#fanfic bits

[reaperfox]

The fire had died down considerably, its flames smaller as they danced between the kindling, but it provided light enough and warmth enough that neither man beside it felt inclined to move.

They sat in silence, the comfortable, easy silence of two men who had spent so long together that there was little left to say. Instead, they watched the embers, each lost in their own thoughts, until one finally cast his eyes downward, to the sleeping figure that lay curled between them.

"Do you ever think about before ...all this?"

His words were spoken like ashes to be blown away in the nighttime breeze. The singsong cadence of feigned whimsy. Soft and quiet, like a secret.

"No."

"Liar," the first admonished, his tone revealing the curl of his lips. Protected by the darkness he was smiling, and it wasn't unkind.

"It's not worth thinking about," the other man continued, and the trunk he'd been leaning against creaked as he shifted his weight. "So I don't."

The figure between them stirred, and they both stilled to watch his movements. He didn't wake, though. He nestled into himself and continued to snooze, his breathing deep and steady. This time, Kuya didn't hide his smile.

"To be so young," he said wistfully.

"And naive," Quincy added.

"And plain stupid," Kuya agreed. It afforded him a pleasant chuckle from his companion, and together they fell silent once more.

[lost-technology]

The Ballad of Rem Saverem So, brainstorming a bit with @somereaderinblue I got a fanfic idea about Vash hanging out in a bar somewhere and learning that it is not just he and Nai who know something about Rem! The idea for this is that someone's ancestor was on Ship 5 and was one of the lucky few who was ushered into an evac-shuttle and was among the survivors who saw the ship's navigator yelling at them to go and holding her post, and it's a story kept by this one little town out in the middle of nowhere. People there think it's just a legend, after all, what could one person have even done in something as horrible as the Big Fall? But they do like the story. So, for if I do this fic eventually, I wrote out this song that Vash hears a balladeer singing in a saloon that absolutely leaves him a blubbering mess and bothering said balladeer to no end after his set. Since I am not a songwriter and cannot come with an original song to save my life, I ganked the tune / meter from The Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird as preformed by Rachel Zeigler from The Hunger Games: The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes. (No knowledge of the movie necessary to appreciate the song, but if you're interested, it's a revenge-song a character sings for her ex-boyfriend to hear). So, the Rem-version, sung as only Noman's Landers can: Before we began we fell down on the planet Before we woke up we were spent to the sands Through rough times and roughshod we kept on, goddamit Stubborn and cussin' as we settled the lands We started with dreams in ancient space, lonely Exiled from Earth to explore what was new The Keeper kept watch, awake one and only Her life was given for me and for you Remember her name, the brave Rem Saverem She who went back, destined to die The Great Fleet's error would have left us all condemned If she hadn't run back to be scattered to sky She ran through the flames and let loose the cages She sent out the signal and held fast to her post She stayed behind hopeless through hellfire's rages And out in the long run is forgotten by most But we'll not forget you, brave Rem Saverem It was not for nothing you died It may be to the hard sands we've been condemned But we stand here still as you were scattered to sky.

[vern-a]

Punk eggs punk eggs punk eggs!!!!!

Description: Tallulah is tired, grumpy and if she goes one more day without seeing her brother she swears she will climb through the Federation building’s windows and force him to go outside, security and legal repercussions be damned. A visit to Phil and Missa’s manages to calm her down. She tells her papi she’s spending the night. If she can’t see Chayanne, she’s sure she’ll at least find some comfort with his parents, in the house where they spent half their years growing up together. She does, and even gets one better!

Tags: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Autistic Tallulah, Disabled Tallulah, she uses mobility aids, Federation Employee Chayanne, Biologist-Songwriter Tallulah, Good Parent Philza, Good Parent MissaSinfonia, Tallulah-centric, Chayanne is Tired

The world is built a little differently from the sketches ive done so far, but to me it felt better this way. Hobie really inspired me with his "i dont believe in consistency" line.

[melpomaen]

Trick or treat?

"Let me have this mystery for now. Eru knows you have yours."

__

I have a plot bunny that @oracleofimladris gave me for distraught Glorestor where Glorfindel can't handle his hair being touched very well. I imagine him having trouble explaining himself in the moment and that line is his frantic way of saying "I'm incapable of explaining myself in this exact moment, I'm putting a pin in it."

[marinsawakening]

My biggest tip for fanfic writers is this: if you get a character's mannerisms and speech pattern down, you can make them do pretty much whatever you want and it'll feel in character.

Logic: Characters, just like real people, are mallable. There is typically very little that's so truly, heinously out of character that you absolutely cannot make it work under any circumstance. In addition, most fans are also willing to accept characterization stretches if it makes the fic work. Yeah, we all know the villain and the hero wouldn't cuddle for warmth in canon. But if they did do that, how would they do it?

What counts is often not so much 'would the character do this?' and more 'if the character did do this, how would they do it?' If you get 'how' part right, your readers will probably be willing to buy the rest, because it will still feel like their favourite character. But if it doesn't feel like the character anymore, why are they even reading the fic?

Worry less about whether a character would do something, and more about how they'd sound while doing it.

[fictionadventurer]

Personally, it's always a bit wild to me to see commentators interact with the Hunger Games franchise as if Collins were writing science fiction stories instead of essays with faces. She's just not that interested in fleshing out side characters or digging into the details of the worldbuilding. These characters are concepts and symbols before they're people. There's an almost mathematical precision to who and what she explores and how deeply she does it. This is a step or two away from pure allegory. If she were writing a couple of centuries ago, she'd have named her characters things like Innocence and Anger and Watch-Carefully-Your-Soul-Lest-Ye-Be-Damned, but since she's writing for modern audiences, she has to settle for puns and allusions. If she has another essay to write, she'll assign some faces to it; she's not going to look into backstories or other eras just for the sake of storytelling, and it's not a failing as a writer that she doesn't.

[flamingpudding]

Little Snippets #1

"Father, please do not scare the children."

"FATHER?"

Alfred let out a sigh at the children's reaction as well as his own fathers sheepish laugh as the man scratched the back of his head. Once more he couldn't help but marvel at how young his own father looked. But then again the fact that his father was by now a timeless being and rule of an entire realm likely contributed to it. He glanced at the still shell shocked children and stoic Bruce, a part of him took a bit of pleasure in their shock.

"Master Bruce, may I introduce to you my father." Alfred hummed indicating to the floating man with blazing white hair and glowing green eyes in regal clothing, well aside from the damned jumpsuit his own mother had never refrained from complaining about.

"Daniel James Fenton." The butler continued eyes crinkling with a smile as he watched his charges. "Ruler of the Infinite Realms."

"Just Danny is fine. Honestly it must be your mothers influence with how formal you turned out Al..." The man, Danny added reaching a hand out to ruffle Alfred's hair that Alfred sidestepped. Not because he didn't like his fathers show of affection, no because he had appearance to uphold and he didn't need to shock the children any more than he already had.

"T-that must be a joke, right Alfie...?" Jason spoke up being the first one to regain his ability to speak coherently.

"I am afraid not Master Jason. This man is indeed my father." Alfred hummed amused, he would think that with their near daily dealings with villains, aliens, supernatural and other beings they would be less shocked. But as it seemed his family didn't seem able to warp their heads around this. Surely they must have suspected some sort of supernatural connection to him, after all how do they think he was able to keep the entire Manor as clean as it is? He had his pocketwatch from his grandfather as his secret weapon after all.

[aslyran]

Visions

[mcducky1356]

Firefight by @remedyturtles is all wrapped up! If you haven’t read it check it out! It is so good!

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve wearing a ring Eddie gifts him as a joke (so he can be less prep/more cool) except Steve ends up wearing it all the time.

Something happens-- Eddie misplaces or otherwise forgets his rings one night, and ends up having to go about the day without them.

He's so used to spinning and fidgeting with them that he feels practically naked. Keeps touching his bare fingers and wincing.

Without asking and mid conversation with Robin, Steve offerings him not Steve's own ring, but his entire hand.

Just gives his hand over to Eddie, an intrusive thought he followed without sparing so much as a second to think it through.

(Eddie plays with the ring on Steve's finger anyway, trying not to blush about it, but very much needing the distraction. )

Robin calls them out about ten minutes in, asking why Steve didn't just take the ring off. 

“Oh. I didn't think about that. Sorry Eddie.” 

“Don't apologize man, this is better."

Steve nods like that makes perfect sense, and Eddie refuses to elaborate further.

Robin wants to choke them both because they're fucking romance-blind idiots.

[2tarbell]

SORRY IK I LIKE JUST SENT AN ASK BUT I THOUGHT OF AN IDEA ON THE TOPIC & ITS DRIVING ME CRAZY AT 2AM RN: adding breeding kink into the mix with rafe saying something like ‘maybe i should just knock you up, then you don’t have to do this every month‘ while you’re so vulnerable & ughh<333

like rafe literally orchestrating your period… he’s a FREAK (<3).

he knows you. he knows you. knows you’re waiting for him at home and he’s not all at surprised to see you standing by the door all needy. he loves that you need him, that only he can make you feel better during your period.

so he has your ankles dangling over his shoulders, thighs snug against the back of yours with each roll of his hips. he’s like a greek god situated above you, all strong muscle and planes of warm skin. the pleasure and pressure of his body easing away any cramps or aches. being so full, eyes rolled back and mouth stuck open. you can’t do anything except clutch at his biceps. like an animal in heat, feeling only satisfied when he’s deep inside of you. nothing but little “ah!s” falling from your lips. and what he says is as filthy as ever, but it’s sweeter. he’s sweeter, all for his precious girl.

“thereee you go — yeah, take it, baby. know you needed this cock, yeah? uh huh, i know.”

and then he’s thrusting deeper and that crescendo of wonderful is approaching rapidly. rafe always has a way making you feel safe and brain dead, especially when he is literally shoving his way inside of you.

it’s perfect and just what you needed. and he knew that. of course he knew that. and he’s so big and feels so good and — one last thrust to the hilt and you’re creaming all over his cock, arching and crying out. rafe feels the muscles in his abdomen tighten in pleasure and can’t help himself for wanting to finish inside of you. just a little deeper and it’ll stick, he’s sure of it.

“wanna fill this pussy up. you gonna let me? gonna let me fuck a baby into this greedy pussy? can feel her squeezing me — fuuck, she wants it, sweetheart.”

[reaperfox]

While I'm in a sharing mood, have the start of a Quinya fanfic that's sat on my drive for like a year. One day I'll actually be brave enough to write smut and then I will be u n s t o p p a b l e.

[mrobamapickupthephone]

Was looking through my drafts on ao3 looking for the demigod one bc I FINALLY HAVE VIBES FOR IT AND IM HIT-NAY ASSUALTED WITH MY FURBY FANFIC I WROTE ABOUT MY LITTLE GUY BEING AN ICON AND IM DUMBFOUNDED I FORGOT ABOUT THIS??

like Im so in love with my idea and all the dumb bullshit i wrote about cookies and like accidently lore i put into this kingdom??? LIKE DAMN!! yet it will probably never see the light of day because im unfortunately a perfectionist and have no motivation to work on it to make it *perfect*.

but i wanted to share a few things from it since i feel likfe im funny. (Also i adore how you can tell i wrote most of the story at 1am because was just so horribly misspelled)

[turtleblogatlast]

AU where Leo is trapped in the Prison Dimension for months instead of minutes and the only way he gets by with his sanity intact is through recording himself talking to his wrist comm.

When they finally manage to get Leo back and make him rest up to heal, Donnie can’t help but listen to the recordings left behind.

He’s not sure what exactly he’s expecting, only that his subconscious is screaming at him that it has to be heartbreaking, that it has to be torturous.

Instead, what Donnie is subject to is a full thousand hours’ worth of Jupiter Jim and Lou Jitsu crossover fanfiction. More than one part in the series. Spanning well over a million words.

(The worst part is that it’s actually good.)

[greencatalystcomet]

there were SO many times in deadpool & wolverine where i was like "okay this is where they kiss" and they never did?? especially that moment at the very end where wade was in the middle, logan on one side, vanessa on the other. and logan leans in and im like "okay, THIS is the moment" and then it was a completely heterosexual ending. what?? like im not even surprised bc disney but it was... like a movie made to end in yaoi. and it didnt. but again, bc it was marvel i didnt expect it to be properly gay, but i really thought we would at least get a kiss?? like a cheek kiss, or a kiss w/ masks on. deadpool was even making jokes about it. but then it was just... just straight. im so disappointed

[cadavercowboy]

Just Friends

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: A night of drinking makes Bucky bold and a harmless text makes him bolder.

Word Count: 3.6k+

Warnings: Explicit content (18+ only). Alcohol consumption. Thigh fucking. Orgasm denial. Cum play (microscopically). Oral sex (implied).

The tip of one finger prods gently at your lower lip, eyebrows scrunching with a wince when a burst of pain emanates from the slightly swollen flesh. A narrow, reddened cut dissects the once smooth surface and you lean closer to your streaked mirror to get a better look. Carefully, you press your lips together as if you’d just applied a layer of lipstick and the sting worsens.

You swear you can feel your pulse throbbing beneath the superficial wound and you sigh. It has ached all day, even more so when you split the small wound open while eating dinner earlier. Yanking open a drawer, you dig around in search of your scarcely-used tub of Vaseline, hoping the sticky goop will prevent your scabbed lip from cracking open again. With a soft touch, you apply a thin layer to your tender lip as well as its uninjured mate, having to stop yourself from habitually rubbing them together. 

This is all Bucky’s fault.

Last night had been a normal outing, no different from any other you’ve shared among your small group of friends. Music pumped from speakers, alcohol flowed from an array of bottles and cocktails, fun and laughter filled the evening. Normal, that is, until Bucky backed you into a dark corner of the bar and kissed you harder and more fiercely than any man or woman ever has.

It wasn’t the kiss that surprised you so much as the kisser. Admittedly, Bucky is a good-looking guy and sure you’ve had less-than-appropriate thoughts about him a time or two, but it’s not as if you’ve ever had a truly serious interest in him beyond what some might consider a crush. Not that it matters much. Although you consider him a friend, Bucky is rather reserved and — prior to last night — you’d have bet any amount of money that he’s certainly never had a second thought about you. 

And yet, the ghost of his warm lips devouring yours still haunts your mouth. The way he’d cradled your head and caressed your tongue with his own has you feeling light-headed even after all these hours. Bucky licked and sucked hungrily at you, at one point seeming to grow so overwhelmed with an untamed need that he’d nipped rather harshly at your mouth and left you with a memento of your shared moment of passion.

You shake your head and flip off the bathroom lights before heading back to your bedroom. Stripping down, you throw on a comfortable outfit to sleep in and climb under the covers. With your head burrowed comfortably deep in your pillows, you shut your eyes and beg your brain to stop replaying the memory of last night on a loop. You have to stop thinking about Bucky. And about Bucky’s lips. And about kissing Bucky. 

But you can’t.

Your eyes flick open, hardly able to see anything in the darkness of your room and you sigh. You huff and flop onto your side, hoping the change of position will usher you off to sleep faster. The niggling thoughts pervade. You still can’t believe he kissed you like that. Ignoring the pinch of pain you feel, your tongue sweeps repeatedly over your bruised lip and you swear you can still taste Bucky there. 

In all honesty, you want to simply blame it on the alcohol or the heated tension you’d created on the dancefloor together just so you won’t have to admit that your broody, handsome friend might actually be attracted to you. Hell, you’d blame it on something as trivial as the full moon if it means you can avoid having to think about what last night’s kiss might mean for your meager friendship. Is it too much to hope that Bucky had been overly inebriated and forgotten about it altogether? 

As if able to hear you thinking about him, the once silent phone sitting on your dresser lights up and vibrates. Propped up on one elbow, you can just barely make out Bucky’s name popping up with a succinct ping. You stare at the screen for a long moment, hoping that if you don’t look at his text, it will somehow go away. It doesn’t. In fact, an accompanying message joins the first and your curiosity finally forces you to reach for the device. 

Bucky: Tried to order a shot at the bar and they’re all out of tequila. I think we did serious damage last night

You smirk and release a quick snort of laughter at Bucky’s text, all the while wondering how in the world he’s managing to go out drinking after last night. It’s been an entire day and you’re still feeling the effects of your overindulgence, your head evidently doing its best impression of a balloon full of concrete. Before you can respond, the screen indicates that Bucky is typing something else. 

Bucky: Sorry about kissing you by the way. We have to be as awkward as possible around each other now FYI

So much for forgetting. Sensing Bucky’s attempt to make light of the strange situation while also trying to suss out how you’re feeling about it, you decide to take it easy on him. You have no hard feelings about the kiss and you’d hate for him to feel badly over something so trivial. 

Sitting all the way up, you switch on the bedside lamp and open the camera app while you bring your phone close to your face. You open your mouth slightly so the aftermath of Bucky’s kiss is more visible, take a photo, then send it his way with a sarcastic text about how he should be sorry for how he’s maimed and massacred you. 

It doesn’t even occur to you how the thoughtlessly snapped picture might be misinterpreted. There had been no purposeful intention in the sensual way your lips were parted, nor had you meant to capture your cleavage in the image. You’d simply sent the picture as a joke and locked your phone, but seconds later — even before you’ve managed to set the device back down — Bucky’s number and the goofy group picture you have saved as his contact photo are lighting up your screen. The phone vibrates steadily in your hand as you stare in surprise. 

If you’d been sitting in the downtown bar with him, you would have watched as the content smile that accompanied the sight of your incoming message had been promptly swept away as Bucky’s eyes scanned what you’d actually sent. You would have seen the way he snatched his jacket off the barstool and how his hand nearly shattered the glass of his phone’s screen when he jabbed your contact with unnecessary force. You would have witnessed him lifting the phone to his ear, grinding his teeth as the dial tone droned while he strode through the thinning crowd and out the bar’s exit to the crowded street.

“Hello?” you drawl hesitantly upon answering the call.

You receive no greeting in return, only a terse demand.

“Send me your address.”

“What? Why?” you wonder, sitting up straighter in your bed at the serious sound of Bucky’s voice. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong is you sending me that picture,” he retorts as if it is obvious.

“Bucky, what are you talking about?” you laugh nervously. “It was just a joke.”

“I’m not joking,” Bucky assures you seriously. “Send me the damn address.”

You repeat his name again with another uneasy scoff as you try to process his unexpected adamance. Heat blooms all across your body and you begin to chew nervously on your fingernail as you struggle to come up with a reason for him not to come over. There’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“Listen, I’m…I’m already in bed in my pajamas,” you offer lamely. “I’m not exactly in any state to receive company and…and…I haven’t cleaned in days! I was just kidding, Buck…you don’t need to—.”

“Don’t,” he warns. “Don’t you dare.”

The argument sounds rather lacking even to your own ears. In actuality, you don’t care how you look or how your place looks if Bucky does come over. What you care about is what will happen if he does; specifically, what’s going to happen to you. But there’s no way this man is going to show up on your doorstep.

“I’m going to hang up the phone and get a cab,” Bucky informs you impatiently. “By the time I do, I better have your address.”

Before you even have a chance to plead your case, the line goes dead. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you stare indecisively at the chat which remains open on the screen. The easiest solution would be to put the damn thing down, roll over, and go to sleep. But the cursor that flashes in the textbox taunts you, calling to you like a beacon. You’re suddenly feeling uncharacteristically weak. 

Your fingers move of their own volition, punching in the appropriate information before you toss your phone to the end of the bed and flop backwards with a closed-mouth scream. This man is going to show up on your doorstep. 

There’s something paradoxical to the notion that you aren’t close enough friends for Bucky to know where you live, yet he’s about to show up here to…well, you aren’t quite sure what he’s showing up for. His demand to know your address was alarming — if not somewhat enticing — and you allow your imagination to take over for a moment.

With damp palms dragging down your suddenly overheated face, your mind races and you begin to question your sanity. It would have been so easy to ignore Bucky’s demand and just go to sleep. You’d probably be saving yourself a lot of trouble. But deep down, you have to admit that this is something you’ve been secretly wanting since the very first day you met Bucky. However, that particular thought exists miles down a road you’re not quite ready to travel along.

By the time the resounding knock comes, you’ve paced about a mile and a half back and forth through your bedroom. Your heart is pounding and you’re practically shaking right out of the clothes you wear. A thick hoodie and a pair of loose cotton shorts hang off your vibrating frame, only because you decided wearing your sexy pajama set would seem a bit too presumptuous…perhaps even desperate. And it had definitely felt that way when you put them on earlier. 

Maybe you should change back. Maybe you shouldn’t care so much. The echoing knock is firmer this time and doesn’t give you time to think about it any longer. Because this man actually showed up on your doorstep.

You’ve hardly cracked the door open an inch and Bucky is already inside and shedding his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. He closes in on you until you’re forced to take several unsteady steps backwards into the dark, narrow hall. His hungry eyes look you up and down, sizing you up like a lion would its kill.

“What exactly are you doing here?”

Although you try to infuse some sort of playful, casual laughter into the question, the uncertain quiver of your voice gives you away. As does the way your eyes dart around, refusing to meet Bucky’s. He notes the anxious rubbing of your palms against your thighs and takes a slow step closer to you. 

Standing frozen before him, you gasp when he takes hold of your elbow and promptly marches you towards your bedroom. By the time you’ve turned around to face him, Bucky has already pulled his shirt up and over his head, the defined muscles of his torso rippling and on full display as he does so. Your mouth is dry and your brain is fuzzy.

“You changed,” he notes nonchalantly before gesturing at your outfit. “You’re gonna wanna take that off.”

Bucky utters the order so confidently and with no preamble that it nearly knocks you off balance. You know what’s happening, your brain just doesn’t seem to believe it. And so you stand stock-still, incapable of much more than staring. It isn’t until Bucky growls in frustration — clearly believing that you’re being coy or perhaps just stubborn — that you find your voice.

“You still haven’t said why you’re here.”

“Because…” he begins impatiently as he toes off his boots and kicks them aside. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about last night. And now…seeing how good I look on you is driving me crazy and making me wanna mark you all over.”

The admission is jarring. Almost as much as the cracking sound that shatters the silence in the room when Bucky unbuckles his belt and whips it free of his pants with one smooth movement. You choose to ignore his unashamed desire and opt to address the less detrimental part of his confession.

“Buck, c’mon,” you choke, somehow feeling even warmer. “It was just a kiss.”

“So?”

Your eyes meet his then, not sure how to respond to his unexpected challenge. The heat you find there nearly scorches you. You’re suddenly at a loss for an excuse that seems adequate enough to turn down the prowling man. Especially when you know you want this as much as he does, if not more. Still, you try.

“We were drunk,” you offer weakly.

It sounds like a question even to you and when Bucky quirks a dark brow, you know your reason has fallen flat. He regards you for a long moment, unbuttoning his jeans and revealing a trail of hair which dips below the illegibly branded waistband of his underwear.

“I wasn’t that drunk,” he assures, hair mussed and nostrils flaring. “Now, like I said…take that off.”

“Take…what off?” you mumble distantly.

You’re too distracted by the plethora of smooth, tanned skin to pay attention; too beguiled by the sight of his half-naked body and all that it promises to continue thinking. Bucky points a long finger in your direction, swirling it mid-air to specify that he’s referring to your baggy hoodie and rumpled shorts.

“All of it,” he barks. “Off.”

Ultimately, you obey Bucky’s request and though your limbs move as if filled with sand, they manage to shed your hoodie and shorts just the same. You’re left standing bare-chested in nothing but a pair of underwear that do very little to shield you from the lascivious perusal of Bucky’s hungry eyes. He mirrors your state, now standing before you statuesque and gorgeous in nothing but a pair of tight-fitting boxer briefs when he finally answers your earlier question. 

“I’m here to finish what I started.”

He breathes the words, his lips so close to your own that you can almost taste him. With barely an inch between you, Bucky’s eyes flicks to yours, silently asking permission. He shows no intention of closing the space between you, instead waiting for you to make that decision. You do so without hesitation and crash your lips into his with a sigh of relief at the familiar feeling of his mouth on yours.

In a flash, Bucky tears away and has you hauled into his arms to toss you easily into the middle of your soft mattress. You’ve barely stopped bouncing when Bucky’s strong body is braced above you. His hips settle perfectly in the space between your thighs; you can feel the heat of him there and the sensation is dizzying. Holding his weight on one hand, Bucky slips the other in the miniscule space between your torsos and hooks a finger along the elastic band of your panties. He tugs playfully at the material before letting it snap sharply against your hip.

“I did say all of it, didn’t I?” he taunts with a wry smirk.

“I didn’t have time,” you argue with a giggle that stops short when he allows his hips to drop so that you feel his hardness directly against your center. “I’m sorry.”

He hums against your skin as his lips trail from your jaw to your ear where he licks the sensitive lobe and nips gently at your skin.

“Shh…don’t worry,” he murmurs. “It’s okay. We can leave them on because if you take ‘em off right now, I am going to fuck the shit out of you.”

You’re uncertain whether the words are a promise or a threat, even more unsure which you’d prefer. With a pathetic whimper that curls warmly into Bucky’s ear, you feel his heavy cock twitch against your crotch. His lips latch hastily to the side of your neck and he suckles.

“Please, Bucky,” you mewl, wanting him to deliver on his threat. 

Threat…promise…you don’t care what it was, just so long as he follows through. To your dismay, Bucky puts a swift end to your hopefulness.

“No no no, baby…don’t beg,” Bucky coos almost cruelly. “You’re not getting fucked tonight.”

He punctuates the lowly-spoken words with a pointed thrust of his hips, grinding firmly against your core and beginning to feel the dampness of your sodden panties through his own underwear. You gasp then, sharp and sudden — the sound only partially prompted by the pleasurable sensation he imparts upon you. It is the widening of your eyes that belies the other cause for the breathy noise: Bucky’s unexpected denial. The complete turnaround has you reeling. If he notices your disapproving reaction, he gives no indication and instead continues his inauspicious words.

“I’m gonna make you ache the way I’ve ached for you. Gonna make you go crazy wanting me,” he breathes, interspersing thrusts every so often between the syllables. “Make you so desperate that you’ll do anything just for a little taste.”

Bucky hisses the last word and you flinch just as the rigid head of his length brushes your swollen clit through the thin layers of material separating you. Even without touching you beyond this, he has you near tears and yearning. He watches the pathetic tilt of your hips and the pitiful way your face crumbles, in awe over the way your muscles quiver and your body moves restlessly beneath him. You haven’t even seen a fraction of what he has planned for you and already you’re falling apart; the very notion has him clenching his jaw as his cock hardens painfully.

“Buck. Please.”

You whine — breathless and high — though Bucky continues as if you haven’t said a word.

“I’m gonna take you right to the edge,” he cups your ass, lifting and grinding your hips into his with a dramatic pause, “and then…stop.”

Before you have a chance to lament Bucky’s refusal to give you what he’s made you want, his strong hands grip your bent knees to gather your legs and arrange them over one shoulder so that the backs of your thighs settle along the hard ridges of his abdomen. With your legs pressed firmly together, Bucky reaches down to take himself in hand. He inhales through his teeth, allowing a few indulgent strokes of his throbbing cock before he aligns the glistening tip between the soft flesh of your thighs.

A groan forms deep in his belly, bubbling up until it fights its way out when his lips part instinctively. You watch, trancelike, as Bucky glides his dick rhythmically between your legs. In and out, over and over. Sweat gathers where your skin meets and Bucky’s grip on you tightens as fucks your thighs, taking a smug sort of pleasure in his endeavor to continue denying you.

As his thrusts increase in speed and the veins in his thick neck begin to protrude, you hope Bucky is suitably distracted and dare to lift your hips in search of some much needed friction. Bucky’s reaction is swift, immediate, and infuriating. He presses his weight forward, shoving you back into the mattress and effectively pinning you in place just as a strangled sound pours from him. 

Without warning, his hips jolt forward and his body tenses before becoming still. A wet warmth splashes against your belly and Bucky lets out a rush of breath while his body convulses and another rope of cum rains down on you. 

Bucky finally allows your legs to fall to the side, each one bracketing his corded legs where he still kneels above you as he allows his orgasm to wash over him. The fog lifts for you before it does for him and with the dawning realization, your desperation ratchets up a notch. Feral for some sort of release, you thrash with need and whimper with embarrassing anguish. Your body vibrates with the tension that blazes through your veins and you reach for Bucky, fingernails grabbing and clawing at his hairy thighs while you beg and plead for him to take you, touch you, anything.

Bucky had come here tonight with every intention of teasing and torturing you — a sort of retaliation for the yearning he’s felt for you — but seeing you like this is pushing him dangerously close to giving in. To fucking you the way you both want him to. However, he vowed not to fuck you tonight and he’s a man of his word. Still, he’s willing to show a little mercy. 

With a huff and a quick sweep of his hand through his hair, Bucky is shushing you. He shifts his weight and slides down until his striking face hovers just above your pelvis. From here, he can smell you and the faint aroma has his mouth watering in a way he thinks he ought to be ashamed of. He drags his fingers through the pearlescent splatters that dot your stomach while his other hand eases your panties to the side before he brings the slickened digits to your folds. Warm breath puffs against you when he whispers.

“I said I wouldn’t fuck you, I never said I wouldn’t make you cum,” he concedes with a dastardly grin.

Sebastian Stan Masterlist ✦ Writing Masterpost