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rillils · 3 months ago

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🌸 post-catws stucky + lovers’ kiss

one.

The thing about grief is, it has a habit of dropping by every once in a while, unannounced and insistent like a nosy suburban neighbor.

It’s a contrary little creature. Some days it strikes hard, and crushes Steve’s chest with the brutal force of a frothing waterfall. Sometimes, though, it comes in droplets; little pills that get stuck in his throat for a minute, until he can swallow them down.

Steve doesn’t mind those too much: sure, the aftertaste is bitter – but there’s always a spoonful of honey at hand to help wash it down.

two.

There’s a morning ritual Steve is particularly fond of.

When the coffee has been made, and the first sip taken, he nudges their mugs to the side, and crowds Bucky back against the kitchen counter, arms braced on either side of him to box him in. Bucky watches him come with a knowing grin, a gleam in his eyes that says, well, all right, he’ll let Steve believe that he’s leading this little dance here, just this once.

But it’s Bucky who pulls him in the rest of the way; Bucky who sets his hands low around Steve’s waist, and brings their bodies flush together from hip to knee, delight written in the pretty curve of his lips.

“Hey there, sailor,” he teases. His morning voice is a dark, rich thing, rough around the edges but soft at its core, sweet with that old Brooklyn drawl that brings Steve right back home.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he chuckles against Bucky’s smiling lips, their breaths warm between them. “Fancy meetin’ ya here.”

It’s a ritual. Aren’t all kisses a ritual? Well-learned steps and a worshipful heart, the motions so ingrained they come naturally to your limbs.

Their mouths brush together, easy. Unrushed, like time will slow down for them if they’ll just deign to ask.

Bucky’s head tilts just so in Steve’s hands, and the kiss opens up, spilling its molten heat on Steve’s tongue, stroking inside to taste him, easy, easy.

It’s a long-practiced dance. If Bucky pushes, Steve will give; if Steve strays to flutter kisses all over Bucky’s bristly cheek, Bucky will grin and chase after him, and steer Steve back towards his lips.

It’s lazy. Uncomplicated. It’s their first conversation of the day, and Steve can just make out the words in the whisper of Bucky’s hair running through the gaps between his fingers; in the hushed rustle of his own t-shirt, when Bucky’s hand slips under the hem and slides warmly up the dip of Steve’s spine, leaving a trail of pebbled skin in its wake.

You’re here, Bucky’s touch says, awed and reverent.

Always, Steve says back, and kisses that vow to Bucky’s lips for Bucky to find later, when he’ll brush his fingertips against it, and the well-loved flush of his mouth, red and sweetly sore, will remind him of this. Of always.

Parting from him is agony, but breathing is an unfortunate necessity in life – so Steve pulls back, though only just enough to drink Bucky in, his arms wrapped snugly around Bucky’s waist to hold him close.

He’s a sight to behold, all soft and loved up and ruffled from Steve’s own hands, his smile like a ripe fruit framed by the fullness of his beard. His eyes crinkle with it, each little crease a testament to his happiness – and Steve knows he’s gonna have to take his time kissing each and every one of those later, or he’ll simply be driven to madness.

He should get to have a whole lifetime of this, Steve thinks – a lifetime to dedicate just to this little pleasure. Seventy years at least, to make up for the seventy years gone by that could have seen them grow old and gray together, but were stolen from them instead – and then seventy years more, ninety, a hundred, as many as his old withering body will stand and breathe for.

This will be his only job: the worship of Bucky’s laugh lines, of the curling wisps of his bedhead, of his eyelashes fanning darkly against the pad of Steve’s thumb. Cherishing this treasure he holds in his hands – the one he once thought gone forever.

There it is now: a little pill lodged in his throat. The cold hand of grief squeezing around his heart again, just for a moment.

Bucky’s palms cup his cheeks, drawing Steve’s gaze up to meet his.

“Hey,” he murmurs, gentler than before, his thumb stroking soothingly over Steve’s cheekbone. “You’ve got your thinking face on. What’s wrong?”

Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, turning his mouth to it to kiss the warm, unyielding metal of Bucky’s palm.

“Nothing’s wrong,” he promises, leaning in to nudge to tip of his nose against Bucky’s, like a puppy. “Just busy coming up with an excuse to kiss you some more.”

Bucky’s breath puffs warmly against his lips. “Yeah? Had any luck yet?”

Steve hums pleasantly, “Mm-mmm”, locking his fingers together just above the small of Bucky’s back, and gently sways the two of them from side to side. Bucky snorts, amused, but he allows it; dropping his hands to rest on Steve’s shoulders as Steve rocks them slowly, left to right, right to left.

“Here’s what I think,” Steve rumbles. “I think I ought to give you one kiss for each day we were apart since 1945.”

Bucky stares back at him, his lips parted slightly in surprise. He takes Steve in, wordlessly, studying him from the arch of his eyebrows, to the half-crooked slope of his nose, to the hopeful smile Steve knows he must be sporting right now. There is much left unsaid, Steve can feel its weight hanging in the air between them, recognizes it by taste and sound.

But Bucky’s gray eyes shimmer, nearly crystal-clear, and they fill with the kind of big, heart-twisting emotion that cannot fit under a single label; one that is equal parts ache and tenderness, and Steve understands – his chest feels too-tight around that same ache, too.

“That’s a lot of kisses,” Bucky rasps softly, and his hand skates up Steve’s shoulder to curl over the nape of his neck, herding him one inch closer into Bucky’s space.

“Yes,” Steve whispers, leaning in the rest of the way to mash their foreheads together. He can feel his own heart beat inside his chest, a quick and steady rhythm, and a rushing sense of victory bubbles straight up to his lips, sweet and light as air. “Exactly.”

Bucky laughs, a little wetly, and laughs ever harder when Steve tries to kiss him and gets all teeth and half a nostril instead – his head thrown back and his whole body shaking joyfully, while Steve ducks in to kiss what bristly portion of Bucky’s neck he can reach.

A treasure, Steve thinks.

A treasure in his hands, and forever to hold on to it.

three.

He sits himself down at the table with a sheet of paper, a pen and a calculator, a bunch of dates marked down and circled over and over in the topmost corner.

Bucky watches him from across the room, amused and – Steve believes – a little bit impressed.

“You’re really gonna do this?”

Steve smiles up at him, throwing in one teasing wiggle of his eyebrows for good measure.

“I’m a man of my word.”

It takes nearly a whole hour of focused scribbling before he looks up again, a wide grin lit up like Christmas on his face and a torn piece of paper held up in triumph. “I have the number.”

25109.

Seventy years’ worth of daily kisses.

It’s quite the commitment. It requires dedication. But good things are always worth putting in the work, Bucky tells him, eyes dancing with laughter; and when he settles in Steve’s lap, heavy and warm in Steve’s arms, and brushes their mouths together to claim the first of what he was promised, Steve can’t help but agree.

four.

25109 kisses Steve owes him, and he initiates quite a few; but mostly, he lets Bucky ask for them, when and where the mood strikes him to do so.

When he’s right on the verge of sleep, his face half-swallowed up by his pillow, and he can’t even peel his eyes open long enough to receive his kiss – he just tips his chin up and waits for Steve to scoot closer and find his mouth, drowsily humming in satisfaction.

When he lets Steve slip into the shower with him, and slides his hands up Steve’s chest, sweet and proprietary, and their breaths mingle with the hot steam.

When he’s got his head in Steve’s lap while Steve reads, and Steve’s fingers carding through his hair at leisure; and Steve catches Bucky watching him from under his eyelashes, and trying to hide that private little grin of his, because apparently Steve was silently mouthing the words again without realizing it.

“Kiss me special, Stevie,” he’ll croon, and Steve will know.

And he’ll be all too happy to comply.

five.

Steve is supposed to keep score. He does, too. For the most part.

Once every couple of weeks or so, though, he’ll just so happen to conveniently lose count.

He’ll roll out of bed with singular purpose, and break the tragic news to Bucky over their morning coffee, barefoot and forlorn. Bucky never buys his little sob story, but that never stops Steve from batting his eyelashes at him all prettily, either.

He’ll guide Bucky’s arms to loop around his neck, luring him in, soft and stealthy like a thief, and he’ll mumble real close to Bucky’s lips, “Let’s start over again.”

And Bucky, sweet, merciful, long-suffering Bucky, will accept his fate and be kissed breathless once more, right in front of their placidly steaming mugs.

“There,” Steve will murmur, again, and again, and again. “One down, 25108 to go.”

Oh, one life won’t be enough to see the end of this, no.

And that’s exactly Steve’s plan.

***

little sidenote nobody asked for lol: obviously the number of days/kisses varies depending on when you think the boys were reunited; my wishful thinking headcanon for this specific fic is: post-helicarrier, they find each other again sometime in the fall, 2014. the ficlet is set sometime in late spring 2016, and ignores everything that comes after catws.

#stucky #stevebucky #post-catws stucky #i clearly have no idea what i'm doing #neither with the writing nor with the formatting. but uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh i tried #i swear that number is way less random than it looks #do you know how many leap years we've had since 1945?? i know now #was it really necessary?? i mean. yeah i mean. probably not lol #i'm so sorry #i've been adding and subtracting for too long #i don't even know what i wrote anymore #please have mercy #should probs delete later #rillers scribbles

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reallyhatethiswebsite · 6 months ago

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lazy power bottom raphael & anal fingering/handjobs

Read on AO3

Her entrance into his office was unceremonious. The devil sat squinting at old scrolls, looking up at her through his pretty lashes when she stood in front of his desk.

“I don't recall requesting to see you,” he said, his tone neutral. Tav was about to take a monumental risk, but she was still riding the high of her recent piece of freedom. Her magic was slowly returning - helped along by the fragments of his power Raphael was sharing - and it felt a little like the soft afterglow of an orgasm. A good orgasm. Constant. Tav hadn't felt alive like this in a very long time. She kept flexing her fingers and toes; he noticed, but didn't comment.

“I want to talk to you,” she said simply.

He was quiet for a minute. Digesting her behavior, and how he was going to manage it. Otherwise his expression was impossible to read. “Then talk.”

It was here, Tav knew, that she had to tread carefully. If she got this right, Raphael would be in her hands - as much as a devil like him ever could be - and she would be the closest to real freedom she'd been…likely since before her cursed magic ever even began to manifest. A depressing thought, but one she didn't linger on.

“I'd like you to stop having sex with Haarlep,” she said. Instantly she could tell it hadn't been what he was expecting her to say. The surprise on his handsome face would've been comical if she wasn't balancing the certainty of her future on the outcome of this conversation. He wasn't surprised for long. He put down the scroll he was reading, planted his elbows on the desk and folded his hands together, where he rested his chin. He looked at her very much like a boarding school headmaster, both entertained and irritated by an unruly child's audacious behavior. Like it amused him to watch someone so beneath him attempt to display authority, but when the novelty wore off he'd get angry.

“Why should I do that?” He drawled. He was humouring her, Tav knew, because he was curious. Just as she'd hoped. “What makes you think you can tell me to do anything?”

“I can't,” Tav shrugged, “I know I can't. But if you want to keep having sex with me, Haarlep has to be out of the picture - or out of your bed, at least.”

“You're giving me an ultimatum? How cute,” Raphael cooed. That he hadn't incinerated her on the spot was an indication of his piqued interest. “I knew you held distaste for my incubus, but I had no idea it ran so deep.”

“This has nothing to do with me not liking Haarlep,” Tav countered. That was mostly the truth. She absently touched the ugly scarring on her naked throat. She'd wear that collar forever, it seemed, one way or another. Raphael's clever gaze followed her. “I don't share my sexual partners, that's all. Not by choice, anyway, and choice is something you said you'd let me have, at least when it comes to this. Unless you're going back on your word…”

“I am not,” the devil growled; his tone suggested he might like to. “Though you'd do well to make sure you don't mistake my clemency for complacency, songbird. Unless you'd like to find out what happens to people who do.”

“Wouldn't dream of it.”

“I'm sure.” Raphael narrowed his eyes at her, looking her up and down from her bare feet to the crown of her head. Tav did her best not to shift, to remain confident against his scrutiny. His next words were blunt. “Why should I choose you over an incubus I've kept for centuries? A creature perfectly attuned to my body, my desires? One who cannot and will not say no to anything I want to do to them?”

At last it was the moment for Tav to make her case. To admit a truth aloud to herself and to the devil who stole her away from a personal hell far worse than Avernus, or any other layer of Hell.

“Because I want you, Raphael. I want you. I haven't been able to stop thinking about that night in your chambers, the way you looked underneath me as everything else burned…it's driving me crazy. I know it was good for you, too. I can't give you the same precision and experience as Haarlep, but…maybe I can give you something better.”

Raphael's eyes darkened as she spoke, his pupils expanding to swallow the orange of his irises. His countenance changed, even if his placid expression hadn't. It was a subtle shift, but one Tav had become attuned to as she learned him, his mannerisms and habits.

“I must admit, the smell of fire has held quite a…scintillating sentiment for me these past few days,” he said. “Ah, what a delightful impulse buy you've turned out to be…”

Tav felt like a bucket of cold water had been dumped over her head. There was the caveat. A bitter reminder that she was still infernal property, no matter how well he treated her. She couldn't believe it. In the heat of passion, she'd almost allowed herself to forget. This wasn't about sex, or lust. It was Hell's oldest game: manipulation. If she had fun in the meantime, all the better, but she wouldn't again forget why she was doing this. Her flames were not doused, but tempered.

“So, are my terms acceptable?” Tav pressed. Crossed her arms over her chest. Leaned her weight on one hip.

“That depends, dearest.” The devil did so love negotiations. “If I were to relinquish my, shall we say, dalliances with Haarlep and share myself only with you…my little songbird, my sweet pet…” Tav's breath caught. Those words affected her more than she thought. Raphael smiled. “What would that mean?”

Hook. Line. Time for the sinker.

“Let me show you,” she murmured. “Right here, right now. If you're good for it.”

The devil was deeply entertained, that much was obvious. He clicked his fingers and Tav heard his office doors close and lock. “Hmm… What will you have me do now, pet?”

“Bend over the desk. Clothes off. Please.”

For a moment, he did nothing. His silent stare had weight. Tav wondered if this was the point of no return, if she'd found the line and crossed it. If he was testing her mettle, her conviction, to see if she would falter. If he was simply stunned that she believed she could speak to him that way, that she believed he would actually obey.

Just when Tav thought he wouldn't, when the moment had stretched beyond uncomfortable and she'd almost given into the urge to squirm, Raphael did what she asked. The thrill Tav experienced was substantial. He stood. A simple click and he cleared the surface of his desk; another and he was naked, thick muscles, prominent veins and ribbed cherry-red skin on show, lightly dusted with patches of dark hair. He was softer around the middle than Haarlep's display, and Tav much preferred it. Raphael’s handsome cock was already beginning to fill, his dark pink glans peeking out from beneath his foreskin. He could play at aloofness all he wanted, but his body would always give him away. Still, he was a devil of pride, and there was nothing but smug superiority in the way he positioned himself; forearms braced on the desk, back bent, ass up. His tail swung lazily to-and-fro. He reminded her of his incubus like this, but - and she'd never tell him this - Tav thought he pulled off the seduction much better.

“Well, my songbird,” he purred, equal parts an invitation and a challenge. “Here I am. Show me how you want me.”

As she approached, Tav wished she could hate him the way she hated all other fiends and devils alike. He made it impossible, and that was infuriating, because it complicated so many things. She wished he repulsed her as Lyuris had, but she found Raphael's hellish features quite beautiful. She'd been certain there was nothing beautiful in Hell, but as she smoothed her hands over Raphael's hot skin and he made a quiet noise of approval…

Tav chewed the inside of her cheek until she tasted blood. Remember why you're doing this.

He was so much larger than her, but like this, she could reach the parts of him she wanted much easier. Her touch drifted over his broad shoulders and down the column of his spine. At its base her fingertips flirted briefly with where his tail sprouted; the skin was baby soft on its underside and Raphael seemed to like being touched there, if the gentle “ah!” he released meant anything. He seemed to like being touched everywhere. Things between he and Haarlep were transactions, Tav had realised, but the devil’s appetite wasn't just for sex. He hungered for touch, warm and given willingly. Affection of the basest kind, as so many devils secretly and selfishly did. Something a demon would never understand. That was how she'd get him.

Tav squeezed his backside in both hands. He had a nice ass. She felt down lower to find his balls, smiling at the way he instantly spread his thighs to allow her access. His sack was hot and heavy in her palm, too big to properly hold. She kneaded what she could instead, firm testes inside rolling against his scrotum's thin, smooth skin. She tugged them gently. Raphael groaned, deep and throaty. Tav's deft fingers slid between his buttocks, parting them enough to feel the twitching velvet of his hairless puckered hole. He inhaled sharply when she rested her thumb on it but made no move to stop her. In fact, he lifted his tail and presented himself further.

“Oil?” She asked. Raphael clicked his fingers once more and a little bottle appeared on his desk. Stroking his hole, savouring his anticipatory twitches, Tav used her free hand to pop the lid from the bottle and scent its contents. “Mm, palmarosa. Smells good.”

“They do know how to make fine things in Waterdeep,” said the devil, distractedly. “If you're willing to shell out substantial gold, of course…ahhh…”

“Of course.” As he spoke, Tav poured a generous helping of the oil on her fingers, and slowly pushed her slick thumb past the tight ring of his anus. The heat and squeeze of his slippery insides was amazing.

“Is that it? More,” Raphael snarled, impatiently pressing into her hand. “What are you waiting for?”

“Nothing at all.”

Her index finger, then her middle, joined her thumb. Experience told her how to twist them, where to rub, when to scissor. Experimentation would tell her where his prostate was, but until then he was enjoying himself anyway. His head dropped forward, clipped moans escaping him as he tried to fuck himself on her fingers, tried to get more friction, more more more.

“Another,” he demanded raspily, “give me another. Harder.”

“As you wish…master.” She said it purely for the shudder that ran through him, for the way he clenched around her fingers, but Tav would be lying if she said it didn't affect her, too. If she looked down, she could see his clawed toes curling. Her ring finger slipped into his ass, her pinky thumping his perineum with each harsh thrust and rub she gave him. The wet noises and her devil's grunts were obscene.

“Yes…nngh, good pet…such a good pet,” Raphael uttered, unable to stop talking even with four fingers up his ass. “So eager to please me…that's it, yes. Like that…”

With her free hand, Tav reached around to grab his cock, fully erect and leaking precum. To do it, she had to press herself flush against him, the backs of his thighs scorching the fronts of hers through the thin dress she wore. She couldn't resist dropping open-mouthed kisses on his flesh. He tasted of sweat and spice, and the strange ridges of his infernal anatomy felt like soft cartilage in her mouth. He sighed so sweetly when she sucked on them. Her fingers on his cock squeezed and stroked, her intent to reach his glans and smear his precum around for lubricant, but Raphael snatched that hand and brought it to his face. His forked tongue - that dangerous thing of pure silver - licked up the length of her palm and lathered her digits with hot spit, and when he deemed them sufficiently sloppy, he put them right back on his aching prick.

“Fuck,” Tav cursed breathlessly, resting her cheek between his wing joints for a moment. Heart in her throat, blood roaring in her ears, cunt slick.

Remember.

The devil chuckled, but it quickly dissolved into a low, rumbling moan when she made a narrow cage of her hand for him to fuck, to rut and rub his prick into like an animal; and that was exactly what he did, rolling his hips to alternate between pleasuring his cock and spearing himself on her fingers in his ass. Tav felt every flex of his spine, felt every drag of his foreskin and swollen vein and ridge on his cock, felt every clench and spasm of his rectum. Felt it when she found the spot she'd been looking for, soft and spongy beneath her fingertips. The sound Raphael let out as his big body jerked bordered on inhuman; his claws scratched at the wood of his desk, his wings flexed, his tail thrashed.

“There,” he hissed, “right there.”

Tav kissed and bit him as she ruthlessly worked his prostate. He barely noticed, his rutting becoming feverish, snarls and growls mixing with wet gasps, fast and shallow. His cock stiffening further, balls tight, Tav knew he was about to come. She awaited it with vicious satisfaction, wishing only that she could see his face as he unraveled, if his sharp features would twist as lovely as they did the night she rode him in flames.

He finished with a shudder, a guttural choked groan, his head lolled back, wings spread wide. His inner muscles fruitlessly milked her fingers, his fat cock spurting ropes of hot cum all over her knuckles, his chest, the desk. His claws had dug deep gouges in the wood. In the aftermath he quivered, panting. Tav felt as though she couldn't catch her breath, either. Her forehead rested once again between his wing joints where she stayed, still holding his softening cock. It took effort not to sigh with him as she pulled out, giving his hole - bereft, wet, winking - one final gentle rub. Her wrist ached, her cunt ached, her heart ached (but only a little).

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #fanfic #cringe #Do yourself a favour and don't read this lol #will probably delete later

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