#THANKS FOR READING

[ilovolderman]

ahh, that makes me so happy! seriously, thank you so much. i really appreciate it more than i can say!

Operation Mugshot

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam tries to set a trap to catch your secret relationship with Bucky.

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, drones and oranges

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson had a plan.

He’d spent the better part of two weeks compiling evidence, cross-referencing time logs, analyzing coffee consumption patterns, and creating a red-string bulletin board that would’ve made any conspiracy theorist proud.

Today, all that paranoia was finally going to pay off.

He sipped his decaf—yes, decaf, because he needed to stay sharp—and watched the living room like a hawk disguised as a houseplant. Or maybe the other way around.

The trap was simple.

Step 1: Hide in the pantry with snacks, a thermal imaging tablet, and a drone disguised as a spice rack. Step 2: Wait. Step 3: Catch you two being adorably romantic in high-definition.

Easy.

Sam sipped his decaf, checked his drone feed, and muttered into his earpiece—connected to absolutely no one. “Wilson to base. Operation Mugshot is live. Targets are expected in T-minus one minute.”

Five minutes in, Sam was regretting the plan.

Ten minutes in, he was beginning to lose feeling in one leg.

Fifteen minutes in, the door creaked open.

He tensed. It was happening. Showtime.

But it wasn’t Bucky.

It wasn’t even you.

It was a Roomba. Rolling casually into the kitchen, bumping into a cabinet, and then zooming away like it had places to be.

Sam exhaled, annoyed. “False alarm.”

Twenty minutes in, the door opened again. Finally.

A creak. Footsteps.

Bingo.

You shuffled in wrapped in a burrito blanket, yawning with your whole body. Your socks were mismatched. You still had a pillow crease on your face. You looked, in Sam’s words, “suspiciously domestic.”

A beat later, Bucky wandered in.

Barefoot. Wearing a t-shirt that just so happened to look a lot like one you “lost” last week. He blinked at the pantry.

Bucky tilted his head ever so slightly toward the pantry. The door was open a fraction too wide. There was a faint hum—Sam’s drone, probably watching like a nosy Roomba.

He mouthed, Trap.

You mouthed back, I know.

So, naturally, you played it cool.

“Morning,” you said casually, reaching for a mug. “Nice weather for emotional espionage.”

“Sure is,” Bucky replied, pouring himself coffee like a man who hadn’t just spotted a super-spy hiding behind the cereal boxes.

You both stood in suspicious silence for a moment.

Then Bucky dropped the act, leaned over, and whispered, “We should absolutely mess with him.”

You grinned. “What do you have in mind?”

Cut to ten minutes later: you and Bucky sat on opposite ends of the couch, the most awkward six feet of exaggerated distance between you. No eye contact. Arms folded. The tension so forced it might as well have been acting school improv.

Sam, crouched in the pantry, stared at the screen. His drone hovered silently, recording the scene.

“Huh,” he mumbled. “No touching. No shared glances. No whispering. That’s… not what I expected.”

The footage was useless. You both looked like coworkers waiting for a Zoom call to start.

Then—movement.

Sam tensed.

You got up. Walked toward Bucky. Bucky looked up.

Sam’s heart nearly exploded with victory.

You said, “Do you have… the thing?”

“The thing?” Bucky echoed.

“The thing for… that work thing?”

“Ah,” Bucky said, “the… report?”

“Yes,” you said stiffly. “That report.”

Sam’s mouth dropped open. They were talking code. He scrambled to write it down. THE REPORT = PROBABLY CODE FOR SECRET RELATIONSHIP.

Sam was vibrating.

“They’re debriefing,” he whispered. “This is it. This is the heart of the operation.”

Then he shifted too hard and knocked over a box of granola bars.

The pantry door creaked.

The drone wobbled and dropped like a bug with stage fright.

You stood calmly and opened the door.

There was Sam Wilson. Looking like a kid caught stealing cookies—except the cookies were a pile of tech gadgets, caffeine charts, and about four different colored highlighters.

You blinked. “You okay in there?”

He looked down at his tablet. “I was… conducting surveillance.”

“For breakfast?”

“DON’T PLAY DUMB,” Sam snapped, pointing dramatically.

Bucky offered a hand to help him up. “Are you good, man?”

Sam slapped it away. “I’m fine. I’m always fine. I just got ambushed by—by deception and romantic subterfuge.” He gestured wildly.

“Coincidence,” Bucky said, way too smoothly.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “You will slip up one day. You think I didn’t notice how you both hum ‘Ain’t No Mountain High Enough’ while making toast?”

“That was once,” you said defensively.

“ON THREE DIFFERENT OCCASIONS.”

“Okay, twice.”

“Also,” Sam added, “you share coffee stirrers.”

Bucky blinked. “We don’t even use stirrers.”

“You do!” Sam yelled, unhinged. “YOU DO. I HAVE SCREENSHOTS.”

There was a beat of silence.

You turned to Bucky. “We should be concerned, right?”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “Very.”

Sam’s drone bumped into the wall and fell with a soft whirr.

“…Friday,” Sam said, defeated, “run the footage back. Look for emotional cues.”

Then Friday chimed in: “Sir, your footage today is 97% couch silence and 3% you chewing a granola bar while whispering ‘enhance’ at a static screen.”

Sam’s eye twitched.

“I’ve failed,” he said.

You walked over and gently patted his shoulder. “You tried.”

“I hate both of you.”

“You love us,” Bucky said, smiling softly.

Sam pointed at him. “I will find the truth. Someday. I’ll be ready.”

“Sure you will,” you said sweetly.

Sam stormed out. Then stormed back in. Grabbed his granola bar. Then stormed out again.  He grumbled under his breath “This isn’t over. I’ll crack the case eventually.”

FRIDAY chimed softly from above. “Sir, your blood pressure is once again elevated.”

Sam glared at the ceiling. “FRIDAY, remind me to install lie detectors in every room.”

“Noted.”

Once Sam had disappeared, you leaned into Bucky’s side, chuckling softly.

“That was beautiful,” you said, still snickering. “I almost feel bad for him.”

Bucky grinned, kissing the top of your head. “Nah. He’s probably already planning his next move. But at least we know one thing for sure.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”

He kissed your forehead again, eyes twinkling with mischief. “We’re definitely not getting caught.”

And as long as Sam kept chasing wild theories, you knew the two of you had the perfect cover.

For now.

From the hallway, Sam peeked back in, only to see you both on opposite ends of the couch again, scrolling your phones.

He narrowed his eyes.

“…One day,” he muttered. “One. Day.”

Later that morning you sat on the blanket Bucky laid out—curled up in one of his hoodies that was at least two sizes too big, sleeves draping over your hands like paws, the collar loose enough that it slipped off your shoulder every time you shifted.

The rooftop garden was quiet except for the lazy hum of bees somewhere off near the lavender.

Above, cottony clouds drifted across a soft blue sky like they were in no rush to be anywhere else.

Bucky sat beside you, legs stretched out, peeling an orange with the slow, careful ease of someone with nowhere else to be. He offered you the first slice with a crooked little smile—the kind he only ever gave you. The kind that made your heart skip like a stone across still water.

You took the orange slice, your fingers brushing his. His fingers lingered.

Another slice. For you.

One for him.

One he tucked into the front pocket of your hoodie with exaggerated seriousness, like it was official mission protocol.

“For later,” he said, his voice low, amused.

You chuckled, letting your head fall lightly against his shoulder. His hoodie smelled like him—cedar, warmth, a little like whatever laundry detergent he pretended not to care about but always remembered to buy.

He leaned into your weight, resting his cheek against your hair, and for a few minutes, the two of you simply were—content, warm, quiet.

“This is nice,” you murmured.

Bucky hummed. “Even if Sam installs spy pigeons next?”

“He already tried. They were drones.”

He tilted his head just enough to give you a look. “You’re kidding.”

“Swear. I caught one trying to blend in with the doves last week.”

“…Did it coo?”

“Worse. It beeped.”

You both burst out laughing, your voice muffled against his arm. Bucky’s chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, and you could feel it under your cheek like a heartbeat made of joy.

“You know he’s never going to stop,” you said, lifting your gaze slightly to meet his eyes.

“I hope he never does,” Bucky said, soft and sure. “Gives us an excuse to keep playing these little games.”

You smiled, fingertips absently tugging at the cuff of his sleeve.

“I like our games.”

“I like you.”

He said it like a secret. Like something holy. Like the sun had come out just to eavesdrop on the moment.

Then he tilted his head and kissed you, slow and soft, a kiss that tasted like orange and quiet and safety. The kind of kiss that wasn’t asking for anything, just giving everything.

You smiled against his lips. He kissed that smile, too.

Then, a soft whirrrr in the distance.

You both looked up.

A drone hovered nearby, clearly struggling against the wind.

Bucky leaned close, whispered in your ear, “Five bucks says he crashes it into the tomatoes again.”

You grinned. “You’re on.”

Moments later, the drone dipped, wobbled—

Thunk.

Right into the tomato trellis.

Bucky held out his hand. “Pay up.”

You laughed and kissed his lips.

 “Acceptable payment,” he said solemnly.

Meanwhile in somewhere in the compound Sam was scribbling in his notebook again.

CASE #111: They ARE Dating.

Surveillance Compromised Drone Casualties: 1 (Tomato-related incident) Emotional Evidence: Off the charts Investigator Notes: “They’re definitely dating. I feel it in my spleen. But also… maybe they deserve to be happy. Maybe… I’m the problem.” Status: Unofficially Admitted, Still Officially Denied

And then, in desperate, scrawled print:

“WHY IS IT SO HARD TO CATCH PEOPLE BEING IN LOVE?!”

Underlined three times.

“They’re too innocent. It’s a setup. It’s reverse psychology. They want me to think they’re not dating so I give up—BUT I WON’T.” he muttered

Then, he paused.

Stared into the middle distance.

“…Wait. What if I’m the one being surveilled?”

Friday, ever patient, replied from the speakers: “Sir, please go outside.”

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier

[llamaisllama777]

EAPS THEORY: Solar Flare and F.C. will kill Rusty/Ruin's Monty

Allow me to explain why I think this...

After today's episode of EAPS, it's clear that Rusty is a point of contention for everyone and with the reveal that the reason Charlie turned Eclipse into a baby was cause Ruin, (I assumed) asked her to turn Eclipse into a baby to buy himself more time to find a way to save Rusty practically dooming everyone else just to save one guy.

Look, I get that Ruin wants to save Rusty, I want him to save him too, but if they can't, they HAVE to put him down. They have to get rid of the virus. Eclipse's plan will work, but Ruin won't let them use it cause Rusty will die.

They maybe have two months before the virus completely takes over, maybe one in Eclipse's case, but everyone's lives are at stake!

And Ruin...

Doesn't care! Or he cares but is too blinded by love to think of the consequences.

So, we have

-A virus that will drive them all insane in two months

-Ruin sabotaging Eclipse practically dooming everyone

-Ruin's cure not working

-And Eclipse is so close to crashing out it's scary.

So, what are they to do?

Simple...

Kill Rusty.

If they get rid of Rusty, they can use Eclipse's cure without hurting Rusty cause he'll already be dead 😃

Solar Flare has already taken on Rusty and maybe would have won if not for Ruin getting in his way.

F.C. is hunting down Rusty.

The two should team up to take down Rusty behind Ruin and Eclipse's back. The team is torn and cannibalizing themselves cause of Rusty's presence.

(Heck, that's probably what Afton wants)

And Solar Flare is the most logical person on the team. He sees Rusty as a variable, and he's a variable that needs to be removed.

Solar Flare knows how to fight.

F.C. probably does too.

Rusty is old and... rusty, he can't take them both.

Solar Flare and F.C. will kill Rusty to remove the variable so Eclipse can use his cure, and they'll all be saved.

Yes, it will hurt Ruin.

Yes, it's not a perfect solution.

But it's the only solution.

I can see Ruin yelling at Solar Flare saying, "Why?! Why did you do that?!"

And Solar Flare responding, "Your love for your Monty blinded you. You had Charlie turn Eclipse into a baby to buy time for your cure. We need one now. We couldn't have waited. Your love for your Monty would have doomed us."

Ruin, pushing past Solar Flare, "At least I know how to love! Unlike you... infernal machine."

Cue sadness.

No matter the outcome...

No one is gonna be happy here.

But hey, that's just a theory...

A EAPS THEORY!

Thanks for reading!

[necrokittens-fun-pit]

Saw someone unironically say that the Devil May Cry series is a very serious game series and that Dante is the end all/be all for male protagonists being badass with no nonsense. I'm 110% sure they've never played a single one and are going off of...images? I don't even know. That's like saying @thedeskofaltoclef is always serious and isn't (also like Dante) a moonwalking, overpowered jackass.

Thanks for coming to my TED talk.

before anyone says that's just a video, that isn't in the gameee waaa - please look up any DMC cutscene and tell me the series isn't silly billy.

[tenderheartedbrat]

men breathing heavy!! men moaning!!! men whimpering!!!!

[mintfullyyours]

Thinking about patching up ex-husband Simon Riley. He comes in with the cloak of darkness not close to sunrise, a witching hour of sorts. Three slow deliberate knocks on the other side of your door. No more and no less. Staring at the mahogany frame, you could ignore him. It would be for the best.

But ghosts tend to haunt all night.

So you'll let him in.

You always do.

Bloodied knuckles with a nasty gash on his upper eyebrow. He'll hoist you onto the bathroom countertop with your legs spread as he steps between them. Firm hands grip your waist, grounding you in your stupid decision to let your ex back into your life. Again. He doesn't flinch as you swipe the alcohol soaked towel over his eyebrow wound. Determined eyes search your face in hopes you'll crack under his gaze.

"Ask me what happened." He whispers.

"No." you dab the towel more firmly on his eyebrow as it soaks the raging red liquid.

Simon grabs your wrist and leans down, his lips pressing into the shell of your ear. "Really?" Your heart pounds in your chest, as your body betrays you for your ex -- feeling a heat set every fiber of you ablaze. His teeth grazing your skin as he noses his way down the column of your neck and breathes in your unyielding scent. He knew the effect he still had on you and you hated yourself for it.

"Birdie really doesn't wanna know what I did to that bloke you went out with last week?"

part 2 here!!!

[just-some-thoughts-maybe]

Pictures

How the 141 boys got their favorite picture of you + where they keep it when they’re away on missions.

Wc: 1.9k

Simon “Ghost” Riley-

You had been taking pictures all day on your date. Blown through at least 100 pieces of film. After all, the zoo was quite the place.

Decidedly, your favorite place had been the reptile house. You stayed in there longer than any other exhibit. While you were watching the reptiles, Simon was watching you. The way your face lit up when you found a hidden snake or learned a new fact about them. The way you’d laugh at all the stupid jokes the staff put up around the exhibits. He stared at you like he was trying to memorize every detail of the day.

Before you left, he bought you a snake plushie. It was long enough to wrap around you, very soft, and a little weighted.

When you got back home, Simon decided to stay for a bit. He sat in your computer chair and talked to you. You sat on your bed, your head hanging off the side, just flipping through the pictures you had taken, admiring your trophies. The snake plush lay behind your neck and off your shoulders.

After thinking back on the day and how much he wanted to remember it, Simon had gotten an idea. “Gimme tha’ camera”

You sat up, moving so aggressively the plush almost fell off your shoulders. You put it back. “Why? What's wrong?” You handed him the camera off the bed. He took it and looked at it, trying to figure out how it worked. Once he was confident he knew, he turned it on you.

“Go on, lovie.” you look at him “What do you want me to do, Si?” you sit criss-cross on your bed

“Pose for me” he mutters. You tilt your head, scrunch up your nose a bit and giggle. It's the most beautiful sound he's ever heard, no matter how many times he's heard it.

Flash.

You raise your eyebrows as he takes the picture and begins shaking it. After a moment he looks at it, pausing before… “That’s the one.”

“That's the picture?” You raise your eyebrows, “I didn't even get to pose” you whine. You try to take the picture from him, but he won't let you get it. He holds it above your head and shakes it more, hoping to make it finish developing faster. When it does he looks at it.

“Nah, ‘m gonna keep it. ’S wha’ I want to remember.” after he chuckles, and it’s deep and rumbly.

Simon keeps the picture in the right side of his vest, always keeping you close to his heart. It’s the first thing he looks at when he wakes up, and the last he looks at before he goes to sleep.

Captain John Price-

John was always excited to come home to his wife after a particularly taxing mission. You were in bed, cuddling and talking about whatever was on your minds when you both heard a crash. John was instantly on edge, ready to investigate.

He signals for you to stay in bed and be quiet while he looks.

When he gets back, he’s less stressed and more sad. “ ‘m sorry…” he holds up your broken Polaroid, the same one he'd gotten you for your birthday a year ago.

“No…” you whine, more than a little upset. You look from the device to him. “I'm sorry John.”

He sighs deeply and looks back at you, putting the camera on the desk before crawling back into bed, and pulling you against him. “I have the day off tomorrow…maybe we could get another one?”

In the morning, you guys go shopping at the mall. The first place you go is the shop John had gotten your camera from last year. After getting it, you immediately open it and load it with film.

The camera and film were the only things you had gotten before going home.

“This is exactly like my last one,” you say, sitting on the couch, playing with the camera. John sits next to you settling into the comfort of your presence. “Yeah? Is that alright?” you pull the camera away from your face, looking at him. “More than alright. It's perfect.” you say before backing up a little bit before snapping a picture.

“Wh-what was that for, darling?” he asks, still blinking from the flash

“Just to have…” you say, shaking the picture. You put the camera on the couch between the two of you before looking at the picture. While you were distracted he picked up the camera and turned it around on you.

“Hey-” he calls out, trying to get your attention

You look at him.

Flash.

You blink away the spots in your vision before finally seeing him again.

“And what was that for?” you ask. There's no accusatory tone, only curiosity.

“Just something to have…for when I'm away from home.” He looks at the picture before handing it. “If you don't like it I can take another, but….” you take the picture and look at it. It wasn't that bad. You hand him the photo back. “If it's the one you want, who am I to deny you?”

You pause and smirk a little “Maybe I'll let you take another to keep you better company on…lonelier nights.”

“Tha’ right?” he asks, already dragging you to the bedroom.

He keeps it on the inside of his hat. When he first got the picture soap annoyed him for looking at it so often.

Johnny “Soap” Mactavish-

You first came to the base to help the 141 with paperwork and clerical tasks, soon you became a very valuable member of the team, and a friend to most on it. Johnny especially had taken great strides in ensuring you felt as welcome as possible. This would include sitting with you in the cafeteria, sitting in your office during the long nights, or just talking when you needed a distraction.

Soon, daily walks became a habit. He would meet you at your office on your lunch break, and the two of you would just walk and talk. It was during one of these walks that you got the text Price needed you to look over something in his office. Johnny decided to walk with you there.

The two of you made haste, but you stopped before a seemingly impossible choice, either you take the elevator, or the stairs.

“You want to risk the elevator today?” You look at him, truly leaving the decision up to him. You were in heels that made going upstairs hurt, but the elevator was super sketchy with a tendency to break down…it also had some really weird stains.

He thinks for a moment. “Aye, let’s dae that” you hesitate, glancing between him and the rickety elevator. He tilts his head a little “Should be fine, eh?”

“Apparently they just fixed it…so maybe?” you look at him, then to the stairs. “I’m following you, Johnny.” you say to the Scott. He nods at you, a smile flashing across his face.

He gets on with far too much confidence, almost a scary amount. You follow him, being sure to avoid those stains that definitely look like blood, but Johnny swears aren't.

When you get in and the doors shut, Johnny, ever the prankster, decides to mess with you. He looks you in the eye. “Hey, lass.” You look at him. He has a mischievous smile. ”Johnny, I don’t know what you’re planning, but no.”

“Don’ worry, Bonnie, we’re fine.” He smirks

Famous last words.

He jumps in the elevator, as soon as it starts moving. If it were anyone else, it probably would’ve been fine, but his 200 pounds of muscle might have been a little too much for the poor elevator.

There’s a loud SNAP and the elevator jerks up. You stumble, but Johnny catches you.

I pull back quickly when you realize how you’re looking up at Johnny right now.

You make a terrifying realization. The elevator is not moving anymore...

You two were stuck on the elevator for 4 hours. Of course, it was during this incredibly opportune time that he decided to ask you out.

When Price texted Johnny, asking if he had seen you, Johnny took a selfie with you and sent it to him explaining that the two of you were stuck in the elevator.

Three months later, you're his girlfriend. And that selfie? It’s a keychain that’s attached to Johnny’s belt loop. Easier to look at his Bonnie lass that way.

And the elevator? It’s been closed since.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

This dinner had been planned months in advance. It was one of the nicest restaurants in London and he would sooner cut off his hand than forfeit the reservation.

It was your anniversary, and he would be deployed…or so you thought. Turns out, the mission ended early, at least that's what he would later tell you, and he was already on his way home to you.

You were sitting on the couch, watching TV when there was a jingle of keys at the front door. You were immediately on alert, no one has keys to this place other than you and Kyle, and Kyle was supposed to be gone…right?

You watch as the door opens, the fear immediately dissipating when you see that familiar hat accompanied by the smile that made you swoon. Instead, your fear is replaced with an overwhelming joy. As fast as he gets the door open youre barreling towards him. He catches you into a crushing hug, laughing into your hair and giving you kisses on the crown of your head, muttering about how he missed you too.

He checks the time, cursing under his breath. “You need to get ready, love.”

You look at him for a few seconds before you remember what the day is.

“Kyle, you’re probably tired…I don't want to-” Kyle cuts you off.

“I slept on the plane. We're going.” he says with an air of finality.

You try to argue more, but he's ignoring you and shoving you towards the shower.

When you finally get to the restaurant, you realize how much planning Kyle had put into this. He has specifically reserved the table you had ranted about to him on one of your first dates. He also made sure they had your favorite wine, which was put down as soon as you sat at the table.

When you look at him, it's nothing but stars in your eyes, and that to him makes everything worth it. Everything he had to do to get home, to get to you. (even if that does mean he owes Soap a favor now.)

As the night continues, you notice his usually calm demeanor change to one a little more on edge. You've never seen him this nervous, not since he first asked you out anyways.

Finally, after a couple of hours, the desert gets brought out.

Written on the plate, in curly, chocolate writing was a single question that would forever change your life.

Will you marry me?

You look at Kyle, he's holding a ring box, looking especially scared, his eyes only daring to meet yours when you place your hand on his.

When you nod with tears in your eyes he stands up, hoists you to your feet, and brings you in for a kiss.

Little did you know, right then, there was a picture taken by the restaurant staff. The picture would quickly become his favorite. He printed it before his next deployment to keep with him.

He keeps it right under the Union Jack velcroed onto his vest to remind him of what he's fighting to return to.

(Just a little Drabble while I work on my larger projects- got some bangers coming out in February if I do say so myself- Hope you enjoy!)

[visionsofmagic]

day 2: ryomen sukuna [breeding kink]

࿓ synopsis • sukuna just wants a womb to put his babies in but it changes when he fucks you.

―❦ nsfw, explicit language, f!reader, heian era!sukuna who has fours arms, concubine!reader, contains of a bit dark themes, licking, marks, pet names, humiliation, sukuna is being sukuna, a bit of fluff, sex addiction, fingering, cum, overstimulation [‘is all I guess?] • 1.8k • the first time I am writing for my favorite villain from jjk. Excited but there can be mistakes. enjoy! [kinktober m.]

“fuck brat!” a dark chuckling, mocking you as his crimson four eyes look at below - at the mess you are making because of his thick cocks inside your walls, deep enough to make it ache like hell yet magnificent enough to give you the pleasure no one can. “look at how my seed is coming out of your pathetic pussy.” 

he doesn’t wait for you to respond- to even comprehend what he’s saying, holding your smaller face by the chin as his palm stays on your cheek. 

he lowers your head down, making you look at his cocks disappearing inside your pussy, and a bit of his hot semen dripping from it to his abdomen. 

“it’s-“ you try to say, sounding husky since you have only moaned, and screamed in the last few hours. closing your eyes, a jolt of electricity mixed with pain and pleasure runs through your body, even in veins, when he moves his hips, thrusting into you one more time before making you sit on his cocks once again - oh, his two damn big cocks should’ve ripped you apart if he wasn’t this gentle, surprisingly calm and gentle because he wants you to stay alive - you will have his legacy inside your womb after all, the reason why he fucks you for the past few hours.

“is it too much?” mocking again, his tongue on the abdomen takes a lick from your abdomen, traveling to your breasts from there, sending another mix of tears and moans.

“suku – aghh!“ a slap on the ass, “my king! oh, it’s - it’s too much! I can’t - I can’t -!” 

he only laughs at your poor attempts, “you can’t?” he asks, not a question though, only a treat as he sounds like pure poison. one of his hands holds you from your neck harshly enough to make you shake in fear for a moment while the other free one caress your hair - the opposite actions of his two arms gives you a dizzying sensation that takes your logical side from you, giving you pure insanity in return.

“be grateful that I fuck you whore,” his other two hands hold your waist as he makes you move forward and backward, riding you slowly. you only hear your own breaths as if there is nothing left inside your lungs, eyes already blurred that look at his bastard but attractive face, hands standing beside you because you have no brain to use them, not anymore, not after he fucked you in 5 different positions already. “there are thousands of women and men who beg for my cocks, you know that, right brat?” 

his hands move from your waist to your ass, grasping the flesh tightly – too tightly to leave red marks as you believe after feeling a sudden heat rushing to the skin he is holding, however, he doesn’t care at all – why he should anyway? you’re just one of his concubines – maybe his favorite one for the moment, and him showing you mercy and a bit of affection – unlike he does for others – doesn’t mean anything; you’re just there to take his hot semen every now and then, whenever he wants to fuck that pussy and brain of yours so that you can have his legacy inside you, heir to him – lots of heirs.

“puff –“ he says, scoffing after that, picking you up – a pathetic and cuckdumbed woman in his arms, he thinks, gazing at your half-closed eyes, agape mouth – salvia running out of it, “disgusting,” he says in a low tone but contrary to his words, his actions are proof that he likes what he sees because he keeps going and going until his eyes travel from that open mouth of yours he wants to put one of his cocks in, to your breasts full of biting marks that turned to red, moving to your pussy from there.

his cocks’ tips standing beneath your pussy that is pouring his semen ‘cause it is too fucking much.

shaking his head in arrogance, he puts your body on his lap with a bridal style, left hands staying on your back while a free one stays on your pussy, caressing it and he watches how your body begins to shake again, a hand is put on his chest, holding his wide open sleeve’s side tightly as if you have right to do that, and even your head fall into his shoulder, breathing rapidly yet lowly as he holds your body close to him.

why he does that – why he allows you to do that; remains unanswered.

he doesn’t think much, not now, he has a desire to put that damn semen into your wide-open pussy.

holding your thighs apart, his fingers – two long and thick fingers enter into your messy slit, white wetness joins into hot walls one by one, and it continues until sukuna is satisfied with it. “do not fucking dare to move now, woman.” he treats you. he sounds he is one step away from breaking your neck if you do move. you should fear him, you know, oppositely, you do otherwise, giving astonishing state to sukuna, making him freeze for a moment when he feels you getting closer to him, a hand travels on his neck, and a head sits on his shoulder, you even open your legs wider.

you don’t say anything, the mouth is too dry to speak aloud; he gets it though – and that gives satisfaction to him, and his responses end with a new position.

being the definition of menace for desires live within him, and you witness it when he puts you on the carpet, hovering below you as he cages you between his four arms, then, one of them appears on your abdomen, pushing it into the floor – gently yet it feels terrifying.

you look into his crimson eyes, hoping to see sanity inside them – what a fool you’re to try searching.

no, no – you think to yourself, conscious coming back even though you're high – he will not fuck you as a concubine now, he will fuck you as if you’re his queen, you’re so sure of it and the words slipping out of his smirking mouth prove you right.

“I will fuck so many babies inside this womb that you won’t be able to even walk, pretty slut,” a compliment, huh, sounds different than you thought, still, gives a jolt of happiness throughout your entire body that lying beneath his massive body, ready to take him one more – or maybe even more – time.  “I will make a fucking queen out of you with my children. don’t you worry whore,”

the only thing you can remember is seeing his big smile – entertaining before the only thing you can comprehend is his presence below you, behind you, under you – hands conquers every part of your body because you’re his – the one who will give him heir, stay beside him, being a fucking queen of kings of curses. “you’re entirely mine now. mine to have – fuccck! – mine to fuck! and mine to breed.”

❦ tagging: @lilvampirina !

[gleafer]

THERE’S NO “I” IN EFFORT

Part 5: THE END (or is it?)

Go to Reddit/r/Goodomensafterdark search smut war art for BONUS ENDING

Also, epilogue and outtakes will be dropping soon on my Patreon, so if you want to join us, now is a great time to jump on in!

Hope you enjoyed the ride!😘❤️

[elizzsush]

Deadpool coded reader:

Reader: dramatically and sadly, “Day 925, the bats show no sign of releasing me- a totally normal and amazing citizen from this prison.”

Reader; “he has left the second scariest Robin to guard me, Jason.”

Red hood: a little offended; “Second?”

Reader: shuttering looking like she’s reliving something, “Damien is like a angry dog, he bites.”

Reader: “also is this lega- and he walked away. Hey! I want to speak to a lawyer!!”

Reader: now yelling “I have rights!!! I think- do you have rights in Gotham?”

_______________

Batman: finally shows up.

Reader: “hey It’s You! You know if I head a penny for a rich completely normal guy who is the center of a multi million  franchise of hero’s- while also being a hero himself through the means of money… well Id have two pennies!”

Dick: “what…?”

[ilovolderman]

im so glad to hear that!! i really appreciate it!

Dinner Interrogation

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Sam hosts a dinner to uncover the truth about you and Bucky’s relationship.

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, lasagna, lie detector abuse

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What". it doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

Sam Wilson was finished pretending.

Tonight, he was pulling out all the stops: Dinner. But not just dinner. A full-on sting operation with lasagna and lightly weaponized appetizers.

This wasn’t just a meal. This was war. Operation: Love Actually (But They're Lying).

"Casual, not suspicious" was the theme. He wore a turtleneck for authority. And the guest list? Handpicked for psychological pressure:

You (suspect #1)

Bucky  (suspect #2)

Sam (the host, investigator, and emotional wreck)

Natasha (because she lives for drama)

Tony Stark (for tech backup and snark)

Steve Rogers (for “dad energy” and moral guilt leverage)

And Peter Parker, who thought he was just invited for lasagna and board games.

The living room was dimly lit. The table was set. The lasagna was pre-ordered. And in the center of it all, hidden beneath an innocuous decorative centerpiece? A portable StarkTech lie detection device.

Sam checked it one more time. Still green. Still calibrated. Still ready to catch romantic criminals.

You arrived first. Oversized hoodie. Sleepy smile. Suspiciously content.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "That hoodie is two inches too long in the sleeves. EXHIBIT J."

Bucky arrived a few minutes later. Entered through the kitchen like this was a sitcom. Casual. Too casual.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Staggered entry,” he whispered to himself. “Classic deflection tactic.”

Steve gave Sam a look. “This is a friendly dinner, right?”

Sam didn't blink. “Oh, it’s friendly… to the truth.”

Dinner began.

You sat across from each other. Just far enough to look innocent. Close enough to smile at each other when no one was looking. Too choreographed. Too coordinated.

The lasagna was passed around like a peace offering. Peter asked three times if it had walnuts. (It didn’t. He still didn’t trust it.)

Then Sam stood.

“Game time,” he said with a smile that had war crimes energy. “We’re doing a little truth circle. Like spin-the-bottle but without the bottle. Or the fun. Or the spinning.”

Tony groaned. “Oh great, here comes summer camp counselor Sam.”

Steve frowned. “Is this really necessary?”

Natasha was already pouring herself wine. “Shhh. This is better than HBO.”

Beneath the table, the lie detector pulsed.

Sam began.

“Alright. Easy question. Bucky—ever been in love?”

Bucky gave a slow shrug. “Once or twice.”

Green.

 “Recently?” Sam pressed.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Define recently.”

“Within the last six months.”

Bucky just smirked. “Hard to say. Time’s a social construct.”

Still green.

Peter blinked. “This feels intense for lasagna night.”

Tony sipped his drink. “You have no idea.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Right. Fine. You,” he pointed at you. “Same question.”

You looked positively angelic. “What, if I’ve been in love?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely.”

Green.

“Recently?”

You tilted your head. “In a cosmic sense?”

“IN THE LAST SIX MONTHS.”

You smiled. “Possibly.”

Green.

“Can i go next?” Peter asked

Sam ignored him. “Okay. Next question. Ever kissed someone who lives in this building?”

You and Bucky shared a brief glance.

Then, in perfect sync: “No comment.”

Green.

Sam nearly flipped the table. “WHY IS ‘NO COMMENT’ STILL GREEN?!”

Natasha actually laughed into her wine glass. “It’s calibrated to detect lies,” she said, sipping wine. “Not cheeky evasion.”

“Then they are hiding something!” Sam barked, pointing at you “That proves it!”

Bucky leaned back, arms crossed. “Proves we’re smart. Not guilty.”

You bit your lip to hide a smile.

Sam rounded the table. He pointed to your hoodie. “That is HIS hoodie.”

You raised your brows. “Is it?”

Bucky shrugged. “All hoodies look the same.”

Natasha muttered, “Lies. That’s his ‘Wednesday hoodie.’ I’ve seen him fold it.”

Sam snapped his fingers. “HA! COLLATERAL CONFIRMATION.”

You smiled serenely. “Or maybe we just do laundry on the same day.”

Peter whispered to Steve, “This is better than that time Vision tried to cook.”

Sam glared. “Alright. Final question. And I want both of you to answer. Clearly. Slowly. With eye contact.”

He paused for effect.

“Are. You. Dating.”

You both paused.

Then turned to each other.

Then to Sam.

And in the exact same deadpan voice: “No.”

Green.

Sam stared at the device. Then at you. Then at the ceiling. Then back at the device.

“I’ve been betrayed by science.”

Bucky leaned forward. “You okay, man?”

“No!” Sam snapped. “I’m living in a romantic Truman Show and none of you are helping!”

Tony patted his back. “Want some wine?”

“I want answers!”

From under the table, the lie detector shorted out with a sad little pop. Probably from emotional overload.

Peter leaned over to Natasha. “Do you think I could fake-date someone for this kind of dramatic energy?”

Natasha didn’t even look up. “You’d crack in three hours.”

You stood and stretched. “Well, this was enlightening. Thanks for dinner, Sam.”

Sam stood, pointing dramatically. “This isn’t over! You hear me? You can lie to the machine. But you can’t lie to me forever!”

Bucky stood too. “Wanna bet?”

You both started walking toward the door.

Sam pointed wildly. “They’re leaving at the same time!”

Peter: “So?”

Sam: “They didn’t come together!”

Natasha: “Neither did your sanity.”

The door closed behind you.

Sam collapsed into his chair.

Five steps out the door. You both broke. Laughter exploded between you like a popped balloon.

Bucky slung his arm over your shoulders as you leaned into him, giggling helplessly.

“That—” you wheezed, “—was actually cruel.”

He grinned, crooked and smug. “He’s going to short-circuit in his sleep.”

You gave him a sideways look. “The lie detector literally did.”

“Friday probably auto-filed it under 'emotional casualties.’”

You both collapsed into laughter again, and after a moment, he held out his hand with that familiar spark in his eyes.

“C’mon. Lets go to our spot.”

He led you up onto the building’s roof. The door creaked open and the city met you with open arms — the soft hum of traffic below, the wind gentle in your hair, and a sky stretched out like a quiet secret. The rooftop was empty, peaceful. The kind of place that felt like it belonged to you and no one else.

Bucky pulled off his hoodie and draped it over your shoulders without a word. You didn’t even protest, just slid your arms into the sleeves and hugged it close.

It smelled like him. Warm. Safe. You sat down against the low wall at the edge, legs stretched in front of you, and he sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders like it had every right to be there.

Silence settled between you again.  but the good kind. The kind that felt earned. Easy.

“I’m perfect,” you said after a while, answering the question he hadn’t yet asked.

Bucky turned his head toward you, a little surprised.

“I just… I don’t love pretending around them,” you admitted, looking out at the skyline. “I mean, I know we’re not lying. Not really. But… it kind of feels like we are. Like we’re sneaking out after curfew.”

He was quiet for a second. Then: “We don’t have to pretend forever.”

“I know.” You leaned your head on his shoulder. “But it’s also kind of fun.”

 “Very fun,” he agreed. “Especially when you get that smug look.”

You blinked up at him. “What smug look?”

He grinned. “That one. The one that says ‘we made out in the stairwell and Sam has no idea.’”

You groaned, laughing into his shoulder. “We are going to be the reason he needs therapy.”

“Worth it.”

Bucky leaned down and kissed your forehead. Then your nose. Then finally your lips—soft and lingering, like you had all the time in the world. His hand cupped your cheek as your fingers tangled in the hem of his shirt. When he pulled back, you stayed close.

“Think they’ll ever figure it out?” you whispered.

He looked at you like you were his whole world. “I kind of hope not.”

You laughed softly and leaned against him, your hand finding his, your fingers slipping into the spaces like they belonged there. Above you, stars peeked through the clouds, and below, the city buzzed on like it didn’t know your little secret.

From far below, through a cracked window, Sam’s voice echoed faintly into the night:

“FRIDAY, CROSS-REFERENCE EVERY PHOTO OF THEM FROM THE PAST YEAR. I WANT BLINK RATES. I WANT STANCE ANALYSIS. I WANT SHADOWS CHECKED FOR HAND-HOLDING.”

You leaned your head against Bucky’s shoulder.

“Yeah,” you murmured. “We’re safe.”

Back inside, Sam stood triumphantly at the whiteboard he had forcibly dragged into the living room, the wheels squeaking on the hardwood floor as if the entire house was questioning his sanity.

Natasha leaned lazily against the wall, wine glass in hand, her expression somewhere between bemused and concerned.

Peter and Steve were seated at the dining table, playing Scrabble — although Peter had already exhausted every single letter in his limited vocabulary to spell out variations of “Stucky.” (He was still trying to get “Stucky” onto the board despite Steve pretended not to know what it meant.)

Meanwhile, Tony, as usual, was on the couch, projecting photos into the air with what could only be described as a mix of disappointment and genuine curiosity. He flipped through a series of images with the skill of someone who had spent years perfecting the art of snooping.

"Okay," Tony said, clicking through the photos on his holographic display like a man on a mission. "Three feet apart in May. 1.7 feet apart in July. September? Clearly sharing one churro. No context. But I’m sure that was more than a snack.”

Sam scowled at the screen, scribbling furiously on the whiteboard like he was composing the next great espionage novel. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, pulling down a string of yarn across various photos of you and Bucky, as if it was going to somehow solve the mystery. "I need a new plan. A better plan.”

Tony glanced over at him, the kind of look only someone who knew Sam for way too long could pull off. “What’s your next move? Secretly record their Netflix history and analyze their most-watched shows for clues?”

Sam paused for a moment, considering it. Then he snapped his fingers. “...Actually, that could work.”

Natasha slowly lowered her glass, an expression of disbelief dawning on her face. “Sam. You’re kidding, right?”

Sam stood back, “Get ready,” he said ominously. “This will work. I will finally know the truth.”

Natasha looked at the others with a half-smile, then back at Sam. “You’ve officially lost it.”

Tony nodded sagely, popping a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “I feel like we should all start taking bets on whether Sam will completely implode by the end of this.”

Sam, grinning maniacally, “Let’s just see who cracks first.”

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd@poodleofstardust @poodleofstardust @homeless-clown @kitasownworld @loversrocktvgirl2 @herejustforbuckybarnes @stormy-stardust @fallen-w1ngs @winchestert101 @f4d3d-st4rs @ultravioletter @xamapolax @theendofthematerialgworl @doilooklikeagiveafrack @fablehaven-rulez @theproblemisthatimnotfictional @winter107soldier @softpia @shakysif @lucyysthings @unadulteratedpastazonkpeach @surebutwhy @tmb510 @kaiari @totallynotabuckybarnessimp @quinquinquincy @tellybearryyyy @roxyym

[icycoldninja]

How would dmc guys carry their partners? ❤️

Dante: Over-the-shoulder. He treats you like a sack of potatoes and thinks it's hilarious.

Vergil: Bridal style. He's authentic and romantic; gentle, yet supportive.

Nero: Piggy-back rides. You guys are basically the dream Disney Channel couple, except edgier and more violent than your average youngsters.

V: Physically cannot carry you. The most he can do is kinda drag you along with your arm over his shoulder like you hurt your ankle or something. Anything else is impossible.

[adestroy]

[palmolli]

Something is wrong with Sun. (Sky's Zelda)

Okay... so this is lowkey highkey far-fetched and a wee bit stupid... but I'm posting anyway because free will and uh... for fun.

These two pages are what sparked this dumb theory. You'd expect Sky and Sun to be exchanging letters regularly given their CLEAR attachment issues.

(Evidence of the attachment issues)

That's not "young love", Time. It is trauma. I doubt that was hyperbole given the crap Sky did to get Sun back home during the events of his game. The two are inseparable, basically two halves of one whole. Separate them if you dare.

OH WAAAIIT. They already are!!!

So why isn't Sun sending him letters? Now, there is a possibility she HAS been sending him mail. We just haven't seen it. Or, the postman just isn't visiting Sky's era since... he doesn't exist there, and he seems to only be giving out mail to the Links in the eras he exists in. And most Skyloftians just stuff a letter in their bird's beak and send em off with a pat on the back. They have no need for a mail man they have mail birds... but STILL...

Could there be an alternative, less factual, and reasonable explanation for her lack of letters?????

Uhhhh... honestly, this is more of a fanfic idea than a theory so.... why not.

THE SHADOW KIDNAPPED HER! YES! UH... PLOT DEVICE!!! CUZ SHES UH... HYLIA REBORN... AND STUFF... POWER SOURCE? REVENGE? PETTINESS? SIMPLY JUST TRYING TO BAIT SKY?!?!?!?!?

anyways... this is... so stupid... but... whatever. I've actually been really drained recently, so... no art... no writing... sorry. I needed to post like... SOMETHING. (yes, I posted that Hylia drawing, but I posted it a few days after drawing it) my creativity is gone, and all my writing drafts are so cheeks 💔 so.. eat up... I guess.... sigh MY HEAD HURTS

[cesiscribbles]

GO SPOILERS AHEAD (I mean... kinda spoilers?)

After all the set pics we saw over the last few days with David's and Michael's hair and overal appearance there were a lot of "Them turning human" theories going around.

I personally prefer both of them to stay Demon and Angel as they are but I also had an idea for a Human theory~

Some people are concerned about the "What happens when they die?" question because it would suggest that Azira and Crowley have to turn back to Heaven and Hell, so here is my theory:

What if, at the end of their adventure of the Finale, Azira and Crowley do something really big (big combined miracle maybe?) that turns every Angel and Demon in existence (including themselves) into humans? Changing the very core and structure of Heaven and Hell.

This way there would be no more your side - my side, black and white, good and evil. No more miracles.

Just humans.

This way they could make sure that there will be no more war between the two lots or apocalyptic plans that could endanger Earth and all the life on it.

It's like our universe and only God knows what will happen when we die, as the big mystery of life.

[mintfullyyours]

I don't know where this falls in the time line of ex-husband!simon but he's been brewing in my mind and I love him so much. You can read the first part here: patching up exhusband!simon and as always thank you for reading!!

& lmk what you guys think about ex-husband!simon.

thinking about the night of your first date out while "single." You sigh, putting the car in park and resting your forehead against the steering wheel. Jeff. That was his name, right? He wasn’t a bad guy—asked the right questions, paid for dinner, had a steady job that kept him local. A fine first date. Predictable. Safe.

Then why did it feel so… empty?

Rubbing your temples, you tell yourself this is for the best. Stability. Normalcy. That’s what you need. What you deserve, too. Maybe, in time, you’d even believe it. Sliding your key into the door, you frown. It doesn’t click. A chill slithers down your spine as you push it open, your stomach knotting at the sight of the dim light bleeding into the hallway from your bedroom.

You already know who’s inside.

Your breath hitches as you swing the door open, and there he is—Simon, sitting on the edge of your bed, his broad shoulders hunched slightly forward. The faint gleam of metal catches your eye. Your engagement ring. It rolls fluidly between his fingers, like a an awful habit he never broke.

His gaze lifts, pinning you in place.

"Took it off, did ya?" His voice is eerily calm, but there’s something coiled beneath it, something ready to snap. "Wonder if he knows you still wear my name."

Your stomach tightens. You take a good look at him—really look at him—and the past five months apart have not been kind. His beard is thicker, his jaw sharper, his frame even larger than you remember. Like he’s been drowning in something darker than loneliness.

"Simon, I’m not in the mood. You can't be in here, shouldn't be in here." Your voice is firm, though your chest heaves with the effort to keep it that way. "Just because you refuse to sign the papers doesn’t mean we’re still together."

A slow, humorless chuckle rumbles from his chest. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and lets the ring settle in his palm before closing his fingers around it.

"That’s where you’re wrong, love."

He stands, and in an instant, he’s in front of you, so close you can feel the heat radiating off his body. His scent—familiar, overwhelming—wraps around you like a pretty string tied in a bow.

His hand trails up your arm, slow, deliberate, until his fingers ghost over your pulse. His eyes drop to your lips, then flick back up, dark and unreadable. The silence was deafening. It was as if he knew the power he still had over you, or at least your body. Simon wedges his muscular thigh between your legs, and your hips buck ever so slightly.

You whimper and he smirks, knowing your body would never betray his.

"You think a piece of paper makes you any less mine?" His grip tightens, not enough to hurt—but enough to remind you just how easy it would be.

"Any less of a Riley?"

You swallow hard. He leans in, lips a breath away from your ear.

"Tell me, dove— and he honest, because you know I hate liars, did he make you feel anything at all?"

tag list

@ebodebo @meheheasasa @thegirlintheshadows101