#rest assured every single prompt ends well

[drabblesandsnippets]

Confidence, Part 1

Hot Bucky Summer 2024 - Week 2

Pairing: Sex Worker!Bucky Barnes x Plus-size female character (unnamed)

Prompt: “What should I call you?” | [Master | Alpha | Pet] @buckybarnesevents

Summary: (7k) AU Bucky is a full-service sex worker who enjoys helping women become more confident in their sexuality.

Warnings: 18+ Only. Mention of an ex-boyfriend. Mention of insecurities/body image. Pet names (sweetheart, baby). Lots of asking for consent. Teasing. Dirty talk. Praise. Issues climaxing. Oral & fingering (f receiving).

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The end of a long-term relationship had led her here. Years of unhappiness. Years of feeling unsatisfied by her ex. Years of wishing things would change. 

After she finally found the courage to end things, the breath of relief she thought would come never did. Instead, she was left feeling lost, insecure, and unsure about what she wanted or who she even was.

That’s when a friend referred her to Bucky. 

A full-service sex worker who came highly recommended. A man who believes that there’s something inherently beautiful about everyone.

“I’ve worked with all types of women,” he assured her, “and I’ve found every single one of them attractive.”

It sounded like a line, but all the evidence pointed to the contrary. 

Bucky’s not just doing this to make money. He truly enjoys what he does. The physical part of it, sure - he wouldn’t be doing it if he didn’t - but, it’s the emotional aspect that keeps bringing him back.

There’s nothing like the rush he gets from watching a woman find her confidence and blossom under his guidance. That moment when they finally feel comfortable enough to let go of their inhibitions and learn to trust themselves.

It’s a heady feeling, knowing he’s changing their lives forever, and it’s not something he takes lightly.

Over the last few weeks of emails, texts, and phone calls, she found it easy to talk to Bucky about what she wanted out of this experience. Sex is supposed to be fun, and she wants to be able to enjoy herself without worrying about how she looks or if she’s doing the wrong thing.

Even during the more personal topics, like when they discussed what her sex life was like with her ex, Bucky never made her feel ashamed or judged. Her lack of experience and seemingly lack of enthusiasm for certain acts, due to her ex, didn’t make him blink an eye.

If anything, it made Bucky more intrigued to work with her. She was a puzzle he was going to enjoy help figuring out.

Despite his intimidating appearance - his well-defined muscles and the abundance of tattoos, his entire left arm covered in intricate designs - his charismatic personality keeps her relaxed.

His easy-going nature helps her open up as they sit on the couch in the beautifully decorated hotel room, giving her the courage to blurt out a question, a faint blush spreading across her cheeks when she does.

“What should I call you?”

During their last conversation, Bucky had asked her something similar, curious if she would enjoy being called something other than her name. She settled on a few things, but they never discussed what - if anything - she should call him.

With a tilt of his head, and a warm smile, he tells her, “You can call me whatever you’d like.” 

The hand that’s been resting on the back of the couch finally moves closer to her, his fingers just inches from her shoulder, making her breath hitch.

“Try not to overthink it,” he continues, his hand drifting closer as his smile turns playful. “Let the throes of passion guide you. I’m good with anything, really. ‘Bucky’. ‘Baby’. ‘Sir’. ‘Daddy’, if that’s your kink.”

She immediately laughs, the pink on her cheeks darkening as she shakes her head at him. She’s just starting to figure out what she might like with a partner, she’s not ready to even consider the last two options. 

Bucky’s grin grows and he nods his head in understanding, happy to see that his teasing tone is helping to relax her a bit more. It encourages him to shift a bit closer, his knee just barely brushing against her thigh. 

Their layers of clothing do nothing to dampen the rush of arousal she suddenly feels, and she waits with baited breath as his hand hovers over her shoulder, his fingertips almost close enough to touch her shirt.

“Can I touch you?”

It’s such a simple question, but it’s in this moment that she finally understands the phrase ‘consent is sexy.’

There’s something so incredibly intimate and arousing about Bucky asking for permission, despite the obvious reason he’s here. 

He accepts the slight nod of her head and the soft whisper of ‘yes’ for now. Eventually, he’ll help her find her voice and figure out how to ask for what she wants.

Until then, he needs to find a balance between her obvious desire for more and showing her that it’s okay to go slow.

She deserves to have someone take their time with her, to learn her body, to help her figure out what brings her pleasure. 

She knows what she likes when she’s by herself - that’s never been the problem - it’s allowing herself to be vulnerable with someone that’s the issue. She’s always struggled with being able to fully enjoy the moment, and she’s trusting Bucky to help her learn how to do that.

Goosebumps spread across her skin at the first brush of his thumb along the soft curve where her shoulder meets her neck. A soft exhale and a flutter of her eyelashes tells him all he needs to know, but he still asks, his voice a low murmur.

“Is this okay?”

She’s quick with her answer. A slight nod before she tilts her head, wanting him to keep going. He’s more than happy to, his eyes roaming along her body as he caresses her neck, taking in all the subtle ways her body responds to her touch.

“Does that feel good?”

It shouldn’t make her laugh, but it does. Bucky doesn’t take offense though, just watches her with a grin on his face, his hand never leaving her. 

“Why does it turn me on when you ask questions like that?” She’s surprised she manages to get the words out, but any nerves that threaten to consume her are immediately alleviated when Bucky’s smile grows.

She can practically feel how proud he is of her for asking.

He was already excited about working with her, but this just solidifies it. He can’t wait to watch her come out of her shell even more. 

As his thumb dips down to trace over her collarbone, he tells her, “I think it’s because it shows you that I care about what you want. That your pleasure is important to me.”

After an audible swallow, and a steadying breath, she admits, “I think I just also like hearing your voice.”

Her confession makes Bucky laugh, the smile reaching his eyes, and he nods his head, “Good to know.” He shifts just a bit closer on the couch, his leg resting against hers, his thumb slowly following a path up to her chin. “Does that mean you wanna try some dirty talk?”

She immediately blushes again, but with his thumb caressing the curve of her throat, she’s forced to keep her head held high. 

It manages to give her a boost of confidence, and she lets out a soft laugh, confessing, “Oh god, I’d be terrible at it.”

Bucky chuckles along with her but shakes his head. “Oh don’t worry, you wouldn’t have to say a thing.” His thumb brushes over her chin, almost close enough to touch her lip. “I’d enjoy just watching your reactions.”

He always seems to know just what to say to ease her worries before they can even start. The moment his eyes glance at her mouth, her lips part, and she leans in, just a fraction of an itch. 

The smile on Bucky’s face brightens, and he shifts again, mirroring her movements, but he’s not going to kiss her just yet, wanting the anticipation to build a little more. Instead, he repeats his question, softly asking her, “Do you want me to talk dirty to you?”

The slight shudder that rolls through her would make her feel embarrassed if it wasn’t for the hungry look he’s giving her. Her reactions are turning him on, and it helps her find her voice again.

“Yes.” 

With a tender touch, Bucky tucks her hair behind her ear, and all her senses are suddenly flooded by him - the smell of him, the heat of him, the sound of his voice whispering in her ear.

“Do you want me to praise you?” The question catches her off guard, but she’s suddenly aware of the way her nipples tighten, especially when he asks, “Can I tell you how good you’re doing?”

She wants his attention. She wants to be comfortable with someone complimenting her and praising her. So, with a slow nod of her head, she whispers another soft, “yes.”

But, Bucky hears the difference this time. The word just a bit louder, a bit more confident. She’s trying her hardest to allow herself to face her fears, and he wants her to know that he sees her. That he’s proud of how far she’s already come.

After getting her permission to touch more of her, he takes her hand in his, stroking his thumb across her palm, listening to the change in her breath. Without ever pulling away, he keeps talking, his mouth almost close enough to touch her ear.

“You’re doing so good for me.” 

The praise makes warmth pool in her belly and the softest noise of pleasure escapes her. 

“Oh,” he murmurs, his touch sliding higher, the pad of his thumb tracing the inside of her wrist. “I like that sound.”

She feels like she’s dreaming. Bucky’s barely started touching her, and she can already feel the wetness between her thighs, the ache for more.

“Let’s see what other kind of noises you can make for me,” he says, his soft beard brushing against her jaw. With one hand stroking up her forearm, his other hand slides into her hair to support her head, giving him better access.

She’s sure her heart is beating loud enough for him to hear, but she makes no move to pull away, not wanting to give him any reason to stop. Her head is flooded with thoughts of what he’s going to do, how he’s going to touch her, but he still takes her by surprise.

Just the softest brush of Bucky’s lips against her cheek before he’s asking, “is this okay?” and she’s a mess. 

She doesn’t even recognize the sound that comes out of her, and without thinking, she reaches for him, her fingers trailing over the front of his shirt.

Bucky rewards her confidence with another soft kiss along her jaw, and she suddenly decides to jump in with both feet, asking him, “Will you kiss me?” 

The question’s been building all evening, trying to work its way out of her, and his reaction to it makes her wonder why she was hesitant to start with.

“Absolutely.” The way he says it, like he’s just been waiting for her, makes her laugh softly, and he grins as he pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. “I would love to kiss you.” 

And the way he kisses her makes her believe him. His mouth soon coaxing hers open, his tongue seeking permission to deepen the kiss, a soft groan rumbling deep in his chest in response to the taste of her. 

It’s all so new and exciting, but somehow Bucky’s able to make it feel familiar and comfortable. And for the first time in what feels like forever, she’s not in her head about what’s happening or what she’s supposed to be doing. 

She’s just living in the moment, making out with an incredibly hot guy, welcoming his weight on top of her. 

If there was ever any doubt that he was enjoying himself, it’s erased when he settles between her thighs, letting her feel how turned on he is.

The moan she makes in return just makes him harder, and he leans up, meeting her gaze, a soft smile on his lips. As much as Bucky's enjoying kissing her, he wants to hear her, watch her as the pleasure takes over. 

She’s not sure who moves first, but with a slight tilt of her hips, the hard length of him is suddenly pressed right against her clit, eliciting a soft gasp from her. 

It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, the two of them still completely dressed, but the moment he starts to move against her, her back is already arching, her body seeking out more.

Bucky doesn’t take his eyes off of her, watching her closely. She doesn’t even realize it, but she’s the one setting the pace here. He’s just following her lead, matching her movements with his own, wanting her to show him what feels good to her.

When he can see the attention he’s giving her is starting to overwhelm her, he closes the distance, placing soft kisses along her jaw, giving her time to relax all over again. 

With a soft moan right against her ear, he tells her, “You feel so good like this.” His fingers tighten in her hair at her reaction, her tense thighs and lift of her hips causing his cock to throb between them. “Can you feel how hard I am for you?”

“Oh god,” she breathes, grinding harder against him, his words sending a burst of pleasure straight to her clit. With her hands pressed against his back, fisting his shirt, she quickly nods her head, whispering, “Yes. Please.”

That’s the word he’s been waiting for. 

Please. 

Bucky’s free hand travels down to her thigh, guiding her to lift her leg just a bit higher. The new position makes her gasp and he groans against her neck, asking her, “Please, what?” 

Her body shudders as he starts moving again, the increased pressure between her thighs making her breath catch. She doesn’t even know what she’s asking for. She just holds onto him, her hips moving a bit faster, the pleasure building inside of her.

Bucky still wants an answer, but he doesn’t pressure her for one. He follows her lead, listening to her gasps and moans get louder with each thrust of his hips against hers. He’s pretty sure this might be enough to make her come.

The same thought is running through her head, but it’s not long before the moment starts to catch up with her. 

The way she’s starting to sweat underneath her clothes, the way her heavy breathing has caused her throat to go dry, the way her foot keeps slipping off the edge of the couch as she tries to find purchase.

This time it doesn’t surprise her when his voice interrupts her thoughts, asking her, “Can you tell me what you need?” All he wants is for her to be comfortable, and if she’s not feeling this anymore, he’s more than happy to find something that works for her.

She knows what she needs. The only problem is that it’s the one thing that’s been giving her the most anxiety about this night. 

Being naked with him. Being vulnerable. Having to trust him to prove to her that she deserves to have someone bring her pleasure.

Bucky is more than up for the challenge though. His entire goal for the night is to show her how good it can be to have someone take care of her. To show her how much pleasure someone can bring her, if she just allows herself to connect with them.

Soon, he’s leading them to stand at the foot of the bed, taking his time to get her to relax against him, drawing her into a kiss that leaves them both breathless. 

And with just a bit of encouragement, she’s makes the first move, slowly lifting his shirt over his head. While her hands start exploring his newly exposed skin, tracing the lines of the tattoos that cover his shoulder and left arm, he pulls her into another kiss, groaning against her mouth. 

She doesn’t know what’s come over her. She’s never felt this confident before, refusing to overthink how she’s touching him, letting her desire for him guide her. It’s opening her up to so many possibilities, the memory of their conversations about boundaries and kinks suddenly flashing through her mind.

As she encourages him to help her out of her shirt, she softly asks him, “What if I change my mind about something we’ve already discussed?”

It’s clear to Bucky that she’s not asking about things she’s already said she wants, and he takes a moment to consider her question, appreciating the way her nipples strain against her bra.

It’s not lost on him that she makes no move to try to cover up or hide herself from him.

After he gives her another kiss, he meets her gaze, watching her as his finger traces along her bra strap, the back of his fingers brushing across the swell of her breast. 

He smiles when her lips part, her breath quickening, and he whispers, “Then you tell me. Tonight’s about learning to ask for what you want.”

She nods her head slowly, but her voice leaves her for a moment. Her entire focus is on his touch, his fingers teasing along the edge of her bra, the occasional brush of his skin against hers making her dizzy with need. She’s not sure she’s ever been this turned on before, especially not during foreplay.

“What is it you think you might want?” 

Bucky remembers everything she said no to - everything she knew she wouldn’t like, or didn’t want to try - and he can’t ignore the rush of excitement at the thought that he’s made her comfortable enough to try something she wasn’t sure about before.

It’s not until she’s helped him out of his jeans, leaving him in just his boxer briefs, that she finally figures out how to voice her desires. It helps that he chooses the same moment to kneel in front of her to undo her jeans, the soft brush of his fingers against her stomach bringing her nothing but pleasure.

“I did what you suggested,” she begins, her hand resting on his shoulder as he starts to lower her jeans, his eyes briefly looking up at her, a pleased smirk on his face as he reveals the matching panties to her bra. “The other night,” she whispers, watching as he slowly undresses her, helping her step out of her jeans. “I tasted myself.”

Bucky doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it’s not that. 

His hands immediately reach up to hold her hips, his thumbs dipping underneath the waistband of her panties as he lets out a soft groan. The image of her alone in her own bed, touching herself, tasting herself for the first time has him silently praying that this is going where he thinks it is.

He somehow manages to keep his composure and looks up at her, his eyes dark with desire, but his voice steady. “What did you think?”

She’s the one that brought this up, but her skin still grows warm and a soft laugh comes out of her. She’s trying so hard not to overthink all of this - to not let her insecurities start to overwhelm her.

Bucky helps her through this moment, like he’s done all evening. Still kneeling in front of her, he slides his hands down her thick thighs and gently asks, “Do you like the way you taste?” 

Her first reaction is to give him a slight shrug, her eyes looking past him. But he quickly gets her attention, finding a sensitive spot along the back of her thigh, the graze of his fingers causing her breath to shudder out of her. 

It has the desired effect, and she nods her head, whispering, “Yes.”

Bucky continues watching her as he caresses the back of her thighs, marveling at the way it causes obvious pleasure to ripple through her, her eyes fluttering closed.

“Do you think I’d like the way you taste?”

There’s no doubt in his mind that he will, but this isn’t really about him. Bucky needs her to get there on her own, to believe that someone wants all of her. 

She wants to shrug again. To brush off his question and keep her eyes closed, pretending that he’s not watching her right now. But, she can’t. That’s not why she’s here. That’s not why Bucky is here. 

After she forces herself to take a slow, deep breath, she finally opens her eyes and looks down at him. The confidence she wishes for isn’t there yet, but she’s able to answer him honestly. 

A soft whisper of, “I’m not sure.” And then, a barely audible utterance of, “Maybe.”

Without hesitation, his hands slide up the outside of her thighs, returning to her hips, his fingers tracing along the edge of her panties. “Do you want me to taste you?” 

She forgets how to breathe, air getting trapped in her lungs as she tries not to look away. She just needs to ask for what she wants. It should be easy by now. She’s already standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, letting him see the bits of her that she’s uncomfortable with.

But, for a moment, the words still don’t come. Her hands remain on his shoulders, her nails lightly scratching along his tattooed skin as she tries to refocus. This time, Bucky remains quiet. He just continues to look up at her, giving her as much time as she needs to show him she’s ready for this.

This is something her ex never volunteered to do, and she was always too shy to ask, but she doesn’t want to be shy anymore. 

She wants to own her sexuality. She wants to be able to ask for what she wants in her next relationship, even new things she might not even know she wants yet.

With a slight nod of her head, and another trembling breath, she tells him, “Yes. I want… I want that.” 

Bucky doesn’t move yet. The look he gives her conveys how proud he is of her, but he wants to hear her say the actual words. Instead of just expecting her to know what to say, he asks her, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

She swallows the nervous laughter that threatens to spill out and takes a moment to close her eyes, trying to compose herself. How can such a simple term of endearment cause her so much pleasure? 

That’s not what she says though. When her mouth opens, the words come before she can overthink them. “I want you to taste me.”

“Oh, good girl.” Bucky’s growl of praise almost has her collapsing into a puddle, but his hands on her hips keep her steady. Not wanting to lose the momentum she’s building, he slides his hands up her back to her bra, asking her, “Can I take this off?”

She’s already made it this far, the intensity of her insecurities starting to lessen each time she reveals more of herself to him. With a nod of her head, she gives him permission, unable to look away as he slowly unhooks her bra, his fingers immediately rubbing along the indentations left behind.

The soft moan of relief she makes has him grinning up at her, and he slowly slides the straps down her arms, giving her a moment to adjust to this new level of vulnerability.

With his gaze still on her face, he tosses her bra aside to join the rest of their clothes and softly asks her, “Can I touch you?”

“Yes, please.” The words come easily this time, despite her nerves trying to get the better of her. She’s insecure about her breasts, gravity having caught up to her before she thought it would, and she finds herself wanting his approval.

In reality, it doesn’t matter what he thinks of her body, but he’s more than happy to help her see what he sees.

Matching his pace of the entire evening, his fingers brush along the sides of her breasts, the feather-light touch causing her nipples to pebble.

“You’re gorgeous,” he tells her, unable to tear his gaze away from the way her body immediately arches towards his touch.

Bucky’s given her no reason to doubt his words, and the moment he cups her breast in his hand, her fingers slide into his hair as if to guide him closer.

He doesn’t make her ask for it this time, and she barely registers his breath on her skin before his tongue flicks out to lick her nipple.

The sound she makes causes his cock to twitch and he wastes no time trying to bring more of those noises out of her.

With his heavily-tattooed arm wrapped around her to support her, he immediately closes his lips around the erect bud, his free hand moving to her other nipple. 

It’s like he’s on a mission to see just how loud he can make her get before she demands more from him.

It doesn’t take long, her body trembling against him, both her hands in his hair, tugging at the strands.

“Bucky,” she moans, meeting his gaze as he switches sides, his fingers now playing with her saliva-slick nipple. 

All he does is grin at her in return, the gentle scrape of his teeth giving her the last push she needs. He can practically see the last of her walls starting to crumble, and as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, she manages to surprise him yet again.

“Please,” she pleads, unable to hide how breathless he’s already made her. “I want you to taste me.”

“Oh fuck,” Bucky groans against her breast. He immediately pulls back and slides his hand up to wrap his fingers around her throat, his tender touch adding to her pleasure. “Is that what you need, baby? You want me to lick your pussy?”

All it takes is a quick confirmation from her and he’s guiding her onto the bed, more than ready to show her what she’s been missing out on. 

Within just a few moments, he has her naked and writhing underneath him, his mouth starting at her neck, taking his time to kiss down her soft curves.

By the time he’s placing kisses along her inner thighs, she’s forgotten about all the reasons why she almost didn’t ask for this. All thoughts about her ex-boyfriend are gone, as are her insecurities, and she runs her fingers through his hair, whining softly, “Please.”

Bucky will never tire of hearing that word. And with one last glance up at her, he helps her push her thighs back a bit more, giving him the perfect view of her pussy. 

“Mmm.” The groan that leaves him makes her pulse, her hips shifting underneath his hold, and he lets out a soft chuckle. “Eager, are we?” he teases, taking a moment to give her thigh another soft kiss, his beard tickling her pussy.

The question should make her blush - and any other time it would - but Bucky’s good at what he does. He’s somehow made her comfortable enough that not only does she not blush, she actually laughs. With a grin on her face, she quickly nods her head and tells him, “Yes. I am.”

Bucky’s so proud of her. She’s already come so far, and he quickly praises her with a soft rumble of, “Good girl.” 

And then he’s rewarding her, the slow swipe of his tongue along her slit immediately reducing her to a low whine of, “Oh my god.” He repeats the action, licking her from her dripping entrance up to her clit, teasing the bud with just the tip of his tongue.

“Oh my god.” She’s not sure she knows how to say anything else right now. She’s barely breathing at this point anyway, her entire body tense with anticipation.

And then he has the nerve to pull away, giving her another grin to tell her, “You were right.” 

She blinks, her hands fisting the sheets, her legs already shaking. All she can think about is having his mouth back on her pussy. She has no clue what he’s talking about.

“You taste so fucking good.”

Oh.

She’s not sure she even says anything, but it doesn’t matter because he dips his head back down and gets back to work, tasting her again.

Bucky alternates between long, slow licks and sliding his tongue deep inside of her, wiggling the muscle along her walls. He’s paying attention to all the ways she reacts to what he’s doing, repeating every action that makes her moan or shudder.

She gets lost in the moment, unsure of what to do with her hands, one gripping the sheets while the other holds her ankle, keeping herself spread for him. 

She can feel her pleasure building, but the longer he’s between her thighs, the more her insecurities start to resurface. Maybe this isn’t going to happen. No one’s been able to make her come before.

She’s always been responsible for her own orgasm, and while Bucky seems confident in his abilities, her doubt is starting to creep back up. 

When he returns his attention back to her clit, Bucky dragging the flat of his tongue over the bundle of nerves, she whispers his name. She feels compelled to apologize, like she’s wasting his time, but the only thing she can get out is, “I can’t.”

He pauses, but doesn’t pull his hands away, his fingers slick with her arousal as he looks up at her. Recognizing the confusion and embarrassment on her face, he realizes one crucial mistake he’s made. 

Bucky indulges himself with one more lick before he sets her at ease, explaining, “I’m not trying to make you come yet, baby. I just wanted to taste you, see what you like first.” His thumb teases over her clit as he kisses the soft skin of her inner thigh and asks her, “Is that okay?”

Just like that, he manages to get her back into the right headspace.

After a slow nod of her head, he’s bringing her pleasure again, exploring every inch of her pussy. He's enjoying taking his time, finding all the ways she likes to be touched, learning her body so he can give her what she needs. 

He’s also teasing her. Using his knowledge to make her more desperate. He hopes to get her to the point where she can ask for everything she wants without having to get this overwhelmed.

After his mouth moves away from her clit to lick across her entrance, he hears the change in her breathing. His quick glance shows him that her hands have moved to her tits, her fingers tugging at her nipples, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

Bucky returns his tongue to her clit, slowly circling the swollen bud before closing his lips around it, the soft suction causing her back to arch and she quickly nods her head, whispering, “oh god, please.”

But he pulls away again, her soft gasping whine proving he’s on the right track. She’s almost there. Just another quick tease of his tongue sliding inside of her, then back to suckling on her clit. That’s all it takes.

Her hand comes down to his head, fingers gripping his hair, as she breathlessly begs him, “Yes. Please. Just like that.”

This time, Bucky doesn’t move or pull away. He groans against her, unable to stop his hips from grinding against the mattress, her words sending pleasure straight to his cock. 

With each flick of his tongue, her noises get louder, the coil in her belly growing tighter.

She might actually come from this. Bucky might actually be able to make her come. 

That’s all she can think about. 

One hand in his hair, the other back to white-knuckling the sheet, using it for leverage to grind herself against his mouth. She can feel the pressure building, her muscles growing taut, her legs shaking uncontrollably. 

She’s going to come.

“Oh my god,” she whispers, seemingly unable to say anything else again. But Bucky still doesn’t change anything he’s doing, staying exactly where he is, his tongue never stopping. “Oh my god,” she repeats, nodding her head, desperate for this to happen.

It’s her downfall.

Just when she thinks it’s finally going to happen for her, the feeling suddenly starts to fade. The whine that leaves her, coupled with the frustrated, “No” has her quickly covering her flushed face.

The last thing Bucky wants is for her to think she’s done anything wrong. Or, even worse, that there’s something wrong with her. Because, there isn’t.

“Shhh,” he soothes her, peppering kisses along her thighs. His thumb returns to her clit, Bucky wanting to keep her pleasure building towards that peak again, and he tells her, “It’s okay. Sometimes we can get in our head. And sometimes... it’s just because we need more.”

She’s able to lower her hands away from her face to look down at him. It’s obvious he’s still enjoying himself, and all he wants is for her to be right there with him. It still takes her a moment of slow breathing for her to finally nod her head at him.

“Can you tell me what you think you need right now?” His slick thumb glides over her clit again before dipping down between her folds, teasing across her entrance. 

Her body immediately responds, her hips seeking out more, wanting him inside of her. 

Bucky tilts his head and raises an eyebrow at her, the smile on his face growing. “Tell me what you need, sweetheart.” 

It does the trick. With another shift of her hips, and more teasing pressure from his thumb, she nods her head. She doesn’t know how, but the words spill out of her without a second thought. “Fuck me, please.”

It takes every once of his control not to immediately let his thumb sink inside of her. She’s so wet, just begging to be filled, but it’s the perfect time to get her to verbalize her needs.

Bucky sits up on his knees just a bit, circling his thumb against her entrance before sliding it back up to her clit. He interrupts her needy whine with, “How do you want me to fuck you?”

She knows what he’s doing. And she’s incredibly grateful for it. Between quick and shallow breaths, she tells him, “With your fingers. Please.”

He tests her resolve, watching her closely as he starts to rub his thumb against her again, almost pushing inside of her. She immediately shakes her head and he pauses, a grin lighting up his face.

Bucky doesn’t even have to ask, she’s more than willing to tell him exactly what she wants. Her words coming quickly. “Please. Fuck me with your fingers. Two of them.”

His growl of praise immediately floods her brain, causing pleasure to radiate from her core. “Oh good girl,” he tells her, more than ready to give her what she wants,  “I’m so proud of you.” 

The cry that comes out of her as he fills her is unlike anything she’s ever made before. Her back arches and she reaches for him, grabbing his tattooed hand as his two thick fingers immediately find the spot that always seemed to allude others.

Bucky has every intention of tasting her again, planning to make her come with his mouth on her clit while he fucks her with his fingers.

He just wants to take a moment to watch her, enjoying the way the curl of his fingers causes her to gasp. His own body throbbing with pleasure as he strokes along her front wall, drawing more noises from her.

“You are so fucking hot,” he moans, interlocking their fingers as his gaze travels along her body from her thighs to her face, his cock leaking pre-cum at the sight of her.

When she’s able to accept his compliment without looking away, he increases the pressure, listening to the sounds of her wetness fill the air. 

She’s finally at that point that he promised she’d get to. Where she feels nothing but pleasure, able to bask in the connection they’re sharing.

“I wanna come for you.” There’s nothing quiet about her request, even as she struggles to get the words out between her soft gasps and moans.

“You really are incredible,” he tells her, eagerly returning to his earlier position, his head between her thighs. 

With his fingers still deep inside of her, he presses his tattooed arm against her thigh and places his palm flat against her lower stomach, using his fingers to spread her, exposing her clit.

She welcomes his touch, not a care in the world about how exposed she feels or how his hand digs into her soft belly. In fact, she doesn’t care how she looks at all. All she cares about his how close his mouth is to her pussy again, the feel of his warm breath making her whisper, “Please.”

Bucky glances up at her, a serious look on his face, quieting her pleading for the moment. 

“There’s no rush here, do you understand?” He accepts the slight nod of her head before continuing, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “If I need a break, I’ll tell you. Until then,” his raises his eyebrows in excitement, “let’s just enjoy ourselves, yeah?”

She’s quick to agree, forcing herself to relax, resting her head against the pillow. She doesn’t even try to keep her eyes open anymore, the return of his tongue to her clit practically making her forget her name. 

With the pressure of his fingers inside of her, rubbing against her g-spot, there’s suddenly not a doubt in her mind that Bucky’s going to make her come.

It still rushes up on her quickly, her senses completely overloaded - the obscene noises his mouth makes against her clit, the slight scratch of his beard on her pussy, the smell of sex lingering in the air.

“I’m gonna come,” she gasps, one hand on her breast, the other on his head, gripping his hair. “Please don’t stop.”

He actually has the audacity to laugh against her, but he has no intentions of stopping. The rhythm of his tongue never changes, Bucky already knowing exactly how to lick her to get her there. 

She allows herself to be consumed by the pleasure he’s giving her, and the moment her hips start to move faster against him, her thighs threatening to close, the groan he makes causes her to fall over the edge.

Bucky keeps her held down, even as her body bucks against him, using his strength to keep his mouth on her clit and his fingers buried inside of her. 

She’s so tight, barely allowing fingers to move at all, but it doesn’t matter, he just keeps stroking her g-spot, prolonging her pleasure as long as she’ll let him. 

It feels like it lasts forever, her body riding out the waves until she’s left a wrecked, trembling mess, incoherent words escaping her lips.

Once Bucky’s sure she’s had as much as she can take, he quickly kisses up her body to pull her into his arms. She wraps herself around him, clinging to him, burying her face against him as he soothes her with soft words of praise.

“You did so good for me.”

“Such a good girl.”

“I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you for trusting me.”

As her body starts to relax, she welcomes his mouth on hers, moaning at the taste of her arousal on his lips. It makes her want more and it’s not long before her hips move underneath him, grinding herself against his covered erection.

Bucky rests his forehead against hers and lets out his own moan of pleasure, his neglected cock wanting nothing more than to fuck her and feel her come. He won’t do anything unless she asks for it though.

The look she’s giving him tells him she knows exactly what’s going through his mind. But, she doesn’t ask him to fuck her. Not yet.

First, she asks for something else - something she thought she wouldn’t want to do, her request catching Bucky off guard, causing his hips to thrust against her.

“Can I suck your cock?”

---------------------------

Next Part

Hot Bucky Summer Masterlist

Main Masterlist

[bitsy-rouge-is-buggin]

Prompt I'm toying around with (based on the IDEA of this couple's relationship and not a projection of what they are really like):

"What's so important that you had to drag me off the court to talk about?" Paige asked as Azzi pulled her into her bedroom and closed the door. She held onto her hand as they kicked off their shoes and then pulled her towards the bed. Azzi climbed on, sitting in the middle with her legs crossed and Paige did the same facing her.

"I've been thinking," Azzi said.

"Uh oh," Paige laughed.

She knew whatever Azzi was about to say she had thought long and hard about it. Azzi never presented an idea without going over every single possible angle at LEAST twice, and Paige's mind raced as she thought about the possibilities. This conversation starter is how she ended up staying with the Fudd's now so she was very curious what she had in mind now.

"Stop," Azzi said in a voice that Paige new she was serious. She loved to roast Azzi, but when she spoke like that she knew to stop playing.

"I've been thinking, since we had that talk the other night, that maybe we could practice with each other."

Paige did her best to try to not look petrified as her mind went to the conversation they had the other night. They had been sitting in the yard by the fire and they both had a few shots of tequila when they decided to play truth or dare, but it ended up being a full blown game of truth.

They had already known that the other was into girls but their inexperience with them was a well hidden secret only pried out with liquid courage.

The conversation took a turn that neither of them was prepared to handle sober so they left it at neither of them did more than a casual peck on the lips.

"You look terrified. I'm sorry," Azzi said looking upset.

"No, no, no," Paige sputtered out. "Definitely not petrified. Just more... shocked."

"Well, I trust you. And I hope you trust me. So I thought, what better person to practice with than the person I feel safest with? But if you don't want to, I get it..."

Azzi moved to get off the bed, but Paige grabbed her arm stopping her.

"I want to. I really, really want to."

"Really?"

"Really," Paige assured.

"Okay... on the count of 3. 1-2-..."

Before Azzi could reach '3', their lips met in a tentative kiss. Azzi's hands rested on Paige's thighs, causing a slight startle from Paige.

"Is this okay?" Azzi asked, pulling back slightly.

"Yeah, it's fine. I was just caught off guard. Let's keep going," Paige replied.

With closed eyes, they leaned in for another kiss...

[miasmaghoul]

Kinktober Day 2 - Quintosis Control

Pull Me Under

Thank you to @kroas-adtam for curating these prompts!

Rating: E

Pairing: Aeon/Dew (but also technically Aether/Dew)

Word Count: 2.3k

Contains: quintosis (obviously), oral, fingering, anal, prone bone, phone sex, Dew getting fucked in literally every possible way

-----

Aeon stares at the ghoul knelt between his legs with a raised eyebrow. Dew tilts his head, palming Aeon through his jeans with a placid smile on his face. His expression remains guarded though, and Aeon supposes that makes sense.

After all, this isn’t the most…common of requests. 

“So,” Dew murmurs, fiddling with Aeon’s zipper, “think you can do it?”

Aeon hums while the smaller ghoul drags the closure down, reaching out to twirl a loose lock of ashy blonde hair hanging from Dew’s bun. It’s softer, somehow, when they’re stuck in glamour like this. Only their unearthly eyes give away their true nature, and Dew’s copper ones burn up at him like miniature suns. Warm fingers wriggle into his jeans, pet at his slowly growing chubby, and Aeon spreads his knees just a little wider.

-----

Read the rest below, or on AO3!

Aeon stares at the ghoul knelt between his legs with a raised eyebrow. Dew tilts his head, palming Aeon through his jeans with a placid smile on his face. His expression remains guarded though, and Aeon supposes that makes sense.

After all, this isn’t the most…common of requests. 

“So,” Dew murmurs, fiddling with Aeon’s zipper, “think you can do it?”

Aeon hums while the smaller ghoul drags the closure down, reaching out to fiddle with a loose lock of ashy blonde hair hanging from Dew’s bun. It’s softer, somehow, when they’re stuck in glamour like this. Only their unearthly eyes give away their true nature, and Dew’s copper ones burn up at him like miniature suns. Warm fingers wriggle into his jeans, pet at his slowly growing chubby, and Aeon spreads his knees just a little wider.

“Don’t see why not,” he replies, cheeks dimpling under a playful smile. “If it’s something you really want.” Aeon groans when Dew pulls him from the confines of his pants, sighs when Dew wraps bony fingers around him. 

“It is,” the other ghoul assures him, leaning in to swipe his tongue over Aeon’s tip just enough to make him grunt. “Wanted to ask for a while, actually.”

Dew’s giving him slow strokes now, languid drags of a loose fist. Aeon knows he’s going to be dripping in no time. He pulls the tie in Dew’s hair, tosses it away in favor of threading his hand into those impossibly soft strands. Dew’s eyes droop just right whenever he does this, and Aeon watches a little bit of the apprehension on his handsome face melt away. His other hand fists itself in the comforter of the hotel bed he’d fallen onto for all of ten seconds before Dew had wrestled him to the end of it. 

Not that Aeon’s complaining, mind. Having any part of Dew on his cock is always an occasion worth celebrating.

“Why haven’t you, then?”

Dew shrugs, that one little crease forming between his eyebrows. The one he wears when he’s focused on a solo, or when Cirrus asks him to do mental math. Aeon thumbs over the spot where one of his horns should be, and Dew’s shoulders slump a hair.

“Thought it might be weird.” Well, he’s not wrong about that. “Thought it might, y’know,” the little ghoul makes a vague gesture, focused only on the way his hand glides over Aeon’s cock. “Thought it might be too much.”

If Aeon’s fangs were out, he’d be smiling with every single one.

“Good thing I’m a fan of ‘too much’, ” he croons, giving Dew’s hair a tug. Hard enough to make his hand stutter and his eyes pinch shut. “And I know you are too -”

Aeon leans down, slow and with purpose. Invades the space Dew has made for himself and earns a surprised blink for it. Aeon sighs while he nuzzles their cheeks together, hearing Dew’s breath catch, basking in the warmth of his skin. He presses a kiss to the other ghoul’s ear, and it carries the smallest of sparks.

“- firefly.”

The word drips in magick, and Aeon can tell by the shocked sound Dew makes that he doesn’t hear it entirely in his voice. He can feel his power sink into Dew’s skin, feels the rush of static that flows beneath his scalp and through the callused fingers curled around him. A pulse of something unnaturally cool that has Dew shuddering. Aeon pulls back to find Dew looking suddenly much looser. Shoulders rounded, eyes wrinkled at the corners and glassy, his smile something more than skin-deep. The very specific visage of someone in the beginnings of quintessence-fueled bliss. 

“That feel good? Looks like it does,” Aeon lilts, the hand buried in the blanket coming up to cup the little ghoul’s cheek. “But you’ll need more than that for what you’re asking, y’know.”

Dew makes an affirmative sound, not quite a word but close enough. His hand starts moving again and Aeon feels the muscles in his stomach jump - Dew’s hands always have that effect on him. He takes a deep breath through his nose, scratching at Dew’s scalp while the first wave of his magick settles into the folds of his mind. Aeon groans with the casual way the other ghoul takes his tip between his lips, hot tongue sliding over sensitive flesh. Aeon gives his hair the suggestion of a stern pull, and delights in the way Dew just…takes it. Takes more of him into that silken mouth, enough so the blunt head of Aeon’s cock pokes his hollowed cheek. Makes a lovely bump that Aeon can’t help but run his thumb over.

“Ready for more?” 

He probably shouldn’t be so breathless already, but Dew’s mouth does have that effect on…well, everybody. The little ghoul pulls off with a wet pop, smears the tip over his own lips to leave them wet and shiny. A decidedly slutty move that makes Aeon’s balls ache.

“Yeah, I think you are,” he huffs, cheeks warm. Aeon runs a hand through his own hair with a chuckle. “Wanna call now? Or after I get my fingers in you?”

Dew makes a strangled sound, scrambles for his phone, and as his dick is left to bob freely in the air Aeon has his answer. 

He chuckles softly, stretches his arms over his head while Dew fumbles through his contacts. Rolls his eyes when the other ghoul drops the phone in his eagerness. Aeon stands, busies himself with gathering lube and arranging pillows, but keeps an eye on Dew through it all. He raises the phone to his ear just as Aeon’s shrugging out of his t-shirt. He hears it ring while he shucks his belt, and Aeon pauses with his jeans around his thighs when his sharp ears pick up a click. A deep, familiar voice follows it, Dew presses a flat palm to his crotch, and a thrill runs up Aeon’s spine when the little ghoul says,

“Hey, Aeth. Got a proposition for you.”

Things move quickly after that. Aether had been immediately, enthusiastically on board with Dew’s idea, faster than Aeon had expected. Something that told him the other two had definitely discussed this before. In no time Aeon had Dew over his lap, sitting up against the headboard with the little ghoul drooling into the sheets with each press of Aeon’s fingers. 

Fingers that, at least for Dew, feel like someone else’s entirely.

“Aether,” he slurs, sounding more fucked up that Aeon think he’s ever heard him, “Aeth, please -”

The word blurs into a moan when Aeon crooks his fingers just so, knuckles rubbing against Dew’s prostate. Aeon feels a blurt of pre leak out onto his thigh and heaves a happy sigh when Dew clamps down around him. He keeps quiet as he can, though. He isn’t the one Dewdrop needs to hear right now.

“That feel good, baby?” Aether’s smooth voice rings tinny through the phone’s speaker, but only to Aeon. For Dew, he’s sure the words flow directly into his veins. “You love my fingers, don’t you?”

Aeon twists his digits the exact way he knows Aether would - one benefit of his unparalleled sense memory - and fills the little ghoul’s mind with the burn of a much more intense stretch. One that has Dew crying out, fingers curling into rumpled sheets and his little hole clenching hard. Aeon only has two fingers inside, but with the way Dew’s writhing you’d think he was taking all five.

Ah, the power of suggestion.

“So good,” Dew mumbles, strands of hair stuck to his sweaty forehead. He’s flushed crimson straight down his throat; Aeon can’t believe how fucked out he looks already, but he imagines the magick isn’t exactly helping in that regard. “‘S so much, Aeth, so big -”

“I know, firefly,” Aether trills, gentle, “but you take them so well for me. In fact, I think you deserve another one.”

Aeon takes the hint, pulling back to the first knuckle and running a third fingertip over Dew’s taut rim. The little ghoul makes the most wonderful gagging sound, one that’s only amplified when Aeon slides back inside with three elegant fingers. Dew howls once they’re fully in, fists white-knuckled in the bedsheets. Aeon’s other hand rubs soothing circles into his lower back, just like Aether would, and Aeon makes sure that hand feels heavier too.

It’s a delicate process, manipulating Dew’s mind and body at once. Sending tendrils of quintessence into the recesses of his mind and pulling on wispy threads of memory. The specific timbre of Aether’s voice, the weight of his touch, the warmth of his breath, the scent of his sweat. Immersing the little ghoul into a haze that erases Aeon’s presence entirely. It may be his touch Dew’s feeling, but right now his whole world is Aether and if Dew keeps making these noises then Aeon certainly won’t complain. His own pleasure will be playing second fiddle tonight anyway.

Aeon taps at his prostate and Dew’s leg spasms.

“Aeth - Aether please ,” Dew whimpers, gasping between the words. “'S been so long. Need… need you, please -”

Aeon doesn’t think he’s ever heard Dewdrop sound so desperate. It’s beautiful .

“You’ve got me, sweet boy,” Aether assures. “Can’t you feel me?”

Aeon swirls his fingers, slides his palm up the length of Dew’s spine, and the little ghoul goes boneless in his lap with a noise that speaks to how far gone he is. Aeon’s drunk on the feel of him, the sound, the sight of his lovely face scrunched up in agonizing pleasure. His own erection has long since flagged, but the pressure low in his belly hasn’t dissipated in the slightest. 

“Need…more,” Dew pants, pawing at the bed and mindlessly grinding his hot little stiffy into Aeon’s thigh. “Need…Aeth, fuck me. ”

Dew pleads it like his life is ending and Aeon’s head thuds against the headboard with the effort of remaining silent. Aether must hear the thunk , judging by the amusement coloring his next words.

“Of course, droplet,” he hums, and if he listens close Aeon can just make out the slippery sound of Aether tugging at himself. “Whatever you want.”

Aeon moves the slight body in his lap with mild difficulty - he’s not all that much bigger than Dew when they’re glamoured like this, and the little ghoul is entirely too gangly for his own good. Aether orchestrates his movements, tells Dew he’s going to take him on his belly, the way they do when he really needs to feel Aether. Gets Dew face down with a pillow snuggled under his narrow hips, legs spread just enough for Aeon to admire his pretty pink hole while he gets a hand on himself. He’s hard as diamond again in seconds, impossible not to be with Dew like this.

“Are you ready for me, firefly?” 

The little ghoul gurgles out an uh huh at Aether’s words, and Aeon takes that as his cue to get in position. His heart hammers away while he does, fingers jittery as he straddles Dew’s thighs. Plants his hands on either side of his chest. Leans down to kiss the place between Dew’s shoulder blades. Aeon reaches back to line himself up, prods at Dew’s puffy entrance with his own wet tip, and the way it slips over that wrinkled skin makes Aeon’s eyes roll back.

“I’m gonna put it in now, alright?”

“Yes,” Dew sobs on an exhale, sweat prickling up along the length of his spine. “Fuck, yes .”

Aeon holds his breath, every inch of him thrumming, and then he’s sinking in with a slowness he’s never employed. But it’s necessary with the way he floods Dew’s magick-addled mind with the glorious stretch Aether’s fat cock instead. He can hear Aether talking somewhere distant, but the only thing Aeon can focus on are the stunning cries pouring from Dew’s lips. Aeon has to work to keep his own shut, nails biting into his palms with every rock of his hips.

“Deep breaths, love,” Aether rumbles through the din of pleasure, his tone making even Aeon’s stomach twist. “I know you can take it.” 

Dew wails, and Aeon can’t hold in the groan that bubbles up when he finally bottoms out. Dew’s walls are like searing hot velvet around him, so slick that Aeon can feel it leaking out around his cock. The little ghoul flutters ceaselessly around him, and it’s nothing short of maddening.

“There we go, well done.” Aether coos down the line, soothing. Calming. Aeon brings a shaky hand to Dew’s head, strokes his hair. Plays out the intent so plainly coloring Aether’s words. “Are you ready for the rest of me, baby?”

Dew nods frantically against the sheets, and Aeon focuses. Lowers his own wiry frame down onto the little ghoul’s sweaty back while Aether reminds him again to breathe. Dew needs it - every bit of himself that Aeon settles against Dew’s body seems to knock the air from him in punched-out huffs. Aeon shouldn’t be so surprised, not when he knows that Dew’s feeling a much, much heavier weight.

“Oh, Dew,” Aether sighs, the sound of his strokes much more obvious now, “ you feel fucking amazing.” 

Aeon’s inclined to agree, relaxing his full weight onto the little ghoul below and giving the sublest roll of his hips. Just enough to make Dew yelp. He buries his nose in silky hair and breathes deep, warm spice and tobacco, hands traveling up his sides. Grazing Dew’s straining ribs, caressing his shoulders, mapping soft skin. The hair on Dew’s arms tickles his palms, the veins on the back of his hands so pronounced beneath his fingertips.

“Aeth,” Dew whimpers, patting at the bed, blindly searching. “Aeth, where -”

Aeon laces his fingers with Dew’s then, and the little ghoul wastes no time in holding his hand right back.   

“I’ve got you, baby boy,” Aether promises, husky with lust Aeon swears he can feel through the phone. “Daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

His cock throbs, Dew moans so loud it rattles his chest, and Aeon makes a mental note to ask Aether about that little exchange later.

Much later.

[katelynnwrites]

All’s Well That Ends Well (To End Up With You) | Felicitas Rauch

warnings: a tiny bit of angst but it’s mostly fluff

word count: 2145

summary: your national teammates have a conversation about starting families and it prompts a conversation between you and feli

a/n: let me know what you think of this please? i got this idea from the born for this documentary and it’s been buzzing around my head for a while because i was kind of hesitant if i should write it…if it’s good i might write a bit more about feli and kids :)

You’re certain that this is the team that will go far in the Euros. Hell, the mood in camp is one so perfect that you are filled with the conviction that you might just win the whole damn thing. It is what every single member of your team is working towards.

The tournament might still be eight months away but things are just shaping up so well.

These people you’re with, they are more than just teammates. They’re good friends.

Good friends that you are happy to celebrate an early Christmas with.

The national team staff and some of your teammates have been kind enough to help set up a small Christmas get together, with food and drinks.

It might be the midst of international break and you might be only two metres away from the hotel entrance but it makes all the difference.

Everyone needs to get their minds off football and relax sometimes, especially when the last game of the year is just around the corner.

Curled into Feli’s side, you giggle at the story Sara is telling. You can feel Felicitas’ body vibrate with laughter and you press yourself closer to her.

Your wife easily slips her arm around your waist in response.

She drops an affectionate kiss onto the top of your head even as she continues listening to her fellow defender.

The smile on your face grows as the rest of your teammates pitch in, the alcohol helping everyone to loosen up.

Feli’s fingers gently running over your side and the pleasant buzz of the mulled wine distract you for a few minutes and when you focus back on the conversation, it’s to Kathy saying that it would be nice if men could get pregnant too.

A round of laughter rings out immediately and you grin at the very thought. It would certainly be helpful for some of your teammates, both national and club alike.

Lina jokes that she would get her boyfriend pregnant right away if she could and everyone chuckles a little harder.

When that dies down though, there is a moment of sobering silence.

‘You’d actually like to have kids though…right?’

Marina directs the question at anyone and everyone, her tone being an indicator of just how difficult this particular subject is. It’s unusual for the typically smiley woman to be so serious.

Both Kathy and Lina nod, Laura following after a moment.

A few of the youngest players like Jule and Obi simply shrug. That’s fair you think, because it’s not something that would be on the forefront of their mind at that age.

But for you, being a few years older, it has.

So you nod too and can’t help but slip your hand into your wife’s when she does the same, a tad shyly.

You’ve talked about it before you even started dating, wanting to be on the same page before starting a relationship that might turn out to be lasting.

You are incredibly happy that it did and are so thankful for having that conversation with Feli.

Being a mom has always been something you want and marrying someone who wants the same thing as you was always important.

It never occured to you while you were growing up that that person would come into your life, in the form of Felicitas Rauch.

Two months into calling her your girlfriend and you knew that she would be the only one you would ever want to start a family with.

It assures you the feeling must be mutual when the brunette squeezes your hand lightly, glancing at you adoringly.

‘I feel ready to start a family now but I guess with football, I will have to wait a couple more years.’ Kathy sighs.

You make a sympathetic noise and your fellow Wolfsburg player looks up.

‘I’m guessing that you can relate. I see how you are with the younger fans. Do you want a girl or a boy?’ She asks softly.

Shrugging, you murmur, ‘I don’t mind either. I just want them to be healthy, you know?’

Kathy gives you a tiny smile and nods her understanding.

Your heart warms just thinking about it and the hopeful smile you give the blonde in return makes you miss the one on Feli’s face dimming.

Felicitas keeps your hand in hers but doesn’t say much more for the rest of the night.

She does not meet the worried looks you give her and by the end of the little celebration, your anxiety is just about eating you whole.

You don’t remember the last time you’ve felt this uncertain with your wife.

As everyone makes their way back to their respective rooms, you trail after her to the room you’re sharing.

‘Liebling?’ You softly prompt and the brunette defender frowns as she shuts the door.

‘What’s wrong?’

Felicitas stiffens and she sits down on her bed, drawing her knees up to her chest.

Her brown eyes are full of emotion when she quietly asks, ‘You want a baby now?’

‘Well not now now but maybe after the Euros…’ You admit.

Your wife’s eyes widen and you reach for her hand hurriedly, saying, ‘Don’t you? We’ve been married for a few years and I think we’re in a good enough place in our careers.’

Feli shakes her head, stammering, ‘I-I love you but I’m not ready.’

As hard as you try to hide it, you can’t stop the hurt that flashes across your face from showing.

‘Liebling, I’m sorry.’ Feli pleads, squeezing your hand tightly and touching your wedding ring.

‘Don’t be. You aren’t at fault for the way you feel. I-I just thought you wanted to have children as badly as I do.’ You whisper, covering her hand with yours.

This, if possible, makes your wife feel even worse.

There are tears slipping down her face as she takes a deep breath, trying to explain herself.

‘I do. Believe me I do. That’s not what I’m not ready for. Liebling I want to have a baby with you, I’m ready to start a family with you. It’s been on my mind for a long time but what I’m not ready for is putting football on hold.’

‘Felicitas…’ You breathe.

‘I love you. I love you so incredibly much and I’ve dreamed of having a family with you but I can’t do it now. I’m twenty six and I know that’s not old but I’m terrified of not being able to get back my current form after I give birth.’

‘Feli I love you too but I don’t understand.’ You murmur.

Your wife makes a frustrated noise, ‘Don’t you see how hard Almuth is struggling? I know that I’m not as old as she was when she got pregnant but I don’t think I can go through it liebling.’

‘I know and I admire her for it but Feli…I’m not asking you to put yourself through that.’

The fullback simply stares at you with clear confusion.

There’s a smile on your face as you tease, ‘You know liebling, the good thing about being in a lesbian relationship is that both of us can get pregnant.’

‘What?’

‘I’m younger than you Feli. I’ll recover faster, and be able to get my fitness back faster.’

‘Y-You want to be the one to carry our baby?’

Your wife’s tone is one of complete disbelief.

‘Yes.’ You answer simply.

‘But why? You’re our star striker for club and country. You are at the top of your game liebling. Hell Barcelona wants you and while I know you turned them down, chances like that aren’t given to just anybody. As a player, you are far more valued than I am. For you to put your career on hold…’ Feli’s voice gets gradually quieter before it tails off.

The Wolfsburg defender swallows hard, her gaze never leaving yours.

It is barely audible when she mumbles, ‘If you get pregnant after the Euros, you might not be able to come back in time for the World Cup.’

‘Felicitas, my love, don’t you know that I will give up anything if it means being able to be a mother with you? Winning a world cup is a dream but being able to have a family with you is the biggest dream.’

If the brunette wasn’t crying before, she certainly is now.

Her hands are gentle as she cradles your face to kiss you. She tastes like the salt of her tears but the action still takes your breath away.

‘Do you really mean that?’ Feli whispers against your lips.

You nod, leaning your forehead against your wife’s.

She presses one more kiss onto your mouth, murmuring, ‘Let’s do it. I want to have a baby with you liebling. As soon as possible.’

‘Okay…okay that sounds like a plan.’ You tearfully agree.

******

You’re pregnant a month after Germany finishes runners up in the Euros.

******

Feli was right. You are far from being able to make it back in time for the World Cup but you never expected yourself to be anyway.

That doesn’t mean that you aren’t there to support your wife, fellow national teammates and country though.

You are in the friends and family section, with your newborn dressed in the tiniest Rauch, 17, jersey.

Where your wife found noise cancelling headphones small enough to fit on his head, you’ll never know but he looks adorable.

He peers curiously at his surroundings during the first half, never once crying but rather being content to be held by you.

Felicitas blows you and him a kiss each as she makes her way back down the tunnel at halftime.

Her bun is messy and it is getting colder as the sun sets but her eyes are shining with adoration.

She mimes catching the kiss you blow her in return and you giggle.

‘Your mama’s so silly.’ You tell your son as you rock him gently.

The newborn sucks determinedly on his fist in response and you giggle.

He has Feli’s eyes and you don’t know how you will ever be able to tell him no when he grows up. You certainly are not able to tell your wife no when she looks at you with her pretty eyes.

******

Your country puts two more into Morocco’s goal before Felicitas is subbed out in the 89th minute.

You cheer louder than anybody when she leaves the pitch because you are always going to be her biggest fan.

The brunette catches sight of you just before she sits down at the bench, her cheeks flushing a bright pink at the look of pride on your face.

You chuckle at that, pressing a light kiss onto your baby’s forehead. He’s fallen asleep, the cool Australian night air giving his cheeks a rosy hue, nearly identical to his mother’s.

The match is nearly over now and Lea fires one more into the opposition’s net to make it a six-nil win before the full time whistle blows.

There’s a tangible joy in the stadium, from the fans and your team.

Everyone is celebrating but you only have eyes for your wife.

She’s making directly for you, climbing over the barriers and pulling you into an excited kiss.

‘I love you.’ Feli declares.

‘Love you too.’ You grin.

The fullback kisses you once more, her hands cradling your face eagerly.

‘How’s our son?’ She asks, bending down to lightly press her lips onto his forehead. He remains fast asleep, not even stirring when you transfer him into the Wolfsburg player’s arms.

Your wife coos softly, adjusting the blanket you wrapped him in, to protect his tiny body from the cold.

Felicitas is entirely enamoured with him, just as she has been since she saw him on the initial ultrasound.

You always knew she would be down bad but when your son gripped Feli’s finger tight the moment she first held him, well she exceeded all your expectations.

The brunette holds him close, breathing in his baby smell before looking up hesitantly.

‘C-Can I take him down to the pitch? I know we talked about keeping him off social media but I want to share this moment with him.’

You don’t even have to think twice about your answer.

‘Felicitas of course you can. I might have carried him but he’s your son too.’

Your wife can’t resist kissing you once more before she leads you back down onto the pitch with her, despite your protests.

‘Liebling this is your special moment, your World Cup debut.’

‘Yes and I want to share it with my family.’ She matter of factly states.

There’s no arguing with her and so it is with a smile on your face that you let her slip her hand into yours.

Being there with Feli, as she holds the baby you had together against her chest…it’s everything you have ever dreamed of.

German Translation:

liebling - love

[reanbowful]

this is a nsfw request-

a very sensitive and loud reader in bed 😔?

AHAHHAA THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST!! 😈😈 (also, sorry in advance if it’s shorter from my other prompts)

“quiet down will you?”

if you’re loud in bed

*this is very nsfw

(gray, ben, alex, jake, donald, wolf)

gray yeon / yeon sieun

Sex with Gray is.. interesting.

He won’t make too much noise, maybe a few suppressed moans slipping out.

He’s like around 5 inches(?) (which is not bad that’s still an okay size to work with)

He’ll last like 1 round probably (sorry guys).

He enjoys foreplay more than the actual sex. Mainly because he can concentrate more on your pleasure than his. Also, he doesn’t last very long. So, you two will have more fun in building it up than going straight in.

If you’re very vocal, I feel like he would try to shut you up by kissing you or hush you down.

Especially if you’re a total mess after cumming 3x on his finger, begging him to enter you already.

He’ll kiss you and stroke your hair.

“Shh.. one more. You can do one more, right?”

No Gray, they in fact, cannot.

But I have to say, Gray is really good at making the most out of his knowledge. He knows where to touch, where to press, when to slow down, when to speed up.

Overall, you’ll have a good experience with him.

ben park / park humin

I don’t know if Ben likes it if you’re loud, but it would make him feel happy that he’s making you feel good.

So let’s start with this, sex with Ben is very fun. He’s very giggly, so you don’t have to worry about things being too awkward and serious.

He focuses on making you feel comfortable enough to know that you can show him everything.

So if you are vocal, he would probably be happy. But if you get too loud, he will try to make you lower your voice to not disturb the neighbours.

He will most likely laugh in between trying to shush you.

“Shh babe..! Shh.. pfft!”

Will end with him just kissing you while he’s STILL thrusting inside.

As for his size..

Let’s be generous, he would be around like 7 inches. (okay maybe 6.5 is more realistic but I’m biased and whatever. I’ll leave it up to your imagination)

He cums a little fast, but makes up for it with his stamina. He could last as many rounds as you want ngl. Man is blessed with the stamina of a god.

alex go / go hyuntak

Alex. Oh. Alex would probably not like it if you’re way too loud.

He would panic a little if he notice you being a lot more vocal than usual. But unlike others, he would not kiss you.

This man, will put his hand over your mouth.

Oh he would not stop either once he’s already in there.

“Ha.. I’m so sorry, babe. But you’re being a bit too loud right now.”

Alex is.. okay at sex.

It’s not like he has a really great technique nor can he last too many rounds. Pretty average size too maybe around 5-5.5 inches. And he lasts like around 2-3 rounds.

But he does make sure that you cum every single time. No, in fact, he won’t sleep until you’re satisfied.

He will use any means whatsoever. Be it his tongue or his fingers.

His pride would probably prevent him from cumming before you. So rest assured. If you sleep with him. He will make sure you get what you went in for.

jake ji / ji hakho

Jake would love it if you’re loud for him.

He needs to make sure if he’s making you feel good, so he appreciates it if you’re vocal about it.

“Does it feel that good?”

If you’re sensitive that’s even better. Since this guy has no fucking idea what he’s doing.

If he manage to make you cum, he would be so proud of himself.

If he manage to make you cum twice, he’ll probably start thinking he’s some kind of sex god or something.

It’s a bit of a shame cuz he’s kinda, ok he’s around 6.5 inches. If you think that’s small, something is very wrong with you. (🤨)

But anyways, he’s quite big..? So, since he doesn’t know how to utilise his assets. It’s a bit of a shame.

The good thing is that since you’re sensitive and he’s- well he has his size. You can both cum fairly easily without much fancy techniques needed.

Jake could last like about 2 rounds, 3 if he pushes it maximum. So, I hope you can be satisfied by then?

Aftercare is Jake’s specialty I feel like, so during that time, you can tell Jake what you like or don’t like. The next time you guys have sex again, he will take notes of those stuff so sex with him will only get better and better.

(^ from a commenter thank you ehe)

donald na / na baekjin

Donald LOVES it. He absolutely love it if you’re loud and sensitive.

In fact, he would even urge you to be louder.

He’s very cocky. And that personality goes in when he’s having sex also.

This makes him soo fucking dangerous. Because not only does he have the knowledge to know where your weak spots are, he will make you beg for him to let you release.

The asshole would literally stop moving if he notice that you’re close. And he knows you’re sensitive so he will pull out to make sure you don’t cum until he gets what he wants.

“Do you want to cum? Show me how much you want it.”

A solid 7. You can’t tell me otherwise. This man is no joke.

I can’t tell you how many rounds he last because he could take a long time to cum.

Honestly if you are his partner, my condolences for you. Because he can literally go 1 hour without pulling out. Despite him already cumming twice inside. (with a condom of course, safety is number 1)

wolf keum / keum seongje

Ok here’s the thing. Wolf tends to be quite rough in bed.

So it doesn’t matter what kind of shit you do, the neighbours are not gonna be sleeping through it.

Wolf has a high stamina so he can go multiple rounds. Maybe 5-6 max tho.

He would probably make you cum a couple times before he would enter you to raise your sensitivity.

He loves seeing you cry from his dick. (I’m sorry it just seems like so😬)

While he likes it when you show him that you’re enjoying it, if you get too loud, Wolf will stop moving entirely and threaten to pull out unless you lower it down.

“Noona, I know you’re feeling good. But if you don’t lower it down, someone’s really gonna knock on our door soon.”

If he’s feeling sadistic, he will make you cover your own mouth. And if you make a sound, he will slow down. Only to speed up once you calmed down.

If you still make too much sound or stop covering your mouth, Wolf will take it to himself and shove his fingers into your mouth. (courtesy of a commenter)

Imo he’s a solid 6. Not too big, but he knows how to use it well. (🤭)

[firstelevens]

song 25 + sambucky if you're still taking spotify wrapped prompts ☺️

25. Accidentally In Love by Counting Crows

When Sam’s phone goes off, he’s half asleep on his couch, buried under a small mountain of blankets and too congested to even really hear it that well. He only notices because it’s face-up on the coffee table and the screen catches his eye when it lights up.

He extends a hand out from his blanket nest and picks up the phone, wincing at the bright light of the display. 

It takes a second of squinting at the screen, but he finally manages to see that the notification is a text from Foggy: ‘any tips on how to handle your honors lit class? no subs available this morning so Hill has me covering’

‘Try not to show any weakness. They smell fear,’ Sam texts back. Then he adds, ‘There’s a Princess Bride DVD in the cupboard, you can get a key from Bucky.’

Foggy’s reply is predictably annoying: ‘does loverboy still think that you and me are dating? do I need to worry about him sabotaging my teaching in a fit of jealousy?’

Sam glares at the screen of his phone but it doesn’t do much, given that Foggy can’t see him. ‘Just for that you I’m not telling you where I put the Luhrmann Romeo + Juliet. You’ll just have to teach the ninth graders about iambic meter yourself next period.’

Foggy doesn’t get back to him for a while, which isn’t all that surprising. The beginning of the school day is hectic enough for a guidance counselor without having to unexpectedly cover another teacher’s class.

He stumbles to the kitchen to make himself tea, a blanket around his shoulders and his phone in his hand, but Foggy doesn’t reply for another twenty minutes. Sam’s head hurts too much for him to remember how neat the supply cupboard was, but he’s hoping it’s not so bad that Foggy’s just elbows deep in useless stuff.

After giving it another few minutes while he takes his next dose of cold medicine, he sends a text to check whether Foggy found what he was looking for.

The reply is immediate: ‘didn’t end up needing the dvd! I asked Bucky for the key and when he heard you were sick he said he’d handle it.’

‘Doesn’t he teach first period journalism?’

‘You’re sick so I won’t make fun of you for memorizing his schedule,’ Foggy writes, magnanimous as ever. Then: ‘there’s like five journalism students so he said he’d just combine them. said he could take your kids for the rest of the day too.’

Sam feels his jaw drop. Covering just one class is more than enough, but the entire day? When Bucky has almost a full slate of classes to teach, too? His face is suddenly all warm, and he’s at least fifty percent sure it’s not the fever.

His head is getting heavy again, and the screen is starting to hurt his eyes, but he manages to get a text out thanking Bucky for covering for him and assuring him that he can just put on movies for every single class.

He doesn’t have to wait long at all for the reply. ‘You’re welcome, Wilson. Now get some rest and stop worrying about your classes; they’ll be fine.’

Yawning widely, Sam types out a quick reply and takes Bucky’s advice, pulling the covers over his head and quickly falling back asleep.

Not having to field questions for subs or keep an eye on his email for questions from concerned students means that Sam isn’t repeatedly getting up when he’s supposed to be resting, and when he emerges from his blanket cocoon that afternoon, he can stand without getting dizzy for the first time in two days.

He celebrates by dragging himself into the shower, where the steam and the decongestant make it so that he regains his sense of smell, however briefly, and he feels more like a person than he has since Friday.

There’s probably an argument to be made for going back to bed, but Sam has never been great at being still, so he throws in a load of laundry and cleans up a bit while he’s on his feet. He’s about to make dinner, too, but then Sarah gives him a talking-to and makes him promise to order food instead, and Sam understands that she will instinctively know if he crosses her.

Sam already has the app open, scrolling through his options when his doorbell rings. For a second, he thinks that Sarah figured she couldn’t trust him to follow through and just ordered the food herself. Normally, he wouldn’t put it past her, but she’s getting the boat ready for a charter tomorrow, so he can’t imagine that she had the time or the cell service.

A peek through the curtains answers the question, though: there’s a familiar sedan parked in Sam’s driveway, a peeling Rutgers decal on the rear windshield.

“If you’re bringing me work to grade, I’m going to sneeze on you,” he declares, as he opens his front door to find Bucky waiting outside.

“I’m not a monster,” says Bucky, looking mildly offended at the thought. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” says Sam. “I can probably be back in tomorrow.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “Or you could take a second sick day and actually get better instead of running yourself down again.”

“We’re supposed to be working on that stupid archival project tomorrow,” says Sam. “If I get another sanctimonious email from John about prioritizing my tasks, I’m gonna have an operatic meltdown in the middle of his classroom.”

“Entertaining as that would be, there’s probably another way,” Bucky says. “I’ll handle Walker for now. You just worry about getting better.”

Sam could probably push back if he really wanted to, but he can’t bring himself to be mad about Bucky looking out for him. “Okay,” he says, and Bucky’s eyebrows go up in surprise.

“Really? It’s that easy?”

“I blame the cold medicine,” says Sam. “I’ll be a pain in the ass again on Wednesday, I promise.”

Bucky smiles. “I look forward to it.”

“Well,” says Sam, after they’ve both been silent for a moment. “Thanks for coming to check on me; I really–”

“Wait!” says Bucky, and Sam stops in his tracks, eyebrows raised in question. “I didn’t just come to ask how you were doing. I, um– I wanted to bring you this, too.”

He holds out what Sam now realizes is a bag from the Thai place near the school.

“I would’ve made you soup myself, but I had to stay late with the yearbook kids, and my Ma would kill me if I half-assed her chicken soup recipe, but I know you like this place, so…”

Sam looks from Bucky to the bag of food and back, his eyes wide. “Thank you,” he says, and he can feel how soft his voice has gone around the edges. He probably should make some kind of joke to restore the natural order of things, but he can’t bring himself to do it. “You didn’t have to, Bucky, seriously.”

“I know,” he says, with a little shrug. “I wanted to.”

“Oh,” is all that Sam can manage to get out. “Okay.”

“It’s cold,” says Bucky, once Sam takes the bag of food out of his hands. “I should let you get back inside.”

He starts down the steps and Sam only belatedly remembers to call out, “I’ll see you on Wednesday!”

“See you then,” says Bucky, turning to face Sam and taking the last few steps to his car backwards. “Oh, and thanks for calling me cute!”

Sam feels his eyebrows lift in surprise. He wracks his brain to go over the last five minutes of conversation, but he comes up empty. “Wait, what?”

But all that Bucky does is hold up his cell phone before opening the door to his car. “Night, Sam!”

Suddenly, Sam remembers sending a text earlier today, clouded by the haze of exhaustion and cold medicine. His eyes go wide.

He didn’t, did he?

It’s only Sam’s dignity that keeps him from sprinting for his phone, staying in the doorway until Bucky’s car pulls away.

The second his headlights disappear, Sam throws the door shut and hurries to where his phone is charging on the kitchen counter. It takes two tries for him to unlock it with his face, and then he’s swiping over to his texts, opening up his conversation with Bucky and reading back the last few messages.

His eyes go wide as he reads his own words back.

‘It’s so cute that you use semicolons in your texts,’ he’d said to Bucky. ‘You know I’m not grading these for punctuation right?’

‘Maybe I just want to impress you,’ Bucky had replied.

And then, because that wasn’t enough, apparently Sam had replied, ‘Maybe you already do.’

He’s pretty sure that he’s never recovering from this, but just to make sure he learns his lesson, he texts a screenshot to Foggy with the message, ‘COLD MEDICINE SAM CANNOT BE TRUSTED!!!’

Foggy just sends him back a bunch of cry laughing emojis in response.

[mr-m-murdock]

hi! it’s the same anon that requested #86 with nat or smth (so very good omg)

can you write a fic with either nat or valkyrie (shes so hot in the new movie omg) using this prompt?

“fuck you” “yeah? how hard?”

got you down bad

| valkyrie x fem!reader |

warnings: asshole!valkyrie, reference to sex

a/n: YES I CAN. AND YES SHE IS SO HOT I DIED IN THE THEATRE FR. I WANT HER TO BE SO MEAN TO ME

Valkyrie is late. Again. There’s nothing you can do but sit there, tapping the end of your pen against the table and watching as the minute hand on the clock inches obstinately onward. You’d be less agitated if you didn’t know exactly where she is and what it is that she’s doing.

As it is, you're trying hard to keep your thoughts very far away from what you know she's doing and why she's late. You are unsuccessful, and your pen picks up speed against the table. Then, to add insult to injury, the doors to the conference room swing open hard and the King of Asgard comes sauntering in with her t-shirt inside out. Just to confirm what you already knew.

"You're late," you say curtly, as you stand for her entrance: she's still your King, after all, even if she manages to get on every single nerve you have. She just snorts at you.

"Sit down."

You sink back into your seat and pick up your pen again.

"I was busy," she says, stretching her arms above her head.

"Right," you say. "Busy." She flashes you a white-toothed grin that nowhere near meets her eyes.

"Come on, then," she says, sighing demonstratively. "What is it today? Ribbon-cutting? Clown dancing?"

"You'd excel at both," you say dryly. "We've received a request for you to meet the new Queen of Wakanda."

She tries not to show it, but it interests her. The twitch in her smile. The narrow of her eyes.

"And no, you can't decline," you add.

"God, you really don't think much of me, do you?" she says, still grinning, still looking you right in the eye.

"Maybe you should hire someone who licks your shoes when you walk in, then," you snap.

"But I like it when my women talk back," she says, the light playing in her eyes. Your pen snaps in your hands and ink goes everywhere, all over your paper pad. You curse and jerk back; you hadn't even realised you'd been gripping it that hard. Valkyrie laughs. Doesn't stop laughing.

She wipes her eyes and slaps the table. "But really, you should mind your manners," she says, through huffs of laughter. "I'm your King. And-" she leans forward, not laughing anymore- "If I wanted you to lick my shoes, rest assured sweetheart, I'd find a way to make you do it."

And the smile is back. You wipe ink aggressively off your hands.

"Fuck you," you say, and you stand to leave, shaking in the shoulders.

"Oh yeah?" Valkyrie calls after you. "How hard?" You slam the door closed.

You practically run off down the corridor, into an empty room with a desk and nothing else. She'll come looking for you. You grab the pack of tissues on the desk and scrub furiously at your fingers.

It's been like this ever since- well, ever since she first set eyes on you, probably. But the real genesis of the problem was when she followed you to the bathroom at the damn Met Gala of all places, and told you, stalking around behind you with her eyes on yours in the mirror, that she'd been thinking about fucking you for a while. Your hands had shaken under the stream of water.

As advisor to the King, you shouldn't have. Not in any universe. But you had, because you'd not yet understood that she was like this with anyone and everyone who caught her eye. And she'd dropped you just like that. No regard for a professional relationship, or, gods forbid, your feelings. And sure, maybe you were a little snarky with her, but when she turned up to royal meetings having obviously come straight from the bedroom, it stung. That was all there was to it. Like she was parading it in front of you.

You're not going to cry. Not out of anger. The emotions are rushing out of you, though, and you kick the leg of the desk in anger.

And then the door opens and Valkyrie comes in. Closes it behind her and leans on it. Well, shit; she's found you. She always does.

"I'm not really in the mood for royal affairs," she says. "But you really shouldn't run off like that."

"Go away," you say, your voice marvellously clear.

"No." She tilts her head at you. "They all think they're special, gorgeous. You're not alone in that."

"Great," you say, discarding your inky tissues onto the desk. "Maybe we should start a therapy group. What is your problem, by the way?"

Valkyrie just looks at you. Dead-eyed now, like a shark. "I don't have a problem."

You laugh, and you don't mean for it to emerge derisive, but it does. "Oh, you really do. Gods."

She pushes off the door and walks towards you.

"Absolutely not," you say, but she just reaches past you for the tissues and tucks them into her pocket. She's looking at you now, ninety degrees in your peripheral and you stare resolutely at the wall.

"You shouldn't litter," she says, painfully close your face.

"I'm not doing this again," you say. "And neither are you, right?" Now you look at her. "Because you never have anyone twice."

Nothing for a moment, just her gaze on your face. You can practically feel it tracing the features of your nose, your lips. "Some people surprise me," she says.

And then, dickhead, she pulls back, opens the door and walks away. Leaves you, inky and trembling and wondering, alone in the room.

requests | masterlist

notes: good prompt anon I enjoyed that 🥴 now I have to do one where she's nice 💔

taglist: @when-wolves-howl @fayhar @maggieromanov @waitingroom-pb @romanoffscottage @blackxwidowsxwife @lizlil @screechcat @maddess @natsaffection @haeva @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @vicmc624  @strangegardentaco  @phantomvael @lorsstar1st  @blckrwidow @ima-gi--na-tion @paryl @aan-myouim @smallestavenger @lainjupi  @d1s0nym @meimei-a @the-v01d @kqmui @s1ut4nat @btay3115   @idkjustliving2 @lokisjuicyass @mmmmokdok  @silentwolfsstuff  @olicity-boo @iliketozoneout

[casualjacobwrites]

FFXIV Write 2024 Prompt #6 - Halcyon

Continued from the last prompt. (Reminder I’m using the prompts to tell a single story versus standalone prompts.)

I’m just going where the vibes take me. Right now I’m telling a story and setting up a crisis that will push our two boys, Emmanellain and Sicard, into each other’s arms.

Reminding myself that I don't have to be perfect. Just get it done and turned in.

Spoilers for Endwalker.

Word Count: 933

__

"I fear that's a very long story, Master Spence."

That the woman already knew his surname was enough for him to guess Emmanellain had spent the last few minutes divulging every bit of information concerning who they were and how it was they came to board her vessel. "Ah, well, then it's fortunate I've got the time to listen, but I see I'm already at a disadvantage considerin' you know who I am." He gave the elezen a scathing glance.

"Y-yes, how remiss of me." Emmanellain rubbed the back of his neck with an uneasy chuckle. "Ah, Sicard this is Miss Marina. Miss Marina, this is Sicard Spence."

"Actin' captain of the Bloody Executioners," Sicard added. As he was sitting down, he gave a slight nod of his head in lieu of a proper bow. The pain that rocketed up his neck into his head let him know that was a bad idea.

"Bloody Executioners? A-are you pirates?" Marina's eyes flicked nervously from Sicard to Emmanellain.

"Fear not, my lady. A noble gentleman such as myself would never consort with pirates." The elezen offered up his most charming smile.

"Former pirate." Sicard sighed. Watching Emmanellain play the role of a philandering noble was doing little to help his headache. There was also something especially irritating about the way he looked at the woman. He was the injured party, yet Emmanellain was ignoring him and hadn't so much as deigned to ask if he was well.

Wait, why does that get under my skin? She must have hit me harder than I thought. Out loud he said, "No need to fear, my lady. I'm hardly in any condition to fight. You saw to that."

Marina's face flushed with embarrassment. "Please allow me to apologize. I thought you might be with the men who attacked us."

"Men? Do you expect me to believe ordinary men did that?"

Marina tilted her head. She glanced over to Emmanellain who was all too happy to elaborate. "The sahagin on the deck, my lady. I fear they met with a terribly gruesome end ere we arrived."

"They…they're dead?" Her brows furrowed for a brief moment, then relaxed somewhat as her lower lip trembled. She turned away from the two men and drew in a deep breath. "I told them to flee, the fools."

"So you did know 'em," Sicard surmised.

Marina nodded. "Yes. We were taking them to Vyllbrand, to their home."

Sicard raised his eyebrows. For every answer he got from Marina, it raised four more questions. Why in the world would sahagin need to travel by ship, and how did they get so far from home? "An' in exchange they promised to protect you?"

"Well, not me exactly." She wiped at her face before facing them again. "More of us are hiding in the cargo hold." She dropped to her knees and clasped her hands at her chest. "Lord Emmanellain said you could take us to Limsa. Please, I beg of you."

Unamused, Sicard fixed Emmanellain in a piercing gaze. He let out an uneasy chuckle. "Lady Marina, perhaps you should elaborate more. Rest assured Master Spence will render aid, but he must needs have a clearer picture of your situation."

Marina's hands fell into her lap, frowning. "As I said, it is a long story."

"An' as I said at the start, I have the time to hear it." Sicard gestured at himself and the rest of the cabin.

"But my people in the hold…"

"Fine." He looked at Emmanellain. "You wearin' your linkpearl? Tell Wastgeim we have survivors in the hold. She can help escort them back onto the Astalicia while Miss Marina tells her story."

Before Sicard finished speaking, the elezen already had a finger in his ear. Marina had tears in her eyes as she smiled. "Thank you, Master Spence. Thank you."

Sicard dismissed her gratitude with a wave of his hand. Though it was the right thing to do, between his confusion at what was happening and the pain from his head injury, he was yearning for the halcyon days when he was a proper pirate. That Sicard would have plundered the ship and might have taken the people aboard it for ransom. Then again, considering the ship was Garlean, he might have just sunk it on principle without ever bothering to see what was inside.

"Don't be thankin' me yet. We're still a ways from Limsa, an' you're still a Garlean. War might be over and the Empire has fallen, but me showin' up with a boat full of you lot still might get me blasted out of the water 'fore I can even dock. So I need to know everythin' what's happened and why I'm puttin' my neck on the line for a strange woman who has fishbacks willin' to die for her."

Marina pursed her lips together, her fingers pulling at her skirts. "I understand you need information, and I'm willing to provide it. The trouble is, I scarce know where to begin, and I hardly understand what happened myself."

"Try," Sicard implored.

"Very well." She took a breath. "Tell me, Master Spence, what do you know of the clandestine laboratories funded by the Empire?"

"Given that they're clandestine, not much. However, I've heard my fair share of rumors that the Garleans might occupy some islands in secret."

Marina slowly nodded her head. "Just so. My sahagin friends and those in the cargo hold are victims of terrible experiments." She paused to consider her next words. "And the man in charge of the research is--was my paramour."

[nirikeehan]

hi I am obviously going to ask you for Thalia & Pravin, from the horror prompts: "At a costume party, you see someone whose mask looks a little too real." (interpret as you like!)

omg ok this one marinated in the old brainpan for AWHILE.

Also I confess I ended up writing a long preamble to hammer out the parameters of the mission the blorbos are on in this scene, which I'm not gonna post here but it will end up on ao3 eventually when I put this together as some sort of larger masquerade-themed side quest fic.

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 1985

Also featuring a little Thalia/Blackwall AND Thalia/Cullen

---

Thalia flitted from room to room, taking stock of the Comte de Valette’s so-called cottage: high ceilings, ornate furniture, grand floor-to-ceiling windows with balconies that overlooked Lake Celestine. Dusk was falling, and the myriad colors of the setting sun reflected in the calm lake waters, a contrast to the atmosphere inside. 

Upon gaining entrance to de Valette’s estate, Thalia knew the evening would be anything but dull. The chateau had three stories, and the marble entry where she and her retinue announced their presence spilled into a half a dozen rooms. These in turn opened into nooks, hallways, staircases, and courtyards of all sizes and shapes, creating a veritable labyrinth. The seneschal who took her cloak encouraged “creative exploration” of the chateau and its grounds. No, the Comte could not at this moment greet her in person, but rest assured he would meet her before the night was through. 

The lights were down low, the mood up high. Every room Thalia stepped into had at least one musician playing. In one, a lone woman sat by a winding staircase and plucked a high harp; her full face mask, as well as her hat, sleeves and skirts were decorated with bright, fake flowers. In another, a man in the widest pantaloons Thalia had ever seen stood beneath a flickering chandelier and played a bawdy tune while party-goers danced around him. His pantaloons, as well as his ridiculously puffy sleeves, glowed in pastels complementary to his get-up. Some minor practical enchantment he could have had done cheaply, Thalia gauged, or else the fool had stuffed himself with deep mushrooms. 

Activities, as far as Thalia could see, ranged from imbibing alcohol — one courtyard sported a bar, from which bare-faced servants hurriedly poured wine, ale, and stronger spirits into goblets — to smoking in a private perfumery, to mummery on a dozen improvised stages. It was difficult to tell whether the performers were all strictly hired for the party — everyone was costumed and masked, and for every professional grade performance, another stumbling drunk took the stage at the insistence of another, to spout lyrics off-key or half-remembered lines from popular plays. 

Yet for a night that promised to be both wondrous and strange, Thalia had seen little more than the mundane. Oh, to be sure, the costumes were a sight to behold. She couldn’t go more than a few steps without bumping into a woman with a miniature ship replica sailing out of the stacks of her headdress, or a man so elaborately masked, with painted lips and full black eyes, that one mask evidently was not enough, and he carried another with an even more intricate pattern in his hand. In case he lost the first, Thalia wondered? And the costumes: the miles and miles of fabric, the ostentatious flourishes, the feathers, the tiny gemstones sparkling from hemlines, the veils and the bows and the capes… 

It made her feel a little dizzy, and woefully underdressed, but none of it seemed to Thalia to be magic. She’d only seen one display that looked authentic, though the mage in question stuck to minor parlor tricks any acolyte out of single digits could manage. The crowd oohed and aahed all the same, but Thalia wondered if party magicians were difficult to come by now that they were free to charge any fee they wished. 

Thalia turned a corner into a dark corridor, and nearly plowed into a wall of solid black. She reared, grasping for an apology, when she saw the beaked griffon mask over a long forked beard, and her heart skipped a beat. 

“Warden Blackwall,” she said. “Forgive me. I didn’t see you there.”

“My lady,” Blackwall grunted, unmoving. 

Thalia stared up at him. The mask obscured most of his face, ending in an array of brown feathers framing his temples — a piece he had literally scoffed at when presented to him, but he’d donned all the same. She could barely see the hard scowl under his beard, the one it seemed he’d been wearing ever since the night he kissed her. 

Thalia swallowed and lowered her voice, determined not to let their troubled history jeopardize this mission. “Have you seen anything suspicious?”

“Not as of yet. Loads of privileged nobles, pissed out of their minds. But what did you expect with this lot?” Disdain dripped from every word. 

Thalia pressed her lips together, trying to think of a delicate response. Had Blackwall’s hatred for the aristocracy always been so apparent, or did he hold special enmity for the Orlesians? She thought of reminding him that she herself was highborn — but he couldn’t have forgotten that, not with his impeccable courtesies. Is that why he treats me so coldly? Did something between us remind him of the difference in our stations, and his pride won’t allow him to pursue a lady?

It was no use speculating. She lifted her chin and opened her mouth, but words failed her. She caught the barest glint of his grey eyes from behind the holes in his mask, and realized the intensity with which he’d been watching her, from the light filigreed half-mask to the neckline of her dusky scarlet gown, accentuated by the velvet green bodice that drew up under her bosom to — well. “Flattering proportions” had been Vivienne’s term for it, but she was always chiding Thalia for not properly taking advantage of her Maker-given assets. 

Thalia felt herself blush down to her toes. 

“I — ought to be going,” she blurted, and side-stepped the Grey Warden with as much grace as she could manage. 

She cursed internally with every stride; at her own childishness and stupidity, at never knowing what to say to Blackwall to get him to open up, at the fluttering in her stomach and the certainty that he still desired her while somehow simultaneously loathing every inch of her. 

She stepped out of the dark corridor and into a room where light trickled down strangely from the ceiling. Thalia looked up; dozens of tiny butterfly-shaped lanterns floated above her head, radiating purple and blue and pink. Perhaps another enchantment, or just excellent craftsmanship — in Orlais, who knew? 

Thalia was relieved to see Pravin standing against a pillar below this display, half-hidden by shadows. He saw her and slid in beside her in an instant. Her cousin fully embodied his stage persona of Fidencio Frye this evening, wearing a doublet so purple it glowed black, hemmed with silver thread. The green half-mask of the Orlesian theatre obscured his eyes beneath the wide-brimmed hat. 

“How is it going?” he asked low in her ear, taking her gently by the elbow; to any observer he might be an admirer, appealing to the masked-but-not-quite-masked-enough-to-be-anonymous Inquisitor. This was by design; she was intended to be the mouthpiece for this evening, though the company thus far had been abysmal. 

“I’m starting to worry this is a waste of time,” Thalia replied, stifling a sigh. She tried to banish the encounter with Blackwall from her mind. “No eyes on de Valette, I take it?” 

“None yet. No way he’s been missed, either; my agents are quite thorough.”

“Leliana’s agents,” Thalia correctly primly. 

With his face cast in darkness from his hat, she could sense, rather than see, his smirk. “They are answering to me, so tonight they are mine.” He paused, looking down at his hand on her arm. “Are you all right?” 

He must feel how tense she was. Thalia pulled away, straightening. “Fine.” 

Pravin cocked his head, but said no more. Thalia suppressed a shiver. She could not understand how he’d lived in Orlais all these years, with everyone hiding their faces behind cold, dead masks. The guests in the room with them, tittering about the butterfly lights and whispering gossip to each other, all had the telltale white porcelain that froze their faces, making it impossible to guess who might be underneath.

“Have you seen the others?” Thalia had been making the rounds earlier with Dorian, the two of them laying the charm on thick with the guests, but after awhile had decided they would cover more ground if they split up. 

“The sartorial delight that is Lord Pavus was just here,” Pravin replied, nodding in the direction Dorian had gone. “And I believe the Commander is two rooms adjacent, clutching the hilt of his sword and hoping a fight might break out so he can be useful.” He stroked his chin beard and added, “You should go say hi.”

“Please.” The last thing Thalia wanted right now was another awkward encounter with a man. Cullen had been staunchly avoiding eye contact with her since the carriage ride here — perhaps also because of her flattering proportions? Thalia resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. “I think we’ve bigger concerns here than your matchmaking attempts.” 

“He was very keen on accompanying you here tonight, you know, despite his protestations.” 

Thalia wanted to smack the grin off Pravin’s face, but such behavior hadn’t done her any favors as a child, either. She averted her gaze, staring out the balcony door and into a terrace covered with ivy. A woman in a glittering gold dress stood amid the foliage, staring directly at Thalia. At first she thought the woman shrouded in darkness, and that was why Thalia could not make out her face. But upon closer inspection, the woman wore a full face mask of purest black. No features were visible, just a deep, dark, inescapable void. Thalia felt herself being pulled forward, entranced. As she stared, the din around her faded away, and all that seemed to exist was the woman and her facelessness, the eyes boring out, shining out, beckoning her—

A tendril of darkness snaked outward from the mask, reaching through the air toward Thalia, intent to wrap around her wrist and pull gently, ever so gently… 

A hand took her shoulder, and Thalia jumped, jolting herself free of whatever had taken hold. Pravin turned her to face him, concern seeping through his own masked visage. “Thalia? Are you all right?”

“Did you see that woman?” Thalia asked, pointing to the terrace. A wisp of gold skirts slipped under the hanging ivy, disappearing from view. 

“I think— perhaps—” Pravin started, interrupted by Thalia as she lurched through the balcony door. “Hey!” Pravin ran to catch up, keeping pace beside her. Thalia stalked toward the wall of ivy, her heart hammering. “Are you going to tell me what this is about?” 

“Her mask, Pra— Fidencio. It was… too real.” Thalia stared him in the eye, her voice a fierce whisper. “Powerful illusion magic, I think. She was using it to call to me.” 

Pravin was frowning deeply, glancing this way and that. The courtyard was deserted, the stars above them bright and cold. “And you think it is a good idea to follow her?” 

Thalia ducked under the hanging ivy. The space beneath was empty; it was simply an awning where the courtyard buttressed the stone exterior of the chateau. In the far wall, however, stood a door, behind which glowed a soft golden light. 

“I think she went this way,” Thalia breathed. 

“I repeat my question,” Pravin huffed, disentangling ivy from the feather in his hat. 

“Experimenting with the dark arts, isn’t that what Leliana said the Comte de Valette was known for?” 

“And? I don’t see what that has to do with chasing a sorceress through hidden doors. I’ll send some agents in, and then we—”

“It will be too late if we wait,” Thalia argued, her hand reaching for the knob. “Turn back if you like. If I hurry I can still catch her.” 

“Wait.” Pravin snatched her wrist, leaning in close. With his free hand he produced his stiletto blade from the hidden sheath strapped to his thigh. “There is absolutely no chance, from here to the Fade itself, that I am letting you go alone.” 

[markedprey]

             @bloodybcrbie asked: " hold still. let me take care of you."                           inbox prompts : always accepting.

             It was instinct, that knee jerk reaction when it came to being hurt. That desire to recoil, to flinch away from any touch- always assuming the worst. To think he had been this way for so many years, tending to his own wounds, he’d forgotten what it was like to be loved at all. Then here she came, seemingly out of the blue one day, so unsuspecting, up until the body she tried to hide gave her away. Now to think this sick twisted game they played was something they didn’t have to do alone. Whoever she wanted, wherever she wanted, he would see to it that her little playthings were rightfully disposed of. When the men would get too out of hand at the bar, it was always he who would step in. When a victim would try to run, rest assured he was there to keep them in their place. 

             Yet all it took was a single slip up, a makeshift weapon or a swinging fist, and it would be enough for him to take it into his own hands. Usually it was the men, too drunk to have logic or reason, nor take no for an answer when she wouldn’t put up with their advances. Fights that he’d spill into the street, a back alley, riled up by flying fists and his hands around someone's throat. Every once in a while they’d get a hit in, a particularly rough right hook coming in contact with his face, a loud crack resonating through the empty back alleys as he’d take it upon himself to brandish a knife and finish the pathetic drunk off. The body would be disposed of later, but all that mattered was getting her home safe that night.

             It’s how he ended up at her place, the corpse tucked away in the back of his truck for now. His shirt lingered with specks of blood, that which fell from his nose, past his lips, having dripped down his chin, a bloody nose and a split lip from where contact was made. Thankfully, it was the worst of it, and truth be told he’d forgotten about it for the most part. Alcohol and adrenaline still buzzed in his veins, and it wasn’t until she tried to help did he flinch as a well manicured nail reached up to touch the tender spot on his bottom lip. 

             “Damn-”

             He hadn’t realized just how bad it hurt, not until she was keen on helping him out. Attempting to see the damage done, when he’d been so accustomed to dealing with it on his own. Truthfully it was the last thing on his mind, her being the first priority. Taken off guard by her tenderness, his brow knit tightly with the internal struggle of trying to push away a loving hand, knowing there was no maliciousness, that she was genuine about the concern she held for him. Why, he would simply exhale, slowly through his nose as she’d try and examine him like a child that fell and bumped their head. He’d never had a lover so keen on helping, her full lips set to a focused purse as she turned to grab cloth from the sink to help. How he could imagine her as a housewife, that tender love and care, with the way she’d try and clean away the blood. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the wound tear at the gesture, but hardly cared as she’d press the cloth harder to his bleeding skin, half muffling him as he tried to talk out the other side of his mouth.

             “What would I do without you sweetheart…” Hands moved to her waist, playing sliding around to her lower back to pull her in close, half tempted to kiss her with a copper mouth, teeth stained with his own blood as he chuckled. “ Y’know, one of these days I’ll get you a ring, mark my words…”

[music-industry-updates]

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[architecturalglassusa]

Reliable Glass Company Just a Call Away

Introduction

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[peritossolutions]

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[archadianskies]

RK9 whumptober masterlist (Complete)

(original) **COMPLETE**

✔️ No 1. LET’S HANG OUT SOMETIME Waking Up Restrained | Shackled | Hanging

MT-RK900 series: He comes online, expecting to find himself ready to be deployed to the DPD. They have other plans. (Combined with day 24)

✔️ No 2. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY “Pick Who Dies” | Collars | Kidnapped

Fae AU: Ronan ventures to the other end of the forest, hoping to meet the witches his brother spoke so fondly about, and ends up meeting hunters instead

✔️ No 3. MY WAY OR THE HIGHWAY Manhandled | Forced to their Knees | Held at Gunpoint

Bell Isle has a new planetarium opening, and Simon and Ronan get more than they bargain for on what was meant to be a leisurely night stargazing

✔️ No 4. RUNNING OUT OF TIME Caged | Buried Alive | Collapsed Building

MT-RK900 series: the RK900 has to accept this is his life now, this cage that he paces endlessly when he isn’t fighting for his life

✔️No 5. WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING? On the Run | Failed Escape | Rescue

SWATverse A/9: It is another RK900. The FBI’s RK900, a secret RK900 who didn’t exist on paper. Captain Allen realises they can’t leave him with Perkins. They’re absolutely not leaving here without him.

✔️No 6. PLEASE…. “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please” (all of the above)

Gavin’s always assumed androids don’t feel pain, but as he watches them go to town on his partner, he thinks maybe he’s got it all wrong

✔️ No 7. I’VE GOT YOU Support | Carrying | Enemy to Caretaker 

SWATverse: The rookie goes down heavy, and Captain Allen lives by the creed ‘no man left behind’. Even if the rookie’s an android, and 400 pounds of deadweight.

✔️ No 8. WHERE DID EVERYBODY GO? “Don’t Say Goodbye” | Abandoned | Isolation

Companion piece to this; the RK900 thought it was well on its way to passing testing phase and being deployed, until one day he’s put into standby and the entire team leave.

✔️No 9. FOR THE GREATER GOOD “Take Me Instead” | “Run!” | Ritual Sacrifice

SWATverse A/9: One RK900, for the lives of the entire SWAT team. Seems like a pretty good deal to Caleb. Captain Allen doesn’t think so.

✔️ No 10. THEY LOOK SO PRETTY WHEN THEY BLEED Blood Loss | Internal Bleeding | Trail of Blood 

SWATverse: It’s a split-second decision but one made with no hesitation at all; save April MacMaster from the blast or save himself and allow her to die

✔️ No 11. PSYCH 101 Defiance | Struggling | Crying

The RK900 stands at Amanda’s side as the RK800 receives news it will be deactivated. That...does not seem right.

✔️ No 12. I THINK I’VE BROKEN SOMETHING Broken Down | Broken Bones | Broken Trust

The revolution is successful and CyberLife discreetly try to rid themselves of all evidence of the RK900. Chloe figures out they are not so discreet, and sends Connor to investigate the junkyard while the Jericho Four tend to the mass grave.

✔️ No 13. BREATHE IN BREATHE OUT Delayed Drowning | Chemical Pneumonia | Oxygen Mask

MT-RK900 series:  MedTech Dr Ronan Anderson is onsite when two children fall into the canal at the Jericho Memorial Bay. The RK900 successfully retrieves the children, but later realises he’s not feeling too well himself.

✔️ No 14. IS SOMETHING BURNING? Branding | Heat Exhaustion | Fire

MT-RK900 series : Dr Ronan is one of the MedTechs on standby at a music festival, and discovers firsthand why he was in fact made with the artic tundra in mind and not for Michigan summers.

✔️ No 15. INTO THE UNKNOWN Possession | Magical Healing | Science Gone Wrong

Fae AU: The creature has a throat burned raw from the iron, and a leg bleeding profusely. It’s going to take a lot of herbs and a lot of magic to set things right, but Simon’s a stubborn witch.

✔️ No 16. A TERRIBLE, HORRIBLE, NO GOOD, VERY BAD DAY Forced to Beg | Hallucinations | Shoot the Hostage 

RK900 #87 has been cleared for deployment, the perfected successor to his prototype. While awaiting deployment the RK900 realises he’s not as alone as he thought.

✔️  No 17. I DID NOT SEE THAT COMING Blackmail | Dirty Secret | Wrongfully Accused

SWATverse A/9: They arrive at the gala separately, and Caleb thinks nothing of it until one of the detectives in Connor’s precinct make comments that slide a little too close to home.

✔️ No 18. PANIC! AT THE DISCO Panic Attacks | Phobias | Paranoia

SWATverse A/9: Forensics Medical Examiner Dr Frederick Anderson is still coming to terms with his newfound freedom and his new role in the team. Late one afternoon he’s ambushed by a figure from his past.

✔️ No 19. BROKEN HEARTS Grief | Mourning Loved One | Survivor’s Guilt

The RK900 is deployed and his predecessor deactivated. It shouldn’t make him feel anything. He shouldn’t be able to feel at all. And yet...

✔️ No 20. TOTO, I HAVE A FEELING WE’RE NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE Lost | Field Medicine | Medieval

S&S verse; RK-YK500s: Ronan Anderson knows it’s only 10 minutes walk from Stabucks to Central Station. He’s a big kid, he’s smart enough to get there all by himself. Right?

✔️ No 21. I DON’T FEEL SO WELL Chronic Pain | Hypothermia | Infection

SWATverse A/9: Dr Frederick Anderson receives an injury to his faceplate and deems it negligible. Later that night, he realises he has a toothache.

✔️ No 22. DO THESE TACOS TASTE FUNNY TO YOU? Poisoned | Drugged | Withdrawal

S&S verse; RK-YK500s: Ronan detects a foreign contaminent in his drink.

✔️ No 23. WHAT’S A WHUMPEE GOTTA DO TO GET SOME SLEEP AROUND HERE? Exhaustion | Narcolepsy | Sleep Deprivation

MT-RK900 series: Flu season rampages through Detroit Metro, and one by one the medical staff fall ill leaving Dr Ronan Anderson to pull back to back shifts managing ED as the only doctor immune to the illness.

✔️No 24. YOU’RE NOT MAKING ANY SENSE Forced Mutism | Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

MT-RK900 series: He has a lot of questions and they don’t like that. Dogs don’t need to bark, they just need to bite. (combined with Day 1)

✔️ No 25. I THINK I’LL JUST COLLAPSE RIGHT HERE, THANKS Disorientation | Blurred Vision | Ringing Ears

MT-RK900 series: His increased aural sensitivity would’ve been useful in the arctic tundra, but not in downtown Detroit

✔️ No 26. IF YOU THOUGHT THE HEAD TRAUMA WAS BAD… Migraine | Concussion | Blindness

On the anniversary of the Sentient Life Act, an attempt on Markus’ life leaves Ronan temporaily blinded by an IED. 

✔️ No 27. OK, WHO HAD NATURAL DISASTERS ON THEIR 2020 BINGO CARD?  Earthquake | Extreme Weather | Power Outage

An emergency requiring both RK units to lend their battery cores to save the key witness’ life leaves them critically low on power. Intending to recharge at the precinct, to their dismay there is a power outage.

✔️ No 28. SUCH WOW. MANY NORMAL. VERY OOPS. Accidents | Hunting Season | Mugged

S&S verse: An out of control truck destroys most of Ronan’s body and he must be temporarily housed back in the RK-YK500 shell. 

✔️ No 29. I THINK I NEED A DOCTOR Intubation | Emergency Room | Reluctant Bedrest

MT-RK900 series: Companion piece to this; A trauma surgeon, Dr Ronan Anderson is used to a myriad of patients both android and human. He’s just not ready when his own father is wheeled in.

✔️ No 30. NOW WHERE DID THAT COME FROM? Wound Reveal | Ignoring an Injury | Internal Organ Injury

SWATverse A/9: Dr Frederick Anderson is onsite with CSI at a large joint operation with both the DPD and SWAT unit 32. The corpses they’re loading up aren’t as dead as they should be. 

✔️ No 31. TODAY’S SPECIAL: TORTURE Experiment | Whipped | Left for Dead

Companion piece to Day 12: He is nearing the end of his testing phase when the revolution is successful. Eager to be rid of any evidence they backed the wrong side, CyberLife hastily dismantle the RK900.

[honeycombstrawberry]

the urge to request literally every single thing off that list from you bc they’re all so fucking good….scratching an itch in my brain……what abt hmmmmmmmm 95 w// adrian??

join the club

pairing: adrian chase x reader (gn pronouns, has a vagina)

rating: explicit

word count: 2,804

prompt from this list: "I want to taste you."

one-sentence synopsis: it’s been days since you and adrian were together properly, and you can’t wait any longer to have each other— even if you are on a plane with the rest of the team right now.

author’s note: this will probably be my last fic for tonight because i am SLEEPY but what a way to end the day. i hope you’ve all been vibing today, i can’t wait to hopefully write some more tomorrow!!

“How much longer is left on this flight?” you call up the aisle to Murn.

The small plane he’s loaded you all into doesn’t have much space. There’s a seat for each of you, and just enough room left for Murn to set up a little table at the front to work at, near the cockpit.

As he hears your question, he checks his watch. He answers, “Just another hour,” but all of you groan in response. You think even Emilia groans in response.

It’s been a long-ass week, and you’re so, so close to just being home. Besides that, you haven’t gotten your hands on Adrian in a couple of days now, and you’re starting to jump out of your skin. You just want to be home already, tucked into bed, hopefully with Adrian’s skin on yours, letting him fuck you into the mattress before you sleep for three straight days.

Agitated, you lean back in your seat, glaring up at the tiny light above you. Beside you, Adrian shifts, dropping his chin into his hand as he watches a movie on his phone.

He lifts his head to look up at you when he realizes you’re frustrated. Popping one earbud out, he asks, “Hey, what’s eating you?”

You huff a tense laugh. “Unfortunately, nothing,” you answer, careful to keep your voice soft.

Adrian is quiet for a moment. He reaches down and taps the screen to pause his movie before he glances over his shoulder. He must not see anyone listening— or care— because his next move is to lean in close to you and ask, voice low, “Are you trying to get in my pants right now, (Y/N)?”

Your face heats up. “Well—”

“Because it is working,” Adrian tells you excitedly. “I am so, so bored and I have wanted to be inside you since, like— yesterday.” He takes his other earbud out, then starts to stand. You grab him by the wrist and yank him back down. “What?”

“We have to be more casual than that,” you hiss at him, your heart racing. “If we’re going to do this. Are we going to do this?”

Adrian’s eyes flick over your face before he nods, looking the most captivated he’s been by anything all day. “As long as you wanna, I wanna, one-hundred-percent. I’m down, like, right now.”

You take a deep breath, inhaling and exhaling evenly to steady yourself. You look over your shoulder, too, evaluating the plane. A plan hatches quickly in your mind, and you turn back to Adrian— only to find he’s already eagerly awaiting your instructions.

“Okay,” you tell him. “I’m going to get up and go back to the bathroom.”

“Genius,” he says, and starts to stand.

“No, Adrian—” You catch him again, tugging him back down. “Listen to me. With your head.” You tap him on the forehead. “This one.”

“Okay, yeah, yes, I’m listening,” he assures you. He leans into you, his head tilted against the back of his seat, his hand tangled in yours. “You’ll go into the bathroom, then what?”

“Then you wait, like, three minutes and come back to the bathroom, too,” you tell him.

“Brilliant,” he says. “Best plan ever. Then what?”

You frown, brow furrowing. “Then we have sex in the bathroom,” you explain.

“What, that’s your plan?” Adrian hisses to you. “I could’ve come up with that. We may as well stand up and announce that we’re going to pound it raw at a mile high—”

You snort on a laugh, covering your mouth and nose with your hand to silence yourself.

Adrian laughs, too, demanding, “What? It’s true—” and you lean in to kiss him and quiet him.

“It’s the best plan I’ve got,” you tell him, half-teasing and half-apologetic. “You got a better one?” When Adrian thinks, then shakes his head, you tell him, “Then take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, and ducks back in to kiss at your throat. You push him away, unbuckling your seatbelt and making to stand.

‘Three minutes,’ you mouth to him. He gives you an A-OK sign and winks, then looks down at his phone again as if he’s still watching the movie. He doesn’t hit play, and his earbuds aren’t in, but it’s better than nothing.

You’re careful not to make eye contact with anyone as you head to the back of the plane. You’re sure they would be able to read it all over your face if you did, and any one of them would know exactly what it is you’re planning to do. As it is, you’re already trying to figure out how to keep as quiet as possible while you’re in such close quarters with the rest of the team.

You lock yourself in the bathroom and sit on the little sink counter, gripping the edge tightly. Your hold grows so stiff that your knuckles grow white while you wait for Adrian to come back there.

While you wait, you can’t help just— thinking about him. You’ve been together for a little while, now, and you can’t get enough of him. He might be a maniac, but he’s your maniac, and you seriously think you might be in love with him. You might be a maniac, too, because you think he could feel the same way for you.

Outside the bathroom door— after what feels like six hours, but is really about two minutes total— you can hear a short muffled conversation. You’re not sure what, exactly, is going on, but you recognize Adrian’s voice right away. It sounds like he’s talking to— Chris, maybe, and then Leota. The conversation ends then, though, and you can hear his footsteps moving. It’s not long before he’s tapping softly at the bathroom door.

You slide the door open, wedging yourself aside on the counter so he can fit in the small space left available to stand.

“Did anyone stop you?” you ask, keeping your voice barely above a whisper.

“Chris asked where I was going,” he tells you. “I said the bathroom and Leota said, no, she saw you come back here, and I said you probably weren’t in the bathroom, and she said, well, then, where’d you go, and I said—”

“Never mind,” you cut him off, surging up to steal his breath with a kiss. You can think of other enjoyable uses for his mouth right now that he hasn’t gotten around to in the last few days.

You languidly let the kiss deepen, slowly loosening your jaw, kissing him harder, hungrier. From your position on the counter, you’re easily able to tilt him up to kiss you, cradling his head in your hands. His soft hair is messy between your fingers when you stroke, then pull, guiding him into a deeper kiss.

His hands slide down between you, fumbling first with the button on your trousers. He separates the fabric, slides the zipper down. When he reaches into your underthings, he readjusts his position, angling his arm so he can cup you in one hand. You punch out a breathless laugh, head falling back as he gets friction on you where you want it most.

“Please,” you beg him, breathless. “Please, I want—”

“Whatever you want,” he tells you. “I’ll give it to you.” His voice is low, mostly mumbled into your skin. The two of you discovered a long time ago that the best way to keep Adrian quiet isn’t to keep him quiet at all, but just to muffle him. He’s going to talk, you both know that; he’s welcome to use any part of you he likes to keep that sound quiet when he needs to.

Now, you tell him, “I want your mouth,” and he nods eagerly.

Even in the tiny space available, he manages to get to his knees, wedging himself in between your legs where you’re sitting on the counter. His head settles between your spread thighs.

“That’s so convenient,” he says, tearing your clothes down until they’re around your ankles, leaving you completely bare and vulnerable to him. He tugs you right up to the edge of the counter; his hands grip your hips firmly, holding you in place. Looking up at you through his dark lashes, he tells you, “Because I want to taste you so fucking bad.”

You exhale shakily, reaching up with one hand to thread your fingers through his hair. Your other hand steadies you on the counter, holds you up so you don’t knock your head backwards into the mirror— the last thing you need right now is a glass-shattering concussion and open wounds all over the both of you.

Adrian wraps his arms close around you, holds you tightly as he buries his face between your thighs. He starts at your inner thigh, near your knee, tracing the hot line of his tongue up the inside of your leg until he meets the crease where your leg and pelvis meet. He licks into your skin, tastes the salt and sweat and flesh when his teeth graze along.

“Oh, fuck,” you whisper softly. “Fuck, fuck—”

He reaches up with one hand and covers your mouth with it, the other hand still grasping one hip to hold you tightly in place. You whimper around his hand, eyes shooting down to meet his. The look of him between your thighs, his long arm stretching up so he can cover your mouth, all of you entirely at his mercy— you can hardly fucking take it. You don’t mean to, but your hips buck up towards his mouth.

Adrian, for his part, apparently fucking loves that, because he moans softly before he can stop himself. You can feel the vibration just slightly too far away, and you whine a little into his palm.

“I got you,” he murmurs into your thigh. His teeth slide along your heated skin, drawing blood so close to the surface without breaking the flesh. “I’ve got you, I’m— I’m going to take care of you.”

He licks along your thigh with a broad, flat sweep of his tongue, a stroke that has you tightening your grip in his hair. He takes that encouragement well, nosing closer to your core. He licks over your entrance once, first, before tracing up to your clit.

“Oh, my fucking God—” you bite off into his hand, too muffled to really be words. You’re panting, hot and wet and open-mouthed against his palm, but you can’t help it.

You surge forwards over him, bowing over his head. He circles his tongue on your clit, alternates with suction, his teeth just barely grazing you on occasion here and there, and it’s driving you out of your mind.

You’ve been so on edge these last few days that your first orgasm is knocking at the back of your chest, pooling already in your gut, and you’ve got tears burning in your eyes.

You try to say Adrian’s name, but it becomes a mess of noises into his hand. He must recognize it all the same, though, because he shivers, goosebumps breaking out along the skin you can see.

He separates himself from you only for one devastating moment of loss where he takes his glasses off. Shoving them into his shirt pocket, he dives back in again, eating you out like he’s a starving man, like it’s his fucking job, like he was born to do this, and all you can do is lean back and let him send you rocketing to the edge of sensation.

Tears start to spill over from your overstimulation when you’re just about to orgasm, and you reach down, spreading your hands over his shoulder blades. You dig your nails into his shoulders, drawing his attention up to you. When his eyes drift open and flicker up to meet yours, his tongue and his teeth and his lips moving on you, his hand drifting from your hip to slip his fingers into your entrance, it’s all over.

You cry his name into his hand, soft and muffled and repeated, over and over, as your climax consumes you. Your mind goes hazy, then is consumed only by thoughts and images of Adrian, half-formed and intense and all-consuming.

Chest heaving, you fall back against the mirror, trying to calm down.

Adrian, however, has other ideas, removing his mouth from you once he’s milked the last of your orgasm from you. His mouth is shining, lips wet with you as he lifts his head and delightedly asks, “Can I fuck you?”

You nod weakly. He lets his hand fall away from your mouth, standing to examine your face. You can see he’s rock-hard in his own pants, throbbing against the fabric, and you feel another orgasm already starting to bud up inside you.

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod again, stronger this time.

“I want you inside me,” you tell him. “Right now, please—”

Adrian obliges without hesitation. He reaches down to fumble his pants apart and off, shoving them down as far as he can get them. Pulling you back to the edge of the counter, he maneuvers the two of you until he can get his cock pressed to your entrance. You’re slick with your own fluids and his, your slick and his saliva together, and his glide is easy.

“Here we go,” he says, and fucks into you in a smooth slide. You relax, taking all of him in as deep as you can, wrapping yourself around him once he’s there. He bites off, “Oh, fuck, you’re so tight, you feel so good. Oh, fuck—”

“Throat,” you say. Adrian does as told, dropping his face down and sinking his teeth into your throat, muffling his string of unstoppable words. He keeps mumbling into your flesh, but he’s quieter now, words disappearing under your skin. Sometimes, you think you can still feel them there later, buzzing in your bloodstream, his love and adoration and lust humming through you for hours and hours afterwards.

Mumbled into your throat, you think you hear him give you a warning. You push your hips up to meet his, shifting into a slow grind that has you clenching around him and him sobbing, burying his face harder into the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

His hands climb down your body to grasp your hips, then your thighs. He scrambles all over, trying to get a solid hold to fuck into you. You grab onto him in return, hang on and let him position you until he finds an angle that has the both of you falling to fucking pieces around each other.

Adrian reaches down between you with one hand to get his fingers back on your clit. He rubs hard, circling you, his vibration and speed picking up as he loses the pace and rhythm of his own thrusts. He falls apart, becomes a mess of sensation, and cums that way, choking your name off into your throat.

His hand doesn’t slow, though, and you’re rocketing into your second orgasm in moments, collapsing into him until you’re both tilted half-sideways, shoved along the counter. The entire bathroom smells obscenely of sex and sweat, the air thick with heat, and you can’t bring yourself to give a single shit, right now. Those all seem like great things, and somebody else’s problems.

“I love you,” you tell him breathlessly. He lifts his head, meeting your eyes with a surprised lift to his eyebrows, his face flushed pink.

“Does— that mean the same thing in the sky that it does in America?” he asks, and you laugh. You twist forward, pushing your forehead into his. You press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Yeah,” you tell him. “It means fucking everything, actually.”

“Oh.” He cups your face in his hand, then says, “In that case, I love you, too. And I really didn’t think my dick would be inside you when I said that, but I mean it anyways. I know they say not to trust people when they say it while they’re fucking, but I trust you no matter what, so.”

You grin, pushing his sweaty hair back from his face. You kiss his eyebrow, then say, “I trust you, too,” and it feels like the ‘I love you’ is doubled for saying that, stronger for the trust and faith behind the love.

Outside the bathroom, someone pounds their fist against the door. A moment later, Chris demands, “Are you okay? Are you sick?” and you choke on a laugh.

“They’re having sex, Chris, leave them alone,” you hear Leota snap at him. “Jesus Christ, they’ll be out in a minute.”

“Twenty minutes!” Adrian calls, hauling you back in for a hard kiss, the both of you still half-laughing into it.

-

adrian chase taglist:

@violetrainbow412-blog @bigassbisaster @amysuemc ​

[criticallyacclaimedstranger]

Prompt 7: you can take it

Maybe Frankie x chubby reader? Pretty please and thank you 🥰

Thank you for this delicious prompt, and for making me revisit Frankie and chubby!reader. It's been far too long.

Title: Move

Forever Starts With You (Frankie x chubby!Reader) masterlist

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Triple Frontier

Ship: Francisco “Catfish” Morales/chubby!Reader aka “Bonnie” (you, cishet female)

Warnings: Some reminiscing, non-graphic cunnilingus, PiV sex, Frankie's big dick.

Summary: You and Frankie are finally moving together and say goodbye to your old apartment in a befitting way.

Words: 922

A/N: This was so much fun! I've missed these two but apparently I can't write them without a prompt. And I clearly can't write porn without plot when it comes to them because Bonnie deserves all the plots!

Frankie and you finally find a new place in late spring, and move in when May turns to June. Weeks of sorting through your possessions, deciding on what furniture to keep and what to buy new, packing, and taking things to goodwill culminated on a Saturday when Frankie's buddies show up to carry couches, bedframes, and boxes. Frankie, who doesn't have the best of backs, coordinates the move, and you're in your new place, arranging and unpacking boxes by room as they arrive. Your new home with Frankie smells of fresh paint and the new AC unit cools it down wonderfully, providing your movers with a nice respite from the warm weather outside.

The day ends with beers and pizzas as is customary, before your helpers leave, and you and Frankie stumble into the shower and then into bed. On Sunday, you go first to his old apartment to clean, and after that to yours.

When you’ve cleaned the entire apartment from top to bottom, you look around the empty rooms and can't help but feel a little melancholic. You lived here for a decade, made it yours, built your adulthood in this apartment. This is where you truly became who you are. This apartment has seen a lot of joy, tears, happiness, and hopes. You loved men here, men who didn't know how to love you back for who you are, all of you, every single pound that according to society are excess and wrong. You took Frankie here after your third date, undressed on the couch that has now found a new home with a couple of students who picked it up last week, and with Frankie, you received love, more than you could ever have dreamed of. This is where your relationship grew into what it is today.

You can't wait to see what your new place will bear witness to.

"Querida?"

You blink, your reverie interrupted, and turn your head to see Frankie standing in the doorway. His footsteps echo in the empty space when he comes up to you.

”You okay?”

”Perfect,” you nod, taking his hand to wrap his arm around you. Assured that you are well and that you want his sweat-smelling body next to your own, which doesn’t exactly smell like roses either, he hugs you to him and rests his chin on the top of your head.

”Does it feel weird to leave this place?” he asks, hand slowly stroking the small of your back.

”It does,” you admit, ”but I’m not getting cold feet, if that’s what you’re asking.”

”You lived here for a long time.”

”I did, and I loved this apartment. But I love moving together with you more.”

”This is where we had a lot of firsts, though,” Frankie reminds you, and now he cups your cheeks and turns your face up towards his. ”A lot of really nice firsts.”

”We have a whole new home to break in,” you smile as you get up on tip-toe to kiss him. There’s sweat on his upper lip and you can’t resist licking at it, his mustache bristly against your tongue.

”Care for a last one in this home…?” There’s seduction in his voice and you raise your eyebrows at him.

”We have no furniture.”

”We have a floor, my love.”

And that’s how you end up on your back on the floor, splayed open for Frankie to delve into you with tongue and fingers, sucking your clit until you’re shaking and sobbing his name.

When he pushes all the way into you, you’re literally trapped between a rock and a hard place, with the unyielding floor under you. It’s almost too much.

”Frankie,” you whimper, unsure for a second that you’re going to manage it, ”it’s so big.”

”You can take it,” he reassures you gently, stroking your air as he pins you down, staying still yet deep, so deep inside you. ”My sweet, good girl. One last fuck before we go back to our home, okay? You can take it.”

”I can,” you whisper, and he kisses you sweetly, like he wasn’t balls deep in you and spearing you down into the carpet. When his hips start to roll against yours, you quickly find the rhythm and move with him, breathlessly kissing, your eye contact breaking only when Frankie’s pace quickens and he buries his face in the crook of your neck, grunting against your sweaty skin.

He stays deep inside you when he’s finished, kissing you all over your face while you wipe the damp curls from his forehead.

”I love you so much.”

”I love you, Frankie.” You pull him in for a long kiss, tongues licking at each other, your fingers in Frankie’s hair. ”Let’s do this in our new place, too.”

”I’m glad we don’t carpet there,” Frankie groans as he slowly straightens his back, pulling out and sitting back. You sit up as well and notice the burns on his knees and elbows. You smile wryly.

”I think I have one on my ass,” you confess, sensing a heat on said body part. ”We have aloe vera cream at home.”

”I like that,” Frankie smiles at you. ”We have it, at home.”

”I like that, too.”

You help each other up, get dressed, and gather your cleaning equipment before you leave the keys on the kitchen counter, as per your agreement with the real estate agent. When you close the door on this chapter of your life, there’s a wide smile on your face.