, eyes half-lidded as he watched you with a lazy grin, shirt clinging to his chest from the heat, curls damp at the edges. It was infuriating, and you had to tear your eyes away from the beautiful sight beside you to keep your sanity.

Instead, you focused on the group gathering just several feet away from you, a swirling knot of women in heels and sundresses already jostling for position behind the bride. Laughter spilled from their circle, some crouching low with hands on their knees, others bouncing on the balls of their feet, all caught up in the buzz of anticipation.

“What are they doing over there?” you murmured softly underneath your breath.

Joaquin glanced over his shoulder, then leaned in with a lopsided grin. “Bouquet toss, you should go join them.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on,” he said, nudging you playfully. “Don’t you want to fight a bunch of strangers for symbolic flowers?”

“Hard pass,” you said, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks, “Besides, I’m not that close to your family, I’d feel weird.”

But he was still watching you with a grin on his face like he knew something you didn’t. You narrowed your eyes at him, ready to fire back when suddenly a small thud sounded in your lap.

Your conversation halted, as your eyes widened at the soft bundle of roses and baby’s breaths now nestled against your chest. Your breath caught in your throat and your mouth turned into sandpaper, gritty and scratchy as you stared in shock.

It took you two tries before you could find your voice again, and by then the crowd had erupted like thunder. Applauds and wolf whistles sounded and several aunties squealed as they all rushed towards you.

You shot of from your chair and turned to Joaquin, eyes wide with horror, bouquet still clutched in your hands. “I— I didn’t—”

Joaquin looked stunned, before his mouth curled into a delighted, wicked grin. “Holy fuck.”

All eyes seemed to turn on you, digging into your back before then turning to Joaquin.

“Oh my God!” a voice shrieked as footsteps pounded towards you. “Mija! Oh my dear, I’m finally going to have a grandchild!”

Your jaw dropped as Joaquin’s mother stretched her arms out, eyes wide with joy as she swept you into a hug.

“I— no— no,” you tried, “It wasn’t—”

“You caught the bouquet!” his mother squealed, “This is a sign from the universe!” She turned towards her son. “You! I want two grandchildren with her pretty face and your eyes. Fate has already decided.”

“Mamá!” Joaquin nearly choked, eyes wide as he half-laughed, half-pleaded. “No one’s having any babies yet.”

“Oh, don’t be embarrassed, mijo,” she said waving her hands around. “Your father and I made you after a wedding—”

“Nope!” Joaquin clapped his hands over his ears. “We’re done. No. Shut it down.”

You stood frozen, bouquet still in your hands, heart pounding from the sudden storm of attention. Around you, a chorus of aunts and cousins began chiming in.

“I give it six months.”

“Ya gotta put the ring on it soon, J.”

“I’m willing to put 20 dollars that their wedding will be at the end of this year.”

“But she’s too pretty to marry Uncle Joaquin!”

Joaquin’s dad—thankfully, mercifully—stepped in saving the two of you from anymore unsolicited advice. “Okay, okay,” he said loudly, grinning as he herded everyone back toward the dance floor. “Let’s give them some air.”

He winked at you on the way past. “Congrats, kiddo, you’ve just got 100 more people added to your wedding guest list.”

You exhaled like you’d just escaped a house fire, dropping into the nearest chair, bouquet still clutched like in your lap. “God,” you groaned, rubbing your temples. “I just wanted a drink.”

Joaquin dropped into the seat beside you, his collar crooked, and hair messier than ever. He looked far too pleased with himself for someone whose mother just tried to spiritually marry him off.

“You okay?” he asked, nudging your knee with his.

“I’m alive,” you muttered. “Barely.”

He chuckled, leaning back with a lazy sprawl. “They love you.”

“They terrify me.”

A beat passed as laughter, music, and the buzz of energy still lingered around the tent like fog. You were about to close your eyes when he leaned in, his voice low, warm, a grin in it even before he spoke.

“You know…” he murmured near your ear, “I wouldn’t mind if we had kids someday.”

Your head whipped toward him. “Joaquin.”

“I’m just saying,” he said innocently, holding up his hands. “I wouldn’t mind seeing mini versions of us running around the house like maniacs.”

You swatted his arm—hard—and he winced with a laugh.

“Marry me first,” you said, jabbing a finger into his chest, “before you even think about that.”

Joaquin grinned, rubbing where you hit him. “So that’s not a no?”

You groaned and sank lower in your chair, pulling a napkin over your face. “I need three years and a gallon of wine before we talk about that again, so my answer is maybe.”

He laughed, soft and slow, then leaned over and kissed your cheek anyway—careful, sweet, and just enough to make your stomach flip again.

“Three years,” he whispered. “That’s a deal.”

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https-prentiss · 8 days ago

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wet and needy -‘๑’- emily prentiss

Emily comes home exhausted and you’re just the pervy girlfriend who can’t wait to make her forget everything

You’re stretched out on your stomach across the bed when you hear the front door open, the familiar sound of Emily’s keys hitting the side table. The soft click of the lock sliding into place. You glance up just as she walks into the room, hair a little mussed from the drizzle outside, rain dotting the shoulders of her jacket.

She looks exhausted, tension in her jaw and dark circles under those sharp, beautiful eyes, but fuck — she’s still so stupidly gorgeous you swear it does something dangerous to you. That tailored coat, dark jeans hugging her hips, the faint flush in her cheeks from the cold.

You’d been waiting for her like a starved thing, picturing this exact moment all damn day. And now that she’s here, you can feel your pulse start to hammer, a low, persistent ache already blooming between your legs.

The smirk you give her makes her brow lift in that way you love — like she already knows you’re about to be a fucking menace. “Why are you grinning like that?” she murmurs, voice scratchy from the weather, loosening her cuffs.

You push up on your elbows, letting your gaze drag over every inch of her, practically licking your lips. “Because you have no idea what I wanna do to you right now,” you reply, voice lower, thick with intent. And God, the way her mouth twitches at that, trying not to smile, makes your stomach twist tight.

You don’t give her time to argue. You cross the room in a few quick steps, reaching for the lapels of her coat, fingers curling into the damp material as you pull her toward you.

Her scent hits you immediately — rain, spice, a trace of her perfume — and your brain short-circuits. You crash your mouth to hers, slow but filthy, tongues tangling, lips parting, that first kiss messy and desperate like you’ve both needed this all day.

The sound she makes when you nip at her bottom lip, the way she leans into you like she can’t help herself, sends a bolt of heat straight to your cunt. You rock your hips up against her, just enough to feel the drag of your panties, to let her feel the damp spot you know’s already there.

“Jesus, you’re worked up,” she groans against your mouth, hand slipping around to grip the back of your neck.

You smile, teeth grazing her jaw as you nip your way down to the curve of her throat. “Been thinking about you since this morning,” you murmur, letting your hands slip beneath her shirt, palms skating up her warm, soft stomach. She shivers beneath your touch, her skin pebbling.

You swear you could get off just on the way she responds to you, every hitch in her breath, every tiny tremor. “Couldn’t stop picturing your tits in this bra.” You palm them, greedy and unashamed, squeezing until she groans, her back arching into your hands.

“Fuck, baby,” she hisses, but she doesn’t stop you. She never does.

Your fingers work the button of her jeans, popping it open with a flick, dragging the zipper down slow, teasing, loving the way her breath catches when your knuckles graze the warmth between her legs. She’s wet already, the heat of her radiating through damp lace, and you nearly whimper because there’s something about Emily Prentiss slick and throbbing for you in her jeans after a long day that drives you out of your fucking mind.

“You’ve been like this the whole way home?” you tease, slipping your hand inside, fingers stroking through damp curls, down to her swollen, slick folds. She groans, her hips rocking toward you, her jaw clenched like she’s trying to stay composed, and it’s so goddamn hot you feel your own pussy clench in response.

“You’re disgusting,” she mutters, but she’s smiling now, eyes darker, lids heavy, voice frayed at the edges like she’s barely holding it together.

You grin against her throat, tongue dragging over her pulse. “You fucking love it.”

You steer her toward the bed, one hand still cupping her through her panties, the other pushing her jeans down as she walks backward. She sits with a soft exhale, legs parting instinctively, and God she looks obscene like this.

Dark hair mussed, lips kiss-swollen, cheeks flushed, those perfect tits rising and falling in time with her ragged breaths. You crawl over her, hands everywhere, lips ghosting over her skin. You mouth at the curve of her throat, down the dip between her breasts, teeth catching on the lace of her bra, dragging it down to expose one dusky nipple. You suck it into your mouth, flicking your tongue over the hardened peak, and the sharp gasp she lets out makes your stomach tighten painfully.

You fucking love the sounds she makes. Low, rough, desperate — the way she moans when you graze your teeth over sensitive skin, the way her breath stutters when your hand slides between her thighs again, fingers finding her clit, circling it slow, teasing. You watch how her body reacts, how her stomach tenses, hips twitching, the muscle in her thigh jumping.

“You should see yourself,” you rasp, lifting your head to meet her eyes, your own voice unsteady now. “So fucking pretty like this. All flushed and needy.”

And she groans at your words, head tipping back, a soft curse spilling from her lips. You watch her hand slide down, fingers brushing yours, and you realize what she’s doing. Your cunt throbs. She’s touching herself, rubbing tight, frantic little circles as your fingers slip lower, teasing at her entrance.

“You wanna watch me, huh?” she breathes, a wicked gleam in her eye even as her voice cracks.

“God, yeah. Show me how bad you need it.”

She groans again, fingers slick with her own wetness, hips canting up. The sight of it — Emily Prentiss with her legs spread, touching herself while you watch from between her thighs — is so filthy you swear you could come untouched.

You lean in, tongue flicking over one nipple, your free hand palming her other breast, and you’re not even pretending to be patient now. The air smells like her, like sweat and rain and arousal, and you drag your tongue lower, over the soft slope of her stomach, teeth nipping at sensitive skin.

You yank her panties down and she lets you, one hand still moving between her legs, and you catch her wrist before she can finish. You bring her wet fingers to your mouth, sucking them clean, tasting her, groaning low and shameless because she’s so fucking sweet you can’t stand it.

“Jesus Christ,” she pants, watching you, pupils blown wide.

“You taste so fucking good,” you mutter, sliding two fingers into her slick heat, feeling the way her body clenches around you instantly, and you swear it’s like your own pussy throbs in time with hers. Her hips buck, a ragged moan spilling from her lips as your thumb finds her clit, circling it just how she likes, your tongue laving over her nipples, the sounds of her falling apart filling the room.

Your fingers slip inside her like they belong there, and fuck, the way she clenches around them makes your whole body ache. She’s hot — so wet it’s obscene, your palm getting slick with it as you push deeper, curling just right until her hips jerk.

You can feel how swollen she is, soft, slippery walls pulsing tight around your knuckles, her arousal coating your skin, sticky and warm. Every time you thrust your fingers in, there’s this soft, sinful sound — the wet, sucking noise of her pussy trying to keep you in, and you swear you could come just listening to it.

“Fuck, you feel that, Em?” you rasp against her chest, your teeth grazing over one nipple again as your wrist works between her thighs. “Hear how wet you are for me?”

“Jesus,” she breathes, hips rocking against your hand. Her face is flushed, lips parted, dark eyes glazed with lust. She looks wrecked already, hair stuck to her damp temples, her throat working as she swallows down another moan. You watch her chest rise and fall in fast, shallow breaths, those perfect tits heaving with each gasp you pull from her. God, you love her like this — sweaty, needy, raw.

“You’re gonna make me come so fast if you keep talking like that,” she manages, voice wrecked, a desperate, broken edge to it now.

You grin, licking a stripe up the curve of one breast before you press your lips to her ear. “Good. I wanna feel you gush all over my hand, baby. Wanna watch that pretty pussy clench and soak me.”

And it fucking does — you feel her clamp down, those silken muscles fluttering around your fingers, and her back arches off the bed like she can’t stop it. Your thumb circles her clit faster now, relentless, knowing exactly how to wind her up tight. Every stroke has her hips chasing your hand, those long legs falling open wider, thighs trembling against your shoulders. She’s so sensitive you can see the way her stomach jumps with every touch, muscles flexing under flushed skin.

Her voice goes high, breath catching, and then she’s babbling, a beautiful filthy stream of curses and pleas.

“Oh fuck — baby, right there, don’t stop — oh God, I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, you are,” you growl, watching the way her cunt grips your fingers, her slick soaking your hand, the obscene wet sound of it filling the room. “Come for me, Emily. Show me how pretty you look when you fall apart.”

And she does.

With a shattered, desperate cry of your name, her whole body tenses, thighs clamping around your wrist as her pussy spasms around your fingers. You feel it — the gush of wetness, her slick coating your hand as she comes hard, hips bucking wildly. Her face contorts, jaw slack, eyes squeezed shut, dark hair sticking to her flushed face. You can see how her tits bounce with every jerk of her body, nipples so hard they ache to be in your mouth again.

“Holy… shit,” she gasps, one hand fisting the sheets, the other clinging to your wrist like she can’t bear for you to stop.

You ease her through it, fingers fucking her slower now, still pressing deep, your thumb teasing lazy circles around her clit just to make her tremble and curse again.

When her hips finally settle, when her breath comes in ragged little pulls, you slip your fingers free, watching her shudder at the loss. She looks wrecked — hair a mess, lips swollen, skin slick with sweat and flushed pink. Her pussy’s puffy, glistening, still twitching, folds slick and swollen, and you’re so goddamn wet from it you can feel the ache of it deep in your belly.

You bring your fingers to your lips, sucking them clean, moaning low as her taste coats your tongue.

“Fuck me,” she groans, watching you with half-lidded eyes, voice rough and shredded. “You’re so filthy.”

You grin. “I can be filthier.”

And before she can catch her breath, before she can even think about stopping you, you crawl up and kiss her hard, making sure she tastes herself on your tongue. She groans into your mouth, pulling you down, and you moan when your slick-soaked panties drag against her thigh.

“Jesus, baby, you’re soaked,” she murmurs against your lips, reaching down to cup you through the drenched fabric.

You gasp, grinding down against her hand, the friction unbearable. Your panties are clinging to you, dark with arousal, the gusset slick and heavy against your folds. You’re so wet you can feel it dripping down your thighs, sticky and hot, every nerve ending on fire. Your clit’s so sensitive it aches, your pussy clenching at nothing, desperate to be filled.

“Been like this since you walked in,” you whisper, voice shaky now.

Emily’s hand moves, pulling your panties aside, and her fingers brush over your slit, collecting your slick before sinking two fingers inside you in one smooth push. You cry out, body jolting, your head falling against her shoulder.

“God, you’re so fucking tight,” she growls, pumping her fingers hard, curling them just right. “You love getting off on me, don’t you?”

“Yes — fuck, yes — Em, please—”

She bites your neck, tongue soothing over the mark, and you shudder when her thumb finds your clit. The first press of it has your thighs shaking, your stomach clenching tight. You’re so close already, the stretch of her fingers perfect, the filthy, wet sounds of your cunt sucking her in loud in your ears.

“You’re gonna come for me,” she murmurs, voice dark and possessive. “Right now. Soak my fucking hand.”

And you do — with a strangled moan, your entire body convulses, pleasure ripping through you like lightning. You swear you feel yourself gush, slick pouring down her fingers, your pussy spasming violently around her hand. Everything goes white-hot, your hips jerking, clit throbbing under her thumb as she keeps working you through it.

“Oh, fuck, Emily — fuck, baby — don’t stop—”

She doesn’t, not until you’re begging, tears stinging your eyes from the overstimulation, your cunt a twitching, aching mess. When she finally pulls her hand free, it’s soaked, shining with your slick, and she holds it up, watching the wetness drip down her wrist.

“Look at this,” she murmurs, smirking. “God, I love how fucking messy you are for me.”

You can barely breathe, your whole body trembling, your pussy still clenching at nothing. You meet her gaze, still panting, and grin through the haze of it.

“Round two?”

Her smirk turns downright dangerous.

“Oh, you’re not getting any sleep tonight, baby.”

The look in her eyes makes your stomach flip, heat rushing low in your belly all over again. You're still trembling, your pussy still clenching on nothing, slick and swollen from how hard she worked you. Your skin’s flushed, hair sticking to your damp forehead, but you don’t care. You want her again — need to feel her cunt against yours, to grind until you’re both soaked and overstimulated, until the room reeks of sex and neither of you can move.

“C’mere,” you rasp, grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her down on top of you, catching her mouth in a filthy, breathless kiss. Tongues tangling, teeth clashing, the kind of kiss that tastes like sweat and come and need. You can feel the slick heat between her thighs as she settles against you, her pussy hot and puffy, and it makes your own clench hard in response.

“Need to feel you,” you mumble against her lips, voice wrecked. “Need you on me. Now.”

She groans, low and raw, reaching down to yank your panties the rest of the way off, tossing them aside like she can’t be bothered to care where they land. Her hands grip your thighs, pulling them apart, and you swear you can feel your cunt pulse at the sight of her kneeling there — dark hair a mess, eyes blown, tits flushed and perfect, her pussy slick and gleaming between her thighs, swollen and needy.

She looks wrecked. You look wrecked. It’s fucking perfect.

“God, look at this pussy,” she murmurs, her fingers brushing over your soaked folds, spreading you open. You can hear it — the slick, obscene sound of your wetness, your folds flushed pink and shiny, clit swollen and throbbing. She groans, biting her bottom lip, and you feel your stomach clench.

“Stop teasing,” you whisper, desperate now, grinding your hips up.

She smirks, settling between your legs, her hands on your inner thighs, spreading them wider as she swings one of her long, toned legs over yours. The moment her pussy brushes against yours, both of you gasp — the heat, the wet, messy drag of her folds sliding against yours is fucking unreal. You can feel how slick she is, how swollen, how her clit catches against yours in the best fucking way.

“Oh my God,” you choke out, your hands flying to her hips, pulling her down, needing more.

“Jesus Christ, baby,” Emily groans, starting to rock her hips, slow at first, grinding her cunt against yours. The friction is everything — wet, slippery, hot — the messy, soaked slap of your pussies grinding together making both of you moan. It’s not graceful, it’s filthy. The kind of desperate, hungry, sticky grind that makes your thighs ache and your stomach clench, every drag of her clit against yours sending bolts of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, Em — your pussy — feels so good,” you pant, staring down at the slick mess between your legs. You can see it — her folds spread against yours, both of you glistening, flushed and swollen, your clits brushing, catching, sliding slick and hot. The wet, filthy sounds of it fill the room, your scent thick in the air, and it makes you dizzy.

She’s watching you, eyes half-lidded, a feral grin on her face. “Love watching you like this,” she pants, grinding down harder, your clits catching in that perfect spot that makes both of you cry out. “God, you’re so fucking hot when you get needy.”

You can feel your orgasm building again, heat coiling tight in your stomach, your legs starting to shake. Every drag of her clit against yours is perfect — slick and slippery and just enough pressure to make you see stars. Your hands grip her hips tight, helping her move, both of you rutting against each other like animals, sweat-soaked, breathless, messy.

“Don’t stop — fuck, Em — I’m gonna—”

“Yeah, come for me, baby,” she groans, her own voice high and strained now, her cunt throbbing against yours. “Wanna feel you soak me.”

And you do. It hits you like a train — your clit throbbing, pussy clenching, your hips jerking wildly as you cry out her name. Slick gushes between your legs, soaking both of you, and Emily’s right behind you. You feel her stiffen, her pussy clenching against yours as she comes with a wrecked, desperate moan, her body shaking, her hips grinding frantically as she rides it out.

The wet, squelching sounds are filthy, your slick mixed with hers, both of your thighs drenched, the sheets underneath dark with it. Neither of you can stop moving, grinding through it, overstimulation making your bodies twitch and tremble, pleasure blooming so sharp it borders on pain.

When you finally collapse, it’s in a tangled, sweaty heap, both of you panting, skin flushed and sticky. Your cunt’s still throbbing, aching and swollen, slick dripping down your thighs. Emily’s chest is heaving, hair clinging to her face, her own thighs glistening, her pussy puffy and pink and used.

“Holy shit,” you breathe, your voice nothing but a wrecked whisper.

She laughs, low and ruined, pressing a soft, breathless kiss to your mouth. “I told you you weren’t getting any sleep.”

You grin against her lips. “Good. Hope you’re not either.”

Her eyes gleam. “Not a fucking chance.”

And you know you’re not done yet.

377 notes · View notes

jen-with-a-pen · 1 year ago

Text

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is.

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter– to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day.

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week.

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together.

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door.

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger.

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder.

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit.

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip.

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing.

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink.

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it.

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time.

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell.

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear.

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below.

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost.

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape.

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully.

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium.

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form.

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?”

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.”

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan.

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear.

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours.

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.”

You wanted to take his finger and break it.

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.”

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion.

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance.

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles.

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike.

‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗‗

The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own.

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously.

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side.

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?”

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward.

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard.

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body.

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!”

“No! Fuck– Get off me!”

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.”

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone.

“Is that all, Sergeant?”

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.”

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged.

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you.

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.”

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why.

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame.

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door.

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy.

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however.

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?”

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release.

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core.

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs.

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass.

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.”

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him.

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure.

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you.

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!”

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you.

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode.

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile.

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

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silverofthunder · 4 months ago

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☆ serenity ☆

Copia (Frater Imperator) x F!Reader

summary: "Let’s just enjoy this moment like it is."

content: 850 words, fluff, mild hurt/comfort

well, i'm back to these reader inserts finally! it's been a while, sorry. this is just some silly little thing, inspired (shockingly) by the new stuff. 😊 hope you enjoy! 💜

You entered into your and Copia’s shared chambers, closing the door as quietly as possible as you thought that Copia might have been asleep already. You locked the door and dropped the keys to the small counter while kicking off your shoes, heading then straight to your bedroom. The lights were still on and Copia was sitting on the bed, reading a book, glasses balancing on his nose.

A smile, although tired one, rose to your lips as he didn’t look up when you got into the room. If the book was really good, you knew that he would have a hard time concentrating on anything else.

Without saying a word you climbed onto the bed, crawling to him and kissing his cheek. He smiled, gaze still glued to the book, and after a moment of consideration you positioned yourself so that you could rest your head on his stomach.

Copia let out a light ’oof ’ sound as you wiggled a little, searching for the most comfortable way to lay there. As you eventually found it, you let out a sigh, and felt Copia leaning the book against you.

You moved your hand, slipping it slowly under Copia’s shirt and starting to draw patterns onto the warm, soft flesh. Copia twitched a little, drawing out a light chuckle from you before you mumbled a quiet apology.

Copia just hummed and you continued to explore his skin, the weight of exhaustion starting to pull down your eyelids. It was the fight you couldn’t win – it had been a long day and with all the changes that were now happening it was no wonder that you were tired. However, while you were physically exhausted, you couldn’t say the same about your mind. It had a life of its own, and you just tried to keep up with it.

Now there was the new tune repeating over and over again – a very catchy one, you might add. It was kind of annoying but not really in the bad way.

”That song really got stuck into your head?”

”Huh?”

You felt Copia moving the book aside with a sigh, his other hand coming to rest on your shoulder while the other got buried in your hair.

”You were humming it again,” Copia said and you had to bite back the grin that threatened to rise on your lips. You hadn’t even realized that you had been humming it. But it certainly wasn’t the first time you did it.

”Oh, sorry.”

”It’s alright, dolcezza,” Copia spoke, his fingers caressing your head with slow movements. ”As much as I hate to admit it, it’s quite a catchy song.”

Now you couldn’t fight against the grin anymore and you could guess that Copia was rolling his eyes. You knew he didn’t actually hate the song but it was obvious this new era that had started was hard for him. A new position as Frater Imperator and duties that it had brought with, the new Papa and music was a lot to get to used to.

You lifted Copia’s shirt up a bit, revealing a bit more of his stomach, pressing a few light kisses on the happy trail. Another sigh escaped from Copia, this time more due to comfort, you hoped. Copia might have tried to hide it but you were quite good at reading him and knew when he was having some doubts. With everything new it wasn’t wonder he had them. But you also hated to see him thinking that he was useless or replaced just because he wasn’t good enough.

”I can hear you thinking, love.” Copia’s voice sounded a bit amused and you gently poked him to the stomach.

”As if you aren’t doing that, too,” you noted and Copia slid his hand from your shoulder to your face, taking a hold of your jaw and making you look at him.

”I know where this conversation is going,” he said, looking at you with a mix of softness and warning. You smiled at him, trying to look innocent despite knowing it wouldn’t work. He knew you too well, and before you had time to open your mouth, his fingers were on your lips, shushing you.

”No, no, we’re not having that again. I know you’re worried about me but you don’t have to be. I’ll be alright, eventually.”

With a slight nod you told him you understood and he withdrew his fingers from your lips, cupping your face instead. You had to trust his word and just let time pass.

”Let’s just enjoy this moment like it is,” Copia suggested, and you offered him a smile. He smiled back, then making a kissy face and you really wanted to move and kiss him properly. Too bad you were also pretty comfortable in your current position. So instead you did as you had done before, moved slightly to kiss his stomach and continued to give it extra caresses with your hand.

If Copia wanted some peace and quiet tonight, you would gladly give it to him. After all, these kind of moments were always the ones that meant the most.

#copia x reader #frater imperator x reader #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfic #jen writes fics

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bellatrizrigel-thecat · 27 days ago

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drew some final destination fanart

This is the only post that I’m doing abt final destination 😭 so yeah enjoy (edit: I was VERY wrong)

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caramelloss · 7 months ago

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please like or reblog ONLY if you want to be tagged;

lilia x reader — divine intervention (smut one shot)

you, in an outing with friends, stumble upon a small shop told to be the holder of "fortune tellings". you, completely befouling the idea of magic, step in, mockingly asking for a reading. the woman who is practicing this "fake" tarot and divination, otherwise known as lilia calderu, doesn't take a liking to your attitude. things get heated and tense between the two of you, and you call her and her work a joke. lilia decides to show you just how much of a joke her craft can be.

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mctwinkdom · 1 year ago

Note

Would you write Landoscar rule 63 where only one is a girl? What would that verse look like for you if you did?!

As you may know, I'm currently writing landoscar rule 63 where they're both girls. But only one of them being a girl? Hm... I won't say never, because if I get the motivation for it, why not! but it's not planned as I've never written a heterosexual relationship before lmao

I still have a very clear idea about them as girls so here's my essay about both verses :

With girl!Lando:

I really, really want to explore the idea of a masculine girl Lando, with short curly hair and a idgaf attitude. She dresses masc and baggy on normal days, especially on the paddock, but she wears tight leggings and shorts when she works out and can body a dress at social events like she's a full time model.

She's the same height (because I don't see the point in making girl versions smaller... 1m75 is not unrealistic for a girl) and has the same musculature as irl boy Lando, only with a smaller waist (if that's possible) and small tits, which means she can't be bothered with bras and she gets harshly criticized by the media when her nipples are visible through her fireproofs or her team polos but she doesn't careeee, she loves pissing the media and the macho fans off. Oscar feels Hella guilty about stealing way too many looks at her chest and the way her hips sways when she walks. Girl!Lando is quite the revelation for him since he has to admit being very much attracted to muscles on girls. He's also wrestling with the fact all his instincts wants to protect girl!Lando, to defend her, to shield her from any negative comment, but he feels silly and sexist for it because he knows she's strong enough to stand on her own, she has been standing proud and brave for years now, way before he was even in F1, and she certainly doesn't need his protection or help.

Except she does, but not in the way he expected. With Carlos and Daniel, she always made sure to be as loud as them, as bright as them, so she wasn't made to be small and helpless next to them. But with Oscar, she learns to let her guard down, she lets herself be quiet and soft. She lets him do things for her, even as small as opening snacks or water bottles, not because she can't, but because she knows Oscar doesn't see it as a sign of weakness but of trust.

She's very flirty in nature and she relishes in the way Oscar gets flustered by it. She loves how level-headed and composed Oscar is, how smart he is despite being a pure idiot sometimes when he fails to see the first clues she's clearly interested in him, and she loves how she can make him laugh so easily. Oscar loves how lively and adventurous Lando is, how quick and witty her answers are, how silly and utterly stupid she can be sometimes.

It's a long relationship of mutual respect and admiration turning into fondness and trust before they can develop feelings for each other. Girl!Lando waits for him to take the first step but Oscar can be fcking dense sometimes and he fears to make her uncomfortable so she eventually has to pin him to the wall and kiss him square on the mouth to put a end to this cat and mouse game they have going on, and it all clicks into place from there, Lando fitting perfectly into Oscar's big arms and against his broad chest. Girl!Lando both consciously and unconsciously wants to challenge gender norms in her everyday life but she has to face it... she loves being the little spoon. And she whines about Oscar having a better ass than her.

She's also a raging bisexual, and she hates that the media speculates on her sexuality and sometimes goes as far as assuming she's a lesbian only because of her short hair and because she's an agressive driver. She had one girlfriend before, very private relationship because she doesn't feel like being out. Not before she accomplishes what she wants in her career. She comes out to Oscar, though, before they get together and it's a big deal for her because, among the drivers, only Max and Carlos know about it, and Oscar is so happy she trusts him enough to tell him.

NSFW // she's a lot more vanilla that Oscar was expecting for some reason. Very high sex drive though. She doesn't give blowjobs, arguing she's too much of a fussy eater to take a whole dick in her mouth. Oscar is fine with it because she gives the best handjobs known to man and because she rides him like a pro. He loves how confident she is in her body, how she wears Victoria Secret lingerie beneath her baggy masculine clothes, and how she gets all soft and whiny and clingy when Oscar pushes into her. She doens't like it rough and Oscar is a gentle lover so they work perfectly together <3

With girl!Oscar: girly Oscar is... basically the same bloke as irl boy Oscar if we're being honest lmao. She has long wavy hair, falling below her shoulders, but she can't be bothered with combing it, barely making the effort to tie it into a low lazy ponytail before putting on her racing gear. She then has the audacity to complain about her hair getting tangled. She's tall for a girl and is a bit insecure about it. She secretly loves when female fans call her "mommy" on social media because of her thick thighs and big breasts. She fcking hates it when male fans do it. Except one. Well he's not really a fan. He's her overly excited puppy temmate. He doesn't call her mommy of course but Oscar is not stupid, she can see him glancing at her boobs and her ass when she's wearing shorts, which is often. Lando doesn't quite feel guilty about it because he convinced himself he's not being a pervert if he doesn't look more than 10 seconds at a time.

Girl!Oscar is obviously very strong, she has the same dry humor and laid back attitude as irl Oscar, she's very calm and rarely complains on the radio. She fcking hates when male fans compliment her composed personality because she knows they would find a way to be sexist if she was only 10 % more expressive and they only like her because she's naturally reserved and doesn't complain and that's what they want if a woman is in F1: for her to be quiet. And she fcking hates it, she hates it so much, but it's her personality and she won't change it to prove a point, so instead she does what she does best: she interacts with other drivers in a joking manner, she throws subtle shots at other teams (one in particular), she makes her quietness a strenght in the way she doesn't get shaken by anything happening on and off the track, proving everyone how strong and unflappable she is, more mature than a lot of older more experienced drivers. Lando admires her a lot for it.

At first, he saw Oscar as a weird specimen. He didn't meet a lot of strong girls before, and he got a bit grumpy when he realized she's a bit taller than him (that will change quickly). The thing is... he tragically doesn't know how to act around Oscar. He's used to date models, skinny girls with great hair and nice clothes. Oscar... Oscar doesn't really take care of her appareance: she dresses practical instead of flattering, she doesn't wear makeup, doesn't style her hair, she's the most natural girl Lando has ever met and he's going slightly Feral about it. The way he's attracted to Oscar is so primal and strong and blinding it scares him a bit sometimes.

Oscar herself is very embarrassed about her own crush on Lando. She's been crushing on him for years, since they were teens. She's so infatued with Lando she laughs at everything he says and then gets embarrassed when she watches the clips on twitter and fans teases her about her "heart eyes" and "zendaya laugh". She does kick her feet when she sees interviews where Lando publicly praises her, and she still blushes on camera when Lando calls her "Osc" or "Osco". She feels like a basic bitch when he sports the fuckboy look and she likes it a bit too much. The problem is, she's not as unbothered as people believe when she's alone and safe, and she has a lot more insecurities that she leads on, so she sadly doesn't think Lando would ever be interested in her, considering his dating history. So she locks her feelings away and simply tries to be a good teammate and a good driver and maybe a good friend. She's not stupid enough to ignore Lando's eyes on her, of course, but she assumes it's normal, just a boy looking at boobs because that's what boys do. However she is stupid enough to not realize how Lando treats her incredibly gently, how he softens his voice when he talks to her, how he trusts her entirely and really cares about her opinions and wants to spend more time with her and get to know her.

It's a classic case of "she fell first but he fell harder". Even if it's only physical attraction at first, Lando quickly gets enamored because she's so smart and gentle and confident in her own skills and that's super hot. She makes him feel calmer, more relaxed, and he wants to keep her close all his life.

Cliche straight relationship from here: Lando asks her out, not really saying it's a date but it totally is and he wears a fcking suit to drive her to an expensive restaurant, and Oscar wants to die from embarrassment because she completely misunderstood the situation and she's wearing fcking jeans and sneakers, so Lando pours some wine on his white shirt: that way they both look ridiculous and out of place and they laugh about it so much together and they sloppily make out in Lando's car afterwards like a couple of horny teenagers and they live happily ever after yada yada yada.

NSFW // they're more kinky than girl!lando and boy!oscar for some reason. Girl!Oscar is not necessarily insecure about her body but she's not confident about it either, so she really feels the heat when Lando spends hours worshipping her body from top to bottom, and praises her constantly about how pretty and cute and hot she is. He's very much obsessed with her boobs, always find a way to stick his face in between, he also loves eating her out even when Oscar is shy about it at first and it takes him a few weeks to convince Oscar to sit on his face. He almost dies from happiness there (and suffocation but he doesn't tell Oscar not to freak her out so she continues to ride his tongue more and more confindently). When he asks her if he can f*ck her in the ass, she thinks she's so smart for replying "only if I can f*ck you in the ass, too", but the problem is: Lando is like "yeah why not" and poor Osc didn't plan for this so she gets incredibly shy again and it takes them months to get there. It's a lot of experimenting and kinks exploration with those two, and they have a lot of fun with it! They don't like everything but that's okay, because they're grossly in love and always find a way to make each other feel good.

I love my girls man......... Like I said, it's unlikely I wrote any of it but! girl!Lando and girl!Oscar are eating each other's pussy as we speak, so. Yeah.

#ask #anon #that's.... so long wtf sorry for that #girl!lando #girl!oscar #i love my girls so much #landoscar #landoscar rpf #rule 63 #jen's writing

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