#like I'm sorry but they do things that I'm like 'OKAY WHAT THE FUCK?'

[rafesbuzzcutseason]

chasing city lights

chapter 16 - did i mean nothing?

synopsis: you move to new york to start fresh, hoping to find comfort in the city’s atmosphere. that’s when you meet sarah cameron, where she takes you to a concert and you catch sight of the lead band member, rafe cameron. it only takes a moment for you to realize you’re captivated by him. as sarah helps you navigate your new life in the city, you start to get pulled deeper into rafe's world—the music, the fame, the chaos. the more you get to know him, the more you realise that rafe is not just the rock star he seems to be. he’s wrestling with his own demons, and the last thing he needs is someone like you getting close.

masterlist

cw: language, angst

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

the cold night air hit your tear streaked face as sarah, cleo and kie led you out the club.

"hey it's okay, you don't need to stay and watch that bullshit. what a great fucking friend cara is." sarah spoke.

"i didn't like her as soon as i met her" cleo mentioned.

"not right now cleo." kie shushed her. "look, it was all from her side right? rafe wasn't doing anything or initiating anything back so everything is ok i promise." she said, wiping your tears.

"i know you're right" you agreed, "i just can't believe she would do this. i don't understand."

"she's a cunt is what she is." sarah firmly said, earning a small smile from you. "i'm sending her home first thing tomorrow. i'll pay for her flight."

"no sarah stop."

"i'm serious, don't want her anywhere near you or us or him."

"oh fuck." cleo said, panic overtaking her face.

"what?" you mumbled, your heart racing at her distress.

"i am so sorry y/n," cleo whispered.

"cleo." your stomach dropping, "what is it?"

she turned her phone around and your heart dropped at the screen. rafe and cara face to face, lips almost touching. there was no denying the photo.

"oh my god" your voice fell, tears threatening to fall again.

the girls said nothing, but rubbed your back as you sobbed on the side of the pavement. no words could describe the way you were feeling.

"lets get you home y/n, i'll take you to mine." sarah finally spoke.

after a long, silent taxi ride home, you got out the car and straight into sarah's bed, tears not stopping.

you felt drained, your chest aching. the girls had tried everything to distract you, but you couldn't stop staring at the photo, like staring at it long enough would make it disappear.

but it wouldn't. it was real.

you couldn't process that rafe would do this to you. the boy who had loved you, written songs about you, confessed his deepest issues to you, trusted you. how could he have let this happen? did the last 8 months mean nothing to him?

"okay no more of that." sarah said, taking the phone out of your hands. "do you really think he would do that to you? i mean the photo isn't clear, he could've been talking to her?"

"come on sarah. you saw them together too." you mumbled.

"i just don't get it. he is so in love with you." she replied.

"cleary not." you huffed.

"that's not true and you know it." kie said.

"he told me i was different. that he'd never felt this way before." you spoke as the tears falling again. "i don't know what to do."

"look, we don't know the full story ok? there is nothing we can do." cleo chimed in. "i know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you're going to be okay."

"and i swear to god, when you're ready, we'll make sure they regret this." kie stated.

you swallowed hard. regret. did rafe even feel regret? did cara? or were they still at the club, laughing, dancing, kissing, like none of this even mattered?

your stomach twisted. did you even matter?

sarah must’ve sensed the storm in your head because she gently took your hand, squeezing it. “don’t do that. don’t let them make you feel like you weren’t enough. they weren’t enough for you.”

you let out a bitter laugh, eyes still glossy. “then why does it feel like i’m the one who lost everything?”

kie sighed. “because you’re a good person y/n. and they’re not.”

you wanted to believe that. you really did.

instead, all you could do was lie there, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe through the pain.

because no matter how much your friends reassured you, one thought haunted you.

rafe had promised forever,

and forever had ended with a single photo.

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ ☾. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

a/n: sorry guys😩 you all knew it was coming

taglist: @hoefordrewstarkey @marleymarleymarleymarley @bee-43 @cherryhoneybabe @skye-44 @drewrry @drewrry  @yesterdaysproblemm @pogueprincesa @dylsdaily @rafeysworldim19 @valyrianflower @kaiparkerwifes@judesgfirl@4urvalidation @chillgal135 @drewstarkeyslover @yesshewrites1 @amterasuu@babykhloutofthisworld@blushmimi  @moonywhisp3rs @rafeysworldim19 @marleymarleymarleymarley @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account@vcnillafairy@bambii1i @sammyrenae68 @kittenjujusblog @bambii1i @thesunflowersociety @wtfdudesblog

[wintersoldierwhore]

bucky as a girl dad

Bucky finding out you were pregnant was another thing entirely, you were completely avoidant and you hadn’t said more than a word until later that night when he cornered you after dinner. 

You couldn’t help but break down into tears, hands shaking as they shielded your eyes from him. His hands, so gently, wrapped around your wrists willing you to remove them. You just stepped around him to reach for your purse, handing him the stick you tested on that morning.

Bucky was silent, taking in the two solid pink lines on the stick, understanding his life was about to change forever. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m sorry,” you cried, avoiding his gaze and sitting back down at the kitchen table, where your dishes still sat. 

“Sorry for what?” He questioned, kneeling down in front of you with his hands cradling your face. 

“This wasn’t planned, we’re not ready.” You sniffled, but you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. His skin on yours felt like everything was going to be okay.

“Nobody is ever ready for a kid, doll. We’ll do it, we’ll do this. Me and you.” He countered, his voice so warm and soft, feeling like a conversation only understood between the both of you.

“We’re going to do it,” you whispered, smiling through your sniffles. Bucky nodded, a grin on his face and his thumbs wiping the tears brimming your eyes.

You’d gone to bed before Bucky that night, whilst he dealt with the dishes and had a shower. He’d still made you your nighttime tea, always accompanied with two cookies. And once he’d closed the door to your bedroom, essentially tucking you in that night, he immediately reached for his phone.

“Sam, what the fuck do I do?” He asked, voice still quiet as he jogged down the stairs. He needed to be reassured, and usually he’d go to you, but with news like this, he knew he had to be the one to see you both through it. 

Bucky spent a whole hour on the phone to Sam, who had actually brought Sarah into the conversation. Bucky wrote things down, asked questions, took every bit of knowledge Sarah had to offer him. 

It was safe to say the conversation had soothed him, he believed he could do it, and there was nobody else he’d rather do it with. He’d thought about it before, the prospect of kids, and his mind would occasionally drift off thinking about you as a mom.

Now pregnant you was another ordeal. Bucky believed you shouldn’t have to lift a finger whilst carrying his child. At first you believed it was guilt, for making you throw up every morning, for wanting to do nothing but sleep. But it really was just care for you and your unborn child. And it was adorable, to say the least. 

When he’d caught you locking the front door, bag and car keys in hand, when coming back from his run, he wanted to carry you back to the couch and wait on your every need. 

“Buck, honey,” you sighed, reaching out for his hand, “I just want some fresh air. To go for a walk around the market, I’m still a human even if I'm growing a child.”

He couldn’t argue with that. “Can you at least wait for me?”

So you did, you sat in the passenger seat of his car, patiently waiting for your husband to finish showering.

The two of you browsed the weekend markets, picking up food, and Bucky grabbing some pink and blue posies. It was the best you’ve felt for weeks, walking around with your small bump and your hand in Bucky’s.

Bucky was quickly to accompany you everywhere after that. To the store, for a walk, to see friends, and to buy decorations for your upcoming baby shower. Bucky wasn’t aware of the new trend of announcing boy or girl to everyone. But you were and he’d do it all for you. 

You’d decorated your garden, lots of lights and various items of either blue or pink. Tables stacked with food, drinks, and little snacks. And flowers, everywhere. 

Friends were arriving, and Bucky would stand separate from the crowd in the garden, 

practically hugging the fence, and would watch as people’s smiles would elevate as you spoke with them. 

Their hands placed gently on your bump, arms thrown around you with happiness. There wasn’t another soul in this universe or the next that was better suited to himself than you.  

It came down to the colour of the cake, and you had your wine glasses at the ready, smashing them into the beautifully decorated cake.

Eyes closed, Bucky’s arm was around your waist and he could feel his hand trembling as it held the wine glass full of cake, and he could hear the cheering of your shared loved ones.

After a countdown, your eyes opened to reveal the pale pink sponge. You thought you were doing well to maintain your tears, until you’d looked at Bucky.

He was quick to bring you into him, your baby girl sandwiched between you. Your family beginning with a precious girl. 

“How’re you doing, Buck?” You spoke softly into his shoulder, not quite comprehending it yourself. You could feel your knees weaken at the sound of your family and friends cheering next to you. But it was just you and Bucky in this moment.

“I can’t believe it,” his voice was hoarse, on the edge of breaking, “our baby girl.” 

Through sore backs, fatigue, cravings, heartburn, and sleepless nights, Bucky was there for as much as he could be.

Missions were short, and he’d become unresponsive to friends and colleagues after every mission, to soak up the time left of just you two. And whilst most of the time you were not feeling your best self, you’d enjoy watching Bucky build the furniture, and renovating your spare room into a nursery, watching your dream come to life. 

He looked more ready than you did, you’d often catch him gazing down the baby clothes aisle when grocery shopping, falling asleep clutching his phone with Top 10 baby-safe stuffed animals to buy in his browser. But in all honesty, he was terrified.He had only felt like he belonged once settled down with you, freshly married and house hunting. And now knowing he had his own child to be responsible for, it felt like a lot.

This feeling stayed for the both of you, until you’d woken up at two in the morning in what felt like a puddle and an intense squeezing sensation in your womb. 

You groaned, sounding more like a growl as you pry yourself out of bed and towards your wardrobe. There was no way you were going to the hospital in soaked pajamas.

“Buck,” you breathed, gripping onto the wardrobe door as the sensation passed, “get up. Now.”

“Oh, fuck.” He exclaimed, eyes widened and hair a mess on his head. You’d never seen him move so fast towards you, his hands reaching for your hair and brushing it away from your face.

“Help me change.” You sighed, eyes squeezed shut as another contraction came around. Bucky slid your pajama pants off and replaced them with some sweatpants, and some slippers, before ushering you out of your bedroom.

He’d quickly reached for your phones, and the hospital bag, whilst assisting you with contractions. He felt accomplished when driving to the hospital, seemingly managing this stress well. 

“You got this, doll.” He’d occasionally say to you, keeping you breathing and squeezing his hand. And despite being a super soldier himself, the strength a birthing woman had was another level. 

Getting out of the car and whatever else happened before getting a room was a blur to you, whilst being too focused on the contractions and trying not to throw up. No pain you’d ever been through matched or exceeded this, but it would be worth it in the end. Right?

“Tell me this is worth it.” You whispered, another contraction passing as you rested your head against Bucky’s arm. 

“It will be, our beautiful girl will be worth all of this.” Bucky responded, his fingers combing over your tangled hair. The both of you were tired, timing contractions, and Bucky’s attempt at trying to lighten the room was failing miserably.

And after being told you were only 3cm dilated, you wanted to launch Bucky’s arm at the wall. However, they were allowing you to keep the room as long as there was some progression in the next few hours. 

Bucky had very quickly left the room to grab some granola bars for the both of you, not wanting to miss a minute of this.

And it was a long few hours of waiting, contracting, feeling sick, before you’d fallen asleep. Bucky in the armchair beside you, his hand safely nestled under your neck and grazing the area under your ear.

Fully dilated, active labour in full swing, Bucky giving you words of encouragement and his metal arm to squeeze this time, all whilst you cry and push with all your might. You were exhausted, ready to sleep for a straight week, until you both heard that small cry. 

You looked up at Bucky, tears streaming down both of your faces as a midwife handed you your baby girl. Her bare skin against your own, your trembling hands holding her against you, it was everything you needed.

Bucky just stared at the two of you, tears melting from his waterline and down his cheeks, he could hardly believe the life he was living. He never thought it to be true.

They’d taken your daughter away to clean her up and check on her, leaving the two of you to recover. 

“You did so good, my girl. I’m so proud of you.” He whispered against the skin of your cheek. He was still in total shock, and even when they brought her back in, wrapped up neatly in a white blanket. 

He couldn’t believe this tiny human was his own. And he spent hours just looking at her and her tiny features. He sat on your bedside, one hand brushing your cheek as you slept, and the other gently grazing your daughter’s cheek. 

After a lot of debate over her name for nine months, you’d both agreed you’d settle on a name once she was born. 

And you settled on Lucy. It was simply sweet. 

Bringing Lucy home and seeing dad bucky in full swing was much more fulfilling than you thought. He’d wake up and stay up during the night feeds with you, he’d suggest walks with the stroller around the block to get you all out of the house, and the way he’d carry her. You’d been sent to Heaven and back.

When the two of you would relax on the sofa for the evening, he’d have her on his chest, his right hand rested on her back and he’d just listen to her cooing. More often than not, he’d doze off with her.

But you loved when he’d cradle her when walking around the house, she’d be laying on his arm belly down, and he’d gotten over his fear of hurting her, so he’d walk around casually with her asleep in his arms. 

He’d fully settled into life as a dad, and the pair of you could wait till tea party age. But for now, you were soaking up every minute of your baby. And it wasn’t long until Bucky was begging for another one.

[hannieoftheyear]

drinks or coffee (c.vn)

the bad party takes a turn when you end up competing in a game with the friend you've been secretly hooking up with

✧˖* pairing: vernon x fem!reader

✧˖* w.c: 5k

✧˖* genre: friends with benefits, porn with plot. MINORS DON'T INTERACT.

✧˖* content warnings: one use of y/n, vernon's a waist grabber, pet names, alcohol consumption, teasing, car sex | smut warnings: softdom!vernon (but lowkey a switch), public and semi-public shenanigans (club bathroom, parking lot and inside the car), mutual masturbation, desperate dry humping, fingering, choking, unprotected penetration, cream pie.

🎧: drinks or coffee — rosé

"standing in the corner of a crowded place this is boring, till i heard your name and now i'm staying for you, we're just friends it's okay we don't have to talk, i know that you want me"

✧˖* note: the second half was not proofread. also, this was supposed to be done for his bday, but hey, a few days later is not that bad!

dividers used

don't be shy! share your thoughts!

“This party's ass." 

You side eye your friend before replying, “I didn’t want to be the one to say it, but…” 

“Fuck.” Chan sighs as he leaves his drink on a tiny table by his side. “I’m sorry I brought you here.” 

“Don’t be sorry.” You chuckle and put your hand on his shoulder, jokingly comforting him. “Wherever you go, I go. That’s our friend code.” 

When Chan asked you to be his plus one to his coworker’s birthday party so he wouldn’t be alone, you didn’t think twice about it. He’s done the same for you countless times. 

“Still, thank you. I wouldn’t have survived this long here without you.” He replies, defeated. 

“We’ve barely been here for over an hour.” You can’t help but chuckle at your tired friend. It seems even extroverted people have their limits. 

“What do you say if... in half an hour, nothing interesting happens. We’ll leave.” Chan pleads with his eyes that you agree with his escape plan, but someone gives you no time to. 

A shout from across the house draws both of your attention. 

“Who wants to play the jeopardy game Giselle made!? There’s a prize for the winner!” 

The interesting thing you were begging to happen calls you in the form of a deep-voiced frat boy, and you both lock eyes with raised brows, knowing how you’re going to spend the night from now on. 

Your competitive spirit takes over you as you walk towards where you think the game is being held. Passing between the sweaty bodies dancing to the terrible electronic music blasting from a speaker placed on the corner of the kitchen, you feel like the win's already yours, not even taking into consideration whoever you might be up against. 

It’s when you’re about to cross the door to the kitchen that you hear it. 

“C’mon, Vernon! Don’t be a chicken!” 

Your ears perk up at his name being called so close to you, there, at a random party. Neither he nor Chan had told you he was going to be there. 

A hand drags you away from the door you were obstructing and into the kitchen, where a cardboard box with blue pieces of paper sticking to it is clearly meant to be the game. 

“Are you okay?” Chan asks with a slightly concerned face. 

“Vernon’s here.” Whatever excitement you feel bubbling up inside you, you try to hide as to not be too obvious to your best friend.

Chan and you are concrete proof that friendship between a man and a woman can stay purely platonic. As cliché as it sounds, it’s closer to a sibling bond than anything else. You’d trust him with your life, and he’d also trust you with his. Being friends with him is a constant in your life. He’s present even in your earliest memories, and you can confidently say that being anything more than that has never crossed any of your minds. That's not the case with Vernon and you. 

College allowed you to broaden your circle of friends, from being just the two of you to a whopping 14 people. The synergy is top tier, and all the different types of friendships within the group coexist to find a perfect balance. 

With a group that big, it’s normal for you to form small groups when all of you hang out together. Most of the time, you sit completely opposite to Vernon. You barely even talk to each other on nights like those. It just looks like you choose to hang out with other people in the group before one another. Secretly, the stolen glances from across the room tell otherwise. 

It didn’t start that way, your bond with Vernon. You first started talking more after being paired up together for a project in one of the electives your entire group decided to take for fun. You didn’t have the chance to talk much before, and working together, even if neither of you cared much about that class, really cemented your friendship. 

You always thought he was hot. The way he went on with life, so calm and sure of himself, really attracted you to him, but you didn’t expect it to go beyond that. A group of friends so big, even after surviving a long time and managing to stay together, is still fragile. The last thing you wanted was to make everything weird. 

But months passed, and the tension you felt every time you’d end up alone with him finally reached a peak where it was unbearable. Vernon felt it as well, and he decided he couldn’t resist it any longer. 

You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t set any rules after the first time it happened. Neither of you told any of your friends, then it happened again, and again, and again, and it was clear neither of you wanted to stop it. He was irresistible, and you weren’t trying to find a cure for that growing addiction.

Vernon would be manspreading on a chair, paying attention to whatever anecdote is being told, so nonchalant one would think he doesn’t understand how hot he is. And from time to time, when no one was looking, he’d sneak a glance at you, catching you red handed with your eyes already on him –you’re sure you look at him more than he does. He’d raise one of his thick eyebrows ever so slightly, only for you to notice, and that feeling at the pit of your stomach would burst into flames. 

When the hang out stretched until it was too late in the night, he'd offer to take you to your place, using the late hour and your need to take the public transport as an excuse, you’d get on his car with no suspicions, and you’d always end up in the apartment that’s closer, ripping each other’s clothes off in between desperate kisses that you’d been suffering to hold out on.  

Other times, when instead of a chill hang out, the group decided to go out to the club, both of you would mysteriously disappear at the same time, hiding in any available toilet stall with no care in the world, moaning into each other’s ear hoping the music drowns out the sounds. 

Unless you’re just bad at disguising your meet-ups, Chan's the only one who knows of that other aspect of your friendship with Vernon. The only time he ever spent the night at your apartment, Chan showed up to your building unannounced and caught Vernon leaving in a hurry with the same clothes as the night before. 

“You asshole! You told me you had other plans tonight!” Chan sees him first, entering the very same room just behind you, and he goes for a man hug after raising his eyebrows at you. 

Chan had his concerns at first, same as you, about the wellness of the friend group, but he quickly realized nothing much had changed in the dynamics except your late night activities, so he just moved on to tease you about it any chance he got.

“Sorry, bro, I didn’t think it’d be the same party.” His low voice quickly stirs something inside you. The party’s not boring anymore and you’re staying until you get what you want.

“Good thing we know someone else here!” With your best friendly smile, you turn around to say hello. “Hi Vern.”

You’ve always greeted your friends with a kiss on the cheek, so it's not out of the ordinary to do it with him too. But when his hand tightens a little more than normal on your waist, and your lips remain a millisecond longer on his cheek, the temperature inside the room rises noticeably. 

“Are you guys playing?” Vernon asks after letting go of his grip on you. He looks at Chan to wait for his answer as well, but you want to believe the lingering of his stare on your form before turning to your friend means something.

“Of course.” The teasing roll of your eyes matches with the appearance of Giselle in the kitchen. “And I’m ready to beat whoever stands in my way.”

Noise erupts as Giselle begins drawing the names that’ll play against one another, and you and Vernon end up on opposite sides of the dashboard. 

“Sounds good.” The defying stares you share hold something behind them only you two, and Chan, know about. “Let’s meet in the final.”

Even Giselle, the birthday girl who planned the whole game, was impressed by the interest everyone showed in playing. After a while, even the people who refused at first started joining to watch the matches, whispering the correct answers to their friends and laughing at anyone who doesn’t know basic facts.

“What is the real identity of the Marvel character known as Deadpool?” Giselle reads the question under the last blue sticker.

“Shit, I don’t know! I don’t watch marvel movies!” The long-haired girl shouts, defeated as all of her friends boo her, losing at the last question.

“You can take it!” Giselle points to Vernon, who she was up against.

“It’s Wade Wilson.” Vernon answers with a smirk and nods while everyone claps at him, even the girl’s friends.

“That’s cheating! He didn’t say ‘what is’!” You’re pretty sure she’s Giselle’s girlfriend, judging by the way she grabs her hand and attacks her with puppy eyes.

“You didn’t say that for any of your questions, dummy.” Giselle kisses her on the cheek as she pouts. “Okay! Let’s see who’s the finalist against…”

“Vernon.” He chuckles, reminding her of his name.

“Vernon! Who’s going up against Vernon!” She reads her list, adding the points you hope she annotated correctly.

She looks around, drunk enough to have forgotten your face already. “Y/N?"

“Woohoo!” Chan shouts behind you, also too drunk. “Go crush him!”

Vernon throws Chan a look and he just shrugs, finishing the drink in his hand.

While Giselle tries to set up the last board on the counter, in between all the people doing tequila shots and others annoying her on purpose, Vernon rests his hips beside yours on the island, too close for it to be a coincidence.

“What do I get when I win?” He whispers in your ear, his hot breath tingling down your neck.

“You mean when I win? And she said there would be a prize.” It’s been at least an hour since your last drink, but turning your face and seeing his so close almost makes you pass out.

“If I win, you’ll spend the night at my place.” The corner of his mouth lifting just slightly has something of a mesmerizing effect, and you can’t take your eyes off his lips.

“That’s no punishment for the loser.” You only reply, trying to keep going with his game.

“I didn’t say it had to be a punishment for you, only what I want.” There’s no arguing that logic, and luckily, Giselle calls your names before you have to figure out what to answer.

“Fair game?” You stretch your hand forward, and he shakes it slowly, electricity flowing through your veins as your cold skin melts with his.

“You haven't said what you want if you win.” Giselle's voice trying to get your attention is barely a murmur in the background.

“I'll think about it.” Now it's your time to smirk, registering Giselle deciding to choose the questions herself and asking Vernon the first one. “You should focus on answering correctly.”

“Game on, princess.” When he turns to answer, so fast he had clearly heard the question before it was repeated, you can’t help but keep your eyes on the side of his face.

“What song has spent the most weeks at number 1 on the Billboard Hot 100?”

“Old Town Road!” You hear his answer before you’re even done registering the question yourself.

It's ruthless. You both fly through the questions as if your lives depended on it. Every correct question you answer, you cheer as if you just won a million dollars, and everyone celebrates with you.

“Which country won the 2022 FIFA World Cup?”

“Argentina?” Scratching the back of your brain trying to find any clues, you’re pretty sure you remember seeing too many tiktok edits of Messi that year.

“You have to be certain!” Giselle helps you, not wanting a man to win.

“Yes! Yes, Argentina.”

The game’s head to head, neither of you answering anything wrong, until…

“What is the highest-grossing film of all time?”

“Is it Endgame?” Vernon thinks out loud after a few seconds.

“Wrong!” Giselle doesn’t give him a second chance, and you just scream.

“It’s Avatar!” With your hands in the air, you jump excitedly with Chan as he mocks Vernon. “How does a self-proclaimed cinephile not know this?”

He looks too relaxed to be losing, hands in his pockets as he just watches you celebrating the steal.

Between the two of you, you’re definitely the more competitive one, but it’s a little too suspicious for him to not even argue with your taunting. He’s getting his points back, and you have to get your head on the game again.

“What is Eminem’s real name?”

The question takes you by surprise, and not even your extensive tiktok knowledge is helping you with this one. Your eyes drift to Chan, but he seems just as confused as you.

“Is that not his last name?” You ask, knowing you just lost that question. Giselle says nothing and just stares at Vernon.

“Marshall Mathers.” The male audience cheers for him, seemingly a boy versus girls game now.

A hand pats your shoulder, and Chan spawns to your right, sighing as if you already lost. “It was a good game.”

“There’s one more question left, asshole.”

“Yeah and it’s his.” He says, like it’s obvious. “There’s no way he won’t know it.” 

Giselle doesn’t help the situation as she reads the last question and exclaims, “fuck! I left the easiest for the end!”

A choir of drunk shouts telling her to change it and others telling her to just read it out loud fill the room. From the corner of your eye, you see Vernon raising an eyebrow at Chan, feeling like he’s already won.

“Which Jonas brother has Taylor Swift dated?” All the boys around you cheer, knowing the answer and trusting Vernon knows it too. The girls ‘boo’ him as he’s thinking. 

“Nick?” Vernon answers doubtfully, scratching his neck and furrowing his eyebrows.

“It was Joe!” You don’t even let Giselle speak, rejoicing in your win and jumping excitedly once again.

Some people clap, some people go back to wherever they were in the house before they got called in to watch the game. Behind you, Vernon claps slowly, watching Giselle trying to get your attention to give you the winner’s prize.

A white thong as wide as a thread. So small, you almost don't notice Justin Bieber's face in the center. The cackle that escapes out of you jolts your head down, your stomach contracting as tears begin forming at the corners of your eyes.

“I'll make good use of it.” You tell Giselle, who finds it even funnier than you, between laughs.

Now that the game, your main reason to stay at the party, is done, you should be getting ready to run off the house and get inside your bed as soon as possible. But a pair of eyes staring up and down your body keep you from finding Chan and force him to drive you home. It’s that kind of look that your legs can barely handle before turning into jelly. A kind of look that leaves only one thought on your mind.

The kitchen clears out intimidatingly quick, the empty bottles and cups on the counter being the only company to the silence between Vernon and you. The white fabric in your hand serves as a temporary stress ball, taking your mind off the hot body hovering too close.

“What goes on the winner’s mind?” He turns to the side, hip resting on the edge of the island.

“I can’t believe you didn’t know that last question.” A chuckle to hide the nervousness doesn’t really work with him.

A man of few words, but as observant as they can be, he realized your attraction to him before you could even think of the possibility that your anxiousness to sit beside him during class was because of something else than having a new friend. He reads your body language too well for your own good.

“Maybe, I just wanted to let you win.” He lies, the smile slowly forming at the sight of your frown telling you that much.

“If that’s what’ll help you sleep at night.” You feel his eyes on you even as you pretend to analyze the backsplash on the wall.

“Did you come here with Chan?” He doesn’t move from his spot, but you suddenly feel warmer, the kitchen too small and the air too thick.

“Maybe… Why?” The answer is obvious.

The answer materializes in the way he tilts his chin down so his eyes can rest on your parted lips, in the corner of his mouth lifting at your hitching breath, and in his hand scattering in his pocket to find his car keys.

“Just thinking he’s going to miss you when you leave with me.”

It’s always a different kind of anticipation when he talks about having you out loud. The little secret between the two of you being out in the open, even if it was only for you to hear, paints the whole of your cheeks a faint pink.

���This party sucks anyway.” You’ve started walking away from him, looking back to find him on the same spot behind you with a knowing smile. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll see you outside.” His free hand finds its way to the side of your waist, the flimsy fabric of your dress doing nothing to hide the heat emanating from you. “Let him know so he doesn’t worry.”

Vernon walks past your frozen body standing by the edge of the door, crossing the nearly empty living room, passing where Chan’s sitting with a couple of men you know you should know the names of, saying goodbye to him too.

“Should I ask?” Chan questions when he lays his eyes on you, with your jacket on and suspiciously ready to leave after Vernon.

“We're just getting more to drink! People drank everything already.” The dumb excuse gets past Chan’s friends, but he naturally doesn’t buy it.

“You shouldn’t drink and drive!” Chan shouts as you head to the entrance, mocking the blatant lie you told.

“We'll get some coffee then.” With your hands on the doorframe and half your body already out the house, you wink his way and he just rolls his eyes.

The parking lot beside Giselle’s house is full of her guests’ cars, but not a soul’s visible at this hour in the night. The music can still be heard even as you get further away from the source, searching for the familiar car and the all too familiar friend of yours.

“Lost?” Vernon’s voice reaches you from the side, and you turn to find him resting against his car, waiting for you like a gentleman.

“You should get a red car. That way, I can recognize it from further away.” The slow steps you take towards him cause no visible reaction. But when you’re within arms reach, he’s trapping you against the backseat door in no time.

“Duly noted.” Vernon’s hands wander inside your jacket, attempting to slip it off you without breaking eye contact.

“You really can’t resist me.” You wrap your arms around his neck, and he does his best to throw your jacket through the driver’s window and inside the car.

“I don’t try to.” His dark eyes hypnotize you into being unable to utter a witty reply, solely focused on his face so close to yours you could count his eyelashes.

But his lips go nowhere near yours, heading down your neck in a teasing trail of kisses leaving you gasping for air. You moan as his arms press your body further against his, as if leaving marks on your sensitive skin wasn't enough for him.

“You haven't told me what you want as your prize.”

His voice reverberates down your spine, followed by a groan as your fingers thread with the hair at the back of his head. You're a mess of tangled limbs against the cold metal of his car, his hands roaming your body in their quest to make you crave him even more.

“For you to stop teasing me.” At that, he halts his assault on your neck, raising his head to pierce through you with his fiery gaze.

“Oh,” he tilts his head to the side, one eyebrow raised as he taunts you, “but you like that, don't you?” One hand slips between your chests, finding its way inside your dress to let his fingers feel the wet patch on your panties. “You like how it feels when I tease you?”

The back of your head hits the car window just behind you at his touch, and his fingers slide over your covered core, making you gasp over essentially nothing.

His body’s still so close you barely have to move to finally connect his tempting lips with your needy ones. Your lips melt instantly with his, moving over yours the way he knows will have you sighing in his mouth. One swipe of his tongue on your lower lip and you're done for.

The sheer lack of shame he has as he presses his body harder against yours, moaning against your lips when you tug at his hair, only burns the fire inside you hotter. It's as if he wanted for every stranger that dared to wander around to know you're his.

Vernon’s hand between your legs plays with you like his favorite toy, knowing exactly where to press, graze, and circle, but stopping the second you grind on his digits, asking for more. He makes it easy to want him, to render to his touch as the world around you dissolves into a meaningless void.

How could you care about anything else when his fingers sneak into your bare core, your dress hoisted up your legs far more than what’s considered publicly decent, smearing your arousal in circles as his mouth does a lousy job at drowning your sounds.

But Vernon’s no innocent man. He pushes you to the edge while the grind of your hips against his hand breaks down his calmness. His legs slot between yours in a desperate attempt to hold you closer, for you to feel his growing hard on the crevice of your inner thigh. He’s as hungry for your touch as you are for his.

His coated fingers tease your opening, ready for him since you heard his name, and invite you to do the same.

Somehow, between the pressing of your chests against one another, the frenzy kiss sucking all the air from your lungs, and your leg wrapped around Vernon’s hips to try and impossibly push him closer to you, your hand sneaks under the layers of clothes hiding him. Your fingers grazing his hot skin contract the muscles in his abdomen, preparing himself to be touched where he needs it most.

When he finally slips two fingers inside you and you wrap your hand around his length, both of your mouths stop working, parted lips soft over the other, in awe at the other’s touch. The rush of adrenaline dies down, time stopping as you each savor the other’s strokes.

It’s not long before Vernon decides he needs to be inside you or he’ll explode.

“I want you to ride me, princess,” his breathless whisper brushes against your gasping lips, “can you do that?”

Your answer comes in both of your hands rushing to unbutton his goddamn shirt and trying to zip down his jeans in one movement. Vernon just chuckles at your eagerness, dreadly removing one of his arms from your body to unlock the car and open the door you’re standing against.

The leather seat caves under your weight, Vernon sitting under you, his both hands feeling your back as you try to close the door for a silver of privacy.

He can't get enough of you, his hand slotting on the side of your jaw to guide your face back to his. You chase after his bruised lips, melting on top of him with your hands on his bare chest, soft grinds on his growing hard, making him groan against you.

With your hair a mess because of him, he brushes it back, making you halt your movements to see what he does next. You swallow hard as his hands drift down your body until they reach where you’re almost connected, where your wet panties are beginning to stain his lap. But he doesn’t stop at your core. Instead, he unbuckles his belt in record time, lowering his jeans and boxers just enough for his hard to spring out.

“You look so good on top of me.” He dares to say, and you might argue he looks even better under you.

Bloodshot lips from your teeth giving into their desires, shirt half open down to the buttons you never reached, slightly scratched abs that welcome the slap of his angry red cock. A sight you'll never get tired of seeing.

“I think I know what I want as my prize.” You declare, getting a hold of his length and lifting your hips to line him up with your entrance.

“Whatever my girl wants.” He almost stutters at your doing, his nonchalant persona faltering with your touch.

You ignore the butterflies erupting at the pit of your stomach at his words, concentrating on sliding down his hard until you're sitting on him and his tip reaches the deepest parts inside you.

“I want you to cum inside me,” you whisper into his ear, the filthy words being a secret between you two, “fill me up.”

His hands squeeze your hips, urging you to move and get what you want, helping you bounce on him as hard as you can.

“How long do you think you can last?” You can feel the car jumping at your rhythm,  and Vernon fights to not let a loud moan get out as he asks. “Because I won’t last long if you keep going like that.”

The straps of your dress slip down your shoulders, hypnotizing the man below you and driving him to try and fix them, but he quickly finds his hand going up your neckline, wrapping his fingers around your neck as you moan at the stimulation.

“Shit.” He mutters under his breath as your walls clamp impossibly harder around him, and he has to thrust his hips up to match your pace.

When he realizes the pressure of his fingers on your neck, he mumbles a quick apology, but you stop his hand on its way down.

“Do that again.” You see his lust filled eyes turn into something more, darker, as he understands what you want.

The air going into your lungs is quickly restricted, Vernon’s hand below your jaw applying the pressure that has another wave of arousal flushing out of you. The grind of your hips restarts as best as you can, as he keeps thrusting up with more force each time.

Every thrust, every touch, and every sound  from him combine to accelerate your pending orgasm. Your legs quiver with tiredness, and he has to let go of his grip on your neck to wrap his arms around your waist and finish the job.

With your chests flushed, his unrestricted moans right against your ear, and his cock hitting relentlessly that exact spot that has you screaming, you cream on Vernon’s cock as he chases his own release. 

“Fuck, princess, you’re so fucking tight.” His hips stutter as you clamp around him purposely.

“I want to feel you, Nonie,” the nickname slips out of you, and judging by the guttural groan he lets out, he likes it. “Cum inside me.”

You always loved the feeling of him twitching inside of you, dizzying and addicting, and when he paints your insides with his cum at your request, you know you'll never want it any other way again.

There's a beat of silence after you get off of him and sit by his side, the ruffling of his jeans as he zips it back up, being the only sound filling the steamy car. And you can't help but chuckle.

“Are we always that desperate?” The casual talk comes out easy in the midst of your breaths regulating.

“I think we went all out tonight.” He turns his head to your side, and your laugh turns into a soft smile, replicating his.

It’s always a mess of different feelings running around your heart as your post-sex mind finally realizes what just happened. And you always hope that what you see behind his gaze is a similar thought process.

“Do you still want to get some coffee?” He asks, smile not leaving but definitely teasing you with an eyebrow raised.

“You heard that?” The pink blush comes back to your cheeks after being caught red-handed.

“I'm not the fastest walker, I was barely a few steps away from the door.” His admission is for sure turning your whole body red in embarrassment. “But I am down for a cup of coffee if you want.”

He shows that warm smile he knows can get him anything he wants, and you nod without even thinking.

“You can drop me off at my place after.”

He doesn't take you to your apartment after. His place is closer anyway.

thank you for reading! you can check out my masterlist for more of my works and my wips list to see what’s coming next!

and don't forget to leave your thoughts ♥︎

[cockettechris]

ASSISTANT'S WORK - M.S.

Matthew Sturniolo. One of the best lawyers in Boston, if not the best. He was 25, young for being so successful at what he does. Being as successful as he is means he needed an assistant, which happens to be you. As you fill out important files of some sort you're called to his office.

You gently knock on the door, knowing how 'cranky' he could be sometimes. After he tells you to come in, you walk across the carpeted floor before softly sitting in the leather chair across from his desk. He's still on the phone, getting frustrated with what you assumed was his girlfriend or something.

"Yeah no- what? Okay bye." He said sort of harshly as he hangs up, running a hand over his face before he looked at you. "Sorry, my brother Chris wanted to know what shirt he should wear. Fuckin' idiot.." You just sat there, not wanting to interrupt him. "Anyway Y/N, I called you in here because I noticed you've been slacking off on the tasks I've been giving you." "I'm sorry- I don't mean to-" He interrupted you, "Y/N. To be honest I don't really care. But since it's the right thing to do I'm gonna ask if something has been going on."

Truth be told yeah there was something. It's not everyday your boyfriend of 6 months cheats on you and sends you a video of him doing it. "Uhm well, just my boyfriend, or ex I guess cheated on me and-" He interrupted you again. "I don't need the whole sob story alright? Just make sure you get your tasks done on time if you wanna keep your job. Also I need to stay back tonight."

You nodded, knowing if you protested he'd get pissed. Not that you didn't like it, it turned you on if anything. "Alright well, continue filing those files and just, try to forget about him alright?" He said the last part softly, as if he spoke too loudly about it something would happen. "Got it, thank you Mr. Sturniolo". He nodded as you got up, shut the door and went back to your desk.

The rest of the day dragged on with a blur. A blur full of filling out files, answering phone calls, getting lunch and coffee, and other stuff. Then the clock hits 8:00. Closing time. A couple minutes after everyone left he calls you into his office. Again. You slowly open the door and see him taking off his suit jacket, setting it on the leather couch carefully. "Ah, Y/N. Sit." He says as he points to the leather chair across from his desk. You notice how when you sit his eyes linger on your body.

"I've been thinking about what you said earlier. About your ex cheating on you. It's messed up. Truly. I'm sorry if it sounded like I didn't care about it, I do. I care about you aswell. But you need to forget about it." You smiled softly at his words, before speaking. "I don't know how. It's hard." He smirked. "I know a way. Trust me you'll forget all about him."

"Fuck.." You barely managed to moan out. You're not sure how you ended up bent over your bosses desk as he pounds into you from behind. You were complaining? Hell no. "Yeah thaats it." He hissed out as he went almost all the way out before slamming back in. This was beyond anything better than you ever experienced. Yes you've had sex, but not like this. You could feel every vein on his cock.

God he loved how you felt around him, it was heaven. "This all ya needed?" You could only nod at his words. He suddenly grabbed your hair, forcing you against him as he continued moving in and out of you. "What? Can't even talk now?" You barely managed a small "n-no." He smirked at your pathetic attempt to talk. "Just needed your boss to fuck you dumb? Such a good slut, squeezing me so tight."

"Not gon' last long in ya sweetheart." He let go of your hair and gently put you back on his desk. "Can feel ya clenchin' me baby, gonna cum?" You whimpered softly, not even trying to talk. "Yeah atta girl. Come on, cum on this dick." He reached down in between your legs to rub your sensitive clit, trying to make you let go faster.

"F-Fuck." You moaned out loudly. "Go ahead. Cum all over my cock." A loud moan left your dry and parted lips as you came, running down his veiny dick. "S-Shit baby, 'm not far behind." He kept going, becoming faster and faster as he chased his orgasm. "Fuckk. You feel so good. Fuckin' made for me I swear." With one final thrust he came, pouring all his cum into you.

After the fact when you're putting your clothes on, after he helped clean you up. He came over to you as he fixed his tie and gently kissed your forehead. "You alright?" He asked softly. You managed out a small 'yeah'.

"I don't why we haven't done that before to be honest. But you do know we have to pretend this didn't happen right? You work for me. This meant nothing." You nodded. You understood it would be hard to try and just forget about it.

"I gotta go home to my daughter, my mom's watching her. See you tomorrow Y/N." He said, kissing you softly before he left.

Shit.

A/N: Do we like?? Also briefcase divider is by @bernardsbendystraws. This took me wayy longer than I intended lmao😭. Lmk if you wanna be on the taglist!!

Tags:

@sturnobsessedwh0re @sturniolos-manslut19 @sturniolosluttt @mattsfavbitchhh @livy4swift @pip4444chris @christophersturnn @ariastur9z @sturniolosarethebest @r0set0y @chrislilcumslvt @conspiracy-ash @courta13 @emely9274 @liiixsturniolos @ifwdominicfike

[reikafanfic]

Random Nsfw Head Canons For Riize Maknae line (with Fem!Reader)

( Includes: Seunghan, Sohee and Anton )

Again, there will be so many typos in this so get ready, I didn't proof read this at all.

Also hanis section might not be the best because I got into riize after they put him on hiatus (I hate sm so bad don't get me started) and I have a hard time getting a read on him but I tried

Hyung line, Maknae line

♡ ♡ Seunghan ♡ ♡

I had a hard time getting a read on him at first because he's such a cutie (he doesn't deserve half the shit that he gets OT6 WHEN I CATCH YOOUUUU-)

But honestly after thinking about it a little bit...this man is a undercover freak, HEAR ME OUT

The type of guy to finger you under the table when you're out with friends, smiling and chatting it up with everybody as if he isn't knuckles deep inside you.

He's so sweet too, calling you "his girl" and talking about how happy he is with you as you're struggling to not make any sounds.

That's his entire thing, he'll tease you and be so so mean but he'll do it with the sweetest smile on his face.

I would consider him a strict soft dom, If you're a good girl he'll treat you like a princess, praise you day and night but if you start getting bratty with him, he'll get so mean (in a fun way 🤭)

You bent over as he's fucking you from the back, your face buried in the pillow so you can't beg for his forgiveness whenever he slaps your ass.

"Awe are you trying to say something baby? I can't hear you sweetheart"

Also a bit sadistic, loves leaving marks on you, especially ones that last for days.

Seeing you wince whenever you sit down after he spanks you gets him so hard, literally ready to go for round two right then and there.

As much as he loves when he gets to punish the brat out of you, he also loves when you're his good little girl.

It's been said before but this man is a EATER, if you behave you get your pussy ate till your brain melts out your ears.

His aftercare mainly consists of him putting on ointment where you need it and making sure you're okay, since he's the Dom it's catered to what would make you feel the best.

At your beck and call after sex, the sweetest man alive.

SIGH I MISS MY MAN

♡ ♡ Sohee ♡ ♡

Virgin loser. IM SO SORRY HSHA

I'm a loser!Sohee truther, this man hasn't been near a pussy his entire life, gets absolutely no play.

He's always been too nervous too approach women and when he started training to become an idol he just didn't have the time.

So when he meets you he's all nerves, too shy to say anything, so you'll have to be the ones to initiate things.

Probably the most submissive out of Riize mainly because he's inexperienced and more comfortable with you taking the ropes.

Cums way too fast the first few times you two do it, is super embarrassed about it but he can't help it :(

"shit- sorry- it just.... you...you feel so good I'm so sorry"

Because of that he insists he wants to learn other ways on how to please you, whether that's oral or through his hands.

In the beginning of your relationship he's kinda sloppy but what he lacks in experience he makes up for with enthusiasm.

After learning and practicing a whole bunch I honestly think he has the best head game in Riize, he lives to please.

Same with his fingers, because he has a hard time lasting during sex he got really good at basically everything else so don't worry, you'll definitely leave the experience satisfied.

Also probably the most vanilla in Riize, you're his first and he's still figuring out the ropes, definitely wouldn't be into BDSM.

Maybe over time after you've been together a while but for the time being he's more than happy with missionary.

He does eventually get over his cumming too quickly problem but he's almost disappointed, he kinda liked the humiliation. 🤭

Aftercare is more of a joint activity with him, prefers to both take care of you and be taken care of.

You've gotten in the habit of alternating who gets to be the small spoon.

He also likes to talk after sex but it's more like him quickly rambling before falling asleep mid sentence.

Also gets the cutest bed head the morning after.

♡ ♡ Anton ♡ ♡

Sigh.....MY MAN MY MAN MY MAAANNN okay sorry wait-

This is gonna be long because he's my favourite, tee hee.

I don't think he's a Virgin but he's mostly inexperienced, hasn't really done a whole lot but knows the basics.

I mean have you seen all the shit he was up to? Swimming competitively, playing the cello, being an Idol, this man doesn't have time for anything.

Also another one that takes his time dating you before you two sleep together, I don't think he'd wanna sleep with you if he wasn't sure you two would eventually be official.

Also another switch, leans dom though, specifically soft dom.

This man is PACKING, we've all seen that one screenshot, definitely the "Big and doesn't know what to do with himself" trope.

Would honestly prefer a more experienced partner, tell him what to do because he doesn't know.

Also has a size kink, you could only be like two inches shorter than him but the fact that you're shorter at all gets him going, it's not just about height either.

He's broad as hell so he loves giving you back hugs, especially when you're brushing your teeth so he can see himself engulf you, that visual really gets him going.

Unexpectedly kind of a tease, leans into kiss you but pulls back just before your lips touch his, passing you a big smile when you pout.

Also speaking of him being huge...his hands....okay listen listen.

Whenever he plays the cello I can only think of one thing...

There's no way his clit rubbing game isn't on point, not too hard, not too soft, keeps it at a consistent pace, doesn't loose it mid way...

NEED THAT. DESIRE THAT.

Also his fingers are so long? He has the biggest hands in Riize, I just know they can do some damage.

Loved laying your back against his chest and reaching down to finger you, has a arm wrapped around your waist so you can't push him away.

"sshhh it's okay baby, just stay still. let me make you feel good"

Also loves giving and recieving head, I already wrote a whole fic centered around him eating pussy so I won't go into details about that here.

He loves watching you struggle to take his cock into your mouth, it's nearly impossible to get it all down and it makes his size kink go crazy.

He rarely finishes in your mouth because seeing you struggle to suck him off makes him want to fuck you right then and there.

Gets so sleepy after sex, like wants to fall asleep then and there type of sleepy. He isn't great at aftercare solely because he gets lazy and just wants to sleep and also because again he isn't that experienced.

Will eventually get a hang of it though, will clean you up and praise you, he doesn't even really do it on purpose it just kinda slips out, how you're so pretty, how you feel so soft, how much he loves you etc etc.

Wants you to sleep on top of him because feeling your weight on top of him is comforting.

Really hope y'all like this, writing these was so fun

[thewinterdrafts]

Flesh and Metal | The White Wolf

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (1st Person)

Word Count: 6,062

Summary: Bucky Barnes is everything you ever wanted—soft, thoughtful, devoted. He loves you with a quiet intensity that should make you feel like the luckiest person alive. But after so many months of being together, he still hasn’t touched you. Not like that. When you finally confront him, you realize the truth is so much deeper. He does want you. He just doesn’t know how to ask. And tonight, for the first time—he’s finally ready to give in.

Warnings: 18+ NSFW, Sub!Bucky (lots of begging you guys), Angst, Swearing, Dominance & submission dynamics, Self-doubt & insecurity, Trauma responses & PTSD, Fear of abandonment & rejection, BDSM themes (light control, praise, permission-based dynamics), Overstimulation & begging, Implied past abuse

A/N: hey guys! this is my first ever story here, and i've worked so hard on it, my brain might dissolve through my ears tonight. i hope you'll like it, happy reading 🤍

📍Masterlist

It has been four months. Four months and one day, to be exact, since Bucky Barnes became mine. I’ve never heard so many people congratulate me and warn me in the same breath, but I never cared. Not when he’s been so precious, so thoughtful, so achingly romantic. Not when he’s spent every single day making me feel like the luckiest girl in the world.

I love him more than life itself. And with him—life and death feel closer than they should.

So why does it feel like I’m still not enough?

Four months, and he hasn't touched me. Not once. Not like that. 

Every time I try, every time I lean in, every time I press just a little too close, he pulls away. Sometimes subtly, sometimes not. Sometimes it’s a hesitant step back, sometimes it’s a firm grip on my wrist, pushing me away just enough to make it clear.

I tried everything. Cute lingerie. Whispered invitations. I even got my hair done for our anniversary last night. Nothing helped, I couldn't shake his composed demeanor, no matter what I did.

Maybe, he doesn’t want me at all. Why would he?

The Bucky Barnes could have anyone. Someone like Natasha—gorgeous, cool, effortlessly magnetic. The kind of woman who could hold her own against a super soldier, the kind who wouldn’t hesitate. The kind who makes sense with him.

Me on the other hand? What was I thinking, believing I would be enough? Just a simple girl, coming from a boring family, with no interesting backstory, nothing to show, nothing to–

"Baby?" Bucky put his face an inch from mine, which immediately snapped me out of my spiralling thoughts. "You okay? Is your stomach upset?" He pointed to the remaining of mac and cheese he cooked. 

He grew to be extremely good at reading my expressions over the past few months. He usually doesn't need to ask; he just knows what's wrong, and eliminates the problem without a word. This time, though, he didn't know. How could he?

"No," I say flatly.

"Sure? Because–"

"I am fine," I snap, louder than anticipated. 

I immediately regret my tone when I see Bucky stiffen, the sound of his metal arm clenching into an unbreakable fist. He takes exactly three steps back from me; measured and calculated. His eyes terrified; I can almost see how he is searching for the possible threats or punishments he would receive, now that he senses the change in the mood. He's still as a sculpture, except for the arms; they are shaking from how strongly he is sqeezing his fist.

Oh, I fucked up.

"I'm sorry. It's just been a really hard week on me, I-"

"You're hurt." 

It's not a question, it's a fact.

"I'm not hurt–"

"I hurt you."

It's not a fact, it's a crime. At least that's how he says it.

I look down to the tiled floor where I can still spot the signs of Bucky's cooking. I cannot look at him. I would need to lie to his face and that is one thing I was never able to do. Not after what he's been through. 

I notice a small movement from him as he takes another step; farther. Way farther away from me. I take a deep breath and force myself to look at him, wishing I didn't as the sight instantly breaks my heart; his eyes are filled with tears, and he's so confused. Scared. Terrified of what is coming. He's gripping onto the side of his shirt, like he always does when he feels unsafe. A lump forms in my throat as I try to open my mouth to speak. I've ruined him. 

"I– uh." The sound I made was barely a whisper, but it made him visibly flinch. "Do you... Do you not... want me?"

Bucky's terrified gaze turns into utter confusion in a matter of seconds. He blinks – for the first time in maybe minutes – as he's struggling to understand my question. I collect all my leftover courage and hope to keep talking. 

"You push me away," I say, trying to be as soft as possible. "We've been together for months, but never... together."

I feel so stupid for not being able to just straight out say it. I'm hoping he somehow understands what I mean, but judging by his scrunched eyebrows, I'm gonna have to be more specific.

 I let out a big sigh and close my eyes to make the embarrassment less painful. "Bucky, we never had sex." 

As soon as the words leave my mouth, his face drops. I lose him again somewhere very far away from me, and he keeps looking at me like I am about to destroy him completely. 

"If you don't want me, that's okay," I assure him, ignoring the bitter taste in my mouth. "I know I'm not the prettiest girl, and you've probably seen better—"

"No!" he snaps, so I lift my head up. He looks horrified, like I've just said something unspeakable. I wait for him to continue, but instead, he keeps staring at me, as if his eyes could tell everything he is unable to.

"No?" I echo. "Then why do you run every time I try to touch you like that?"

He breaks the eye contact by strictly looking at the kitchen counter right in front of him; or at anything that is not me. From all the months I've spent in his presence, I recognize this look too well. He's ashamed. 

"Bucky..."

Silence. He grips the fabric of his shirt, twisting it in his hands. A nervous tick, but to him, a grounding mechanism. He's really trying not to lose himself.

"I—, I don't—," he stutters. "I don't know how."

"What?" I blink. “Bucky, you’ve—” I hesitate. “You’ve been with other women before.”

His head jerks up with a flicker of panic and frustration.

 “That’s not—that’s different.”

“Different how?”

Bucky is refusing to look at me, so I stand up from my seat to make way towards him. He takes a sharp breath when I'm within his reach, but doesn't move. That's a good sign. 

"Look at me, baby," I ask, softly. His eyes snap up instantly, and I see it all there. The fear, the desperation, the battlefield in his head. "Tell me what's wrong."

He tries to do so; he opens his mouth, swallows, exhales, shakes his head, tries again, but he fails, no matter how hard he tries.

"Do you want me?" I ask bluntly.

He nods, still staring at the marble countertop. Okay.

"Are you scared to ask for what you want?"

Another nod. 

"Do you trust me?"

This one is instant.

"Yes."

"Then tell me."

He lets out a shaky breath before he swallows. He turns his head to me, face flustered, his chest moving up and down as he tries to regulate himself.

"Please, can you—," his voice dies before he can finish. He clearly is struggling, like he doesn't know how to want things and the fact breaks a small part of my heart permanently.

"Go on, Bucky. What do you need?" I encourage him.

"I—," he stutters, and then shakes his head hard, like the words are physically hurting him inside his head.

 His body, however, tells the truth on behalf of him. The way his hands tremble and his chest heaves with each exhale, the way his metal fingers twitch against his thigh—he is fighting himself.

I let the silence stretch, waiting, watching the way his face twists with frustration, with hesitation. With want.

“Baby,” I say softly.

His eyes cracks open, blue burning with something raw, something pleading. He sucks in a breath, and for a moment, I think he finally gives in, but then he shakes his head again, hard, turning his face away.

I click my tongue, grabbing his chin, forcing him to meet my gaze. “You want something. I can see it. I can feel it.”

His chest rises sharply, lips parting, but still, he doesn't speak. I lean in, lips brushing against the shell of his ear. 

“Do you need me to guide you?”

His entire body jerks, a sharp inhale ripping from his throat. His fingers are clenching into fists, the tremor rolling through his shoulders like a quake. But he still doesn't answer me.

My grip tightens slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper. “Bucky, if you don’t tell me what you need, I can’t give it to you.”

He exhales shakily, a frustrated, broken sound. His brows knit together, his hands lifting before falling back to his thighs, his whole frame trembling.

“Please,” he whispers.

My heart clenches. “Yes?”

His head dropped forward, breath ragged. “Please… please tell me what to do.”

Oh. 

Oh, fuck.

I smile, slow and knowing, letting the moment stretch, letting him feel the weight of what he's just asked for.

“I’ll show you.” I say, and I find my voice firm. Commanding.

His breath stutters, his entire body tensing, every muscle coiled tight with restraint, with hesitation. He’s fighting it, clinging to the instinct to resist—until I lean in, my mouth brushing over the shell of his ear.

 “If you'll be a good boy for me.”

The sound he makes—soft, broken, fucking relieved—rips through me like a shockwave. My core tightens, ignites, burns, a volcano threatening to erupt at the sheer power of it. 

Bucky Barnes is submissive. For me. 

"Follow me," I say, and as if I freed him from an invisible curse, he makes his way after me.

All at once, every doubt I ever had—about myself, about us—disintegrates. How did I not see this before? How could I have been so blind? He doesn’t need distance. He doesn’t need time. He just needs me. Me in control. Me guiding him. Me telling him exactly what to do.

And fuck, if that isn’t the most intoxicating realization of all, I don't know what is.

I may not be the most experienced woman alive, but that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that he needs me to be present. He needs me to take this. Own this. There’s no room for doubt, no room to shy away, when he trusts me to take care of him.

I release him just to check his expression, searching for even the slightest hint of hesitation, but to my surprise, I find none. Not a single trace. His eyes track my every movement, locked onto me like a soldier awaiting an order.

And it shouldn't turn me on the way it does.

"Do you want me right now?" My voice is steady, even as I close the space between us, just by one step. 

His gaze sweeps over me, dragging from my lips, to my throat, to my body before he gives a sharp, assured nod.

 "Then take off my dress." 

He moves instantly, without hesitation—like he’s been waiting for this since the moment he met me. His fingers find the hem of my dress; his touch cautious, reverent, like he’s afraid I might pull away at any second. Like he can’t quite believe this is happening.

The contrast of his warm, flesh hand on one thigh, and his ice-cold vibranium fingers on the other, sends a shiver tearing down my spine. Slowly, deliberately, he lifts the fabric over my head, the brush of his knuckles against my skin leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Once I’m bare before him, he takes a small step back—just to look. His lips part slightly, his breathing uneven, chest rising and falling faster, deeper. His eyes—piercing, devastating—roam every inch of me, burning me from the inside out.

And then, he moves.

He throws the dress across the room without looking, never once taking his eyes off of me. His entire body is vibrating, like he’s barely holding himself together, barely restraining the need thrumming beneath his skin.

The sight of him is stealing every breath I have left.

“Can I take your shirt off?” I break the silence, my own voice softer now.

“Please,” he begs.

I waste no time. I step in, close enough for his ragged breath to ghost over my skin, and strip him bare. It’s a summer night, so he’s only wearing a thin, black V-neck, already clinging to the sweat on his chest–or at least, he was. With one fluid motion, I pull it over his head and let it drop to the floor.

I take a moment, just a few seconds, to admire him.

His body is all strength, broad shoulders and sculpted muscle carved by battle and time. Scars litter his skin, testaments to wars fought and survived, and yet, under the soft glow of the moonlight, he looks like something untouchable. Ethereal. Unreal.

I swallow hard, licking my lips as my gaze travels downward, over his defined abs, the way they tense under my attention, down to the dark trail of hair that disappears beneath the waistband of his boxers. I feel it then—the heat pooling low, the unbearable pulse between my thighs. And he’s just standing there, watching me, eyes so dark they’re nearly black.

I’m already so wet for him, it’s almost embarrassing.

"Undress me," I whisper. 

His breath catches, eyes flash with hunger, the way they always do when he wants but won’t take. But this time, he moves.

With careful fingers, he reaches behind me for the clasp of my bra, hesitant yet desperate. This is as far as we’ve ever gone. Four months of waiting, of skirting the edge, of Bucky refusing to let himself see me without clothes. Back then, I thought it was because he didn’t want me, because I wasn’t enough.

But now? Now I know the truth. He wouldn’t have known what to do. He was afraid to ruin this. Afraid to ruin me.

I snap out of my thoughts as I feel the cold air of the AC dance on my bare torso. My nipples instantly harden as a result, and Bucky notices it just as quickly. His lips are apart, and he's staring at them like an animal on his prey. The way he wants me fills me with every ounce of confidence I’ve ever needed.

"You can touch them," I whisper, not sure he even heard me, but then he takes two steps towards, putting his flesh hand on my waist.

I gasp, the breath catching in my throat as his warm, steady touch trails up my skin. His movements are slow—painfully, torturously slow—like he’s memorizing me with his hands, drinking me in through touch alone. He reaches my left breast and he cups it, his thumb immediately finding my hard nipple. His breath shudders, sharp and heavy, his chest rising with a strained inhale as he circles my achingly hard peak with his thumb, teasing, testing, learning me.

I struggle to hold in my moan, my teeth sinking into my lip as he pinches it, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure straight between my legs. And fuck, he’s watching. His vibranium arm remains stiff at his side, fingers curled into a tight, trembling fist, his jaw slightly slack, his lips parted as he watches himself touch me.

He’s fascinated. Hypnotized. Like this is the first time he’s ever allowed himself to truly want something.

"Both hands, please." My voice is barely a whisper, barely a sound, just a needy, broken plea. His head snaps up, and for the first time in what feels like forever, his eyes meet mine.

His metal hand, still clenched in restraint, relaxes. With slow, careful hesitation, he brings it up, inch by inch, his fingertips skimming my ribs before finally—finally—he touches me. A shiver rips through me, my body instinctively arching into the icy contrast of metal against my heated skin. I don’t pull away; if anything, I lean into him, chasing the sensation, craving more.

"You're being so good for me," I praise, my voice low.

Bucky fucking breaks.

His entire body stutters, trembles; his breath hitching, his knees nearly buckling beneath him as a wrecked, desperate whimper falls from his lips.

Fuck. That has to be the sexiest sound in the world.

“Can I—” His voice cracks, his fingers flexing against my skin. “Can I please kiss you?”

He is pleading, over and over, his voice shaky, utterly undone.

“Please, I need it. Please.”

His words shoot straight to my core, the need in his voice a direct pulse between my legs. I want him so much, I might sublime from the heat he ignites inside me.

I don’t hesitate. I grab his arm, pulling him against me, forcing his bare chest to crash into mine. He melts against me, his body burning, muscles taut, already trembling with restraint. And then, I kiss him. Or maybe he kisses me. Either way, the moment our lips meet, Bucky loses himself.

He kisses me like he’s starving, like he’s drowning and I’m his only air. His mouth is hungry, relentless, desperate, lips crashing into mine as he’s trying to devour me whole.

And fuck, his hands.

They roam everywhere, one gripping the small of my back, the other skimming just beneath my panties, teasing, taunting me, and just when I think it couldn't get any better, his metal hand clamps around my ass, gripping tight, keeping me steady. Feeling the cool vibranium pressing into my heated skin, I moan straight into his mouth, my body shuddering in his hold.

“Put me on the bed. Now.”

The words leave me in a command, and Bucky moves before I can even take another breath. With one arm, just one, he lifts me with ease, like I weigh nothing to him. He lays me down, gentle but firm, already moving to cover me with his body—but I stop him.

“Not yet.”

I shake my head, and he immediately halts, his breathing labored, controlled. He looks wrecked, like he's using every bit of self control to keep himself away from me. Still kneeling between my legs, still so fucking obedient, and yet—his eyes. His fucking eyes, they’re eating me alive.

“Take it off,” I order, nodding toward his jeans.

Bucky keeps his eyes locked on mine, hands trailing down, slow and deliberate as he reaches for the button of his jeans. With a quick flick of his fingers, they’re undone. His piercing gaze never leaves me, his eyes dragging over every inch of my body, devouring, worshipping.

I don't have much time before he stands up and slowly pushes his jeans down. I gasp when I see the thin, black material of his boxers that do nothing to hide him. The thick, heavy outline of him, pressing against the fabric, takes my breath away.

I’ve never seen him like this before. Not even close. I’ve felt him—hard, pressing against me on nights where he’d let himself have just a little. But then he would stop and shut it down. I couldn't understand why, not until now, and I don't have one second to think about it, because he pushes his boxers down. His cock is finally bared to me in full, and Jesus fucking Christ.

He is huge. How is that gonna fit?

“Please,” I hear a small plea towards him, and I shot my eyes back to his face. 

His breath is wild, erratic, chest heaving like he can’t get enough air, like he’s on the edge of breaking. His flesh hand is poised, ready to touch himself, to relieve even an ounce of the pressure, but he doesn't. Not without my word. I bite my lip, reveling in the power of it, in the way his entire body trembles under restraint.

“Take this off, too,” I instruct, gesturing to the lace panties that I’d bought months ago—back when I thought he’d see them then.  Back when I thought we’d be here so much sooner. 

But I don’t have a single complaint left in my body, because when Bucky finally moves—he rips them off. The thin fabric tears from me in one sharp pull, and for a split second, I wonder if he just ripped them in half.

His eyes drag over me, drinking in every inch of bare skin, mapping the places he’s never let himself truly look at before. I feel just how wet I am, now that there’s nothing to soak up the slick. I can feel it all pooling between my thighs, proof of just how badly I want him.

A flicker of  shyness grips me—how did I get this lucky? How did I end up with him, undone and starving, in front of me? But I don’t let myself hide; instead, I sit up slowly, deliberately, my movements calculated, letting myself kneel on the soft mattress.

I look up at him, like I could devour him with a single breath. The six-foot-tall ex-assassin is towering over me, radiating pure heat, his entire body coiled tight like a predator barely holding back.

And then, soft as a prayer, I say, “I want you.”

As if I’ve broken a curse, Bucky snaps. His fingers clamp around my throat, his mouth slamming into mine, the sheer force of it knocking me back onto the bed. He pins me down, all of his weight pressing into me, heavy, suffocating, absolutely fucking perfect. The way he kisses me makes me crazy; he's hungry, possessive, and so filthy, I can only moan as a response.

His cock, thick and heavy, sliding between my soaking slit, his length gliding right over my clit with each slow, torturous grind.

“Fuck—” I moan straight into his mouth, my hips instinctively tilting up, chasing every ounce of friction he gives me.

I lose every bit of control I had left. Overcome with greed, I grab at him, pull at him, take as much as I can. My fingers tangle in his long hair, keeping him locked to me, refusing to let him break the kiss for even a second. 

I let my other hand wander; I trace the sharp lines of his back, trailing lower, until my palm finds his ass. I squeeze, hard, forcing him to rock against me even harder, dragging his cock rougher, deeper through my slick folds. My breathing is a wreck, my body moving instinctively, clinging to him, needing more, more, more.

I want him. All over me. Inside me. Taking me apart.

“Can I—” His voice shatters, breathless. He pulls back just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes wrecked with need.

“Can I please put it in?”

And fuck, he looks at me like a puppy, wide-eyed, begging.

“Please, I’ll make you feel so good,” he purrs against my neck, teeth grazing my skin, lips pressing open-mouthed kisses.

“God, yes,” I groan.

Bucky grabs himself, his fingers shaking with need as he positions his cock right at my entrance. He could thrust in immediately, take what we both want without hesitation, but he doesn’t. Instead, he pauses; his eyes flick back up to mine, searching, waiting, needing something more.

And I know exactly what he wants.

“Be a good boy and fuck me, Bucky.”

I'm way past hesitation or shame. All I want is him taking over me, claiming me, pressing me into himself. The words shatter something inside him; his mouth parts, his pupils blown wide, and then—without ever breaking eye contact—he slides inside.

A broken moan leaves my lips as my spine arches, my body opening for him, stretching around him, and fuck, he fills me.

Completely. Entirely. Devastatingly.

I’ve been aching for this moment for months. I’ve fantasized about him taking me, and now he’s finally inside me. A deep pressure builds low in my belly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as he pushes deeper and deeper, until I feel the blunt tip of his cock press against my cervix.

He’s so fucking hard. I can feel him throbbing inside me, feel the pulse of his cock against my walls, and it drives me insane. I wait for him to finally move, but after a few seconds of stillness, I open my eyes.

Bucky is watching me so carefully, his eyes flicking over my face, searching for even the slightest sign of discomfort. His arms shake violently, his knuckles white from gripping the sheets beside my head. He’s breathing fast, erratic, his small, shaky breaths cold against my ear. And he’s moving too slowly, like he’s terrified of losing control.

“Relax, baby. You can let go.”

I lift my hand, gently stroking his beautiful face, my voice barely a whisper. His eyes soften, then immediately darken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he rasps, his voice hoarse, ruined.

“You can’t,” I assure him. “I can take it. I want to take it.”

The sound that escapes him—a helpless whimper, like he’s been waiting his entire life to hear those words. His body trembles, his control hanging by a thread, his cock twitching inside me at the sheer relief of it.

He might be above me, but he is completely at my mercy.

“You’re doing so good,” I murmur, just inches from his lips, my breath fanning over his skin. “Don’t stop.”

The second I say it, he melts.

Raw, desperate need unleashes from him so suddenly, it knocks the breath from my lungs. I wheeze in surprise, barely able to keep up before he grabs the bedframe above my head with his vibranium arm and picks up the pace—hard. The deep, wrecked moan that rips from his throat sets me on fire; a wildfire raging low and uncontrollable, consuming every last of my coherent thoughts. All I know is him—the way he moves, the way he fills me, the way every precise thrust hits where I need him most.

I wrap my legs around his waist, pulling him impossibly closer, and he collapses into me, his mouth claiming mine in a sloppy, desperate kiss. His thrusts are relentless, shaking the entire goddamn bed, and I have to grip his vibranium arm for dear life just to keep myself in place.

Somewhere in his haze, even now, he thinks to protect me—his flesh hand cradling the top of my head, shielding me from the bedframe. My chest tightens at the gesture, and I let my lips trail down his sweat-slicked neck in silent gratitude, my teeth grazing over his skin.

Something inside me snaps as I feel his salty skin on my tounge. My nails rake down his back, digging into the hard muscle, desperate to leave my mark. My teeth sink into his shoulder, biting, scratching, taking him. We’re sliding against each other, slick with sweat, the heat of the summer night making everything feel even filthier, more raw, more real.

And Bucky is falling apart.

He’s moaning, breaking, unraveling against me, the sounds deep and ragged, each one rougher than the last. If I didn’t know better—if I didn’t know how utterly overwhelmed with pleasure he is—I’d think he was in pure agony from the helpless little cries slipping from his lips.

“Tell me I’m good for you,” he whispers, almost afraid to ask, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

“You’re such a good boy for me, Bucky.” 

The words fall from my lips like a promise, and fuck, the sharp, broken gasp he lets out shreds me to pieces. It’s high and desperate, so fucking needy, and it goes straight to my core.

He kisses me, hard and possessive.

“I’ve been waiting…” His voice is unraveling, barely understandable.

”… for so fucking long.”

Then suddenly—

Thrust.

“And you—”

Thrust.

“Feel—”

Thrust.

“So—”

Thrust.

“Good.”

His voice rasps in pure, guttural pleasure. I’m nothing but a puddle beneath him, completely ruined, and somehow, he’s not finished.

His rhythm snaps, his thrusts turning harder, rougher, deeper, more possessive.

“Mine,” he snarls, his voice low, primal. He slams into me, hard, forcing me to take it.

“Mine, you understand?”

I can’t speak. Can’t think. There’s no rational thought left, no words, just pure, consuming pleasure. So instead, I match his pace, my hips rolling up to meet every devastating thrust. The way his words set me on fire, I let the flames consume me. My orgasm builds dangerously fast, and I’m hanging by a fucking thread, barely holding on under the brutal precision of his movements.

“Bucky—God—”

His name falls from my lips like a prayer, breathless and desperate.

“I’m—”

Judging by his increased pace, he knows exactly what I'm trying to say. He lifts himself, just enough to look me in the eyes, and I’m trying so hard not to let my eyes roll back, not to completely lose myself in him.

“Please.”

His voice shatters, breaking apart in my ear, pleading.

“Please cum on my cock. Please, baby, please—”

This is all I need to spiral. The coil inside me snaps violently, my entire body arching, shattering as a scream tears from my throat. I crash into pleasure, drowning in it, my walls clenching tight around him, milking him, pulling him deeper.

“Oh, fuck—” Bucky’s voice breaks, his hips stuttering, his rhythm completely unraveling as he feels me fall apart around him.

“That’s it—fuck—that’s my girl.”

His praise sends a violent aftershock through me, my body trembling, shaking, completely spent. I gasp for air, trying to regulate myself after the most devastating orgasm of my life, but I don't stand a chance. Bucky's not finished, not yet.

“I—I can’t—”

Bucky’s voice isn’t even human anymore. It’s a shattered, breathless little whimper, choked between desperate gasps, his body trembling like he’s about to break. His hips falter, his cock twitching so agressively inside me I swear I can feel it in my throat.

But he won’t let go. Not yet.

Not without permission.

“Please—”

The word falls apart in his throat, barely even understandable.

“Please, baby, please—please let me cum, I need it, I need you, I can’t hold it, I can’t—”

He’s whining, his breath is gone, his voice is gone, his body is gone; he is completely, utterly mine.

“Release it, baby.” My fingers tighten in his hair, dragging him deeper inside me. “Be a good boy and give it to me.”

And that’s it; he doesn’t just fall apart—he disintegrates.

His hips slam forward, burying himself so fucking deep inside me, holding us together, his muscles locking up, convulsing. And if this wasn't enough, he whimpers.

“Ohhh—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

His cock twitches and throbs uncontrollably, and I feel everything. The first violent, overwhelming pulse. The hot, thick flood of him spilling deep inside me. His hips keep jerking, his muscles keep locking up, his whimpers keep breaking apart into desperate, breathless sobs.

“Baby, baby—please, please, oh my God, I—I can’t—”

His hands claw at my waist, face burrowed into my neck, his breath a gasping mess. His voice cracks, completely breaking apart, and then a single, desperate sob escapes from him.

He cries. Bucky Barnes cries when he cums.

His body shakes uncontrollably, his hips rocking forward on their own, like he’s trying to push it even deeper, like he’s chasing something he’ll never be able to reach.

“Baby, baby—please hold me, please—fuck, I love you, I love you so much—”

His voice is cracking, completely gone, and I gasp as I feel another orgasm building inside me. Another slow, rolling wave, ignited by his moans, his desperate little whimpers, the way he’s still trembling inside me.

“Bucky—oh, fuck—”

The second he realizes what’s happening, it destroys him all over again.

“Baby, you’re gonna— Fuck, fuck, fuck—please, baby, please—”

His hips snap forward as a last burst of desperate energy, his hands gripping my waist so tightly I feel the bruises forming.

“Oh, baby—please, please cum on my cock again, I wanna feel it—please, baby, please, please—”

The filth of it, the raw need in his voice immedately shatters me. I scream his name, my body convulsing around him, my walls tightening, pulsing, taking him deeper, squeezing him so hard he sobs.

“Oh—oh fuck, baby, I’m still cumming—”

His cock throbs again, another weak, helpless little spill, and he whimpers so high and wrecked he sounds like he’s dying.

“I can’t stop—baby, I can’t stop, I can’t stop—”

His breath is gone, tears spilling onto my skin, his voice a trembling, begging mess, pleading for the final release. Not a moment later, he collapses.

His body slumps into mine; arms useless, his breathing erratic and broken. His tears still fall, his entire body shivering, overstimulated, still whimpering, still sobbing.

He’s still inside me, throbbing. Utterly gone from this world.

His hands stay locked firmly around me, fingers clutching, shaking, gripping, like he’ll die if I let go. And on top of that, he just won't stop crying. Soft, helpless little sobs hide into my skin, as he's holding onto me for dear life.

“Baby,” he whispers, his voice so broken and small.

“Baby, please don’t let go—please don’t go.”

My heart shatters to a million pieces in a matter of seconds. It becomes evidently clear that he's not here right now. He’s somewhere else, somewhere dark, somewhere cold, somewhere where he had nothing and no one. I feel it in the way he clings to me and his hands shake as they grip my waist. The way his face tucks into my throat, burrowing, searching, nuzzling like he’s trying to disappear into me; like he’s afraid this isn’t real.

"Shhh, Bucky,” I murmur, kissing his damp temple. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Even though I wanted my words to soothe him, he breaks even more instead. His breath catches on a sob, his entire body curling into me, fingers fisting in the sheets, in my hair, in anything he can hold onto. 

“You’re so good to me,” he gasps, his voice shaking. “So perfect, so soft, I—fuck, I don’t deserve this—”

His lips quiver against my skin, hands tightening around me, pulling me closer. The realization that he’s not just crying from overstimulation, hits me like a brick. He’s crying because he’s never felt this before.

Never felt this safe. Never felt this loved. Never felt this cherished, taken care of. 

“Bucky,” I whisper, cupping his tear-streaked face, making him look at me.

His blue eyes are glassy and vulnerable, still wet with tears. God, he looks so much younger like this. Like a little boy, back in the ‘40s, nineteen years old, held too many responsibilities, never got held in return.

I immediately want to fix every bad thing that's ever happened to him.

“You deserve all of this, my sweet boy,” I whisper, pressing my lips to his forehead. “You deserve every single second of love. You deserve to be taken care of.”

He lets out a tiny little sob that slits my heart in half, like a butcher knife.

“But I—” His voice cracks, his fingers digging into my waist. “I don’t—I don’t know how to do this. I don’t—”

His breath hitches, his chest rising, falling too fast. I know him enough to realize he’s panicking, his brain is fighting him, pushing against the comfort, trying to tell him he doesn’t deserve this.

I also know how to shut it down. I pull him into me, wrap my arms so tightly around him that he has no choice but to believe that this is real. I'm real.

“It’s okay, baby,” I say gently, stroking his hair, feeling his body relax against mine. “You don’t have to know how. Just let me love you.”

He immediately eases into me, his breath slowing, his shaking finally dying down. He doesn't know, but he's holding my own broken pieces together too, since I've never felt a love so consuming before. 

“If I fall asleep,” he whispers, as if he is about to say something unthinkable, “will you be here when I wake up?”

My dear God. 

"Of course, Bucky. I'll be right here, always," I promise, my voice firm, not leaving any space for doubts in his broken mind.

He buries his face into my neck as an answer, and with that, Bucky Barnes is fast asleep in my arms.

[stormblessed95]

Tbh I'm a jikooker, but I find it incredibly difficult to fit a healthy long-term relationship into the same timeline as all of jimin's solo work. It's not the pronouns or taking one lyric very literally, its the entire thing, plus comments from him and his producers. To me, you'd have to do some serious olympic level mental gymnastics to make that make sense. I don't doubt that jikook have a special bond, I've definitely seen things between them that definitely look like sexual attraction to me and things that surpass friendship boundaries, but I can't in good faith say that they're together in some official long-term way if I actually listen to jimin and his work.

I've seen some jikookers think they broke up for a while, but I have to question if those people have ever been through a breakup because the little bit of distance/separation/awkwardness we did see from them during chapter 2 is nothing compared to the type of tension that would be there if a relationship that intimate and intertwined had separated, especially considering the dark feelings jimin was feeling. He wouldn't have been cutely commenting on jungkook's lives and jungkook wouldn't have been asking to hang-out or getting excited to see jimin in his comments.

Idk, I'm sure someone could twist everything a certain way and only take certain things at face-value and then make everything else abstract, etc. to make the case that they are together, but I don't really see it. You look at face-off, alone, and just his general dark feelings during Face, then look at the creation of Muse and how him and his producers said he couldn't relate to the love-dovey beginning songs, which is how they ended up making Who (despite the fact that jikookers try to distance him from the song since he doesn't have writing credits even though he sat in the recording room telling them what he wanted and saying it felt like reading his diary). I think jimin could have very well gone through a pretty awful breakup along with the inner turmoil he was going through post-covid, but I don't think it was with jungkook if he did. I still enjoy jikook's bond either way at the end of the day, but yeah I don't really get how anyone can take an honest look at jimin's work and his words and think he was in a long-term healthy love-of-his-life relationship during that time or into chapter 2.

Not trying to change your opinion or anything, honestly I don't really see it discussed much in jikooker spaces (besides bad-faith stuff like tkkers stirring up shit over pronouns in lyrics which is just dumb) and when it is, some jikookers are pretty pick-and-choose about what they deem to be true to jimin's feelings and what isn't. Which I get being nuanced, but sometimes it does feel like a "well this fits my beliefs so clearly this is true to jimin and this doesn't so it means nothing because he didn't write it" or whatever. I honestly get annoyed with the bad-faith arguers because it prevents being able to have actual discussions about some of this stuff in our little jikooker corner of tumblr. Like "he said her, he's clearly straight! he danced with a girl, straight!" stfu.

All of this is just like okay fine whatever. Here is your platform for these opinions. You don't really want me or my thoughts, you want my platform and my validation. Here ya go. (Mostly a general you here for all the asks I get in a similar nature to this, sorry)

I'm really only posting this because I'm tired as fuck of people going just look at face off, alone, all his dark feelings, how could he be in a happy lovey dovey healthy long term relationship? Which I'm paraphrasing anon, I know, but this was the gist of your point in that section.

When I'm living breathing proof that it's possible.

Personal time: I have the best partner in the world. I love him with my whole being. I have been with him since I was a teenager. We have gone through all sorts of changes and self discovery together. I also STILL occasionally struggle with self harm and wanting to kill myself. In fact, the only reason I'm still alive and not actively TRYING to off myself is because I don't want to traumatize my children and husband. I have crippling depression. I related to some of those darker feelings from FACE immensely. So you are inadvertently invalidating my own relationship by saying this, which I do kinda take offense to. And anyone who struggles with their mental health, all their relationships too.

So that's all. I just really needed at least one person to realize what an unfair and unnuanced take that part is. Everything else, sure. Agree to disagree friend. I'm all for it. You think Jimin is single but still love Jikooks bond, that's literally all I care about and I can coexist with you happily in a Jikook/bts bubble. 💜

(sorry this maybe got dark and triggering. I promise I'm working on dealing with my shit)

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer rubbed his face, he's at a complete loss. He knew he went about it all wrong with Adam, but he's never felt this way about someone before! Even Lilith!

But he needed to show Adam that he was sorry. He came HERE for Lucifer, and what did he do? Belittle him. Make fun of something traumatic, thinking it happened in Eden.

He had no idea Adam was dealing with a manager that was doing that.

As Lucifer sat in silence, he really thought back to the only time he saw his manager. That first day, he saw Adam after the extermination.

They were... he teleported in on them. That's when Lucifer hurt Adam. While he was getting hurt by his manager, Lucifer started to-.

The king covered his mouth. He's an idiot. Worse, he's a monster. He left Adam to be...

Lucifer: F-Fuck... fuck. Shit... I'm such... a fucking fool.

He can't let Adam leave like this. He can't let him return to Pride. He can't lose him again.

Lucifer: I-I need- I need to apologize.

-

Adam tried to quickly pack his bags, but all he wanted to do was cry. Why did he keep doing this to himself? Why does he keep trusting Lucifer? Expecting him to change when all he does is let him down?

Collapsing on the bed, Adam put his head in his hands and wrapped his tail around his legs.

After a few minutes, Adam jumped when he heard a knock at the door: Y-Yeah?

Lucifer: Adam? It's me- I know you probably don't want to see me, but I... fuck, I want to apologize.

Adam was silent for a moment. Each second that passed made Lucifer nervous. Just when he was about to head back to his room, Adam's door opened.

Adam: It better be good, Lucifer. Because you have no idea how done I am with you.

Lucifer smiled softly: I know, I... I want to make this right. Right by you. I... I'm so sorry, Adam. For what I said. And... so many other things. What I did at your home... that was... sick. And selfish. And so, so wrong. Fuck, even in your dressing room, I... should have stopped him. But I left you with him... I-I... had an idea of what he was doing- I was just so angry. Beyond angry! But that's no excuse. I shouldn't have hurt you that day, or at your home... and... I should have granted you permission to go to Earth... I'm so so sorry, Adam.

Adam: ...I didn't expect you to help me thag day. In my dressing room. I did hope... but I knew you wouldn't... I... fuck... I don't know if I can forgive you. Ever. There's just... s-so much...

Lucifer nodded: I don't expect you to forgive me. There's so much I have to apologise for... I... all I ask for is time to apologise properly... and prove myself to you.

Adam stared at the king, looking for any sign of a lie: ...Okay... but, I don't want to get hurt again, Lucifer.

Lucifer: I know! I know... but please, please stay. I... everyone likes you. So much... even that Bambi.

Adam chuckled: Yeah... these guys aren't bad... and your kid is something else. That's for use... okay. Fine. I'll stay.

Lucifer smiled widely. He even thanked his father for this slice of mercy.

He had so much to prove to Adam. And his daughter, she saw how he acted and heard what he said.

Lucifer: Thank you, Adam. Really, I... I won't let you down. Not again.

Succubus au

@beef-brisket

@fanofstuff01

(This au was originally on @things-aren't-what-they-seem66blog and was originally thought of by an anonymous ask)

The roaring of the crowd and the playing of his guitar deafened his ears but the incubus didn't care. He loved the way they cheered his name while he shredded on his axe. With one final strum, his song was done. He raised his arms and gave the horns, to which his fans reciprocated, and bid them all goodnight. He walked away his hands still raised until he was out of sight from them. Adam sighed heavily and wiped the sweat with his forearm as he made his way to his dressing room.

Once there he flopped onto the couch and groaned. Though Adam loved being a rockstar and having adoring fans, he wouldn't lie to himself, each performance, especially concerts, can be quite draining since he always had to prepare with mic checks and making sure he sounded right. Steve, his producer/manager/on-and-off-again fling, always assured him that these were mandatory. Just one of those sacrifices that come with being a star. Still, Adam felt a little like shit and he needed a drink, a hard one. Unfortunately, his evening wasn't quite over yet as knocking was heard from the other side of the door then a voice called out.

Assistant: Excuse me? Commander? I'm sorry for bothering you but I brought the VIP guests here with me.

Adam sighed completely forgetting about that. Almost all VIPs get access to meet him after every show. Though he loved his fans coming to him and saying how much they loved him, maybe even getting some head from the older crowd, tonight, he didn't want to. However, he knew that he didn't have much of a choice. Unless he wanted Steve up his ass, and not in a good way. Letting out a long groan he sat up, rubbed his eyes, and yelled out to her.

Adam: Bring them in.

He closed his eyes and sighed once again as he heard the door open and feet shuffle in. He prepared himself for the immediate responses of squealing and clamoring over to shake his hand. However, he was not prepared for a familiar voice to call out his name.

Charlie: A, Adam?

He opened his eyes and standing in front of him were Charlie, Vaggie, and a one-eyed sinner.

[rainebelowzero]

kurt brainrot is real!!! may i request something with like friends to lovers i guess? kurt wants reader and is really awkward and cringe and whiny and freaky :p post-op trans reader?! love ur stuff dude ur so cool!!

Down bad Kurt Kunkle x Trans Male Reader (long ass title sorry)

notes: thank you! Sorry this took so long :') also I agree, I've had Kurt brainrot since like 2022. I have like three requests I'm working on so expect those some time soon (for real this time 🙏), also one of them is my first Eddie request so yippee 🥳🥳🥳 the other two are Kurt so I'm gonna work on them today, at least one might be out by tonight??? It's like almost 11am for me so probably earlier than that

♡ Kurt is a freak, car sex (kinda?), trans reader, spit, mention of choking, mention of slapping, sorta mild masochism (??), making him eat his own cum, premature ejaculation, reader asks him out at the end awww ♡

You often went on rides with Kurt, fucking around while he works. Sometimes people complain about the fact that there's another person in his car when they get picked up, but usually they don't really care, and it was an interesting experience to see all kinds of people from Azusa. Plus, Kurt loved having you around, and you usually get free food out of it.

He really, really liked you. In a way that wasn't completely normal. You mostly saw it as him just being awkward, especially with the way that a lot of the time after you touched him, he'd get all fidgety. You weren't stupid, you knew damn well. It was just fun to tease him. What you didn't know about though, were the more secretive things he was doing, like stealing your things when you weren't looking, or jerking off every time you posted on your close friends story on Instagram.

It drove him insane, every little touch, every look, he spent hours getting off to a picture of your body after your top surgery healed, he was obsessed. He tried to brag around you, do that thing guys did when they would talk about other people they “liked” to make the real person they like jealous. You knew it was bullshit, and after getting no reaction from you, he kind of just stopped doing it. And the amount of times he almost drove straight off the road because he was looking at you were way too many.

It was just a normal day of your usual routine, sitting in his car. It was a hot day, and you had taken off your jacket, sweating. Kurt's A/C was broken, so it was actual torture. Not for Kurt though. No, he was very much enjoying the sight of you. At some point, it became unbearable, and you, being more horny than usual, wanted Kurt. He was pretty cute. And you ended up on top of him, basically every single fantasy Kurt has ever had since he met you.

Kurt watches you with almost wide eyes, and if he were in a cartoon, there'd be little hearts in them as you straddle his waist, finding the most comfortable way to do that without hitting your head on the ceiling of his car interior. It's a little difficult, considering you were two grown men, but you made it work, your hands cupping the man's face.

His skin is warm, face flushed as he stares up at you, barely breathing. You lean down, catching his lips in yours. His movements are uncoordinated, inexperienced, but you don't care, you hold his head in place as you stay against him. You pull away slightly, still close enough to feel each other's breaths, and Kurt's hand snakes up, pressing against your chest. He pulls it away as fast as it settles there.

“Sorry.” He says softly, but you catch his wrist, holding his hand against yourself back in place.

“It's okay.” You respond, voice low. His fingers grip your shirt gently while you lean back down, kissing him again. His lips part slightly, and you grip his jaw, not too hard, but enough to hold him in place. His eyes follow you curiously, and as you lean over him, you urge him to open up.

He opens his mouth a little more, sticking his tongue out a little, and you spit right into his mouth. He lets out a sound, a low groan that almost turns into a desperate whine as he swallows it, some of it dripping down his chin before he can lick it away. You kiss him again, sloppily as your hands roam his body and he tightly grips the front of your shirt.

He can't believe this is happening. He had been into you for almost your entire friendship, and now you were feeling up on him and your tongue was in his mouth. You can feel his erection beneath you, and he whimpers every time you move around in his lap. You do it a few times on purpose, teasing him while you tangle a hand in his hair. When you pull away, he stares up at you, eyes fully entranced in your features as he pants, trying to catch his breath.

It's taking literally every shred of self control for Kurt to not immediately cum in his pants. He's straining hard against his jeans, and he was definitely going to jerk off to this memory later with the shirt he stole from you the last time he went over to your place.

You run your hands down his chest, and he can't help but admire your hands. He wants them around his throat, like that one time he tried to choke himself (it didn't work out). You'd know how to do it, he thinks. You'd wrap those perfect fingers around his throat, squeezing in a way to make Kurt so deliciously close to passing out, just to let him breathe at the last second.

He thinks about letting you slap him around, though he'd really let you do anything to him. Anything you wanted, he'd say yes in an instant. He's probably jerked off to worse.

Your hands meet his belt, and you get his pants down, pulling his hard cock out. He's leaking like crazy, so much you kind of think he already came, but he bucks his hips up when you touch him, the best he can with you in his lap. He doesn't really know what to do with his hands, but he's happy when you don't disapprove of him snaking his hands under your shirt. His fingers run over your scars, before he suddenly gasps loudly. You press the nail of your thumb against the head of his dick, and it hurts so good, making Kurt squirm under you.

He whines, and with about three or four quick pumps, accompanied by slick precum covering your hand and his cock, he's thrashing underneath you, panting and whining as ropes of cum shoot up into his stomach and over your hand. It takes you by surprise, and you both kind of stare at each other as soon as Kurt comes down from the high and realizes what happened.

“I-I…that’s never happened before.” He chokes out, very embarrassed, though the humiliation kind of makes him a little harder. You console him, and a small part of Kurt was wishing you'd degrade him for it, but that's for another time.

Instead, you swipe your fingers against the man's shirt, collecting some of his cum. He gulps as you raise your hand to his mouth. “Aren't you gonna help me clean up?” You say, and it almost makes Kurt cum again on the spot.

He hesitantly sticks his tongue out, dragging it across your fingers before you shove both of them into his mouth. He moans softly, before lapping up his mess, cleaning off your hands. He can't handle it without whining, his cock twitching and throbbing with need, purely getting off on the image of you feeding him his own cum.

When he finishes, you wipe your hand off on your shirt, kissing him again and sliding back into your seat. Kurt fixes his appearance,and the drive to drop you off is mostly silent, though Kurt keeps looking away from the road to glance at you. When you get there, he looks away, something nagging at him.

“Do- should..we just forget about that?” He asks. He wouldn't be able to, no matter what.

You shrug. “We should go on a real date sometime.” You say, kissing his cheek and then getting out of the car.

He's instantly rock hard again.

[fayes-fics]

The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 3

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (future chapters), Modern AU

Chapter Summary: Boxing Day with the Bridgertons.

Warnings: not much, really… brief mentions of parental deaths.

Word Count: 3.0k

Author’s Note: The Bridgertons rope reader into their Boxing Day plans. For those wondering, Benedict turns up next chapter :) Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for beta reading. Enjoy! <3

As you go to leave Anthony’s hospital room, his family are all arriving again.

“Y/n! Hi! We didn't know you were here,” Violet bustles up to you and gives you a quick hug, already treating you like one of the family. “Were you here all night?” She doesn't wait for your answer, instead tugging you back into the room. “So, how's my darling son?”

“Oh, well, he's got more colour.” you attempt a platitude, eyeing up the doorway wistfully. 

Your plan to escape - to be an apocryphal family tale - is not exactly going as you planned.

“Oh yes!” she agrees happily, brushing his cheek affectionately with the back of her hand and then fussing with a lock of his hair—the very picture of a doting mother. 

“I have to go, but it was lovely seeing you again,” you excuse, edging away.

“Tell her…” Marcus elbows Violet gently. “Go on.”

“So…” Violet begins, looking a little sheepish. “We didn't get to celebrate Christmas yesterday as planned, so we thought, now we know Anthony’s prognosis looks good, we would do so tonight. A day late, but still. And we thought… well, it would be nice if you could join us,” she rushes out, grabbing both of your hands. “ You are to be family soon after all!”

You stumble a few umms and ahs before Hyacinth pipes up: “Benedict is going to be there!”

“Oh, yes! That's right!” Violet brightens immediately. “You haven't met him yet?” 

“Nope…”  you confirm, having absolutely no clue who that could be. Seriously, could this family be any bigger?

“Oh, he'll be so happy to meet you!” Violet grins, and something about that makes you feel an odd flutter in your chest. “So you'll come? Tonight?” She looks so hopeful you feel bad saying no.

“I have to work until 7pm...”

“Come afterwards,” she insists. “We won't be eating until late. Give Hyacinth your mobile number. And I will call until you say yes….” She smiles, and you are uncertain how much of that is a jest.

Still, you feel unable to give them the wrong number. So, with a sigh, you take Hyacinth's proffered iPhone, the latest model you notice, and reluctantly punch it in.

Well, how the fuck am I going to get out of this one?!

—

You are waiting for the lift to take you down to the street when an orderly flags you down, holding out a large plastic bag for you to take.

“What? What is this?” you query, confused and tired, just wanting to get home and grab two hours of sleep before you have to go to work.

“These are your husband's things, Mrs Bridgerton.”

Something drops hard in your stomach at the word husband. You are glad you have finally learned his last name even as you grouse in frustration: “He's not my husband!”

“I'm sorry. Your fiancee,” the orderly corrects, shoving the bag into your hand and walking away as the lift sweeps open next to you.

“Uh, you're Anthony's fiancee?” The query comes from a tall man in a suit.

“Okay. Yep. Fine,” you shrug, defeated.

“Fife. Alastair Fife. Colleague of Anthony's,” he introduces, with the air of a man expecting you to be impressed somehow.

“l have to go…” You attempt to get into the lift he just exited, but he blocks you.

“Can't believe this has happened. Ant’s had a shit year. What with the accident in September….”

“Accident?” you frown.

“Well, of course, it was an accident!” He blusters, then seems to get agitated. “Wait… Did he tell you it was my fault?! The fucking cheek…” 

He pauses to run a harried hand through his hair, then launches into a diatribe before you can even protest. 

“Look, here’s the real story…. we're playing doubles down in Roehampton. l had an Apple pencil in my back pocket, but I swear I didn't know it was there. I’m always losing those blasted things. Anyway, I crouch, and Ant jumps high to hit a crosscourt smash….”

You sigh, watching the lift doors sweep shut, resigning yourself to a story you know you are going to have to endure from this rather twitchy man.

Great, juuuuust great.

—

Two hours of sleep is definitely not enough to face the insanity of Boxing Day crowds piling into London to shop the sales. And then, of course, demanding coffee from you. Everyone is back on shift today but still, fully staffed; you can barely keep up with the queue, which is out of the door at times.

“I need a new place,” Prue laments at some point during the afternoon. “Me and Phillipa simply CANNOT live with Mum anymore. It's just too much….”

“The flat above mine is free,” you report as your phone pings yet again. “I mean, it's in the attic, so it's a bit small, and the landlord is… a character, but I think it's a two bed….”

“OMG, give me the details!” she demands as Gen wanders over.

You check the message, and it's Hyacinth. This time, with a pin drop to their house and a bunch of champagne and fire emojis.

“Ladies, this isn’t the time to be slacking,” Gen chastises gently, nodding to the queue.

Prue pouts but goes back to the till as Gen hovers while you wash out the smoothie maker. 

“So…. your phone is blowing up. How goes it?” She wheedles, asking for even more information than you have already given her over text and during your shift today.

You groan and drop the scrubber. “I’m fucked. They think I'm their future daughter-in-law!”

She chuckles heartily, and you throw her a side stink eye. 

“The grandad? He's got this heart thing. If l tell the truth, he will die. I'm not a murderer, Gen!”

“Well, then, go along with it,” she suggests, her schadenfreude almost gleeful. “Look, when he wakes up, they’ll be so happy they won't care you told some porkies. They'll probably even thank you for it, mate.”

You scoff at that. “And what if he doesn't come out of it?”

“Morbid,” she contends, then just shrugs. “Could be worse. When Henry’s mum found out I was pregnant? Her fucking intestines exploded.”

Edie whips around from manning the espresso machine and narrows her eyes at Gen. “I thought you said she shat herself?”

“Meh… po-tay-to, po-tahh-oh”: Gen fires back.

You sigh. “You fuckers are no help….”

—

You check your phone five times, looking down at the screen and then back up, certain that despite your little blue dot hovering over the pin Hyacinth sent, it can't be the right place.

This cannot be their home. That would be ridiculous. 

It's a mansion in Mayfair. It looks more like a fancy consulate building than a residence. 

Just as you go to text Hyacinth a ‘Haha, very funny’, Agatha materialises at your side for a second time. 

“Y/n, you made it!” She greets with a knowing smile.

“Agatha! Hello! So I am in the right place?!” 

“Indeed,” she confirms, tapping open an old-fashioned cigarette case as you stare up again at the handsome building, belatedly realising you haven't done your usual Googling of someone as soon as you learn their name. But then, it's not exactly been a typical 36 hours. 

“So the family owns this? All of it?” You ask, secretly hoping that maybe they just have a flat inside or something.

She laughs. “Yes, dear. The Bridgertons are… not exactly wanting for money,” she attests in what is clearly a classic understatement.

“But they seem so nice, normal,” you mutter rhetorically, a knot forming in your stomach, suddenly feeling way out of your depth.

Agatha just chuckles again, and flicks open a lighter. “Keep me company for a while? l don't like to smoke in their house.” 

She signals to a seat inside the gates, and you follow her after she punches in a code to gain access.

“I’m trying to quit,” she breezes, offering you one silently from her case, but you shake your head. “Did you know that I was Anthony's godmother?” she queries, exhaling a swirl of smoke. 

“I did not,” you concede. “It must be nice to be around family at this time of year…” Your mien is likely wistful, for she twists to look at you with piqued curiosity.

“You have no family?”

“I'm an only child, just like my parents. I don't remember my Mum; she died when I was just three,” you shrug matter-of-factly. “It was just me and Dad. Then, four years ago, he got ill. Eventually, he sold the house in Bath and moved in with me in London to be closer to Guys Hospital for treatment. I had to give up working my old job to look after him in the end. But about a year ago, he went too.” You conclude—an economical but truthful potted history of your life. 

There are a few moments of silence, just the constant swish and drone of London traffic, as Agatha shoots you a look of sympathy, tapping to discard some ash.

“My husband died when I was relatively young,” she volunteers. “But Violet was, and always has been, my rock.”

“You are friends from long ago?” 

“Oh yes. We go back a long way, my dear. Longer than she even knows….” she pauses to take another drag, then fixes you with a pointed, almost intimidating look. “Y/n, the Bridgertons, you should know I consider them my family. I'd never let anyone hurt them.”

It sounds like a warning, but for some reason also an invitation.

“Neither would l,” you confess honestly, a gust of light wind catching your hair that you have to tuck behind your ear.

Agatha observes you pointedly for a beat, then seems satisfied with whatever she finds.

“l believe you wouldn't,” she opines, stubbing out her cigarette.

—

When the door to Bridgerton House sweeps open, your jaw drops. Somehow, even magnificent seems somewhat inadequate as a descriptor. The grand hallway is bedecked in heavy garlands festooned with lights, a Christmas tree almost as tall as the building you live in taking pride of place. Everywhere you look is tasteful Christmas decor, and among it antique furniture, glittering chandeliers and oil paintings of what looks to be the family antecedents.

The poinsettia from M&S you clutch seems entirely pointless now, and part of you wants just to hide it, but you don't have time. While a friendly-looking man takes your coat, the gaggle of Bridgertons descend upon you. Violet takes the plant from you with profuse thanks as they all crowd around, talking over each other excitedly in the manner you are almost used to now. All dressed up in novelty jumpers, which is a relief. A setting this grand seems more black-tie, but that would leave you woefully undressed in the simple skirt and jumper you wear.

Before you quite know what has happened, you are swept into a dining room, where a glass of bubbly is pushed into your hand. 

“That’s so you don't have to take any of my dear father's mulled wine,”  Violet murmurs before sweeping away.

“It can cause temporary blindness,” Agatha adds under her breath, nodding sagely in a way that suggests there could be some truth behind what you hope is a jest.

You tilt your glass in a gesture of thanks for the forewarning and take a seat in front of the place setting with your name upon it, trying not to feel overwhelmed. You thought this might be a little gathering around a kitchen table in a modest family home; this is a long way from that.

Staff from a catering company bustle in, placing platters down the middle of the long table as Violet taps a fork against her glass and stands up, a rare hush falling over the table.

“I am glad we get to celebrate today as a family. Our thoughts are, of course, with darling Anthony for his hopefully speedy recovery, but I am so happy the soon-to-be-newest member of our family can be here." You feel all eyes turn to you, smiling, a lump in your throat as she continues. “It's so wonderful you came to join us, y/n; the first of many celebrations we shall be happy to have you at!”

“Here, here!” Marcus cheers, tilting his glass in your direction.

“So here is to family, new and old, blood and found,” she smiles at Agatha and Marcus. “Happy Christmas!”

Everyone clinks glasses, and there is a round of festive greetings before people start getting stuck in—platters being passed around the table as pockets of conversation break out. However, you can't help but notice significant gaps between the chairs and spares pushed against the walls off to the side of the room. Violet, ever watchful, notices and leans over. 

“I'm afraid we are rather reduced in number today. You will likely only encounter less than half of my errant offspring. In fact, just three of the eight.”

“Eight?” your eyes go wide, almost spitting out the bite of warm bread roll you had just popped in your mouth.

“Anthony did not tell you?” She looks momentarily confused. Luckily, you don't have to provide cover as she soon continues: “Well, they are scattered around the globe, and I did not want to ruin their Christmas by telling them about Anthony. I don’t want them flying back, especially now we know he should be okay. My son Colin is off travelling in the Costa Rican jungle, and my daughter Eloise decided to tag along. I think mostly to annoy him, to be honest. My musical daughter Fran is at Julliard in New York City. My eldest daughter Daphne is in Dubai…”

“I thought they were in Singapore?” Hyacinth pipes up.

“I thought Tokyo?” Gregory counters with a knitted brow.

“My son-in-law Simon, her husband, has many business interests; they do tend to zip around the globe a great deal,” Violet discloses.

“So Gregory and & Hyacinth are here…” you nod to them as they grin back. “Who’s the third you’re expecting?”

“Benedict. My second eldest.” You recall the name from earlier and Violet seems to light up in a way that suggests she might have a favourite, even if she may never admit it out loud. “Although he texted his train from Edinburgh was cancelled, so unfortunately, I don't think he’ll be here in time for dinner. But he will be later. You can meet him in the morning, if not before.” She smiles.

“In the morning? I-I-I was not expecting to stay…”

While you had left out enough food to last Chairman Meow a day, you are certain he won’t appreciate another night left all alone.

“Oh, of course you shall!” Violet contests congenially. “And if you have any of the mulled wine, you likely won’t have a choice,” she chortles, and again, you feel yourself ill-equipped to disappoint this lovely woman.

And so the meal progresses with lively conversation, stories of old being regaled to you as you relax a notch. Even though they are obviously very wealthy, there is something so warm and genuine about the Bridgertons, and you can't help but feel a glow that isn’t entirely attributable to your second glass of fizz.

After dinner, with a brief stop by the hallway tree where you are reluctantly pulled into a family group photo, you all decamp to a large living room. A fireplace is roaring, and Christmas music is playing softly from hidden speakers as you gather on a clutch of comfortable sofas, forming a U-shape. Everyone is still wearing their novelty paper crowns from the crackers you all pulled at dessert. Well, with the exception of Victor, who wears two, claiming it is his right as the oldest.

“It's presents time!” Hyacinth trills, excitedly diving into the pile under yet another beautiful tree.

You are happy just to sit back and observe, so you are surprised when she and Gregory smirk as they drop one in your lap.

“To y/n, with love from Santa,” they wink.

Your mouth goes dry, and you don't know what to say. 

“Don't worry, dear. We don't buy fancy gifts,” Violet pipes up. “It's just for fun,” she reassures as Victor rips open his gift: novelty socks that start playing an obnoxious tune and flashing gaudily.

“Oh ho ho,  I’ll have fun wearing these to church on Sunday,” he guffaws.

“You’ll do no such thing,” Agatha chides affectionately.

As Gregory and Hyacinth pull focus with their gifts, you open yours quietly. An odd wave of emotion at a lovely picture frame containing what is obviously a photo of a teenage Anthony smiling handsomely, holding what looks like a sporting trophy of some kind. You look up to see Violet smiling benevolently at you as Marcus pulls her in for a temple kiss for the embossed golf tees she has given him. 

“That’s Anthony’s favourite photo of himself,” Violet explains. “I thought you would enjoy having a copy for your home together.”

Maybe the third (fourth?) glass of champagne isn't helping, but there’s a bittersweet pang in your chest. Feeling awful the longer the misunderstanding continues, especially with how lovely this all is. Still, you just don't have it in you to admit the truth right now and ruin their Boxing Day after their Christmas was so royally fucked. There is something so irresistible about this lovely, chaotic family and how they have welcomed you with such open arms. It's like a festive hug you don't want to leave. 

And that’s without you even noticing that hung at the end of the mantle, next to Anthony’s, is a simple red stocking with your name emblazoned upon it. Good thing, too. You’d probably ugly cry into your Moet, and that would be a real waste. 

—

Unbeknownst to you all, right at that very moment, half-buried on a rubbish tip somewhere on the outskirts of London, a mobile phone screen lights up with a notification:

Merry belated, etc. LA is absolutely fab, but cutting my trip short. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking… and, okay, sure, why the fuck not? Bridgerton, you are on. l WILL marry you. Sxx

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[paracosmic-murdock]

vigilante like me

chapter six: the skeletons in both our closets plotted hard to fuck this up

pairing: matt murdock x black widow!vigilante!reader

summary: nights and nights of playing the hero as if that could redeem you that easily ended up taking you to new york, where you accidentally met the man who would turn your world upside down. a vigilante like you.

warnings/tags: (this chapter contains smut, shower sex virginity loss, unprotected sex, minors dni) angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, injuries, violence, phd in applied flirting and ma in yearning studies, some smut (minors dni), takes place sometime during the blip, when born again comes out we might find out if my decisions of who were gone were right, spoilers/references of stuff and themes from daredevil (2015); avengers: infinity war (2018); avengers: endgame (2019) black widow (2021); and hawkeye (2021), but y'all must've watched all of those already so idc, yelena belova and the themes and events from the black widow (2021) movie are very relevant in this plot, song: cowboy like me (taylor swift)

word count: 3.3K

✰ chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five

✰ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

He left the kit on his bed and went back to you, helping you stand up and walking you to his bathroom.

“May I?”

“You don't have to do that.”

Matt chuckled. “You did this for me once, and I was in kind of a better shape than you are now. Just… allow me.”

“Okay,” you agreed, knowing he was right and that you needed to be clean so he you could patch you up and avoid infections. You were too injured and bloody and couldn't risk it. “I liked these jeans.”

“Yeah, maybe they can be ripped jeans now,” he proposed, an optimistic grin plastered on his face.

“I've learned a thing or two about fashion trends, and let me tell you: apparently, ripped jeans are completely hideous today.”

“I guess you're a well-dressed lady.”

You laughed. “When it matters, yes I am.”

“Were you well dressed today?” he asked, taking off your black sports sneakers.

“Not really,” you replied. “Nothing important going on.”

“Hey,” he called you. “I am sorry about what I said last night.”

You gave him half a smile, putting your hand on his chest. “Are you?”

“I am sorry.”

“I'm sorry too,” you apologized, surprising yourself. “I just… I've learned who you are, and I know you aren't one to give up. You were there tonight, Matt. This is something that can happen countless times because I've done pretty fucked up things. Whether I was in control of my actions or not, I did it and I can't ignore that. I don't want my shit to affect you or for me to be… measured the same way that you are.”

“It's okay, I get it,” Matt helped you take off your oversized white, blood stained t-shirt. “We both have skeletons in our closets.”

You smiled weakly, now taking off your jeans with difficulty. “I guess so.”

Then, there was silence.

Matt guided you to his shower and turned it on. The water was hot, almost too hot, so, while you waited until the temperature was just right to get under the stream, he took his clothes off too. Now, you were both in your underwear and the idea of him and you like that made your cheeks go warm.

Just like you did to him the other day, Matt washed your hair with care. It was so intimate you wanted to throw up, and he seemed to realize how the moment was affecting you but said nothing.

“Govnyuk,” you muttered when his hands touched a wound above your right breast. “It hurt.”

“Sorry,” Matt whispered. “This one is pretty bad.”

“That makes me feel better.”

He shook his head, taking your right hand in his and put it on the left side of his chest. “I have the same one. Credits to a ninja named Nobu. It was really bad, I think it makes it to the top five of my worst moments.”

You traced the shape of it with the tip of your finger and did the same with a similar one on the other side.

Matt turned around. “He did those, too.”

“They're awful,” you noted. He laughed, turning to you again.

You took his left hand and drove it to your upper right thigh. “There was a tracker here to keep me on sight. When Yelena, my friend and another Black Widow, freed me, I stabbed myself to take it out.”

“Contrary to what you might think, I can't dodge every bullet,” he explained when he drove your hand to his right bicep.

“I was in Novi Grad when Yelena found me,” you said as you put his hand on your right lower back. “I had a partner, Emilia. Our job was to make sure the big guys never forgot they were under the rules of Dreykov, the director of the Red Room. Emilia died during the infamous Battle of Sokovia; a robot shot her to death and shot me here,” you continued, then made his thumb meet the little scar on the side of your index finger. “You know, Wanda Maximoff, the Avenger, had a twin brother, Pietro. Nobody knows him or what he did, but I do. He spent three seconds taking me to a safer location, then told me he was free on Saturday for a dinner date I now owed him for saving me,” You laughed a little. “Hours later, I found out he took dozens of bullets to save Clint Barton and a little boy. Don't tell him, but I teared up a little when I found out that the guy who used to flirt with me in the market twice a week was dead. I got this one when I was peeling a plum there because I got distracted telling him that he looked ridiculous with his hair bleached. He didn't.”

“I don't even remember how I got this one,” He chuckled, showing you one on his left side. “Just another beating one night.”

“Knife training in the Red Room,” you said, showing him various scars on your abdomen, thighs, and back. “We gave each other a bunch of these when we were practicing. Or some other times, when we were forced to fight each other until there was only one left standing. I was always that one; that's why I am alive today.”

“A building fell on me,” he added as if it was nothing while showing you other scars throughout his torso and a few on his thigh. “Some guys and I were trying to defeat The Hand, an evil-”

“Oh, that was you?” You smiled, almost proudly. “Congrats on defeating them, Dreykov considered them the competition.”

“Thank you, it wasn't easy, but it's done.” he smirked, and just then you noticed how close you were.

“Here,” You cleared your throat. You rested his hand on your left breast, making unnecessary contact with most of it as the scar was almost on the valley between them. “I got in a lot of trouble in Madripoor. In Moscow,” you continued, driving his other hand to your hip, right on your underwear. “Even New Asgard, as peaceful as it seems. I used to be a mess after Yelena disappeared along with half of us.”

Matt caressed your skin as you spoke, causing goosebumps all over your body. Your brain couldn't comprehend how you were truly feeling; all you knew is that you didn't want it to end. Neither did him, as seconds later his hands went to your neck to lift your face softly. He got closer in what felt like an eternity, and finally, Matt closed the almost non-existent gap between your lips.

Your first kiss, actually.

With all that happened to you, you never considered dating or meeting anybody. You thought you weren't reluctant to the idea, but caught yourself rejecting every person that asked you out. Therefore, you have never had real dates, kissed anybody, and much less had sex.

Being in the shower with the first man that ever ignited something in you, ironically both anger and attraction, made you want it. Crave it, even.

You moaned his name when he broke the kiss and drove his lips to your neck.

“Is this okay?”

With your breath all heavy and your heart losing a race to a lioness, you nodded. “Yes. Please.”

Matt kept kissing your neck, even going lower, careful not to get close to your open wounds. His touch muted all the pain, all long forgotten, as he moaned between each little bite. “Can I take this off?”

You hummed, letting him get rid of your soaked white and bloody sports bra.

He moaned your name. “I'll take care of you.”

“Call me it,” you told him, just like an order.

“Call you what?”

“You know,” You gripped his hair. “Sweetheart.”

“Oh, sweetheart?” Matt smirked. While you couldn't see him, you felt on the skin of your breasts the shape of his lips changing. “You're driving me insane, sweetheart.”

The sole sound of that term went from offending you to making your underwear wet with more than water.

“Oh, God,” he groaned, desperate, as your scent filled his nostrils suddenly. His lips left your nipples and went south slowly, torturing himself with the lazy rhythm. “Fuck, sweetheart-”

On his way down, now on his knees, Matt's lips stumbled upon a scar right above the black lace panties he so desperately wanted to take off.

“This one-”

Matt hushed you and traced the silhouette of your scar with kisses. He ignored the origin of it, but didn't say a word. Whatever it is, he knows it's not one to take lightly. “It's okay.”

Your hands stayed in his hair, stroking it. His played with the hem of your panties. “Do it, Matt.”

He took them off in a hurry, like he was being hunted. Hunted by the despair of tasting you for once.

Now, your scent was stronger, more invasive. Matt felt himself go hard only by imagining how it would feel to eat you out. However, he began gently kissing your thighs and meeting the scars on your legs, tracing their shapes as he passed by them. Most of them were almost completely faint, which made him realize there must've been years since you first got them. Matt wondered how long you were in the Red Room and how old you were when they began to turn you into that version of yourself you wanted to erase but don't seem to be able to leave behind.

“Can I taste you?”

You frowned but nodded, trying your best not to give away the fact that you had no experience at all. Thankfully, Matt didn't seem to notice it, or at least not yet. Not when he was incredibly busy pushing you against the walls of his shower and putting your left leg on his shoulder to get a better access to you.

He was absolutely enraptured by you and had no idea how he hadn't devoured you just yet; something inside him was telling him this was a memorable moment. When will he ever get to taste you, the woman that's had him on a chokehold for numerous reasons, for the first time again? Dear God, Matt felt like he had never wanted anybody as much as he wanted you… every attempt to push him away or insult him only made him grow more attracted to you. It was like you had some sort of string tied to him and you, and each time you interacted it grew thicker but shorter. Matt could feel physically empty whenever your interactions concluded without resolving the tension of the string—which shrinks more by the second—, and it would leave a pain in his chest, one more agonizing than all of those that have left him on the verge of death altogether. Because you were killing him in a way no tangible death could ever compare.

You looked at him, seeing how his right hand caressed the skin of your thigh delicately. The tip of his fingers was so dedicated to cherishing you somehow, giving special attention to everything that would make you flawed to any other. Matt's lips kissed your inner thighs affectionately, making you wetter and hotter with every graze of his beard on your sensitive, heated complexion. His other hand was on your hip, but in the blink of an eye, the both went to your ass and groped it hard enough to leave behind residual pain in the shape of his fingers but not to the loss of intimacy. You wondered how he could make you feel that way, but your thoughts went blank when he pulled you closer to him and gave you a long, agonizing lick.

“Oh, my God!” you almost yelled, never imagining, not in a million years, that a human being could make another feel this good. He moaned at the taste of you, the sound producing small vibrations that enhanced the pleasure Matt was giving you.

His eyes went to yours while he licked and sucked your cunt that had never known such a feeling. Your eyes stayed locked on his, even when he wasn't seeing the erotic, blissed expression dancing on your face, the hunger and devotion were crystal clear on his, all for you to gaze at. Surely, you did. Knowing what you provoked in him made you even wetter, making Matt groan; it was all so sensual and indulgent that you fought the urge to ask if he would tell a priest about this in his next confession, or maybe if he enjoyed it enough to go to Hell for it without a single regret.

If Matt's sin of choice was wrath, yours might as well be lust. Now that you experienced it, you know you would never give it up; you don't really have a chance to go to Heaven nevertheless.

“Does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asked, voice smokier than usual.

“Yes, fuck,” You gripped his hair and pulled him closer to you. His cocky chuckle didn't make you wait, and, while normally it would drive you insane in a bad way, right now it was the sweetest thing on Earth, Heaven, and Hell. “Rodnoy, please.”

The sudden switch to Russian turned him on. He would be embarrassed by it if he didn't have you at his mercy right above him. “What was that, sweetheart?”

You couldn't utter a word as you felt how his middle finger joined his mouth in the quest of pleasuring you. First, it teased you as if he were making fun of you in the cruelest of ways. Then, he put in two of his fingers at once.

The feeling was strange: pain and ecstasy both, blending together and taking over your whole body. The pain seemed to be the outside effect, as with every thrust of his fingers the pain of your previous injuries awoke for a brief second. The inside effect was the ecstasy, which traveled through every inch of your body to the degree that you could feel the yearning boiling your blood, frying your brain, burning your heart. Now what you truly needed was a release for all of that, and you felt closer and closer to the edge.

Matt's other hand left your thigh, and your eyes followed its path with attention. It landed on the only piece of clothing left separating you from equality of conditions. You saw how he took it off and then his attention went back to you.

You couldn't decipher what the look in his eyes meant, he looked somehow urged and furious, and then left you unattended. You thought that maybe he didn't like it that you were inspecting his every movement. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say.

Though, seconds later, Matt stood up and searched for signs of consent. He found them in the heat of your body, completely unrelated to the stream of warm water falling from the shower head. He found them in the beat of your heart, fast enough to mock having twice as many. He found them in the new flow of arousal leaving you at the thought of you completely naked and ready to do something you were ignorant of, and the weight of intimidation at your belief of him wanting to punish you for witnessing something you shouldn't have.

But Matt kissed you, the softness and care of the beginning long forgotten as his lips captured yours, his teeth collided with your own, and his tongue craved to fill you. And sure he did.

“Matt, Matt,” you cried out his name, feeling him get inside you slowly. “God…”

They also say that the satisfaction brought the cat back.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” Matt groaned, his voice almost inaudible. “You feel so good. You taste so good… Fuck.”

“Fuck me,” you ordered, knowing how much you needed it and that you could take it. “Fuck me. Show me how much you want me.”

He pressed his forehead against yours and held you by the hips, and then obeyed you as if you had a say in his life. “I've wanted you since the moment I met you.”

“Yeah?” You felt your wounds open slightly at the brusque thrusts of him, but didn't consider stopping him, not even for a second.

“Yes,” he confirmed. The fresh smell of blood hit him. “Are you okay?”

You hummed and nodded urgently. “I'm perfect. Don't stop.”

“I have to… pull out, sweetheart,” he notified you as he realized he was about to come.

“Don't do it,” you countered, taking his hand and driving it to the large scar on your lower abdomen. “It's okay.”

Matt understood right away.

“I want you to come for me,” he said, approaching your lips to kiss you. The hand that was on your scar traveled south and drew circles on your clit. You felt yourself about to pass out. Or pass away.

Either way, what a way to die, you thought as you came undone. You screamed his name along a series of oh, God's, and found yourself shaking and sweating.

His neighbors are sick of hearing it.

Matt thought they should get used to the sound of your voice, because he wasn't planning on letting you go, even if it cost him his life and sent him straight to Hell.

Then, he came too, moaning and panting like an exhausted animal.

“Wow,” you muttered. He pulled out of you. “That was-”

He smirked. “Yeah, it was.”

“Yeah. I think I'm gonna faint in a second, though.”

“Stay strong a little more, alright? Let me clean you up.”

You nodded, and he drove you under the shower again. Matt cleaned you, making you flinch as he touched the areas he had overstimulated a minute ago.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I might lie.” you joked.

“I'll know,” he replied, knowing damn well he couldn't.

“Okay, shoot.”

“Was this your first time?”

The smallest gasp left your mouth. “What? Why are you asking me that? How would you even know that?!”

“Hey, it's just a question!” He defended himself. “You bled a little, that's how I know.”

“Well, I'm not a virgin. You're delusional.”

Matt laughed, guiding you out of the shower and putting a towel on you.

You walked to his room and once you were both sitting on his bed, Matt opened the kit and took out the tools he would need.

“Can I take you out for dinner as soon as you're a hundred percent alright?”

“Make a wish,” you told him. “I'm about to agree to a date for the first time in my life. One with you.”

He stayed silent for a few seconds. “Can I tell you my wish?”

You hummed as he began stitching the wound above your breast. “Tell me.”

“I wish for you to be a hundred percent alright as soon as possible.”

“Cute,” you noted with a smirk.

The process of him patching you up was filled with small talk and flirting. You found it ridiculous to see yourself in that situation, but you wouldn't want it any other way, to be honest.

Once he finished, he gave you one of his t-shirts and helped you put it on.

Matt left and then went back with two phones in his hand. “Save your number.”

“Aw, you want my contact in your burner phone, rodnoy?”

“I want your contact in my burner phone, yes,” he confirmed with a smile. “And what does that mean?”

You did as he asked you. “It's Russian for sweetheart.”

Matt chuckled and cupped your face. “You're cute.”

“Oh, don't you dare tell anybody, Devil.”

“I won't.” And he kissed you softly.

When you pulled away, he made you lie down on his bed and covered you with his steel blue silk bed sheets.

“Fyodor was supposed to be my friend,” you said suddenly. Matt lied right beside you, holding you close. “But he drugged me and then left me at the mercy of a man who wanted to avenge the person who stood there forcing me to kill my friends when I was a little girl in the Red Room. That's what happened tonight.”

He felt like he had never been so consumed by wrath in his entire life.

[beef-brisket]

Lucifer stepped back. Now, he felt like he was going to be sick.

He didn't know what was worse, the fact that those rumours are true or the fact that this whole situation just got so much more complicated.

The king felt completely confused. More than he already did.

Why would she leave? Nothing had changed. She was still queen, Lucifer still loved her, Charlie was only a year or so from moving out of the mansion. So, why was it suddenly not good enough? Why was Lucifer suddenly not good enough? Why were they "too much"?

He never forced Lilith to have Charlie. She just... happened.

Looking down at Adam, all those stresses from before came rushing back. Even after their few hours apart, he hadn't come up with any solution. And judging by how wrecked Adam looked, neither had he.

Or, if he had, it wasn't a good one.

Mentally, Lucifer decided that they needed a break from all of this, and he was going to wake Adam up for dinner.

But as Lucifer was reaching for Adam's shoulder, he suddenly woke up and leaned over the bed to throw his guts up. Thankfully it made it into the bucket.

Lucifer: ...Adam- woah! Hey-! Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!

Adam would have cursed at the tint fucker but he had no energy to do much of anything.

Adam: F-Fuck... you need a b-.

Lucifer: A bell? I know. Ha... ha. Um, look, I... it's time for dinner. And I'm sure eating is the last thing on your mind, but you didn't eat much during lunch, so... you know- you need to eat now, okay?

Adam wanted to groan, kick, and scream, but he couldn't. He physically and mentally couldn't.

Slowly sitting up, Adam sat there for a moment to settle his stomach before leaning down and grabbing his bucket and slowly standing.

He hasn't felt this weak since Earth. It wasn't a good feeling. It was something he never wanted to feel again.

Lucifer: Here, allow me.

Snapping his fingers, Lucifer cleaned and emptied Adam's bucket and changed him into a fresh pair of pyjamas.

Lucifer: I'm guessing teleporting is out of the question?

Adam: Unless you want your... everything covered in vomit, I'm gonna say yeah.

Lucifer chuckled and gently took Adam's hand and headed towards the kitchen: I uh... just wanted you to know that I had a quick thing about everything. It's all... top much at the moment, so I'm not mentally prepared for this. But I wanted you to know that I'm not mad. And I'm not going to force you to leave.

Adam blinked: I- really? W-Why?

Honestly? Lucifer didn't know why. He didn't take too kindly to being tricked, and especially by Adam of all people. But... there's no way he's going to force him to sleep on the streets of Pride. Especially while carrying his child.

Lucifer: ...I know that demonic pregnancies aren't long. But I know even less about angelic ones. In fact, I've never heard of a case of an angel expecting. Let alone a winner turned archangel. So... I'm not sure what's going to happen. And, thinking back to the extermination... I could tell you didn't do this on purpose. I'm sure I'm the last person you would want a child with... I just wanted you to know that you're safe here.

Adam nodded once Lucifer finished talking: I... t-thank you. I'm... s-sorry this happened.

Lucifer smiled up at Adam: Don't be. Let's not think about it for now, hm? Have something to eat, and try and focus on trying to keep some food down, okay?

Adam was silent for a moment, taking in everything Lucifer said. Instead of answering, Adam only nodded and let Lucifer lead him to the kitchen.

-

Once they were eating, Adam tried his best to keep everything down, and he actually did. For now. He still held his bucket close, but he was eating. Actually eating. And it tasted delicious.

After another hour, they finished eating and decided to talk. About everything.

Lucifer: Alright, so, first off. You're staying here- if you'd like. And at some point, we'll go over that contract again, I think there's soem changes that need to be made. But I'd also like to move you to a different room. Once right next to mine. I... want to be close. To help you, just in case. Also... I'd like you to do a pregnancy test- just to be certain. Oh! And see Belphagor for a check-up. Sooner rather than later.

Adam nodded along, sounded reasonable: What about Charlie?

Lucifer dreaded, telling his daughter. More so, especially because that red bastard was completely 150% correct.

Lucifer: I...'m not sure. Honestly. Obviously, at some point... she'll find out. But when she finds out it's you?! I have no idea- shit will hit the fan, I promise.

Adam nodded, he thought as much. But that didn't stop the fear he felt.

Lucifer: Now... uh- is there anything you want me to do?

Adam: I... n-no, I can't think of anything.

Lucifer smiled: Alright, well, if you do think of something, let me know. I want this to go as smoothly as possible. I want you to be comfortable, Adam. There's no danger here, I promise.

After a few hours, they got chatting like nothing had changed.

Adam even forgot about how shit he felt for more than five minutes. Was it foolish of him to even start thinking of them as becoming friends again?

The first man smiled softly as Lucifer talked about some of the ducks in his collection. It was actually quite sweet.

Lucifer: Alright! How about dessert? I think we've both earned it!

Adam chuckled as Lucifer pulled a cheesecake from the fridge. Fuck, he could get used this.

Adam the Exorcist

@beef-brisket

Lute looked up wide eyed as her commander was giving his speech and there was a little sinner coming up behind him.

Lute: SIR BEHIND YOU!?

Adam stopped and turned, he gasped and grabbed Nifty by the neck and threw her at the hotel crew and Lucifer, glaring at the lot of them.

Adam: THIS ISN'T FUCKING OVER!!

Lucifer: I think it is bud, you should go home.

Adam glared more, he was leaving because he wanted to not because this little fucker told him to. He waved his hand giving them the signal that extermination day was officially over.

Adam: Exorcists fall back!

Lute: But ..... Sir -

Adam: NOW Lute!!

She nodded and glared at the King and princess of Hell along with her friends. They all flew back to heaven and Adam flipped Lucifer off before he was fully back in.

Adam groaned when the portal closed, they had never had it go that wrong that fast. This wasn't going to end well.

-

Adam: Retire!?

Sera sighed she knew Adam wouldn't take this well.

Sera: Yes Adam, it's time you step down as the commander of the exterminators.

Adam: Is this about what happened!? Because it won't happen again.

Sera: You're right, it won't.

Adam sighed: But Abel? My boy is too soft to do that job.

Sera: There's no one else to do it. You nearly died down there we....... We can't lose you.

On one hand he understands where she's coming from, but he was meant to do this! The only reason things went bad was because Lucifer showed up.

Lute just HAD to kill the princess's pet.

Adam: I don't want him to die.

Sera: He won't. We will be doing a more regimented training routine. You deserve a rest Adam.

Adam: ..... Yes Sera.

She smiled and held out her arms, Adam hugged her. She was only doing this because she loves him, he knows that. Doesn't make it suck any less.

Adam went back to his room to lay down, he didn't realize how tired he was until he did.

There had to be a way that he could still be an exterminator.

Some how.

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊🥊(Oooooo the angst i cannot wait to break down from this Chris POV with complicated emotions is gonna eat)

🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀🔀(CHANGLINGS!!!!! OH THIS IS GONNA SO BEAUTIFULLY DEVESTATING LOVE A GOOD MIX OF THE SUPERNATRAL AND ANGST IN 9-1-1 FICS)

96 for 🥊 (THANK YOU! I'm having a lot of fun with it):

---

When Chris spots him, he freezes. He’s standing right there, holding the worst sign Chris has ever seen; Diazes scribbled on a piece of cardboard. Like he cut up a cereal box or something. He probably did. That’s probably exactly what he did. 

He’s just the same. Same old Buck. But his hair is curlier than usual. 

“Hey!” Dad calls out to Buck. His face lights up a little. So that hasn’t changed, either.

Buck comes rushing over to them. He moves like he’s going to hug Chris, excitement in his eyes. Chris wants him to. He wants him to pretend things are normal. Just for a minute. But Buck stops. He pauses. He looks at Chris with uncertain eyes. It makes Chris want to die a little.

“Chris, buddy,” Buck smiles nervously. “Uh, can I hug you?”

Christopher’s expression must reveal how sad the question makes him. Because since when has Buck had to ask?

“Whoa, hey,” Buck says, when even Chris can tell his jaw is trembling a little. “Hey, Chris… I just wanted to make sure it’s okay.”

“It’s okay,” Chris mutters.

Buck steps forward and wraps Christopher in the only good hug he’s had in almost a year. Because his dad hasn’t hugged him yet. Chris didn’t let him. Because his grandparents always hugged him like they were hugging a baby, until they stopped altogether. So no one has really hugged him like they loved him in so long and Chris… Chris bursts into tears.

“Christopher!” Buck exclaims. He starts to pull away, alarmed, but Chris clings to him tighter.

“Christopher,” Dad says. “Buddy…”

Chris ignores him. He cries into Buck’s shoulders and he’s so embarrassed. He’s humiliated. But he can’t stop. 

Buck rubs comforting circles into Christopher’s back.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “You’re home. We’ve got you.”

“I’m sorry,” he says to Buck. Because he can’t say it to Dad. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Buck says. “I’m just so happy you’re here.”

Chris takes a few deep breaths. Waits until he can control himself. Then he pulls away from Buck. 

“Can we go?” He mumbles.

Buck nods. He looks at Dad. 

“Yeah, Eddie? We-we can go?”

Christopher can feel Dad’s eyes on him. Staring unintentional holes into him. But he doesn’t dare look. 

“Yeah,” Dad says after a moment. “Let’s go.”

🟦

Eddie should feel sad. Sad. Jealous. He should feel resentful. Something. Something about the fact that his child dove straight into Buck’s arms to cry. How he wanted him and not Eddie. 

He’s not. 

He’s not remotely jealous. He’s not sad. He’s fucking relieved. He feels like a cinder block has been lifted off of him. Like it had been crushing his heart. Maybe he was just afraid something in Chris was too far broken. Between him and his parents, maybe they messed him up so bad, Chris would never ask for comfort again. Never trust. But he does. He did. He trusts Buck. He wanted Buck. He let Buck hold him. That’s enough. Right now, that has to be enough.

Right now, it gives Eddie something like hope to hold onto.

Chris piles right into the Jeep while Eddie and Buck load his bags into the trunk. Eddie is thinking about his breathing, the cadence of it, more than anything else he’s doing. He’s not fully present. 

---

117 for 🔀 (THANK YOU!!!!) ---

Bring Maddie here? Now? It’s evening. It’s late. She’s… No. 

“I can’t,” Buck whispers.

“You said,” Evan accuses. 

“She-she’s been through so much,” Buck says. “You… You don’t know. She’s had… She doesn’t need this.”

“She’s my sister! I need her!” 

Buck turns to look at Bobby. He doesn’t know what to do. He can’t handle this. 

“Chris,” Eddie whispers to his son. “Can you wait on the balcony? I think Buck needs a minute.”

“But I can help,” Chris complains.

“I know. I know you can,” Eddie says. “We’ll come out when we’re ready, okay?”

“Fine,” Chris sulks. Then he heads off towards the balcony. 

“Buck,” Bobby says once the door is shut behind Chris. “I know this is impossibly hard, but I think you need to do this.”

“Do what?” Buck asks. “Ruin Maddie’s life?”

“No,” Athena shakes her head. “That’s not what this is. Buck, think about it. Would you want her to keep this from you? If she were in your position?”

No. No, he wouldn’t. If Maddie did, he wouldn’t be mad she was secretly a fairy. He’d be mad she was a liar. 

“Fuck,” he whispers. “I have to, don’t I?”

“So far,” Bobby says. “You haven’t lied. You haven’t done anything wrong. Don’t start now because you’re scared. You’ve got to trust Maddie to love you no matter what, the way she’s loved you for thirty years.”

Buck looks at Eddie. Eddie nods, encouragingly.

“I can’t see her when I look like this,” Buck admits. 

“Then fix your damn glamor!” Evan snaps.

Buck turns to look at him. 

“Fix my-my what?” 

“Your glamor,” Evan sighs. “Don’t you know anything?”

“Clearly not!” Buck shouts. 

The glass door to the balcony slides open. 

“That’s what I can help you with!” Chris exclaims. 

Eddie groans. “Chris. You weren’t supposed to be listening.”

“You’re all loud,” Chris shrugs. “Buck, I can help you. I can help you look like a human again.”

🟢

They come to an agreement. Bobby and Athena will stay in the loft overnight. They will keep Evan contained. Eddie and Chris will take Buck back to their house. And Chris - because somehow the fourteen year-old has the best grip on this situation - will help Buck get his glamor back. This is not, apparently, a fashion term. It is, as it turns out, a magic term. 

Because Buck is a magical being. Really wonderful.

He would have loved that as a kid. Magic. Being magic. What kid doesn’t want to be magic? What kid doesn’t want powers? Control beyond the limited agency they have. Every kid would love that. But being a creature? A thing? Not all it’s cracked up to be.

Eddie drives him to his house in the truck. He wears a baseball cap and a hoodie. Keeps his hands in his front sweater pocket. He hates the idea of even a traffic camera seeing him green.

Christopher, on the other hand, loves that he is green. 

It’s quite the dilemma for Buck. He loves this child. Potentially the most he could ever love anyone. He has loved him for half of Christopher’s life. He hasn’t seen him in many, many months. He has missed him severely. And yet, all Chris wants to talk about, is Buck’s newly discovered species. 

Buck wants to scream. 

Chris wants to chat, Buck wants to scream. 

“So, there are four books. And the first one pretty much starts off like this. Except, the main character, Leif, is sixteen, not old.”

“Old?” Buck protests. “You think I’m old?” 

“Well, yeah?” Chris says. “Anyway, it’s the same scenario. Except there’s no kidnapping. Leif-” “He’s green and the author called him Leif?” Eddie interjects.

[writerjayne]

Out-context things Overheard in FOX Tower (or on campus) Pt. 4

These quotes are a combination of myself and friends, memes and random internet quotes so enjoy!

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Drunk Kevin: Pork chips? Did you mean pork chops? Sober Matt: No

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Matt: You look sad today Nicky: Actually, I'm sad every day. I just don't have the energy to hide it today

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Allison: Girl advice, you want to know what boy you like? Get drunk, and you'll cry about the boy you like! Neil: Well, apparently, the boy I like is pasta. This comes as no surprise.

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Nicky: If you see a guy with long hair he's either gorgeous or weird, and the answer lies in what kind of shoes he's wearing

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Aaron: Please excuse my drunk ass snaps Neil: So that's what PEMDAS means

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Andrew: Self-isolation just doesn't feel the same if you're forced to do it. Kevin: Are you okay?

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Nicky: I'm sorry, but shouldn't British websites use biscuits? Neil: WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING ME???

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Neil: Is anyone else losing touch with the concept of time?

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Aaron: Identity theft is a serious crime! Neil, sighing: I will explain once more. I didn't steal any of my identities!

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Allison: Do you ever feel like you're not getting enough credit for simply not being batshit insane? Andrew: Nope, can't relate at all.

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Kevin: I just want to say I'm disappointed in modern architecture and its distinct lack of gargoyles!

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Neil: Kill me once, shame on you. Kill me twice… How did you do that??

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Nicky: We gave morning people too much power. Why is it okay for them not to be functional past 8:30 PM, but it's not okay for me to not be functional before 8:30 AM? Aaron: You're the one who signed up for morning classes

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Allison: What scares you about marriage? Drunk Seth: Marrying someone who just settled for me because they couldn't get who they truly wanted

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Renee *reading a sign*: This door is alarmed after 5pm Dan: Before then, it's just generally anxious

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Seth: I'm sure you've done a lot in your life but have you ever gone tubing with a raccoon? Matt *Concerned*: Have you??

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Nicky: Why are you like this? Are you okay? Neil: Well I have brain damage. I got two pretty serious concussions back-to-back

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Andrew: Every zoo is a petting zoo if you're not a coward Renee: I worry about you

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Nicky *sleep deprived*: strawberry milk doesn't taste like strawberries or milk Andrew: Go the fuck to sleep, Nickolas

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Neil: I have one brain cell and it bounces around my brain like a Windows screensaver Andrew: When it lines up with the corner he experiences a thought

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Aaron: You'll never be bioluminescent Nicky: Okay that one hurt :(

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New Fox: Why do you hate authority so much? Andrew/Neil/Allison/Literally any of them: I'm glad you asked-

[pixie-felix]

Last message for the night I promise. I'm so sorry for blowing up your inbox ;-; If this is bad I sincerely apologize. More better thoughts will come in the future

Dom!Innie: He may be the maknae and he def has a noona kink, but he likes taking care of you (as seen in previous conversations. It's giving service/soft dom. Turning off both your phones because you don't need that right now? Treating you to extra orgasms because you had a hard day/week?) He loves making you smile whether that means gifting you that dress you had your eye on or getting the dorm to himself for an at-home date. He does love having things to himself and that includes you most of the time. You're his sweet loving noona so it's unlikely you'll have to endure punishments. He's not one for edging, but thrives off your pleasure so he'd more likely be into overstimming you (he's confident you can give him one more). It fills him with pride that he can make you cum that many times, that he knows just what makes your legs shake, that you let him mark you up to his heart's content. He takes aftercare notes from you and you're the main person he enjoys skinship from so on long nights be ready for cuddles, kisses, and falling asleep with one arm around your waist locking you in place as the other traces your back.

--🍭

First of all, spam me. Spam me all day, every day, as much as you want. Every time I see your emoji in my inbox I do a little happy dance (very cool, I know) and find a quiet corner to huddle over my phone like some kind of smut goblin.

Secondly. You have never had a bad idea in your life. Stop such nonsense thinking. Or, just put your insecurities in my ask box so I can BEAT THEM OUT OF YOU WITH LOVE AND ENTHUSIASM BECAUSE YOU'RE BRAIN IS GREAT AND EVERYONE WHO IS COOL AGREES.

That was a little intense, I apologise. Threats of violence are my love language 🫶

Okay, so I've had this Innie headcanon in my brain for a while, waiting for the right moment to crawl out through my keyboard and into the wilds of Tumblr.

So, it seems in these scenarios we're making, we're basically poly with all of skz, right? The ballbusting one is my favourite so far. That is taking me places.

You remember how Innie (fuck it, I might start calling him Ayen too, that's such a pretty spelling, and it's accurate, I'm going off topic, shit) is your kiss and don't tell boy?

Well, there's one accidental exception to that rule.

Much like how Felix and Innie discovered about ballbusting because hyung line were discussing it?

Well, drunk!hyung line were discussing the inaccuracies of porn, and Innie isn't really listening because he's beating Lixxie at uno. So when a currently unidentified hyung starts bemoaning squirting as something that never happens in real life, I.N doesn't think twice before going "What are you talking about? Noona does that every time."

BOOM. ACCIDENTAL MIC DROP.

Chaos ensues. All the hyungs are pestering, nay, hounding Innie for the deets. Trying to figure out exactly. What. It. Is. that Innie does that causes the mythical squirting happen.

Felix is having a minor uno based breakdown, but tomorrow when he remembers the kerfuffle he might be brave and ask Innie about it. After all, they shared their first ballbusting together. That forms a bond, right?

Of course, Innie tells them nothing. And makes a point of never being around drunk!hyung line when they're discussing anything sexual henceforth.

Chan/Changbin/Hyunjin (+Han) are going to be going mad trying to figure it out. Hyunjin is definitely going to start "accidentally" walking in on you and the maknae a lot. Heck, maybe Chan will too. Suddenly, they're all doing your laundry for you, buying you silly little gifts, any little excuse to come into your room urgently.

Han: LOOK NOONA I BOUGHT YOU A CACTUS THEY'RE SO CUTE DON'T YOU LOVE HIM!? 🥰🥰🥰 (I feel like I read this in a fic or an smau, I'll see if I can find it to link up but yes hello if this is your fic/smau I've taken the idea from pls let me know so I can credit u 🫶)

Chan: Hey love, I tumble dried your pajamas. They're still warm so if you put them on now, you can be all cozy 🥰 Oh, hi Jeongin. Fancy seeing you here. Well, now that noona is getting undressed, who's up for a quick three way?

Changbin: I made you a protein shake now please may I bench press you 💪🙏🥰

Hyunjin: *bursts in* YANG JEONGIN YOUR SECRETS WILL BE MINE HOW DOES SQUIRTING WORK TELL ME NOW OR I'M GOING TO WALK INTO TRAFFIC

Lino "doesn't care". But he does start paying more attention to how you and Innie interact on a daily basis. For completely unrelated reasons of course.

Seungmin actually doesn't care. Because Seungmin is full of his own secrets... 👀 And because he's careful to never be around drunk!hyung line when they're horny. (I feel like there is a backstory as to why he avoids his drunk horny hyungs, but I currently have nothing for that.)

[nat-20s]

Superman, and to some extent just plain ol' Clark Kent, I think read as like. EXTREMELY approachable, shockingly so for a celebrity. I bet sometimes people call for help from him, in a quiet, tired voice, not because they need an immediate rescue but rather a different kind of assistance. It's usually done as a long shot, maybe even regarded as feeling silly like oh yeah call on the famous alien superhero I'm sure he'll show up to hear me whine about my problems.

But when he can? He absolutely does. He'll fly to your window and gently knock and you're like uhhhh do you? Want to come in? And he's like 'if that's all right with you, but I can also stay out here if that makes you more comfortable.' and you're like no no come on in do you like tea? And he's like you know what I would love some tea. So you kind of cringe and ask if microwaving the water is okay bc you don't have a kettle and he snorts and says do I sound English to you? Microwave is more than fine.

So you're standing there waiting for the water to heat up staring at the microwave blankly bc what the fuck, superman is just in your apartment on a Tuesday night???? And you decide to breach the silence asking "not that it's not cool that you're here, but I kinda didn't think you would show up?? I mean, don't you have more pressing things to do?"

He shrugs and just says "It's a quiet night and you sounded pretty upset." So you just nod and finish up the tea. After you bring it to him he takes a sip, smiles, and says "so? What can I do for you?"

And you're like "Honestly? Probably nothing. I just...I lost my mom last week. It was just her and me growing up, and she got sick, and I don't know what to do, and I'm just sad and scared and fucking angry, so fucking angry, angrier than I've ever been, and overwhelmed, and I need help but I don't know what kind of help I need and I'm so sorry to dump this all on you, I mean, shit, you're Superman, not, like, a therapist, why did I even ask, you can go, I'm sorry-"

And he gently lays out a hand for you to take, should you so choose, and you do, and wow that's comforting, holy shit, he's warm but not uncomfortably so, and he interrupts your spiral to say, "I'm glad you called for me. I want to be here. And I'm sorry for your loss, death and grief are both really fucking hard."

You kind of laugh through your tears and say "I didn't think Superman swore. Or even knew the word 'fuck'." And he kind smiles at you in a shockingly dopey and personable way that you've never seen before and goes, "I try not to, in the suit, but I figure these are extenuating circumstances. Just don't let the Daily Planet know?"

And this gets another laugh out of you and you go "Yeah because talking to reporters is one of my main hobbies. Extra extra read all about it, Superman said the fuck word while trying to comfort me about my mom dying, and this is how I repay him"

"Oof, it sounds worse when you put it like that."

There's a moment of companionable silence, before you take your hand out of his to put your face in both of them and just say "What the hell do I do now?"

Superman sets aside his mug to focus fully on you, and it makes you feel awful and seen at the same time. "Short answer? Whatever you need to. Long answer, for the more technical side of things, I have some lawyer contacts that volunteer for this sort of thing, helping you sort out all the documents and what not for free. I'll get you in touch. Lord knows death can't be hard enough on it's own, there's also all the paperwork."

You let out a snotty half chuckle half choke sound. "There really is so much goddamn paperwork."

"As for the emotional side, you take it one day, or even one hour at a time. Everyone responds to grief differently, and I think there's almost no wrong way to proceed. If you need to just mourn for a while, do so, if you need something else to focus on, that's fine too."

You lift your face out of your hands and raise an eyebrow. "Almost no wrong way?"

He shrugs and smiles. "I'm best friends with Batman, I've seen some wrong ways to handle things."

You laugh once again, but the laughs quickly dissolve into sobs, and he offers a hug which you gladly accept. It proceeds like that for a while, you sobbing in Superman's arms, which will feel surreal tomorrow, but for now seems like the only course of action.

He stays for a good two hours, listening to your stories and talking through things with you, until his attention suddenly and rapidly shifts to something you can't here or see. You tell him to go, and when he asks if you'll be alright, you say probably not but I'm okay right now, and then he gives you a number, and you have a direct texting line to fucking Superman?????

You don't text him often, but he does come by every few months, and tells you how proud of you he is, just for surviving, just for being, and you realize that he's just a guy, after it all, doing his best too, and you kind of dorkily tell him your proud of him as well, and he gives a smile so big that you feel just a little bit better about the universe overall.

You don't know that you are one of four people he has done this for in just this week. You would not feel any less special for it. But you do not know.