#Meanwhile First is just chilling

[summertimemusician]

*downs coffee like a shot* Before we go back to our regularly scheduled Linktober/Linktober Shadow (because I don't leave things unfinished if I can help it), I gotta get the idea of Revenant First out of my system and y'all get to suffer with me until it eventually ceases being an idea and it turns into an actual story. For some reason we talk a lot about First already being alive or already a ghost by the time the Chain meets him, but I don't think I've ever heard someone talk about him actually coming back to life and so y'all get to suffer with my insane ramblings like I'm an 1800's psychic ward patient who believes themselves to be a witch.

Can be x Reader or not idk just an idea that won't leave my mind.

Might expand on this later so Part out of I/?

Revenant First, who died for his people and in the name of his Goddess. All alone on the surface, fighting, fighting, fighting, always fighting. Just to make the land a little safer before the next hero arrives, just to contain the Imprisoned for a little while longer with likely nothing than a ordinary, common sword to his name and a slowly rusting armor.

Always giving so so so much for his people, always doing his best to protect them, though they scorned him, loathed him, didn't believe or support him, rejected him.

With a spirit so strong and lovely that a Goddess fell for him, hated herself for having to manipulate and put him through such horrid experiences just to save the many, just to turn the diamond of his soul into an unbreakable lonsdaleite blade agaisnt a mad deity.

Someone whose will would be enough to keep him going, just one more fight right? Just one more kill right? Forward, forward, ever onward, it doesn't matter if the flesh decays, if the blood drips drips drips until he is dry of it, if the liver doesn't process nutrients, if the lungs don't draw air, if the nerves feel nothing but the cold cold numbness of the winter of his final years, if the heart doesn't beat. If the armor rusts or the sword breaks. He must keep going, he must keep fighting.

To keep them safe he must have faith, faith that he can keep going, to grasp onto that one.single.thread of purpose until the day that fiery, indomitable, determined will finally burns out. Even if his Goddess may have forsaken him knowingly or unknowingly, even if his people have rejected him to the point he isn't even human anymore, even though they reviled him, even if that rejection should by all intents and purposes chained his spirit to the land or ground the jewel of his unbreakable soul into dust, he still loves them, still adores them, still wants to protect them.

No matter how long he must keep going for it. He wishes to see those he holds dear happy, though they cursed and imprisoned him once.

The Chain getting dropped into a completely empty, desolated and undeniably dead version of Sky's Hyrule, only to find the only living thing besides monster is a single man, with rusted gold armor and an old sword, a faded tunic of green with a long, crimson scarf like a bloody banner. With hair and eyes like theirs, undeniably a Link. But so very frigid, so very silent they almost didn't notice him, that they can't help but wonder just how many years he has spent there, eroding away, ruined but still kind, kind, so very gentle. A shadow of his former self, yes, but still himself, still so so so good, doing all he can until Sky's Era comes and maybe, just maybe, he can finally rest.

Or maybe not, after all, someone has to keep the land safe until the Hero after Sky comes around, no?

Just Revenant First in general.

Or maybe we give him the House in Fata Morgana treatment, the House in Fata Hylia Au if you will- *collapses from sleep deprivation*

[linddzz]

nothing is prompting this post at all I just wanna say that Viktor is also possessive about Jayce, if they actually did get together his version of possessiveness would start circling around to borderline exhibitionism. He loves that Jayce's face is slapped on stupid blimps and mugs. He's so into the fact that this city that disrespects him, his people, and disrespected Jayce until he became useful them...he LOVES that that city wants his man so bad. It always looks like he tolerates how tactile Jayce is but Viktor is basking in it.

Viktor thinks everyone should get a chance to see Jayce when he's sweaty and shirtless and breathing hard at the forge. He enjoys seeing people fawn and get giggly when Jayce smiles at them.

His form of possessiveness is going "Yes take a good look. Really drink it in. Enjoy that he flirts with everything that smiles at him, he really is a charmer. You noticed the shoulder to hip ratio there I'm sure. Sure, give him your address I don't blame you. Now then. Guess who has him wrapped around my pinky finger and die mad about it"

[turtleblogatlast]

Something I like about Leo is that he’s honestly really chill? It’s easy to remember the moments where he’s being obnoxious or excitable but I feel like most of the time he’s incredibly “go with the flow” and has an overall affable demeanor.

[themintman]

Anyway back to space dog

[viktorarcanedeservesbetter]

And when I say that if Mage!Viktor told Jayce he could save his universe but not Viktor at the same time (you can have one but not both) he'd choose Viktor in every single scenario then what???

[mcybree]

this scott 3l rewatch it so so strange. i was right with my original notes, their relationship does not read nearly as scary from the scott pov and im really wondering why this is. My first theory was that it was an editing style thing or a background music thing or maybe the specific scenes that are missing but now that I’m really thinking about it I Dont Know

[meetthegofer]

just realized that if we follow the schema of the meet the team videos release dates being their birthdays, scouts birthday is the same as my sisters... which also happens to be 6 days before mine 😭 even in 1960's new mexico i can't escape the april birthday gauntlet

[dykemithrun]

workshopping butch4butch kabumisu again i think its vital to the bit that a lot of people tend to think only one of them is The butch but they are never totally sure who

[sysig]

Chill, Sub-Commander (Patreon)

[katyspersonal]

What's your interpretation that the left hand of cleric beast is much bigger that the right?🤔

Well, like I've pointed out before, the only explanation I am seeing is blood ministration being done on the left arm!

However, this might get a little more interesting with the Cleric Beasts, because Emilia is also one, yet her arms are symmetrical!

My closest guess to why it happened is because of something Healing Church has been known to do with female bodies. Namely - do some sort of surgery/manipulation/operation on them in order to change their blood type into 'holy blood' one, which they are able to share with the hunters!

English localization team had to use term "groomed" instead of whatever this actually says, and this is definitely going into top 10 of my biggest headaches with mistranslations! As you can see from the Japanese script retranslation ( x ), the meaning is more literal, implying a procedure. I always felt like it would be a surgery on bone marrow, since this is where blood cells are produced, and doctors in Bloodborne could have learned to alter them into having impossible type of blood!

So, as a female cleric, Amelia might have had her first communion with the holy blood as a Blood Saint, instead of generic blood ministration treatment like apparently everyone else has!

I am still not sure why female staff specifically was the Blood Saints, since apparently blood vials are not menstrual blood, as we can learn thanks to Adeline:

Maybe it could have something to do with menstrual cycle, though, because of the whole cycle of moon vs menstrual cycle thing, and Laurence being affiliated with Moon Presence, and then Micolash also stealing his swag and basing his own institution on:

I'd say this is either some sort of deeply rooted superstition within the setting, or in fact, yes, the holy blood links to the Great Ones who put HELLA importance on blood and birth, so being biologically female is crucial for that link to take intended effects.

Ludwig is an interesting case, though! He was SUPPOSED to have blood ministration too, like Laurence or Cleric Beast of the Bridge! Why would not the first Healing Church hunter and the HEAD of their hunters do something so crucial? Especially since Cleric Beast of the Bridge drops the Sword Badge with which you buy Hunter Chief Emblem, implying that this beast is currently what Ludwig used to be? But his left arm is not bigger. In fact, it is even smaller. So I am trying to think of the variants of what had happened here:

1) Ludwig somehow merged with an actual horse, so his anatomy is simply no longer judged through the same lense

2) Ludwig is a leftie, and this is where he holds his Holy Moonlight Sword, so its effect would be a "remedy" for possible arm deformations

3) Ludwig is not a simple beast, but the one with a lot of Kin features, so his anatomy is simply no longer judged through the same lense (+horses are primarily herbivores, and Kin is associated with the flora in the setting, so maybe that's why he went horsegirl mode instead of getting something weak like antlers lol)

4) Ludwig is trans and actually was the first to get Blood Saint treatment rather than regular blood ministration (+we take Adeline's blood from her right arm, and notice that his right arm is a little bigger)

5) Ludwig is a cis man and was the first biological male who attempted to receive Blood Saint treatment instead of regular blood ministration, but that didn't take the intended effect because the gods Be Like That in the setting + his unusual visions and mutation might be the side effect of that and that's why Healing Church stopped doing that with male organisms. Basically, if a male attempts becoming a living factory for the holy blood, it will go "wrong".

6) Combinations of the above points

.....Okay, that went a little unfocused from the initial topic, but you see my points here! Thank you for the ask!

_________________

Bonus ideas:

- Whereas Ludwig is holding the Holy Moonlight Sword in his left hand, Amelia also is grasping the Gold Pendant in her left hand. So maybe nothing was special about her, but holding a special item in the "effected" hand will remedy the asymmetry effect, and had Amelia not been doing that all the time, she'd be asymmetrical too?

- Amelia using recolored model for Bell-Ringing Woman for her appearance might be not accidental, but a fuel for the headcanon that she has Pthumerian blood too, and Pthumerians might simply evolve differently, or traditionally have different way they' go for the blood communition. Off the top of my head, look at Loran Clerics having same sized arms:

Basically, I can answer why Cleric Beasts and the huntsmen have asymmetrical arms, but not why people like Emilia and Ludwig broke the trend despite being the first in line to have blood ministration normally... Because I just have too many ideas, and my preference usually falls towards the most logical ones, but when there are equally logical ideas I become helpless :')

[aroneuvillette]

spiral abyss floor 10 kicking my ass rn i have failed thrice

[likesplatterpaint]

Two of the five new rili shrimp died, WHOOPS. I thought the man just really liked that spot. Sigh.

But at least this man said peek boo before I moved the survivors.

[heavencasteel420]

Not trying to be mean or catty, but I know it will come off as such so I’m tagging accordingly. The two ways I can realistically* see St*ncy playing out at this point are:

Jonathan dies and Steve gets a repressed bisexual Cat on a Hot Tin Roof thing going with Nancy (aka the Sad Stoncy scenario) (this might actually work eventually if they talk about their feelings).

Nancy gets with Steve because things are too complicated with Jonathan, who has his own issues to deal with and moves away from Hawkins. Only it turns out Steve has some of the very same issues re: not knowing what to do with his life. They’re not all tangled up in complicated family dynamics and ACEs, which should make things simpler, but they’re also harder to address because Steve is just fundamentally not that invested in deriving a lot of meaning from a career/education at this point in his life. He was kind of hoping that being with Nancy would change that, too, so he’s pretty frustrated himself! She tries to encourage him to go to community college or find something to do near Emerson, but he keeps putting it off. Worse case scenario, he gets it into his head that the solution to everything is to get back into his dad’s good graces and take a position at the…business factory? Which is obviously way worse to Nancy than her 20yo boyfriend goofing off for a while. They break up during the summer after her first year at Emerson after having an argument prompted by the movie St. Elmo’s Fire. It’s a relief to both of them at that point.

*Realistically to me personally. I don’t expect the show to share my vision.

[buckyseternaldoll]

sergeant's magic mouth

🫦 based on this ask but I definitely diverted from the main plot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: You thought you were just his fling. He thought you were his girl. Then you overheard Steve teasing Bucky about his legendary skills in the bedroom—particularly his mouth. Bucky gets flustered. You get curious. A week later, he proved he’s still got it.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, oral sex (f receiving), pussy eating, misunderstanding trope, soft dom!Bucky, desperate!reader, overstimulation, slow burn tension, emotional release

Word Count: 3.5k

The compound was quieter than usual, the aftermath of a long mission settling in like a low, collective exhale. Somewhere in the common kitchen, someone clinked a glass. Distant laughter floated through the hall—probably Sam or Clint. But in the softly lit entertainment room, it was just you and Bucky. Again.

You’d flopped onto the couch hours ago after sparring, half-watching a movie you’d already forgotten the name of. Bucky had joined a little later, tucking himself into the corner of the cushions, red henley hugging the bulk of his arms, the silver glint of his metal arm catching the TV’s light like a low hum in your peripheral.

You hadn’t meant to end up in his lap. Again.

But like always, his palm was already on your waist when you slid over—grounding, warm despite the chill of the metal. His thighs were spread wide beneath you, relaxed and solid, and your legs naturally draped on either side like they belonged there. You leaned into him. He didn’t stop you. He never did.

It had been like this for weeks now. Maybe months.

Long after the dust from the whole Civil War mess had started to settle, you and Bucky had slipped into something wordless. Something sacred. You didn’t know what to call it—it didn’t feel right calling it just friends. Not when you could still feel the way he’d kissed you that first night after the team’s barbecue. The way he’d held you still while your hips rocked against his, slow and aching. Not when your heart stuttered every time he looked at you with that tired, hungry softness that made your skin burn.

The first kiss had been a dare. A stupid, tipsy game where someone dared Bucky to kiss you and no one—no one—had expected him to actually do it.

But he did.

He cupped your face with his warm hand, looked you in the eye, and kissed you like he’d been holding that breath in since 1943. And from then on… something shifted.

Now, he’d let you straddle him during quiet movie nights. His jaw would clench when your hips moved just right. You’d feel him through his jeans, thick and hard under you, and he’d groan—deep and strangled like he was holding something back. He’d mouth at your neck, hands gripping your waist, but it never went further than that. Never inside. Never under the clothes.

And you told yourself it was fine. You told yourself maybe this was just how it was going to be—this undefined, lusty thing. You told yourself it was better than nothing. Because it was Bucky. James Buchanan Barnes. The man women used to whisper about back in the 40s—the charmer with the bedroom eyes and silver tongue. You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had.

And you? You were just… you.

He could have anyone. And maybe you were just the convenient body he used to push those urges away—a warm lap to grind into, a mouth to kiss when the nights got too long. You didn’t know how to ask for more. You were terrified that if you tried, he’d pull away.

Meanwhile, Bucky? Bucky thought you were his. Fully.

He thought you’d been his since the second time you kissed him—the night you’d curled into his lap after patrol and whispered “I missed you” like it meant more than just the day. And it had killed him not to touch you deeper, not to give you everything he had. But he remembered what you said at that same team barbecue, right after everyone settled down with their beers and ribs. Someone had joked about hook-ups and you, ever soft-spoken, had laughed shyly and said:

“I’m a little old school. I don’t really go all the way unless it’s someone serious… like, serious-serious.”

And Bucky? Bucky was from the actual old school. Back in the 40s, that meant one thing—you waited until you were married. And if you were the kind of woman who saved yourself for that, then goddammit, he wasn’t going to be the reason you’d break that promise.

So he held back. Every time your body writhed against his. Every time he could smell your arousal through your leggings. Every time he had to clench his jaw and bury his face in your neck just to keep from coming in his pants.

He never touched himself after. Not once.

Didn’t jerk off to the thought of you, even though he ached to.

Because he wanted all of it—all of you—the right way.

He thought the wait would be worth it.

He just didn’t know you were waiting for him to want you at all.

—

The late afternoon sun cast warm streaks of gold across the compound, tinting the walls and windows with lazy amber light. You’d just wrapped up training and were headed toward the balcony, drawn by the familiar sound of laughter—two deep voices rolling over each other in low, nostalgic waves.

Steve and Bucky.

You slowed your steps as you approached, the soft creak of your boots masked by the breeze curling in through the open doors. They hadn’t noticed you yet, and you paused just beyond the archway, hidden by the sliding glass panel, your eyes flicking over to them instinctively.

They were seated side by side on the wide balcony bench, drinks in hand—Bucky with his legs spread in that casual, careless way, grey shirt pulled tight across his chest, silver arm draped over the backrest. Steve had a glass of something dark balanced in his grip, laughing into it.

“Alright, Buck. Be honest with me,” Steve said, nudging Bucky’s boot with his own. “How’s everything with you and her?”

Bucky shifted a little, his jaw tensing as he looked down at the drink in his hand.

You froze, breath catching. Her? You?

He didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was soft, but sure.

“We’re doing just fine.”

Steve scoffed. “Just fine? Buck, come on. That’s not enough.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath, but there was a flicker of tension in the movement—like he was trying to ease discomfort off his shoulders. He rubbed his thumb along the curve of his glass and glanced sideways at Steve.

“I don’t think I should be talking about her when she’s not here,” he muttered. “That wouldn’t feel right.”

You blinked. Your chest tightened. He was talking about you like—

Steve laughed again, all good-natured and clueless. “God, you haven’t changed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky asked, arching an eyebrow, but the corners of his mouth twitched.

“You remember the 40s?” Steve leaned back, the bench creaking under his weight. “Every girl at the bar was looking past me, and straight at you. I couldn’t get a date to save my damn life. You? You walked in and the whole room turned to jelly.”

Bucky snorted, tipping his head back with a sigh. “Yeah, well. That was before the serum. Before your fan club started.”

Steve smirked. “Oh, how the tables have turned, huh?”

Bucky gave him a look—part fond, part annoyed—but didn’t deny it.

Then Steve added, with a smirk far too knowing:

“You know, I still remember the rumors. I wasn’t supposed to hear most of ‘em—but you know how dames talk when they’ve had one too many.” He grinned into his glass. “Word was, anyone who got lucky enough to sleep with Sergeant Barnes left with their legs shaking.”

Bucky groaned immediately. “Jesus, Stevie—”

“No, no, wait—my favorite was the one who said you had a magic mouth,” Steve continued, delighting in the way Bucky tried to sink into himself. “Swore you knew exactly what to do down there. Said it was like being—what was it—worshipped?”

Your heart skipped. What?

You stepped out, your voice too curious for your brain to catch up.

“Wait… Bucky was that good with girls?”

Both men looked up fast. Bucky flinched like he’d just been smacked with a brick.

“Shit,” he muttered, straightening up immediately, his metal fingers tightening around his glass. “How long’ve you been standing there?”

“Long enough,” you said, fighting a grin as you stepped toward them, trying to sound innocent even though your pulse was sprinting. “I didn’t know you had a magic mouth, Bucky.”

Steve glanced between you and Bucky, the corner of his mouth twitching with the kind of subtle amusement only a best friend could pull off.

“Well,” he said, rising from the bench with smooth ease, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

He set his glass down on the ledge, adjusted the sleeves of his shirt with practiced calm, and gave Bucky a pointed look that only made the other man shrink deeper into his seat.

Then, with a polite nod to you, he added,

“Try not to give him too hard a time, huh?”

And with that, Steve turned and walked back inside—composed, quiet, and absolutely smirking.

The silence he left behind was scorching.

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his skin already turning crimson beneath the ends of his hair. His silver fingers tapped against the railing like he couldn’t decide whether to escape over it or just melt into a puddle where he stood.

“That, uh… that wasn’t exactly how I wanted that to come up,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the floor.

You leaned next to him, arms crossed, brow arched just slightly. “You never told me you had a reputation.”

He groaned. “God. It was blown way out of proportion, I swear.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, pretending to think. “So you didn’t make girls’ legs shake?”

Bucky winced. Practically folded into himself.

“I mean—maybe a few,” he muttered. “But not like that. It wasn’t… Jesus, they made it sound like I slept with the whole borough. I didn’t. I wasn’t like that.”

You tried not to smile. “The whole borough, huh?”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide. “Wait—are you… are you mad?”

“What? No,” you said quickly, brows lifting.

“You sure?” he asked again, more desperate now. “Because I never—look, I wasn’t just screwing around back then, okay? I didn’t sleep with that many people. And I haven’t been with anyone since and I’m not—I mean, I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Your breath caught for a second. But you didn’t say anything.

Because your brain was not registering any of that.

Not the panic in his voice. Not the low, sincere way he said to you like it meant something.

All you could think about was what Steve said.

Legs shaking. Worship. Magic mouth.

You were still stuck on that phrase like a scratch on a record.

You let a beat pass. Just long enough to watch the flush creeping up his neck, the nervous dart of his eyes, the way he seemed to be running through every decision he’d ever made since 1943.

“I just didn’t know you were into that,” you said lightly, brushing invisible lint from your sleeve like you hadn’t just learned something that would haunt you tonight in your sheets.

Bucky shifted uncomfortably, clearly spiraling. “I—I didn’t mean for that to sound like I was bragging or anything. I don’t know where Steve heard that stuff. I mean, yeah, I used to, but not—It wasn’t like I slept around. I didn’t. I swear I never—”

“Bucky,” you cut in gently, offering a little smile. “It’s really okay.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You nodded once, calm and even. “No hard feelings.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, apologize again, dig his way out of a guilt hole he didn’t even need to be in. But you didn’t give him the chance.

You stepped back toward the door, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll see you at dinner.”

And then you slipped inside, perfectly composed.

—

Your expression didn’t crack until you turned the corner, heat blooming across your face like a slow, wicked fire.

He used to love it.

He might still be good at it.

He thinks you’re mad about his past… and you’re just thinking about his mouth between your legs.

You pressed your hand against the wall, heart thundering.

Now all you needed was the right moment.

The right excuse.

Something casual. Natural.

Just a little something to get James Buchanan Barnes on his knees.

—

You kept your distance for six days.

Six entire, aching days.

Dinner that night? You smiled. Ate. Laughed with Sam. Passed the mashed potatoes like nothing had changed. Bucky sat across from you, silent and painfully upright, like he was ready for a cross-examination that never came.

The next day? You greeted him with a nod in the hallway. Kept your tone even, your posture casual. Bucky watched you like a man waiting for the world to fall out from under him.

And the day after that? You brushed past him near the weapons locker, arm grazing his on accident—only to duck into the training room before he could open his mouth.

He kept trying. Eyes lingering, mouth parting every time he got you alone for even a second. But you never gave him the space.

Because what were you supposed to say?

Hey, Bucky. You want to eat my cunt sometime? Because I’ve been thinking about it for many nights and I’m dangerously close to humping the corner of my pillow just to cope?

Yeah, no.

So you waited. And stewed. And tried not to fantasize.

But your body had other plans.

By day six, your hormones had you spiraling. You caught yourself grinding your thighs together during debriefing. Sweating during sparring. Biting your lip when Bucky scratched his jaw and muttered something under his breath, not even directed at you.

Day seven, you cracked.

Over lunch, with the team distracted, you leaned close to him—so casual—and said,

“Come to my unit after dinner.”

He blinked. “Yeah?”

You nodded, eyes steady. “Just for a bit.”

And that was all it took.

—

He showed up at your door just past nine. Dressed down in a fitted black tee and dark sweats. Hair tucked behind his ears. Smiling.

Not smirking. Not flirty. Just… happy.

You didn’t know it yet, but he thought this was a date. A real one. The first of many.

You let him in and made small talk. Let him sit on the couch like always. Let him pull you into his lap the way he always did when it was just the two of you and there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Then you kissed him.

Slow. Familiar. But deeper.

His hands came to your thighs, dragging up under the hem of your oversized shirt as your knees bracketed his hips. He groaned softly into your mouth when you rolled against him—pressing down, grinding slow and needy right into the heat of his lap.

Then he froze.

You could feel it. The shift. The exact moment he realized there was nothing between you and his pants. No shorts. No panties. Just your bare, wet cunt dragging over the thick line of his cock through cotton.

Bucky broke the kiss, his hands halting on your thighs.

His voice came out hoarse.

“Doll… are you—are you not wearing anything?”

You blushed, chest rising slowly. “No.”

His eyes widened, hand clenching against your skin. “Since when?”

“Since before you got here.”

“Jesus,” he whispered, like it physically hurt him.

You pressed your forehead against his. Voice trembling now, but not from nerves.

“I’ve been thinking about it. Ever since Steve said that thing on the balcony.”

His brows lifted. “About… my mouth?”

You nodded. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

You shifted your hips again. Let him feel the wet drag of your folds against his cock. He sucked in a sharp breath, hands locking tighter on your waist.

“Baby,” he rasped, “are you sure this is what you want? Not just—y’know, ‘cause you’re upset or… jealous or—”

That was the moment it snapped. The misunderstanding, the buried truth, the weeks and months of aching.

Your brow furrowed.

“Jealous? Bucky, I don’t have any right to be jealous. We’re not… together.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean we’re just…” You swallowed. “I thought we were just fooling around. Friends with benefits or something.”

His face went still.

“Wait,” he said. “You thought that’s what we were?”

You nodded slowly.

“I thought we were dating,” he said quietly. “I thought we were just taking it slow. You said at the barbecue that you’re traditional. I figured that meant you were saving sex until… marriage or something.”

You stared at him, lips parting. “I—no. I just didn’t want to sleep with someone who didn’t take me seriously.”

Bucky’s mouth hung open for a second. Then he let out a short, breathless laugh—somewhere between disbelief and relief.

“We’re idiots,” you said, and started laughing too.

He buried his face in your neck and laughed along with you, arms wrapping tighter around your waist.

“You’ve been my boyfriend this whole time without me even knowing?” you teased.

He pulled back, brushing his nose against yours. “Guess that makes it official now.”

“Good,” you whispered. “Because now you’ve got even more reason to go down on me.”

His lips parted. You kissed him before he could speak.

—

What followed wasn’t fast.

It wasn’t wild.

It was reverent.

Bucky laid you back on the couch like you were made of silk and starlight, one hand supporting your back while the other guided your thighs open. He settled between them like it was where he was always meant to be—kneeling, breath shaky, eyes dark.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered, thumbing along the inside of your knee. His voice was low. Full of awe.

You reached for him—but he kissed your thigh instead. Then again. And again. Slow, warm, deliberate. His stubble scraped lightly along your skin, the contrast enough to make you squirm, already sensitive from the slow grind you’d shared minutes before.

“Easy, baby,” he murmured. “Just wanna take my time with you. You deserve that.”

Then he ducked lower.

And when he pressed his tongue to your cunt—broad and unhurried—it felt like the world melted into heat and wet and sound. You gasped, hips twitching, fingers curling into the couch cushions.

Bucky moaned into you. Actually moaned.

“God, you taste like fucking honey,” he rasped, licking another slow, deliberate stripe between your folds. “So sweet, baby. Dripping for me.”

He dragged his tongue through your slick again, groaning like the taste alone could undo him. And then he slurped—an unashamed, filthy sound that made your eyes roll back.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, voice thick and desperate. “Can’t believe I waited this long.”

His tongue circled your clit—steady, patient, focused. Then he sucked. A low, wet pull that sent shockwaves down your spine. You cried out, thighs shaking already, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wrapped his lips around that swollen bud and sucked again, swirling his tongue in small, practiced motions like he’d studied every curve, every pattern of how your body trembled for him.

“I knew you’d be perfect,” he breathed. “So fucking soft. So warm. Look at this pussy, baby. Look how wet she is for me.”

You whined, head thrown back, chest heaving—and he didn’t let up.

He licked you like it was his only purpose. Like he’d spent years thinking about this. Dreaming of this. His tongue flicked quick, then slow, then down—dipping into your entrance, fucking in and out with soft, rhythmic strokes that made your back arch off the couch.

“Oh my god—Bucky—”

“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me hear those pretty sounds. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, baby. Feels like I’m high off this fucking pussy.”

You could hear how wet it was. The obscene, slick sounds of his tongue lapping, his lips sucking, the gentle stubble burn brushing your inner thighs with every move. He kept you wide, kept you steady, like he didn’t want to miss a second—like this was something sacred to him.

And when your thighs started to tremble, when your hips bucked once—twice—he held you still with a firm grip of his metal hand on your stomach.

“Let go, sweetheart,” he whispered, licking up your slit with one slow, heavenly stroke. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

And you did.

You shattered.

Came hard. Loud. Thighs clenching around his head while he groaned and kept sucking, kept licking through it, pushing you higher until your whole body was shaking.

He didn’t stop. Not until he pulled a second orgasm from you with nothing but his mouth and your name falling from his lips like praise.

When he finally eased up—mouth slick, lips swollen, beard shining with your release—he kissed your thighs again. Tender. Adoring. Like he still wasn’t done worshipping you.

Then he climbed up your body, settling over you slowly, his hands gentle where they cradled your hips.

His forehead pressed to yours. He was smiling—dazed and soft and breathless.

You blinked at him, heart still pounding.

“So that’s what all the rumors were about.”

Bucky chuckled, voice low and hoarse.

“They didn’t even know half of it.”

[suiana]

fem reader for this one guys BUT imagine having a kid and one day you go into his room (like you always do) but this time your little son has a picture of your family drawn! aww how cute-

"mommy, my friend jim says you look pretty today ☺️"

"t-that's very nice of him honey! ahaha..."

what. the. fuck.

you head to tell your husband this dreadful news. what the hell is your kid talking about??? is this a case of psychosis?? schizophrenia?? or even worse... is it some sort of demon haunting your darling child?!

"darling! look at what our child has drawn! isn't this a cause for concern?"

"yeah that's just jim, i regularly fist fight him to see who gets to be the man of the house. we stalemate all the time."

"babe what the FUCK do you mean you fist fight him."

turns out your worst fears have come through but the demon isn't there to hurt your child but there to... take over your husband's place as his new father??? and to be your new husband???

and your husband knows this???

what the actual fuck???

you're terrified, shaking and trembling at the mere thought of a demon being anywhere near your child. and no, this isn't one of those hot anime boys that's slightly scary type shit. this is DEMON monster standing in your bedroom at night crawled out of your nightmares type shit.

so when you have your first encounter with him you expected anything but this.

"AHHH-"

"𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖑𝖔 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖋𝖊, 𝖎 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖘𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 ❤️ 𝖎 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖔 𝖒𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖋𝖊, 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖎 𝖍𝖔𝖑𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉? 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖈𝖆𝖑𝖒𝖘 𝖒𝖊 ☺️"

"oh!"

he's... surprisingly chill??? meanwhile your human husband has never been this chill??? he's like, lowkey crazy if you're being honest. chasing away any other guys, hissing at them...

"babe why the HELL are you holding hands with JIM."

"he gave me a flower babe, look!"

"you... you vile BEAST! HOW DARE YOU STEAL MY WIFE, I AM GOING TO KILL YOU."

"𝖎 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖞 𝖜𝖎𝖋𝖊❤️"

[hershelwidget]

working on so many projects

tag yourself i'm "swap auuu"