#have i spent way too much time on this? YES

[bambisnc]

𝖷𝖮 ♡ use me, i'll be your genie

                  ❪ ➴ ❫───엔하이픈; asking them to teach you how to kiss

ft. bsf!OT7 % hcs + 1.5k (180+ per member) && w. kiss talk ˖ ✧

♡ [ 1-800-XO HOTLINE ] : new layout #bless ++ no one talk to me ab this for 3 business days. but i do personally LOVE how this turned out icl

                  🔗. 𝗀𝗈 𝗍𝗈 𝘍i𝖫𝖤 ᰈ̠ 𝖭𝘈𝖵𝗂𝖦𝘈𝖳𝖤 ✮

이희승 — ❪ LEE HEESEUNG ❫  

౨ৎ as soon as he hears you casually bring up the question—a simple “so will you do it?”—heeseung responds with a flat out refusal. nope. no way. nuh-uh. 

it’s not like he particularly hates the idea of kissing you, hell, he’d be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind a few (or slightly more than that) times. 

but … past experiences have made it plenty clear that the thin line between friendship and something more is delicate. one wrong move, one wrong act, and the entire dynamic could crumble.

when you huffily tell him to forget about it, wanting to keep some face, he immediately protests. 

“no wait! just... don’t ask anyone else to do it. if—if it has to be someone, i’d rather it be me.”

before the sentence is even finished, he’s closing the gap between you; hands cautious, touch careful.

heeseung’s lips brush against your jaw first, dipping slightly to the plane of your neck before tracing their way back up. if he has to do this he’ll do it right.

your breath catches and he pulls back, just barely, before looking at you to ask if you really want this. you can only hope the way your hands rest on his shoulder are enough to convey your yes.

zero palpable hesitation, his kiss drips with confidence. like he has a point to prove. like he’s decided that if you are crossing this line, it might just have been waiting for you both all along.

          ⋅ ˚ ଳ ₊ ‧ others utc

박종성 — ❪ JAY PARK ❫  

౨ৎ with one too many jabs about your "inability to pull bitches" and your "lack of rizz" from him, you will definitely be regretting your question within 10 minutes, tops. 

because of course jay’s first reaction would be to make fun of the fact that you actually have to stoop to the level of asking him for help. 

you try to huffily leave the rooftop at least thrice but he just laughs and tugs you right back to him by your sleeve.

before you know it, almost as if he hadn’t spent the last half an hour now teasing you unrelentingly, he casually leans in. 

shifting closer so imperceptibly that you don’t even notice at first, eyes skimming over your features, unreadable smirk ever present as he angles your chin towards him—mumbling a quick “no time like the present, yeah?”—and then he kisses you. 

no warning. no build up. just his mouth on yours, his touch patient but deliberate, with him simply choosing to allow his gentle actions to ease you into it. 

somehow, the silence letting you get lost in the moment is worse.

심재윤 — ❪ JAKE SIM ❫  

౨ৎ when what jake had originally imagined to be an ordinary study session at the library, ends up with you having him pressed up against one of the shelves, he really can’t be blamed for his flustered reaction. 

okay, so sure, maybe blushing and bursting into laughter right in your face at you asking him to teach you how to kiss wasn’t the most appropriate response. so, sue him.

and fine, maybe you didn’t mean to let it escalate this much. he’s now visibly bothered, ears pink, and hands twitching awkwardly by his sides. “y-you’re serious about this? really? i just thought—”

you weren’t serious. you swear it. you really only meant to tease him. but then his wide eyes fluttered down to your lips once, twice, and... really how could you be expected to stop after that?

“d'you still find this funny?” you can’t help but murmur, voice barely more than a whisper.

he just stares at you, mouth slightly parted, like he has something to say. you see the exact moment he decides to lean in—tentative, a movement laced with anticipation. 

and that’s exactly when you pull back.

“guess you’ll have to take this more seriously next time.” 

and then you’re walking off, leaving him standing there—flushed, stunned, and definitely no longer laughing.

박성훈 — ❪ PARK SUNGHOON ❫  

౨ৎ winner of the most nonchalant award !! you need help practicing how to kiss? sure. what else are best friends for?

he promises he’ll only be slightly cocky about it. “if you wanted to kiss me all you had to do was ask.”

“i don’t,” you’d shoot back, but the way he has to hide how the corner of his mouth quirks up, shows that he clearly doesn’t believe a word.

you ramble on a little about how this is just to familiarize yourself with the entire process, how it’s overrated and not even that deep—like why does a “first” kiss even matter? it’s literally just a kiss.

all sunghoon responds with is an easy “sure.” like you asked him the time. “c’mere.”

no teasing, no embarrassment. his hands are comforting at your waist and the kiss is slower than you expect. more cautious. when he pulls back, his voice is low, even. too even.

“there you go. you’re not half bad.”

he seems nonchalant, sure, yet... the faint red on his features tells a completely different story.

김선우 — ❪ KIM SUNWOO ❫  

౨ৎ “you’re joking, right? Right?.”

sunoo stands up—he did always have a thing for dramatics—like he needs to have free range of motion to be able to process what you just said. 

“you,” his fingers points accusingly like you’ve committed a grave sin, “want me,” finger pointing back at his own now pacing figure, “to teach you how to kiss?!”

his conviction is so strong that you almost believe in the sacrilege yourself.

you eventually interrupt him with an airy mention of just "dropping it" because you can always ask someone else.

“do you even know,” he gasps at that, “how easily people could literally take advantage of you if you walk up to them and say that??” 

you snort, brushing him off. you’re confident, positive that you can handle yourself. 

but when he moves next you hardly expect him to crowd into your space, pinning you against the bed you’d been lazily lounging against.

his lips ghost over yours, not touching but close enough that you can feel the words he says next before you hear them. “confident huh? i guess we’ll see how well you handle this, then.”

safe to say … lesson learnt. (maybe.)

양정원 — ❪ YANG JUNGWON ❫  

౨ৎ finding yourself alone on classroom cleaning duty is usually plenty boring. it’s only natural you’d have … some interesting thoughts to distract you from the mundanity of the chore.

but thankfully, your best friend happens to be suffering on duty with you too! what better way to pass time than a quick chat with him?

so when you half jokingly bring up the idea you don’t really expect anything to come out of it. 

and the surprisingly positive response you get is, if nothing else, a tad bit unexpected. jungwon almost seems to be a little too thrilled at the prospect. “so,” his face is carefully neutral, but years of knowing him have made you rather familiar to that knowing sparkle in his gaze, “this would purely be for educational purposes?”

you nod, still half thinking this is just hypothetical. he nods back in response. 

he moves slowly, like he has all the time in the world, like this is something he doesn’t even have to think twice about.

you find your face cupped in both his hands and all your follow up questions silenced as he presses kiss after kiss to your lips, unorganized desks remaining forgotten.

"i'd hate to get in the way of proper learning, after all." is his only explanation as he lets you up for air (much) later.

西村 力 — ❪ NISHIMURA RIKI ❫  

౨ৎ it’s actually him who jokingly brings it up.

some offhand comment about first kisses tasting like lemons. when you admit you wouldn’t know, considering you haven’t had yours, he pauses. almost as if considering the logistics of what he’s about to say. 

to fill the silence, you add a “you could teach me, you know.” not meaning anything by it at all.

but you can only blink when in a tone that is way too assured he says, “i could.”

“…huh?”

ni-ki has the gall to shrug at that, eyes glued to whatever 2000’s cheesy romcom you’d picked out earlier that evening. he insists you should get some ‘real experience’ and that it’d be a disservice to society (i.e., all the boys you could potentially date in the future) not to help you out.

one would think he's doing you a public service by how much he talks it up.

you roll your eyes, deciding to play along. if he wants to take the joke this far, you might as well get some fun out of it.

naturally, his only way to deal with your unserious attitude is to prove his point. 

one short kiss melts into two, three, four—you end up losing count. and frankly, you couldn’t be bothered one bit about it.

his thumb brushes against your slightly swollen lips, stopping you when you chase after his own again, and you almost hate how he seems so composed.

“don’t overthink it.” he says, sealing the words with one last kiss to your forehead, a complete contrast to the earlier rushed ones, “i’ve got you.”

𐙚 . regulars : @chrrific @jessxxxfwd @evanesceki @soobundle1009 @weedatthegasstattion @flipitkickit @douqhnxtss @soona-huh @amoressb @nicholasluvbot @manariee @rinrinninnin @ddeonuswife @douqhnxtss @lovenha7 @amatabelle @i-am-not-dal @liyahhhh620 @elleetlalune @eunwonji @s0shroe @wensurr ⋆

[@bambisnc] 2k25

[enhani-ki]

round with my baby - reader x ni-ki

warnings: smut, pregnancy scare, cursing, etc.

sex with your boyfriend ni-ki had never really been possible before. between his packed schedule and the fact that his dorm was never truly empty, there was just never a right moment.

you both always kept things quiet and sneaky—stolen kisses behind closed doors, hands slipping under clothes when no one was looking. every moans was muffled against the crook of each other's necks, always heated and hurried but stopping just before things went too far.

ni-ki didn't have much experience either, but he admitted that with you, he feels more confident. being close to you made him curious—eager to touch, explore, and try all the things he'd only ever thought about before.

"fuuuck," he groaned, head falling forward to rest against yours. "you feelーyou feel so good, baby."

and ever since he got some time off, ni-ki didn't wasted a second and spent every moment with you. he doesn't even care now if there were people in the dorm while he's fucking you.

"faster, riki—please, please," you cried out, fingers digging into his back as you tried to pull him closer, like it would somehow make him go deeper.

your inside walls were so warm, so wet, he swore it should've been easy to move—but you were gripping him too well, it's so hard to think straight.

your head was spinning too. his hips slapped against yours with so much urgency, his breathless moans falls with every thrust. you felt his cock twitched inside of you. he was close.

"wait—shit, shit, shit," he gasped, eyes wide as he tried to pull out, but it was too late.

ni-ki's cum was already leaking from your swollen pussy. it was still spilling from his tip also, thick and hot... your boy couldn't help it as it really felt too good to stop in time.

"oh my god—baby…" ni-ki kissed you, guilt flashed in his face, though his rock-hard cock was twitching against your inner thigh, begging to be inside again.

"mmh, it felt good," you whispered. wrapping your arms around him needy, even after he had filled you.

"yeーyeah? can i put it back in?" he asked, wiping the sweat off your forehead before pressing a kiss on your lips.

"yes, riki... hurry," you moaned. ni-ki lined himself back into the mess he made between your thighs, groaning as he slid inside. your body was already sensitive, overstimulated, but the moment he filled you again, you suddenly prefer if he could fuck you 'til you go dumb.

your back arched off the bed. "how—how come you're so good?" you asked him. leaning to bite his lower lip, enough for it to sting and for him to hiss.

ni-ki cursed under his breath before chuckling, eyes locked on the way your body trembled beneath him. the sheets were already soaked from the juices of slick and his cum dripping from your swollen cunt. "you're so sexy,"

he leaned back to watch himself slide in and out of you—slow, deep, then fast. the sight made his breath hitch, seeing how his cock glistened each time it dragged out before sinking back in. "babe, you're dripping everywhere…"

you hands clawed at his shoulders, "almost thereーriki, i'm—!" ni-ki felt your pussy throbbing inside, he picked up his pace the moment he heard you call out his name. "cum," he demanded, panting while kissing the corner of your mouth. "let me feel you, baby."

he held you tight the moment your walls fluttered around him, locking you in place as you came. your sharp cries filled the room, trying to push him away.

and without missing a beat, ni-ki started thrusting harder and faster, pounding into your soaking pussy while covering your neck with sloppy kisses and licks. "that's it, y/n... cum on my cock," he whispered. "soak me, and i'm gonna fill you up—i swear."

his words shot pleasure straight to your core that you can't stop leaking. he started cumming too almost instantly after, the hot spurts of his release surged deep inside your womb.

"fuuuck, take it all," ni-ki gasped, slamming into you a few more times while you milked him for every last drop of his seed.

his cock were still buried inside, twitching as he collapsed on top of you. ni-ki looked up to press soft kisses to your neck, your jaw, your lips "i love you so much, y/n..."

"i love you too, baby."

the period tracker, which you both used more as a joke at first, now looked insane—full of hearts and entries of unprotected sex.

...too many "didn't pull out" notes to count.

even when he hadn't moved yet, you already felt like crying. all ni-ki did was stay still inside, cock throbbing gently, but your eyes welled up.

he pulled back, gave a shallow thrust, then froze. "y/n…" he whispered, staring at your heaving tits. his brows were furrowed like he's thinking about something mid-fucking. "i—fuck—i don't know," he said leaning down to kiss your cheek, then your lips. "if i finish inside you again… you might really get pregnant."

your breath got caught in your throat, "huhー?" ni-ki kissed you again before you could say anything, his tongue roamed inside that all you could do was to whimper into his mouth.

"i'm gonna take care of you, baby."

days passed, then weeks. your body starts to feel strange, your body felt heavy, and on top of that... your period didn't come.

you ignored it and blamed it on stress, but you also stopped texting ni-ki back. you stopped answering your boyfriend's calls because every time his name lit up your screen, your stomach flip.

you don't know what to say to him. you weren't even sure what you feel but you know you needed space, even though all it did was make your head hurt more.

riki: talk to me, please.

riki: baby?

ni-ki showed up at your place eventually. he didn't say anything at first—he just sat beside you and pulled you into his arms to hold you tight. he kissed your temple, your cheek, and the top of your head.

"why don't you talk to me?" he asked softly, hurt, but mostly concerned.

"iーi didn't know how," you whispered. "i just… i feel weird. and i don't even have my period yet."

"riki… i don't know if i'm just being paranoid or if something's actually happening." you sniffled, his arms tightened protectively around you.

"it's possible," you continued. "i mean… with how much we've been—y'know…"

"with how much i came inside you every chance i got?" he finished the words for you, smiling gently as he tucked your hair behind your ear.

you looked away, blushing at his words. "don't say it like that… i wanted it too."

"i know, but it's still on me," he said softly. "'m sorry, baby." ni-ki cupped your face and kissed you sweetly, brushing his thumb along your cheek... he loves you too much.

"i told you," he murmured. "no matter what happens—whatever you want—i'm going to take care of you... promise."

he then tilted your chin up until your teary eyes met his. "you're not alone, y/n."

"you're so pretty," ni-ki pulled you in his chest, letting you rest while his hand stroked your back gently. "you know what i'm thinking about sometimes?" he asked, burying his face in your hair. "coming home to you. you, wrapping your arms around me…"

"or letting me bend you over the counter, fucking you on the couch... having our mess all over the place."

"what?!" you laughed through a teary smile, feeling warm for the first time in days.

he chuckled too, "yeah. i want to see you walking around naked," he murmured, lips grazing your skin...

"you can be swollen, round with my baby."

you looked up at him and gave his arm a light slap, but your glare didn't last when he pouted, silently asking for a kiss.

you couldn't help it. you just chuckled and leaned in after watching your boyfriend turn to a man then back to being a cute ridiculous boyfriend again.

a/n: this is crazy T-T prayers for reader plzzz + posted this along with enhypen as your "stressed" boss check it out too (^_^) also made this listening to sweet love by chris brown.

masterlist: マスターリストm.list

[ghostgirl-22]

art fucking/getting fucked by a random dude and patrick finds out and gets jealous so he also sleeps with the dude as revenge or smth. they both pretend the dude is the other one.

hope you get what i’m trying to say :3

Yes i get it—im with you anon!! They’re so silly. Using this poor guy as a proxy for each other. This is a little bit of a post break up au for you anonnie— hehe.

CW: NSFW MDNI

___

Patrick shows up because of course he does. 

He wouldn’t answer a 3 am call for his own siblings but for Art Donaldson apparently he’d still do anything. He rolls down the window to wake himself up but also some part of him hopes the crisp air of the early spring night will bring him to his senses. That he’ll make a u-turn and go back to his apartment and pretend none of this happened. It’s not his fucking problem anymore. He scrolls his phone at the red light. Texts starting around midnight and getting more and more incoherent. Starting with: 

Hey you're in Boston right? I’m in town for this wedding thing— my cousins wedding. 

My aunt was asking about you. 

Remember that bar O’malleys we snuck into when we were 19? I’m here if you wanna stop by.

He’d stared at the messages mildly confused. Unsure of how to feel. All of it so out of the blue. Part of him would believe Art’s phone was stolen if he hadn’t mentioned O’Malley’s. The memories of that place clear as if it was yesterday sneaking in when Art’s cousin worked on shift. Summer nights with live music, dancing with hot 21 year olds, and way too much to drink. The thought of it making him nostalgic. Nostalgia laced with bitterness. After years of no contact then it’s just… hey I’m in your city at a family wedding you weren’t invited to want to get drunk?  

He ignores the texts. And every text that follows but as a true masochist he stays up late to watch them come in. Each one drunker and more desperate than the last. They stop around two in the morning and distantly Patrick wonders if he should be worried.  He had to shake himself out of that mindset. Art is a big boy. Art is and adult. Art didn’t choose you. No one did. He’d fallen into a fitful sleep when his phone started buzzing non stop. A call. He almost didn’t pick up, but part of him was so surprised that Art actually had the balls to call him. 

“It’s three in the fucking morning,” he says coolly. 

“Please, Patrick please ‘m at this bar. ‘m really drunk. ‘m sorry to bother you. I just can’t—I can’t— i cant drive— i think I’m gonna be sick.”

Patrick doesn’t realize he’s grinding his teeth until he opens his mouth to take a breath. He can tell that Art’s probably been crying  just from the way he’s breathing. “Stay there. I’ll come get you.”   

He still hates himself as he pulls up to O’Malleys. This Irish pub not far from his sometimes girlfriends place. He and Art had taken the train here plenty of times all those summers they’d spent roaming around downtown Boston when Art would come stay with his Aunt and Patrick would come down from his parents estate on Martha’s Vineyard and stay with him in the city. It feels like it was a different life now. One he can’t believe was his.

The bar is clearly closed, though some patrons are still lingering. Art’s on the outdoor patio furniture talking to some guy. Tall, lanky, bent over… he’s rubbing circles along Art’s back as he takes a sip of whatever clear liquid is in the glass. If he’s smart… its water. 

Patrick actually realizes he’s grinding his teeth this time. “Hey!” He calls out the window. 

Art recognizes his voice but he’s not the only one that looks over to Patrick. Tall and lanky and (somewhat handsome apparently) is staring too, along with a couple of older women sitting on a planter having a cigarette. 

Art makes his apologies to tall and lanky and stumbles towards Patrick’s car. He’s sloppy, messy drunk. Clothes all wrinkled. Hair disheveled. His jacket open, fly half zipped. He gets in and shuts the door weakly behind him. Patrick leans over him and pulls it shut properly before peeling off without a word. 

“‘m sorry,” Art says. “‘m sorry Patrick.” He says again when Patrick doesn’t respond.  And Patrick gets the sense he’s apologizing for more than just tonight. “Thank you for coming. ‘m sorry. ‘Mm so embarassed.” 

“what street does she live off of again?” Patrick asks about his aunt. 

“Please i— i can’t go there. Not like this.”  

Patrick huffs a laugh, incredulous. “well where the fuck do you want me to take you?” 

Art starts to take little shaky breaths like he’s gonna cry. Patrick hates himself. Hates that those sniffles still make him care. Make him feel responsible. “I did something bad. I— i did something really bad.” 

“What did you do, Art? Kill someone?” Patrick mutters dryly.  

“No,” he exclaims quickly. “I uh… well… i had sex.” 

Patrick grips the steering wheel tighter. “Who fucking cares? You’re a grown up. You’ve had sex before.”

“No… i mean…” he sniffles. “Not… it was sex with… I can’t face her like this… my aunt…s-she wouldn’t understand. God.” He pulls a few condoms from his pocket and drops them into Patricks empty cup holder. “This was a mistake.”

“You think she’s gonna smell it on you and kick you out?”  Patrick glances at Art and he looks miserable. Patrick feels a small twist of sadistic satisfaction somewhere deep down. Maybe he’s not the only one struggling. Then he remembers the way Arts career is taking off and his impotent frustration with him returns even stronger.

“It’s…you know how my aunt is. Really religious. And i let the bartender… i let him fuck me. I let him… god just a fucking stranger he was so nice and funny and his accent was cute and i was really drunk so… i let him…” he’s wiping his nose on his wrists. Eyes all wet. 

“Oh.” Patrick feels this tight bitter lump growing in his throat. His heart rate picking up. He doesn’t say anything for a while. Doesn’t really trust himself to say anything that isn’t gonna come out bitter and desperate. 

His mind returning to the moment he’d pulled up in front of the bar. Art on the patio furniture. The tall lanky somewhat handsome guy massaging his back. Feeding him water. Taking care of him. That stupid guy. That fucking random stranger. Taking it just like that. After years and years of… of what…

Is Patrick admitting it? Admitting it even to himself what he desires. It makes him feel weak. Makes him hate himself even more. Art can push him out. Push him away. Take Tashi’s side. So easy and so cold. Knowing how much Patrick loved liked her. Knowing how much Patrick loved him. No words. No apologies. Just this out of the fucking blue. And now he’s fucked some guy. Giving a stranger what should have been Patrick’s. Giving him what Patrick fucking deserves especially after all Art has put him through.

“I’m so fucking embarrassing. I know its… I’m not even into guys I just. I’m so… i don’t know why i did it… ” Art sniffles quietly. “Can you stop, please? I think I’m really gonna be sick.”

Patrick pulls over on the side of the road. Watching Art bend over a public trash can. He should be glad Arts having this reaction to it but his own stomach is twisting into knots. His chest aches and the lump in his throat is so large it's difficult to swallow.

All those touches between them that lingered too long… all the times Art would self consciously push Patrick away whenever other people were around. The lie he told Tashi.  “No, no, nothing… is that surprising?” 

And Patrick let him lie. Even backed him up. Because sharing clothes, crawling into the same bed, sleeping tangled up with each other, wet dreams. Touching themselves in the same bed, sitting too close together, hearts racing when they finish, filling the awkward space with heightened giggles. Dumb secrets. It was all just nothing.

And yet even now, Patrick knows he’s gonna cave. That he’ll bring Art back to his shitty one bedroom. Let him sleep it off.

“I don’t know why i did it…” is all Art can say. Head resting on the car window, street lights flash across his body, illuminating his tear streaked face as they drive home. “You’re not gonna say anything?”

Patrick is burning up inside. More than usual. Teeth grinding in a way that kinda hurts. This hurts but he’s not going to admit that. “Was it the guy giving you water?”

Art sniffles. “Um… yeah. Justin um… Fuck.” He laughs but theres no mirth in it. “I don’t even know his last name.”   

Patrick bites his tongue to stop himself from saying what he wants to say. Things that will make Art hurt as much as him. Maybe more. “So you dont like guys… but you like Justin no last name?” Patrick says quietly. He hopes he sounds as even and uncaring to Art as he’s trying to be.

”I know you don’t believe me.” He lifts his head and rolls the window down. “It was a mistake. I’ve never— I swear I’ve never done that before. I had too much to drink.” 

They get home and Patrick lets him upstairs. The place is bland, undecorated. Patrick’s barely affording the $900 a month as is. His furniture all comes from ikea or its makeshift. Art doesn’t ask any questions, he just uses the bathroom and plops down on Patrick’s sofa. Thankfully before Patrick says anything because Patrick is pathetic enough he probably would have let him have the bed. 

“I can be out of your hair in the morning,” He promises when Patrick comes back with a flimsy blanket. He curls up and Patrick hears him snoring not too long later. Patrick’s in his bedroom looking at the blank wall. at the blinking red dots in the center of his digital clock radio. Almost 5 in the morning. He can’t stop thinking about it. 

I let him fuck me. I let him fuck me.

Patrick can see the guys face so clearly in his head and he’s furious. He’s been to O’malleys enough times. He’s been served by Justin. Never bothered to learn his fucking name. 

He eases his hand into his sweats. He’s so hard it’s embarrassing. He jerks himself off. Cursing Justin. Cursing Art. Cursing the idea of them pressed up against each other in a messy bar bathroom. Justin fucking into him— his dumb voice getting pitchy. Maybe he’s whining asking Justin to take it slow cause he’s never had sex with a man before. Patrick would’ve taken it slow. Patrick would’ve kissed his throat, nibbled hickies so everyone at the wedding would know what Art did last night. So he’d have to tell his aunt some kinda lie. Patrick squeezes a little tighter. So horny he doesn’t even have the patience to spit in his hand to help the chafing.

Maybe Justins big. Maybe he’s huge. Maybe he’s got a bigger fucking dick than Patrick does. Maybe he made Art moan for it. Act like a slut for it. Blue eyes rolling back because of how good it feels. Then all at once Patrick’s coming. Its been less than a minute and he’s breathless against his blanket. After all this fucking time.

Fuck this. Fuck him. 

Art does leave the next morning (closer to afternoon) as he promised. Makes it to the wedding on time.

*

Justin is working again tonight at O’Malleys. Hes a real friendly guy. Tall, handsome and flirtatious. Patrick’s been flirting with him for an hour now. Justin seems to like his company. Eyes lingering on his smile, his body.

“That one’s on the house,” he says, in his regrettably sexy Irish lilt.

“Oh thats nice of you, how will i ever repay the favor,” Patrick says, raising his shotglass with a smirk before swallowing it down.

Justin grins, “I can think of a few ways.” 

Patrick leans forward on the bar. “What times your break?”

*

The drinks are stronger than he anticipated. He feels it all when they’re in the small space of the backseat of Patrick’s jeep and he’s fumbling with a lubricated condom. 

He’s trying to be cool and sexy and just like the hottest fuck of this guys life. Wants to make himself forget all about Art but hes so buzzed he feels a little dizzy. 

“Those shots taste delicious, huh?” Justin teases. Patrick wonders if the accent is what made Art fall for him. Or is it his hair? (Full head of thick dark hair). Or his hands? he’s got big hands but Patrick thinks his are bigger. Maybe it was the kiss?  (It was… fine… he’s fine… but Patrick still doesn’t understand what makes him so fucking special). 

He manages to roll the condom on before he grabs at Justin's jeans and makes quick work of getting them down so he can see what he’s working with. Boxer briefs, like what Art started to wear shortly before he left for Stanford. 

Of course. Of course. 

Patrick can see Art in briefs just like this. 

Rolling in dizziness of the alcohol, his heart pounding in his ears Patrick bends him over. He’s imagining Art doing this. On his hands and knees in the backseat, sliding the briefs down. Imagining Art wiggling for him as he grabs him by the waist… slides his dick between the crevice of his ass cheeks. 

“Mm your so ready for me, aren't you?” Patrick sighs and there's a soft answering moan.

God. Art was just like this. Slutty waist bent in half. Perfect little ass. Presenting for him. For him. Patrick can’t wait another minute, he grabs him by the waist and presses himself inside. 

Oh. Oh god.

It’s so tight.

So virgin fucking tight, the heated ring of muscles practically choking his dick. “Fuck yes, oh so tight for me Art. I can barely fit… fuck.” He hums. “Gonna open you up… make it easier to take. I promise.”

“Mm it’s cause I don’t usually bottom… but you’re so hot I couldn’t resist… should’ve known you’d be massive.” The voice shocks Patrick back to reality. He’s not Art. But Art did this. Art bent over like this. His Art. Just like this.

Patrick takes his time rocking into him. Heartbeat in his ears, sliding in and out. His body starts to relax… accommodating the size. The whole time Patrick’s brain keeps imagining that Art felt this tight. That Art moaned just like this. That Art began to push back as he got used to it… just like this and before long Patrick isn’t sure what’s in his head and what’s real… but he knows the word mine keeps slipping from his mouth. Distantly Patrick is aware but he can’t stop. Can’t slow down. Art beneath him. Art whining and moaning like a…

“That’s right… take it you fucking slut.” Patrick hisses. “On top of everything else who knew you were a slut? Taking anything, anyone. Fuck you. You don’t even fucking deserve this.” He’s grunting, the pace of his hips rapid as he chases his own pleasure. Fingers gripping tight enough to bruise. The car rocking gently with the force of it.  Patrick feels it… slowly building and then its all of a sudden. “Oh shit,” he grabs hold of Art’s cock and starts to jerk him. “Fuck… oh fuck, Art… I’m gonna—“  He cuts himself off with a loud groan, filling the condom up. He keeps jerking him off… a few more rough strokes and he’s shocked back into reality again when Justin grunts out his own orgasm and Patrick sits back feeling dizzy and mildly unsettled. 

”Fuck,” Justin gasps. As they both breathlessly try to put themselves back together. “You can’t possibly be the Patrick.” 

“What’s that mean?” Patrick squints, tying off the condom and shoving it into an old grocery bag that’s become his makeshift trash bag. 

“Last night I met this guy, a blond, who claimed he was waiting on his friend, Patrick. Except he never showed up… and I felt a little bad cause he seemed lonely.” (Patrick almost feels bad for that… almost). Justin wiggles his hips, lifting his jeans up over his ass. “I thought he was really cute… so I might have made a few too many mixed drinks for him, on the house. I thought I was cheering him up… getting him to smile. Long story short we ended up going outside for a cigarette and that turned into sex up against the wall of the alleyway, with one of these that I’d grabbed from the bowl behind the till…” he picks up the condom wrapper and tosses it into the makeshift trash bag.  “and the whole time he’s calling me Patrick. Telling me how much he thought about me. How sorry he is. How bad he wanted me to fuck him. How much he just needed to feel it.” 

Patrick’s eyebrows fly up towards his hairline. 

“So I just go with it… I’m thinking who fucking cares… let the poor cute guy call me by his exes name. But then the next night here you come…  calling me by one of the most unique names I’ve ever heard and it just so happens to be… last nights boy toys name. Art. He’s a tennis player, ring a bell?”

Patrick can’t help smirking. “What else did he say about me?”

”Well afterwards he broke down in tears and I was trying to calm him down and… did you… it was you… last night in the car.”

“I did pick him up.” Patrick admits.

“Oh fuck, I’m… did he tell you about me?”

Patrick shrugs and Justin grins. “He told you and you came to find me. Well don’t I feel fuckin special.” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Patrick says, lightly. 

“No I’m sure it has nothing to do with me… but do you need a third? Cause, holy fuck I’ll be honest, after being dicked down like that by an ex… I’d sit in a bar by myself and get drunk enough to cry too.” 

That actually makes Patrick laugh. 

Justin leaves shortly after to finish his shift. “I wouldn’t drive tonight if I were you, maybe call your ex,” he smirks before getting out and leaving Patrick alone.  

It’s perfect actually. Patrick texts Art, time for you to return the favor.

*

It’s after Art’s snuck him into his aunts house at 1 in the morning that Patrick explains himself (“By the way I fucked that bar tender… the one you let fuck you last night. he told me all about what you really wanted.”) And Art, who’s gone all cherry red and incredulous, doesn’t protest for very long after Patrick gets his mouth on him. And in the familiar room they shared during high school summers, with Art’s religious aunt just a few bedrooms away, they’re all over each other in the race to each make the other forget all about Justin.

[ysrjune]

𐔌♡ ˖ ࣪ HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY, BABE.⠀ ‹𝟹

err smut at the end but it's not cray cray

It was your 5th Mother's Day this year. Scott went out with his dad and Leo two days early to find a gift for you and his mother. They went to Target, walking around the cards section first. "All of these cards are so corny and stupid." Scott says after reading one and putting it back. "I'm gonna make my own."

"Daddy! This one!" Leo runs up to his dad with a card in his hands. "This one! This one for Mama!" Scott takes the card and immediately catches on to why Leo wanted him to pick this one out so bad. Because it had a yellow duck on it. Leo loves ducks. He loves any animal, really. "You wanna give this one to your mama? Are you sure?" He looks down at his son. Leo smiled wide and nodded his head enthusiastically. "Okay, I guess."

Scott's father had gone on his own around the store to find a few other things. Leo had his arm up just a little bit while holding his dad's hand as they walked around looking for more things. "What if we make her a basket? Girls like that kinda stuff, right?" He asks Leo. "Yaaaaaaa." The small boy responds. "Mama lovesss when you spend money on her." It was true, but Leo was sort of making you sound like a gold-digger. The truth behind this was that Leo liked when Scott spent money on you. Neither of you knows why, but it just makes your baby happy.

Leo picked out chips and candy, and Scott chose a pretty necklace and bracelet. They got home and went into Leo's room to put the basket together. "Mommy is gonna love me so much for this." Leo giggles and puts the chips in the basket. "Um.. I think you mean us." Scott furrows his eyebrows. "No. Me." Leo responds and pokes his tongue out. "Mommy looovesss me."

"She loved me first, jackass." Scott chuckles and gently flicks the boys forehead. When the basket was finished being assembled, they decided to hide it under Leo's bed. "You have to keep your big mouth shut about this, okay? Don't tell Mommy. This is a surprise." He ruffles Leo's hair and heads to his room.. with Leo following behind so that he could cuddle up to his dad.

—

It was the morning of Mother's Day. Scott woke up early and turned to his side to stare at you. "Hey, wake up." He rubs your shoulder. "Wakeee uppp." He slightly shakes you. You whine and shake your head. "It's too early." Scott sighs and kisses your forehead, then your cheek, nose, and lips. "Wake up noww!" He whines back, continuing to kiss you.

You giggle and finally give in. "Okay, what?" You open your eyes and rub the sleepiness away. "Happy Mother's day, beautiful." He tells you and then leaves a kiss on your lips once more.

"Thank you."

Now it was time for breakfast. You and Scott got dressed from your pajamas and into regular tshirts and sweats. "Can you wake Leo up?" You ask Scott. "Yeah, be right back." He stretches and makes way to your son's room. "Leo-Oh. You're awake." He chuckles, watching as the boy jumped up and down on his bed. "Is mommy awake? I wanna give her the basket!" Leo smiles excitedly. "And what about Grandma? Don't you wanna give her the thing you made at school?" Scott walks over to the drawers to find Leo an outfit.

"Yes but I wanna see mommy first!" He continues jumping. "Mm, okay. We gotta get your dressed first though, kid." Scott throws a shirt and shorts at the boy. "Hey!! Be nice!!" Leo laughs and immediately starts changing. "Nah, I'm not nice to ugly little boys." Scott smiles. "You're ugly." Leo laughs and tugs the shirt over his head.

After getting ready, Leo ran out of his room with the basket in his hands and went to your room. "MOMMYYY!!" He yells and holds the basket up to you. "Look, look! Me and daddy made it for you!!" He had the happiest look on his face. "Really?" You smile down at your son and then at the basket. "Thank you baby, I love it!" You bring Leo to your lap and kiss him. Scott leaned against the doorframe, watching with love in his eyes. "Thank you." You mouth to him.

—

Your father and mother in law were down in the kitchen, already eating. "Happy Mother's Day, darling." Scott's mother stands up and walks over to you when you walk in. "Happy Mother's Day." You smile and hug her. "Here, I got you this." You give her a necklace with her birthstone on it. "Oh, thank you." She smiles and kisses your cheek. "I still have your gift in my room, I'll go get it."

His dad hugged you and wished a happy Mother's Day and then served you and Leo a plate. "What about me?" Scott scoffs. "You're a grown man." His father smirked to annoy Scott. It was always like this, honestly. His father served everyone in the house but him. It was funny. The gift your mother in law had given you was a heart locket and the picture inside was of you and your small family.

The whole day afterwards was perfect. You all got ready and went to the mall and then went to a movie and lastly, dinner. Then it was time to get back home. It was late, so Leo was fast asleep. Still, you had to be quiet.

Scott fingered you that night. Real good. That man knows how to use his fingers. Long and slim. Always digging into the right places. That wasn't all, though. He replaced his fingers with his dick and his mouth. It was good, but it wasn't the best you ever had from him. If nobody was home, it would have been a whole different story. It was still really good and he loved you. That's all that mattered.

@bxbyysstuff @anakinstwinklebunny @lovethestarrs @valloos @anisangeldust @xo-yaaaaaasxo @anakinca @dollfilmz @alexlovesysrjune @sockiess @sythethecarrot @speaknow-sw @loveamira @alealuvshayden @mvst4far

[abbotjack]

Do you think Pope could actually cope with someone genuinely loving him? Like do you think he has it in him to just let himself be loved by someone who doesn't want anything out of it?

(Hi I am anon who started watching because of your NSFW alphabet, about halfway through season 5 now, thank you for this blessing, Andrew is SO SPECIAL)

Yes. But only the way a man who’s spent his whole life bleeding learns to stop looking for the wound.

Because Pope Cody doesn’t heal. He endures. He survives. He buries. He memorizes the shape of the pain and calls it penance. And if someone were to come to him with love—real love, unarmed, unguarded, unearned—he wouldn’t know where to put it. Wouldn’t know how to let it live inside him without choking it to death with suspicion.

Because love, to him, has always been another kind of violence.

Touch was a trigger before it was ever a comfort. Care came with terms. Affection was a power play disguised as praise. His mother, that high priestess of conditional devotion, carved into him the first rule of survival: Obedience is the price of staying close. And he paid it. Over and over again. In silence. In bruises. In loyalty.

So when people talk about love—real, soft, steady love—he flinches. Not out loud. Not in a way you’d catch if you didn’t know him. But his shoulders inch tighter. His jaw sets. His gaze drifts. Because what they’re describing sounds too much like a trap. Like something that could be taken away.

And Andrew—the boy buried under Pope—he knows about being left.

He remembers what it felt like the first time someone walked out and never came back. He remembers the grief that didn’t get held. The questions that didn’t get answered. The silence that never got filled. He remembers trying to be good, trying to be better, trying to deserve whatever scraps of tenderness were rationed to him. And he remembers every time it still wasn’t enough.

Love, true love, the kind that doesn’t punish or require or mold or demand—it would dismantle him. Gently. Quietly. Without force.

And that’s what would make it so terrifying.

If someone offered that to him—love with no ledger, no warpath, no score to settle—he wouldn’t scream, wouldn’t break things, wouldn’t snap like people expect. That’s not his brand of chaos. He’d disappear. Shrink. Go still in a way that would feel almost holy. He’d answer less. Show up late. Say he’s tired when what he means is I don’t know how to hold this without breaking it. He’d sit across from them, eyes too bright, mouth too quiet, waiting for the moment they realize what he is and walk away.

Because they always have. That’s the law of his life: What you touch, you lose. What you love, you destroy. What you let in, burns.

But still—still—the wanting lives.

It’s there in every glance that lingers too long, every moment of silence that lasts just a breath past comfort. It’s there in the way he watches their hands when they talk, like maybe if he can memorize the way they move, he’ll understand something about safety. It’s there in the way he starts the car even when he doesn’t know where he’s going. In the way he drives through the night with no destination, trying to outrun a kind of hope he doesn’t have the words for.

And if they stay—if they stay through the shutdowns, the stormy silences, the volatility he doesn't mean to unleash—they’ll see it.

The cracks.

The sacred fissures in the stone.

He won’t say I missed you. But he’ll fix the loose hinge on their door without being asked. He’ll keep track of their schedule like it’s his own. He’ll bring back the brand of granola they mentioned liking six months ago, like it was a sermon he never forgot.

Because for Pope Cody, love is not a performance—it’s ritual. It’s devotion. It’s carrying someone in your every breath and pretending you’re not scared shitless they’ll leave anyway.

But don’t mistake that quiet for peace. There’s rot in the foundation. He’s lived too long in the shadow of his own sins. The things he’s done—the people he’s buried, the rage he’s swallowed, the lines he’s crossed to protect what little he had left—they haunt him. And when someone loves him anyway, it doesn’t cleanse the guilt. It amplifies it.

Because now he has something to lose.

And losing something good—something soft and sacred and real—would be the most violent thing he’s ever endured.

So he might push them away. Not because he doesn’t care, but because he cares too much. Because he sees himself as a curse. Because he thinks love from him is a death sentence.

But if they stay—really stay—something shifts.

He softens. Like something that used to be sharp learning how to hold without cutting. He starts making eye contact. He starts laughing, low and surprised, like he forgot what joy sounded like in his own throat. He says home and means it.

And eventually—slowly, reverently—he gives it back.

Not in declarations. In presence. In protection. In vulnerability.

That’s the holiest thing about Pope Cody. Not the violence he’s endured. Not the damage he’s done. But the miracle of him still choosing tenderness. Still reaching for something that terrifies him. Still offering his chest, scarred and sacred, as a place for someone to rest their head.

He’s not holy because he’s redeemed.

He’s holy because he tries.

Because every small act of love from him is a rebellion against everything that built him. Because he holds his own brokenness like an offering—and still finds a way to love through it.

And when he does love, when he finally lets himself be loved—he’ll never go through the motions. He’ll check the locks twice so they can sleep. He’ll sit beside them in silence when they cry, not trying to fix it—just letting them be, because he knows what it’s like to fall apart and not want to be rebuilt.

So yes. He could survive love.

But it wouldn’t be survival anymore. It would be transfiguration.

Because Andrew Cody doesn’t need to be saved.

He needs to be believed in.

And there is no one more deserving of holy, quiet, lifelong love than the man who thought it would kill him—and still dared to try.

(Andrew is so special. There’s something almost biblical about the way he suffers, the way he loves, the way he carries it all in silence. I’m glad you’re watching. Season 5 is brutal in the best way. Welcome to the long, slow heartbreak of loving a man like Pope Cody. You’re exactly where you’re meant to be.)

[tobesolnelyx]

fratboy!lottie with a VERY insightful + empathic girl fem!reader who literally sees right through Lottie. her inner pain, the reasons for her behavior, what she hides, everything. fem!reader doesn't know the exact answers, but she always guesses (and somehow always right), and she just really wants to help Lottie feel better, her main goal is to make Lottie feel accepted and loved, but Lottie herself has a hard time with someone digging around in her head. She is simply very scared that someone sees her so deeply, but at the same time, it seems, continues to love her. NSFW or SFW it doesn't matter!!

I really hope that this request will be heard because I have never seen anything like this. thank you for everything you do!

— every breath you take || fratboy!lottie matthews x fem!reader 🪐

a/n: yes, im very aware about what this song is. STILL, it reminded me about this cute little tik tok trend. it's not as cute lol, wrote this while listening all too well 10 minutes version

summary: your girlfriend has problems, but you can't really help when someone is scared of that, can you? hurt/comfrot.

warnings: toxic parents, family issues.

word count: around 1.6k

“Are you alright?” you asked, even though it was more than certain Lottie wouldn’t answer. At least not directly, not with any honesty. That wasn’t what frustrated you most—it wasn’t that she was unreadable. In truth, she wasn’t that hard to decipher. Not because she was transparent, but because when she shut herself off from everyone and pretended she didn’t need anyone, you could still see right through her.

She wanted to be your support, but she didn’t necessarily want it to work the other way around.

You never quite understood why you got her so well. Honestly, Lottie found it more irritating than anything else. You always seemed to know what to do, what to say, how to act. And she had no idea what to do with any of that. She didn’t like how deep you could dig, didn’t like the part of her that knew she would eventually have to open up if this thing between you was going to work. After all, no one had ever taught her how to build something healthy… how to go through all this.

Even the way she held herself—tense, frozen, like an animal alert to danger—told you that things were far from okay. She was staring at some invisible point in the distance, sitting on the porch, lazily smoking a cigarette in her left hand. Her blouse was unbuttoned and wrinkled, the aftermath of whatever that family gathering had been.

Eventually, Lottie looked at you and sighed, then wrapped an arm around you, pulling you close. She smelled like cigarette smoke and some absurdly expensive perfume. You didn’t even know the brand, but it stung your nose—it always did. She used too much of it.

“Sure” she murmured. Even though her voice sounded like she’d just spent an hour breaking rocks in a quarry, her tone was firm enough to shut down the topic. “Just tired.”

The problem was, you tended to push. Not because you wanted to burden her further or expose all her wounds at once and betray her entirely. It was more that you just wanted to help. You just didn’t know how—other than always being right.

The porch light flickered. Moths and mosquitoes had begun to gather around it. The Matthews’ backyard was wrapped in stillness, broken only by the rustling trees and the gentle trickle of water in the pond. Evening was cooling, and Lottie was lazily rubbing your arm, trying to warm you up. You’d have to go back inside soon anyway—someone would eventually notice and come looking. Lottie definitely didn’t want to be found. She preferred to return on her own, even if it meant facing more passive-aggressive comments, masked in charm and soaked in overpriced wine.

She never told you outright, but you saw it. It wasn’t hard to miss. From the first dinner with her parents, you noticed how stiff she became in their presence. At first, you didn’t understand. Lottie had everything she could ever want. She practically embodied the stereotype of a rich brat who thought the world owed her.

But by the next family gathering—the one you had the (dis)pleasure of attending—you saw what you’d missed the first time. When her dad cracked his jokes at dinner, and her mom offered you dessert with a too-sweet smile, you finally noticed the barbs. The offhand comments, prettily wrapped like gifts, pretending to be something they weren’t. It wasn’t just comparisons to other kids from that outrageously wealthy neighborhood. It was the nitpicking, the little jabs placed precisely where the seams were weakest, slipping through soft fabric to pierce the core.

You wondered if they said things about you, too, behind your back. Maybe Lottie never meant to tell you, but by the way people looked at you across the table—and the way Lottie’s hand grew clammy as she held yours beneath it—you were fairly certain you weren’t the dream candidate.

“Girls,” came the sugary voice of one of Lottie’s aunts, the kind that made her visibly shudder. “It’s getting cold. Come in.”

It wasn’t a request. Not even a question. Just an order, as if the woman—dressed in hopelessly mismatched clothes—might perish from scandal if you didn’t obey. Sometimes you wondered if it had always been this way. If Lottie had always lived under this looming pressure, with family breathing down her neck, whispering that she had to be someone. That she had to do something worthwhile—anything that wouldn’t bring shame to them all.

Fights happened.

Maybe even more often than either of you wanted to admit. They weren’t an everyday occurrence, but they were a constant presence—repeating themselves in familiar rhythms. Something would stir inside Lottie, something she wasn’t willing to talk about, and all it took was a glance from you to know something was off. Most times, it had to do with her family, so guessing the source of the tension wasn’t exactly difficult.

“Lot,” you murmured, climbing into bed beside her as she sat, hollow-eyed, nursing yet another cigarette like it might ease the pressure bearing down on her chest—as if it might offer some kind of solace.

Lottie felt disappointed. Disappointed that her parents had never given her what she truly needed. And until she met you, she’d believed love simply wasn’t for her. The whole idea of it seemed distant, like something meant for other people, never for her.

“I’m fine. It’s fine,” she muttered, waving you off like a fly buzzing at her ear, trying to quiet the world.

It ended differently each time.

Sometimes in sex—when you slipped behind her and offered something to anchor her, if only for a moment. In those tangled limbs and synchronised breaths, she could almost believe she was someone worth holding on to. Someone you needed.

Sometimes she simply left—fleeing the conversation, disappearing for hours to wrestle whatever storm raged in her mind. You knew what haunted her. That knowledge alone unnerved her. She had been ignored for so long, bought off with money and silence. And then you came along and gave her too much attention. Too much care.

And sometimes—worst of all—you both ended up screaming.

You tried to understand her, always. But you were only human, with a storm of your own. The frustration would rise until it boiled over. Lottie never needed to explain herself—because you already knew. But that didn’t mean she wanted to talk about any of it. Partly because she feared you’d one day treat her like her parents did. And partly because saying it aloud—naming that fear of never being enough—might make it real. Like a curse fulfilled the moment it passed her lips.

“You don’t get it!” she’d explode when you pushed too hard. But she knew you did. Probably better than anyone ever had, and that scared the hell out of her.

“For God’s sake, just let it go! Can you even do that?”

“I’m asking for one conversation, Lottie!” Your arms fell to your sides, your eyes wide with disbelief. Like you hadn’t had this same, senseless argument a dozen times. But maybe that’s what it took. Maybe this was some part of the process. You clung to the hope that one day, Lottie would understand you the way you tried so hard to understand her.

“It’s not that much, is it? I see something’s wrong!”

“Because you’re a nosy bitch, that’s why!” She didn’t mean it. But she wasn’t thinking about what she said. “Just stop hovering, okay? Maybe we’re together, but I don’t need you playing my fucking mother all the time!” She gestured wildly. “I’m sick of your bullshit. You don’t know shit about how I feel!”

Lottie was terrified by how deeply you saw her. So she did what she knew: she pushed. Hard.

You pressed your lips into a thin line, drew in a long breath, and readied yourself to say something—maybe to soothe her, to try again, to start from the beginning like you always did.

But the door had already slammed behind her, Lottie gone in a fury.

Only to return hours later with flowers in hand, kissing your face like a woman drowning, apologising through half-sobs. Telling you she didn’t mean any of it. That she’d just been upset. That she loved you more than anything, and she couldn’t lose you—not over something so stupid.

You both knew it wasn’t just something stupid. But you let it slide. Even though you knew better.

You gave her space to be safe, even when she squirmed inside it, unable to sit still in her own skin. You forgave her—because no matter how often she pushed you away, she always pulled you back again. Like she didn’t know what to do with this strange new feeling—being seen, heard, held—for the first time in her life.

Later, Lottie would learn what a healthy family could look like.

She’d learn it when you brought her home for the holidays, to your parents’ house. She might’ve cried—just a little—when your mother baked her favourite cake just because she wanted. Curled beside you in bed late that night, she let the tears fall quietly, not saying a word. You might’ve planted that idea yourself. Just maybe.

[team-free-avengers]

A New Team

Summary: When Bucky said he needed to bring a group in as evidence for his case you jumped at the chance to help. It only made sense you ended up dragged into a misfit group saving the world with him.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Mentions death, SPOILERS

Word count: 1769

A/N: I may have messed up who says what in one of the conversations from the movie but I tried to find the convo online and I only saw the movie once so I tried my best. I'm sorry there isn't much romance in this one. And it ends abruptly but if not I would have wrote the rest of the movie

You just finished putting the last of the laundry you spent all day away when your fingers grazed the black suit you used to wear all the time while saving the world. It's been quite some time since you last wore it. Letting out an audible sigh your brain takes you back to a time when the Avengers were still whole. You still had a purpose. Nothing has been the same in quite some time, everyone has lost a lot of people. Especially you. Steve..Natasha..Tony

Before you can lose yourself any deeper in your train of thought the door to the apartment busts open. Startled, you instinctively pull out one of the guns you have tucked around the house incase of emergencies like this and jump into action. Slowly and silently you make your way towards the front of the house where the intruder is, only to find your boyfriend Bucky.

With a deep sigh you drop the gun onto the counter, “You scared the shit out of me coming in like that,” you state when he comes to greet you with an extremely quick kiss. Examining the rushed movements as he begins stripping out of his suit into street clothes you begin to worry, “What’s going on?”

“Nothing crazy, I just have some evidence that I need to retrieve,” he responds, throwing a few things into a bag including a few weapons.

“If that was the case why can’t you pick it up in your work clothes and why do you have a bag like this is some sort of mission?” you question.

“Well..I might be gone for a few days since I know the evidence is going to be difficult to retrieve,” he responds vaguely, “if we want this impeachment the I need to do this Y/N”

“Well if it's that serious then I want to come with you,” you say, surprising him. 

“You want to come?” Bucky questions like he didn’t hear you the first time.

“Yes Bucky, I want to come. I'm sick of being on the sidelines while my boyfriend is out doing stuff in the world. I used to be an Avenger now I'm a stay at home girlfriend to Congressman Barnes,” you say with a deep sigh to really get the point across.

He doesn’t respond for a second before sighing deeply himself, “I can’t really tell you no when you put it like that now can I?” 

You simply shake your head no before pulling out the same suit you were reminiscing over earlier and get ready. Following his lead you throw a few things into a bag just packing what you would for a mission. You’re out the door and on your bikes in no time on the road to wherever Bucky is leading you. No matter where it is you will follow. Considering all he has done for you since coming back to the states and the love you feel for him now you wouldn’t think twice about following Bucky into battle again.

“Not that I care but what exactly are we going to pick up and from where?” you finally questioned your stop to fuel up.

“Not what, who,” he corrects before simply shrugging, “I don’t know who will still be alive but Fontaine hired some people that are considered loose ends to kill each other as we speak.”

With a nod the both of you get back on your bikes continuing towards your target. You’re surrounded by desert and starting to think you’re going to be riding forever when you see armoured trucks ahead of you shooting at a large red limo. 

Looking towards Bucky you see him nod in confirmation. 

‘Target confirmed,’ you think drifting farther from him towards the left side of the truck in the back looking for an opening. 

While they are too busy firing at your boyfriend's evidence you are sneaking around them towards the limo ready to fire at the tires when he takes the last truck out. Only that's not what happens. You’re not expecting to see her leaning out the window. You freeze, just like you did last time you had the chance to take a shot someone was counting on you to take. 

Instead Bucky sends an exploding disk their way giving you enough time to regain composure.

‘Now is not the time to let emotions get involved in a case,’ you think of yourself as you get off your bike helping him confine the group and drag them to a secluded area.

Once everyone’s inside Bucky stops you just outside the exit, the cool fingers of his left hand are caressing your cheek, “I know you trained with Yelena but none of that can matter now, I need to bring them in to testify.”

“I know,” you whisper, trying to fight back the memories of you and Yelena in that hell hole of a school.

“Hey, Y/N look at me,” Bucky demands in a soft tone, trying to get you to meet his eyes, “You can do this. Don't let it get the better of you or your powers, you know that it's hard to control them when you start getting stuck in your head. Now I'm going to make sure they haven’t tried to escape yet, take a moment and collect yourself before you join me.”

After planting a kiss on your forehead he slips inside leaving you to regain control over your thoughts and emotions. The guilt building in your stomach makes it feel like you ate a ton of bricks for breakfast and no matter what you do you can’t get the feeling to go away. Yelena must hate you for not taking her with you like you had originally planned. 

‘If only she knew what really happened,’ you think to yourself as you push off the side of the structure and slip inside.

When you walk in everyone is yelling at Bucky about some guy named Bob as he gets off the phone. Apparently he is one of Valentina’s many victims and they want to go and save him. 

With a deep sigh he begins breaking their restraints, “I'm letting you go.”

“Why?” you question confused about what you missed while you waited outside.

“For glory!” a man in an old red superhero suit shouts enthusiastically. 

“Well you know Valentina, she has this thing out there with superpowers that she plans on using for her own good and people are going to get hurt so we need to stop her,” Bucky says, not acknowledging the man, “And they're going to help us.”

“Wait, us?” Yelena questions unsure why the two of you would want their help after you just captured them with the intention of using them as evidence.

“Why? You got somewhere to be?” Bucky retorts. 

“You got the wrong people,” she tries to argue to Bucky but you decide to chime in.

“Look, I've been where you are, Yelena. You can act like it's not getting to you on the inside, but it won't get you far. Sooner or later, it'll all build up until you can’t hide it anymore. And when it does, it'll be too late. So if you can do something about it, do it now or live with it forever. Together we can stop her and save Bob,” the speech was unexpected so you nervously looked around the group hoping it motivated at least one of them.

“So what do you guys say?” Bucky questions before award silence can fill the space. 

“Yeah,” Yelena says unenthusiastically, shrugging

Soon after the rest of the group joins in with a chorus of yes and you are off to find someone named Bob at the old Avengers tower. During the trip to the tower everyone is seated in the back of the utility van while you and Bucky are up front.

“So, what uh, what actually was your past relationship with Yelena?” Bucky asks hesitantly after some time has passed in silence.

“We were friends, allies in that place as little girls, we had made a pact to escape together if we ever got the chance even though we knew it was a far-fetched plan. Soon after we made the pact was when the test started and I began developing my powers so I knew if I didn’t take the next chance I got, no matter how slim, I would become a weapon for them to use at their will. One of the days that they brought me in to give me another dose of whatever their concoction was and I was left only in the hallway for maybe two minutes while the nurse could finish getting the room ready. That was enough for me to slip out the emergency exit at the end of the hall and just kept running until one day I met Natasha. I didn’t know she was Yelena’s sister until the day I told her this story and she recognized her description, she was going to reconnect us before she…Before she died to help restore and save the universe.”  by the time you are down telling Bucky the story you can’t help but feel the dark cloud looming over you all over again. You will always regret leaving without saying goodbye, without finding a way to leave together.

“Those experiments could have killed you if you didn’t leave you might not even be there today. I'm sure if you talked to her and explained what happened she would understand after all you were close with her sister which might help. I know even if it doesn't happen today the two of you will be like best friends soon enough, it's hard not to forgive someone as kind and loving as my beautiful girlfriend,” Bucky is trying his hardest to pull you from your mood but it’s not going to work.                              

 “I love you so much and I appreciate your effort to help but I don’t think it's going to help today,” you say softly, placing your hand on his thigh. 

“I know and that’s okay, I love you too that’s why I’m willing to be here for you through the bad days and the good,” he responds, taking your hand into his gently bringing it to his lips. A comforting gesture that you have come to love even though it brings butterflies along with it no matter how long the two of you have been together. 

Before either of you can say anything further you see the tower growing closer in front of you and its time for a fight.

[papathe5th]

I like the idea that Perpetua has more demonic traits than Copia does (fraternal twins) —& that he gets stranger and more feral on the days/nights leading up to the Full Moon. He’s not a vampire, not a werewolf- but he’s something, all right.

“Why should he have all the fun?” you say, approaching the treeline leading into the woods outside The Ministry.

“Yeah. Good. OK. Have fun.” Copia locks the door to his office.

I’ve spent too much time setting the scene, but I had a vision of a monster movie featuring a classic stock character with a demonic design and demeanour.

Ghestie, I wish you good luck on the journey under the cut.

Pairing: Papa V Perpetua x GN!Reader

Words: 2900

Rating: E (explicit)

Tags: ritual bloodletting; blood drinking; monsterfuckery

“It gets cold out there even in the summer months,” you made your case before the head of the United Clergy of Ghost, Frater Imperator. “I can pack clothes, supplies—”

“You’re not going anywhere near him tonight,” he whispered, as if worried the celestial body could hear him all the way down here on Earth, in his office with curtains pulled and doors locked. “It’s a full moon.”

“I’m not afraid,” you reassured him, proud and prepared to face the long night ahead. You were shifting from one foot to the other, your fingers fidgeting at your sides, but you weren’t afraid. You were excited.

Papa V Perpetua was last spotted crossing the gardens, climbing the gates and sprinting towards the treeline at the edge of Ministry territory.

The sun was sinking into the woods and its light gave way to the darkness of night, yet many a Sibling of Sin swore they saw him as clear as day. He stripped off his clerical robes on his trek into the wilderness.

“It gets cold out there even in the summer months,” you made your case before the head of the United Clergy of Ghost, Frater Imperator. “I can pack clothes—”

“You’re not going anywhere near him tonight,” he whispered, as if worried the celestial body could hear him all the way down here on Earth, in his office with curtains pulled and doors locked. “It’s a full moon.”

“I’m not afraid,” you reassured him, proud and prepared to face the long night ahead. You were shifting from one foot to the other, your fingers fidgeting at your sides, but you weren’t afraid. You were excited.

“You should be afraid,” he raised his voice, his shoulders slumped forward, holding himself up while hovering over his desk with his eyes on the sliver of silver straining through the slit in the curtains. “Nobody knows what V is up to during this time. He is of my blood, yes, but I’ve never been beckoned by the moon. Or the wilderness.”

Frater Imperator’s words echoed in your skull when you arrived at the treeline. They had not reached your spine as chilling as the sound of your superior cowering before his own flesh and blood was. You had no fear because you also felt the pull.

And he recognised the look in your eyes, closing the door behind you. And putting a padlock in. And moving the furniture in front of it from the sound of scraping you heard. “May Lucifer keep you safe, my child, ‘cause I sure can’t.”

With Lucifer in your thoughts and with no heed to Frater’s words, you walked in Papa V Perpetua’s footsteps, in the foliage, and into the wilderness. The moon was your guide as you were sure it had been his. As it climbed higher in the sky, you counted your steps and checked your watch. At midnight, the beams will bestow upon you knowledge long forgotten as its light will shine upon an ancient shrine.

The Ministry was a modern institution that had buried its roots in these woods. Nature is the Devil’s church, yet the Clergy shed its snake skin for a secular world and a golden cage. No wonder Lucifer’s voice on Earth chose to free himself of it every full moon. You’ve only read of the old ritual site, and tonight you would witness it for yourself. And whatever skin Papa was slipping into.

It was nearing midnight when you reached the site. A clearing encircled by engraved stones, sloped towards the centre structure: a slab of polished stone so smooth it mirrored the moon. It looked as if it had been recently restored for a ritual. The thought entered your mind and electrified your spine. You search the surrounding shadows for any sign of a sentient being. Yours stood alone in the surrounding sounds of a sleeping forest.

After discarding the bags you had draped over your back and the pouches you laced in the front, you entered the circle with nothing but an open heart and a closed clerical robe. Approaching the slab, you shone your lantern on it and found that it had recently been put to its rightful use. A pair of goat horns was the centrepiece while bloodied paw prints encircled the round edges.

With your heart beating in your eardrums, you reached for the wreath of green twigs and dried flowers onto which the horns were mounted. It was larger than any head could bear, be it of a goat’s or a man’s. Then, as if to prove you wrong, the moon summoned another contender to the crown.

It was a tall, lanky, pale monstrosity screeching into the night skies out of which it manifested. Its wingspan severed the full moon into a crescent above you. And one of its eyes caught the silver beams as it descended onto the slab.

Humans are animals. The Clergy would rather cage themselves from this truth, but you felt the beast rattling against your ribs. You heard its fear. And you listened, leaping like a long tail rabbit. The winged being was another animal. The predatory kind. As you fled from it, it followed.

Frater Imperator’s words were loud in your chest, almost as loud as your heart. As loud as the animal’s wings fighting against the winds.

May Lucifer keep you safe because I sure can’t.

Your mind was running faster than your legs could carry you. Have you angered Lucifer by stepping on unholy ground? Did he send this creature to capture you and drag you to Hell for your crime? Or was it Lucifer Himself? Did He slip into a new skin and charge towards you himself?

Your lungs burned and your legs numbed, yet it was your soul that deserted you first. Ready to be taken into your Dark Lord’s arms where it could rest, it tripped your feet and sent you speeding into a panting pile on the forest floor.

“Oh, Sathanas,” you coughed out your heart, rising to your scraped knees. “Mea culpa. Mea maxima culpa.” You cried, collapsing on top of your forearms. “I…I was looking for…for Papa. I didn’t want to leave him all alone in these woods. I…I don’t know if he’s safe, or…”

When you opened your mouth, tears, snot and spit came down like waterfalls. You were drowning in your own distress, choking on your syllables. Through the waterfalls in your eyes, you saw four white paws sharpened at the end by black claws. You saw them sink into the soil and braced yourself to be dragged beneath.

The beast moved its maw and a sound startlingly close to human speech came out from deep within the pit that thought itself a chest:

“I’m safe, my child.”

Its front claws crept closer and you surrendered to them as they curled under your chin. As it was being lifted ever so lightly, your teeth were clanking against each other furiously.

“Look at me and see that I’m safe.”

It spoke again, angling your face up to look at it. No, not it. Him.

Papa V Perpetua had shed his skin along with his clothes. He crouched over you wearing the skeleton of a white-boned beast with a dark mane of hair swirled around his skull like a dark storm. His pale skin was stretched thin, his lips lifted up to his cheeks and away from his new set of sharp teeth. But his eyes were as bright as they were in yesterday’s sunlight. One serene and green, the other, a moonbeam.

With the last of the air in your lungs, you exhaled. “Your Dark Eminence.”

“I am safe,” he reassures you, the words a thunder in his chest and his left eye as striking as lightning. “And you are, too. Now that I’m with you.”

Before he stretched his skin along the fresh set of limbs that spurted out of his spine, he drew you close to him and cradled you in his arms. “Are you afraid of heights?” And he lifted the both of you off the ground. “Don’t be. You are safe with me.”

His Dark Eminence had sniffed you out the second you stepped foot in the woods. He looked over you as you journeyed on the trails long forgotten, as you collected the clothes he discarded. And he chased away the animals that had reclaimed the land. He would’ve rather you hadn’t followed him, though his heart beat against your hand as if it meant to leap in your palm.

Afraid as you were of the wind whipping at your body while you two crossed the night sky, Papa’s widened, warm and hairy chest kept you grounded. Your eyes opened at his request, at the feeling of his nose nudging the crown of your head, and his growl against your forehead.

“Look at the Moon. She called to you as she had called to me.”

The moon has fallen in the wells of his eyes. The left shone so bright down on you that you went blind to all the stars you passed by. When you did get a closer look at the celestial body, it beckoned you back to your Dark Lord’s altar.

Waiting for you in the center of the circle was the crown that you could only touch with a longing look, ashamed to have even reached out to it with your now dirty hands. Papa planted your feet back on the ground, on the same spot you sprinted from, in front of the stone slab.

“You know what this is, don’t you?”

He watched your every move, every muscle on your face as your eyes took in the sight of the prints and your nose smelled the blood they were made out of.

“An offering.” A blood sacrifice. A living being had to bleed for your Dark Lord. “Was it a goat?”

“It was. Very good. Do you know what I am?”

“You are Our Dark Lord’s voice on Earth.”

The voice was low and so was his mouth, his entire elongated body bending in half when he came face to face with you. And, if it weren’t for his eyes, you wouldn’t have known him from the nightmares that haunted you at night. Because it had hunted you tonight.

“I am Our Dark Lord made of the dust of the Earth.”

Fear was to be expected when a mortal is faced with the eternal. Yet, when you get caught in the small cage that is the Clergy, the Ministry and even the entirety of the planet, any step you’ve taken outside is bigger and the fall is that much steeper. Tonight, you are met with Eternity, the Evening and the Morning Star, Your Dark Lord in the skin of Papa V Perpetua. And fear was Eternity dancing with you in the pale moonlight.

“And I am here to serve Him the way we used to,” your voice was weak, words warbling out of you. “To serve you.”

You faced Papa in all his perpetual glory, cosigning yourself to be cremated by the fire in his eyes. And you would’ve collapsed on your knees before him again, if it weren’t for all ten of his fingers trapping your torso, tenderly lifting you up and slowly setting you down on the surface of the slab.

It was Papa himself that kneeled before you, folding his frame in half. His hands stroked your shivering spine, kept it straight while his warm breath washed over the cooling sweat on your chest. Your robe had come undone in the front and he wanted to unravel you further, his face drawing closer.

“You’ve been wasting daylight in the Archives,” he inhaled you, his nostrils flaring only inches from your feverish flesh. “You didn’t see me, but I’ve been watching you. What have you learned?”

Throwing your head back, your jaw loose and your mouth slack, you present your throat to his tongue, salted by perspiration and peppered with soil. A single lick was the length of your neck, and it dragged out a moan along its trail.

“Tonight is the summer solstice.”

He lowered your body lightly, as if it were a feather, laying it on the length of the altar. Your head is caressed by the crown, propping it up like a pillow. When his warm hands surrendered you to the cold slab, you shook all over. And when the hands returned to tear your threads to shreds, your hairs stood on end, pulling at your flesh and prickling your skin.

“Tonight, the offering is the blood of a virgin.”

You held yourself still with hands on each side of your body and grabbing onto the sticky stone edges, your palms pressed into the blood prints. Papa pushed your legs apart, tacking a thigh in each paw, propping a thigh on each side of his protruding pelvic bones. The curls that covered his crotch tickled the inside of your thigh and the tip of his rising cock cried over your sex.

“You’ve taken your first Unholy Communion only three moons ago,” his voice reverberated in your chest, your heart slamming against your ribs. “Our Dark Lord’s body and blood renewed your body and blood.” His head of dark hair was outlined with silver curls, the moon a halo from above as he looked down on you. “No sinner has touched your new body, have they?”

You haven’t shared the sweetest of sins with any of your siblings. You were as clean and pristine as a white dove. In spite of your nose being in a dusty old book or mouldy scroll. You were the virgin blood sacrifice.

“I am the offering.”

“Lucifer.” He roared, his chest rumbling. “We are here for your praise.” The Earth shook under you when he screeched into the night and reached the moon. You screamed together, his formidable form shadowing you, his paws on either side of your head, his claws on your cheeks. “Sathanas, we are one out of three.” His tongue slithered down your throat and you choked. His huge cock crammed itself inside you, slick like a serpent. And his tail tightened around your thigh, strangling it like a noose.

When he allowed air to fill your lungs again, your soul was being carried by the wind. You were light, your head in a haze and your vision glazed. Papa had pulled back his tongue, soaked in your saliva, and pulled out his cock, stained with your blood. He stroked it, smearing your sacrifice on his paws and painting them on the stone surface. All the while he stroked your spasming abdomen with the tip of his tail, the skeletal ribbing on it sliding up and down your thigh.

“Thank you for your sacrifice.”

When your heart slowed its beat against your eardrums, you heard Papa purring . And when your soul returned to your body, you felt the wet strokes of his long tongue over your wounds. Your knees, your knuckles and your hole were coated in the thot and healing unholy secretions. The beast he had become was tamed by the blood you had spilled for Him.

Tonight, you rediscovered the Dark Lord’s old church. And you learned how to worship him by pleasing the Beast, Papa V Perpetua. You taught your body how to take his cock when he carved a place for himself inside of you. And you spilled your blood from every hole, from the canines you begged him to bury in your veins and the claws that caressed your flesh.

As the Evening Star became the Son of the Morning and the Moon fell silent in the face of the breaking dawn, you two flew out of the woods and back to civilization. At the edge of the wilderness, you descended, and the beast dropped you and the bags you brought onto the soft foliage as he collapsed and curled in on himself. You kissed him with your mortal mouth, wet him with your tears, held him through the suffering of shedding his unholy skin for the temporal form he would be trapped in.

“I brought clean clothes,” you stroked the bones on his back. His wings retracted and tucked themselves under them. “I had…I had a feeling you’d need them after you…you know.”

“You did good,” his voice was the last to crack when his skeleton stopped snapping into place. “You were so good for me,” his too small tongue was at your throat, tasting the damage his demonic denture had done and the drool had put back together. “So good to me.”

Eternity shrunk into himself, into your embrace, and became a small scared child again. He suckled at your skin and you let him. He ran away from home, and you didn’t chide him. And when he tried to rise to his own feet, you taught him how to walk again.

You had trouble keeping your thighs from trembling, which was a sight that brought back the smirk to his now pink and puffed lips. “How are you? Are you good?”

“Your Dark Eminence, did you not just praise me for how good I’ve been?”

Today, you carried each other across the narrow path that the Ministry laid in front of you. Frater had sent several of your Siblings to scout the surrounding territory for you. And had even driven himself to where the two of you were spotted.

“V,” he stumbled his way out of the driver’s seat. “You look like shit,” he spit out, but you didn’t taste any venom from where you were standing. He sprinted to you and you saw the shine of unshed tears in his eyes. “My child, how are you?”

“It’s good to see you too, C.” Papa stood up straighter, prouder.

Frater blinked the sadness out of his sight. “Wipe your shoes before you get in the car.”

Today, Papa V Perpetua is returning to the golden cage the Ministry built for him. And so are you. Though, today, he knows that he will not be locked up alone.

[n3ptoonz]

'A Burning Memory'

Pairing: WinterSoldier!Bucky/F!Reader

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Warnings/tags: Smut, Explicit/NSFW; pre CA:TWS, not happy ending, slight(?) angst, plot heavy, reader is a black widow, mild fighting, riding, kissing, they have history, reader calls him james - there is a reason why, reader can speak russian, SHE/HER USED, sub!bucky, think of this as canon divergence, partially inspired by the book! half proofread, yes this is also inspired by the song, "i love you" and "I'm sorry" in the same fic, i feel evil, indigo plays way too much rivals

Word count: 2k

TWO IN A DAY? OOOOO (this flow is going to die at midnight)

italicized text in quotations means Russian is being spoken. bold italicized means flashback

>>if you recognize the beginning from a cai bot, that is because it is my bot. anyway, onward!

You left him.

Well, no. You escaped. You escaped all the torment and destruction to your body. You were over the experiments and lashings. The bright lights. The harsh conditions of training. The force of submission. You were done. However, the 'mindless' soldier didn't see it that way.

He was sent out to find and capture you, kill if necessary. One could say he's half in, half out. They told him you're a traitor and ran out on him for your own personal gain and he believed it. Part in mission, part personally. But you've been strategically hiding for months--not knowing you were hiding from him. You figured they'd send HYDRA agents and keep working on him. You hadn't a clue who he really was, nor were you so sure of your own identity, but you never thought the time you spent going on those assassin duo missions would stick to him.

You're squatting in an empty house not abandoned too long ago. It was night and you could already barely sleep, lying awake on the stolen blankets while using your own jacket for cover. You sighed frustratedly and went to go grab a bottled water from the pantry when you feel a cold, metal hand cover your mouth and a gun click, poking your rib.

"Remember me?"

Being the only one qualified to keep up with the Winter Soldier was only a curse. There were no blessings. Okay, maybe there was one. That one...no, three times you two "protected each other" whenever the signal would go out on your earpieces. Otherwise known as, nobody was there to watch your every move. Couldn't hear what you were saying... nothing. You know, the cliche of being in small, dark spaces with someone and you just so happen to brush up against a spot that was sensitive enough to get a reaction out of him of all people.

The supposed armed and dangerous man, most feared assassin the world...let you take his mask off for the first time.

"Turn around." he said, now poking the gun into your back. His accent has gotten thicker since you'd last seen him, which only meant one thing: they definitely wiped his memory again. You managed to swipe his files alongside yours before you got outta there. He's American, but he didn't know that. He still spoke Russian like it was nobody's business.

You obeyed and slowly turned around, dropping the water bottle as you watched his every move. It made you...sad to see him like this.

"I remember you." you said with a neutral tone. "I'm not going to fight you."

He didn't like that. All his enemies are supposed to fight back. There's no such thing as surrender. No hostages. Only pain. He put the gun down but his left hand--the metal one--reached out and grabbed you by the throat, pushing you harshly against a nearby wall. It was dark in the house, but you could still see the void pool in his steel blue eyes.

"Like hell you won't." he said. His jaw clenched behind his mask, but why? Why was he genuinely so pissed? Why hasn't he just knocked you out and taken you with him by now?

You gasped for air as you tried to stay alert and awake. "You need to- remember-" you strained and weakly kicked his padded torso to no avail. He grunted and squeezed harder, but then was caught all the way off guard when you punched him in the middle of his forehead. This made his grip loosen slightly, allowing you leeway to bring your legs up onto his arm and flip him over on his side.

When you landed on the floor next to him, clutching your chest as you regained consciousness, you realized you might have to either A) run as far as possible now or B) try to get through to him. Which is less impossible? Which would hurt less?

He grunted as he went to sit up. You rolled over before he could be within grabbing distance.

"I'm not going to fight you." you repeated as you stood to your feet with your hands up. You watched him get up as quickly as he fell before charging at you. You cursed as you realized you're going to have to, in fact, fight him. It's not like you weren't prepared. You're Red Room. He's HYDRA. It was tango only you two could dance.

It didn't last very long before he had you in a headlock with that same metal arm. You couldn't afford to almost lose consciousness again because this time you'd actually get to dreamland a whole lot faster. So, on impulse, you reached up and snatched his mask off.

"It's just me," she whispered, slowly removing his mask while he let her. He's already seen her full face but it's like she got...prettier.

He let go of you and stumbled backwards, feeling his face, cringing at the cool air hitting it. He stared at you, dumbfounded, nobody has ever tried that before.

They share a kiss. A short and sweet one. Her lips were so soft, so real. So perfect. She's seen me without my mask and didn't run away. She's not afraid of me like the others. She's-

"Who are you?" he muttered. His eyes darting between you and the mask in your hand.

"It's me." you whispered. "I'm not a threat to you, James." you added and slowly set the mask down. You slowly walked towards him and this time he didn't move, didn't make any effort to push you back or fight you again.

He remembers drinking in her quiet, precious moans as they kissed again. She was a drug. Something suddenly worth risking the entire mission for. His life. The consequences of getting too close to, well, anybody. He's a soldier. The perfect soldier who let some woman distract him, but damn it all.

He remembers what it felt like to drag his flesh hand along her leather clad hips. Her ass and thighs, her breasts-

"James," you stood directly in front of him with your hands still up. "You know me. You know it's me."

God, she smelled so good too. Her skin was warm and welcoming, as opposed to literally everybody else who poked and prodded at him under harsh lights and cold rooms. The first and only time anybody had power over him that was wanted, not forced.

He flinched when you grabbed his hand, his eyes shooting daggers at yours as his entire body tensed. But then he looked at you again, under the moonlight that bounced off the walls and into your facial features. Your soft lips and pretty eyes. Those casual clothes that vaguely reminded him of how you looked with nothing on. He uttered your name quietly, more for himself than you.

"Yes," you replied with a smile and a nod. "And your real name is James. Many called you 'Bucky'."

And it was all a flash. His brows furrowed as his brain suddenly fogged. That name...that damn name...why does it affect him like his. He took one good look at you. The way you looked up at him desperately, yet determinedly was like the last time you saw each other.

The signal had gone out once again-

Fuck it.

He grabbed your face and kissed you like no other. It was hungry. It was sad. It was hurt. It was happy. It was...

"Perfect," he muttered against your lips. There was no time to process what just occurred when he pulled you with him, sitting on the couch and clutched your hand in his. It was like he was unsure of himself, but you got the hint. He remembered.

He remembered the last mission. You let go of his hand and started stripping yourself half naked. He watched like a man who'd never seen anything like this before. His head tilted the second you loomed over him and undid his pants, just enough to tug down past his thighs.

That mission had to be the most risky, as there were foes on all sides that had no clue you two were there. This time was different. You technically had all the time in the world. Or at the very least all night.

You normally would entertain the idea of foreplay and all the jazz but truly, it looked like he was about to implode if you didn't start bouncing on it right this second. He uttered your name again, the rest of it dying in his throat when you sank down in his lap. You shushed him as you adjusted, wanting him to savor it and not get overwhelmed. He was still very vulnerable in this state. He had to know you had no intention of taking advantage of him like everybody else.

You set a slow pace, holding his gaze and cupping his jaw like he was a delicate flower. He looked at you like you were an angel before you kissed him gently, letting your fingers run through his hair. You felt his arms creep around your waist to hold you close, to which you didn't mind. He groaned softly and relished in everything coming back to him.

It didn't go as far back as pre-serum, but he could recall your chemistry and how well you worked together. What it felt like to be inside you for the first time. To come a little too close to cumming inside you for the first time. He needed that feeling again, again, and again.

"I missed you," you said softly and rolled your hips. You could feel his grip tightening on them as you both knew he had full jurisdiction to pick you up and finish the job himself. But he didn't want to. Not with you. "A lot."

You picked up the pace and let your face nuzzle on his shoulder, unbothered by the tactical gear that should've for sure had you shaking in your boots. That and the unmistakable musky scent that belonged to him.

He grunted in response to both your words and this new pace. Your silky walls weren't shy in welcoming him home. He could feel your soft curves molding to his hard body, your body fitting perfectly against his own.

This was wrong. Going against his mission. The Winter Soldier never failed a mission and he'd just been compromised by the target. By his mission.

But who cares? This was Bucky. Bucky was utterly in love with you, even if you just met this year. He could feel himself getting closer and closer, desperate to take you with him. He could hear you panting against his ear and whining pathetically. Just what Bucky wanted. Just what Bucky needed.

"Please, come with me," he silently pleaded. Whether it meant literally now or joining him in completely abandoning his mission, that was ultimately out the window as he crashed. Bucky had the mind to pull you up as you came too, watching both of you make a mess in awe and satisfaction.

You trembled in his hold, leaning down to kiss him on the forehead. "I'm so sorry I left you." you whispered. "I love you so much." you added and collapsed back into his lap, holding him tightly.

And suddenly his grip around you got weaker, more limp. Your eyes widened when you felt his hands fall to his sides on the couch. The light in eyes was gone and his pupils were dilated.

"James," you shook him, holding his face in panic as he didn't respond at all. "James!"

You rolled off of him and quickly stuffed him back into his pants before throwing on the rest of your clothes. He was gone; passed out. When you heard faint noises of people outside, you cursed under your breath and looked for an exit. Your heart ached at the sight of him clearly deactivated in some way.

You'll never know if he heard your sorry or your confession as you crawled through the fire escape. The mask being put back in his lap to maybe signal that you were here, with him. Yet all it did was prove he failed. And that's all he'll know. Everything else might as well have fell on deaf ears.

Because now, it just remains a burning memory.

[faeireinthehumanworld]

My Thoughts on Thunderbolts* (in no particular order)

Went and saw it tonight and I gotta say, I’m pretty impressed. Even though dear god I need to get caught back up on the MCU because I did not remember who half these people were.

I adore the opening with Yelena. It’s honestly relatable, and also really funny.

this whole movie is just a giant extended metaphor for depression isn’t it

I spent a good third of this movie staring at Yelena’s hair. I adore it. I adore her.

Where was Kate while this was going on???? She lives in New York!

They made Bucky a congressman?!? 😂

Get him out of there, he looks so miserable.

Bob is so cute. I want to protect him and judging by this he needs it.

obviously I need to go back and catch up bc who tf is Valentina

I didn’t like John Walker when he first appeared but honestly I’m starting to get there. He’s got potential, and I can see him growing into the place Steve left.

the Sentry is a dumb superhero name, I’m sorry

I’m starting to get won over by Alexei, too. Didn’t like him in Black Widow but he’s starting to become someone I can respect.

goddam I miss the Avengers

I’m glad they got the building back

This movie did make me cry, I will say.

I think if I remembered more about Ghost I’d have more to say about her.

That sequence where Bucky destroys three tanks in like three minutes is so badass. I was vibrating in my seat. They did him justice, I think. That’s probably my favorite scene in the movie.

The shadow thing is the most terrifying thing I think the MCU has ever come up with. Like jesus. A) the design of the Shadow itself is so far beyond terrifying, with the pitch black and the white eyes and the occasional flashes of teeth. That’s nightmare fuel. But also B) the way people just… disappear into shadows? That disturbs me on a visceral level that I can’t quite comprehend. It reminds me of the stories of how after a nuclear bomb, there are shadows of people left behind.

The entire theme of the movie is so genius. I can’t even really analyze it fully but the thought that yes, we’re all going to have bad days, but that on those days we just have to remember we’re not alone? That is such an insane and important message, and I didn’t expect it from a superhero movie but dear lord is it welcome.

something something people rise to become heroes in the most unexpected ways and something about the scene where they were working together to rescue civilians

When Alexei threw Yelena to give her a boost so she could rescue that mother reminded me so much of Steve launching Natasha during the Battle of New York.

i miss the Avengers so much, but at the same time I love this story.

on a lighter note, no joke in the entirety of the MCu will ever top Bucky pulling his arm out of the dishwasher. Ever.

Final thoughts: I loved it. It’s fantastic, go see it.

A post-credits note: IS CAPTAIN MARVEL COMING BACK?!?!?!?!

[starscream-is-my-wife]

A what if on fire in the sky where Skyfire never met the autobots a second time so he doesn't know he has options and sticks with the Decepticons for a couple more days

“Starscream got you good today, Skyfire.”

Skyfire was silent, looking off into the dark abyss of the ocean.

“I need to leave. He’s going to kill me, Thundercracker.”

Thundercracker snapped his head up, optics widening. “What?!” Who just confesses to a high ranking faction elite that they want to leave?! And out in the open too?! Luckily no one was there to hear Skyfires sudden declaration of defection.

“Megatron won’t let that happen, he’s spent way too much resources bringing you back! And where would you go?” Thundercracker felt strange, isn’t this the argument that he had in his processor time and time again, now with another bot?

“Anywhere is better then here. What if Megatron finally gets overthrown by Starscream? When he’s gone, he won’t hesitate to kill you too.”

Thundercracker felt a chill go up his spine, as if the coldness of space went through him, before continuing to weld.

“Everything I do, he finds some sort of way to push me, and when I refuse, it’s never an option, he wants me to break.” Skyfire ranted with gritted teeth, “I refuse.” Skyfire paused, remembering something and turned his attention on Thundercracker.

“Thundercracker, please leave with me! We can do so much more, BE so much more!” He pleaded, the proposal has been on his mind for a while, but Thundercracker didn’t look up.

“Can you stop moving? I won’t stop you from leaving, I won’t even tell the others anything. But this… this is my purpose”

Thundercracker felt Skyfires stare on him, “I’ve only known you for 4 days, but even then, I feel you don’t belong here, what can the Decepticons give you for you to stay?”

“And you can give me something more?! I’ve spent more time fighting in this war than you have been active!”

“Yes! I know I can! Something more than hauling around energon cubes, more than living in this damp ship! There’s a whole world to explore! I may have nothing right now but I promise, I can help you find a better purpose!” Skyfires optics shined bright with determination. Something Thundercracker hasn’t seen since the first day he’s been revived. And something else that seemed so familiar to him…

Ah. The day Megatron convinced him to join the Decepticons. Why he joined, why he stayed, was it all for a promise?

… What a fool he is, throwing everything away again for the same old, sweet words. But now he’s older and stronger, with a fresh face who is neither Autobot or Decepticon.

“Fine. You’ll probably need me to actually survive out there anyways, I can’t just let you die by yourself.”

[justseedee]

My guesses for the ghouls in the next episode

( see this post for context)

First and foremost, I'm going to assume that Kaito, Romeo, Zenji, and Jiro are out since they already participated in an inter-house mission.

Second, it would make sense that they'll pick one ghoul from each house (excluding one). I believe the main (irl) purpose of inter-house missions is to pad out the characters that tend to get somewhat neglected in their regular missions.

So that's the logic I'm going with (^-^) with a sprinkling of wish-fulfillment

Frosthiem

My Guess: Luca

My Reasoning: The last Frosthiem episode was very Jin and Tohma-centered AND we even got some Kaito "backstory". We haven't had much other than surface-level interactions with Luca throughout the other episodes. Also, I'm super obsessed with this man's life and family and I just want to know wtf is up with them

Vagastrom

My Guess: Sho

My Reasoning: MAINLY because it seems like they're trying to spread out who we get paired up with in each mission and last time we were with Leo for most of it. And we got Alan's backstory in the Vaga episode and tidbits of him in the Frosthiem episode. Sho is still kind of a mystery in terms of alignment and he's also pretty flirty in a super chill teasing kind of way. Plus that thing Alan said about Leo knowing how to act in certain situations feels like it was a setup for something and I hope this is it lol (also Frosthiem/Vagastrom drama with him and Luca)

Sinostra

My Guess: Ritsu

My Reasoning: Same as the last one. Romeo was automatically out and we spent most of the last episode with Taiga soooo it makes sense I guess

Jabberwock

My Guess: Ren

Hotarubi

My Reasoning: Haru has been fucking everywhere it feels like. Genuinely it feels like he's one of the guys we know (or at least can infer) the most about. As much as I wish I could say Towa he's too much of a wild card to be put in a situation where his crush will have to be around a bunch of other guys. Especially if Ed is one of them. Like he straight up tried to poison Ren, possibly out of jealousy (look up Ren's Affinity lines if you don't know what I'm talking about) (and let's not forget the Ren/Sho one-sideded beef)

My Guess: Haku

My Reasoning: We got Subaru scraps last time and it ended with a cliffhanger, and honestly I doubt this is going to be the episode where they'll be like "Oh yeah BTW this is why he wanted those scissors 🤪". Plus why would they frame it like (yes I'm still on this shit) a dating show and not put one of the flirtiest ghouls in it?

Obscuary

My Guess: Ed

My Reasoning: I really really REALLY wanted to say one of the other two but this is starting to feel like a "season finale" episode and Ed just has too much insight to NOT show up and stir the pot. That and if there's going to be SIX ghouls i don't think that would be something Rui would want to do (for curse reasons). Then again the yearning in this episode would be insane if they do go with him. As for Lyca, I think he's still too oblivious to his feelings for MC for him to be a viable choice here v(•_•)v

Mortkraken

My Guess: This is the house that's getting left out.

My Reasoning: Yuri and Jiro cannot be separated for too long or else Jiro could die

Vagastrom and Jabberwock were sooooo hard for me for no reason other than me having to decide between who I WANTED to be there and who it would MAKE SENSE to be there. I think I made it work though.

Also, it occurred to me about halfway through how funny it would be if it was just all the Captains (sans Yuri, thats my call and I'm sticking to it) and it ended being like a pick your favorite house type of deal idk

[fivewholeminutes]

EIA (the song) feels like preparing for a great battle to me. Is it vessel feeling finally ready and strong enough to fight sleep??

"Swing wide those gates" as in sleep being slowly closed off from vessel and vessel finally taking a stance and daring sleep to try to take control over him again?

"The gods we thought were dying were just sharpening their blades" - sleep being less and less invasive by the end of the trilogy just to sneak up on vessel again, but vessel is ready this time? (Alternatively: sleep and vessel having enemies in other entities, but that's for a different interpretation, the one where sleep is a tad more benevolent)

"Have you been waiting long for me?" being a dare and not a way to express longing, reunion. I imagine vessel behind the gates standing there with his bigass sword, asking sleep this when sleep opens the gates. You know, like a one-liner before an anime boss fight.

"I am the flood" - he used to be just tangled with sleep as branches in a flood, unable to set his own course, but now he is the force of the flood. Sleep's fucked

"And what was missing from those scriptures will be written in my blood" he knows this won't be an easy fight, despite him getting stronger, but he's willing to write that chapter, even if it costs him much to become free

"What good is all this talk of wings when there is nothing left above" deserves its own post tbh i am feral about the euclid references. I will just say that vessel went "fuck this, the glory is not worth it, it comes with pain, there's no great reward (heaven) in this deal, sleep lied, i won't get anywhere with those wings" (OH the icarus implications here)

The entire 3rd verse. Vessel sleep token when i fucking get you is2g--

"No matter how we feel" - they might fuck each other over, but they spent a good few years together. Codependent, i would even say (i don't wanna go into all my [often conflicting] interpretations of their relationship/deal rn, i just like to imagine sleep as one of those gods that will just disappear without any worshippers, so he was dependent on vessel too). So they had their ups and downs. Sleep did kinda give vessel the promised glory and they were there on that journey together. But it still doesn't mean sleep should stay with him

"We've got a taste for one another and a few good years to kill" listen. Listen i know this can be interpreted as romantic, but OHHH i see rivalry here. They've got a taste for each other's blood. For domination over the other in this tremendous relationship. But it will take time. Vessel can fight back now, but he's still up against a fucking deity. He's confident though, doesn't care fighting back might take years (hello mental issues allegory???), he is the final dawn. He is the flood.

"No matter what is real" - oh boy we're still fucking shit up in the dreamscape department, aren't we, sleep

"It seems that even in arcadia you walk beside me still" - okay yes i know this can reference to that someone walking beside him in all the other eia songs BUT here in this context i think of sleep still lingering in his mind. Vessel is safe in arkadia now, right? Sike! The bad things are still there with you, mate, you carry them in your heart (i'm sorry i might be projecting here) and this part goes so well with "i still need a dark side" from past self and "with the shadows longer to me than a lightyear" in look to windward.

So yeah. I see this song as the moment before a battle. One grand battle or just a first battle in the war? We don't know that yet. But it is going to be a tough fight either way.

[blairdii]

norapinto reunion sex!!! my babies have returned to me !! @landoscarino thank you for the motivation, i owe u !! anyways, hope you guys enjoy xx

he looks different.

probably, for others, akin to the franco who'd paraded his way through the last races of 2024, confidence unperturbed and body more charisma than water.

but lando sees it. had spent too much time picking it apart, then gluing the pieces back together again, worshipping the slopes, the expanses, the peaks and troughs when it was all he wanted to do, even though he had a team to celebrate his championship with.

he sees how franco's lips are a tinge pinker, and not because of the attack of his own. he sees how crevices sharpen, whetted around his nose, cradling his eyes, grabbing his jaw. he sees how, nonetheless, 5 months without them being them, franco looks at him all the same.

"missed me?"

and lando would laugh, because despite their festivities reaching a standstill, they still see each other in passing.

a flash of blue speeding into alpine's hospitality. a flicker of papaya, then an inscrutable mesh of cameras, fans so eager, erasing what once glowed.

but, god, he's missed having him, all for himself, back to where he belongs. beneath, above, within. of course, he's missed it all.

lando grins, so soft, so gooey, as he drags franco past the threshold and into the room. he feels a shiver drag through the other's flesh, and lando takes credit for it, regardless of the gradient between the air outside and the chill that blows through the room.

his arms wind around franco's waist (there's thicker muscle there now. lando's mind goes hazy.), lips impatient and pushing upon another. and lando can feel his brain weep at how good it is, just like the very first time the fell into bed, and way better than the last time he saw franco's face unravel as he came.

their tongues meet, and it's warmth so familiar, his mind goes into autpilot. pushing, twirling, lapping at each other, like men starved at war. lando groans, swallowing the small mewls franco gives him, before sliding his hands down into his lover's joggers, over swells of ass that feel firmer, larger than before, and squeezes. franco moans like a pornstar.

"fuck, i've missed your mouth so much," lando sighs, eyes shut and kisses making a path down franco's throat. the argentinian is pliable, throws his head back without hesitance.

"and my ass?"

lando scoffs, but it's without an edge. he's humoured more than anything.

"goes without saying, no?" lando asks, hands slipping past the hem of franco's boxers and coming skin-to-skin with his old fixation. "you know how much i loved it. made sure you were always open for me."

the memory alone makes lando's cock twitch, blood pushing at the walls of his vessels. he feels like he'd burst the second he sheaths himself into franco, who shivers at his words, fingers curling into his mullet.

"sí— fuck yes," whimpers override his cadence, dick hardening and digging into lando's thigh, "need you to eat my ass again."

"as if i was ever planning not to."

then lando's shoving his mouth on franco's again, this time, reverence drowned by pure need and desperation. franco's pushing him until the backs of his knees collide with the edge of bed, and he falls spine first unto the mattress. legs bend at each side of his hips, bulges pressing into each other, heavy and throbbing; lando already feels spent, done out to hell and back, and they haven't even had one round yet.

their hands are frantic, tugging shirts off, yanking pants down, until not a garment adorns their bodies, and tan skin meshes with alabaster. franco's straddled across his thighs, grinding and swivelling his hips with his eyes shut. heat crawls through lando's flesh, flushing his skin puce and chipping his irises away.

"let- let me suck your dick, please lando i- por favor," franco pleads, and who was he to say no?

lando nods and loosens his grip on the other's hips, "turn around, baby," then he smirks, wicked, "i'll eat you out too."

and he's, honest to god, never seen franco move with such neck-snapping velocity, face full of pale roundness not even 2 seconds later, and a grip so tight on his cock, it feels like his skin would follow off with every tug. his toes curl, hands grabbing franco's ass as he kneads and wills his cock to last.

"it's bigger," lando says, squeezing and revelling in how there's more resistance. fuck, he feels like his brain oozes out of his ears when he imagined the sight he'd be blessed with when he fucks him from behind.

franco whines, wiggling his butt closer to lando's face, "solo para ti," then shoves his mouth down down down the other's cock until the tip jams the back of his throat and lando's moaning like it's been battered out of him.

fucking hell, the warmth that glides on his cock, the wetness that slathers and pools at the base fries every nerve ending in his body, quivering and moaning and whimpering at it all.

he almost loses himself, forgets the task he has at hand if not for franco shoving himself further backwards, lando's nose slotting perfectly in the groove between each asscheek. his response is instantaneous, pulling his butt open and dragging a fat, messy stripe over the clench of franco's rim. he feels the body above him seize like it's been tazed, hole clenching closed and as open as it could get, and lando wonders how he was able to last this long without it.

"you taste so fucking good," lando drawls, inebriated and tongue raining small jabs past the rim in lieu of opening him up, "even better than last time— shit."

the praise goes to franco's head, inciting him to double his efforts and keep lando deep in his throat. the pressure is electrifying, zaps coursing through his balls, down to his thighs. he's gonna die, it feels like such, and he doesn't think there's any better way to go.

two thumbs stretch franco open, and he leans back to assess his work; hole so red and so puffy, it's as if he's been taken and used for hours. perfect, beautiful, lando thinks, kissing the ridges so softly, it didn't belong in such needy fucking, before pushing his tongue as far in as it could go. franco wails.

"lando, fuck fuck fuck," he's full on sobbing, cock out of his mouth, resting on his cheek, "al igual que ese bebé– oh que bueno."

his own dick is neglected now, but lando couldn't care less. franco tasted so good, so sweet, he almost turned diabetic. the man on top of him sits upright, a sweaty hand splayed on his chest and another gripping his hair to push him deeper and harder.

it's suffocating, but lando loves it. can feel the way franco's legs shake, the way his hole grips him like a vice to keep his tongue inside, the way his fingers curl and tighten the closer he gets to falling off the edge.

"fuck, i'm so close, so so close– keep going please," franco cries and god, does he sound so fucked out it's insane. lando pulls him closer, tongue-fucking him as if his cock was doing the work, and he starts to feel franco bounce just slightly. he's about to come.

"fuckkk i'm gonna- shit-"

"let go baby," lando can barely recognise hearing himself, "you've been so good for me, such a good boy, huh?"

franco lurches forward as the force of his orgasm is one to be reckoned with, cum spurting and wet warmth splattering all over lando's chest. his hole pulses in lando's mouth, a tremble raking through his flesh before he slumps down, gasping.

"you are so good at that— fuck."

lando smirks, chin soaked, eyes glossy, "i know... you're still hard though."

a groan. "it happens everytime we fuck, eres adictivo."

snickering, lando slides his hands up the backs of franco's thighs, then gently squeezes. "ride me?"

another groan.

"but you're taking over as soon as i can't, yes?"

"of course," lando reassures, and throws his arms behind his head as he watches franco crawl his way down. he turns, flushed, fucked-out face coming into view, and lando smiles.

"hey gorgeous," he means it, really, but it comes out more teasing than he intends. franco flips him off, before settling in a straddle, wasting no time to grab his cock and sink right down to the hilt.

his brain short-circuits.

"god, franco," lando's eyes roll back, "you're so tight, fucking hell baby."

the heat is all-encompassing, sending licks of fire up his spine, walls so spongy and wet that he has to grip franco's hips tight to ground him.

the man above him sways as he takes his fill, cock-drunk, insides fluttering. lando almost thrusts up, but franco lifts himself then drops back down with all he has to give and lando spasms.

franco's just– using him, fucking himself on his cock like he's his toy, and lando let's him. he always will.

the fleshy smacks of skin upon skin are filthy, bouncing and ricocheting off the walls of his skull. their moans coalesce, harmonise like some debauched hymn, and it's not long before franco sobs and falls forward.

"i-i can't–"

lando shushes him, pressing kisses into his hair, "it's okay baby, you've been so good."

he rolls them over, settling upon franco, then turning him so his back welds with his chest, wasting no time to push right back in. it's deeper, hotter, closer, franco able to rest his head on lando's shoulder when he throws his head back and screams through clenched teeth.

his thrusts bloom sparks everywhere, slow and hard and just sloppy enough that it was intentional. franco could no longer think; slurs out a 'landoooo' as his hand half-heartedly scrambles for the other's, heart fluttering at the feeling of their fingers intertwining.

it's too intimate for mere fuck buddies. the soft kisses that litter his skin, the slow, worshipping fucking, the hand holding. there's a line being crossed, franco knows.

but as his eyes close, drool seeping from the corner of his mouth, barely being able to think, he casts it aside for a him that's not currently being railed like the world's ending.

"i'm gonna come baby," lando croaks, "come with me?"

franco nods, spreading his legs as far as they could, wrapping a hand around himself, tugging until the knot gets unbearable. his body locks up, hole squeezing and milking lando for all he's worth, hearing a choked 'fuck-' before wet warmth fills him completely. his cock dribbles into the sheets, no longer throbbing and completely empty, before lando collapses on him, sweat welding their skins together, weighted heat welcomed.

another kiss is branded into his skin, and he grins as he dozes off.

a problem for another day.

[xoxocher]

Wondering if you write for Chris Hartley? If so maybe readers first time sleeping with him?maybe bsf!Chris? He’s inexperienced but enthusiastic 🤩 (he’s a dork)

Love your writing!!

𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

SUMMARY - when you and chris agree to just get it out of the way, you figure it’ll be a simple, no-strings-attached solution to your shared problem. but as the night unfolds, what begins as an awkward arrangement quickly turns into something far more intimate than either of you anticipated. it’s messy, it’s sweet, and it’s certainly more than just a one-time thing.

PAIRING/SETTING - virgin fem!reader x virgin bsf!chris hartley. no prank au. no use of y/n. 

WARNINGS - graphic sexual material, strong language, & tons of second-hand embarrassment inducing dialogue (stay strong soldiers).

W/C - 2,340

A/N - oh absolutely i will. i can't be normal about anything, so i turned this request into a fully fleshed out oneshot. whoops. anyhoo, thank you so much for the support love! hope this is to your liking ♥︎ (p.s. be on the lookout for another chris fic realll soon ;))

you and chris have been nearly inseparable for as long as you can remember. he’s your default ride home, your emergency contact, your plus-one to every awkward family function. no one ever questioned it—you and chris just were, since 2009. 

now it’s the summer before college, and everything feels a little like the end of something.

tonight is like a hundred others you’ve spent together: hunkered down in your bedroom, window cracked open to let the warm air in, the hum of cicadas swirling with the sweet sounds of impending victory as you weasel your way into first place. 

“how the hell are you beating me?!”

“you always pick toad,” you mutter, tongue caught between your teeth as you narrowly avoid a shell.

“and you always cheat,” he fires back, eyes locked onto the screen. 

you snicker, tossing a handful of popcorn at him. he gasps like you’ve mortally wounded him, which, given his usual dramatics, isn’t far off. 

chris finally throws his controller down with a groan, flopping back against the pillows behind him. 

“fucking stick drift,” he seethes.

you can’t help but giggle under your breath as you walk over to the console—clicking it off just as the menu begins to loop. 

you ease your way back into bed, shooting an unconvinced look his way as you prop yourself up on your elbows. “you’ve been using that bullshit excuse for a year now. i’m just better than you. accept it, hartley.” 

he scoffs at your assertion. “you’re lucky i’m too emotionally fragile to storm out right now.” 

there’s a lull—just for a second. outside, the soft rustle of palm leaves stirs in the breeze, and inside, the glow of your bedside lamp casts everything in gold. 

chris shifts beside you, a thoughtful expression now drawn on his face. you settle down next to him, resting your head against his shoulder. for a moment, neither of you speak, lost in the quiet comfort of each other's presence. 

he eventually breaks the silence. “you ever think about how weird it’s gonna be?” he asks, uncertainty threading through his tongue. “y’know, leaving home and all?” 

“constantly,” you admit, staring blankly at the ceiling. “it’s…scary. letting go of the familiar. of this.”

he pauses for a moment, the weight of your words hanging between you.

“and you know what’s even worse?”

“hm?” you glance over, curiosity piqued.

“i’m still a virgin.” 

a breathy laugh escapes you.

“well that makes two of us.”

“seriously?”

“mmhm.”

your hands meet midair in a lazy smack of solidarity. 

“maybe we should just get it over with.” chris blurts, eyes going wide the second the words leave his mouth. 

you gasp, clutching your pearls at his salacious suggestion. “christopher hartley, are you seriously trying to get into my pants right now?” 

his cheeks glow pink with embarrassment, forcing his head into his hands. “shit. i didn’t–i wasn’t—not like that. well, yes like that, but not in a pervy way,” he stammers, words tumbling out in a panic as he groans into his palms. “fuck–j-just forget i said anything.” 

you struggle to bite back a smile, “chris.”

he doesn’t hear you, too far gone in his shame spiral. “...way to sound like a total freaking douche, dude.” 

you reach out, gently placing a hand on his, prying it away from his face. “chris.” 

that shuts him up realll quick. 

“wh-huh?”

“i was totally fucking with you,” you tease, lightly nudging his shoulder. “relax.”

he blinks, still stunned. 

“it’s okay,” you reassure him,“really.” 

he exhales sharply, shaking his head. “no, it was a stupid idea.” 

“not necessarily,” you counter, tone even. “just…unexpected.” 

a hush falls over the room, heavy but not entirely unpleasant.  

“and i’d be lying if i said i hadn’t thought about it before.” 

his eyes snap to yours, dazed and confused. 

“joke’s over now,” he jests, carefully reading your expression. 

you roll your eyes, playfully punching him in the shoulder. “i’m serious!”

his eyebrows lift as he rubs out the sore spot, “are you sure? because my ideas have a poor track record.”

“i trust you chris. more than anyone.”

he swallows thickly, giving you a tight nod as the gravity of your words settles in his chest. 

“cool,” he manages to choke out. “cool-cool-cool-cool, no doubt, no doubt.” 

“god, you are such a dweeb.” 

without a second thought, you’re climbing into his lap–straddling his hips as you lean forward to plant a kiss on his chapped lips. his breath catches, hands hovering at your waist like he’s afraid to touch you wrong. “this okay?” you whisper against his pulse. “fuck, uh–yeah. yeah! totally.” he sputters, at a complete loss for words. 

cute.

you’re on him again, mouths crashing together in a greedy, uncoordinated mess. you knock teeth a few times as his hands fumble for somewhere to rest–it’s not perfect, but it’s real. 

“you’re allowed to touch me, y’know.” you whisper against his mouth, a coy smile playing at your lips as your nose nuzzles against his. 

chris huffs out a shaky laugh, one hand finally settling at the small of your back, the other tentatively curling around your thigh. “i just–don’t wanna mess this up.” 

you trail your fingers up the back of his neck, combing gently through his hair–soft and a tad bit damp with sweat. “we’re figuring this out together, m’kay?” 

“uh huh,” he exhales, giving you a sweet little nod that sends a searing ache to your center. 

his lips move hungrily against yours, tilting your head back as he deepens the kiss–entangling his tongue with yours. your fingers twist into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a needy, guttural sound from his throat. he starts to lose himself in it–hands gradually growing bolder as he sneaks beneath the hem of your shirt, fingers ghosting along your bare skin. he hesitates only a moment, his thumbs tracing circles against your ribs before locking eyes with yours. 

“can i?” 

you nod eagerly, raising your arms to help him pull your shirt over your head. it momentarily snags at your elbow, drawing a burst of shared laughter as the fabric resists, then gives, slipping free and landing in a careless heap behind you. 

clothes fall away slowly after that–kisses stolen between layers, giggles muffled into each other’s skin, and hands always searching, learning, yearning. your hands splay over the warm planes of his chest, thumbs brushing over the faint scatter of freckles across his collarbones. you’re left only in your underwear, perched in his lap, where his sweats still cling low to his hips. 

“so…” his eyes rake over your body as his hands drift along the curves of your waist. he reaches up to cup your tits, giving them a careful squeeze as he brushes a thumb over your nipple. “so pretty.”

a soft mewl slips past your lips, your back arching instinctively into his touch as heat blooms just beneath your skin.  

“chris–i want you–need you–touch me, please.” you’re begging for something, anything to relieve the tension coiling from within.  

“o-okay, yeah–god, anything for you. anything.” 

he moves quickly, effortlessly flipping you onto your back. 

you’ll have to let him manhandle you more often. 

a hand dips into your underwear, guided by your own until his fingers find you just right. you let out a broken gasp as he circles your clit, experimenting with pressure and rhythm.

“like this?” he looks to you through his lashes–an angel settled between your thighs.  

“mhm–fuck–just like that,” you pant, hips canting up into his touch. 

he continues to work you open–testing the waters as he slowly sinks a finger inside your soaked cunt, followed by another. he moves carefully, feeling his way, but it doesn’t take long for his rhythm to grow more assured. each curl of his knuckles leaves you breathless, arching up into him as he finger-fucks you stupid.

chris has grown painfully hard now, rutting weakly against the mattress in a pathetic attempt to satisfy his search for friction. he’s far too captivated watching you come undone around his fingers to stop now. but you catch the movement and reach for his wrist, pulling his hand from you. 

panic flickers in his eyes. “wh-did i do something? do you wanna stop?” 

poor, sweet boy. 

you shake your head, smiling softly, your thumb brushing over the back of his hand to settle his nerves.“mm-mm,” you murmur, your voice like velvet. “doing so good–want you inside me.”

his brain all but short-circuits. and for a second, you could’ve sworn he forgot how to breathe–until he begins to palm himself through his fabric constraints. 

“jesus christ, somebody pinch me.” 

you lean over, rummaging through your nightstand as your breath hitches with anticipation.“i swear i have one in hereee–aha!” you hold up a small foil packet triumphantly, internally thanking emily for the bawdy birthday gift. 

chris begins to peel off his sweatpants and boxers, fumbling slightly in his rush. he almost stumbles, a sock still clinging to one foot, but recovers with a sheepish laugh. you don’t mind the awkwardness, in fact, you find his enthusiasm oddly arousing. 

you toss your panties aside, drinking in the sight before you—broad shoulders, thick, veined arms bathed in the soft amber glow of your room. you’re practically drooling. 

he tears the wrapper open with trembling fingers, rolling the condom on as you stare in awe. he lines himself up with your entrance, the head of his cock brushing against you, teasing. you whimper at the contact–a proud expression falling over his face as he lets out a low chuckle. 

you’re a pathetic, weepy mess all because of him.

“i-i���ll try to go slow.” he says, a slight quiver in his voice, as though he’ll have to physically restrain himself. “just tell me to stop if it’s too much, ‘kay? don’t wanna hurt my pretty girl.”

he begins to push in, slow and cautious. you inhale sharply as your body stretches to accommodate him–the fullness making your head spin. 

“shit–‘m sorry.” he groans, unable to keep still. his dick shamelessly twitches inside of you as bottoms out, overwhelmed by the sensation of your walls constricting around him. “just feels s’good.”

he takes a pause–stroking your cheek gently, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, peppering kisses along your jaw and throat. you moan softly, melting under the tenderness of it all.

“y-you can move.” 

he obeys, slowly rolling his hips into you. the first few thrusts uneven and unsure, as though he's giving you the space to lead, to show him what you need. he’s studying you, memorizing every little sound you make, every shift in your expression. 

what a nerd. 

his pace grows steadier, deepening in time with your sighs as he slips a hand between your legs to toy with your clit.  

you dig your fingers into the flesh of his biceps, trying to ground yourself, to keep from completely unraveling as you bite down on your bottom lip. the pleasure is dizzying—thick and consuming—but you’re still trying to keep quiet, to hold yourself together. but chris–god, chris is loud. 

not just the occasional grunt or groan. no, he talks. a lot. rambling between each thrust, with breathless praise and desperate need, filling the space between your bodies with a kind of reverent worship that leaves you trembling.

“fuck–‘m so lucky,” he babbles, head dropping to your shoulder. “gonna make you mine–pussy s’all mine.”

your restraint crumbles, every broken sound tumbling out of you as his name spills from your lips in breathy, desperate bursts. the world narrows to the feeling of him inside you, a delicious pull that makes your body betray you, leaving you no room to pretend you're not entirely his.

then—he angles his hips just right, finding that sweet spot that scatters stars across your vision.

“right there chris–ah-fuck–just like that,” you cry out, clawing at his shoulders, dragging red crescents into his skin. he doesn’t flinch–looking down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. 

“y-yeah? shit–keep saying my name, please.” he pleads, voice cracking with desperation, his hips never slowing, each thrust matching the frantic need in his words.

he look so beautiful above you–his face flushed a deep red, skin glistening with sweat, glasses askew and hopelessly fogged over. his mouth hangs open, chest heaving, eyes screwed shut in concentration. the sight of him—so undone, so lost in the moment—it’s too much. 

“mmph~’m coming-” you chant his name like a prayer as your climax rips through you. you continue pulsing around his length, pulling him deeper, urging him to follow as you coat him with cum. 

he falters for a split-second before finding a relentless rhythm, wild with the need to chase his own release. you wrap around him like you were made for it—tight, warm, overwhelming—and chris swears, in that breathless, reeling moment, that if this is how he goes, buried inside you, he’d die the happiest man alive.

“ohh f-fuck,” he whines, hips stuttering as he fills the condom. 

your bodies remain tangled, breath mingling in the stillness as the last tremors of pleasure fade into the quiet. chris rests his forehead against yours, your chests rising and falling in sync, grounding you both in the moment. 

he slips out of bed, disappearing for a moment, returning with a damp washcloth. “just–hold still,” he murmurs, cheeks tinged a rosy pink as he kneels between your legs and gently wipes you clean. you squirm a little, hands flying to your face as a wave of shyness settles over you in the aftermath. he chuckles under his breath, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. 

you lie shoulder to shoulder, a thin sheet draped over the both of you, your fingers idly tracing the shape of his hand. 

“complicated things didn’t we?” he says with a nervous laugh, turning his head to look at you.

“maybe a little,” you giggle.

“worth it?”

“absolutely.”

 he exhales, relief softening his features, and intertwines his hand with yours—because for all the uncertainty ahead, this feels right.

© 2025 xoxocher | don’t copy, repost, or translate my work

taglist: @bongwaterbunny

[scssenach]

Claire's uncle had teased her relentlessly the first time she'd smoked, too. She'd spent so long handing him cigarettes while he was working, or lighting them while he was crouched over a hole in the sand. It wasn't as though her Uncle Lamb had expected Claire to be a natural at it, but he apparently hadn't expected the teenager to cough herself to tears. For a long time, the embarrassment of the situation had stung almost as much as the smoke had burned her lungs, but now she looked back on the memory fondly. Would Uncle Lamb be proud of who she'd become?

"It's me. La Dame Blanche, in the flesh," Claire smirked, holding out her arms in a gesture of faux pride. Her reputation as a witch hadn't helped her in any way. Thanks for jealous heads like Laoghaire, Claire had nearly been burned at the stake for it. And even in Paris, she'd had to go to great lengths to defend herself from such allegations. But at least it gave her another way of understanding Fantine.

"Yes, well, in my experience, there are quite a few doctors that don't hold much care for their patients at all. You would be surprised at how many of them simply want the recognition for their job rather than the chance to help people. Most of them see their status as a physician as merely another way to be superior to others." If allowed the chance, Claire could've ranted the afternoon away about how women were better suited for medical roles than men, but she had a feeling Fantine didn't care much for that sort of thing. Claire knew she'd been through enough injustice by the hand of a man and she didn't want to expose Fantine to any more than necessary.

"Says who?" Regarding her with pinched brows and a protective demeanor. "You have survived this long, walked through Hell and back, and still stand here to tell the tale. You have birthed a child, kept her alive and taken care of. If that's not hard work, I'm not sure what is."

Gently, Claire rested her other hand the top of Fantine's. "Does stew sound agreeable?"

As Claire glanced towards the direction of the dining room, a short maid poked her head in the doorway, as though expecting to be called upon at any moment. Meeting Claire's gaze, the maid raised her eyebrows and awaited instructions. Without uttering a single word between the two, Claire offered a soft nod and the maid quickly hurried off into the dining room. Suzette had undoubtedly been listening to the women's conversation and would know what to do. When Jamie's business was concluded in France and they were to return home to Scotland, Claire would certainly miss Suzette.

"I'll have some stew brought out for you. And you can have as many bowls as you'd like." Stew would be the best compromise, she decided. Meaty enough to replenish one's strength, but easy to eat. Vegetables and nutrients aplenty and, paired with bread, it was sure to keep Fantine satiated for at least the rest of the night.

Claire was tempted to send Fantine home with a container of stew to sip from for the next few days, but thought better of it. If her pimp noticed anything amiss, there was no telling how he might react. Claire could offer her as many things as she wanted in the confines of her own home, but she needed to be mindful of the things she sent her patient home with. The medicine would be easy to conceal, but a gifted flask would be a bit harder to hide on her person.

"You know, Fantine," Claire began, turning to face the other woman with a smile. "You never have to go hungry again, as long as I'm here, do you understand? You are welcome to come eat at my table any time you need. I understand that may be easier said than done, but if you are ever in need, you can call upon me."

If Fantine ever found herself alone for a night, free of a man's touch and left to her own devices, Claire hoped she understood that there would always be a place for her here. There were too many empty rooms in this house, and far more food than the number of mouths in residence needed. And, as much as Claire enjoyed the time she spent with Louise, the woman had a way of grating on Claire's nerves. Fantine, however, was pleasant and more intelligent than she gave herself credit for, and it would be nice to have another woman about.

"Oh, quite," Fantine agreed, the twitch of a smile curving the corners of her lips up very briefly. "Cosette's father tried to introduce me into the 'joys' of smoking, but I could never quite take to it. I remember coughing as tears ran down my cheeks. They didn't let me hear the end of it." And a great many more things, but Fantine couldn't recall them all. Nor did she want to.

Instead, Fantine greeted the sound of glass vials clinking together as Claire her selection of ingredients.

Despite the absurdity of Claire's given title, Fantine couldn't help but feel a strange sense of comfort that accompanied the revelation of how others saw her. They were both outcasts, it seemed; outcasts in their own way, but existing on the periphery nonetheless. "I had little idea that was you," Fantine commented, her fingers brushing against the fabric of skirts as if to displace her lingering anxieties. "I've heard the other girls mention the name, but I prefer to keep myself to myself." That, and Fantine is already entangled in so much gossip that she can't afford to give them more ammunition...

Or she couldn't. She wondered who had seen her accompany the same woman they spoke of. Wondered who started talking behind her back.

"Pregnancy is difficult on your own. I'm glad you had their help. I struggled a great deal with Cosette. They told me the sickness would get better with time, but..." She shrugged, releasing a sigh, "well, they were wrong."

Félix didn't want to know and as for her friends... they were more confused about her choosing to keep the child. Help was far between, not that Fantine cared. She had always needed to look after herself— believing she had friends was her first mistake.

Claire's question took Fantine by surprise. Hungry? Fantine tried not to think about the sensation too hard. It was easier to pretend otherwise that way, but the question had caused her to address the ache in her stomach, one that was painful and empty. "I've not done anything," she blurted, her gaze once again falling to her lap.

She felt like a rabbit being dragged from its den by a dog. As Claire said, Fantine couldn't really say no. The cage was uncomfortable, but Fantine stayed put.

"If you will not let me go without, then whatever is easiest to eat," she answered, aware her missing teeth would impede her ability to eat properly— especially meat.

She couldn't even remember the last time she had enjoyed meat; or at least not the scraps.

Claire's hand lingered between them. Fantine tentatively took it, standing almost too quickly as she swallowed her anxieties down. She was still waiting for the inevitable catch. To become the punchline of some unspoken joke.

"I-if that's alright..?"