#actually considering just drawing him in a collar from now on

[mellohiizz]

everytime i see your mapicc I jump for joy he's such a dog I love him so much all he needs is a collar YIPPEE

i personally think he needs both a collar and a muzzle, we all know he bites.

[redwing4life]

Home Cooked Meal

CHAPTER 4 | ASHES TO EMBERS

can be read as a stand alone :)

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbour!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Smut (finally) - dirty talk, pet names, oral f and m receiving, fingering, tit play, praise kink, hand kink?, ball play, hair pulling, unprotected PinV sex, aftercare, reader and bucky have dinner, swearing, fluff, let me know if i missed anything!

SUMMARY: You surprise Bucky with a home cooked meal after his shift, and it’s the best damn thing he’s had in years. The pasta was pretty good too.

WORD COUNT: 10550 (ngl i rechecked this three times cuz i didn’t think i wrote this much but turns out i did in fact write over 10k words im sorry lmao)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

Call me when you get home x

Your text still sits on Bucky’s lock screen, read but not opened, as he gets changed out of his work clothes.

It’s fair to say that the message intrigued him when he first read it half an hour ago, just before he left the firehouse. His legs sped up your building stairwell faster than normal, desperate to find out why you’re awaiting his call.

Knowing you would have said so if you were in immediate danger, Bucky sifts through the multitude of possibilities that await him on the other side of the ring tone; none of which ease the butterflies in his stomach.

He walks to his kitchen, phone in hand, to get a glass of orange juice. Pulling up your contact page, he presses ‘call’ and grabs the carton of juice from the fridge door.

You answer after just one ring, eager to hear his voice.

“Hey, Barnes!” God, Bucky loves your voice.

“Doll.” His voice is soft, tone rising at the end with curiosity. “You asked me to call, what’s up?”

The firefighter swoons at the adorable giggle you let out, the sound distant from the mic as though you’ve tried to hide it. “I was worried you didn’t see my text.” You admit.

Bucky pictures you biting your lip anxiously, an accurate prediction for your current state.

“What are you doing right now?”

Glancing down at the yet-to-be-filled glass in front of him, Bucky leans a hand against the kitchen island. “Just about to get a drink, what are-“

“Don’t!” You cut in. “Don’t get a drink, I need you to come over.”

“What, now? What’s wrong?”

“Nothings wrong, James. Just come knock, okay? I’ll see you in a minute!”

And with that, the call cuts off with a dull beep; Bucky brings the phone down from his ear and stares at it in confusion. You’re being weird, never having hung up on him like that before.

Alpine meows from above the fridge, drawing her owner’s attention away from the phone, only to tilt her head at him.

Even Alps is confused.

Deciding to just do what you told, Bucky slips his phone into the pocket of his dark jeans, returns the orange juice to the fridge and sets off for the front door. He finds himself checking over his appearance in the entry way mirror, eyes scanning over his outfit before he smooths out his hair.

Although he won’t admit it, Bucky’s spent a lot more time in front of that mirror lately; checking his collar isn’t twisted, his hair isn’t too messy and there’s nothing stuck in his teeth. The need to look good, to look good for you, hasn’t gone unnoticed by his colleagues.

He considers using the spare key you gave him and letting himself into your apartment but shakes the thought away.

She asked you to knock, Bucky. Not break in.

With one final nod in the mirror, Bucky leaves his apartment, stepping into the hallway he’s spent so many mornings and nights in with you.

Old jazz music greets his ears when he approaches your door, the soft melody sneaking through the cracks of the door frame. Bucky smiles to himself at the thought of you dancing in your kitchen, heart warming when he notices your humming.

Knocking thrice, the firefighter steps back and nervously stuffs his hands into his pockets. You always make him nervous, those darn butterflies stirring in his stomach whenever he’s about to see you. And when he does see you. Actually, they’re there even when he imagines seeing you.

He takes a breath when he hears you shuffling up to the door, but nothing could prepare him for the sight when it swings open.

Rusty red fabric flows from your neckline to the middle of your thighs, small flowers dotted over the slightly orange colour. Two thin straps perched on your shoulders leave plenty of skin on show as your usual sun-pendant necklace sits between the v-neck of your dress. Which, by the way, perfectly presents the soft swell of your breasts.

It takes everything Bucky has to not drool at his breathtaking neighbour, but it takes even more to not dive on you and finally taste those pink lips.

Your skin is ablaze beneath his eyes and you revel in his reaction, the exact response you wanted when you pulled on the dress two hours ago.

“We’re matching.” You grin, taking a moment to enjoy Bucky’s red henley.

“It’s almost like we planned it.” A chuckle escapes him, eyes trailing up from your thighs to meet yours.

“Speaking of plans,” You reach out to pull Bucky closer, tugging his forearms until he pulls his hands out of his pockets, “I have a surprise for you.”

Is it letting me look at you in that dress all evening? Your neighbour thinks - hopes - as you lead him into your apartment.

Closing the door behind him, you take his hand in yours once more to guide him to your little kitchen/diner area. If you weren’t looking ahead, you’d see Bucky’s cheeks flushed pink at your touch. Seeing your hand encompassed with his own will never fail to drive him crazy.

When he eventually looks up from your joined hands, he’s stunned to a halt. You turn back to him when you feel him plant his feet and your features twist into a nervous expression.

“I- Doll, what is all this?” The firefighters eyes are wide at your ‘surprise’.

Your small dining table is set up for two; cream place mats lay beneath charcoal gray pasta dishes with wine glasses sitting at their corners. There’s even a little vase with pink and yellow tulips in between the two spaces.

“Well, remember that time when you told me you haven’t had a proper home cooked meal in years?” You watch Bucky closely as you speak, waiting for some sign of approval.

“You mean this morning?” He turns to you in wonder, thinking back to your conversation as he gave you a lift to the cafe. “I don’t know what to say, doll.”

You roll back on your heels, hands scrunching your dress at your sides. “Is it okay? I know it’s a little cheesy and it’s last minute but I thought it would be a nice surprise for you after working all day. I mean, it’s not exactly at your home but it’s pretty cl-“

Bucky takes two long strides towards you and brings his hands to cup your cheeks; your words die on your tongue when he looks down at you with tender eyes.

“It’s perfect, Y/n.” He smiles, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone. “You could feed me Alpine’s food and i’d still bow at your feet, sweets.”

Now you’re the one blushing. You heart skips when Bucky’s eyes drop to your lips with hunger in his gaze.

“Always so good to me, aren’t ya?” His words tempt a whimper from deep within you, a submissive whine held back by the last of your restraint.

“Well-“

The oven beeps, its sharp tone darting between your bodies and making you step back from Bucky’s hold.

“Uhh” Your mind is all over the place as the firefighter watches you with amusement, “I- I should, I mean- the pasta must be-“

“Go, doll.” Bucky shakes his head laughing quietly.

Your dress sways as you spin away to the stove, stirring various pots and tidying up the counters. Your neighbour watches you in awe, unashamedly enjoying the view; you just look so goddamn sexy in that cute little dress while you cook for him. He wishes he could come home to this every night.

“You need a hand with anything, doll?” Bucky’s voice sounds from behind you.

“Actually, yeah!” You glance over your shoulder. “Come here.”

If you keep bossing him about, Bucky’s gonna struggle not to tear that sweet little sundress right off you.

Settling in at your side, Bucky cocks his head. “What d’ya need?”

You scoop some of the creamy tomato sauce onto a spoon and bring it to Bucky’s lips. “Try this for me.”

With bated breath, you watch his full lips wrap around the end of the spoon, his eyes bearing into yours as he drags the sauce into his mouth.

Bucky has no business looking as dirty as he does in this moment; you watch his adam’s apple bob as he swallows before his tongue juts out to catch a few missed drops. And just when you thought your panties would survive the sight, a moan ripples from his throat and you clench around nothing at the sound.

“Good?” You murmur, hoping he doesn’t notice when you cross your legs.

He notices.

“Delicious,” Bucky takes the spoon from your hand and stretches across you to place it back in the pan, his right hand brushing against the small of your back, “you did great, sweets.”

Fuck. Me.

You regather your composure and ask Bucky to get the wine from the fridge. He pours you both a glass, setting them back on the dining table gently before returning the bottle to its home.

“Hey, could you bring the bowls over, please?” You call over your shoulder.

You plate up the sauce coated pasta while Bucky places the dirty pans in the sink, both working around each other like a fine tuned machine.

Before you can do it yourself, Bucky is picking up the bowls and laying them on the place mats, winking at you as he does so. He pulls your chair out for you, nodding for you to join him.

“For you, Madame.” He jokes, allowing you to sit down while tucking you in.

You watch him round the table and take his own seat. “And they say chivalry is dead.”

Bucky grins at you. The orange glow of sunset shines through your windows, catching your features with grace. Your eyes shine beneath the light and Bucky can’t help but find you angelic.

“You’re beautiful, doll. I don’t know if I said that earlier but, god, you look stunning tonight.”

Dropping your head, you play with the hem of your dress shyly. Your hair falls into your face, forcing you to push it behind your ears, though Bucky wishes he was close enough to do it himself.

With rose tinted cheeks, you look up at Bucky through your lashes. “You say that to all your neighbours, Barnes?” You raise a brow with your teasing voice.

Bucky throws his head back and laughs heartily, a sound you’ve come to adore.

“Only the ones who cook for me.” He winks.

“Doesn’t Ms Scott bring you pies every couple weeks?”

“And I tell her she looks ravishing every time.”

You giggle and tell Bucky to dig in, though you could happily sit and talk all night. While you both stop every now and then for a forkful of food, conversation bounces between you as it always does.

Tonight isn’t much different to a typical evening with the firefighter next door; usually you share some snacks and beers, cozying up on the couch as you watch tv. It’s become ritual for you to send Bucky a video of you playing the piano each evening, his phone playing the video on loop as he sleeps. It’s strange, but the music creeps into his dreams and keeps them peaceful, keeps him away from that burning building.

It’s been a few weeks since the night he was sent home early. Both you and Bucky felt a shift that night; waking up in his arms left you craving more, though you’ve yet to tell him as much. You left him sleeping peacefully that morning when you left for work with only a couple hours of sleep under your belt.

Bucky hated waking up to find the other side of his bed empty, no longer feeling your heat. The note you left him eased the disappointment slightly, your neat handwriting promising to come back in your breaks. Neither of you have addressed how right it felt to sleep beside each other that night, despite spending all of your free time together with unspoken words hanging over you.

Instead, you dance around each other like two ghosts doomed to never touch. The bond between you is stronger than any you’ve ever had, the magnetic lure undeniable for you both.

Your glasses have been emptied and refilled twice now - dinner long since been finished - and you’re starting to feel the buzz; those butterflies in your stomach have turned into a swarm of confidence, your brain taking a backseat from its usual overthinking.

“You expect me to believe that you broke down the door before Sam could? The same guy who beat you at your physical a few weeks back?” You tease the brunette, a challenging brow raised at his rather unimpressed face.

“What are you trying to say there, doll?”

Bucky’s jaw clenches when you tilt your head slightly, eyes shining with amusement beneath the exposed hanging light bulbs.

“Nothing to worry your cute little head about.” You watch Bucky relax into his chair slightly as you reach for your glass with a smirk. “Just that I doubt Sam has any difficulty kicking a door down, not with the way he’s built.”

The scoff to end all scoffs ripples from your neighbours throat; his bright blue orbs glare into you and his features twist into a scowl. Oh if looks could kill…

Bucky’s tone is flat, “Didn’t know you were such an admirer of Wilson’s build, Y/n.”

The lack of a pet name sends your confidence wavering, but not enough to keep you from having a little fun.

“Well, you know,” You bring the glass to your lips, “he’s hardly difficult to miss.”

Watching the deep ruby liquid pass over your lips, Bucky fights to hide the fury that’s flooding his veins, forced to look away from your smug grin.

He knows, he knows, that you’re lying through your teeth, trying to get a rise out of his usually impenetrable facade, and yet he can’t help but feel jealous.

Bucky’s painfully aware that he has no right to feel so possessive, not when he lays no claim to you. But the twist of his stomach is proof that he doesn’t much care.

“Maybe I should just give you his number and you can cook him a meal next time.” Bucky grumbles.

“Oh, that’s alright, I already have his number.”

You’ve never seen Bucky’s head snap up as quickly as it just did, his gaze pinning you to your spot.

“You what?”

Gently, you place your glass back on the table. “Yeah, Steve gave him my number last week so he could get in touch.”

The fire in those blue eyes burns brighter with each word, his body so still that his chest is barely moving when he breathes. In fact, you’re not even sure if he is breathing. Hell, he’s not even sure if he’s breathing.

“Is that right?” Bucky’s gruff voice is laced with possessiveness, the low tone travelling straight to your panties till you swear you feel yourself throb. You wonder briefly if you have a jealousy kink and the sweet arousal dripping from your cunt only confirms your suspicions.

“Mhm.” You hum in response, “In fact, i’m going out for coffee with him next week.”

“Huh.”

Bucky’s chair screeches against the hardwood floor as he pushes himself back. You follow his movements with amused eyes when he stands up and grabs your plates before storming to the kitchen. You twist in your chair, watching him place the dishes in the sink and flick on the tap.

“James, what are you doing?” You ask.

“What does it look like i’m doing?” Oh he’s grumpy, grumpy.

Bucky’s shoulders are tense beneath his tight henley, his sleeves now rolled up as he starts scrubbing at the plates. It’s quiet while he concentrates on his work, only accompanied by the music still flowing from your speaker.

From the corner of his eye, the firefighter sees you rise from your chair, ears honed in on the sound of your feet pattering towards him.

It’s now hard for Bucky to focus on anything but your breath on his neck, goosebumps littered across his skin like a rash. You stand right behind him, tracing your fingers up from the small of his back; Bucky’s muscles tense momentarily before melting at your touch, just like always.

“Ask me why i’m seeing Sam next week.” You order, hands still roaming the taut fabric on Bucky’s back. The command makes him pause and clench his eyes shut. Why are you making him talk about this when it’s tearing him apart?

The brunette turns in your hold but you don’t release him, instead settling your hands on his waist.

“Why are you seeing him, doll?” Bucky sounds despondent, brows furrowed in confusion as he looks down at you.

“He asked me to teach his nephews to play the piano, Buck. I’m meeting him and the boys on Wednesday, Sarah too.”

A shocked ‘What’ tumbles from his lips as the information sinks in, his frown slowly falling away as he processes your words.

“Yeah…” You grin, though it’s more like a smirk, content with yourself proving he was jealous.

In a desperate attempt to save his ego, Bucky rolls his eyes playfully. “I knew you weren’t really attracted to that dumbass.”

You scoff and pat his chest lightly. “Sure you did, Barnes. Now scoot, you wash ‘em, i’ll dry ‘em.”

With his hands on his hips, he stays still as you nudge your way to his side, stretching to the window sill where your dish towels lay. Bucky’s never been in this position before, it’s always him who’s teasing you; this is new territory for him and it irks him that you riled him up so easily.

Once he shakes his head clear, the firefighter returns to face the sink and starts washing the dishes again. You wait patiently while he works, humming along to whichever song is playing.

“You like the old stuff, huh doll?” Bucky grins warmly at the slight sway of your hips, your radiance beaming like a lantern.

You giggle sheepishly and bite your lip, unknowingly sending Bucky spiralling. “I thought it was fitting for tonight, really leaning into the whole ‘housewife’ role.”

He raises a brow, “Does that make me your doting husband then, sweets?”

Realising what you said, your cheeks heat up instantly and your eyes widen. You attempt to backtrack but your words stumble over one another as though you’re a little school girl.

Bucky, however, is basking in the familiarity of control; your rosy cheeks never fail to bring a smile to his face, and boy is he beaming right now.

“I meant- It’s- You know what I meant, James.” You shoot daggers at him, though the idea of being married to your neighbour sends your heart into overdrive.

That swoon-worthy laugh greets your ears with haste, Bucky’s eyes crinkled at the corners as his chest reverberates with its force. It’s impossible to bite back the grin that’s fighting its way onto your lips.

Small tendrils of chestnut hair tumble from behind his ears, begging to be pushed back, but the buzz from the wine has dulled and you can’t find the confidence to do it, no matter how much Bucky’s eyes are pleading you to.

“You know, it’s sweet of you to teach the boys how to play.” He looks at you in adoration, the image of you spending time with Sam’s nephews triggering a warmth to spread in his chest.

A breathy laugh escapes you as your gaze falls to the kitchen counter. You blush at the compliment and slowly start drying the dishes again.

“Do you spend much time with them?” You ask with a brief glance his way.

Bucky shrugs, “Yeah, Sarah is always throwing barbecues for the squad. They’re good kids, and I bet they’ll love you!”

“Oh God, I hope so. I’ve never taught before and i’m scared they’ll hate me and i’ll destroy their dreams and-” You ramble away without noticing the frown tugging at your neighbours brows.

“Teach me.”

Huh?

“What?” You freeze.

“You said you’ve never taught before,” Bucky steps closer to you, his cologne swarming around you like a warm hug, “so practise on me. Teach me something.”

You almost laugh at his words, mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that he’s joking. But Bucky doesn’t move, his blue eyes study your own, body so still that you fail to conjure a laugh. He’s not joking.

Hesitation is written across your features, drawing a single shake of Bucky’s head. “Come on, sweets. Please? For me?” He pleads.

“Okay.”

It’s scary how quickly you succumb to Bucky’s wishes; you fear you’d do awful things if only he asked and you’d even do it with a smile. You’re so doomed.

With a triumphant grin, Bucky plucks the dish cloth and plate from your grasp and carefully places them on the sink’s edge, before taking your hand in his and guiding you to your piano.

Nerves prickling beneath your skin, you trail behind him and silently revel in his touch. It’s hard to not stare at his perfect body as you stumble around furniture, the sharp muscles of his shoulders rippling as he tugs you with him. Flicking off the speaker on the way, you fall onto the small piano stool beside Bucky, and with such little room, your left thigh is pressed up against his. The solid curve of his muscles prod into your flesh and yet despite the fluttering it causes in your stomach, you’re far more focused on his hands.

From the bulge of his toned biceps to the trail of prominent veins in his forearms, your eyes drag down Bucky’s arms till you pause at the sight of his large hands. They lay spread across the span of his thighs, his right pinky finger mere atoms away from your exposed skin where your dress has ridden up. You find yourself craving the sparks that alight with his touch, so you adjust your position to make sure your leg brushes against his hand.

It certainly hasn’t gone amiss to the firefighter that you’ve taken a liking to his hands. Sure, he’s caught you staring at them before, but the hunger in your gaze right now is greater than ever.

The corner of Bucky’s lip turns up into a smirk as he reaches for your hands once more, lifting them to rest on the ivory keys of your piano.

“Wanna hear you play me something before you give me a lesson.” He admits, his words more of a demand than a question.

When you fail to respond, still caught up in scanning the crevices of his calloused hands, Bucky nudges your shoulder.

You shake your head with a dazed frown, “Huh?”

A playful chuckle falls from his pink lips, “I said play me something, sweets, before you start teachin’ me.”

You giggle sheepishly, sighing an ‘Oh’ before you gather your thoughts. Bucky returns his hands to his lap - a movement you struggle to ignore - giving you free rein of the instrument.

Running through some songs you could teach him, you settle for one of your favourites, or more accurately, one of Bucky’s favourites. The cool surface of the keys is harsh beneath your fingertips, a stark contrast to the Bucky-induced-heat flushing through your veins, hands stretching into place as you prepare the opening chords.

Rhythmic tones swarm around the two of you as you begin playing, masterfully dancing across the keys like it’s a second language. Your graceful motions always bring Bucky to a halt as you entrap him in your art.

He recognises the song straight away, lips turning up at the sweet melody. You didn’t even have to ask to know what he wanted to hear, you just knew. Bucky’s head feels light at the sight before him. A knowing grin has settled on your soft lips, your body ever so lightly swaying to the music, clearly getting lost the sounds.

It’s impossible not to feel the adoring stare of your neighbour, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. Warmth is pooling in the depths of your heart where it feels like you’re bleeding out, your love for Bucky forcing out the blood till the only thing circulating through your veins is him. No longer able to cope with the feelings swarming within you, your fingers abruptly stop mid song before you turn to look up at the firefighter.

“Okay, your go.” You state, but when Bucky raises a bemused brow your way, you continue to instruct him. “Come on. You’re gonna do the left hand, I’ll do the right.”

“Yes Ma’am!” Bucky chimes with a mock salute, earning him a glare.

It takes a few tries to move his fingers into the correct positions, both because he’s apparently wholeheartedly incapable of doing what you say but also because you may or may not zone out every time the veins of his hands stick out as he moves. But it’s still entirely his fault though. Entirely. ‘Maybe like 98% his fault. That’s seems fair.’ You think.

“There you go!” You cheer when the firefighter successfully plays the right notes in tandem.

“Would you look at that, not so useless after all.” Bucky winks at you and you blush lightly.

Glancing at him hopefully, you ask him to play the first chord you taught him.

“Oh, umm-“ He stutters, fingers flailing about and pressing random keys in search of the right pattern.

“Here, let me…” You chuckle sweetly at how utterly lost he looks and move to help him.

Leaning forward, you drag Bucky’s fingers over the ridges of ivorite, slowly placing them on the correct keys. You feel his lust-filled eyes trained on your face while you work, though it’s getting harder and harder to focus under his stare.

A frown tugs at your brows when your mind goes blank as to where Bucky needs to put his left hand, his still-wandering gaze burning into you and spreading to your cunt faster than you care to admit.

Of course, Bucky notices your breath quickening, chest stumbling up and down with shaky pants. His proximity is intoxicating and the will to fight it is slowly slipping past you, fingers itching to trace up Bucky’s thick arms to his neck so you can finally pull his lips to yours.

Bucky reads every inch of your skin like he’s studying for an exam. From the clench of your jaw to your eyes fluttering shut, he knows that he’s winning this tussle for control.

“Bucky…” You breathe, the wavering sigh rolling from your tongue like a stray secret.

“Yes, doll?” Bucky smirks with glinting eyes and you bite back a whimper.

Opening your eyes, you keep them trained on where yours rest on his. “I can’t focus with you looking at me like that.”

Bucky knows exactly what you mean but he can’t help but toy with you. “Like what?” He cocks his head with faux innocence that fools no one.

You turn to look up at the firefighter, eyes meeting his half lidded ones, the blue of his eyes barely visible behind his lust-blown pupils but the blue you can see is so impossible dark that you wonder if they were ever light in the first place.

Taking a breath, you wet your lips so briefly that Bucky nearly misses it. Nearly. “Like you want to kiss me.” You say, barely above a whisper.

“Oh,” Bucky sighs, leaning in closer, “I want to do much more than that.”

Your body is alight with need. Craving his touch, a breach of the barrier between you, you practically whine your reply. “Then why are you just staring?”

“Well, I wanna remember you like this; sweet, angelic, so perfect in your little sundress.“

With the back of his hand, Bucky nudges the hem of your dress higher till his whole hand is spread against your thigh. You quash the aching desire to glance at where your bodies meet and lock your eyes on Bucky’s, whose lips are turned into a knowing smirk.

“Gotta savour it while I can.” He says as he pushes his palm further to your inner thigh, his pinky finger mere inches from your heat.

“Why?” You ask, heart racing.

It dawns on you that you may actually pass out when the firefighter leans in close to you, nose pushing your hair aside to expose the soft skin of your neck which now sits defenceless to his advances. The heat of his breath is electrifying, lips nearing your pulse point eagerly.

Bucky’s lips ghost over your skin as he explains, “Cause once I’ve had my way with you, you’re gonna be a hot fucking mess, sweets.”

A breathy moan tumbles from the depths of you chest at the crude insinuations of his words; your eyes flutter shut, an unintentional reaction that you’re grateful for as it hides the way your pupils roll to the back of your head.

Through the dark span of your eyelids, you picture exactly how Bucky will make you a hot fucking mess. Spread legs with his tongue delving through your folds, back arched as he pounds into your pussy with vigour, his hands guiding your hips back to meet his as he fucks you from behind. The images bear too much for you yet you can’t stop picturing the salacious scenes, not when your neighbour is pressing open-mouthed kisses to the side of your neck.

“James…” You sigh, voice carrying the weight of a thousand pleas.

“Yeah? Is that what you want?”

Nodding your head desperately, you whine, unable to form any words beneath his sinful tongue.

“Words, doll.” Bucky says, lips hovering over your ear. He’s struggling to hold back but can’t let himself touch you the way he wants to until he hears you spell it out for him.

Turning your head slowly, you peer at Bucky with half-lidded eyes and a slack-jaw. “I want you, James. Please.”

That’s all it takes to disintegrate the final remnants of the firefighter’s self-control before his full lips meet your own with a hunger that’s been brewing for months.

Bucky’s lips glide across yours, slotting between your own so easily it’s got you believing this is not your first kiss. It’s soft and sweet but so goddamn sensual that you can’t help but moan into his mouth, the now open gap giving him the perfect chance to slide his tongue inside.

You bring your hands up Bucky’s body and rest them on his neck, fingers tentatively feeding through the hair at the nape of his neck while you jostle for control of the kiss.

Forced to pull back for breath, you take a peek only to find those strikingly blue eyes already on yours.

“Fuck, doll,” Bucky whispers, “you don’t know how long I’ve been waitin’ for this.”

“Probably not as long as I have.” You scoff.

“Then let me make up for lost time.”

“Wait, what do y-“

Within moments, Bucky is lifting your legs over the bench and is knelt between them, his large hands teasing the hem of your dress as he keeps your thighs spread apart.

Your mouth is agape with surprise while you grab onto the piano behind you for stability, a mixture of nerves and anticipation coursing through your veins. And as if he can read your anxious thoughts, Bucky looks up at you with the most sincere expression across his soft features.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asks, despite the deep desire shining in his eyes. He wants you more than anything, but he needs to know you want him too.

It’s an easy answer and you’re shaking your head faster than you care to admit, but the memory of Bucky’s prior words flash through your mind and you still just as quick.

“No.”

Watching intently as he runs a hand from your ankle up to your knee, the firefighter rolls his bottom lip between his teeth when your breath hitches.

“Then promise me you’ll tell me if that changes?” Bucky asks.

You reach down and run your fingers through his chestnut locks, tucking the few loose strands behind his ear.

“I promise.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweets.”

A hearty laugh reverberates through you, but you’re quickly silenced by Bucky’s lips on your inner thigh, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling. He kisses his way up to your heat, slowly pushing your dress higher and higher till the only thing between you and his mouth is the crimson lace panties covering your mound.

A sound you can only describe as a growl ripples through the room and you glance down at your neighbour to find him practically drooling at the sight of you. But then his eyes are on yours, his hungry, half-lidded eyes, and he’s tracing a finger over your clothed slit. Your breathing becomes laboured at his touch, your body, your mind, all of you at his mercy.

“Bucky, please…”

“Ah ah ah-“ The firefighter tuts, “-since when do you call me Bucky?”

You frown, back arching slightly in search of some friction on your core, too aroused to process his words properly.

“Look at me, Y/n.”

The stern nature of his tone lures your eyes to his once more. “What?” You ask, confused.

“I haven’t spent months goin’ crazy listening to you use my name only to have you call me Bucky when I’m finally between your legs.”

The throb of your pussy spurs you on and you tilt your head teasingly. “Touch me, James.” You say, and he obeys.

Bucky glides his hands up to your hips and drags your panties lower and lower, his lips chasing the lace till there’s no where left to kiss but your slick folds.

He hovers over your heat with bated breath before forcing himself to close his eyes and ask if you’re still okay with this.

“More than okay, James.” You answer truthfully.

“Good, cause I’m fucking starvin’.”

You feel his mouth on your pussy before you’ve even processed his words, tongue delving between your folds like he really is starving and you didn’t just feed him the best dinner he’s had in years. Though something tells him that title is about to be beaten the second you cum all over his face.

Your mouth curves into an ‘o’, the most pornographic of moans escaping you at the sinful sounds of Bucky’s mouth on your cunt. Drowning in increasingly intense waves of pleasure, your senses are dialled up to the max; with every flick of his tongue and suck on your clit, you find yourself falling deeper in your arousal. It becomes impossible to listen to anything Bucky’s telling you.

“Y’taste so sweet, doll.”

“Doing so good for me, aren’t ya? My good girl.”

“Let me hear you, doll, need to hear how good you feel.”

Whether it’s praises or orders, there’s no chance in hell of you understanding a word that falls from his lips, though Bucky doesn’t mind. The clench of your soft thighs around his head tells him all he needs to know - that even if your heads not fulling comprehending him, your body is. And the sheer amount of slick glistening across your cunt is enough for him to know that you’re ready for more.

The sensation of Bucky’s finger tracing along your pussy lips sends your eyes rolling to the back of your head and your hips lifting off the stool.

“James- oh fuck-“

Words die on your tongue when Bucky eases a finger inside you. White hot pleasure builds at your core, burning the last remnants of your self control, its embers coaxing a near-scream out of you.

“Fuck, that’s it, sweets. That’s- shit you’re so tight, pussy’s squeezing me and it’s just one finger.”

You mewl and squirm beneath him.

“How you gonna handle two of ‘em, doll?”

Bucky’s mesmerised at the sight of his finger gliding in and out of you, drenched in your sweet juices, too beautiful of a sight for him to give up by eating you out. But when you groan at the suggestion of two fingers, he drags his gaze upwards and is greeted with a view that’s evening better.

You, draped against the piano, head tilted back and brows drawn together while uneven sighs tumble from your swollen lips. God, you look heavenly, Bucky thinks. He doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud, but it makes little difference seeing as you’re rather preoccupied with the thought of Bucky fucking another finger inside you.

“James?” You call, reaching down to cover your left hand around the one at your sex, the other tugging on his hair.

“Yeah? Are you alright? Do you want me to stop?” He panics, thinking you’ve grabbed his hand to stop him.

Instead, you look him in the eye and say “Are you gunna fuck another finger inside of me or what?”

An awe-inspired grin spreads across Bucky’s face at your question. He keeps his blue orbs on yours while he presses a kiss to your clit and pushes himself higher till he’s inches from your face.

He rests a hand against the piano, caging you in and says, “Anything for my girl.” before a second digit joins his first.

The stretch knocks the wind out of your chest but Bucky hardly gives you any time to adjust, his fingers pumping in and out of you even faster than before. His palm slaps against your bundle of nerves with every thrust, the force riding to your chest where your tits bounce in rhythm.

“So damn beautiful…” The firefighter says.

You look up at him through your lashes and pull his lips to yours, tasting yourself on his tongue. With clashing teeth, the wet slapping sounds only feeds into the moment and Bucky’s suddenly very aware of the tightness in his jeans.

With each passing second, the cord in your stomach is getting so close to snapping that your mouth isn’t even moving against Bucky’s anymore.

“Fuck, James, I’m- I-“

“Shh, I know.” He presses a kiss to your forehead. “You gonna cum all over my fingers, doll? Gonna let me see you fall apart?”

You nod feverishly.

“Good girl, now let go for me.”

That’s all it takes for the damn to break loose and the fiercest orgasm of your life to rack through your body. It reaches every part of you, all the cracks and crevices you never thought could be touched, yet here you are, feeling every inch of yourself set on fire.

“That’s it, doll, that’s it.” Bucky comforts you while you lay victim to the aftershocks of his work, slowing the thrust of his fingers till your breathing evens and he moves to gently circling your sensitive clit.

“Holy shit…” You sigh, a satisfied and totally fucked-out grin playing across your lips.

Noticing how your hazy your eyes still are, Bucky smiles to himself while pressing loving kisses on your forehead.

“You did real good for me, sweetheart.” He listens to you hum beneath him as he moves to kiss your temple. “Y’look so pretty when you cum, you know that? Even prettier than I imagined.”

You twist in your seat to face your neighbour. “You’ve imagined this too?”

“Every night, doll.”

“Huh…”

Though Bucky’s eyes remain fixed on yours, it’s obvious that his mind has slipped away; he’s now clouded by memories of his x-rated dreams, ones that have ended with him pumping his embarrassingly hard length into his fist one too many times, and his cock twitches in his ever-tightening pants. You notice the movement at his crotch and, emboldened by his confession and the best orgasm you’ve ever had, you decide to take back some control.

“What have you pictured doing to me, James?” Your tone is so sweet, so innocent, that it takes a moment for your words to register in his brain. But when it does, boy, does a fresh wave of blood rush to his cock.

“You sure you wanna know? Cuz it ain’t all sweet and innocent.” He warns.

You say nothing and let your actions do all the talking; you slide a hand down to meet his left, the one still nestled between your sticky thighs, and tug it away from your cunt. With your eyes locked on his, you raise Bucky’s cum coated fingers to your mouth, slowly wrapping your lips around them and sucking your sweetness away. Making sure to give the firefighter a show, you swirl your tongue around his fingers before taking them as deep as you can, a knowing look in your eyes when you notice Bucky clenching his jaw.

After releasing his fingers from your swollen red lips, you press a kiss to the palm of his hand. “Tell me.”

What you can only describe as a growl rises from the back of Bucky’s throat and before you know it, you’re being carried to your bedroom, legs bound tightly around his waist while your arms wrap loosely around his neck.

He sits down on the edge of the bed; hands resting on your hips and edging lower to your ass, his fingers grip the supple flesh to keep you in place.

His force on your hips is pushing you down on his ample bulge, sparking a flash of pleasure straight up your spine that escapes you with a moan. Bucky chuckles softly with a sinful grin as you tilt your head back at the feeling.

“You wanna know what I’ve imagined us doing, doll?” The firefighter grabs your chin to bring your attention back to him. He runs the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip, tugging on it and letting it bounce back into place.

“I’ve pictured us just like this.” He drops his hand to your neck, tracing the curve of your collar bone till it meets the strap of your sundress. “You, naked and beautiful as ever, riding my cock like I know you can.”

You gasp lightly when he tugs your strap till it’s tumbling off your shoulder.

“And you’re telling me just how full you are, how stretched your little pussy is around me, choking my cock like a damn vice.”

Bucky’s filthy words send your hips into motion without warning; you grind your bare cunt over his crotch, the tent in his pants settling between your slick folds till his shaft is enveloped with your warmth.

“Does that sound good, doll? To have my cock buried inside you when you bounce on it? Fuck, I bet your cunt is dripping for me again,”

“It never stopped, James.” You whimper, your sensitive clit sending jolts up your frame as Bucky guides your hips over his.

“That’s right, you’re never gonna use anything else to cum ever again. You got me now, doll. I’m all you need. Me, my cock, I’m gonna ruin everyone else for you.”

You don’t even notice that Bucky’s hands are on the zip at your back, slowly pulling it down till the fabric are your chest goes slack, and with the straps already draped over your shoulders, the flowing material cascades around you, tumbling to your hips and leaving you defenseless to Bucky’s insatiable blue eyes.

“Fuck me, sweets, you’re- god- you’re perfect.” He leans in and kisses your collarbone. “So,” kiss, “So,” kiss, “perfect.”

Your eyes flutter shut, lost in the feeling of his touch, and Bucky smirks when he sees you. He teases a hand up your soft skin till it sits just beneath your tit, daring to reach up and play with you in the ways he’s always dreamt of.

“Is this okay?” He asks, earning an even more passionate grind of your hips as you push your chest closer to his open mouth.

He chuckles, “Needy, aren’t ya, sweets?”

You whine.

“Hmm, lucky for you, this is exactly what I imagined doing to you, what I’ve dreamt of for months…”

His lips wrap around your hardened nipple with haste, the warmth of his mouth a welcome sensation. He sucks at the sensitive nub, this tongue reaching out to soothe you afterwards. You throw your head back and moan loudly.

The sound of bucky loudly licking and sucking on your tits is driving you crazy, to the point where your hips are stuttering over his, practically drowning in the feeling till you have no control over your movements.

“God, I love your tits. Wanna act out every dream I’ve ever had of you. Fucking your tits, your throat, your cunt, anywhere you’ll let me, doll, please. I’ve needed you for so long.”

You blush at the word love, surpressing the hope that is stirring at the possibility that your tits aren’t the only thing he loves. Has he really wanted this as long as me? You wonder, picturing everything he just revealed he’s been wanting.

“M’So fuckin’ hard for you sweetheart, I know you can feel me. Dick’s throbbing, doll, it’s s’hard it hurts.”

You pull at his hair so he’s looking up at you again and capture his lips in yours.

“I wanna see you, Bucky…”

He groans and reaches for the hem of his shirt which he waists no time in tearing off. Your chest rises and falls heavier than before, eyes raking his physique just like you had that night he was leaving the shower at his place.

You trail a finger down his abs till it brushes the button of his jeans teasingly.

“All of you, James.” You look pointedly at his crotch. “May I?” You ask and when he nods, you climb off his lap and sink between his legs on the floor, you dress tumbling to the ground immediately.

Bucky’s abs tense as you work to undo the button, your hands tiny in comparison to his body. Next, you work the zipper up and over the bulge of his cock, the teeth desperate to come apart after being so constricted for so long. The two sides of denim snap away from the tent of his boxers, perfectly presenting where the firefighter so badly needs your touch.

He helps you kick off his jeans till the only thing between you is his boxers. You trace a finger up and down his shaft through the cotton, enjoying the sticky patch of pre cum leaking through the top.

“Have you ever imagined me sucking your cock, James?” You ask with half lidded eyes before kissing his covered shaft. “Cause I have.”

Bucky whimpers - whimpers - at your words, his hips snapping up to your face uncontrollably.

You begin to drag down his boxers, trailing kisses down down down, your lips greeting his tip when his cock flicks up against them before your eyes even get chance to glance at him.

Your eyes flutter shut at the salty taste on your lips, revelling in the breathy moans from your neighbour.

“Fuck- pl-please honey, I need your- argh- mouth around me!”

You make eye contact with him from your place on the floor and ask if he’s sure.

“More than anything.”

And with that, you take his thick length into your mouth, lips sealing around his angry pink cock head briefly when your trace your tongue over his slit, before gliding lower down his cock.

You take as much of him as you can, but you need time to warm up having never taken a cock as large as his before.

“You’re so big, baby.” You say as you pull off his shaft with a pop, “Biggest I’ve ever had in my mouth.”

A frustrated groan arises from the firefighter and you feel his hand on the back of your head, gently pushing you to his dick once more.

“Suck my cock, doll, just like we’ve both imagined, nice and deep, please.”

You take the base of his cock in your hands and guide his tip back to your lips.

“Atta girl,” Bucky encourages as you take him deeper and deeper.

He feels you relaxing your throat to take more of him and his balls clench at the feeling.

“Argh fuck, fuck, fuck. Good girl, oh my god, yes!”

His praises and curses cheer you on and you manage as much of him as you can, only an inch or so remaining that’s simply too thick to fit in your mouth. Lord knows how he’ll fit in your pussy, but you’re sure he’ll figure it out.

You bob your head on his length over and over till you’re in desperate need of air. You let your hands work your spit and his precum up and down his hard cock while you catch your breath and watch his beautiful face contort into one of extreme pleasure.

Your chest fills with pride at Bucky’s facial expressions; making him feel good is somehow more rewarding than anything you’ve done in your life and you find yourself content at the thought of spending the rest of your days pleasing him.

Bucky is oblivious to the gratified smile toying your lips and wholly unprepared for your next movement.

“Oh god- oh fuck, doll-” He groans, his breathing staggered and eyes clenched shut when you take his balls in your mouth, the skin sloppily wet from your work on his cock, and now enjoying the warmth of your mouth.

“Oh honey, do that again, felt so go- argh!” He’s interrupted by you tending to his sack once more, your tongue swirling around them and lightly sucking.

You moan around his pretty, swollen balls, the vibrations drawing a sigh of pleasure from your neighbour. The trimmed hair at the base of Bucky’s member is tickling your nose while you fight to taste every part of him.

With a final sharp suck, you release his balls with a small plop, plant a wet kiss on each and flatten you tongue to lick a bold stripe up his length. The tip of your muscle presses into the vein on the underside of his dick and Bucky thrusts upward, his hips bucking as he desperately searches for more.

As you ready yourself to glide his cock down your throat once more, you feel Bucky’s hand on your cheek, pulling you off him.

“What’s wrong? Did I do something?” You ask with a concerned frown, nervous that you’ve done something wrong to have Bucky stopping you. You wrap your hand around his forearm, the one outstretched to hold your hair, while the other remains enclosed around his cock.

“Nothin’ bad, sweets, it’s just that- fuck-“

You absentmindedly stroke your thumb over his girth, a motion you intend to be comforting but in reality, it just makes him throb even harder in your hands.

“-I’m not gonna last much longer if you keep using your pretty mouth like that.”

“And that’s a problem because…?”

He laughs lightly and tucks your hair behind your ear. “Cause as hot as you’d look swallowing my load, I’d much rather cum inside that sweet pussy for our first time.”

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth before pecking a doting kiss to his forearm and letting Bucky pull you to your feet. His eyes follow yours till he’s looking up at you from his seated position, his hands falling to your hips with an awestruck face.

“What the hell did I do to deserve you?” His voice is barely above a whisper. You blush crimson.

“Get on the bed, doll.” He orders. “Lay on your back.”

You do as he says and once you’ve settled, he crawls on top of you. It’s quiet for a moment as Bucky stares lovingly down at you, burning the image into his memory to remind him he has everything he needs.

“I should have found the guts to do this months ago…” You murmur, pushing the fallen tendrils of chestnut hair behind his ear. He looks so goddamn perfect; the golden glow filtering through your window catching every feature you’ve spent so long dreaming about, and now he’s here, really here, and you can’t help but stroke his cheek with revere.

“We have now, doll. That’s enough for me.” Bucky whispers. “Are you comfortable?”

You nod, truthfully, both in terms of your position but also for what’s coming. But then his elbows bend out and he’s lowering himself onto you.

“How about now?”

There’s a gleam in his eye and a playful smirk on his lips as he watches your chest heave, your body taking more of his weight now.

“No!” You giggle.

“No? Is this better?” Bucky teases, briefly laying his whole weight over you until you paw at his shoulders to push him off.

“James! You’re squishing me!”

The melody of your carefree laughter has Bucky melting and he pushes himself up onto his hands once more. His lip is tucked between his teeth, enjoying the view as he becomes increasingly aware of his cock now just one slip away from your pussy lips.

Quickly coming to your own awareness of Bucky’s rock hard length pressing into you, you sober up.

“Darling?” You tug on his bottom lip with the pad of your thumb.

Bucky’s brows pinch closer slightly.

“I need you inside me.”

His soft lips are crashing against yours within moments, his hand fighting between the nonexistent space between your bare bodies to grasp his cock and guide his tip to your bundle of nerves.

The sudden taste of how good Bucky can make you feel forces a sharp breath from you. It’s so much yet not enough, all at the same time.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay? Let me take care of you how you deserve.”

After a meek nod with your hands finding refuge in Bucky’s soft locks, he trails his cock head down your pink folds till it catches on the dip of your entrance.

Bucky tempts a whimper from you as he slides inside of you, your walls stretching to accommodate his larger than average member.

“Fuck, doll, you’re so tight for me.” The firefighter moans, resisting the urge to snap his hips and bottom out completely.

You’ve yet to make a sound, the sting in your pussy not yet dissipating, and when you glance down at where your bodies meet, you realise you’re barely taking half of him.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Bucky’s reassuring voice is ghosting over your ear, “you’re taking me so well, sweets. You need me to go slower?”

You clench your eyes shut briefly, “No, keep going, you’re just so…”

“So what?”

Bucky watches a deep red creep up your neck before returning his gaze to your eyes, that now dance across the room avoiding him.

A gentle grasp on your chin draws you to face the breathtaking man above you and you clench around his dick.

“What happened to the little minx who was practically beggin’ me to fuck her, huh? Don’t get all shy on me now, dollface. I’m so what?”

His words have you spilling yours without second thought. “You’re so fucking thick, James, cock’s splittin’ me in half.”

He groans and snaps his hips fully into yours, making you scream out, “Jamie!!!”

His scalp burns when you pull on his hair harder than before, your moans filling the room like a broken record. Bucky should be focused on the furrow of your brow, your laboured breaths, the way your cunt is choking him, anything about how perfect this feels, but all he can focus on is how with one thrust, you called him ‘Jamie’. And you didn’t just say it, you screamed it.

“Shit, honey, say it again.”

“Ja-Jamie…” You whine and feel Bucky draw his hips back before pounding into you once more.

“Again.” Your neighbour growls.

“Oh my god, fuck- I”

“Again.”

It takes everything you have to open your eyes and look at him. “Fuck me, Jamie.”

“That’s my girl.”

Bucky drives his length into you till his tip is hitting your cervix, the pleasure wrapping around your throat and squeezing the air out of you. You fight to breathe as Bucky drills into you, over and over, softly grunting with every thrust.

“Never felt anything as good as your cunt before, doll. Wanna spend the rest of my life buried inside you.”

You pull his lips to yours and, back arching from the mattress, dive your tongue into his mouth with vigour. He lets you explore his mouth while fucking you deep and fast, the headboard of your bed slamming against the wall and probably driving your neighbour crazy. Oh wait, he is your neighbour, and it is driving him crazy, but in the best way imaginable.

“So goddamn tight, sweets, y’pussy was made for me,” He swallows your whimpers happily, “don’t you think? You feel how good i’m filling you up, honey? Sliding in an’ out so easy, you’re so fucking wet for my dick.”

“Harder, Jamie.”

Goddamn.

“Keep calling me that and I’ll do whatever you want.”

You lose yourself in his thrusts; the sting has long turned into the most pleasure you’ve ever felt, and that’s saying something after the orgasm he lulled from you only a few minutes ago.

“Fuckin’ me s-so good, Jamie.”

“Ah- just like that, baby.”

“I’m getting close, James, need you to go faster.”

Your pleas send Bucky’s cock pulsing and he does exactly as you wish. He fucks you faster, fighting off the desperate urge to cum inside your sweet cunt.

“Jamie…” You sigh.

He grins up at you from his place at your tits, his tongue reaching out to tease your nipples. You push his head down till he takes your sensitive bud in his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue over it while he gropes its twin.

The tight coil in your stomach is twisting to its limit and you find yourself dangerously close to cumming around Bucky’s hard, thick length.

“I’m so- oh fuck- i’m so close, James.”

He lifts his head and eyes you with lust blown pupils.

“Are you gonna cum for me, doll? God, I can feel you clenching around me, you wanna cream all over my cock? Huh?” He smirks at your pornographic moans. “Bet I’ll look so good covered in your cum, sweets, maybe I’ll let you clean me up, put that mouth to good use.”

“I’m gonna cum, i’m gonna cum,” You chant several times breathlessly.

“Let go for me, sweet girl, make a mess o’my cock. Cum, doll.”

Your body shudders as your hips grind up into Bucky’s, your walls tightening before he feels you gush around him. Practically screaming in pleasure, you bite down on Bucky’s shoulder to quiet yourself, though the pain travels straight to his member, still fucking into you with force.

“Fuck, James, you’re so perfect, never came so hard in my life- shit-“

He’s groaning into your ear, his balls slamming against you and filling the room with salacious wet slaps.

“You’re so wet and- fuck- I can’t- I can’t hold back much longer.”

You tug on the hair at the nape of his neck and lick up the side of his throat, tongue catching the salty beads of sweat in its path. Reaching his earlobe, you suck on it lightly and whisper into his ear.

“Want you to cum inside me, Jamie. Fill me up, please, I need your cum.”

“Argh, fuck!!” Your words send Bucky over the edge and his hips stutter while he finally lets go.

“Oh god, yes!” Bucky grunts. “Take my cum, doll, fuckin’ take it.”

Your tongue seeks his neck once more, pressing open mouthed kisses as his cock shoots streams of white seed into you, the spurts seemingly never ending.

“Fillin’ my cunt so much, Jamie- fuck- you feel so good!”

As his cock softens, his thrusts slow to a more bearable pace, both of you so sensitive from your orgasms. Catching your breath takes a minute or two, but in the meantime, you coax satisfied sighs from your firefighter by running your hands up and down his back; the light sheen of sweat greets your fingertips as you touch him tenderly.

With no words being shared, you focus solely on Bucky’s breathing, the rise and fall of his back beneath your hands and the weight of his body on yours. It should be uncomfortable, but you’ve never felt so at home in a place, let alone with a person, in your life.

“That was…” Bucky murmurs into your neck.

You finish his sentence, “Pretty damn good.” Laughter ripples through the muscles of his back.

“Yeah,” He agrees and pulls back slightly to look at you, “you feeling okay?”

“If by okay you mean ‘completely and utterly fucked out’ then yeah, I’m great.”

You grin cheekily before pushing his hair behind his ear yet again, an act you find yourself praying that you’ll get to do for the rest of your life.

“How are you feeling?” You ask sincerely.

Those blue orbs flick between your own, laced with an emotion you hope to be love. “Like I want to be with you like this forever.” Bucky admits. “That and completely and utterly fucked out.”

You laugh heartily, bringing a beaming smile to Bucky’s swollen red lips.

“Let me clean you up, doll.” He offers before pushing himself off you, much to your dismay. He disappears to your bathroom for a minute before returning with a damp cloth in hand.

“Can you spread your legs for me, sweets?”

He bites a chuckle at how quickly you obey him and gets to work, wiping away your shared cum from your pussy and goosebump-ridden thighs. The towel is warm and soft on your skin, lulling you to sleep, though you fight to keep your eyes on your neighbour.

“You’re so beautiful, James.” You say, reaching to place your hand on his that sits beside you hip, where he’s leaning his weight.

He smiles sheepishly and focuses on the job at hand. Once you’re clean, Bucky carries you to the bathroom so you can do your business, waiting patiently outside after putting his boxers back on and grabbing his henley for you to wear.

When you step out of the bathroom, Bucky’s holding his he let out in front of you. “You looked a bit cold so I thought you might want a shirt?”

You smile, “Your shirt?”

“Yeah…” He rubs the back of his neck, muscles flexing at the movement, “You don’t have to, I just thou-“

He stops talking when you pull the henley from his grasp and tug it over your head. It swallows you whole and the sleeves tumble past your hands, but Bucky thinks it’s perfect. You’re perfect.

Grabbing his hand, you pull him back to your room and back into bed, tugging the sheets over you both where you nestle into his chest.

“You’re staying, right?” You ask with the most puppy-dog eyes you can muster.

“Of course, doll.”

Smiling to yourself, you curl up against the firefighter. “Woulda cooked you a meal months ago if I knew that’s all it took for you to finally fuck me.”

a/n: filth. pure filth. so sorry that it took me a lifetime to post this - life got lifey and it took me ages to get this right. it’s my second time writing any sort of smut so i hope it was good for y’all. thanks for all the support, it means the world to me. love you guys, red ❤️

comment if you’d like to be added to the ashes to embers taglist 🧡

taglist: @armystay89 @rabbitrabbit12321 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @harrystylesandthegoobs @zannemes @noonespecial90 @m3ntally-unstable @blackbirdwitch22 @wintrsoldrluvr @pingpongfingfong @belleofthebooks @larienjenova @chaosbarelycontained @mostlymarvelgirl @trustworthy-jellyfish @ozwriterchick @nervousnerdwitch @suz7days @bethexo07 @ace-27749 @bellabarnes1378 @angelbabyyy99 @selella @itvy5601 @noonespecial90 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @ordelixx @krispybearbouquet @matchat3a @cl7ire @sunglasses-in-the-bentley @julvrs @anghstybean @eah-marvel-trolls @pono-pura-vida @touchstarvedforbuckybarnes

[sideeve]

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀( living with Mike Schmidt )

— ★ Abby is his heart and soul. he knows if you’re a winner if she feels comfortable showing you her drawings.

— ★ i feel like American Idiot by Green Day is him and Abby getting ready for work/school. it’s a routine they built and can’t break out of it. so when you stay the night, you were shocked to see how quick they get out the house since Mike is always late to work.

— ★ if you can cook, you brought more meals on the menu and Mike can’t thank you enough. now, he doesn’t have to cook up some Chef Boyardee or order pizza. you were the only one they trusted in the kitchen.

— ★ weekly movie night was implemented on friday nights. you saw how much Abby and Mike were drifting away from each other so you took it upon yourself to make a movie night on fridays. the only problem is their choices. Abby would want to watch Coraline and Mike wanted to watch Megamind.

— ★ your first date was…something. Mike couldn’t really afford to go somewhere special so he found a recipe in one of the local libraries (the movie was set in like the 80s…) and cooked it up decent enough for it to be considered edible. (i’m joking, it was delicious) everything was good until—

“mike!” Abby yells from her bedroom. he was just in the middle of explaining something important to you, something he was passionate about. you could tell by the way he tried to hide his smile. but his sister comes first before anything. “Abby,” he whispers loud enough for only her to hear. “i thought i told you to keep quiet a bit. i have a date, remember?” she crosses her arms, “my tooth fell out.” “so? put it under your pillow and the tooth fairy will get it.” “that’s the thing! you told me that last time and i haven’t gotten five bucks! the tooth is still here!” shittttt. Mike sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “i’ll give you five plus more if you just keep quiet, okay?” Abby nods. “okay, good.” Mike starts to walk off before coming back. “how do i look?” he adjusts his collars. “like a million bucks.” Abby giggles, smiling, showing off her missing tooth. “sorry about that.” Mike clears his throat, sitting back at the dinner table. “no, no. that was actually cute.” you smile, you heart warmed by the brothers-sister relationship they had.

— ★ you help him sleep. now, he doesn’t need that bland nebraska poster, or that tape with nature sounds, or sleeping pills. he has you. and even the nights that you aren’t there, he would spray your favorite perfume on your pillow, hugging it close to you as if he were hugging you.

NSFW headcanons

— ★ he’s a switch. 50/50. i think his sex drive is normal if not low. he values romantic gestures than sexual gestures. but in the sex field, he’s both a giver and receiver.

— ★ let’s start with dom!mike. you’d mainly see dom!mike if it was a bad day at work or a long one. scenario; abby had been knocked out in her bed around bedtime. you technically had the house to yourself as you waited for mike to get home. finally, you hear a car pull in and the engine turn off. you could sense that it was him. you were expected a cuddle session until you both fell asleep. not you being bent over the couch, his fingers in your mouth to hush the moans escaping from your lips, fucking you like a rabid dog.

— ★ on the sub aspect, you have a whiny baby on your hands. begging and whining for you to let him cum. he pinky swears he’ll be a good boy. he whines, groans, begs. all of that. he begs so much that you have to put a hand on his mouth so he won’t wake up abby sometimes. if he’s pissed you off, you’d punish him by riding him but not letting him touch you and edging him so much that tears form at the waterline.

— ★ munch. munch! MUNCH!!! when he’s stuffed in between your thighs, he humps the edge of the bed, cumming in his pants. he’s too ashamed to let you know. he thinks it’s sick. he’s getting off by the taste of you, your sounds, and your juices dripping down his chin.

taglist ;; @worldsgreatestsinner

[punkassfrance]

Focal Point - Joel Miller / Fem!Reader

NSFW, 18+ ONLY. Movie night has never been Joel's favorite Jackson community event- tonight, he's actually enjoying himself. You deserve to enjoy yourself too, right? This work contains smut, grinding, assisted masturbation, worship, hand and finger kink, mentions of spanking, feminine/afab reader, public sex, bratting/brat taming, and an established relationship.

Usually, movie night in Jackson is delightful. Fresh popcorn, good movies, a community to share something with. You try not to miss them. Joel’s not a fan of any event that involves people and leaving the house- but movie nights are one of the few things he can tolerate. Nobody looks at him, it’s dark, nobody talks to him if he gets out of the community center fast enough. Most of all, it satisfies you and Ellie’s desire to make sure he socializes. Joel drags his heels about it, but he’ll do anything for his girls.

For once, he actually seems interested in the movie. It’s a shitty action flick, one he somehow hasn’t seen yet. He usually eats these up, leans forward like the terrible special effects are just riveting. Maybe it is to him. For you, this is the blandest movie night since Maria found a box of silent movies.

You squirm beside him, watching his profile. He seems calm at least, distracted from the stressors of social interaction. Once the lights come up, the stressed lines in his forehead will reappear, but for now, he’s almost smiling. His smile is so comforting, especially considering how rare it is. They’re really only reserved for Ellie, you, or the animals hanging around the settlement. Dogs run up to him, sheep let him approach. He’s not completely heartless. You’ve learned that much at the least.

When he smiles, you know all is well. It means he’s at ease, not too concerned to crack a grin at Ellie’s dumb jokes. Something’s always concerning him. The weight of the world sits on his shoulders, and all you want is soothe the pain. Whatever it takes.

His hand rests on your thigh. It’s a comforting motion for him, you think—something to remind him you’re there, remind him you’re warm and breathing. Late at night, in your bedroom, he’ll worship your thighs like there’s nothing else on earth worth his attention—they’re one of his favorite parts of you. Here, it’s just the easiest way to show affection. He’s not too high up your leg, never enough to stir gossip, just enough to let any onlookers know you’re spoken for. It’s usually the most PDA he’ll allow.

Christ, his curls look good tonight. He hasn’t trimmed his hair since you moved to Jackson, too busy helping Ellie adjust and building a life for the three of you. It’s a full-time job, on top of the responsibilities he’s taken up around Jackson. No time for vanity among all that. He’s settling into the role of family man, even if he won’t admit it.

You sit up to whisper in his ear. “This movie sucks.”

He leans down to you. “That’s the best part.”

Relaxing into his chair, he squeezes your thigh and sighs peacefully.

The movie lost your interest a good forty minutes ago—unfortunately, you still have half an hour to go. It might not be exactly rude to go home now, you’re both in the back of the room, but you don’t want to make Joel leave when he’s finally enjoying a community event. This is a rare occasion for him—one you’re not willing to sacrifice, no matter how bored you are. It’s either this or take Joel on walks around the neighborhood to socialize like a dog, and while you might be able to get him into the collar, it’ll be harder to get him outside.

He takes his hand off your thigh to roll his sleeves up, and your mind wanders.

He’s so impressive—you watch him work all the time, admiring the body that cares for you and your community. Even his forearms draw your eye, ropy and strong. When he clenches his fists at his sides, you fight back the urge to trace the tendons and veins in his arm. It’s just one part of him, of course. Everything about him is worthy of worship, every inch of tanned skin, every bit of muscle and softness you spend your nights rediscovering.

You wrap your hand over his when he replaces it on your thigh, pulling it higher up. He doesn’t seem to notice, just settles back into his chair and rubs his thumb over the denim. The motion isn’t helping the sudden burst of energy, the heat brewing in your lower stomach. It’s more than a cerebral desire, more than knowledge that you’re the luckiest woman in Jackson. Once you get to admiring him, you’re starkly reminded that you are a human animal. A human animal that is deeply, deeply attracted to your man.

As your eyes linger on his rough, calloused hand, you feel the fever mounting.

You pull his hand again. He glances over at you, raising an eyebrow before flicking his eyes back to the screen. The final heist of the movie is beginning on screen, something Joel wouldn’t dare to miss—but his fingers twitch on your thigh. He’s onto you.

Higher and higher, his fingertips drag and catch on the texture of your jeans until his hand is so close to where you need it. It’s so warm on your upper thigh, right where it creases into your hip. Another inch or two…

You hear him exhale in the seat beside you, hand squeezing your thigh as he leans in. “Can I help you?” He glowers out of the corner of his eye, crossing his legs.

“Only if you want to.”

You’re the only two at the back of the room—nobody’s looking at you, all focused on the last tense act of the movie. There’s nothing stopping you from messing around. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“You’re on your own.”

You huff and look up at him. He seems to be pointedly ignoring you now, eyes fixed on the screen. He picks up his beer with his free hand and tips it back. His hand looks so big around the bottle, tensing as he sets it back down on the table beside him.

Glancing down at his hand again, your fingers trail over his bones and scars. As he releases his grip, you tenderly trace the callouses, then the lines where his palm creases.

You tug his hand upward again, nudging him between your legs. He’s so warm pressed into your damp panties, firm and perfect to rock against. His fingers twitch, but he doesn’t move to help you. No, he’s still enjoying the goddamned movie. As though his horny girlfriend isn’t grinding on his hand, practically begging for his attention. Heartless bastard.

Your legs spread slightly, giving yourself a bit more room to work with. As you rub your clit on the heel of his hand, you whimper softly into his ear, anything to tempt him into action. It’s a little tricky through your jeans, but you manage to get pressure on just the right spot.

He huffs beside you and takes another drink, glancing around the community center. The movie is nearing an end, but nobody seems to notice or care about your distraction. Thank god for it, too—his hand is too addicting to stop now. His hands embody so much of him in your mind. They work so hard on the things he loves, hold you so tight, wipe your tears, caress you when you curl up next to him in bed. Even when he chokes you out, your hands come up to hold his as your vision blurs.

“You’re a fucking brat,” he grumbles in your ear, but he makes no move to take his hand away. Your grip isn’t firm, he certainly could if he wanted to. “Better finish up quick, mi amor. Movie’s almost over.”

Struggling to hold back a moan, you turn your face to press into his shoulder. You’re not going to last nearly as long as you thought you would, too busy rutting and grinding against his hand. Probably for the best—it sounds like the villain is dying on screen. It’s about time to wrap this up.

Driven by your own stubborn defiance, you grind his knuckle right into your sensitive clit and squeak into his shoulder. Every second you feel yourself pulse, each shudder slowly working you through the rapture you’ve brought yourself.

He finally gives in, just barely, rubbing at the inseam of your jeans as you come down from the dizzying high. As solid as his will is, he loves guiding you through your orgasms- he could never resist teasing at the edge of overstimulation.

As you push his hand away, the lights come up, applause thundering through the room as the credits roll. If someone were to look at you now, all they’d see is your flushed cheeks, lips parted to catch your breath. If they watch close, they might catch the little damp spot between your legs—but if anyone tries to get a good look, Joel won’t hesitate to knock their lights out. The protective violence shouldn’t turn you on.

Shouldn’t.

He leans in, kissing your cheek and gazing at you with a calm smile before he whispers in your ear.

“When we get home, I’m going to bend you over the arm of the couch and tan your fuckin’ hide. Then I’m gonna stuff my fingers in your greedy cunt and fuck you ’til you cry.” His voice gets huskier as he finishes the thought—you chew on your lip and glance down, stifling a giggle. He’s going to have a rough time hiding the firm bulge of his cock as you walk home together.

“Bring it, old man.”

Hope you enjoyed! Find this work on AO3 or check out my about me, feel free to say hi or leave an ask/request! Thank you to @jennaispunk for taking a look at this for me before posting :3 comments are always appreciated!

[neosexuals]

> ##⤿ Darling

! Pt 2 of pay attention

Warnings/pairings : smut (‼️) , english teacher! Mark , University au , reader is 20 mark is 27 , dom! Mark , sub ! Reader , mark uses fancy language cuz go figure english prof, mark is a meanie, makeshift tie gag??, pet names, reader has feelings towards mark? maybe?. use of the word slut, squirting.

Synopsis : Mark is by every account the most popular teacher in your university. He was just that good, he was funny, charming, a good teacher and most of all he was drop dead gorgeous.

A/n : 🤕 I didn't want to write big age gap tall I'm sorry 💔 maybe some other day. Also marks kind of a bitch (and I love it) not proof read :P @n4nam1i

_

When it had reached the end of the day you had sprinted your way to marks office, he was sitting there. Suited up, his collar untidy along with his loose tie. "Sir?" You knocked on his wide open door you could tell it had been a rough day for him.

"yes?" His messy hair made it all the more worse, not only did you touch yourself to the thought of your English professor yesterday but it left you longing for him. "Oh y/n come in please" and so you did, closing the door behind you.

Before commenting on his fatigued look you helped yourself to the seat infront of him. "Tough day sir?" To say mark was one of those uptight teachers was a complete lie, being the youngest amongst them, he's always been one to talk casually to his students. "Sorry does it look bad?" He rushed in to fix his hair combing it down with his fingers.

"no it's okay" you pouted your lips at him, that was pretty assuring to him. "Fine uh let's get with it hm" with that you dropped your bag onto the floor before mark got up, you weren't sure what he was up to before he grabbed his chalk. Oh my god he actually started teaching you, repeating what he had taught to the class today since again you werent paying attention. Sighing once again, this was not what you signed up for.

He was confused when he turned back at you, why were you not paying attention? To him you were free of being distracted by him since it's a one on one class. But to you all you could look at was his fat ass and his crooked glasses.

"y/n I'm genuinely confused now" your eyes were already on him, just the wrong parts of him. "What happened now?" He stared at you sighing, taking his glasses off "sir... it's nothing Serious honestly-"

Cut off by his words "listen y/n I really didn't wanna do this but"a lie, blatant at that, another sigh escaped his lips "strip"

"what?"

"I said strip."

"but-"

"say no, and noone has to speak about this"

You weren't all apposed to the idea. Honestly you wanted it as much as he demanded, but it was quite embarrassing considering the situation, but it got you soaked. "Now. Are you going to strip or no darling?" That nickname. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared him down from the chair, trying to understand the situation laid before you.

“Don't act dumb, you’ve wanted me..” he lets out a dry chuckle, your insides turning at how forward he was being. His glasses quickly being moved from resting on his face to on the desk, he moved closer to you, his breath tickling your ear “I’ve seen how you rub those pretty thighs under your desk, I’m not stupid you know" stepping back; sitting back down.

You started with your jacket, then your top. You couldn't bear him seeing you full naked "don't be so shy" he paused moving towards you "I won't look elsewhere" his eyebrows cocked at you along with a fake pout forming on his face, Pulling your arms away from your body.

God you forgot how hot the English language can be, his figure now towering over you as he tugs on the hem of your shirt before throwing it over your head. "Fuck" and other curses left him as he stares sinfully at the mere sight of your bra clad chest , borderline drooling at this point.

He snakes his hands down to your waist, finally inching towards the place you need him the most. His thumb slowly caress your hips, drawing circles atop it. "The skirt stays on pretty" the nickname combined with the stern tone causes your already weak knees to bend as you nod shakily.

He mumbled a little 'good girl' before slowly running his fingers up your thigh, his free hand moving to your nape, pushing your head closer to his. Too focused on the sensation of lips pressed against yours you miss when his singular had had slipped your panties down to your ankles. Sighing out a cracked 'sir' against his lips when two of his fingers press against your clit, His hand moving from your nape to your back, slipping down just enough to unclasp your bra.

he takes a step back as he relishes your body, eyes gleaming, his hands reach out once again cupping your cunt. "Sir.." you finally find it in you to look at hm in the eye, shooting a confused glance at him "call me mark darling" his breath hot against your ear ".....sir is...." - he mumbles- "odd" his words fish a giggle out of you, not to say you didn't find it hot but the contrast in tone makes your heart skip a beat.

Before he could earn a proper response out of you his fingers press onto your clit. "you shouldnt be laughing when your drenched down here...now should you?" you never missed the smug tone and smirk he threw at you.

"dirty girl " his lips latched onto your neck, soft and small pecks,You'd orgasm right then and there just by his words alone. His agonizingly slow strokes against your clit don't help either, letting out whimpers when he pressed the digits against your core. Small pleas leave your mouth over and over, his teasing topping you off.

"p-please sir" his eyes shoot up at you, removing his lips from your collar bone fingers still going back and forth along your slit "what did I say..? Hm Darling?" That was the final straw for him, one digit followed by another until it's a complete trio stuffed up your cunt.

“N-Not— MARK!”

that was all you could get out before going slack, dumb and cumming all over his fingers all way too quick. “That’s it….” His raspy voice fills your senses while all you can do is smile back at him, falling back down on the leather chair. You rest your head back as you feel your skirt and skin stick to each-other , you felt wet all over. “So good for me…think you could take my cock like this?” His tone sincere with a tinge of sarcasm.

“Hm? Think you could handle it darling…?” He lets out a soft chuckle watching your dumb state nodding like an idiot “yeah? You’re so dumb already” you open your eyes for a moment only to be met with a sulky pout. It’s not about weather or not you could handle anything at this point, to you, you just needed his cock. Letting out a string of pleas begging for even just the tip.

And after 2 or 3 tries he starts take of his own pants, completely naked other than the flimsy white shirt that lays atop him. “Shit i dont have a condom...” he muttered just loud enough for you to hear "I do..." He smiles at you and let's out yet another chuckle, you grab the condom out of your bag and hand it over to him. "Ofcourse you do...slut" the last word you could bearly hear but you could read his lips so clearly. It made you feel all sticky inside, the way he'd say the word so endearingly your heart had jumped right into your throat.

You had gotten into position by now, your thighs spread out sitting on his messy desk. Papers all over the floor and pens rattling around, you felt exposed. "Sir…..” you could only breath out the honorific "mark." His voice Stern once again before you could blink you heard the sound of a packet ripping. The condom, you knew it was the condom. "Now say please for me darling" you were melting right in front of him, arousal dripping onto his desk already exposed "please.....please mark" leaning in he kissed your cheek before pushing you flush against the desk legs dangling off the desk.

his cock sliding up and down your folds teasingly, his cock felt like everything you thought it would. thick just enough to have you holding onto him for dear life, begging to feel just a bit more of him.

"m-mark" his eyes bore into where you had intertwined , "yeah?" fuck his voice was so tantalizing "k-kiss..." a whine-like noise came out of you when he slapped your face as a response, cupping your flushed cheeks before kissing you silly "stay quiet now would you"

he so conveniently grabs his tie from behind you, would he tie your hands?

all thoughts fizzle out once he brought the bunched up fabric to you wide open mouth, muffling your whines and pleas as each thrust shook you right to the core, more things falling off the desk as he made you see heaven.

you tightened each time, the teacher who would always stay so pure and sweet was fucking you into oblivion, "shit- loosen up for me darling - fuck" you physically couldn't, his thrust erraticly pushing you closer and close "what is it? cock too big for your sweet lil' pussy?" you nodded slowly "yeah? you close baby" hearing him speak so casually was a dream nodding became rapid as you let out one last guttural whine, still muffled, as you came all over.

did you....it was a new feeling to say the least, leaking everywhere, you fucking squirted mark finally came riding out his and your orgasm "fuck- didn't know you were a squirter" he spoke as if he gave you the most midcore experience of your life ruffling the back of his head before removing the spit clad tie from your mouth, drool sticking to the tie "m' not..." Mark had never made someone squirt before, it was unbelievable , his eyes wide with shock "I've never.....squirted before"

"so i did that?" you nodded, still out of it. "fuck- you felt amazing darling i-" you could barely move so you'd hope you were a good experience "I'm glad, but could you help me sir?" his smile quickly faded "mark. or do i have to fuck it back into you?" he joked, as much as you would very much like that you wouldn't want it now, here. he helped you up grabbing your waist and wrapping your arm around his shoulders "there you go..." he mumbled.

you'd dress up as quickly as you could, as so did he, "y/n" he had called out as you tried to get as much of shit you'd thrown on the floor back on his desk, catching your attention you looked up at him, "i mean it, you were amazing, and i wouldn't mind doing this again" you felt as if you could burst. all you could do was smile and nod "you were amazing too....if you hadn't noticed"

after cleaning up finally, you had left his room, a dopey smile spreading across your face as it all sits in.

[the-travelling-witch]

hello miss witch, i have a question for you if you don't mind c:

i've read about that sweet ask left by the snowflake anon and then the compliments (?) from another anon about that work with scara ending up late because of morning kisses and cuddles

this actually had me wondering how would the anemo boys react to a sudden sneak attack consisting in kisses all over their faces, no spot/inch left untouched

if you need an example, this one: aether is minding his own business, maybe sketching a new tattoo idea, or drawing for fun, or doing whatever maybe while sitting, and his sweet lil partner comes behind him, engulfing him in a warm hug before leaving numerous (very numerous, almost too many one could say) kisses and smooches all over his face, so many that no inch is left untouched: cheeks, cheekbones, eyes, forehead, temples, nose, lips as the final touch, before stopping satisfied and go back to whatever this partner was doing before this sudden love shower, their lover boy probably short circuited by this

no need to answer at all or for all the boys if you don't feel like it, it was just a curiosity that came to mind c:

have a nice day, miss witch

hi there, i never mind asks about the modern au, i just might not answer requests for drabbles immediately bc i need to be in the right mood to write more than a few paragraphs for a specific scenario :>

i won’t write for all of them bc i have a lot of requests for the modern au (and that’s considering i don’t actually take requests) but modern! aether needs more love <3

warning: a little suggestive at the end (or you could just get your mind out of the gutter hshsh)

holly's modern au masterlist || holly’s modern au tag

Aether’s sketchbook lay discarded on the coffee table, having to make room for you to scoot into the place it previously occupied. With his hands now free to hold you, you could easily rest your head on your boyfriend’s slowly rising and falling chest.

Catching up on a show you were watching together, your hands were tangled in the ends of Aether’s long hair, the blond strands soft but still showing some of the colour that had washed out over time. 

When the show hit a bit of a sag in tension and nothing really happened to move the plot further, your gaze landed on the empty mugs in front of you and you untangled your legs from Aether’s to push yourself up.

But your decision to grab new drinks was delayed as you glanced down at your boyfriend underneath you, looking ethereal with his golden hair splayed around him like a molten halo, his bright eyes focusing on you at your movement.

“Hm, what are you-“

His breath hitched as you leant down to plant a soft kiss against his temple, his skin warm and smooth against your lips. Not able to resist, you trailed more kisses over his temple, all over his cheeks dimpling with his smile, his melodic giggles floating through your living room until you reached the corner of his mouth.

You attacked his nose next, simultaneously pushing the loose strands of his hair behind his ear with the hand not used to support yourself, just so you could flutter a swarm of butterfly kisses over his pierced ears.

The skin underneath the pad of your thumb grew steadily hotter as you caressed the arch of his cheekbone, your lips busy mapping out the path from behind his ears, over his jaw and down his throat. 

By now his heart beat was thumping faster against your chest than before and you know Aether was trying to control his breathing, only to be betrayed by his own shaky exhale. He swallowed hard as you lingered over the sensitive spot where his neck met his shoulder, before continuing south as far as the collar of his shirt would let you.

As you sat up on your knees between his legs, you studied your boyfriend’s flushed face, seeing how his brain tried to catch up to what happened just now, his fingers twitching without his arms complying to bring them any closer to you.

“I’m getting up to get new drinks, of course,” you cheekily answered his previous question, moving to unfold your legs from underneath yourself and slinging them over the edge of the couch. 

Aether mumbled something under his breath as you stood up and you urged him to repeat himself, louder this time. There was more clarity in his eyes when you looked back at him, subconsciously licking his lips.

“I said, didn’t you forget somewhere?” The question was airy in the delicate atmosphere, as if any more force could shatter the bubble you found yourself in, where only him and you existed.

Pretending to contemplate for a moment, you agreed with a grin but didn’t bend down over his mouth. Instead you quickly lifted the hem of his shirt and your lips made contact with the cool metal of his belly button piercing, giving it more attention than the others before. With your hand splayed on his warm stomach, you could feel the sharp intake of air under your colder fingertips and you followed his skin relentlessly before letting up with a smirk.

Satisfied with the state you left your boyfriend in, you turned towards the kitchen to actually fetch new drinks but the action left Aether outside your field of vision. 

So, when his slender fingers wrapped around your wrist, a surprised gasp left your lips and you were quickly spun back towards your couch and flipped over to have your back meet the couch cushions.

Perhaps with your boyfriend now hovering over you and his blond hair tickling the side of your face, it was a good moment to remember how unassumingly agile he was.

There was a competitive sparkle in his eyes as a grin playfully curled around his lips and you closed your eyes when he leant down to mirror your actions. But instead of starting from your temple like you did, the featherlight touch of his soft lips against your earlobe sent a shiver down your spine as he whispered to you.

“It’s my turn now, beautiful.”

© the-travelling-witch 2023 - do not repost, translate, copy or edit

if you like my content, reblogs, comments and asks are always much appreciated ♡

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modern au: @r0ttenhearts @bananasquash @hoshiwitch

[desultory-novice]

About Apologies au... I get that it's mainly about Noir and Adeleine's relationship. But, I have to ask. Since Adeleine likes to tease Noir about not having any friends (Aside from Raquelle), did she have any? I get there probably weren't many people on shiver star, and I know Adeleine got bullied. But... I assume she went to school and... Did she at least manage to make one friend of her own? That perhaps Noir didn't know about? Even if it was for a short time?

That is a good question! Time for Dess to actually get wordy (and surprisingly frank!) about the AU’s setting!

[CW: mention of grooming, abuse behind the read more]

...I think that, toward the end, as the environment became increasingly harsh, most kids (...what kids there even were...) tended to grow up under some form of home-schooling.

Now, that would be for people who still lived with some form of privilege in Shiver Stars troubled twilight years. Everyone else was probably bustled off into learning whatever tasks were necessary to keep up the planet's survival instead of math, literature, art...

Noir probably got a shockingly good education for the few year he and his parents still lived on the New World, and I'd like to think that Neichel and Rim continued to try and provide both their kids with an education after fleeing to Earth. (Thus why Noir has a penchant for storytelling and Adeleine for music...that, btw, only transformed into drawing AFTER the death of their parents, when a frightened young Noir, who had the distinct - and not incorrect - feeling they'd been murdered because of who they were - swore himself and Adeleine to silence about the lives they lived before...)

[CW starts here]

-

When the two fled their childhood home following a frightening home invasion that Noir barely fended off and were taken in by Roan (Raquelle’s wealthy and powerful and sadistic father) it LOOKED like they would still be able to maintain that quality of life…

Adeleine was included in the group study sessions the shelter community ran, which probably spanned a variety of ages, similar to pre-20th century schools. Noir might’ve been allowed to attend a FEW of these classes himself but was mostly busy "apprenticing" under Roan. (Which was Roan’s public-facing excuse to have all the time in the world to groom and abuse the boy in private, in-between dragging him to meetings like a collared pet......)

...But, yes, those horrors aside... I imagine the shy, sweet (and spectrum-y) Adeleine was still able to make a friend or two there that Noir would not have had the mind to notice. It was living in such close proximity to Raquelle that even allowed them to grow as close as they did! But the trio’s close bond was emblematic of the age gap friendships that were more common in that society! (Not that the trio has a particularly huge age gap between them, but as the idea of having kids in this wasteland got too depressing to think of, it grew especially rare for a kid to encounter someone their exact age.)

...Adeleine had to leave her schoolmates behind after getting “sick” and in the shelters they lived in after that, did struggle increasingly to make friends. That was the period where she was bullied, because she was considered painfully naive compared to her new "peers."

The guilt from realizing, belatedly, that even if he had little choice, Noir HAD taken his sister from friends (as well as feeling like he’d just done a bad job protecting her in general...) was why, immediately following, Noir endeavored to spend as much time as he was able with her, processing (escaping) his own trauma by mentally reconfiguring himself as an “entity” who existed FOR her. He also took to trying to scare off anyone he deemed a threat to his little sister, even if those people were not actually interested in Adeleine at all but were actually trying to make a connection WITH him. ^^;

Friendlessness Streak Continues ; w ;

At this stage in his life, with all he'd endured, the poor boy could only see others reaching out to him as an attempt to separate him from Adeleine (separate him from his only life-link…) and reacted with hostility. This is why Raquelle, who he knew from before they left, was the only one he would let get close/who could get back in to his heart. (Alas that it wasn’t -quite- close enough to keep her from getting killed. Blame her monster of a father for that…)

Now, Adeleine didn’t truly know what was wrong with her brother beneath the surface, but she kind of intrinsically understood that Noir looked much “...sicker...” when they were living with Roan and now her brother seemed better! (He was more active, at least) She was happy to spend more time with him finally too, so she had no complaints with the increased time together...even if they grew increasingly isolated from folks during this chunk of their lives...

While not to the level of “friends” friends, Adeleine did tend to get along well with the various kitchen staff crews she, as a young girl, would be teamed up with; inventing new (and sometimes frightening, depending on what ingredients they had the most of…) sandwich combinations together when the siblings were sent off to work. Though Noir, who was required to do more physical labor outside, being a boy who was mostly fully grown, would take Adeleine with him on his jobs as much as he possibly could.

...Phew!

A LOT of iceberg stuff (that you would probably have seen if Apologies was, like, a full-fledged novel instead of a series of short comics and asks) but I hope it was enlightening!

-

[Psst! Vote for Noir for even more lore!]

[animelovelover123]

Reboot Vergil's Yandere Alphabet

Synopsis/Author's Note: I am very slowly working my way through this. They are just so long so who knows when or if I will ever get around to writing one for all 6 main boys.

The yandere alphabet I am using is an edited version of one made by no gender bee on tumblr. I added missing letters, changed some of the letters/descriptions, and altered some of the grammar (like using Canadian spelling).

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction for personal entertainment. If you are reading this, please understand that drawing/writing/reading/imagining things of this nature does NOT equate to desiring or supporting real-world assault.

Trigger Warnings: imprisonment, gaslighting, (Reboot Vergil is surprisingly tame, especially considering my last one.), minimally beta read because my editor rushed it and because they are kindly looking over my work I don't feel right asking them to do a better and more thorough job.

Abuse = Could they ever hurt you physically or mentally? What would be the reason?

Yes, and with very little remorse. You are deceived, misled, confused, and he has to help you see the truth. You will understand that your destiny is to be by his side, even if that means he has to hurt you. He isn’t as much into physical abuse, though he will employ it as severe punishments. Even then though it would not be something as cruel and barbaric as a beating. It would be more like a shock collar that electrocutes you if you misbehave or leaving you conscious as a tracking device is surgically implanted into your body.

Your mind is what he will hurt the most. From revealing the horrors of the world to you, destroying your blissful ignorance, to telling you that you are now a target for demons and he and The Order are the only ones that can protect you. He will even prove to you that some of the people who are close to you are spies that can’t be trusted and must be eliminated but showing you evidence. Evidence that may or may not have been fabricated depending on if the person is an actual threat or a personal threat to his relationship with you.

He will break you down so you feel like you only have, and only need, him.

Both = You are a Yandere too, what’s their reaction?

Everything becomes a competition between you two, a game of dominance and love. It is a back-and-forth, a constant struggle to be one step ahead of each other. You break into Kat’s room to try to eliminate her since she and Vergil had a bit of a romance before you came along only to find it empty with a note on the far wall. When you step in though the door slams closed behind you and locks you in. The note informs you that Vergil knew of your plan, has moved Kat to a safer location, and now that his trap has gone off he has been remotely notified and is on his way. Did you put something in his drink to knock him out? Well done dear, he is excited to see what you have in store for him when he awakens.

The only time it becomes a real issue is if your yandere acts get in the way of his mission, and even then he will just have you bound and gaged while he deals with business. Once he is finished he will find you in his room wrapped up like a present where he can punish you in the most delicious of ways.

Crazy = How easy do they enter crazy mode? How do they act when they are in it?

Vergil does not really lose his cool unless he feels threatened, and with him believing that, as a nephilam, he and his brother are superior to everyone, he does not feel threatened by much of anything. As a leader and having to keep many secrets from evyryone, like police, his adoptive family, and the fake friends in high society he keeps as a front to hide his true goals, he knows how to keep his cool. Even when he does start to feel threatened, like if Dante starts flirting with you or you two argue, he tries to assert dominance by staying calm and handling the issue with persuasion. If that fails though, then he snaps. He starts shouting, telling you and others to shut up, challenging people, all in a desperate ploy to regain control.

Difference = When can you notice a difference in behaviour in them? What are the first signs that their love for you is unhealthy?

It is very subtle, pretty much unnoticeable by anyone other than his right-hand woman Kat and his brother Dante. They are the ones that most likely bring Vergil’s shift in behaviour to your attention, whether intentionally or not. You will start getting special treatment in The Order, receiving fewer strenuous and dangerous missions while getting more compensation for your supposed “loyalty” and “hard work”. This could be seen as just him having a crush though. The real dive from an innocent growing crush into a twisted obsession is when he starts to cut off your ties to others, especially within The Order. If you so much as get a bit too friendly with another member of The Order, they are suddenly and unjustifiably sent out for what are basically suicide missions. And, though we have seen how he manipulates you into thinking others in your life are spies (see Abuse), if someone is dating you or even just flirting with you, they will one day just disappear off the face of the earth. They will leave a note or message to you explaining how they had some personal demons they had to deal with and have left town for self-healing and discovery. Only a few people are aware that that person is actually tied up in one of the many back rooms of The Order’s base, gagged, bloodied, and beaten.

Enjoy = Do they enjoy what they’re doing to you, your life and the people around you? Do they show it?

Vergil does not exactly enjoy it, but there is a satisfaction to when things go as planned. For example, after months of you running and hiding whenever he returns to his living quarters and him having to hunt you down and either coax you out or punish you, to then being able to walk through the door to find you eagerly waiting for him like a lonely pet, the rush of affection, pride, and satisfaction is indeed enjoyable.

Force = What, if any, kinds of things will they force on you? Isolating from friends and family? Going on dates? Physical affection and/or sexual acts?

If you break his trust or generally try to deny your destiny with him, he will force many things on you, such as punishments for misbehaving, imprisonment, and surgically inserting a tracking device.

If you never betray him though he won’t force things on you, but will trick you into them in a way. As an example, what if you have trouble with food, such as not being able to afford it, eating too much, too little, etc.…? Normally Vergil does not really care what you eat or your body not being of a particular shape. He is more interested in your mind and heart, plus all the advertising and subliminal messaging by big corporations that women must be thin and men must be muscular were just unobtainable standards made by demons to keep the humans in check. As long as you are happy and healthy, you can eat as you please. That’s the caveat though. If your relationship with food is unhealthy, mentally or physically, he will step in to help you but in a more subtle, secretive way. He’ll study what issues you are having and build a plan around it. He will subtly manipulate you into eating better, starting with “sharing his lunch”, which he always seems to make too much of to eat himself, and taking you out to eat. Then he will start planning dates around, or generally asking if you would like to engage in, cooking with him. Then, once you are living with him, he will have a personal chef who can make a healthy meal plan so you do not have to worry about anything. This manipulative plan would play out over the course of months but eventually, he will, in one sense of the word, force you into things like this for your benefit.

Gross = What is something they think is really romantic/sweet but is actually horrifying?

Vergil can destroy someone for you. I don’t mean simply killing them, though that is a possibility as well. Instead, he will use his business, his money, his fame, and his secret organization to socially and financially ruin someone. Whether it be someone who has terrorized you for a long time, maybe even traumatized you, or a co-worker that you complain about for making your job harder, Vergil will take things into his own hands. Within the month you will hear that that person lost their job, couldn’t support their family, and is now either in jail for crimes they did not commit or living on the streets doing horrible, degrading things just to get by.

In Vergil’s eyes, this is his way of protecting you and showing you how much he cares. He sees it similarly to a husband doing the dishes even though it was the wife’s turn to do them as a sweet gesture. But please, don’t feel guilty about it.

“Think of it as retribution for hurting you. Besides…” Vergil wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you to his chest so he can hug you as if your horrified reactions are the cries of a child being faced with something that they don’t understand that needs to be comforted. “now they can’t  bother you anymore.”

Hide = How easy is it to hide from them?

Vergil runs a largescale underground resistance force that gathers information on, and eliminates, the biggest names in pop culture. You are not hiding from this man, at least not for long. No matter what corner of the country you run to, in limbo or the human world, you will be tracked down and brought back to him. Your only chance is if you find a rural town in another country and abstain from all kinds of internet usage. If you do anything from popping on to the internet to watch a YouTube video, to look up information, or even do things that involve the internet like using a bank, The Order will become aware and pin down your location. And at that point, you better start running because a very angry Vergil is on his way to “pick you up”.

Improve = Will they be willing to recover from this psychotic state for their lover?

Possibly. But only with the combined help of Kat, Dante, and you, the only people he trusts in the world. You have to sit him down and make it clear to him that doing things like keeping you locked up “for your protection” and hurting people who you don’t like, or like too much, is more so hurting your relationship than strengthening it. He is a logical man and, with evidence and a clear talking to, he will understand where you all are coming from and start working towards being better.

However, when Vergil is betrayed by Dante, Kat, and possibly you, then all that work and attempt to be understanding of your point of view is shattered along with his heart and morals. He becomes 10 times worse than he was before and no amount of talking, begging, or evidence will stop him from taking you and keeping you safe with him.

Justification = Why are they acting like this? When and how did it start?

The world is built on lies and illusions, and those who succeed are those willing and able to outmaneuver and manipulate. Vergil learned this at a young age after being adopted by a rich and powerful family with many skeletons in their closet. This is simply the way of things, but Vergil will use his power for the better. When he is in control he will protect and lead those too frail and simplistic with respect. And as a leader, there are tough decisions he has to make that some may see as cruel but he knows best. All war is fought with deception, and in the fight for love he will do what he must to have, protect, and cherish you as the superior being to most other humans you are.

Kidnap = Are they willing to kidnap you? If so, how will they do it? For how long will they keep you and where?

He is definitely willing to, though he won’t jump straight to the chloroform to do it. Instead, he will be patient. Like a stray cat being lured by food, slowly acclimated to someone’s house, then having the door closed on them and being officially claimed, Vergil will woo you with sweet words, luxurious gifts, and safety from the demon-infested world into The Order’s headquarters. At first, he lets you come and go, though he makes it hard as he fills rooms with your favourite things and showers you with affection whenever he can. Then, one day, you’ll find that the door has been closed on you.

He will keep you there until his plan has succeeded and he and his brother are ruling over the humans. Then you can be given a bit more freedom as his partner, though you will always have to be guarded.

If you don’t fall for the trap or escape after it has gone off, then Vergil won’t hesitate to go with a more… forward approach.

Lonely = They are feeling lonely but you are busy with something else, what will they do?

Vergil is a patient man, as comes with the territory of being the leader of a secret organization that has to move quietly and slowly toward their goals so as not to draw attention. Plus he can get very absorbed into his work to the point that he ignores you, and everyone else, for days on end. This is all to say, he can handle not having your attention for long bouts of time.

If he does come to the end of his rope though, he will consider what you are doing. Are you doing something that is important to you or will aid the mission? For example, if you are at the doctor's or doing espionage. If not, then he will find you and tell you that “there is a bit of a problematic situation, I need to speak to you privately right away”. When you follow him under the belief that your assistance is needed, you instead end up on a plush couch, drink in hand, and Vergil pressed up against your side. His hands will sensually caress your legs, hips, shoulders, and head, and his lips brush against your neck while he whispers praises and how lonely he has been without you as of late.

Moving On = If you die or escape, will they be able to move on? How easy will it be for them?

He has his mission, he will focus on that. And for a while that works, but after a few years as the ruler of humans, the loneliness sets in and his thoughts drift back to you. He may not have been able to find you while staying underground and in the masked human world. But now that the worlds are merged and he has armies of humans, demons, and angels alike, he will search all the realms for you. Even if you have died, he is the ruler of all, he will find a way to bring you back or at least bind your spirit to him.

Non-Stop = How clingy will they be when you’re in a relationship? How possessive are they? And how much free space do they give you?

He gives you quite a bit of freedom and space, even if you have betrayed him and his plan to rule over the humans. He himself enjoys some quiet, private time so in turn offers you plenty of opportunities to do the same. He also prefers to have special moments together and to be able to talk to each other at the end of most every day rather than being glued together at the hip all the time. As for possessiveness, though he does believe you to be his destiny, he will not act on it unless he feels legitimately threatened. Speaking of which…

Other = Someone else speaks to or flirts with you, how will they react?

Vergil sees himself as superior to all other beings, only matched by his fellow Nephilim brother Dante. So if some lowly human or demon attempts to gain your attention, he is not bothered as he knows he outclasses them in every way. He can simply sweep you off your feet at any moment and win your attention easily. His confidence is easily shaken though.

The moment his relationship with you feels threatened, such as if someone almost as good as him, like his brother, starts flirting with you or you seem to be reacting positively to the affection, his mood switches quickly. His calm and polite demeanour becomes colder, more boastful, and confrontational. He won’t be outright hostel, but he will subtly try to flex and pull your attention back to him. And if the person just keeps encroaching on you two… well Vergil knows plenty of ways to make someone disappear.

Persistent = You have rejected/ignored their first attempts at gaining your attention. How many more times will they try and how quickly will their actions ramp up in intensity?

Vergil is focused and committed to his plan so when you two first start to get to know each other and he throws a line but you don’t bite, he isn’t too bothered. But with every subsequent meeting, he gets more and more obsessed with you. Meeting you over and over, each time he sees something new in you. A new side that makes him more and more enamoured. Slowly but surely his attempts to woo you get more blatant. And if still you rebuff his advances, well, he will just have to jump straight to plan b on the kidnapping scheme.

Questioned = How do they react if someone catches on to their odd behaviour and questions them?

If it is someone who is oblivious to the true nature of the world then he will do his best to uphold the innocent, gentlemanly, naïve persona he puts on for the public. He will deny what he can, minimize what he can’t, and play to the idea that he did not have a normal upbringing, what with skipping most of high school and starting a business at such a younge age, so he is not sure how to treat the person he has feelings for. He didn’t know that having a bodyguard, or himself, chaperoning you around everywhere was wrong. He just wanted to help you get around and make you feel safe.

If this person is someone who knows his hidden side, such as members of The Order, then his patience will be thinner. He will still try to assure them that everything is fine and, though his methods are a bit odd, he is doing his best to be a good lover. And finally, if someone who knows his true self questions him, aka Dante or Kat, then he may just listen to their feedback.

Risk = How risky will they be with getting rid of rivals?

It depends on what stage of his plan he is in. If he is still working underground, laying low as he and his team gather information and grow stronger, then the risk level will be minimal. This is also dependent on how public his relationship with you is. If you met through The Order then discreetly disposing of pests can be done without garnering much attention. However, if you met outside of The Order, then your existence and relationship with him is plastered all over forums and rag mags within weeks. If a love rival suddenly goes missing, even if they were a nobody, the humans who spend all their time gossiping, theorizing, and judging others based on limited information will jump to the conclusion that Vergil had something to do with it. In this case, Vergil will have to stick to his usual tactic of flexing his power, money, and regal demeanour to outclass the love rival, hopefully making them step down from the competition for your heart willingly.

If this is after Vergil has taken Mundus’ place, then there is simply no risk. Vergil will deal with any who try to steal you away viciously and publicly as a way to assert dominance and let all others know that, though you are an imperfect being that stands as an equal to an all powerful nephilam like him. They are far below your level. He is the only one good enough for you.

Sweet = Even when they’re Yandere they can be sweet. What’s their sweet Yandere side?

Vergil is supportive of your hobbies, career, and passions, encouraging you to do what it is you desire. He believes that everyone has a destiny and whether yours is something grand like fighting for a cause or as mundane as learning to be an accountant, he will help and support you in any way he can. He will buy you supplies, look over your work, or just be a listening ear when you are struggling. He also wants you to be proud of what you do, not minimize your contributions. Yes, his mission to take down Mundus may be more life-changing, but that does not mean your path is not important or worthwhile. You have a destiny, and it is imperative that you follow it. And Vergil will be at your side the whole way.

Type = What type of Yandere are they?

Vergil is the manipulative type, using his intelligence, power, fortune, and influence to get what he wants. He will use your secrets, fears, and mental weaknesses to make you dependent on him. Do you have social anxieties? Stress from work and/or school? Panic about bills and debts? Then he will convince you that you don’t need to go through any of that. Quit your job and/or school, let him pay off your debts, and come live with him. You can stay home all day with no worries, let him take care of you and love you, all you have to do is love him in return.

Unsure = How much trust do they have in you? What happens if you break it?

Despite how cruel the world is and how untrusting Vergil is of pretty much all sources of news, authority, and power, he has a small group of people he trusts wholeheartedly. He trusts his brother Dante, his best friend Kat, and the love of his life, you. You can go out whenever and wherever you please, talk to whomever you want, as long as you come back safe to him. He will tell you of his desires, his hardships, his doubts, his insecurities, and his plans if you only ask. And he will listen to you and anything you need to get off your chest and try to help you through it. If you say you will do something, that you’ll help, and that you love him, he will believe you. At least until you betray him.

If, for example, after you all have defeated Mundus, you, Dante, and Kat turn against him, his trust in you three will be irreparably shattered. After he returns from hell with his army to take over the human world and kidnaps you, no matter how much you apologize and do everything he wants, he will never fully trust you again. To his dying breath, even after decades of your devotion and love, the scar on his heart will never fully heal.

Vexation = What is the one thing that you could do to piss them off or worry them the most?

When the time comes for him, you, Dante, and Kat to take the reigns and rule over the humans, if you turn against him and side with his brother then he is devastated. He had honestly expected all of you to understand why you all have been doing this and his desires, but it seems he was wrong. The heartbreak of the woman who has been with him the longest on this journey, his only living relative, and worst of all, the love of his life turning against him was immeasurable. It was nearly enough to make him not fight back when Dante lost control and nearly killed him. But he survived and slunk off into the demon world. Once he returns with his demon army though, his last shreds of humanity in him are thrown away, he seeks you out first and captures you. You may not understand now, but even if it takes years of imprisonment, passion, and brainwashing, Vergil will make you see your mistakes and understand that the place you belong is with him standing at the top of the world.

Welcome = Let’s say they’re Yandere for you but you’ve not had your first meeting. How do they initiate it?

Vergil is not going to come at you with all his dark secrets. No matter how much of his heart you have stolen, if he were to let out any of his secrets he could put himself, his loved ones, his countless workers, and his mission at risk. Not to mention his mission of ruling, leading, and caring for humans is hard for many to understand and accept, he knows that much. So at first, he shows you his public persona, of a prodigy of codding and business who was raised to be a gentleman by his giving, and rich, adoptive family.

He’ll set it up like you casually meet each other, charm you just a little, then leave. Then he will ‘just so happen to bump into you again’, a simple lie to cover up how he has been tracking you. From there you will slowly grow closer and he will subtly start preparing you to enter his world.

Xeric = What is an innocuous thing you do that hits a nerve in their twisted mind and really turns them on?

Wearing the clothes and accessories Vergil picked out and bought for you. Or, even better, things he had tailor-made. Everything fits you so perfectly, as he had them modified for your body shape, and accentuate your beauty and status. And to see you in something he picked or helped design added to the allure of the claim. You were his and your clothes were a blatant sign of that. The number of times he has had to excuse you both during an event because seeing you in that suit he designed was something he could not handle anymore without ravaging you in it. Bonus points if you both return to the gathering, clothes back in place, with your private areas still coated in slick, seed, and essence.

Yearning = They want you but you are already with someone else. How will they win you over/steal you from your current partner?

Vergil is well aware that he is better than your current partner in every way, he just has to show that to you. So suddenly he will become more of a show-off than usual but as a philanthropist so that he does not look selfish. He will also take the time to charm you directly with compliments, gifts, and invites, and suddenly seem to know a lot about all of your interests. And, if you are already aware of limbo and the demons that manipulate the human race, he will show you his tactical power.

His attempts to win you over quickly become blatant, done purposely so Vergil can assert superiority and show that he does not fear your partner. If he is confronted about this and asked about his intentions, he will be honest and maybe a bit smug about it.

“Stealing your partner? I’m not stealing them, I am fighting fairly for them. I am showing them what I have to offer, and considerin how you burst in here to shout at me to stop, it tells me that you’ve realized that you’re losing.”

Zealot = If everything fails, will they be able to kill their partner? He will because he must. He has a mission to complete, a destiny that he must fulfil and people to save and rule. So if you prove to be a problem then you will be eliminated. The last shred of his love for you that you get to see before the world goes dark is that he could not bear to cut you down with his own hands. If he were to do that, the seeds of sorrow at lost potential would sow themselves too deep for him to ignore.

[television-overload]

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 23/34 - filing cabinet

[Read on AO3]

The water cooler gurgles as he fills a small paper cup and takes a sip. Today had been the day. After weeks of going through personnel files for prospective replacements, they finally met with a few candidates. He meant what he said to Scully; he’s ready to let go of the reins a little. That doesn’t make the actuality of handing over the X-Files any easier.

Force of habit, he thinks, to resist any and all efforts to boot them from the X-Files. He has to keep reminding himself that it was his idea this time, and that they’d still be working on them in a consulting capacity anyway. He isn’t quitting cold turkey. And besides, they’re moving on to bigger and much better things.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice at first when a few other guys gather around, each filling their own cups with water.

“So, Garcia,” the first one says, addressing a man Mulder vaguely recalls works in Organized Crime. “I hear the wife’s about to pop. You ready?”

Agent Garcia smiles, nodding his head. “Oh yeah. We’re going out tonight. One last night on the town before the baby gets here, you know?”

“You gotta do it,” another agent says. Agent Mann, or something silly like that, Mulder thinks. “They call it a ‘babymoon,’ you ever heard of that? My wife and I took a trip down to the Isle of Palms for ours before Michael was born. Great beaches. Now we’re lucky if we make it to the coast without one or all of our kids ingesting sand.”

The men share a hearty laugh, and Mulder feels a little out of place.

“Amy would have killed me if I hadn’t taken her out for a nice dinner before our first,” the first agent says. “It was another two years before we were able to go to a nice restaurant alone, so I wouldn’t have blamed her!”

Is this something people do, Mulder wonders? Is Scully expecting it? Maybe he had missed the memo at some point. Is there a soon-to-be-dad handbook somewhere that tells them how to win points with their wives before they become parents? Should he have come up with a plan to do something special for Scully? Their lives are about to irreversibly change, and he hadn’t even considered, really, that very soon, it won’t be just the two of them anymore. There will be a third person, someone entirely dependent on them just to stay alive.

He fills his paper cup again, feeling sweat begin to form under his collar.

Dinner. He can do dinner, that’s a good idea. He should ask her. One last hoorah as the infamous Mulder-Scully duo for old times’ sake. She’d like that.

With a polite nod and a forced smile at his fellow agents around the water cooler, he heads back toward the elevator, and back to the basement.

-.-.-

“Hey, there you are,” Scully says as he shuts the door behind him. She’s elbow deep in one of the filing cabinet drawers, evidently rooting around at the back for a stray piece of paper that has escaped a folder. “Help me figure out which files to make copies of. I know you’re going to want to keep some of them,” she says.

She knows him so well. He’s already started making a mental list of ones he wants to have in his personal collection. The Bellefleur file, for example. And of course, the ones with his name or Scully’s in it, but those are for much less happy, nostalgic reasons.

Slouching his suit coat off his shoulders, he rolls up his sleeves and approaches the drawer, offering his assistance in reaching the wayward scrap of paper. Her little arms are too short, a fact which he intends to tease her about later. His fingers successfully find the edge of the document, and he extracts it with careful precision.

A familiar picture stares back up at him, giving him a hearty chuckle.

“Remember this one?” he asks, turning his sketch of the Jersey Devil back toward her.

She laughs as she takes it from him, inspecting it. “How could I forget?” she says, “I think this image is forever ingrained in my psyche.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of my drawing,” he says. “I want a copy of that file. With my beautiful artwork, please.”

She rolls her eyes, but opens up a folder and slides the paper in its rightful place. He can’t help but notice it was already in the ‘to-be-xeroxed’ pile before he said anything.

The office falls silent as he continues rifling through the cabinets, plucking out a file here and there that he wouldn’t mind keeping. It’s a walk down memory lane, for him. Flukeman, Big Blue, the vampire sheriff in Texas… Who would have thought that seven years later, he’d still have Scully by his side as he prepares to let go of what became his life’s work? Their life’s work. She should have run screaming from here years ago, but she didn’t.

Now look where it’s gotten them.

Glancing up at her from over the top of the overstuffed file drawer and filled with a sudden surge of gratefulness that he doesn’t know what to do with, he blurts, “Let’s go out to dinner tonight.”

She freezes, and he mentally kicks himself for the hasty delivery of his idea. Theoretically, he should have planned a better way to ask her. After a second that feels like an eternity, she turns to him with a skeptical tilt to her brow and a small smile. 

Well, at least he knows he’ll still get to see her make that expression at him even when they’re off the X-Files.

“I mean, we could try that new place in Dupont Circle. The one your mom was telling you about? If you want.”

“What’s the occasion?” she asks, folding her arms expectantly in front of her chest as she leans back in his office chair.

“You know,” he shrugs, “pretty soon it won’t be just us anymore, and I– I like… spending time with you… So I just thought it would be nice to—”

She smiles shyly. “That sounds great, Mulder,” she says, interrupting his fumbling explanation. “Tonight at seven?”

He grins, ducking his head to hide his goofy expression. “Yeah, seven. I’ll make the reservations.”

-.-.-

In hindsight, this is a crazy idea. The restaurant they’re going to is extravagant. Ostentatious. And he knows Scully knows it, too. The margin of error for plausible deniability here is extremely small, and if she doesn’t have some idea of his feelings for her already, he’s going to have a hard time keeping it that way as they sit in a low-lit room munching on those fancy breadsticks and drinking expensive wine.

What had he been thinking? He asked her out without even sparing it a thought, not realizing how it would sound. To be going out on a date with your best friend who is also technically your wife? Langly and Frohike were right. He is an idiot. What is he supposed to do on this ‘date?’ How is he supposed to act? Does she expect anything from him? Is this his last chance to make a move? What does it mean that this is one of the last nights they’ll spend alone together before someone literally hands them a baby and lets them take it home?

The idea of making a move, after all this time spent explicitly trying not to do exactly that, has him in a spiral. He paces around the floor in his bedroom, trying not to think about what dress Scully might be putting on in her room on the other side of the hall or what she might be doing with her hair.

He can’t upset the status quo like this with the baby due any time in the next few weeks, can he? Bad idea. Bad, bad, idea. But at the same time, when else would he get the chance? He’d heard what the other agents had said… it was years in some cases before new parents got the chance to really be alone. What if he had to spend the next several years silently pining for his own wife in the home they share together, watching her be a mother to the baby they adopted? Maybe there’s a reason people don’t get into arrangements like this with their platonic best friend, after all.

How stupid was he to think he could do this without letting his feelings get in the way? Why on earth didn’t he just tell her months ago, before all this started, instead of getting his hopes up?

The answer, of course, is that he wants this. He wants this family more than anything, even if it's never anything more than friendship and cohabitation with Scully. He would have scared her away if he told her the same day she found those adoption brochures on his desk. It would be too much at once. He knows her, she would have been overwhelmed.

But, man… What if?

He checks his reflection in the mirror one more time, smoothing his hair into place. He hopes he didn’t overdo it on the cologne. Should he be wearing a tie? He puts on one that Scully got him several years ago, complete with a tie clip he’d gotten from her mother at Christmas.

He hesitates over the chain he wears under his shirt. What would Scully think if he took it off and wore it on his finger tonight? He finds that he wants to. Just a normal husband and wife grabbing dinner together. Without giving it much thought, he loosens his tie and unbuttons the top button of his shirt to free the necklace from its usual place. He knows that if he gives it much more consideration, he’ll talk himself out of it, so he pushes those thoughts to the back of his mind and slides the band onto his left ring finger.

There. He’s ready.

He takes a deep breath and opens the door to his room, intent on continuing his pacing in the living room if Scully isn’t ready to go yet.

“I’ll be ready in a minute,” he hears her call from the bathroom as his door creaks open. At a quick glance, he can see the back of an elegant dress he’s never seen before, black with a neckline that swoops down low in the back. She stands at the sink, fastening an earring in place, and it feels like junior prom all over again.

“Oh, I’m in deep trouble,” Mulder mutters to himself, rubbing his hands over his face. Forcing himself to turn away, he walks straight to the kitchen and fills up a glass of water, downing it in record time.

Not five minutes later, he hears her emerge, and he prepares himself for the sight of her.

Sure enough, it knocks the breath out of him, a fact which he makes every attempt to hide. He’s pretty sure she catches it, though, because the corner of her mouth quirks up and her eyes drift to the floor, as if she were somehow self-conscious about her appearance.

Impossible.

He’s suddenly very glad he opted for the tie, if this is what she's wearing to dinner. Although, it’s feeling a little tight, at the moment. 

“You, uh—” he starts, at a loss for words. His mouth is bone dry, despite the water he had just chugged a few minutes ago. “You—”

“Thanks,” she says, mercifully sparing him from further embarrassment. She tucks a gently curled tuft of hair behind her ear, drawing his attention to the careful way she’s arranged it. “I figured this might be my last chance to get properly dressed up for a while, so… It’s been… years, I suppose, since I’ve had the occasion to.”

This just confirms it. He’s been an idiot. Years of missed opportunities, chances he’s wasted. He could have been taking this gorgeous, magnificent woman out to fancy dinners all the time, if he’d just been able to pull himself together and see past the end of his own rather distinguished nose. 

If time travel is ever invented, he’s gonna use it to go back in time and kick his own—

“Mulder?” she says, smiling amusedly at him. He gets the sense that that’s not the first time she’s tried to get his attention, and he feels his cheeks warm. “I said, are you ready to go?”

“Yeah,” he chokes out, finding his voice at last. She reaches down to grab her purse, and he coughs to clear his throat. “Yeah, let’s go.”

She shakes her head at him in mock admonition, but happily accepts his proffered arm as they exit out the front door of the apartment. In the hall, he glances down, taking in the sight of her hands wrapped comfortably around his right bicep.

Her ring. She’s wearing it. He swears his heart might leap out of his chest at the thought. This might just be the thing that does him in. Put it on his death certificate. ‘Cause of death: the woman he loves is wearing his ring.’ What a way to go.

He doesn’t say anything—couldn’t, even if he wanted to—but he can tell that she saw him take notice. How could he not, with the way it sparkles on her finger, like it belongs there? He feels her hold loosen, and it stirs up a mild panic in his chest. She shouldn’t be embarrassed. Please, please don’t be embarrassed.

He lifts his hand to stop her from releasing him, running his thumb over the diamond inset on her finger. It’s okay, he’s saying. Look, I’m wearing mine too.

He sees the moment her eyes fix on his ring, as he rests his left hand over hers on his arm. She avoids his eyes, but he can tell she’s moved. She swallows back her emotion, and her hold on him tightens again, which sends a wave of relief through his body. 

“Come on, we’ll be late for our reservation,” he says, his voice low, just for her ears. 

She nods, and lets him lead the way.

-.-.-

His first mistake was thinking that he could get day-of reservations at one of the trendiest places in all of Washington, D.C. His second mistake was not considering that his straightforward request for a table that evening might somehow be misconstrued to mean that evening a year from now. 

It takes all his self restraint not to raise his voice at the host at the host stand, because really, why would he be asking for something like that? He’d like to give them a little lesson on the use of the English language, but he won’t, only because Scully is there and he doesn’t want to completely ruin the evening.

She’s there watching him as all this takes place, undoubtedly amused as he fights back frustration. After a moment, her hand lands on his arm, her typical method of pulling him back from the brink of a poor decision that she’s perfected over the years, and she shakes her head.

“It’s alright, Mulder,” she says. “We can just go somewhere else.”

Yeah, but where?

“Have a good evening,” the host says dismissively, and his tone is just a little bit too smug for Mulder’s taste. It reminds him of stuffy dinners with his father’s associates or interactions he had with the pompous law students at Oxford. Maybe they don’t want to eat here after all.

Scully feels him tense under her touch, and gently guides him out of the restaurant before he can respond. What would he do without her? He’d probably get beaten up a lot more often, that’s for sure. Or at least kicked out of places, like he would have been tonight.

She leads him outside, and soon enough, they’re standing on the sidewalk by the street, at a loss for what to do next.

“I’m sorry, Scully,” he says, mentally kicking himself for screwing this up so badly. “I just wanted to do something special, and now—”

“Mulder,” she stops him. “Seriously. It’s okay. I’m happy with wherever we decide to go tonight. This is about spending time together, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let's go,” she says, grabbing his hand. “Come on, I have an idea.”

She holds tight to him as she leads them down the sidewalk, passing other couples on the street on this lovely spring evening. He has no idea where she could possibly be taking them, but she’s in a great mood, so he tries not to let the minor setback ruin his night. If she’s happy, then he’s happy.

The sun draws closer to the horizon, casting a golden glow on everything and everyone it touches. It makes her hair shine like fire, and once again he counts his blessings. It feels a little bit like the night of their wedding, and that thought brings a smile to his face.

They walk past several up-scale restaurants, and Scully doesn’t even spare them a glance. Wherever she’s taking them, she must know the way there. After a couple more blocks, she comes to a stop, standing out front of a greasy diner, maybe just a little nicer than the ones they frequent in small-town America. 

“Really?” he asks, looking dubiously up at the neon sign. “You sure you don’t want to go somewhere a little fancier, Scully? You got all dressed up.”

Her answering smile is resplendent in the glowing light.

“I want to eat here, Mulder,” she says, stepping toward the entrance. A bell above the door jingles as she pushes it open. “It seems fitting, doesn’t it?”

It does. A wave of nostalgia hits him like a truck when he realizes why she brought them here. Why a diner, of all places, would be the place she chooses for their ceremonial last meal, just the two of them. He can’t count how many formica tabletops just like this one they’ve shared a meal at, over the years. Hundreds of hamburgers with a side of fries, maybe a milkshake they end up splitting when Scully’s ice water loses its appeal. Ripped vinyl booths that Scully thoroughly wipes down with wet wipes she’d started keeping in her bag for that exact purpose.

“Well, don’t you two look nice?” a waitress in uniform says as she approaches their table. Her hair looks like the 80s have come back with a vengeance, all frizzy and permed, and she chews a wad of bubblegum aggressively, smelling like her last smoke break.

In short, it’s perfect.

“What’ll it be?” she asks.

Mulder orders for the both of them, knowing Scully’s usual order by heart. She smiles the way she always does when he remembers to ask for a lemon for her water, and he makes sure to tell the waitress to bring two straws for the milkshake instead of one.

When he looks across the booth at Scully, again, he imagines a little girl sitting next to her, coloring away on a kids menu with two, cheap, plasticky crayons that break in half if you look at them wrong.

It won’t be long, now. That will be their life. Mulder, party of three. Maybe Scully will start to carry a plastic baggy of the good crayons in her bag, for when they go to places like this. He’s absolutely certain she’ll at least double her use of wet wipes and sanitizer. He’ll become a chicken strip connoisseur, knowing all the best places in the city to get the child-favorite delicacy.

“To us,” Mulder toasts once their drinks arrive, lifting his chocolate milkshake in the air between them. “To… endings and new beginnings.”

“To endings and new beginnings,” Scully repeats, clinking her glass against his.

-.-.-

It’s past dark already, barely a hint of color lingering on the horizon, but that doesn’t stop them from prolonging the evening with a walk to the National Mall. The moon is bright, and the streets are lit up for tourists making the most of the warmer spring weather. It’s a pleasant walk. Scully feels drunk, despite the absence of alcohol with their dinner. She wonders if Mulder feels it too.

He guides her with his hand in its usual place, and she feels what can only be described as complete and utter contentment, as each brush of his fingers propels her gently forward. The street leads them straight to the reflecting pool on the National Mall, a favorite spot of theirs, not that they find the time to visit often enough. They’ve missed the cherry blossom blooms by only a couple weeks, but the sweet smell of them persists, unless it’s just her imagination.

Something about being with Mulder like this dials all her senses up to eleven. She has never experienced life like this before. Are the stars always so bright? Does the cool breeze always feel like silk on her skin?

Maybe it's his cologne that has her feeling tipsy. She selfishly hopes the scent of it will linger on her clothes and in her hair even after this night has come to its end.

The Mall is quiet and mostly empty at this hour. The Washington Monument looms in the distance, lit up brightly and casting its imposing reflection on the still waters of the reflecting pool. A family of ducks disturbs the glassy surface, sending ripples radiating outward as they paddle from one side to the other.

Mulder has this peaceful expression on his face, the corners of his mouth quirked upward ever so slightly. If she didn’t know any better, she’d think he had never been here before, taking in all the sights for the first time. He watches the ducks for a moment, expelling a breath of laughter through his nose as a small duckling falls behind, then swims faster to catch up with the rest of the crew.

His hand drops from her back, but before she has a chance to mourn the loss, he entangles his fingers with hers, clasping their hands tightly together. She follows after him in a daze, her lips pulled back in a self-conscious sort of grin. She can’t help it. He makes her feel like a teenager, and… she doesn’t even know what this is, really, but she likes it. 

They circle the reflecting pool for a bit, wandering aimlessly at a lazy pace, reluctant to put an end to their time together. Eventually, they end up sitting on the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, the gargantuan statue of the nation’s sixteenth president a silent sentinel behind them.

Scully leans her cheek against Mulder’s bicep. Despite her best efforts to keep them open, her eyes fall shut, her body succumbing to the serenity of their surroundings and the comfort of good company. He offers her his coat, draping it over her shoulders to combat the slight chill. It dwarfs her, the extra fabric at the hem pooling on the ground behind her.

“How about we come here on the weekends?” his voice rumbles, the first words spoken since they left the diner almost half an hour ago.

“Mm?” she hums in question.

He jostles her slightly with his arm, and she forces her eyes open again.

“You know, take the stroller for a spin around the pool,” he says, gesturing ahead of them. “Maybe stop into the Air and Space museum if we feel like it…”

She smiles. She can picture it so easily, the two of them experiencing the wonders of this city through the eyes of their child as she grows. Of course Mulder would want to go to the Air and Space Museum. It’s a wonder he hasn’t dragged her there before.

“Every weekend?” she asks doubtfully, her words slurring slightly.

He wraps his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into his side as he chuckles.

“No, not every weekend,” he says, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “I’m sure some weekends we’ll want to sleep in. Maybe have a late breakfast and watch movies. I can make pancakes. Chocolate chip.”

“Children need to have healthy breakfasts, Mulder,” she says admonishingly. Something tells her it will be a constant battle to keep Mulder from spoiling their daughter with sugar and empty carbs. But if that’s the worst of their disagreements when it comes to co-parenting, she’ll happily accept the challenge.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Half blueberry, half chocolate chip,” he concedes. She decides to let it slide for now.

Above them, an airplane soars across the sky, lights blinking rhythmically as it passes overhead.

It’s funny. Before Mulder, she never looked twice at things like that. But now, she finds herself checking a second time, her gaze lingering a little longer, just in case it might be something other than an airplane.

What has this man done to her?

Mulder follows the direction of her stare, his chin tilting upward. Against the backdrop of stars, the perfectly normal, human-built aircraft flies out of sight. The hand on Scully’s shoulder drops to the ground, his palms resting against the stone steps as he reclines back a little.

“Thanks for hanging with me all these years, Scully,” he says softly, his eyes never wavering from the heavens. “I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Her lips pull back in a smile. “We make a pretty good team, huh?” she says over her shoulder.

His lowers his gaze to meet hers. “I like to think so. You think that will translate to raising a kid?”

She has often wondered that exact thing, but for the life of her now, as she looks into his eyes, she can’t think of even one reason why she questioned it.

She leans back onto his shoulder, her eyes falling shut again.

“Only one way to find out,” she answers sleepily.

He sighs happily. “Any day now.”

-.-.-

What a day. What a night.

Mulder can’t sleep, lying stiffly on his back in bed with his hands clasped on top of his torso. All he can think about is how beautiful she looked in the blinding fluorescent light of the diner, with a bit of ketchup smeared on the corner of her mouth from when she stole one of his fries when she thought he wasn’t looking. How she held his hand, content just to walk in silence beside him in the shadow of some of the nation’s most revered monuments.

What a perfect way to put a cap on their time working on the X-Files together. He couldn’t have planned it better himself (clearly). Who needs expensive wine and stale classical music when you have bottomless milkshakes and a jukebox playing the greatest sock-hop hits of the 1950s?

It wasn’t a real date, he has to remind himself, but it sure was close to one. Usually a first date doesn’t end with both parties going home together, that’s one difference. Or, well, going home to the apartment that they both live in together, he should say. But tonight, as they returned home, they got ready for bed side-by-side at the sink, brushing their teeth and washing their faces, and it felt like they’d been doing this for years. There was no awkwardness there, just a wave of peace and stability he wasn’t sure he’d ever feel in his adult life.

If they ever move somewhere else—somewhere closer to Quantico, maybe—he’ll make sure the bathroom is equipped with a his-and-hers vanity. A sink for each of them, and plenty of counter space for all of Scully’s specialty serums and creams. It’ll be nice, he thinks.

When he finally falls asleep, it’s to visions of wraparound porches and matching rocking chairs, and maybe a nice playset in the backyard with a couple of kids running around. Now that’s a dream worth dreaming of.

-.-.-

This is ridiculous. She should just go back to bed, try one more time to actually fall asleep, get a few hours of rest at least. 

But she can’t sleep. Because Mulder had gone and put it in her head that everything is about to change, and it really could happen at any moment. Somehow, when she’s with him, she forgets every apprehension that plagues her, lured into a sense of security and assurance by some mystical power he possesses. Okay, maybe not a mystical power, but it is frightening how easily she casts aside her doubts when he’s within eyesight.

But then it all comes flooding back the moment she’s left to her own thoughts. It’s infuriating. She thought she was ready for it—for this massive life change—but she’s not. It terrifies her.

What if she can’t do it? What if she misses working in the Hoover building with him too much? What if she and Mulder have a disagreement about something trivial and it pulls them apart? What if he meets a nice woman at Quantico and wants out of this arrangement? What if it’s not enough for them to just be friends and raise this baby together? What if her feelings get the best of her, and she scares him away?

Or perhaps worst of all… What if they don’t get to go home with a baby at the end of all this? What if the mother decides to keep it? What then? Would they even have it in their hearts to try again? To wait a little longer, when there are drawers full of onesies and newborn diapers already in their home?

For weeks, the same nightmare has plagued her. Standing in a hospital hallway, their path blocked by people from the adoption agency telling them to turn around. Go home. You do not get a child.

She wakes feeling emptier than ever, and wishes for the millionth time that things could be easier.

There’s so much to think about, and she can’t take it anymore. She’s scared. And there’s only one person she likes to go to when she’s scared, and he’s sleeping peacefully right behind this door.

She sighs, leaning her head up against the door frame in exhaustion. She’ll just poke her head in for a moment. Remind herself that he’s there, and he’s not going anywhere. She repeats the words he’s said to her over and over in her head like a mantra, ways he’s reassured her in the past that he’s in this for the long-haul. But for some reason, they’re hard to recall in these moments of doubt. Maybe she’d misunderstood him. Maybe she’s remembering it wrong, applying more meaning to his words than he’d intended.

Her stomach tosses and turns uncomfortably with nerves. She’ll never be able to sleep like this.

As quietly as possible, she eases the door open, a sliver of light from the hallway piercing its way into his room. He looks warm and soft, the way his face lays slack against the pillow. He’s made himself at home here. His knick knacks line the shelves, unpacked from their boxes after the move and scattered about. As she steps carefully inside, she spots a photo of them that once sat on a shelf in their office. He must have moved it here recently, part of the slow transfer of their lives out of the basement of the Hoover building. She can’t help but notice that it sits beside him on his nightstand, right next to his glasses and whatever book he’s been reading lately.

She lets out a breath, allowing the comfort he unknowingly offers to dull her senses. Just a minute longer, then she’ll go back to her room and give sleeping another shot.

Or she would have, if he hadn’t started to stir, slowly waking from his peaceful slumber. It’s almost like he’d sensed her there, some kind of psychological link that told him when she was near, and in distress. She quickly turns back to the door, hand on the door handle to open it and make her exit before he truly notices her presence, when she hears her name spoken in a confused whisper.

“Scully?”

Her shoulders slump in defeat, and her hand falls away from the doorknob.

“Sorry,” she says, turning to face him sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He props himself up on an elbow, blearily rubbing sleep from his eyes with a fist.

“You okay?” he asks.

Her mouth drops open to reassure him that, yes, she’s fine, but she takes just a second too long to answer, and she knows he sees right through her. It’s not even worth lying to him.

“Come here,” he says, scooting over to make room on the bed beside him. “We can talk, if you want.”

She really shouldn’t, but his offer is tantalizing. She’s too vulnerable to be in this position, right now. Who knows what will slip from her mouth in her exhausted and overwhelmed state? Her feet carry her toward the bed anyway, and she slides into place under the covers, staring blankly up at the ceiling as he settles on his side facing her on his side of the bed.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks knowingly.

She shakes her head, her hair rustling on the pillow.

“Took me a while to get to sleep too,” he admits. “A lot to think about. A lot, a lot.”

At least she’s not alone in this problem, she guesses. She hates feeling like the insecure one in any situation, and that’s how she’s felt more often than not throughout this process so far.

“What’s keeping you up?” he asks, gently urging her to open up.

She tries to shrug, but she knows she’ll have to come up with an answer sooner or later. There’s no reason to hide this from him. Sometimes, he knows her better than she knows herself, and that can be a blessing and a curse.

“I’m going to miss working with you, Mulder,” she says honestly, her lips sealed tight to fight back the slight tremble in them. She can’t stop hearing her own words spoken by the reflecting pool a few years ago. ‘If I quit now, they win.’

She feels a hand land on her upper arm, stroking it comfortingly. Her eyes flutter shut. She can lie to herself all she wants, but this is why she really came in here. There’s a type of comfort only Mulder has ever been able to bestow, and she needs it now more than ever.

“We’ll still be in the same building,” he says appeasingly. “We can get lunch together every day, talk about our classes, complain about the new recruits.”

It’s silly, but his words do help. She imagines sitting across from him in his own private office—probably decorated a lot like their current office is—and munching on a salad while listening to him complain about an essay one of his students turned in. It sounds pleasant. Easy. Maybe he can come help decorate her office too. She’s gotten used to his clutter. She isn’t sure she’d be able to work in the sparsely furnished office space like she’s naturally inclined to.

“And besides– We’ll still see each other here,” he adds. “Every night. And the weekends.”

The thought sends a thrill through her. Sometimes it still feels like a dream, what they’re doing. Giving up the X-Files… that’s a tangible thing. But the baby? She’s still an abstract idea, despite the fact that physical reminders of their plans are scattered throughout her apartment. The picture he’d painted earlier of a relaxing day at home together feels out of reach—like a nice idea that isn’t really attainable. Is she that traumatized from all the disappointment in her life?

“Are you sure you’re ready for this?” she asks, her mouth downturned in a frown. “I mean– I know you’ve said before that this is what you want, but I—”

“You’re gonna have to learn to trust me sometime, Scully,” Mulder says, a slight sadness in his voice.

She does. She does trust him—maybe even more than she trusts herself. That’s what the problem is.

“I do,” she says. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m just…”

“Freaking out?” he finishes, smiling at her in amusement.

“Just a little,” she says, returning his smile.

He breathes in deeply, his face pensive like it always is when he's mulling over a difficult question.

“I think we’re ready,” he says, projecting confidence into his voice. “I think you’re going to be a rockstar mom, and we’ll wonder why we didn’t do this years ago.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

“But what if—”

He shakes his head, putting a stop to her words immediately. “You gotta stop that, Scully,” he says seriously. “This is going to work out.” His fingers find the dainty necklace she wears, his thumb brushing over the cross. “Have faith,” he implores.

She closes her eyes, letting out a breath, and with it, trying to release some of the fear that keeps her up at night. She wants to do what he asks, to let herself go, but it's not as easy as that. Sometimes she can't help but feel like they're trying to cheat destiny, to force things into going their way when they've been repeatedly told “no” at every turn.

His reassurance does help, though. Wasn't that why she'd come here in the first place? 

Mulder settles back, turning his attention back to the ceiling. 

“What did you think of the new agents?” she asks after a moment, changing the subject. It’s hard to believe that it was just this morning that they’d interviewed a few of them, hoping to find some trustworthy hands to leave their work to.

“Reyes seems sharp,” Mulder says. “I think her background in folklore and ritualistic abuse is a good starting point.”

“Mm,” Scully hums her agreement. “And what about Doggett? Too staunch of a skeptic for you?”

Mulder chuckles. “He comes highly recommended by the higher ups, so I don’t know,” he says. “It’s always good to have a variety of opinions around, though, don’t you think?”

She turns her head to the left, her eyes meeting his in the darkened room, lit only by what little moonlight comes through the blinds. 

“I think… we’ll be okay,” she says then, willing the words to be true as she speaks them. Her assertion brings a smile to his face, and he leans back on the pillow, focusing on the patterns on the ceiling like she had been a moment earlier.

“We will,” he agrees. “For once, I think we’ll be better than okay.”

~~~

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

[688199]

is pre canon marinette a stalker?

i always receive lots of comments on my videos stating: “but bridgette (in reference to PV, and generally pre canon marinette) is actually a stalker much worse than marinette who always gives gifts to felix who keeps rejecting her! she basically harasses him when he makes it clear he doesn’t like her back!”

so is she? let’s analyse:

regarding early marinette’s behaviour towards nathan/ felix, we have these images to work off of

nathan, as i’ll refer to him here, is obviously quite annoyed with marinette. so oh he must definitely hate her and she must be stalking him. but are we going to take what we see at face value?

remember that these are concept art. meant to capture the overall essence of the dynamic between two characters. sometimes, it is over-exaggerated to make it obvious what their personalities are meant to be without having to use too many words. that’s the whole point of drawing concepts.

here, we can infer that marinette is bubbly, enthusiastic, who keeps a positive mindset even when faced with rejection (literally and figuratively). we can also infer that nathan is grumpy, dismissive, aware of marinette’s feelings and has a dark side to him. thus it is easily implied that these two characters are meant to be stark contrasts.

we can assume their general personality from concept art. but concept art does NOT represent all the actions they do. marinette is portrayed as always giving things to nathan yes. but it’s literally just the same fucking tickets in all three images. she even has the same outfit on for two of them, implying it occurs on the same day, before nathan goes to club, and after boxing. the last image, is a god damn poster to illustrate the series as a whole.

then we have this lovely image

“oh she’s kissing him without consent! that’s harassment!”

firstly, ever wondered why nathan would hang out with marinette in a movie theatre, alone, together, when he supposedly always rejects her upright? have you considered they’re friends?

anyways not the point, but we all know miraculous ladybug is inspired by comics/ anime. and there’s one troupe that’s pretty huge in those industries, especially in those times. which is rejection, that’s almost all the time gags. naruto and sakura is the one that comes to mind rn. and maybe tamaki and haruhi.

now would you say those people are exactly harassing their love interest? keeping in mind that it’s also meant to play out solely as comedy? personally, knowing the context and intention, i wouldn’t exactly say so.

and finally take a look at these images.

oh my god. what’s that? is nathan smiling? impossible! he hates her! (that’s obv nathan due to the collar and that iconic eiffel tower background)

therefore, in conclusion, is pre canon marinette (specially “qk” and or pv) outright with her feelings? yes. but is she a stalker and a harasser? no. something such as that cannot be concluded on 4 drawings.

[aquaquadrant]

Hi there. I’m going insane and it’s your fault. Like I discovered your absolute emotional masterpiece of a fanfic the other day and it’s all I think about anymore I’m so obsessed; I downloaded tumblr bc of you and I don’t really know how this site works but I do know how to click the ask button so that’s your problem now. I got words for you

First off: HOLy the writing and the voices are so good??? Like the characters say things the way their irl counterparts would say it? How?? Teach me your ways? Actually tho what did you do to learn to do that, is it innate, do you practice?

Second: “He wouldn’t have known the sight of Tango’s pale skin flushing bright red all the way down his chest.” That sentence just kinda stuck out to me from the last chapter… for some reason... anyways (idk what my point is here but it sure has got me thinking thoughts :P )

Third: I said I was obsessed, and I think it was an understatement. I didn’t study for my chem final because of this (still got an A tho so dw) and I went to bed for three days straight thinking about it and I woke up every morning thinking about it. (It took a solid hour to snap myself out of it when I actually needed to get work done lol) And on the plane ride home for break I drew some things so I’ll just leave these here if you don’t mind (umm ignore the tango faces on the first page and his left hand on the second, there's something Wrong™ about them I gotta practice, ok?)

idk if the formatting is good or whatever but here they are

As you can see I love love love the scene after the nightmare. If I remember correctly, Tango started wearing the gloves to protect his claws so they could heal after he escaped, and then when Jimmy gets hurt he just instinctively gives them to him?? Hello, the symbolism??? Tango just surrenders his own protection, both physically, because he would rather protect Jimmy, but also emotionally bc it immediately reveals what he considers a flaw in himself, monstrous, hideous. And Jimmy sees him throw the walls up again, “He quickly shoves the gloves at Jimmy, moving to get up. “I’ll uh, I’ll get another pair tomorrow-”” but Jimmy won’t let him, instead looks at what could be considered Tango’s entire soul —his trauma, his Hels origin, the feral, blaze side of him, the side that lies and hides and lashes out at any who get too close, the “ugliest” parts of him —and loves him despite it? Even sees the beauty in him? Yea, no, I’m normal about that—

Anyways idk how long these things are supposed to be but I have a couple more thoughts so you’re still stuck with me. Ummm let’s see… I adore your impulse design. So I’m taking that, thanks. (If that’s ok) also was thinking about how Jimmy would wear shirts with the wings getting in the way (see bottom of 2nd pic), and then thought maybe that’s why he’s so good at embroidery or sewing in general, cuz he has to make custom clothes. And then I thought what if he made some *cough* outfits and had Tango judge them… or asked for help putting on/taking off a particularly difficult shirt... haven’t had time to draw that yet but ya know… one day. Aaaaand the blaze rods could theoretically make a pretty cool fire crown when Tango's angry, also blazes do damage when you touch them, but I don't think you get set on fire? So it must be the blaze rods themselves doing damage, so I imagine when Tango's fighting they swirl around him both to attack whoever gets too close and to block any incoming projectiles (see middle left of 1st pic). +gradients on the blaze rods :]

Last thing, I showed my sister the fic last night and she’s already read through it twice so you’ve infected two of us. We were theorizing on what’ll happen next chapter. We both think that the others will piece together, to some extent, Tango’s backstory before they figure out how to remove the collar, what with the cuffs he wears, the comments Atlas made about a farm, Atlas’s mentioning about using Jimmy that way for his feathers, etc etc. and the comment that Tango can hear everything? Yea, no, when that collar comes off he’s gonna be distraught, I’m wagering that everything immediately bursts into flames around him or something (cuz that’d be cool). I think he'll probably try to run away, too, but we'll see

Anyways, that’s not all my thoughts but this is getting pretty long, so maybe I’ll send another ask later if that’s alright. Have a good day! Post again soon! Please. Please I'm begging you. For my sanity plea-

(actually tho take ur time. quality is worth it, and this is nothing but quality)

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! omg welcome. this was genuinely SUCH a lovely ask to read, but i wanna take the time to properly answer it so i’m gonna continue under the cut cause boy can i ramble

first off: HELLO, you got a tumblr bc of HTP?? incredible. i’m honored that this gay angsty little block man au was your introduction to the hellsite (affectionate). and don’t worry, i welcome asks no matter the length (tho i might not get to everything in a timely manner)

second of all: i’m SO happy you enjoyed my character voices. that���s definitely something that’s taken a bit of practice, especially for more understated characters that don’t have super obvious or unique vocal traits/vernaculars. i find it helpful to a) have spent a decent amount of time watching the source material and b) always go over my dialogue with the character’s voice in my mind, and see if it sounds like something they’d actually say. ofc, sometimes liberties can be taken based on the plot/setting of a fic but generally i spend a lot of time and effort on getting character voices right, so i appreciate the appreciation <3

thirdly: i like that particular sentence too ;0

fourth: THAT ART THO??? oh man. impulse looks amazing (i’ve always loved demon!impulse and gotta credit @lunarcrown for bringing that vision to life 💃) and the wings are SO well done, like you conveyed that leathery thin bat skin texture perfectly. the various tangos are SICK, i luuuuv seeing him in full blaze rage mode, using those blaze rods to their full effect. and those hands… goddamn. not only do i respect the hand anatomy but the ROSES… the shackles and their metallic texture… the gradient on tango’s claws… chef’s kiss 💋👌 and THANK YOUUU the post-nightmare scene was one of my favorites from that chapter, and you’ve summed it up beautifully.

moving on: as with all of lunar’s designs, she’s happy to inspire so BEHOLD, DEMON IMPULSE UPON YE (that’s a yes from both of us LOL) i love ur idea about jimmy making custom shirts to work around his wings, that’s one of those little details i never put much thought into but it fits so nicely with him being into embroidery. so jimmy def makes a lot of his own clothes (and occasionally some for tango), co-signed and approved. and ur on the right track about tango’s blaze rods- most of his defensive fire comes directly from them, doing that crazy swirly fireball thing that actual blaze do, but he does also have the ability to produce fire from his hands, he just doesn’t do it often. it takes a bit more concentration and practice, and he spent so long trying not to use his abilities that it doesn’t come second nature to him anymore. he was way more of a fire starter as a kid in hels.

last but not least: AWW it’s so sweet u got ur sister into the au (lord knows i’ve dragged mine into many a fandom 😂) glad y’all enjoyed it so much, AND now u have someone to theorize with 👀 i won’t say anything more on the matter other than i hope to get the next chapter out over the next couple weeks, so stay tuned…

[soft-and-bitter]

maybe you could be the one (3)

Chris Evans x Personal Assistant!Reader

Part 1 Part 2

You try figuring out what to do next after Chris goes and publicly admits that he needs you more than anything. Worse, he isn't done just yet.

Word Count: 1.9k

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging or leaving some feedback, thanks! ❤

Despite your close proximity to Chris, few actually take notice of you. That's no accident on your part, though. In your opinion, it's one of the reasons why you've done well in the role thus far and partly why you might've landed the job somewhat precipitously in the first place: you really know how to sink into the background. Your clothing is professional but terribly non-descript, with only the barest hint of a family heirloom peaking out beyond your collar; your makeup, while deftly applied, is minimal. The message is clear: Chris is the star of the show. Period. Any member of staff, especially a personal assistant, is relegated to obscurity.

So it's rather unpleasant of a surprise to feel so many pairs of eyes on you, slithering along the spine of your back, the bare surface of your forearms. People are meant to see you then forget you as soon as Chris so much as drifts into their periphery, but their lingering gazes today suggests otherwise. You've only introduced yourself to a handful of the crew members here, and never once did you actually mention that you're Chris' PA. With the way you hover about him, though, it shouldn't be too hard to put two and two together.

Even as the interview draws to a close and the last animal is ushered off the set, you're still not able to find any sign on his face whatsoever to indicate whether he's affected by his own admission; not a pause of surprise, nor a guilty frown. Nada. Chris just sails on smoothly like the seasoned celebrity he is, never once wavering, his hearty laughter infectious, his body language open and brimming with affection.

You, on the hand, are another story. Hand gripping your work phone like some talisman, you try to hide the mortification you fear might've made it onto your face, Chris' words racing through your head on an endless loop. That, and the various ways you might be able to murder him without getting caught. Throw him overboard a cruise moving through the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, maybe? Maritime laws are more lax when it comes to murder, if you're recalling correctly from that Netflix documentary you watched not so long ago...

I sure don't think I could live without her.

Did he really have to say that? More importantly, why are you so concerned he was being genuine when he did? That's the thing that bothers you: the spontaneity of it all. Well, you think it was, anyway. But was it? Who can say when dealing with an actor like him?

The set breaks into joyful applause once the cut is yelled. Like a spell broken, there's a sudden flurry of motion as crew members continue about the rest of their day; you move aside as one of the cameramen wheels his equipment across the studio. When you look back to find Chris, he's already meandered off the set with one of the animal keepers, nodding emphatically at whatever's being said.

You take a deep breath before exhaling slowly, trying to chase away the same words that keep running through your mind, the one you want to throttle Chris for. The interview's finished, you remind yourself, and most of the crew have already gone back to their day. Now it's time for you to go back to yours, especially when there's still such a long way go to before it's done.

Chris is in the middle of a hug as you approach slowly, still trying to expel any trepidation that clings to you. You pause just a few steps back while he agrees to some selfies that the remaining crew members ask for, but as soon as he catches sight of you, Chris grins widely. You feel multiple sets of eyes on you again, their gazes focused a bit too long. Damn it.

"Onward, soldier?" Chris says by way of greeting, moving towards you. In response you smile back, determined to keep it cool. Nothing to see here folks, you want to assure everyone still hovering about, only you suspect that that may pique their curiosity even further.

"Yes, onward. But hey, don't expect another menagerie at the Shangri-La. Or anywhere else, for that matter." That gets a few light chuckles out of those still remaining.

He winks at you, blue eyes sparkling with calm mischief. "Too bad. I just love it when things get freed from their cages once in a while."

Even once you're both in the SUV, heading off to the next location for the day's final stretch of press work, you hesitate to bring up what just transpired. Now that you've left Venturepop Media behind you, its main studio no larger than a spot in the rear windscreen, most of your mortification must've stayed back too. You're still mildly vexed, not to mention confused, but at least murder is no longer on your mind.

The car is charged with silence as Melvin, today's chauffeur, navigates down a street already congested. The bodyguard assigned for this leg of the tour sits beside him, wordless. You realize, a bit suddenly, that too long an unspoken moment might be dangerous; it means more time for the both of you to think about what happened. Now that you've got some of your bearings together, you realize you don't want to upset the equilibrium.

"Those animals made a mess on your shirt," you comment, sitting beside him. Your intentions aside, it's quite true.

You watch as Chris shifts his gaze downward. He pulls at an unruly cluster of red fur on his right shoulder. "What are you going to do about it?"

The SUV slows for a red light as you unzip your knapsack. The lint roller you're searching for is hidden beneath a pack of Chris' Marlboros and a tightly bundled chord for phone charging; you dig it out as the car accelerates again. "It's either this or another shirt," you respond, holding up the roller in a way not totally unlike the rubber slipper your mom used for doling out punishment when you were younger.

"Which shirt are we talking about?" he asks.

"It's the one Leland thought you'd look dynamite in until you somehow managed to talk him out of it."

"Well, looks like the universe has spoken," he says, pulling the ends of his shirt from the waistband of his pants. Before you can even protest, Chris is already pulling the yellow Gucci top over his head in the cramped space of the SUV, chest bared to you and everyone else present. Those in the front of the car say nothing. It seems they've been exposed to stranger sights just as much as you have.

You meant to suggest he change over at the Shangri-La, but the words die in your throat and you sigh quietly instead, turning in your seat to reach behind it, where a garment bag hangs from an attached hook.

"Just so you know, I meant what I said back there."

You freeze. Fuck.

Another silence prevails, this one more potent than the last. You're still facing away from him, thank god; is it possible for you to pretend you just didn't hear?

"Ditto, I think you need to say something."

Guess not.

You turn back to face him again, Chris' new shirt in your hands. "Couldn't you have just stuck with Dodger?"

He takes the shirt from you. "I could've, but you know what? I decided I didn't want to. Besides, I never mentioned you by name and you're leaving me soon, so there's nothing to worry about if you think this is going to blow up in your face or something like that. It won't."

Maybe it's the nonchalance in his tone as he speaks, but something in you tears open. Curiosity? Confusion? A bit of both? Whatever it is, it's fueling your courage rapidly.

"Chris, you just publicly admitted you can't live without me."

"And yet you're leaving anyway."

A response bubbles in your mouth, but it's a shriek that erupts from your throat instead as you land hard against Chris while the SUV makes a violent swerve, the move so sudden and heart-stopping you blank out completely, all your thoughts dropping off a mental cliff like it didn't know was there.

A car horn blares, long and obnoxious and angry; it's Melvin doing that, you realize. "This dumb asshole," you hear him curse before he looks around his headrest. "Sorry, friends," he says.

"Wouldn't mind getting to the next spot in one piece," Chris jokes, one strong wrapped protectively around your shoulder, his other hand splayed against the tinted passenger window for purchase. "You okay?" he asks, looking down at you. The hard band of his Rolex digs into your shoulder, but it also works to remind you that you're still here and alive.

Your heart pace is just beginning to normalize as you raise yourself back into an upright position, brushing off his arm. "I'm fine, thanks. Are you okay? Is the shirt okay? I won't hear the end of it from Leland if it's not."

Chris straightens his collar with a dramatic flourish. "The shirt will remain intact."

"Speaking of things remaining intact," you begin, just as you catch the first sight of the Shangri-La in Chris' passenger window, "we're good for the rest of your interviews today, right? As in, no more going off-script like you just did?"

He leans back against the leather seat, arms folded before him. "I guess that depends. Are you going to free up one of my evenings while we're in Seoul like I've been asking you to?"

You hold back a sigh. There's more yet to unpack regarding Chris' behaviour, but the idea that he might pull this act again when you know his publicist is already going to call you up before the week closes does not bode well for you. It's Marianne who will sign off on the final cut of that Venturepop interview; you realize, with no small measure of relief, that she'll likely have the Kit Kat segment pulled out entirely. Who's to say what she'll make of the following interviews, though?

"Buddy, I'm trying. Right now the best I can do is smuggle you out of that Hyundai afterparty you promised Nick you'd attend. And come on now, you've already experienced South Korea enough times before, haven't you?"

There's a firm set in his jaw. "Are you going to work your magic for me or not?"

You hesitate, silently cursing Bong Joon-Ho or whoever it was he was trying to score brownie points with through this little foray in Seoul. Wasn't it Chris himself who mentioned to you that the director was set to make another movie in English? You can already imagine the stories he'll post on his Instagram, though you doubt Bong would be that impressed with such meagre level of devotion. Honestly, though? Whatever.

"If I do this, you'll keep to the script for the rest of today and the rest of the tour," you state. This would be it, your final push.

Without warning Chris reaches out, long fingers brushing strands of hair away from your face and over the curve of your ear. "Done."

You don't get much chance to react; through his passenger window, you can see a valet attendant pull his door open. Chris turns away from you to get out, but just as quickly whips his head back.

"And ditto? Make sure to be free that evening."



Chris being like, 'if I can't bargain with her to stay, I'll bargain with her for a date lol.'

I'm sure it's obvious, but in case it's not I am playing hard and loose with the location, Chris' career timeline, everything y'all. If I had to place this story anywhere, I'd say it's when he was promoting Avengers: Endgame in 2019, but a pre-pandemic setting is really all you need to remember for the sake of this. Huge thanks to everyone that reblogged or left feedback, which includes but is not limited to:

@emoalien69 @peteseyy @themorningsunshine @lovenewfandoms @pono-pura-vida @@she-wolf09231982 @blondekel77 @hopefulbonkvoidland @ghostlychaostimemachine @sully-stick-together @kookiemonster221 @rebloggingfanfictioninthechaos @sapphire-rogers @secondevilex @mansaaay @marvelstarker-mha98

[suethesocks]

Max 10 Speedrun

I have not posted in over 6 months so now i need to catch up on all the ben 10 art i have not posted hueheuhe. Also have some asks which i will get to !!

Swampfire! Tried to honor the bloomed design with the collar and bright fingers even though i really hate it in the show (lol) also gave him 1 eye to represent his weak eyesight. Also the weakness i gave him about the fire burning him shouldve been a thing in the show tbh

Echo echo, tried to go for a more boomboxy vibe bc yk boomer Max. I like the idea of aliens looking extremely different while still being the same species (not a subspecies like murk and perk gourmands, thats cool too but different)

Humungo. I actually was never a big fan of him lmao, i always thought you need to do more with him than just "dinosaur" especially with that color scheme he has in the show. I got the idea to give him feathers to show the drastic change in age also bc i love chicken dinos and think they should appear more. Fun fact the power change come from what i used to think his powers worked like when i was a kid

Jeffrey!! One of my fav aliens ever. Not much about this is special just bigger with different colors. I also took a few notes from the concept art with the weirdo shaped eyes and having his body be a mantaray with legs sticking out to make him less humanoid, since ben's jetray design looks more like a man with wings than a mantaray with legs yk?

Another screenshot redraw!! This is the only other one ive done sadly, i really oughta make more screenshot redraws tbh. This one is of the scene where kevin and ben get chased by the entire frickin fbi or something for stealing a video game. I imagine in this version max chases after them and comes for the rescue

Lodestar! Never been much of a special alien. Design on the right is made by me aswell since i wanted to do my own spin on bens lodestar (basically the same just give him longer arms). Once again he has 1 eye to represent max's eyesight problems

Brainstorm! Instead of giving him specially weaker eyesight i made his shell cover his eyes as the way to visually represent that (as well as the classic squinty eyes i have going on for each alien

Also i got asked while making this how come maxstorm is so big when psychobos is also old and visibly smaller, and my answer to that was that third image. In my head i always saw psychobos as sort of disfigured and mutated, and not representative of what is typical for his species. If he were to turn into a human thatis what i think hed look like

Goop! I always loved goop, and the idea of a ufo antigrav device helping him navigate because hes not built for earths gravity is a super unique and cool idea. However i i wanted to go for something entirely different with my goop since i never liked the idea of the omnitrix creating non-clothes for the user (bc then you have to consider that it would create a respirator for ripjaws, and thats lame)

And thats all!! Id expect myself to have made as many Max 10 drawings since i stopped posting as before, but sadly i have slowed down significantly over time, especially on max 10. Im not really happy about it and im trying to be a fast artist again but its not coming to me. On the brightside though, ive got a fair bit of other Ben 10 stuff to show!!

[illicitlamb]

𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐗: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑 | 𝟑𝟎-𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐄

SUMMARY | Wednesday finally allows Xavier to draw a portrait of her for himself. In return, he makes her time worthwhile.

“Easy enough?” Xavier quizzed as he pushed himself up from the chair, staring at Wednesday for her approval. He only received a sigh, which was interpreted as a “yes” as she seated herself. “Good.”

Making his way back to his desk, he waited for his wife to get into position, already picking up his pencil. “Turn your head a little more,” he corrected.

“Just draw,” growled Addams in return, but carried through with his order.

Thorpe smirked. “Aye-aye, Captain.” He knew she had been dreading this for whatever reason, but he was more than appreciative of her for actually allowing him to draw a portrait of her – a pose of his choice and on both of their times rather than any quick moment he had while she was not looking.

Starting with the outline of his piece, his strokes were painted as soft lines before being filled in by more defined, darker scrapes against the sketch paper. Now having a reference rather than relying on his visions’ sole memories, he would glance up often, flicking his bangs from his view for his hazel eyes to admire the gothic beauty before him. In the midst of it all, he was doing two of his favorite things: draw and take in the view of his spouse.

The outfit he had chosen for her to wear was still in her taste of color palette but out of her comfort zone with style. A 2-in-1 mini dress complemented with a black tie – a white collared shirt overlayed with a strapped black corset stretching down into a relaxed slim-fit skirt. Instead of matching heels, he finished the selective look with black thigh-high stockings.

Of course, this whole thing was not something she would agree to easily, but it would all come with a favor in return. Just a little while longer.

Seated on the prop for 20 minutes now, Wednesday’s neck began to ache with a creeping cramp that threatened to strangle her into defeat. “How much longer?” she grumbled. A soft, amused scoff teased her hearing.

“Almost done.”

She expressed a nasal sigh and opted for playing the part of a model for several more minutes before being relieved of her statue-like role. Pacing over to her husband, she came up on his left to see his finished work. Of course, it was bold and striking, but his artistic ability seemed to dive into a deeper level of detail. His strokes, his shading, his effort – everything looked intensified with a sense of emotional influence. Maybe it was because this would be one of the only times that she would let him draw her by her will. Or maybe it was because she was finally his – his love, his mate, his wife… even if it was the other way around.

“What do you think?” questioned Xavier while looking from his drawing to her face, searching for a responsive look.

The other’s mocha orbs reviewed the page with an observing gleam. “It’s not bad.”

Thorpe smirked. “But it could be better, huh?” As she looked at him, he sat back. “Everything could be better when it comes to you.”

Giving him an unamused huff, she glanced back at the portrait and leaned forward to show her efforts of seeing his talent. This time she complimented him with phrasing containing a little more positivity. “It’s a very impressive drawing.”

“I think I’ve gotten better at drawing you.”

“You should have,” Wednesday pressed. “Considering your countless sketches of me, I assume you would have me memorized by now.” She glared at him. “It’s a wonder why you were so adamant to have me take time out of my day to do nothing but serve as a reference.”

“Well, I guess that just proves that I can’t get enough of you,” the artist played. Pushing himself up from his desk, he pulled her into him, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Did you ever assume that?”

But this did not phase her as her dark eyes locked to his light ones. “Actually, I did. I just thought you were a little more creative than that.”

Pearlized teeth were sided with raised eyebrows. “Creative?” He then leaned close to her ear with a beckoning voice saying, “I can do that,” prior to pecking her cheekbone and then magenta lips as she turned her head his way.

When they broke, the raven challenged him. “Show me.”

Joining once more in a mutual kiss, things escalated. With his wife moving in time with him, Xavier hoisted her up to have her legs secure around his hips and carried her over to the guest room’s bed. He felt her slender fingers get a feel around his neck and in his hair as he eased her onto the mattress, now granting his own hands more freedom to roam about her petite yet heavenly body.

They kept each other occupied with passionate kisses and occasional, soft moans for several more moments before the heat between them manifested into a burning flame. Thorpe’s shirt was stripped of him and thrown to the floor. Addams’ skirt had been pushed up to reveal black-lace undergarments. Her inner thighs were nudged apart by his knees in time with her handle on him traveling down to massage the contracting muscles of his bare back. Black nails pricked the smooth skin, tracing steady lines before she broke from his lips to catch her breath.

Meanwhile, the other psychic turned his head to plant sucking kisses along her jawline and down her neck. Her luring scent drove him wild, giving way for him to tease her with subtle nibbles here and there which had him smirking in between when he hit a sensitive spot every now and then. Rewarding her gentle cringes with a nuzzle, his roaming hands moved to undo her tie.

Another nip to her neck broke Wednesday’s barrier. “Xavier,” she moaned with a hitch in her voice thanks to her sensitivity.

He only spoke between pecks while freeing the cloth. “What?” Then, he met her gaze. She was calm, which he did not expect judging by her call out to him. “I didn’t think you were the needy type. Guess I assumed wrong.” Holding the tie in his mouth, he took her wrists up and above her head. He transferred his hold to one hand while the other pulled the accessory from his teeth. “You ready?”

Her tempting lips curled slightly at the corners, eyes flashing with an intrigued spark. “Now, this is getting interesting.” After her wrists became locked together by the bind, she was seduced by physical touches – with one hand gliding down her raised arm to hold her tricep, the other slipped down further to press against the side of her chest. Xavier lowered his face closer to hers once more and spoke with a husky whisper.

“We’re just getting started.” He then subtly nuzzled her nose with his, “Can you handle that, Mrs. Addams-Thorpe?”

[divinegrey]

𝚠𝚊𝚝𝚌𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑 / 𝚛𝚎𝚢𝚗𝚊 𝚡 𝚏!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

i feel bad for not writing the hc requests but my inspiration is so low so i chugged this out as an apology. enjoy!

prompt: during a routine checkup, things go a little more south than you were ever expecting it to. now isn't the time to forget the sharpness in reyna's mouth. words: 1400 warnings: mommy reyna vampire blood sucking. that's it.

“You’re all set. Thanks for coming in, hothead,” you say, patting Phoenix on the back as you escort him out of the private infirmary room. He gives you a warm grin and a two-fingered salute before walking away. As he does, he pops the collar of his jacket, a spark flashing off. Ah, I love that kid, you think to yourself. 

“Is this really necessary, cariño?” The voice of none other than Reyna comes into your ear, a soft crooning lilt that does more to tell you that she’s right next to you. You turn your head to meet her gaze. 

“Yes, it is, for the sake of our records. It won’t take more than ten minutes, so quit your whining while you’re ahead,” you say, tapping Reyna on the noise before turning to step inside the infirmary. Routine checkups on the Agents— more specifically, the Radiants— helps you keep track of their Radianite levels to see if there’s anything amiss. 

Usually, there isn’t, but the checkups are ordered from the higher ups. Not much anyone can do about it. 

Reyna gives a slight tsk as she follows you inside, dressed in her usual fatigues of a sleeveless tank tucked into some cargo pants. You close the door behind you for privacy, wash your hands, then snap on a pair of latex gloves. 

“We are getting some blood. Shouldn’t be a problem for you,” you say, pulling out the necessary equipment. “Don’t look at me like that.” 

“You’re lucky I tolerate you, cariño,” Reyna says, extending her arm. She doesn’t even blink when you press the needle into her arm, drawing just enough for you to analyze later at the lab. After labeling the tube, you place it into the rack next to Phoenix’s. You’re about to offer Reyna a bandage when the wound seals over on its own, just like that. 

You run some more tests; checking the eardrums, flashing the eyes for responsiveness, so on and so forth. It comes back all good— for how bloody and violent Reyna gets, her body is made for it. Her power is consolidated into the perfect machine for fighting. 

Which brings you to the last bit of the checkup. 

“Open up.” You tap Reyna’s cheek. 

Her brows furrow together. “No.” 

“Don’t fight it. I just need to check your teeth and the glands,” you say, having memorized Reyna’s unique anatomy. Begrudgingly, Reyna shifts closer, leaning her body and opening her mouth. At the same time, you see the naturally sharp canines in her shiny white teeth begin to elongate into their fullest form. 

The extent to how much Reyna actually would be considered a vampire is… questionable, but the fangs are a reminder of how deadly she is. Doesn’t mean you can’t do your job. 

You grasp her jaw with one hand, using the other to run your fingers over her molars, the back of her lower teeth, before skimming over the fangs. The edges are sharp, and you curl your finger to press a spot behind her front row teeth. As expected, the bloody red liquid of her own potent blood slips out from her fangs. 

Reyna’s blood might as well be its own class of toxin. 

“Seems like everything is working fine,” you say, withdrawing your fingers only to notice the somewhat faraway gaze in Reyna’s eyes, paired with the shade of paleness on her face. “Reyna? Are you feeling well?” 

The woman wipes her mouth with the back of her palm. “Brimstone and Sage have seen fit to punish me for my…” Reyna rolls her eyes. “Mistake I made on a mission a week ago. I haven’t been on any since then.” 

You nod. “So you haven’t fed.” 

The Empress merely nods. 

“I hate to sound clinical, but we do have blood bags in the back for transfusions. I can sign one off for you,” you say, writing some notes down on the clipboard for filing purposes. 

Reyna scoffs. “You mistake me for a beggar, cariño. If it isn’t fresh, I don’t want it.” 

Frankly, you should’ve expected that retort. With a sigh, you pull off the gloves and deposit them into the trash. After that, you double check the door— locked— and you pull off the white coat you wear as a doctor, putting it to the side. 

“Wrist or jugular?” You ask. Reyna’s eyebrow cocks up. 

She stands. You’re reminded both of her height and her immense presence, an eerie feeling crowding the room and sending warmth up your spine. Your heart kicks up, beating quicker than it was two seconds ago. You’re a respected doctor, sure, but you’re left with little room to argue when Reyna grips your hip and spins you around. 

You fall onto the examination table, being pushed to the side until you’re laying flat on your back. Reyna quickly straddles your hips. 

“Last chance.” Reyna’s voice is both a reminder and a warning. 

“I’d be a horrible doctor if I didn’t help my patients,” you say. Light glows in Reyna’s irises, and you see the sharp fangs glint in the harsh lighting before she grabs your head and descends onto your neck. 

There’s a pinch, followed by what some would call a sigh and others would call a moan out of Reyna.

Reyna drinks from your neck, the pressure of her jaw causing your head to go fuzzy. You flex your fingers, trying to activate every part of your body to stay afloat in a sea of muddled… pleasure? Heat sears in your body like a furnace, only to be quickly swept out by a tidal wave of cold that comes in the form of Reyna’s palm on your forehead. 

Your entire body feels as though it’s being dragged through the sea, emotions rushing over you at a speed that leaves them incomprehensible. The only anchor you have is her, the woman on top of you. Weakly, you grab onto her, fingers curling into her belt. There’s a chuckle against your neck that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. 

Horrifyingly, you realize you’re craving her whilst she devours you. 

The fangs unlatch, and you feel the warmth swath of Reyna’s tongue licking over the wounds. Briefly, you wonder if her saliva acts like a cauterizer, but there’s little time to test your hypothesis because you’re being pulled upward, and the rush of what blood you have left to your head makes you dizzy. 

“Easy, cariño,” Reyna says, cradling your head in her hands. There are lines of blood in the corners of her mouth— your blood— that makes her look far more attractive than you ever want her to be. You’re her doctor, for fucks sake. Reyna grins. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re delicious?”

“Not… not recently, no,” you say, holding onto her waist. You blink through the blurriness; interesting feelings you’re experiencing. You’ll have to write these down later. “Feeling better?” 

“Much.” Reyna laughs. “And I suppose I must say thank you for offering. You’re delectable. How much do you charge for repeats?” 

“Consider this a one-time favor. It isn’t going to happen again.” Even as you say it, it feels like a lie. Reyna gives you a wry smile. 

“Don’t be so sure. I can be—” Reyna leans down to your ear, and you jerk at the sensation of her tongue sliding over your lobe before her teeth bites down not-so-gently. Despite it, you get a burst of tingles in your stomach. Reyna chuckles. “Very persuasive. Besides, your blood is far too delicious to let go of.” 

The woman strokes her hands over your neck, raking her nails over the fabric of your shirt before slinking away and off your lap. Before you realize it, Reyna has slipped out of the door, the tension within the room defusing faster than you can handle it. The come down makes you feel jittery. You raise your hand to your neck, finding nothing but two small pockmarks where her teeth once were. 

Slowly, you get off the examination table. 

Suddenly, you’re thankful Reyna was the last one you had for the day, because shit, you’re unsteady. 

And against your own conscience, you find yourself wishing Reyna had taken more.  

~~~~~ A/N: thanks for reading!

[doctorstrangereview]

Strange Tales #155

Cover Date: April 1967 On-Sale Date: January 10, 1967

We're at the penultimate installment of the Umar arc; Ms. Severin starts to let her hair down an bit and her freak flag flies a bit, artistically speaking. It's nice to see our resident artist get somewhat more comfortable with the material. As a bonus, Doc and Clea actually get into each others' physical presence! What lies ahead? Let us see.

When we last left our hero, Umar had cast a deadly spell towards Clea through one of the Dark Dimension's smoky, floaty TVs. Doc ain't having it. He goes racing after Clea so fast that "she is suspended in time" and Umar doesn't notice his absence. She only see's his speed lines. Heck, she's still casting her spell when this happens. He's giving Quicksilver and The Flash a run for their money! Like Superman or Green Lantern moving the Earth out of the way of a deadly meteor, Doc manages to shove Clea out of the way Umar's deadly beam.

Once Clea is safely out of harm's way, Doc is taking no crap and sends the spell back to Umar when she doesn't exactly have a pleasant experience about it.

I always found this interesting. Dormammu and Umar are massively powerful entities. Why is she calling on other entities? Considering it's her own spell, you'd think she could just absorb it back into her. The incantation itself is also interesting in light of what will be revealed in the future. Dormie and Umar will eventually be revealed as members of the Faltine. I guess it would make sense to call on them. More than a decade after we learn Umar's origin, we also learn that Satannish is one of Dormie's creations, from billions of years ago. Umar is essentially calling on her nephew.

As Umar recovers, Doc and Clea reunite. Ms. Severin draws her like H. G Peter drew women in Wonder Woman. Sadly, she omits the wonderfully funky giant collar that was her trademark for her first couple of decades.

So now what? Doc and Clea gotta split this crazy dimension. Of course, crazy things will happen along the way. Doc initially tries the speedster trick again attempt to get the heck outta Dodge before anything has a chance to be naughty to them.

This has unexpected results.

This probably would have looked cooler as moebius strip with their duplicates appearing upside down relative to our duo. (I didn't say the other side of the strip, because, technically, a moebius strip only has one side.) The All-Purpose Amulet comes to the rescue. Not only is Ms. Severin a bit lazy drawing the amulet in action, but it turns everything monochrome and the colorist gets a break for a few panels.

Doc and Clea confront their Road of Repetition duplicates and merge with them. Now that their whole, a recovered Umar resumes her attack on the pair. The ground itself rises up to attack them. Doc fends this off with a circle of The Flames of Faltine! These Faltine aren't too discriminating about to whom they send their power. Maybe I should try calling on them the next time I buy lottery tickets.

Clea is starting to despair ever getting the heck outta Dodge and Doc is like "eff it, I'm calling for help." Doc's call looks a lot like Aquaman's sea-creature telepathy and heads across the cosmos to The Ancient One. The old dude responds with a magic bridge that looks like a series of glowing interlocking circles. Whatever the looks, it serves it's purpose.

Doc get's through both Umar's dark and scary clouds and the giant wall of text he spouts that really don't add much to the situation. We get to see The Ancient One in the next panel showing him maintaining the bridge. Instead of a frail, centuries old man, he looks like a hot, mature daddy! Especially with the long beard and bald head.

Marie, this panel makes up for your previous deficiencies on this series! Thank you!

Next, Doc returns to the old dude's pad and Marie gives us another wonderfully dramatic panel! You go, Ms. Severin!

The Ancient One tells Doc he must rest up and then perform a spell of vanishment to keep Clea safe. This is the most dreaded spell of all, until the next most dreaded spell of all comes along. Doc is sent out of the room so Clea and the old dude can have their fun. He reads the spell and the scroll it's written on follows Clea to wherever they go. Stan gives us a "it's so dire that we can't reveal the spell here"

How does a one use spell even work? How would you know if it's most dreaded spell if it's never been used before? Are there other copies of the scroll somewhere? Is there a temple or cave somewhere with stacks of these things?

It's just moments after their reunion and Clea is gone again. We won't see her again for quite awhile. But when we do, her awesome giant collar will have grown back.

Doc and his mentor now have a wordy argument with Doc wanting to take revenge on Umar while The Ancient One is like "nah bro, she too powerful and is evil incarnate." Doc insists and the old man gets all shady.

Naturally, Doc can't attack his teacher. There's a very wordy exchange between the two of them with The Ancient One telling Doc "this is for your own good and it hurts me more than it hurts you" while explaining he must banish Doc as well to keep him safe, but not to the same place he sent Clea. Why? Because Umar walks the Earth! Stay tuned!

I have a certain affection for this story. Back when I first discovered Doctor Strange, I had only read a couple of contemporary appearances (around 1979-1980) and the half of the original Ditko stories from the Pocket Book reprint (Strange Tales 110-129). A reprint of this story appears in Origins of the Marvel Comics. It was the first non-recent, non-Ditko story I read. It was also completely out of context and I wouldn't read the rest if the arc for years.

Ms. Severin is improving and her Dark Dimension is more imaginative than in the previous story. He style is still shaky. Her use of negative space is less effective than Ditko's. The actually dark Dark Dimension conflicts with Ditko's very bright rendition creating a conflict in readers' minds between the name and physical appearance. The overall style is a bit shaky, lacking Ditko's bonkers imagery and Everett's precision. But, she is progressing.

As for the story itself, it drags at the end. I get the feeling that Stan was attempting to fill the 10 pages without thinking up more plot. It gets very wordy without adding to the story. But the two creatives do give us a memorable final panel.