#prompted

[jen-with-a-pen]

𝗙𝗜𝗟𝗧𝗛𝗬, 𝗜𝗠𝗣𝗘𝗧𝗨𝗢𝗨𝗦 𝗦𝗢𝗨𝗟𝗦

summary: After what you assumed would be a successful mission, things veer off-course and you're stuck with Bucky Barnes in Istanbul with no way out until morning. The tension between you comes to head and nothing will be the same again.

parings: Protective!Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Sniper!Agent!Curvy!F!Reader

word count: 6.5K

warnings: enemies to lovers, angst, canon-level violence with just a bit more blood, guns, reader is a sniper/sharp-shooter, hate-making out, degradation, fighting, insults and cursing, teasing/banter, reader and bucky don't know how to talk about their feelings (or to eachother), spanking, doggy, angry-horny, rough-ish sex, pent up anger, pent up sexual tension, power dynamics, protective!Bucky, vague hinting to Bucky's PTSD, no use of y/n, reader is tagged as curvy and is described as such but body description is kept to a minimum

a/n: this work is for @targaryenvampireslayer's Blind Date Writing Challenge! My prompts were "enemies to lovers" and "Again! Please, again!" I am incredibly thankful to Suz for letting me participate. I haven't been able to participate in a challenge since forever ago 😅 ALSO! This is my first time writing enemies to lovers, as well as curvy!reader! even though i'm curvy myself, i hope i did okay ♥ This work is not beta-read. all mistakes are my own. If any mistake is glaringly obvious, please feel free to message me and let me know! p.s. I listened to a lot of PVRIS + Nothing But Thieves writing this, can ya tell? p.p.s. the amount of willpower and struggle with my muse it took to finish this is... a lot. i think she scratched my cornea at some point.

If I’ve missed any tags, PLEASE let me know!

gif by @unearthlydust | dividers by @cafekitsune | warning banner by me ♥

my ao3 | my masterlist title from: You Know Me Too Well by Nothing But Thieves Read this fic HERE on ao3! ♥Reblogs and comments are highly appreciated as always♥

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚

Bucky Barnes has always hated you, and you have always hated Bucky Barnes. At least since you first met, that is. 

Being the newest recruit– and only sharp-shooter–  to grace the S.H.I.E.L.D. Direct Action Team’s roster since signing on the Sergeant James “Bucky” Barnes, the hostility was almost immediate from the second you walked in your first day. 

You couldn’t help cringing– which would be quickly followed by raging annoyance and a slight migraine– without remembering your first time training with Bucky. He made it crystal clear he didn’t trust your previous experience or trainers, let alone your sniper training. Within the first week he ground your spirit into dust with his leather combat boots, quashing any attempts to defend yourself. And it’s not like you weren’t familiar with his history, either; he’d broken every single last sharp-shooter that came to the team before you, a hardass ex-assassin with an introverted mean streak who happened one of the top snipers in the United States Army during World War II. Old dogs certainly can learn new tricks, though, and it was extremely apparent when it came to Bucky Barnes.

When you finally had enough midway through the third week, you snapped at him after he corrected you for the umpteenth time on your foot positioning, pointedly informing him you weren’t built like you could take on a goddamned semi-truck with one hand.

Once you finished, he silently handed you a pistol and challenged you to a shoot off. One-handed. You considered it a tie. Tony considered the training range off-limits until he got government permission via S.H.I.E.L.D. to replace every single shooting target and torso dummy in the compound– including the extras.

After that, the two of you weren’t allowed in the gym, on the same mode of transportation, in the infirmary, or the training range without someone else to supervise with a tranquilizer gun at the ready and within arm’s reach of said supervisor. More often than not, though, the ‘someone else’ was either Steve or Natasha– depending who won the coin toss before training that day– and the tranquilizer gun wasn’t really more of a tranquilizer gun than it was a slight sedative to calm each of you down enough for either Steve, or Nat, to drag you out without kicking and screaming at each other. Granted, it only happened one time– a workout competition-turned-sparring match that lasted the better part of four hours– but everyone else agreed to keep it around. Just in case.

You learned, however, exactly how much ketamine it took to down a raging super soldier with a vibranium arm. You couldn’t help but make horse whinnies under your breath every time you passed Bucky in the compound for at least a week. 

With a year of domestic missions underneath your belt, S.H.I.E.L.D. constituted you ready to travel with the DA Team on international missions and operations. You were elated, excited to prove your worth and wit to everyone; especially Bucky, because maybe then he’d be at least keen enough to start showing you a drop of respect.  

Then there was the fallout of when you both learned you’d be sent on the next mission. Together. Albeit with Natasha and Clint– but together. 

Fury said he didn’t have a choice. Tony claimed it was out of his hands. Natasha, while protecting a cowering Steve from the flames and daggers shooting out of yours and Bucky’s glares, flat out told you, “either you both learn to work together, or neither of you are working DA missions again,” adding, with gritted teeth and a pinched bridge, “The whole team thinks you’re a fucking pair of walking time bombs. I don’t wanna use the damn ketamine gun again.”

The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to Turkey with your rifle, wits, and the waiting promise of separate hotel rooms upon arrival. 

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A reddened sun dipped over the Istanbul skyline, swathing the city in shadows. Dusk was imminent as you ascended the rusted fire escape and stepped onto the roof of the abandoned building; the dilapidated outside was perfect enough to designate it as the main stake out location. You sighed in awe at the view, catching the remnants of the sunset while pausing for a brief break before switching into ‘work mode.’ 

“Stop fuckin’ around, get into position,” Bucky said through your ear piece. Shit. You forgot he could see your video feed via the harness crossing over your chest and the cameras Natasha set up on the roof and the building next door. 

“Sorry, Sarge, thought I’d enjoy the view before I dome some fuckin’ war criminal from a thousand yards away,” you huffed. The line went silent, save from what sounded like very faint cursing amidst the static. You rolled your eyes, swinging the gun bag off your back, unpacking and assembling and loading, preparing for working on yet another thrilling Saturday night.

You silently prayed the hotel had a decent bar with decent hours.

Dropping into a prone position, you were thankful for the custom-fit tac suit that hugged your body as your hips and thighs scraped against debris littering the roof as you positioned the scope of your rifle, placing your hand delicately on the trigger. 

“In position,” you muttered, adjusting into a more comfortable, ready-to-bail position in case things went south. When you shot prone, it felt as if the mission at hand weighed just a bit heavier than others. More unbearable. The tactical suit and additional weapons attached to your aching body rivaled that of cinder blocks chained to your legs, weighing you down to the ocean floor in an attempted drowning while you tried to stay above water.

It's never gotten easier, but it's never been harder. 

The past two days had been filled with inconsistent sleep, hiding out, and keeping watch, all while under the watchful eye of Bucky. Bucky, who was watching you from inside the stakeout building, who threw a super soldier temper tantrum about having to figure out the ‘nonsensical logistics’ of how to stream a fucking live video feed, who barely bothered to say a word to you while meeting Natasha at the location that morning– aside from graciously allowing you to borrow his weapons cleaning kit. 

“You didn’t bring your own?” He cocked a judgmental brow at you, looking you up and down like a creature that crawled out of the Black Lagoon. Steely sea-blue eyes met yours, sharp and bright. Challenging. The collar of your tactical suit had instantly tightened.

“Figured we both use the same stuff, might as well bring the one to save space,” you shrugged, cocking a hip. 

Bucky’s eyes flitted to your pronounced curve before you straightened, swallowing. 

“Fine. Go nuts,” he sighed reluctantly, gesturing for you to sit in the guarded seat across from him. You sensed his piercing gaze follow you, feeling the same heat creep up your neck and cheeks just like all the other times he watched you. You chocked it up to an intimidation tactic, because it sure as hell worked.

You shook Bucky out of your brain. You needed to stay focused.  

“Copy. Target is en route to position, t-minus two minutes. Make it clean and make it quick.” Natasha's voice was cool, calming you and the usual racing thoughts in your head during these types of missions. You preferred her over anyone else to be your spotter since your first time out in the field, but this time she was assigned to be the plant, luring the target away from the rather innocent party-goers so they wouldn’t be splattered with brain matter and skull fragments courtesy of you.

Though, you had to admit, in the right scenarios, that was one of the more satisfying things that came with being a sniper.

“Don’t fuckin’ rush it,” Bucky chimed in.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring him. “Copy, Nat, just keep dangling the carrot.”

“You know I’ll do more than that. Out.” You could hear her wink. 

Two minutes might not seem like much, but missions like these can make it feel like a lifetime. Part of you hoped Bucky watched every second. The other half hoped you could smack the doubtful smirk off his stubble-ridden face– the same exact one he had whenever he watched you train. It was like he wanted you to fail. Like he was expecting it, anticipating it. 

You pinched your wrist. Now was not the fucking time. 

You brought the scope closer to your face, targeting the window Natasha would be bringing the target in front of. The crosshairs helped even out the scene while you lined up the shot right between the bedroom’s curtains. You readied yourself, focusing on breathing and controlling the rise and fall of your chest, steadying your bottom half. You blinked, then, and through the sights you spotted the golden shimmer of Natasha’s dress reflecting off the room’s low lighting. Finger on the trigger, delicately squeezing as the target’s head entered into the crosshairs, stepping unknowingly into the middle of your aim, mere seconds left to live, left until he rots in his deserved place in hell. 

Exhale. Inhale. Hold. Pull.

The target dropped in mere milliseconds as the shot reverberated throughout your body, the sound thankfully muffled by your ear pieces and the silencer. The recoil of the rifle dug into your shoulder, fighting against the rest of your body anchored by stiffened muscles. You exhaled, shaky, still, pushing the scope from your face and resting your head on the cool metal of the stock, allowing it to sear into your burning forehead.

“Confirmed kill. Target down. Meet you back at the hotel, over,” Natasha’s breathless voice crackled into your ear. 

“Copy. On my way down. Bucky do you–”

White hot pain suddenly seared through the back of your skull, slamming you face-first into your rifle. You clutched the back of your head, whipping around to be greeted by the dark void of a gun barrel. You froze, blood draining from your face, stomach free-falling as your gaze traveled up to meet crazed eyes and a twisted face. The man– your assaulter– was clad in black with hints of a tattoo running up his neck like blackened veins. No doubt the symbols hidden under his collar belonged to the syndicate run by his boss. The boss you just killed.

He snarled, yellowed teeth glistening in a maniacal grin. “You’re going to pay for that, little bitch,” he spat and nodded to your rifle as he shoved the barrel in your face. The metal practically branded you like marking a cattle for slaughter.

“Try me, prick,” you gritted through ringing pain and a locked jaw, snarling at the man as you rose, slowly, the barrel unmoving as the gun followed your position.

His grin widened. He began pushing you backwards towards the edge of the roof. Quickly, you kicked your foot out, catching his ankle and grabbing his wrist, pointing the gun at the darkened sky as you clawed at his fingers to release it from his grasp. A deafening shot rang out as you wrestled, sending an elbow straight into your jaw that shoved you away. He aimed for you again as you pulled a knife from your waistband, hurling it at any limb you could hit. It nailed him in his thigh, deep enough you knew it hit bone. He dropped the pistol in favor of his leg, allowing you enough of a break to kick the gun off the roof, sliding it off the opposite edge and down the fire escape.

You stood. You noticed the flicker, the fire, in the man’s eyes as it raged, burning brighter than the streetlights below. He yelled as he lunged, knocking you down again. Hard. Lungs deflated, pain seared through your spine, leaving you sputtering and gasping, grasping desperately for anything: his arms, his legs, your knife, your knife in his leg. Your head spun from the impact, rage and bile boiling in your stomach as arms and legs kicked and thrashed. The man grabbed you by your hair as if to scalp you, limping his way to the edge of the roof, dragging you along inch by inch. You deadened, going limp, hoping to make it that much harder for him to drag you with a knife in his fucking femur. Your stomach dropped as the wind picked up and the distance from the fire escape grew farther away. You knew what was in store: a five-story drop onto the hard street below. 

With impressive strength for a man who was actively bleeding out– and bleeding all over you– he swung you around by the fistful of hair in his hands, dangling your bottom half off the edge of the roof. You fought the panic beginning to set in, thrashing your feet around in an attempt to find some sort of foothold as your hands scrambled to grip the ledge. To add insult to injury, he slammed your head down, skull and jaw dropping with a dizzying thump. A gruff laugh erupted from his chest, and he spat at you. You glanced hesitantly over your shoulder. The world stretched and morphed the longer you looked; your eyes saw a fifty-foot drop while your brain saw a thousand foot death sentence. You willed your sore neck to turn back to the man, only to fight the scream that bubbled up your throat at the sight of a miniature pistol pointed execution-style at you. You ceased any movement, eyes widening, grip tightening on the inch-thick ledge of the roof that held you from becoming a human pancake.

“Looks like you’ll pay after all, bitch!” He grinned, cocking the pistol and preparing to fire. As he squeezed the trigger, as you squeezed your eyes shut, there’s a muffled shot, and then a warm, oozing feeling running down your face and neck. Hesitantly, you opened your eyes, greeted by the sight of the man’s jaw slackened as his eyes began to roll back in his skull. A singular bullet wound centered on his forehead leaked brain and blood and bits of bone. He’s shoved over, body falling like a rag doll and spilling onto the roof. He’s quickly replaced by a seething, panting Bucky with a pistol pointed where your would-be-killer stood. Your eyes widened as your chest constricted, fingertips grinding against the edge as your arms burned and begged to be pulled to solid ground. He lowers the gun, lips parted, eyes boring into your soul like he’s seen a ghost. 

“Sar–Bucky, I’m fuckin’ slipping here!” you yelled as your left hand began to give way to gravity. The entirely reasonable request seemed to piss him off even more as he cursed, dropping his gun and grabbing harshly onto your arms, yanking you back up. He dropped you onto the roof in a heap. While your muscles screamed and you hacked up your lungs trying to regain normal oxygen levels, the annoyance you harbored for Bucky returned just as quickly as the gratefulness you had for his rescue faded once he turned his back on you, heading to the fire escape. 

“Thanks, Bucky, but Jesus fucking–”

He whipped around, blue eyes flashing crimson– a warning sign to choose your next words extremely carefully. 

“Clean up n’ get the fuck down. I’m leaving with or without you in ten fucking minutes,” he seethed, fists clenching onto the fire escape bars. You winced at the groaning sound the metal emitted as he bent it out of place, imprinting his palm prints into the bars.

“Bucky, I– What do–” you stuttered. Thoughts were racing as you looked between him and your would-be murderer decaying in his own drying blood a few feet away. You looked back at him. His eyes, swimming with something unrecognizable, mixed with fear and anger plaguing his features– like he remembered something so vivid, so real, that he was reliving it again.

“Just,” he turns his back to you, voice shaking, “get down here.”

He disappeared, leaving you to clean up the mess.

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The back alleyway was lit with a single, softly glowing flood light that led out to the busy streets. Bucky, who was already waiting for you with a furiously tapping foot, surveilled you with a stuck-snarling lip as you jumped down from the fire escape. The gilded plates in his hand leading up under his sleeve glinted with the violet-tinted vibranium. 

There's a moment, a beat, shared between you as you stood to look at him. You stared at one another, gazes unwavering and refusing to break, to blink. The shadows surrounding you began to move as if they were dancing on Bucky's face, sharpening his jaw, his features. He stayed on you, eyes flitting ever-so-slightly over your form. 

Your face burned.

Bucky cleared his throat. “Take a fuckin’ picture why don’t ya?” 

You rolled your eyes. “Could say th’same for you.” 

He grumbled something– probably cursing you– under his breath. As he opened his mouth to hurl an insult your way, both your phones pinged.

♦ Natasha: Taking last flight out of IST. Jet coming early AM. Lay low. Don’t kill each other. Please. Talk soon.

You swallowed a groan. 

“Fuckin’ great,” Bucky muttered, loud enough for you to hear. 

“Uh, okay. Fuck you, too, then,” you shot at him defensively. Knee-jerk reaction. Pinching the bridge of your nose and kicking yourself, you dropped the subject. Not the fight you wanted to pick at that moment. “Let’s– let's just call a cab and get to the hotel.”

“No. I have a bike. And we’re going to a safehouse.”

“Bucky, it's dark enough, my bag is–”

Suddenly, he was much closer than a mere second before, backing you up against the wall of the stakeout building. He beat you in height by a decent amount, but him towering over you really put it in perspective. His broad shoulders heaved, vibranium arm whirring in overdrive as he jabbed a plated finger at you, his face inches from yours. 

“I. Don't. Fucking. Care,” he stabbed each word into your sternum. “Bike’s down at the other end of the block. We're taking it, or you can fuckin’ walk. Doesn't matter to me.” 

You wanted to take his finger and break it.  

You glared, focus shifting between his startlingly bright blue eyes and the strange closeness of his face to yours. It was like you were seeing him– like, actually seeing him– for the first time in high definition. All of his details– the small scars by his hairline, the slight crookedness of his nose, crow’s feet and worry lines beginning to etch themselves into his skin, the indent between his brows– overwhelmed you as your eyes darted all over his face. You snapped back to his glare and were suddenly very conscious of your own facial expression that failed to rival his. You set your jaw and furrowed your brow.

You doubted it was convincing.

“Fine.” 

He stepped back and started striding down the alleyway with you at his heels. Your grip on the straps of the gun bag burned your palms as you tried to keep up with Bucky’s annoyingly long strides. At the intersection between the main street and two shops sat a garage; it appeared closed for the night, but was still open to Bucky, apparently, who pulled a key out from under an unsuspecting plant. He unlocked the large metal door, lifting it to reveal a tiny space that was barely big enough to house the large motorcycle and a workbench scattered with parts and tools. He strolled in like he owned the place and grabbed one of the helmets hanging off the motorcycle’s handles, handing it to you with an outstretched arm as he saddled himself onto the bike. You looked from him to the helmet, mouth agape and brow arched in confusion. 

When you didn’t take it, he rolled his eyes and shook it at you.

“C’mon, we don’t have all night.”

“When the hell did you–”

“I’ve got my ways. Now c’mon, put the damn helmet on,” he huffed, leaning back on the seat. His thick thighs clenched and straddled the gunmetal-body of the motorcycle. You held back the shiver that ran up your back as you crossed your arms, hip cocking out in defiance. In the briefest of pauses, Bucky stilled, and you swore you caught his eyes scanning down your body, your curves and full figure, before snapping back up to meet yours. He scoffed, smirking to himself and shaking his head.

“The fuck are you laughin’ at?” Your face turned hot, prompting your arms to hug tighter over your chest. You felt off balance. 

He said nothing and tossed the helmet to you. Your arms uncrossed and reacted much faster than your brain did as you barely caught it, slipping it on. Pointedly sighing, you relented and climbed onto the bike as Bucky put his own helmet on, sliding the visor down. In the shortly-live silence, your breathing echoed his, the air weighing heavy with anticipation. You were suddenly hyper-aware of every single little touch, every tiny movement made, every breath taken– like a bucket of ice water getting splashed on you, you were present for what felt like the first time that night.

The bike roared to life and Bucky leaned forward to fit his body closer to the handles. 

“Might wanna hang on,” he yelled over the noise. You hesitated, probably for a second too long for Bucky’s liking as he looked behind you and rolled his eyes (you knew he did, even behind the stupid visor.) He reached behind his back and grabbed your wrist, pulling you against him and wrapping your arm around his waist. Your free arm followed suit, tightly embracing him, heart pounding in your chest at the sudden act. You lurched forward as he rode out of the garage and began down the street; the location was a mystery to you, other than you knew it was one of the regular S.H.I.E.L.D. approved safehouses in Istanbul.

Weaving through the other bikes and cars, you couldn’t help but lean closer into Bucky, watching the lights and sights pass by in a blur. Fingers fanned over his abdomen as you held on, feeling the firm leather tac jacket against your skin– which became firmer upon pressing into him and feeling like you were palming a brick wall. Knees fit together at the sides of the bike, shifting ever-so-slightly whenever he braked or shifted. Worst of all, as you hugged your chest into his back, you had a front-row seat in viewing the way his broad shoulders twisted with laser-like precision as he drove.

It took every ounce of energy not to let go and fall off the bike. 

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The four-flight trudge up to the safehouse– more like safeapartment, actually– was a miserable one, especially with twenty pounds worth of gear on your back and a highly impatient super soldier on your ass telling you to “hurry the fuck up.”

“Again: ‘m not built like a fuckin’ freight train, here, Bucky,” you panted as your legs struggled in rounding the fourth and final landing. He didn’t bother to wait for you, instead turning wordlessly off the landing, heading down the hallway to the door with the keys jingling against his vibranium hand. You caught up to him, standing awkwardly off to the side as he fumbled with the sticky lock, and you couldn’t help but watch the way his hands moved. The way the vibranium prosthetic moved as fluidly as his flesh and bone, the way the plates glinted in the dimly lit hallway, the way his fingers seemed to have a mind of their own. 

Bucky swung the door open, pulling you out of your trance. He flicked on a light switch to reveal a small apartment complete with a cramped living room, couch, small T.V., and an open kitchen in the back. A hallway diverted off to the left, presumably to the bathroom and–

“It’s a one bedroom,” Bucky muttered, stepping into the apartment. You looked at him incredulously. 

“You– you’re kidding, right?” you asked, closing the door behind you and dropping your bag off to the side. 

“No. Why would I?” Bucky turned to you, cocking a brow with hands set on his hips, revealing his undone tac jacket and the tightest fucking dry-fit shirt underneath. It was practically a second skin, hugging against his abs you felt earlier. You stared slack-jawed at him like he didn’t just hear himself speak.

“Because there’s only one fucking bed?” 

“Yeah. And I’m taking it. You get couch duty,” he stated matter-of-factly. His crooked smirk prodded at your nerves.

You scoffed and mirrored his stance. “What? No! I did the work today, you sat around and just… watched.”

His face hardened. “I sat and just… watched?” he repeated, tone challenging you as he took a step forward. 

You swallowed. “You heard me.”

One second, you were ready to hurl another choice word at Bucky. The next, you were slammed against the back of the door. Hard. 

Bucky had rushed you, grabbing your arms with bruising force and forcing them up, pinning your wrists on either side of your head. You yelled in protest, failing to squirm out of the cage that was his body. 

“Look at me right fuckin’ now,” he demanded, lips curling into a snarl and bared teeth. His voice turned, a complete 180. Dominating, commanding, enraging. When you didn’t obey instantly, he slammed your wrists against the door again.

“Look at me!” 

“No! Fuck– Get off me!” 

With your feet still free, you started kicking him, eliciting what sounded like a growl that rumbled from deep within his chest. Bucky passed your wrist in his metal hand off to his flesh one, pinning both hands above your head while shoving a thick thigh between both of yours– right against your core. An uncontrollable yelp escaped from you as he pushed. Heat pooled in your lower stomach, and it took every bit of control to stop yourself from clenching your thighs together automatically. The fire Bucky ignited only grew, imaginary flames roaring in your stomach and racing up your limbs. His prosthetic hand snaked up your neck and squeezed your chin, squishing your cheeks and lips, forcing your eyes to him.

You felt lightheaded. Bucky– fuck, nobody– ever grabbed you like that; like you belonged to them. To him.

“You’re gonna listen to me, and listen good,” he shook your face, “I saved your fuckin’ life tonight, ‘member? When you were defenseless and as good as fuckin’ dead on that roof? You made me shoot that piece of shit point blank. You made me almost shoot you.” 

His voice shook and he looked away, biting his lip then coming back to you. “I fuckin’ saved your life when you should’ve saved your own. If it’d been any later– if I’d been a second later–” He steadied a breath, shaking his head and scoffing a laugh. He focused back on you with wildly electric blues. “I saved your life. Therefore, I get the goddamned bed tonight. Got it?”

You stared at him for a second longer before nodding gently. The energy building between you was enough to burn the entire building down if someone lit a cigarette. A smirk slowly bloomed across your lips. He released your chin, hand sinking down to rest against your collarbone. 

“Is that all, Sergeant?” 

His Adam's apple bobbed.

“What did you just call me?” he whispered, sliding a vibranium palm around the column of your neck, plated fingers resting on your pulse point. He twitched. Inches.

“You heard me.” 

The air, thick in the apartment, felt charged. 

“Needja t’say it again. Can’t hear too well,” he slurred, licking his lips. Eyelids fluttering, hands squeezing. Centimeters.

“Whatever you say,” you lilted. Millimeters. “Sergeant.”

Lightning struck. Everything ignited, setting fire to both of you as Bucky’s lips seared into yours. Hard, sloppy, desperate as tongue and teeth swapped secrets like old friends. He was unexplored territory, yet he felt so familiar. His prosthetic slowly relented the grip on your wrists, dropping to your shoulder, sliding down your chest where he greedily groped and slid over every last peak and dip of your body: tits screaming for release from your suit; hips jerking in short bursts at his every movement. He grabbed your ass and pulled you closer, forcing your thick thighs to spread wider as his own pushed further against your arousal.

“Been–” Bucky smacked your lips, kissing hungrily across your cheek and biting down your neck, “Shit– Been wanting this so– long, fuck–” He pressed into you, his cock harder a gun in his waistband. You couldn’t hold onto the intensely lust-filled moan that spilled from your throat much longer. Bucky grinned against your neck, lapping and sucking and marking your skin like he owned you. Like he could do whatever he wanted to you. 

And you let him.

“Gotta get this shit off you,” Bucky mumbled into your neck as he shed his own jacket, face not leaving your skin. Rough hands grabbed onto you and ripped away the buckles and buttons of the jacket that kept your body from him. A deep groan rumbled inside his chest as he threw the top half of your suit to the side, drinking in the beautiful sight of your body, hugged in all the right places by the cami that was riding up your stomach while your tits gasped for air, spilling out, fighting against your sports bra.

“Holy–fuck, holy shit.” 

Bucky Barnes was speechless. And you were the reason why. 

He stopped as your wrists came down from above your head and fell down your frame. 

“God, you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”

Your heart stopped.

“You’re telling me.”

Another charge surged and you threw yourself at Bucky, sending both of you stumbling through the living room. Hands grasped and groped. Fingers busied themselves with removing clothing, undoing pants to throw one way and stripping shirts to toss another. You were magnetized to him, carding through his cropped chocolate hair, hooking your arms behind his neck– which was still bare and practically begging you to mark it in every way you knew. Stumbling over an end table, knocking into the wall that led down the hallway, dragging one another to the bedroom only to pause when you whined at Bucky to shut the door. 

Both of you were near-naked, relishing in each other’s skin by the time you made it to the bed, falling on it with him on top of you in a heap. Bucky hiked you further up the bed, dropping you onto the several pillows that made it feel like Cloud 9. You looked up at him straddling your hips with legs that seemed to spread wider the further down he sat. Eyelids fluttered while your pupils adjusted to the dark bedroom. What lay before was a scene out of your wildest fantasy. 

Bucky sat back on his hips, hair spiking out in wild tufts, cock aching to break free from the confines of his briefs as he stared back at you hungrily. His tongue jutted out to wet his lips, dragging the bottom half back into his teeth while his lust-blown pupils trained directly on you. You truly hadn’t registered the god-like, sculpturesque muscles leading down his chest and over his rippling abs that finished in a very defined ‘V’ below the waistband of his briefs. The veins bulging in his arm and hand were enough to send you spiraling. Everything before you left you speechless. Wanting. Needing.

Bucky slid painstakingly slow hands over your hips, up your waist, your ribs, slipping curious fingers underneath the hem of your sports bra. He didn’t rip it off like you expected, however. 

He looked at you. Really looked at you. “You–” his Adam’s apple bobbed, “y’know this’ll change everything. Right?” 

You nodded, eager, confident. “Yeah. I– I know.”

“You wanna do this?” He tugged harder.

“Yes.” Another tug. Your tits begged for release. 

“And you… got protection, er–” he hesitated, cocking a brow.

“Pill. I–I’m on the pill,” you breathlessly assured him. You added with a shrug, “I assume you didn’t bring any…”

He scoffed a laugh. “You weren’t exactly on my list of things t’do.”

“Well I hope I’m a top priority, now.”

“Number fuckin’ one.”

The elastic tore as he ripped the fabric, finally releasing your breasts from their constraint. Bucky discarded your ruined bra and turned back to you. His hands gravitated automatically to your chest, kneading, squeezing; thumbs and index fingers on both sides felt around for your nipples and pinched the sensitive buds, eliciting a squeal from you and another rush of arousal flooded your core. 

Bucky hummed while locking his lips onto a pointed peak, mouthing and nipping and sucking. You mewled, running a hand up the back of his head and through his messy hair. His vibranium hand started downwards, sending your senses into overdrive as metal fingers teased the hem of your hipsters that met the crease in your thigh. He released your swollen nipple with a pop.

“Fuck you’re soaked, baby,” he moaned. Tugging your hipsters down your legs, he returned to leaning back on his hips. You’re breathless, panting, melting before him as he palms his thick erection. The girthy, leaking head poked over the waistband, aching to finally meet you. To feel you.

He stripped his briefs off, springing his cock free. You couldn’t tell if the uncontrollable moan that escaped from your lips was because of how mouth-watering he was or the thrilling worry that flooded your mind at the thought (and soon-to-be very real act) of fitting him– all of him– inside you. You glanced at him, catching the way his eyes darkened into something sinister, something hungry and uncontrollable. His jaw hardened as he pumped himself, leaking precum droplets onto your thighs. 

“Get on your fuckin’ stomach,” he commanded. You obeyed, willing to do anything in your power to quell the iron-hot ache that made your pussy throb with want. The second your palms hit the mattress he grabbed you, hands bruising your love handles and ass as he yanked you back to him, shoving your face down into the pillows. With your cheek pressing into the mattress, face squishing into your elbow, all of the oxygen was pulled from your lungs. A beat of silence filled the void between you before a loud SMACK followed by a stinging pain radiating from your ass. 

SMACK. “That was for the back talk.”

SMACK. “That was for scarin’ me t’night.”

SMACK. “And that was for makin’ me have to wait this long to fuck your stubborn ass.” 

Drool dripped from the corner of your mouth and onto the sheets as you chewed your lip, trying (and failing) to dull the harsh, hot pain. Hands gripping your hips, bruising and rough, he yanked you back to meet his front. His cock jammed in between your cheeks as he grinded on you, kneading your ass to mold around him. 

“You’re gonna take me,” he rasped, low and throaty. “All of me.”

You felt him line himself up with your entrance, his girthy head poking and prodding at your entrance. A beat. Hesitation from both of you before he finally snapped forward, plunging into you, filling you, stretching you wider than you could’ve imagined. Once inside, he paused, shifting inside you, cursing breathlessly at the perfect fit. You groaned and desperately shifted your hips in silent hope that Bucky would fucking move. The stretching, the fullness, everything gnawed at your insides that were begging for release. For pleasure. 

“F-fuck Bucky, please–!” He slowly, painfully, rolled his hips in small, dragged-out thrusts before pulling out of you with the most self-control you’d ever see from him and jamming right back into you. 

“Fuck! Again! Please, again!” 

He obeyed you; his hips gradually began to pick up speed, thrusting erratically into you. 

“Gimme your arm,” he gritted between hissed curses. Your brain was on a three-second delay between hearing him and when you started to twist; too slow for Bucky’s liking, he growled, bending– and, in turn, stuffing himself until his base scraped your ass– to grab your arm, pinning against your back with a stern hold. The pain, the pleasure, the all-of-it fanned the flames inside you, growing hotter and hotter and threatening to implode. 

“‘M so close, baby, so–” he gasped, “Fuck, where do I–?”

“Back,” you answered, muffled against the sheets. “My back, I– ah!” You clenched around him, locking him in place as the implosion erupted within you. White-hot flashes of intense pleasure shot through your veins like a lethal shock. You screamed. You trembled. You felt the most all-consuming release rock you to your core, all while Bucky drilled into you harder, faster, his own coil on the brink of snapping. His hips began to stutter into you while you rode your high, mewling when it was time to pull from you in a hurry, his fist furiously pumping the last few seconds. A pleasured cry came from his body as hot ropes shot onto you, painting your skin in warm bursts, cum pooling where your spine arced. He groaned. Fist slowing in pumps, he fell onto the covers next to you in a heap as you cautiously lowered your back.

For a minute it was just your labored breathing echoing one another. The smell of sex lingered in the air, the distant sounds of the streets below and within the quiet building were muffled by the walls of the bedroom. It felt like forever before the bed shifted. Bucky stood, fumbling around on the ground for his discarded briefs. Kneeling back onto the bed, you flinched at the suddenly soft touch of fabric as he cleaned you up, wiping your skin until satisfied. He tossed the boxers back onto the ground somewhere unseen, rolling over back to his place next to you. You couldn’t help the smile on your lips, biting it back as you flipped over to look at Bucky, who was already staring at you with a soft smile. 

“Thanks.”

He shrugged in response. “Looks like we both needed it.”

You nodded. “Does this mean ’m still sleeping on the fuckin’ couch?”

“Hm. No, I’ll let you off the hook,” he said, grabbing the covers and pulling them over you both.

“I think I like being off the hook better than being on it.”

“Mhmm, sure,” he hummed. The covers shrouded you as he placed a metal hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb in soft circles as he pulled you in for another electrifying kiss.

[poppiesandpromises]

There is an imprint on my skin

That's shaped like you and still

The sun will steal you as I

Blink awake

I travel through a muddled mess

My middle missing you, somehow

I count the seconds to sleep

You are the reason I wake up and yet

The alarm will render us in two

My mouth tastes like your name

My heart is shaped like your smile

I'm going back to bed

[cruxymox]

time is hard, i am soft-footed

yet crooked asphalt cools the soul

standing on this midnight

on this new mooned particular

the power's gone out dancing

stolen away by some storm

"what rain!" they astounded loudly

traipsing over their yesterdays

& their nows left too lonely

i am still on my own now, dark, soundless

chilled under a parking lot light pole

i know something good must be on its way

cannot say what but the dawn creeps slow

creep slow, my crepuscule

i will remain

waiting where the light goes

[ravendruid]

Hi 👋 I would love to see Vaxleth in number 27 kissing in the rain 💛 I love your writing so much btw

Hii!!! Thank you so much for sending a prompt! :D I hope you like it as much as I do ^_^ (And thank you for the compliment :D :D :D)

A Kiss In The Rain

(Read on AO3)

Rain is fun until it isn’t and, at this point, Vax’ildan is getting fed up of the second day of pouring outside. He wants to get out of this stuffy, snobby, much-too-large castle where he feels like he’s being watched at every moment of the day, which he probably is, considering his stomach can’t growl without a servant immediately coming over with a tray of food.

It doesn’t help that everyone he wants to hang out with is locked in the workshop with Percival, going over sketches, doing calculations, and planning things that are far more complicated than what Vax’s brain can comprehend. It sucks that both his sister and his girlfriend instantly bury themselves with work whenever they visit. 

“Mr. Vax’ildan?” A young maid calls his attention. Vax rolls his eyes at the title and looks over his shoulder, decided to give her a word or two about calling him that, but then he sees she is holding a piece of folded parchment and nods instead. “This is for you,” She says, handing the paper.

“From whom?” Vax asks, politely as he takes hold of it. He recognizes the feel of the parchment from the same in Percival’s sketch book. If this is a summons to that stuffy, smoldering workshop… 

“Miss Keyleth, sir,” The maid replies. The title, again, makes Vax’s stomach roil. Why would Keyleth send him a written note through a maid when she can just call him on the earring?

“Thank you,” Vax nods, then leaves the maid behind. 

The note is simple and effective—Meet me at the Widow’s Garden, right now—but it doesn’t answer any more of Vax’s questions. Nonetheless, Vax still obeys because that’s his super-powerful druid girlfriend who can call lightning, and he’s not sure she won’t do just that if he fails to show up when she summons him.

“Keyleth?” Vax calls as he transposes the unlocked iron gate. The garden has had better days, but Vax knows Keyleth has been working with Percy to fix it. “Is there a reason why you called me to meet you out here? It’s fucking pouring, love.” He calls again, to no response.

Vax wanders around for a minute or two, looking in every nook and cranny for the familiar flaming red hair of his girlfriend or for any out-of-place animals, but he doesn’t see anything. He’s almost determined to head back to the castle when he hears a twig snapping behind him.

“Who’s there?” He holds two daggers out in front of him, ready to face the threat.

“Relax, Vax. You know I could snap you in two before you even flung that thing at me,” Keyleth mocks him. She’s not totally wrong. 

“Hey,” Vax greets her. He allows his shoulders to sag with relief and stores the daggers back in their belt. He sees her now, so beautiful and soaked to the bone, just like he is. Her beautiful teal dress sticks to her skin, hugging all her curves, which makes Vax smirk as he lets his gaze wander to her chest.

“My eyes are up here,” Keyleth hooks her finger under Vax’s jaw to bring his face back up. She’s smiling knowingly, a smile she always gives him when she catches him adoring her—which happens way too often.

“Not my fault you wanted to meet in the rain,” Vax shrugs. He wraps his arms around her waist and laces his fingers at her back. Keyleth does the same around his neck. “Why, though? I’m soaked and miserable, and I’m gonna smell like a wet dog.”

“I’ll dry you up, don’t worry,” She smiles. Vax could get lost in her smile. It’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen—correction, Keyleth is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. “I figured you were bored up there and you needed to get some air.”

“In the rain?”

Keyleth nods. Vax holds his breath when she leans her forehead down to his and closes her eyes. He feels her breath in deeply, as if she’s trying to commit the scent of him in the rain to memory, then exhale. “I–I wanted to do something,” She mumbles, allowing Vax to hear the sound of insecurity in her voice. It’s only with him that Keyleth lets down the mask and allows herself to feel and talk about her insecurities, which Vax appreciates. He believes in her more than he has ever believed in anyone, so he knows she can be confident and strong, but Keyleth still needs reassurance once in a while, and he’s glad he’s there to give her that when she needs it the most.

“In the Widow’s Garden, in pouring rain?” Vax teases her by wiggling his eyebrows. 

“W–what? No! Vax!” Keyleth scolds him playfully. “It’s not t–that!”

“Alright, then, what is it, love? Should I be worried you’re attempting to kill me, then?” Vax keeps teasing his girlfriend until she gives him a shaky smile. 

“I wanted to do this,” Keyleth ends up saying, more confident, and then she places her hands on the back of Vax’s head and brings him in for a kiss. 

When the shock at the intensity of the kiss passes, Vax fully embraces his half-elf druid girlfriend, raising a hand to steady her back as he responds by deepening the kiss. His blood feels like fire at the feel of Keyleth’s body pressed against him, but not the kind of fire that usually makes them end up tangled in bed. No, this fire is different. This is a fire that makes Vax think about the future with Keyleth, to imagine the days of following her on her work trips; of her coming home to a hot, homemade meal and a nice, relaxing bath; of the tiny freckled, red-haired babies Vax would love to have with her one day. It’s a fire that makes him want to get on his knees and ask Keyleth to be truly, wholly his forever, to take him to be truly, wholly hers forever.

But the kiss ends and Vax regrets having to come back from his reverie. Yet, there is a different shine to Keyleth’s beautiful green eyes, a shine that lights a flame of hope inside of Vax that maybe, just maybe, Keyleth felt the same way he did just now, that one day she will take him by the hand and ask him to stay, because they both know that it is her step to take, not his. 

“Are you still angry at me for making you come out here in the rain?” Keyleth asks, fondly caressing his face.

“I could never be angry at you, Kiki. Never.”

Vax kisses her again, and again, and again. They stand kissing in the pouring rain until the clouds part and Vex’ahlia and Percival find them soaked but happy, with blushing faces, and once Keyleth dries them off with a touch of her magic and they join the other couple in the dining room, Vax thinks that, maybe after all, this castle isn’t that bad. As long as Vax has Keyleth at his side and his twin is happy in the arms of the man she loves, Vax knows they will be alright.

[lead-to-code]

To Be A Season by Kara

Leaves lightly lend themselves To the whims of the wind Will they be lead to others, that fall like them Or left to wither.... in solitude Solitude; although one can never achieve true solitude The ground remains the final resting place For that which the tree sheds That which provides life unto itself It awaits Through chill orange breezes It awaits Through its bare branches It awaits And it waits, And it waits, Until, its born anew

LeadToCode - 9/07/2024 - prompt for September 1st

September Prompts - Back to Life - @nosebleedclub

[drearydaffodil]

What is the furthest distance you have traveled? How much further would you wish to go? This can be literal, or a poetry prompt. But preferably both!

I sat beside the Taal volcano

Sipping coffee, serenaded, I have

Seen the South China Sea

Bleed from me, a mermaid

Covered me in kindness

Keelhauled like the evening

Catch, dreaming of the depths

Of the dust upon Orion's belt

Something inside sparkles

When I escape from me

[luxexhomines]

Welcome back!!! It’s great to see you again, I hope you’ve been doing well 💕 Could I request a Kokichi/Reader (romantic) for the dialogue prompt “You're so persistent”? Either fluff or silly, whichever you prefer! Thanks and have fun!!

Thank you so much for the heart-warming welcome back and for the request!! I'm happy to see you again too, and I hope you've been doing well, too, ehe~ ♡ ♡

I took a little while to think about this prompt and to reacquaint myself with Kokichi as a character, ahaha. I realized then that I...don't even know how to write Kokichi, even though I love him so much?! But nevertheless, I tried to write something fun. Honestly, it feels kind of awkward/mechanical, but maybe it can't be helped because it's been so long since I last wrote for Kokichi?

Anyway, here we go! It's almost 3k words (oops) so there's a cut. Icon credit to dreamcrush!

“You’re so persistent.” Kokichi x Ultimate! Celebrity Reader

“You’re so persistent.” You slammed the metal locker door close and glared at Kokichi. “And annoying.” 

Kokichi simply shrugged with that same shit-eating grin on his face that he always had. 

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t have to deal with the annoying me if you’d just say yes,” he says in that sing-songy voice. 

You resist the urge to box his ears and instead turn away, speed-walking toward the classroom. To your dismay, he quickly follows behind you, matching your pace easily and practically skipping. You supposed someone like him burned a lot of energy annoying people and pulling tricks everyday, so this was probably nothing to him. 

“Don’t you ever get tired of being rejected?” you glanced at him, genuinely curious. 

“Nope!” He folds his arms behind his head leisurely and grins at you. “But I bet you’re getting tired of rejecting me, huh? You really want to say yes, don’t you? Huh?”

“I’m not even going to answer that,” you sighed. 

Kokichi made a face of shock, mouth and deep purple eyes wide in a way that could only be described as overexaggerated and purely for dramatic effect. 

“But you just did!” 

You suppressed an exasperated sigh and looked away from Kokichi, who was strolling next to you without a care in the world. He’d even started to whistle some annoying little tune that sounded suspiciously like the tune that had recently gone viral for being one of the worst earworms ever. 

Kokichi had been asking for your autograph for the past month since the fall semester of Hope’s Peak Academy had formally started and the two of you had met in-class for the first time. 

“Ultimate Celebrity, huh?!” he’d exclaimed, eyes comically wide and sparkly. “Does that mean you get to be an Ultimate for just existing? Do you even have to do anything? How is that even a talent, huh?” 

Kaede interjected with her hands on her hips. 

“Hey, don’t make fun! You know, they’re an Ultimate for a reason,” she huffed. “Look at that face! That style! The stuff that they use gets sold out within minutes, and the places they go get so popular they only take reservations for months after!” 

To be fair, you tried to stop Kaede. Tried and failed. 

“It’s okay, Kaede-” you put a hand on her shoulder gently, only for her to not even notice. 

“Do you even know how much one of their autographs goes for? It can go for a million yen!” she burst. 

It was then that a chill ran down your spine as you watched Kokichi’s face flash from that of a naive and playful prankster to a calculative one worthy of being called the Ultimate Supreme Leader–whatever that bogus-sounding talent was. Actually, how dare he question your talent when he had a suspicious talent like that? 

“Oho, is that so?” he smiled and tapped a finger to his lips, seemingly in thought. You didn’t know what he was thinking, but you did know that whatever it was, you didn’t like it at all. 

You gave the door to the classroom a furtive look. 

“Okay, well, if that’s all, I’m going to go to the bathroom now- Eek!” 

Kokichi had made his way to the door before you and was somehow effectively blocking your exit route with both palms pressed on either side of the door frame, even with his slight frame. Not only that, but he was currently making one of the most horrifying faces you’d ever seen on anyone, and you’d seen a lot of terrible things in the entertainment industry. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” he smirked. Whatever that black pit of a face was, his eyes were two black holes in that pit. And, his mouth was stretched unnaturally wide in what could only be called an evil smile. “Hand it over.” He held out a hand, and you stared at his empty hand, simply appalled. 

You’d faced plenty of terrors and challenges as the Ultimate Celebrity, from surprise paparazzis at night to stalker-fans trying to break into your apartment, but you had to say that this was your first time being extorted for an autograph–not even asked, but threatened. 

You crossed your arms and gave him a dirty look. 

“No. Now step aside.” 

You couldn’t imagine that he’d keep blocking the doorway forever, especially since from the corner of your eye, you could see Kaito walking toward the classroom from the hallway. 

He slinked to the side surprisingly easily, making a disappointed puppy-dog face. 

“Aww, you’re no fun. It’s just an autograph, you know?”

You slid past him and made a beeline to the bathroom, which he thankfully did not follow you to–but you did feel his eyes on you until you disappeared from his line of sight. You’d think you’d have gotten used to being watched, being the Ultimate Celebrity, but somehow, this felt different. 

Fast-forward to today, about a month into the semester, and he hadn’t failed to pester you for an autograph every single day, although he luckily spent some of his time playing with (irritating?) your other classmates, too. 

“Keeboi, robots don’t have nipples, do they?” Some clanking noises came from the other side of the classroom, which you desperately hoped wasn’t Kokichi touching Kiibo.

“This is harassment! I must ask that you cease and desist at once–no, seriously, stop, Kokichi!” 

You winced but opted to remain a bystander. Getting involved ultimately meant offering yourself as the sacrificial target for Kokichi’s tricks and attention. ‘Sorry, Kiibo,’ you thought sympathetically. 

But unfortunately for you, Kokichi must have quickly gotten bored with Kiibo, because not even ten minutes later, he was at your side again. To be exact, he was sitting across from you at the desk in front of yours, hands holding onto the backrest of the chair.

“Come on, just one little autograph,” he begged with those big, gleaming eyes. Man, since when did being an Ultimate Supreme Leader involve having incredible acting abilities? Because otherwise, how could he look so pitiful and sad? Like a cat left in the pouring rain, sitting in a rotting cardboard box, waiting for a kind owner–

You averted your eyes. It would be fine if you didn’t look at him, you desperately thought to yourself. 

“I’m not giving an autograph to any classmates,” you state. “We’re all Ultimates and more or less equal, so I’m not going to give a fellow Ultimate an autograph. Plus, you think I don’t know you’re just going to go and auction it off?”  You turned and stared him down with the last sentence. 

“Nishishi, you got me there!” he laughed, but he didn’t seem surprised or offended. “Why don’t you do your classmate a little favor, then? You gave one to Nagito!” 

You huffed and pursed your lips. 

“I said no, Kokichi! And it’s different if it’s a fan,” you argued. “Nagito was already a fan because he loves Ultimates. Plus, he’s our upperclassman!” 

Kokichi put a hand to his chin in thought. 

“So it’s different if it’s a fan, huh? Okay, got it! I’ll be your fan, so give me an autograph!” he cheers. 

“No, Kokichi! Were you even listening to me?” 

He didn’t reply immediately for once, just watched you in an unsettling way. He even started twirling a strand of hair around his finger as he looked at you, and you started to feel self-conscious. You thought you’d gotten used to being watched, but yet again, it felt different coming from him. 

“Hmm, I guess I wasn’t… Well, if you won’t give me your autograph, then I want something else!” 

“What is it, now?” 

You sighed and rested your cheek on your hand, propping your elbow up on the desk and preparing yourself for whatever other ridiculous demand he’d come out with next.

“Give me your heart!” 

You almost fall out of your chair and scramble to hold onto the desk for dear life before incredulously staring at him. You could feel your face heating up, but you were sure it was just because he’d said something so unbelievably absurd.

“What did you say?” 

“I said, give me your heart,” Kokichi enunciated with a smile. “Do you need hearing aids? How come you didn’t hear it the first time?” His eyes reflected obsequious concern, and you frowned. 

“I heard you the first time! I just thought I heard wrong because you said something so– so weird. You know, your habit of lying and playing around with other people is going to get you in serious trouble someday.” 

Kokichi held up a hand and started examining his nails, shrugging. 

“I was being serious, though? This time, at least.”

You stared at him, unable to discern his true intentions or motives. 

“Kokichi, I–you’re just pulling my leg, right? Because if so, it’s not funny…” you trailed off, not sure what to even make of the current situation. On the off chance that he was being serious, you didn’t want to be dismissive, but after the past month of being teased and watching him trick and lie to other people like it was nothing, you couldn’t just take his words at face value. Especially when he said it so offhandedly. 

Kokichi clenched his fists and pouted, puffing up his pale cheeks. 

“Hey, don’t make me repeat myself! I tell the truth once in a while, you know! Don’t tell me you don’t believe me after I told you I was telling the truth already!” 

You blinked slowly, feeling your cheeks reddening. 

“Uh, then… What do you even mean by, ‘give me your heart?’ You want to date?” 

“No, silly,” he stuck his tongue out at you and rolled his eyes. “I want you to fall in love with me, duh! Come on, are you really so boring that you can’t even understand a figure of speech?” 

“I just didn’t expect it from you,” you quietly muttered. 

How did you feel about him, anyway? The past month suddenly felt like a blur–what had you even done the past month? You couldn’t quite remember, but whatever it was, it definitely felt like it was all memories filled with Kokichi’s presence, as infuriating as he could be sometimes. 

Then again, you knew he never truly meant any harm, and overall, you considered him–a classmate? No, that felt wrong after all the time you’d spent together for such a short span of a month. 

A friend. That felt so much more right, suited your relationships so much better.

You paused. 

“Wait a minute! You never even said that you liked me or anything. You just told me to fall in love with you!” you said, affronted by the realization. 

“Oops, you got me!” Kokichi snickered. “Well, if you insist, though I’m sure you get plenty of proclamations of love everyday as the Ultimate Celebrity.” 

He pulled out a flower from behind his back and thrusted it toward you with a big, innocent smile on his face. “I like you!” 

You facepalmed but plucked the flower from his hand begrudgingly.

“Somehow, that felt so disingenuous,” you complained. “Like it was just an afterthought. And you wondered why I didn’t believe you.” 

Kokichi poked your cheek, which had puffed a little without you even realizing. 

“Hey, don’t be so pessimistic after I told you I liked you! How can you have so many complaints about the Ultimate Supreme Leader liking you, huh? It should be your honor! A snap of my fingers, and I can have my thousands of underlings kneeling before you in seconds,” he boasted.

You gave him a look–you could just about see his nose growing longer for every lie coming out of his mouth.

“I doubt you have thousands of underlings,” you sighed. “Plus, this was so anticlimactic. I’m still pretty sure you just want to get my autograph.” 

Kokichi put a finger to his chin, thinking hard–or hardly thinking, it was always hard to tell with someone like him. 

“Well, do you need me to prove it? I’ll say I like you a thousand times! Here, why don’t I start now?” He opened his mouth wide and started chanting, “I like you, I like you, I like you, I like you, I like-” 

You hastily slapped a hand over his mouth and fearfully glanced around the classroom. Luckily, everyone else was busy with their own conversations during lunchtime. 

“Stop that, you’re going to get everyone’s attention!” you grumbled. 

“Oh?” he chuckled as he pulled your hand from his mouth, and a look of delighted mischief sparkled in his eyes–a look, you now realize, of trouble. “You know what an even better way to get everyone’s attention is? Watch this!” 

And then, he leaned in and pressed his soft, pale lips to yours–but they were gone so soon, no sooner than you had realized they’d even touched you at all, too soon, in fact. You sat there in shock, face rapidly heating up; you were melting like butter in a hot pan, like ice under the summer sun, and you had no idea how to cope. 

Slowly, you brought your fingers to your lips, still staring at Kokichi, who had the smuggest little smile on his face. 

“You-!” 

“Did you like it? Should I kiss you again?” he licked his lips, smirking. “Here, hold still-” 

But before he could do anything else, he was interrupted by Kaito, who had grabbed onto his shoulders firmly with an uncontrollable blush on his face. Kaito could barely even look at you, instead fiercely glaring at Kokichi.

“What are you doing to them?! You didn’t even ask, and you’re in the damn classroom, Kokichi! Our entire class just saw that!” 

Kokichi stuck his tongue out at Kaito, struggling against Kaito’s hold on him.

“Yeah, and who cares? They didn’t say they didn’t like it. Right, [Name]?” He paused and waved his hand in front of your dazed face. “Hellooooo, Earth to [Name]?” 

You shook your head rapidly, trying to come back to your senses. Of all the things to happen today, you hadn’t expected to be kissed by Kokichi Ouma. Maybe just another plea for an autograph, and maybe a prank or two, but a kiss? And not only that, but you hadn’t expected yourself to like it so much. Or like him so much.

“No, I…” Still thoroughly startled, you glanced away, still blushing, only to notice that the entire class was practically staring at the two of you (and Kaito, now that he’d tried to intervene). Tenko had put her hands up over her eyes, except she’d parted her fingers, so she wasn’t actually blocking anything from sight as she blushed furiously. Meanwhile, Shuichi had dropped his egg roll onto his desk, and Gonta was trying to ask Miu what kissing was and what it meant. Angie was watching with fervent interest, and Maki seemed shocked you’d let him kiss you to begin with, judging by the murderous expression on her face. 

To hell with it, you decided. Let them watch. Most of your life as the Ultimate Celebrity was already watched, anyway. What was one more thing? 

“It’s my turn now,” you grinned. Kaito let go of him, seeming to notice the tension in the air. “Don’t move.” 

You leaned over the desk and with a finger, tilted his chin up toward you, watching the Adam’s apple of his slender neck bob nervously. 

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his, not just once, not just twice, but three times. When you finally let go of him, you had the pleasure of seeing a thoroughly and truly bewildered look on his face for once; his eyes were blank, as if trying to process what had just happened, and a generous amount of pink had painted itself over his usually pale cheeks.

Kaito gave a wolf whistle and clapped, while the others started murmuring to each other.

“Nyeh… Is this the power of the Ultimate Celebrity?” Himiko uttered in surprise. “Truly magic to be wary of…” 

“It’s not m-magic,” Tenko stuttered and flusteredly pointed at you. “It’s, it’s sorcery! They made Kokichi shut up for once in his life!” 

“No, no, this surely must be a divine act bestowed by Atua,” Angie crowed. 

“Did we want Kokichi to shut up that badly…?” Shuichi asks tentatively. 

“Yes.” Maki stabbed her pickled plum with scary precision. “Yes, we did.” 

Kaede tried to assuage everyone’s complaints.

 “Now, he’s not that bad…” 

“Well, I’m glad that pipsqueak shut up for once!” Miu exclaimed. 

“Yes, he’s an absolute menace,” Korekiyo agreed.

But the quiet Kokichi didn’t last for long–or at least, not as long as some of them hoped it would. He swiftly leapt up from his seat and pulled you up, too, before hug-attacking you. 

“Wow, I didn’t know you had it in you! From now on, you have to kiss me everyday,” he declared proudly. “And if you skimp, you have to give me an autograph!”

You pat him on the head, chuckling–his hair was so soft, you absent-mindedly thought to yourself. 

“Again with the autograph. You really are persistent,” you laughed. 

He pulled back for a moment and sweetly stared into your eyes. 

“But that’s what you like about me so much, right? Nishishi!” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you shrugged, but you could feel your cheeks warming up again. 

Kokichi leaned in close, the breath from his mouth tickling your ear.

“Just between you and me, though, I’d take your kisses over your autograph any day, so don’t forget~”

[motelsnleatherseats]

Sweet Revenge

Dean's not one to relent control in most situations, but most definitely not in sexually charged ones. Most nights he's the one putting Sam in his position of choice, dictating the pace, calling the shots, but every once in a blue moon, he'll relinquish authority to Sam (or so Sam thinks).

Some nights Dean seems insatiable, vying for round after round like it's an all out marathon, but Sam's got the stamina for it and hardly puts up a fight, but he's so damn sensitive, it's easy for him to get overstimulated. Dean likes that; he enjoys watching Sam squirm, listening to him whine and feeling him shudder at even the smallest of caresses when he's all but spent, and he tucks that ammo away for later use to tease him when he sees fit. It's rare when Sam gets to turn the tables on him, but this time, he had the advantage of a whiskey-soaked Dean not being as coordinated as he typically is.

Sam had managed to wrestle Dean to the closest chair amidst their heated lip lock after a night out at the nearest local dive bar, beer and brown liquor being the lingering aftertaste once their lips had parted. Dean smirked in that cocksure way of his when Sam straddled his lap, his hands finding his brother's hips to pull him forward for some delicious friction up against his ass, but Sam denied him with a small display of his own strength, long and deft fingers curling around Dean's wrists to yank them away, pushing them behind the back of the chair and holding them there.

"Ooh, think you're taking control tonight, Sammy?" Dean asked, and even with slightly unfocused eyes, they were still so wide, glimmering with a hint of mischief and lust.

"Can't see how you're gonna wrestle your way out of this one," Sam chided with a small grin of his own, one hand holding Dean's wrists back while the other moved to undo his own belt, snapping it free from the belt loops and making quick work of securing it around the older Winchester's wrists and the back of the chair, keeping him in place, Dean's demeanor wavering for half a second.

"What, you think I can't work my hands free? C'mon, little brother, give me more credit than that," Dean replied with a twist of his balled fists and an attempted yank of arms, but it only seemed to grow tighter. His expression faltered briefly before he gave a grunt and tried again. No dice. "Okay, might take me a minute, but I'll get it."

"Uh huh, you go ahead and keep trying," Sam retorted with a breathy chuckle, sliding off his lap and standing before him, suddenly much taller and more domineering than Dean could ever recall him being.

"Hey-" Dean grunted as he continued to struggle. "Don't leave me hangin', that's a bitch move."

"Oh I'm not," Sam replied, shifting down to his knees before he pushed Dean's thighs apart, sliding his palms up along the denim clad flesh, warmth of his skin radiating through his jeans. "I'm just getting a little pay back."

"Pay back? For what? For making you come like four times the other night, or..?" A grunt followed as Sam moved his hand to run his palm over Dean's forming bulge, sucking in a breath through his teeth as the confines loosened and Sam made quick work of pulling his cock out. "Fuck, Sammy," he groaned, blunt nails making small indents into his own palms.

"For dragging it out until it hurt." His fingers curled around his girth, giving slow and indulgent strokes, enjoying the way his brother's cock was fattening in his hand, hardening quickly against his palm, earning another grunt.

"Don't be a-" A struggled sound. "Baby. You loved it," Dean managed to finish as Sam gripped the base of his dick and moved his other hand to roll his palm over the sensitive head, thumb teasing the slit afterward. His eyelids fluttered before he tipped his head back, lips parted as he exhaled in a heated manner. "Tease," he complained, though his hips raised slightly.

"Doesn't mean I can't return the favor."

His hands continued to work over Dean's cock until he was hard as marble, hot and heavy under his practiced techniques. Dean continued to try and chase the sensation, his body doing the begging by silently encouraging him to hurry it up, add a little pressure, move a little faster, just something. It was only when Sam put his mouth to use that Dean gave into his frustrations, dropping his head some and giving another yank at the belt keeping him in place.

"Fuck, c'mon Sammy," Dean groaned, wanting more than anything to push his fingers into those long and silky locks so he could fuck into that incredible heat of his mouth. But Sam was a step ahead of him, his hands moving to hold his hips in place so he couldn't raise his hips, leaving him at the mercy of his lazy rhythm. "S'not fuckin' fair," he complained, even as his cock gave a hard throb against the velvety wetness of his tongue and cheeks.

He was rewarded with a grin around his dick before he gave in a little, suddenly deep throating him until his nose was pressed to his pubic bone, throat tight around the thick girth and Dean physically shuddered.

“Jesus, Sammy,” Dean moaned, toes curling in his shoes as his breathing quickened, the pleasure coursing through him making his heart hammer in his chest as his stomach tightened. “Fuck, that feels so fucking good. Don’t stop, baby, shit..”

But it was too good to be true and Sam did stop, and he pulled up as he felt a little spurt of precome slick the back of his throat with a wet pop. Dean agonized.

“Sam, fuck, don’t,” Dean spoke, the desperation in his voice too fucking sweet for Sam not to revel in it. “… please.” A small victory was earned.

“I don’t recall you listening when I said please.”

“Okay, okay, fuck,” Dean was practically whining, his cock aching from the lack of attention. “I’m sorry, just.. Please, baby boy.”

Seemingly satisfied and swayed, Sam moved to take the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue slowly as his hand rejoined his efforts, stroking the remaining length of his brother’s cock as he enjoyed the mix of pained and pleasured sounds that fell from his full lips. Dean tipped his head back again, his arms beginning to ache slightly from trying to squirm free and he had to will himself to relax his muscles a bit, though it was difficult with the way his little brother sucked his cock like a come-hungry hoover. He could feel his stomach tensing, the slowly tightening spring of an impending orgasm making him delirious with pleasure. His breath hitched, a tell-tale sign that he was close, and just like that, Sam had pulled off again.

This time Dean did whine, low and petulant, like he could be on the verge of a tantrum, and the grin that laid upon Sam’s spit-slick lips wasn’t helping the situation.

“Sam, I swear to fucking God-”

“Don’t be a… what was that you called me? A baby?”

“Dude, point taken! Fuck, please, I’m so fuckin’ close.”

“Does it hurt?”

Dean’s jaw clenched, torn between his ego and his orgasm. Sam had him exactly where he wanted him, and it fucking sucked.

“It hurts, huh?"

“Yes, okay, fuck, it fucking hurts,” Dean admitted, his eyebrows knitted together as he tried to raise his hips and get any bit of friction from Sam’s grip on him. The reaction alone was enough to satisfy the younger, but he still took his time. He tightened his hold on Dean’s reddened and throbbing cock, slowly dragging his hand up and down.

“Beg me to let you come,” Sam spoke, voice low, his own hazel-lit eyes now alight with mischief the way Dean’s had been before. “Beg real pretty and maybe I’ll let you.”

Dean was already planning revenge on his brother, the little shit, but getting off was the most important thing right now. After a moment of internal struggle, he let his pride take a back seat and let his libido earn him his reward.

“Please, Sammy, please let me come. God, I need it so fuckin’ bad-”

And Sam believed him, so he obliged with a quickening of his hand, the slick squelches of pumping Dean’s spit-slick cock growing louder and mingling with Dean’s whines and groans, feeling him tense as they grew higher pitched. He felt a throb against his palm and suddenly let go, and Dean all but lost his shit. He had been half a second away from achieving orgasm and Sam was fucking grinning at him. He was grinning at him like he was getting off on edging him to the point of insanity, and Dean truly believed in that moment that he might actually lose his fucking mind.

“Sam-” his voice was choked, and Sam could almost swear that he was actually tearing up.

Oh, the payback was sweet.

↳ day 1 (edging) of kinktober2024, can be found on ao3 here if y'all feel so inclined to leave kudos or comments. 😊

[palfriendpatine66]

Pajamas, rambunctious, and distant for Obikin!

The game: send me three words and a character or pairing and I’ll write you a scene

I filled this prompt with the PiP obikin as disgruntled sleepover hosts

Obi-Wan dragged his way back into their bedroom after having quelled the room of rambunctious eight year olds, at least for now. He left the door open so they could keep an ear on the activities down the hall. Luke and Leia both had friends staying over for their first sleepover party.

He also fervently hoped it would be their last. He liked their friends a lot better in the daytime hours. His jaw cracked as he yawned and crawled into bed, nudging his husband under his swath of blankets. “You’re up next. It’s after midnight. I’m calling in backup.”

“Mmm?”

Obi-Wan decided that probably meant something along the lines of what was it this time? and answered as such. “Leia dared Luke to climb into the roof.”

“Mmm.”

Obi-Wan didn’t accept that one as easily. “Anakin?” He worked an arm under the tightly wrapped blanket. “Did you hear me? Don’t you want to know if he made it onto the roof?”

“Mmm.” Anakin shrugged.

Obi-Wan had to concede that since there hadn’t been any extended yelling or emergency calls it was fairly obvious that he had not. However. “You may be interested to know I stopped him halfway out the window.”

Anakin flipped over, his eyes wide, and Obi-Wan regretted the dramatics, at least a bit. “Or he would have been if he could figure out the lock,” he corrected. “I’m glad to know you’re actually listening,” he took his husband’s hands between his own and squeezed lightly. “What’s wrong? You’ve been distant since they all changed into their pajamas.”

“I’m just not good at this,” Anakin admitted. “Not like you. I love my kids. But these other ones?” He groaned as as a chorus of shrieks reached them from down the hall. “These other ones need to get the hell out of my house.”

“Wow,” Obi-Wan sounded dazed as he sat up and narrowed his eyes at their open door as if that would make it more clear if he needed to intervene once more. “I can’t believe it. You know, I truly never thought I’d see the day.”

“What day?”

“The day I’m the fun parent.”

“Shut up,” Anakin angrily buried his head under his pillow. Obi-Wan slipped off the bed and grabbed his own to use as a shield as he entered the pillow fight, not bothering to ask if that had been directed at him or not; he would just assume the answer was both.

Obi-Wan wouldn’t force a nearly murderous, tired Anakin upon the room of unsuspecting eight year olds, but he looked forward to calling in his debt. His husband owed him, big time. The moment he entered the room his glasses were sent flying by a well aimed pillow. He was getting too old for this.

[larsfredriksvedberg]

[jupiter-suggestion]

embrace the world as it comes; she is not out to get you. they say change only happens when the pain of staying the same is greater than the pain of changing. lean into the hurt; let the world embrace you, even with all her prickles and thorns.

[poppiesandpromises]

[cruxymox]

everyone has some part of themselves that they lost at some point

recently, or somewhere in their ancestry

a prehensile memory

a ghost that holds on

[ravendruid]

#18 for any cr ship!!

Thank you so much for sending a prompt!! Sorry this one is a bit short, I hope you still enjoy it ^_^

Put On Your Rain Boots

(Read on AO3)

“Imogen, have you seen my—Imogen?” Laudna stops dead in her tracks at the threshold of the shoe-box bedroom she shares with the purple-haired woman. She could swear she heard Imogen in the room, but now that Laudna looks inside it, she can’t find her anywhere. Strange.

Imogen? She uses the telepathic bond the two share but the line is quiet. “How strange,” Laudna mumbles to herself. She turns her back to the room and returns to the small living room where their elderly landlady, Zhudanna, is knitting what looks like the beginning of a sweater. 

“Zhudanna, have you seen Imogen?” Laudna asks the woman. 

“Ah? Imogen? No, dearie. I haven’t.”

“Strange. I could swear–”

THUD!

The sound of something hard hitting wood interrupts Laudna. Zhudanna jumps in her chair and looks worried at the hallway leading to the bedrooms, but before she has the chance to say anything, Laudna is already using her spindly limbs to run in the direction of the sound. She didn’t know what to expect when she started running, but the scenario she finds was not it. 

Imogen is holding the back of her head, crying in pain on the floor while the lower half of her body is stuck underneath the old, ragged bed the two women share. When she looks up at Laudna, her freckled face reddens in embarrassment of being caught in this situation.

“Imogen!” Laudna cries out. She kneels on the floor and tries to pull Imogen out from underneath the bed, but to no effect other than getting her shoulder out of her socket. 

“Darn it,” Imogen curses. She rubs the back of her head again where Laudna sees a bump forming, then she mutters a few words and the bed levitates enough for Imogen to crawl back to safety.

Laudna immediately busies herself checking her friend for injuries, completely oblivious to her dangling arm, “Are you alright?” When she doesn’t find anything more than a bump on Imogen’s head, she sits down on the floor in front of the woman, taking deep breaths.

“I’m okay. Are you?” Imogen nods at Laudna’s arm. 

“Wha—oh! Yeah,” Laudna shrugs and puts the arm back in the socket as effortlessly as if she’s joining two pieces of a puzzle. “What were you doing under the bed?”

“I was looking for your rain boots,” Imogen rubs the back of her head again. Laudna almost wants to jump to look at it for the millionth time, but Imogen gives her a look. 

“How did you know I was looking for them?” Laudna asks, completely forgetting that Imogen can detect thoughts.

“I heard you think about how fun it would be to splash in the puddles since it doesn’t rain often. I thought we could go together.”

“Oh, Imogen,” Laudna sing-songs with a grin. “That would be so fun! Did you find them?”

It’s Imogen’s turn to grin as she lifts her hand and a pair of black, rubber boots with red ladybugs comes out from underneath the bed, followed by a pair of purple boots with lightning bolts. “Of course I did.”

“Let’s go then!” Laudna grabs the boots with one hand and Imogen with the other and drags them both out of the room, running past Zhudanna in the living room in a flush of purple and black, and onto the street to play in the puddles in a rare moment of relaxation.

[lead-to-code]

It's Just A Leap by Kara

Standing, in the lake's reflection Wanting to be a kite in the sky So I can glide through the stratus As I brush my fingers in it But with a susurrus I fall, hoping to reach terminal To find the shore I was on And be a split summer lime That waltzes into the next season Attempting to perfect its citrusy scent And trying, not to feed the machine

LeadToCode - 10/08/2024 - prompt from SmittenbyPoetry