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monstersdownthepath · 1 day

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Homebrew Horror: Caligine, the Sweltering Saint

(Art by @fishfacedterror!)

The twisted, self-described "Saint of Spices and Suffering" known as Caligine has numerous other titles with varying levels of detail and alliteration, is one of the youngest and most obscure of the shadowy demigods known as the Velstrac Demagogues. As such, his cult is quite small, but it grows every day as it draws in eccentric spice aficionados, brave gourmands, and all manner of uncommon men with tastes and habits bordering (or surpassing) the inhumane. Whether they wish to experience entirely new forms of suffering or simply test their tolerance, the "Trials of St. Caligine" call to all kinds.

Because Caligine prefers to experiment on the willing rather than the unwilling (if only because the willing are more likely to appreciate the molecular gastronomy at play), he is among the most peaceful of all the Demagogues in relation to his interactions with mortal life, going so far as to place his personal workshop just a three days' walk from Shadow Absalom and encourage patronage and trade with its citizens for exotic ingredients he would otherwise not have access to... but do not confuse 'peaceful' with 'harmless,' and do not believe 'prefers' means 'will only.' Anyone who disrupts his experiments is very likely to become a part of them, and the internal excruciations he delights in causing are a far different torture the common flesh-flaying and bone-breaking of most velstrac, a fact on its own which draws fiends from all over to experience them, fiends which have FAR fewer qualms disappearing Caligine's clientele for their own hideous projects.

While most of the fatalities he causes are the results of his gastric atrocities, Caligine relishes the occasional combat, both to make use of the runoff of his many experiments (it's still good for something) and to relieve the tedium that comes with waiting for endless vats of ingredients to boil down into something worthwhile. Despite his primary occupation as both a chef and a chemist, he is a terrifying and resilient combatant regardless of the range one fights him at, either hacking his foes apart with his enchanted cleaver and breaking their bones with his wretched tongue up close, or hurling truly impressive amounts of caustic explosives at more distant foes.

Despite his ferocity in battle, the Saint is willing to live up to his title in his own bizarre ways. An offering of especially rare or exotic ingredients or powerful, unique potions and poisons may see him pausing his assault long enough for one to reason with him. He may even bargain with those he was just trying to kill to get his hands on something he's never seen before (a challenge in and of itself!), and honors all promises he makes to the best of his abilities with very little litigious twisting, something which may change as he ages. He has been known to even provide healing to victims he's butchered or slain, though his prices for doing so always include submitting to his gastronomic experiments, something which has made many a victim wish they had stayed dead.

Saint Caligine CR 27

Lawful Evil Large Outsider (Evil, Extraplanar, Kyton, Lawful)

Init: +14; Senses: Darkvision 60ft, Keen Scent, See in Darkness; Perception +29

------ Defense ------

AC 44, touch 24, flat-footed 29 (+14 Dex, +1 dodge, +20 natural, -1 size)

HP 740 (34d10+544) Regeneration 30 (Deific and Mythic)

Fort +35 Ref +24 Will +24

Defensive abilities Mithridatism; DR 20/Epic, good, and silver; Immune Charm and compulsion effects, cold, fear effects, petrification, sleep; Resist Acid 30, Electricity 20, Fire 30; SR 38

------ Offense ------

Speed 40ft, climb 40ft

Melee Cleaver of Caligine +45/+40/+35/+30 (1d8+12 plus 1d6 Acid and 1d6 Fire/19-20/x3), claw +38 (1d8+5), tongue +41 (2d6+9 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire plus grab), OR two claws +41 (1d8+9), tongue +41 (2d6+9 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire plus grab)

Ranged Bomb +48/+43/+38/+33 (10d6+8 Acid or Fire)

Space 10ft; Reach 10ft (15ft with tongue)

Special Attacks Coated Tongue, constrict (2d6+14 plus 1d10 Acid or Fire), Ring of Telekinesis (DC 22/CMB +41), Unnerving Gaze (60ft, DC 34)

Infusions Prepared (CL 20; Concentration +28)

1st- Abjuring Step x2, Anticipate Peril x2, Expeditious Retreat, Long Arm, Shield 2nd- Barkskin, Blur x2, Touch Injection, Twisted Innards, Vomit Swarm x2 3rd- Fly, Haste, Heroism, Nauseating Trail x2 (DC 21), Toxic Blood (DC 21), Thorn Body 4th- Arcane Eye, Detonate x2 (DC 21), Fire Shield, Greater Invisibility x2, Spell Immunity 5th- Delayed Consumption x3, Grand Destiny, Overland Flight, Resurgent Transformation 6th-Caging Bomb Admixture, Heal x2, Mislead x2 (DC 24), Walk Through Space

Spell-like Abilities (CL 34; Concentration +41)

Constant--Discern Lies, Freedom of Movement, True Seeing At-will--Dispel Magic, Plane Shift (self and willing targets only), Teleport (self and willing targets only) 7/day--Acidic Spray (DC 22), Beguiling Gift (DC 18), Contagious Flame (DC 24), Tongues 5/day--Caustic Eruption (DC 24), Overwhelming Poison, Wall of Fire (DC 21) 3/day--Quickened Fireball (DC 24), Incendiary Cloud (DC 25) Transmute Blood to Acid (DC 26)

------ Statistics ------

Str 28 Dex 38 Con 42 Int 27 Wis 20 Cha 25 Base Atk: +34; CMB +44; CMD 68

Feats Brew Potion, Cleave, Close-Quarters Thrower (Bombs), Craft Magic Arms and Armor, Craft Wondrous Item, Dodge, Improved Critical (Handaxe), Great Cleave, Multiattack, Point-Black Shot, Precise Shot, Power Attack, Rapid Shot, Splash Weapon Mastery, Throw Anything, Two-Weapon Fighting, Weapon Focus (Bombs)

Skills Acrobatics +24, Appraise +38, Bluff +15, Climb +22, Craft (Alchemy) +55, Diplomacy +22, Disable Device +24, Escape Artist +24, Knowledge (Arcana) +38, Knowledge (Dungeoneering) +38, Knowledge (Engineering) +28, Knowledge (Geography) +25, Knowledge (Local) +23, Knowledge (Nature) +45, Knowledge (the Planes) +31, Perception +29, Profession (Chef) +54, Sense Motive +28, Sleight of Hand +24, Spellcraft +45, Survival +25, Use Magic Device +37 Racial Modifiers: +12 to Craft (Alchemy) and Profession (Chef) checks.

Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Celestial, Common, Draconic, Ignan, Infernal, Shadowtongue; telepathy 100 ft.

SQ Alchemist Abilities, Crucible

------ Ecology ------ Environment any (Plane of Shadow) Organization Solitary (unique) Treasure Triple (Cleaver of Caligine (a +3 Flaming Burst and Corrosive Burst Handaxe), Ring of Telekinesis, Saint's Spice Bag (a Handy Haversack with three times the normal storage capacity), 1d8+4 random potions levels 1 to 3, 1d3 potions levels 4 to 6)

------

Combat: On any given day, Caligine always has 1d4+3 generically useful spells ready via Delayed Consumption, such as Death Ward, Haste, Cure Critical Wounds, Protection From Energy, and always at least one instance of Greater Invisibility, invoking them the instant they're needed. Caligine begins most fights with Greater Invisibility, then using the granted breathing room to tailor himself to his enemy's apparent might with whatever combination of extracts he feels will give him an advantage. His first order of business in any fight is restraining the hardiest-looking opponent with his tongue to suppress any resistances they may have before striking them with his more debilitating spell-likes such as Transmute Blood to Acid. As a pain fanatic, he doesn't care if he catches himself in the area of his own spells or if he grapples a creature that harms him to touch. He will use any poisons he has access to as early and often as possible, on both his enemies and himself. If his opponents prove particularly vulnerable to poison, he will often teleport away just long enough to craft some especially debilitating ones, bless them with Overwhelming Poison, and teleport back to continue. He utilizes his bombs primarily against foes who keep out of his reach, but will gladly use them against much closer enemies if they group together.

Morale: The Sweltering Saint rarely fights to the death. If brought to below 50 health, he will often concede to his foes' might and congratulate them on an excellent battle, especially if his enemies used Acid or Fire damage or poisons on him. He will attempt to placate/reward them with an offering of powerful potions and, perhaps, more alchemical items at his disposal. If his enemies reject his surrender, he will teleport or shift away, or simply flee with Expeditious Retreat. If he cannot, only then does he fight to the death.

------ Special Abilities ------

Alchemist Abilities (Ex): Caligine has several abilities similar to those from the Alchemist class:

He can can prepare and use extracts as if he were a 20th level Alchemist with the Infusion Discovery. He knows all Alchemist formulae; the above list is his most common selection if he anticipates hostility.

He has the Bomb ability of a 20th level Alchemist with the Fast Bombs Discovery, capable of swiftly hurling caustic chemicals which deal either Fire or Acid damage (Reflex DC 28 dodges the splash damage). He adds his Intelligence modifier to his bomb damage, as well as damage done with other alchemical splash weapons. His bombs have a range increment of 40ft, and he can create 42 bombs each day.

He can create items with incredible swiftness, crafting any alchemical item or poison in a single full-round action and most potions (see Crucible, below) in just 1 hour, provided he succeeds the Craft (Alchemy) check and has access to the materials to do so (he is always assumed to have the materials on-hand so long as he has his gear).

He can apply a poison or oil to a weapon as an immediate action. This includes his own natural weapons, which exposes him to any poison he uses, but see Mithridatism below.

Coated Tongue (Ex): Caligine's tongue is frighteningly dexterous, uncannily strong, and is coated with countless chemicals with deleterious effects on anything touching it. It is always a primary natural attack, and he can grapple and constrict a creature with his tongue without gaining the grappled condition himself. A creature grappled by his tongue has any Fire or Acid Resistance and/or Immunity they possess suppressed while they're grappled, and for 1d4+1 rounds after the grapple ends.

Crucible (Su): Caligine's mastery of chemistry allows him to perform feats that many consider impossible: He can craft potions of spells up to 6th level instead of 3rd. However, a 4th level potion takes one day to create, a 5th level spell takes two days, and a 6th level spell takes three.

Mithridatism (Ex): Caligine is not immune to poisons, but most poisons have an effect on his physiology that is far outside the norm. Whenever he would take ability score damage or drain from a poison, instead he gains a +2 alchemical bonus to his attack and damage rolls, as well as ability checks and skill checks for 1 round. He gains this bonus for each different poison affecting him, and the bonuses stack. In addition, Caligine recovers from ability score damage at a rate of 1 per minute, and ability score drain at a rate of 1 per hour.

Unnerving Gaze (Ex): Any creature that succumbs to Caligine's unnerving gaze becomes suicidally convinced that they can survive his trials, taking a -10 penalty to the next saving throw they make against one of his spell-like abilities or a -10 penalty to their AC against the next alchemical bomb attack he makes against them.

#pathfinder #Homebrew Horror #original concepts

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avonne-writes · 4 hours

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Happy birthday! I just wanted to tell you that you're the best fan fiction writer I've come across in 20+ years ♥️

Can I ask for the [coffee] prompt? Gale manages to get hold of some coffee beans in the stalag and makes a cup of real coffee for John. Even better if he has to hide it from all the other inmates ☺️

My dear, this has been in my inbox for months, waiting for me to finally get to it! I'm sorry that it took me this long, especially because this was an original prompt. Thank you so much for your sweet message, I appreciate it so much! 🩷❤️ The drabble I'm posting below is part of a longer fic which will be posted on AO3 when it’s finished. It’s set in my a/b/o au (core idea here, drabble here).

The last fading rays of summer warmth are pushed away by the deepening chill of the night when the sun sets. It’s only September, but the walls of their prison seem to grow colder with each night, and the barbed wire fence looks taller every miserable morning. How long can a bird stay alive with its wings clipped, locked inside a cage that only lets it see the light, never feel it? And is it life at all?

It's been almost a year, and there's no end in sight. Only the mindless, final darkness, the one that beckons Bucky persistently every time the pains of his body and soul grow too heavy to bear without howling. If he and Gale hadn't bonded before their capture, he would've given in to that call already.

But they had, so here Bucky is. Still hungry, still cold, curled up in his bunk because Gale fussed the whole night and pushed him away every time Bucky touched him. Not even his own mate wants Bucky anymore.

“John.” He hears Gale's voice, quiet and warm, close to his ear as Gale leans over him. A hand shakes Bucky's shoulder, then slides down to his elbow in a caress. “The weather is so nice outside.”

“So what?” Bucky grunts, fed up with the morning sunshine that streams in through the flimsy curtains. How dare it tempt him with joy when he can’t even take a breath deep enough to remember freedom.

Gale shakes him again. His scent is so sweet that if Bucky closes his eyes, he can imagine that this is just another morning at Thorpe, and his mate is in a good mood. “Come, walk with me.”

Illusion shattered, Bucky shrugs Gale's grip off. “I'm not your dog.”

There's a pause, then a sigh. Gale squeezes Bucky's arm, then Bucky hears the thud of his boots as he walks away. The door opens and closes with a click.

“You should get it together, man. You're still mates, are you not?” Jefferson's voice rings from behind him, and it pisses Bucky off. What fucking business of his is it if he and Gale are still mates or not? He shouldn't say shit about things he doesn’t understand.

His irritation is enough fire to make Bucky turn around and rise from the bed, but Jefferson is already halfway out the door, scoffing at him, and Bucky isn’t quite angry enough to chase after him. He growls and drops into a chair at their small table, dealing a pack of cards to play imaginary poker against himself. From the corner of his eye, he notices the stares Crank and DeMarco shoot him, but they also go out after a few minutes, leaving him blessedly alone in silence.

For a while, it feels good. Time is beyond his perception, has been for who knows how long now. It's just one of those things that doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He plays and loses against himself, always loses, then just drops the cards and stares at the strip of light crawling across the wooden floorboards. Guilt starts to tickle at the corners of his eyes and throbs at his temples like a headache. He didn’t mean to be so rude to Gale, but last night left him in a mood even worse than usual. He should probably find the strength to go out, join the others and apologize to him. Touch the mark on Gale’s neck if he's still willing to let him.

Bucky's just about to push himself to his feet when the door swings open and Gale comes back inside. He looks frazzled and pale as a sheet, although it's hard to tell if that's the general effect of the stalag or something new. He puts his hands on his hips and paces around a bit, shooting Bucky quick glances as if gearing himself up to speak.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, frowning.

“Nothing.” Gale licks his lips, then stills for a moment before he walks over to the table with confident steps, all of that sudden unsettled energy swallowed up by his self-control. Maybe, he’s nervous that Bucky will gnash his teeth at him like a feral animal again. When he sits down and meets Bucky's eyes, Bucky sighs.

“Look.” Bucky starts, leaning forward and holding his hand out. He leaves it there even though Gale doesn’t take it. “I'm sorry for this morning. Didn’t mean to lash out like that.”

Gale considers him for a beat of silence, then nods, somber. “Apology accepted.”

He glances down at his lap, then pulls something out of the pocket of his trousers. When he looks at Bucky again, his eyes are soft and loving like they used to be before they learned how fragile the good things in life are. “Do you know what day it is?”

Bucky puffs his cheeks out, his eyebrows quirking up in a way that clearly amuses Gale. “Haven't a clue, doll. I'm wearing my Sunday best though, just in case.”

Gale huffs, shaking his head with a fond twist to his mouth. Something about the movement makes him wince, but he composes himself quickly. “It’s the 8th, John.”

Oh.

A dull pain starts in Bucky's chest and radiates out into the rest of his body. He can’t believe he forgot. He can’t believe that this moment came. The first time he spends 8 September as a prisoner of war, instead of laughing and celebrating with the love of his life.

Gale puts the small package he pulled out of pocket on the table between them. “I couldn’t get you any whiskey.” He says with wry humor that pulls a joyless smile out of Bucky. “But I got you this.”

When Bucky opens the package, the scent of ground coffee hits him like the sweet promise of heaven. It’s the real stuff, he can tell instantly, not the sand and ash concoction they mix up for them on most days. If they brew this, one sip of it will give Bucky enough life for a week. Oh, just the mere thought of its taste, the faint memories still not overwritten by the bland, permeating monotone of the stalag…

The grin pulling at Bucky’s lips isn’t tainted by manic delusions for once. It’s purely happy, devoid of the shadows that have been haunting Bucky's mind lately, and it seems to make Gale flush in an echo of joy. This small bag of coffee must have cost Gale a lot of rations, but it’s such a perfect gift that Bucky doesn’t have the heart to ruin it by asking to know its price.

"Happy birthday." Gale says with a small smile, but when Bucky reaches for his hand, he flinches.

It's a telltale reaction that they both know well. Bucky pauses, breathes in deep, takes stock of Gale's wide pupils and the clamminess of his fingers when he touches them. There’s sweat gathering at Gale’s hairline and his cheeks look blotchy. Bucky sees him pulling his other hand back into the sleeve of his fraying sweater, one of the few comforts he has in this wretched place. The gesture makes Bucky's chest go tight.

"Are you in heat?”

The muscles around Gale's jaw clench. He doesn’t need to say a word. The look in his eyes tells Bucky everything.

“Shit.” Bucky says, his voice like a ghost’s. Departing his body as dread creeps down his throat, cold and slimy fear around his heart. His brain, the last to admit defeat, still tries to deny it. It's impossible. God can’t curse them with this now. Their fate can’t be this cruel. “But you haven't had one in a year.”

“I know.” Gale's nostrils flare.

“But -”

“You know I've run out of the goddamn pills.” He snaps, harsh and aggressive in a way he wouldn’t be in his right mind.

There's no denying it any longer. It can't be just a cold or the bitterness of captivity. They have to face this here, now, and somehow make it through.

Bucky lowers his voice placatingly. “I know, Buck, I know.” He squeezes Gale's hand. It’s a relief when Gale squeezes back. “But that was six months ago.”

Tucked inside his sleeve, Gale’s fingers clench around the fabric. His eyes stare at his boots, and he looks so frail and small that Bucky has to look away to compose himself. They're both at the end of their ropes.

“Better weather, more food…” Gale mutters, pulling his shoulders up in a helpless gesture. “I guess my body figured it was enough.”

Bucky strokes the back of Gale's hand with his thumb, feels Gale’s racing pulse at his wrist. “We're gonna get through this.”

Gale nods, but he stares at the far wall. After a moment, Bucky realizes that he’s holding his breath, as if to keep himself forcefully calm and grounded.

“Promise me -” He starts quietly. “- that if the guards find out, you won’t get yourself killed.”

Bucky's chest tightens. He hears the fear Gale is stomping down on with all his iron willpower. “I can’t.”

Bucky’s hand is yanked forward so suddenly and with such force that Bucky hisses. Gale fists his other hand in Bucky's shirt and snarls at him from an inch away. “Promise.”

The nasty, instinctual part of Bucky aches to fight, to force Gale to back down using his alpha nature to his advantage. But, even with all the things chipping at his sanity, Bucky doesn’t want to do that to him. It wouldn’t work anyway. Not with Gale, especially not when he's in heat.

“They won't find out.” He tells Gale, cupping his scarred cheek and giving him a firm look. “I promise I'll keep you safe.”

The scent in the air turns cloyingly sweet as gratitude washes over Gale, but then he shudders, and the sweetness turns into sour fear. Gale lets go of Bucky's shirt and stands up, gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turn white. When he speaks, the calm tone of his voice is frightening.

“Don’t worry about me, John. Whatever happens, I can take it.”

#mota #buck x bucky #gale cleven #john egan #clegan #my writing #abo au #wip #I'm still working on this but i couldn’t resist sharing this part!

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elizabethsnuts · 12 hours

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I love your work! They're SO cute!

This request is a bit more on the angsty side though :| ...

If you're ok with it, can I request something with Hotch's toddler!daughter and the aftermath of George Foyet? OR, if you'r not feeling the angst, and if you're ok with it, maybe can we see Hotch introducing his toddler!daughter to Beth? Or re-introducing Emily as his girlfriend bc Hotchniss <3?

TYSM, sorry this was so long! Appreciate you! Keep up the awesome work!

Aftermath

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Aaron was quick to come and save you and Jack from Foyet.

A/N: I appreciate you, anon! I love you and all the support you put on my work 🫶🏻 I hope you like this! I haven’t really wrote angst before so let me know how I did!

TW: Mentions of death, funerals and blood.

———

All Aaron could feel was the rage bubbling instead of him as he landed one punch after another to Foyet’s now-lifeless body. He felt two strong arms suddenly restrain him, trying to stop him from throwing more punches.

“Hotch! Hotch! He’s dead! Hotch, stop! Come on, stop! It’s over! It’s over… it’s okay… it’s over man.”

Morgan kept his grip tight around him, making sure Aaron didn’t try and go in for another swing.

Aaron couldn’t help but break down sobbing, freeing himself from Morgan’s grip. He had to find Jack, he had to find you. He got up, stumbling into what used to be his home office. He remembered that Jack liked to sometimes hide in the box beside his desk while he worked. He opened the lid to the box and felt a small feeling of relief wash over him seeing that Jack was indeed in there, safe and unharmed. Though you weren’t there.

“I worked the case, Daddy, just like you said,” Jack announced softly, looking up at Aaron.

Aaron nodded and quickly took Jack out of the wooden box, setting him on the floor in front of him. “Jack, buddy, where’s your sister? Where’s Y/N?”

Jack looked around a gave a small shrug. “She ran off when you told me to hide.”

Aaron could hear his heartbeat in his ears, he could feel his face pale and his blood run cold, his panic for your safety making him dizzy. He nodded quickly and let JJ take Jack’s hand. “Alright, we’ll find her buddy.”

JJ took Jack away from the commotion and outside to get checked over by the EMTs. Aaron was panicking, though he was trying to stay calm, he knew Foyet wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you. You were a toddler against a full-grown serial killer.

“Y/N! Honey? Y/N! Where are you?” Aaron called out, going from room to room trying to look for you. He could only hope to god that you were okay.

Emily and Morgan were also looking around for you, checking every closet, under every bed, cabinets, and cupboards, they weren’t leaving till they found you.

“Come on out, sweetheart! It’s okay! It's Aunty Emily, your Daddy’s here too. Where are you, honey?” Emily yelled out as she searched downstairs.

Aaron opened the door to your nursery, or what was your nursery before you, Jack and Haley were placed in protective custody. He saw your closet door cracked open slightly, he took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for what he could potentially see when he opened the door.

You saw the closet door open and let out a little cry, hugging your stuffed duck tightly to your chest. “Daddy!”

Aaron’s heart skipped a beat, noticing the blood staining your tiny pink shirt. He quickly picked you up into his arms and called over his shoulder. “I found her!” He turned back to you and frantically checked you over, trying to make out if the blood belonged to you.

You were heaving with sobs, you were terrified at the whole ordeal, you were separated from Jack, and you saw your mother in a pool of her own blood. That was a lot for a 2-year-old to handle.

Aaron held you tightly to his chest and rubbed your little back, trying to provide just a bit of comfort after he confirmed that you had no life-threatening injuries. “You’re okay, Y/N… you’re alright, just breathe… just breathe.”

Aaron was trying to calm his own heart rate, taking a quick moment to catch his own breath as well as soothing you at the same time. Morgan and Emily quickly ran into the room when they heard Aaron’s yell, they both saw the blood on you.

“Is she alright? Is the blood hers?” Morgan asked quickly, yelling into the hallway of the house for a medic.

Aaron shook her head, cradling you in his arms. “No… no. She has a couple of scratches but nothing bad.” He turned to you gently. “Y/N did you see Mummy?”

You looked up and started to cry louder. “Mama got big owie! Daddy help Mama!”

Aaron didn’t have the heart to tell you what had happened just yet, not right now. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his own tears at bay but he couldn’t help the small hot tear that ran down his cheek. “Shhh… it’s okay, it’s okay.”

———

The day of Haley’s funeral came, Aaron had helped Jack into his little suit and you into your tiny black dress. It was hard to explain to a 5-year-old and a 2-year-old about the death of their mother, you didn’t quite understand what was going on, and you were still confused about when Haley was going to get back.

You looked up at Aaron as you held a white rose in your tiny hands, your pacifier in your mouth to soothe you. “When Mama back?”

Aaron gently bent down to your level, taking a slow but deep breath, trying to keep calm. “Y/N, honey… Mama’s not coming back.” He gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your tiny ear.

You gave Aaron a frown and looked over towards your big brother, noticing the sombre look on his face. “Why? Where Mama?”

Aaron picked you up and set you on his hip, he gently tapped your chest. “Mama’s in here, in your heart. Forever.”

You looked a little confused but nodded slowly, the realisation that Haley wasn’t coming back was not registering in your little mind. “Mama come back.”

Aaron shook his head slowly. “Mama’s not coming back. It's okay, N/N…”

The service soon came to an end, Aaron helped you and Jack put the white roses on top of Haley’s coffin. He turned to you and Jack, “Can you say goodbye to Mummy?”

Jack nodded and waved at the coffin, blowing a kiss in its direction. “Bye, Mummy. I love you and miss you.”

You copied Jack's actions, waving and blowing a kiss. “Bye-bye, Mama! Luv you! Show you drawing when you home and we have tea party!”

Aaron knew it would take you a while to actually realise that Haley wasn’t coming home and you’d never see her again, he knew you still had that little hope in you that she’d come back, he couldn’t blame you since you were still a baby.

Haley always told you she’d come back every time she left whether that was leaving you at daycare, with her sister or simply putting you down for the night, she always promised you she’d come back. Only this time she didn’t.

#daughter!reader #aaron hotchner x daughter!reader #toddler!reader #aaron hotchner x toddler!reader #criminal minds aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner criminal minds #aaron hotchner angst #angst #criminal minds #criminal minds angst #aaron hotchner #child!reader #aaron hotchner x child!reader

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beegomess · 2 days

Text

Dark Paradise || Theodore Nott

Don't forget to watch the previous chapters

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated🫶🏼

18. Holidays, Letters and Passions

It dawned rainy and a little colder than usual. Y/N and Theodore were still wrapped in the sheets when the boy woke up with light knocks on the door.

It was Pansy, worried about the two friends, since neither went down to dinner the night before, they just took another shower, lying down and talking for hours until they fell asleep.

Nott feels the cold outside the covers hit his body, getting up slowly so as not to wake up the girl who was sleeping peacefully, stirring a little with the lack of him next to him.

- Good morning, Theodore. - Pansy said low.

- Merlin, Pansy. What do you want so soon? - Theodore scratched his eyes with one hand and the girl laughed low.

- Her car is already here. Draco already went down for breakfast and was going to go up to call her, but as I know her well, she wouldn't be in her own room. - Pansy had her eyebrows raised from someone who expected a thank you. - You're welcome.

- Thank you, Pans. Let my brother know that I'm already coming down. - Y/N said muffled, still lying in bed while Parkinson leaves and Theodore closes the door, lying down next to her again. - Good morning. - She said smiling, with her eyes closed, as she nestled back on her chest.

- You didn't tell me you were leaving so early. - Theodore made a light caress on her shoulder and left a kiss on the girl's forehead as a greeting to the good morning.

- I didn't even know I was going so soon. - Y/N raises his face to face him and notices a certain disappointment on his face. - Don't worry, we'll see each other soon. - He smiled in response when she kept trying to get up. - But now I need to get ready.

- Just stay a few more minutes. - Theodore pulled her back, doing Y/N insistently.

- If I take longer, Draco will certainly come looking for me. - She said, finally getting out of bed, moving away from him, who just watches her disappear into the bathroom door.

Y/N was already dressed and with the suitcase in hand when Draco went up the stairs looking for her. The girl was in Theodore's room when she heard the footsteps of someone going up the stairs, quickly distancing herself from the boy in front of her since the door was open.

- Y/N! - The blonde calls from the corridor, then turning to find his sister in the room at the end of the corridor. - What are you doing in Theodore's room?

- Just taking a book back. - The girl went to the door, taking some book that was on the desk. - See you later, Teddy. - She turns to the boy, giving a quick wink and soon went down the stairs next to her brother, who was surprised by the nickname, but ignored him for now.

[...]

A few weeks after the weekend they spent at the summer house, the friends didn't see each other anymore, with the exception of Riddle who spent every week of the holidays in the Malfoy mansion as he always did.

The heat was still present on most days, when the beginning of classes was approaching. During the weeks that passed, Y/N had received letters from Theodore and some from Lorenzo. She tried to maintain a frequency of responses to Berkshire, but Theodore's were all answered. Every week, there were at least two or three open letters on the desk in Y/N's room, just waiting for his answer.

Theodore told about the days at home, his routine and the things he read recently, while Lorenzo described in detail the places he traveled in the company of his friends. While Y/N also told them about the numerous events he went to in the company of his parents and the furtive outings he made in the company of his brother, in addition to his new interests and discoveries.

And then, when it was realized, the holidays were coming to an end, getting closer and closer to September. A few days before the start of classes, the students went to the diagonal alley in search of their new books, and with the Malfoy brothers it was no different, who used to always appear in this case.

- Do you think it's an exaggeration to buy another preparatory book for the NOM's? - Y/N spoke when Draco had felt from afar the presence of the golden trio in the bookstore, a gift that the boy seemed to have.

The girl realized that she was talking to herself when she felt her brother moving away with the typical smile on her face, she just rolled her eyes impatiently and followed him, trying to call him, which was completely in vain.

Y/N watched from afar Draco throwing all his disdain at the three teenagers, who in turn defended themselves. In fact, only Hermione had the courage to conflict Y/N's brother, Harry and Ron rarely defended her. Granger should definitely get other friends to relate to, certainly those two didn't understand her, at least that's what it seemed to Y/N.

The girl dispersed in the store again, returning her attention to the books when her brother approached her again with a face irritated by Granger's answers.

- Damn bad bloods? - Draco murmurs next to the huge shelf.

- Maybe if you stayed in yours, you would stress less. - Y/N answers still flipping through the book in his hands.

Draco was outraged, but before he answered, Lúcios approached the two calling them to get out of there. According to the older man, no one should take so long to choose school books.

At this point Mattheo was already trying to flirt with some girl inside the clothing store they later entered. But since these situations were so common when it came to Riddle, they didn't care much.

Draco was still frowned by his sister's answer earlier and so he decided to walk away while leaving her choosing new capes and skirts with the emblem of his house.

After choosing the skirts and covers, Y/N went to the ties, it seemed something easy to choose, but at the same time, complex that took hours. After all, the colors were the same, but there were slightly different models, sizes and folds.

- What do you want now? - Hermione said harshly when she saw Slytherin approaching where the girl was also.

- Nothing with you, certainly. - The girl answered calmly, seeing how Granger lifted all the walls when he approached her. - I didn't even see that you were here, Granger.

- You never approach someone without the interest of taking advantage or offending, Y/N. - Hermione concluded by moving away from the girl before she could answer.

Y/N felt a slight pang of guilt in his chest for thinking that way about her and her family, which was not unjustified.

- Sorry for her reaction. - Rony approaches, when Y/N notices his presence. The boy had a slight smile on his face and his hands in his pockets, clearly unsure about the reaction that the girl could have to his approach. - Her brother knows how to annoy her.

What the girl was most surprised was that he was apologizing for the way Hermione treated her, as if she was wrong.

- Don't apologize, she wasn't wrong. - She sighs turning her attention to the pieces of clothing again. - My brother knows how to be very asshole sometimes.

- Sometimes? - Rony let the thought out and immediately regretted receiving Y/N's gaze again.

- With you maybe it's always, I imagine. - She said and then laughed, which relieved Weasley.

- Well, yes. - The boy laughed too. Ron had gathered all the courage he had during the holidays to ask Y/N to go out. The boy trained this in the mirror several times in the previous days, in addition to policing himself not to approach her when Draco was together. - Y/N, I thought of...

- Merlin, where were you? - Riddle interrupted Ron before he finished. The brunette looked at Y/N and then at the redhead in front of him, totally ignoring him. - I need your help for something.

- Of course, Matt. Just let Ron finish what he was going to say. - She turned again to Weasley who lost all the confidence he had moments ago. - And then, what did you think about? - Y/N had a kind way of asking and the boy was completely entangled in the excuse he would give.

- In you! - Ron feels instantly sorry about it, he didn't think he would be interrupted.

- In me? - Y/N was confused and Mattheo unleashed a soft giggle, which led him to receive a light elbow from his friend.

- Oh, yes... I have to go. - The boy hated himself at that moment, he left there quickly, but not before answering her farewell greeting with a quick nod.

- All right. - Y/N said that more to herself than to the boy. Mattheo was still laughing at the situation when he received a stern look from the girl. - Merlin, why are you like this? - He questioned, but soon laughing with him.

- Come on, I'm in doubt between a tie. - Y/N took the options she liked quickly, following her friend to the male session further on.

From afar, the golden trio watched the interaction of Y/N, his brother and Riddle later after hearing Ron's flawed idea.

- I've never seen you being such an idiot, Ronald. - Hermione said with some irritation. - You know you always get humiliated when you try something with her.

- I can't disagree, Ron, you know. - Harry completes and the redhead cringes even more. - You know that even if she heard everything, there was a very small possibility of her accepting, wasn't it? - Potter brings him even more to reality.

- Well, I'll only know if I try. - The boy insists, still with his head down.

He wasn't totally wrong, but Harry was the closest to reality in his guess, she would probably politely reject the boy's invitation.

_______________________________ next chapter>>> xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

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kiwibongos · 3 months

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i die for rain scenes

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skitskatdacat63 · 5 months

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The hate nando is getting right now is lame. Even moresp when ppl are doing anti tags.

Aaaahh yeah it's really annoying :/ I've not seen too much hate on here, because I really try not to go looking for it bcs it makes me rly annoyed. And that's like, probably one of the only things that will get me to actually block someone(which I rarely ever do.) However, I do frequent reddit and there was some post abt his comments after the sprint and UGH the comments bothered me so much. Sometimes I'm tempted to look at the anti tags, but from what I've seen already, ik it's gonna piss me off. I already blocked some people yesterday bcs of it.

I've talked abt this a lot with people but. Ik rationally that there's some people out there who don't like him, and don't enjoy his antics. But it sucks to see people hate on the traits that you like best 😔 Like people saying "he's a really good driver BUT his off track antics ruin his career, and he should never win a race." And a lot of antis, it feels like they're always waiting for some tiny thing like this to validate their opinion that Fernando is genuinely a terrible person who doesn't deserve anything. People want drama, and then they hate it when he gives them drama 🙄 anyways I have a lot of thoughts on the comments he made, but idk if I should say on main haha, not that I really care. Also, people now calling him a terrorist for accidentally being at the scene of the crime for several crashes, when he's one of the cleanest drivers ever 😔 rude.

#okay i will say. one thing i fucking hate #people saying that hes reached the point at being at aston that hes now gonna destroy it and ruin the relationship #if that makes sense? like people see it like a cycle #that he stays at a team long enough that hes eventually gonna destroy it all bcs they see him as a whiney baby or whatever #and they see him make comments now against the stewards and lewis etc #and theyre like oh look classic fernando guess hes done now #bruh. crucial thing. have you ever seen him talk shit abt aston???? not really!#the msot has been minor stuff that is super justifiable and reasonable imo #but mostly his comments are about sruff outside the team #that are entirely reasonable and not at all irrational ????#he got penalties two races in a row and then someone who he sees as deserving a penalty didnt get one(for the right thing)#so im sorry but do you want him to just sit down and take it?? like not complain?????#i just hate how people imply this is just typical old fernando #when in my view hes been pretty reasonable #and yeah hes said some stuff to stir the pot but imo nothing compared to past years #i hope that makes sense and is not just me babbling i just woke up 😭😭#but yah idk. you gotta appreciate that Fernando is pretty self aware of every thing he says and everything has a point yknow #but people just want to point fingers and csll him evil #hes evil but in a loving way 🥺#catie.asks.

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benechillax · 1 year

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i think i’m approaching terminal burnout

#can’t quit my job because I’m saddled with 100% of the payments on a $500k mortgage because my brother has been an unemployed neet for 9mos.#can’t take time off of work because there’s no one to cover for me and every day I’d take off just puts me one day (or more)on my work #And it’s work that requires me to stay on a strict schedule because that’s what’s required for nursing homesto continue operating in albert #I have no life outside of work #Don’t even have time to enjoy my acreage #Also was sick for 3 weeks in august and still had to work from home that entire time. No days off and no drop in productivity allowed #And I just constantly get shit on at work. No appreciation just getting criticized #and I have no life outside of work because I fucking work 6 days per week. And my friends are sick of hearing me bitch about it all #And my mom told me last week not to talk to her if I’m going to complain about how bad things are for me lol.#so I guess I’ll just write long winded text posts on tumblr.com and throw them into the void #lol #oh i forgot to mention that I’m also surrounded by I’ll demented and/or dying people on a daily basis so the job is extremely depressing

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floral-hex · 5 months

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me… sad boy

#I was going to whine a lot but why lot word when few word do trick?#I have been… soooooo anxious and depressed and I feel like I’m going to die soon & the world is ending the world is empty & I’m alone in it #I feel so sick #I need to get out and do something. I always need to get out and I never do and I’m dumb #so maybe I’ll just get messed up and stay in my room #I can’t sleep. I wake up tired and hurting. I can’t do anything.#woe is fucking me amirite?#also I just finished Black Sails and I cried a lot. why did I think getting emotionally attached to a show and finishing it was smart?#that’s not important. I mean it is but not really. what’s important is I constantly feel like the end is always looming over me #I miss my therapist but I’m scared to ever see him again.#same reason I’m scared to be around anyone outside of my immediate family: I’m a failure & I can’t bear to see that reflected in their eyes #so he joins a long list of people I can’t talk to anyone along with my dad and countless old friends #hey wait why did I segue to this?#boo hoo #analytically. logically. I can look past this and see how irrational these thoughts are #but goddamn if there’s not something chemical that just makes me feel sick and scared and I’m having a doozy of a time living with it #because Ian you need to work on long term goals. not just quick fixes like I dunno fucking eating pizza or playing video games #sorry. just wanted to vent. it’s been building up in me for days and I needed a quick whine #I shaved. I’m gonna get a haircut maybe tomorrow. if only to stave off my unhealthy feelings of ‘just shave your head at 3am’#my mom is finally reaching the point where she doesn’t need me to chauffeur her around all the time #and my brothers are finishing their semesters at school and also both have licenses now #so I think I can stop using those as excuses and try to… I dunno. live for myself now. that sounds cheesy.#gonna go get a low paying job doing something mindless so I can have extra cash for being alive #god I need a hug so bad #that’s not even… like… not even a lighthearted joke. I think if someone sincerely held me for a few minutes it would fix me. a little bit.#this is too much information #sorry I love you goodbye forever #but hey… really… I love ya… I mean maybe. not really. kind of. I appreciate ya and I’m here for ya… in spirit. like a ghost. a cool ghost.#you can ignore this #text

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achingly-shy · 1 year

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play any song off of debut that isn’t tim mcgraw, teardrops on my guitar, our song, picture to burn, or should’ve said no, and you’ll find out who the real ones are

#geo rambles #taylor swift #debut #like debut stans are far and few between #and especially those who enjoy every track and not just the popular ones #like there are nothing wrong with the ones i listed #they’re all great songs off a great album #but it’s awesome when i see love and appreciation for the rest of the songs bc they’re some of my all-time favorites #like the outside i’m only me when i’m with you stay beautiful etc????? SO GOOD i’ve been so obsessed recently #oh and mary’s song!!!!!!!!!!

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thevillainswhore · 10 months

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New Tricks

Pairing: Virgin!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.5k

Summary: After your brother has to cancel movie night, you’re ready to resign yourself to an uneventful evening back at your dorm, alone and dejected. But what you didn’t count on, is your brother’s best friend and roommate, bursting through the door and asking you to stay; to spend the night with him, instead

What unfolds, however, while you spend time with the star football player, both shocks and astounds you — one confession in particular.

Bucky Barnes, the Prince Charming of campus, the man you have been crushing on for an eternity, is a virgin.

Warnings: first kisses, fluff, smut, grinding, making out, big brother!steve, college!bucky, shy bby bucky, mutual pining, swearing, pet names, huge ton of reassurances, lots of praise, big hints of subby bucky

Author’s Note: beta’d by my baby @rookthorne

Okay, so where to start with this… the idea for this fic sprung from a certain someone 👀 and I just had to write it. Thank you to my girl for being a huge support through this, I love you 💗

These two have my whole heart and who knows? Maybe more will come of them �� for all my playlist lovers, you’re welcome - new tricks playlist ❤️

New Tricks Masterlist

I hope you enjoy this as much as I’ve loved creating it 🥹

Standing outside of your brother’s apartment, your impatience starts to wane thin. For ten whole minutes, you have been waiting for Steve to open up. And knocking like a crazed woman is beginning to get old; so is waiting on the doorstep to his front door.

“Oh, for–” You grumble, and you lift your arm up to bang against the door for the umpteenth time, when your hand misses it entirely, owing to the fact it swings open to admit you with such enthusiasm, it creaks and threatens to bounce back off of the wall.

Bucky — your brother’s roommate, best friend, and your crush — sheepishly smiles and scratches the back of his neck.

The line of his shoulders slump when he lowers his arm, and you notice (and appreciate) just how broad and muscled he is. He must have just been working out, or you interrupted him — nonetheless, you’re thankful for the sight before you, and how it makes the crush you harboured for the brunette for years roar to life all over again.

Excellent, you inwardly sigh.

“Buttercup,” Bucky says — the affectionate nickname born from his sappy personality always makes you swoon, and his hesitant smile morphs into a wide one. You’re left fighting internally to keep your giddiness at the sight of him to a respectable level. “Hey, you. Sorry I didn’t hear you; I was listening to music.”

Your gaze continues up to his hair, finding it tied back with an elastic at the nape of his neck. Oh, how you wished you could run your hands through–

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

Embarrassment floods you and you realise far too late that he probably has asked you a question, or several, while you were daydreaming. “Sorry, Buck,” you squeak, praying that the heat crawling up your neck was not as obvious as it felt. “What was that?”

His soft, puppy-eyed expression brightens when you meet his gaze. “It’s fine, doll. Everything okay?”

No matter how badly you want to stand and unashamedly stare at your brother’s best friend and roommate, your true intention behind your visit comes to mind.

“Can I come in?” you ask, lifting the bag of snacks you brought up higher. Bucky’s eyes glance down at the bag, and then back up to your face. “Stevie planned our movie night and he isn’t answering his phone — I told him I was on my way and I asked him if he wanted anything else.”

The confusion that creases Bucky's brows and downturns his lips in a small frown makes you narrow your eyes.

“Surely he didn’t forget,” you accuse, still staring into Bucky’s face. “I make the trip down from campus every two weeks. It’s been two weeks.” A sudden, encompassing guilt fills Bucky’s eyes, and he starts to worry his bottom lip with his teeth — a sight far too hard to ignore. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Um– I just–” Bucky stutters, and you watch as his fingers twitch and fidget — a nervous tic. If he didn’t look cute while stumbling over his words, you would feel sorry for being so blunt. “I just thought that– Uh, I thought it was cancelled. The movie night, I mean.”

You step forward slightly, and Bucky opens the door wider. A wordless invitation.

Bucky rushes to clear a space on the entryway coat rack for you, when he suddenly says, “You know, because of his date, an’ all.” His words falter at the look you shoot him. You stop taking off your coat, and you drop the bag of snacks to the floor, ignoring the crinkle and rustle of plastic.

“What do you mean date, Barnes?” The use of his last name causes a flush of deep red to pattern his cheeks, but you don’t let up. There’s music playing from down the hall of the apartment – right where Steve’s bedroom is. “What’s going on?”

Bucky skittishly fidgets and glances around the apartment, before meeting your heated gaze. “I– Look, I didn’t know–”

You silently mouth a curse, beyond frustrated with your older brother, and with yourself for taking just a second to indulge and admire just how sweet Bucky is when he is unsure. “Fine,” you huff, and you turn to walk straight towards the source and to investigate it yourself.

Bucky’s frantic footsteps behind you don’t deter your haste. “Wait, stop — Buttercup, wait!”

Forgoing a courtesy knock — having had enough of banging on his front door — you barge straight into the room with as little as a greeting call or warning.

“What the shit–“

The door to Steve’s bedroom slams against the wall, and you come face to face with the blond in the middle of a dance off with himself in the mirror. “Sis! Hey,” he gasps, holding his hand over his heart in fright. “What’re you doing–?”

In lieu of an answer, you cross your arms and stare at him, unimpressed and exasperated with his antics. “Don’t you hey sis me.” The fear in Steve’s eyes as you stomp towards him almost vindicates your indignation of being uninformed. “What do you mean you’re going on a date? It’s movie night!”

Steve has the decency to look ashamed. “Flower, I swear, I’m sorry,” he rambles, and he takes your hand, directing you to sit down on his bed. “I would’ve called to let you know but everything was so last minute.”

The grip he has on your hand is firm, assuring you of his true intentions, even when he turns the Roger’s charm up to an eleven to worm his way back onto your good side. “I swear sis, I wouldn’t bail on you without a good reason.”

“Okay,” you say, staring into his face — still not wholeheartedly convinced of his graces. A line of questioning is in order, you decide. “So, who is this good enough reason?”

“Natasha Romanoff.” The dreamy, love-struck sigh that leaves Steve’s lips after her name is uttered has you reluctantly trying to hide your giggle; the righteous anger and frustration slowly leaves your body in his admittance.

The fact that he has been obsessed with the college’s most popular redhead since forever, was a balm to the annoyance. You truly did feel happy for him underneath it all.

And, in the end, it’s how you decide to let him off the hook — though not without teasing him, first. “No way, the Natasha Romanoff? How the hell have you managed that one?”

Steve pushes your shoulder, and the force of his shove knocks you sideways onto the covers of his bed. “Fine,” you grouse, sighing heavily and resigning yourself to a night on your own. “I’ll let you off this time.”

“I’ll make it up to you, Flower,” Steve promises. And you believe him. He has always kept his word; ever since the two of you were kids.

“Good,” you say, smiling softly. “I expect an apology at my door in the next few days, though.”

Laughing, Steve nods, and then he stands from his bed.

“I’ll leave you to it then, I hope you have fun, bro.”

It is an impossible task for you to hide your dejected hurt from Steve, though. Clever and perceptive as he is, he detects the subtle sombre undertones underlying your reassurances, narrowing in on them like a dog to a bone.

You get to your feet with a quiet sigh, and as you move, you miss the thoughtful expression on his face; the perk of his ears at the almost indistinguishable shuffling of feet just outside of his bedroom. “How about you have a movie night with Bucky, instead?”

You stop in your tracks, frozen in shock at the sudden and downright surprising suggestion. “Stevie,” you admonish, “Bucky does not want to waste a Friday night with me–“

“I don’t mind!” Bucky shouts eagerly from the doorway, and you spin around to face him. The nervous fidget of his curls his fingers and hands around one another, over and over.

Had he been listening that whole time?

Guilt begins to flood you. Imposing on any plans Bucky may have made was a burden you did not want to bear, and you couldn’t fathom who would want to spend the night with their best friend’s little sister. “Thank you, Bucky, that’s really sweet of you,” you placate, smiling at him. “But I know you’ve probably got better things to do on a Friday night than be with me.”

Bucky seems to swell in the doorway, his chest puffing up and he sets his jaw, a determined glint in his eyes. “Actually, Buttercup,” he retorts, crossing his arms in a decisive move. “A movie night with you sounds perfect.”

The confidence in his tone takes you by surprise, and you flounder for a second while you stare into his steel blue eyes. “Really?”

“‘Course,” he replies easily, shrugging his shoulders. “It’ll be fun.”

His words, and charming smile, ultimately win you over.

With your attention wholly focused on Bucky as he begins to talk about what movies to watch, you miss the knowing, victorious smirk that curls Steve’s lips.

“Okay,” Steve calls from the doorway, looking back at the two of you, and you can’t help but be frustrated by his stalling. “Be good and behave while I’m gone. Oh, and, no staying up past your bedtimes — Bucky, her bedtime is ten o’clock sharp.”

The scowl on your face only serves to make him laugh, and you huff your exasperation before your hands grip his biceps; the only way to get him out the door is brute force. “Get out, Stevie,” you grunt, pushing with all your might, but it is to no avail. Steve is as immovable as a statue made of marble. “Don’t you have to go see Natasha?”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, and you hear the rustling sound of fabric. “Don’t you?”

Instinct tells you to duck, and you do so, just in the nick of time to avoid the pillow Bucky launches across the room from his place next to the couch. The pillow hits Steve square in the face with a comical thump.

You burst into laughter at the stunned look of disbelief on Steve’s face, and you look over at Bucky, who is leaning against the sofa; a smug grin pulls his lips up and scrunches his nose. “Get the hell outta here already, punk.”

With Steve distracted by Bucky’s betrayal, you take the chance to shove him out of the front door and watch delightedly as he stumbles in the hallway. “Hey–!” The door slams shut behind him, cutting him off.

Giggles shake your shoulders as you put your back to the door, leaning against it with all of your strength as Steve turns the handle — evidently not finished in the war of quips.

Bucky’s laughter from his place by the sofa makes your stomach flutter, and he walks closer, just as Steve stops attempting to break down the door.

With the end of Steve’s attempts to forcefully open the door, you turn and face the wood and peer out of the peephole. A blond mop of hair is just within view. “Bye Stevie!” you call through the door, “Have fun, wear protection!”

Steve’s reply is muffled by the wood, and he flips you off before walking away.

Shaking your head, you turn back to face the living room, and you see Bucky fussing around the sofa and coffee table. The strong aroma of a sweet, spicy scent fills your senses and you inhale deeply, letting the tantalising smell fill your lungs, before you ask, “Bucky, what are you doing?”

He sends you a furtive glance before looking back down at the snacks laid out on the coffee table, neatly placed next to two already filled glasses of drink. A bag of popcorn threatens to spill from his arms. “I’m, uh– I’m setting up? For the movie–?”

You could not help but notice how fast the bravado and confidence he displayed in the presence of Steve vanishes when he was with you, and you alone.

“Oh, sweetie,” you coo, walking closer. “I thought we could watch the movie in your room, instead of out here. It’ll be more comfortable, at least, and we can spread out. Is that okay?”

The popcorn bag that threatened to spill from his arms bursts instead, scattering the popped kernels all over the floor, making him yelp. “Ah! Uh– Okay, we… We can if you want?”

You nod once. “Absolutely. I’d rather be in your bed any day, then out here,” you tease, amused by the way Bucky’s eyes bulge and his cheeks flush. Then you look down at the popcorn all over the floor, and add, “But first, let’s clean this up.”

Bucky starts to clean up the mess, and he tells you to grab the movies you agreed upon from the collection in the bookshelf.

The selection to choose from is packed, as it always is. “Why don’t I grab a couple?”

“Sure,” Bucky answers, sweeping the popcorn into a dustpan. “I mean, why not? May as well go all out.”

You grin and grab a couple of cases. “Do you need some help–”

“No, I’ve got it, Bubs,” Bucky interrupts. You look over your shoulder at him to see the blankets bundled high in his arms, and before you could protest and insist you help carry them, he shuffles off in the direction of his bedroom.

Then, you glance down at the coffee table to see that the snacks and drinks are missing. “Did you grab the snacks?”

“Yeah!” Bucky calls back, muffled by the walls between the two of you.

A fond sigh falls from your lips and you follow after him, DVD cases in hand.

The tension in the air of his bedroom is charged with something you could not quite describe, and the butterflies in your stomach roar to life for it. You square your shoulders, and smile through it. “It’s no different, it’s no different,” you mutter under your breath; a mantra for confidence.

Though, it is short lived.

Bucky throws the blankets onto his bed with a grunt, and both the TV and DVD player switch on, ready to accept one of the disks you held in your hand.

A shuddery breath falls from your lips, and you make your way to the player to place the first disc in. It whirrs to life as you turn to look at Bucky, who is placing the snacks on a tray table, his tongue between his teeth as he works.

“Okay,” he hums, turning to face you, a shy smile on his face. “You ready, Bubs?” Without waiting for an answer, he walks past you to the light switch, his index finger poised to flip it off.

You look down at your body, the warm outerwear you had thrown on to get to Steve’s apartment suddenly becomes scorching hot against your skin, and an idea comes to mind — flustering him has given you a rush of confidence before…

“Almost,” you say, a hidden smirk on your lips. The layers of warmth are soft in your hands while you take them off, and you’re left in a thin tank top and soft, cotton shorts. “Now I am.”

A faint choking noise comes from the doorway behind you when you place the warmer clothes on Bucky’s desk chair. Inwardly, a coy smirk lifts the corner of your lips; outwardly, you look over to him, concerned and ever curious.

His face, normally soft and kind whenever he looked at you, is taut with embarrassment; blotchy and red. His eyes are frantically looking anywhere, and everywhere around the room but at you.

“Buck?” you say, getting his attention. His eyes meet yours. “You okay?”

The fidgeting is your first clue that he is struggling with something, and it is a battle to keep the teasing smile off your lips when his hands run constantly through his long hair and or come to a stop in the pockets of his grey sweats.

Patiently, you watch while he repeats the same actions several times, each pass of his hands only serving to make him even more flushed. “Yeah. Yep,” Bucky coughs. “Mhm. Just great, thanks.” He looks up to the ceiling and gulps loudly. “You’re really wearing those? Uh– Just those, I mean?”

You thin your lips to try and hurriedly fight off a smile as you grab your warm, fluffy socks from your bag. “Of course, silly,” you tease, shaking your head once. “I always wear my comfy clothes on movie night.”

The room turns deathly silent when you bend at the hip to pull the socks up your feet.

Peering up from your task, you see Bucky staring at your legs, evidently thinking he hadn’t been caught and his eyes begin to trail upwards, towards your chest. The slackjawed expression amuses you, though you feel the beginning sparks of your own shyness come to life.

“Buck?” A nervous laugh bubbles in your chest, and you play with the hem of your tank top at the heat in his gaze. “Bucky?” you try again, “Are you ready?”

“Uh– Yeah, yes,” he rushes, quickly flicking the light off so his face is cast into shadow. You could have sworn he looked like a kid getting caught stealing a cookie from the cookie jar — wide eyes and a deepening blush that spread down his neck.

Bucky had always been a little shy in your presence, this you knew. Whenever you come over to visit Steve, or you bump into Bucky on campus, you always notice a remarkable difference in his normal, unwavering charm that he had in familiar company.

This lack of swagger gives you the impression that you unfasten the young, boyish version of him; the one ruled by nerves, and hindered by a severe lack of confidence.

Sure, you enjoy spending time with him here and there when you hang out at your brother’s apartment, but never before have you been this close to him, and alone.

“Why don’t we–?” You gesture towards Bucky’s bed, and before he could either protest or agree, you jog to the edge and jump onto the plush mattress with a squeal of laughter. The blankets cover you easily as you roll yourself in them. “This is perfect,” you sigh, happy and content.

“And where am I meant to sit?” Bucky laughs, appearing in your eye line with a bright, amused expression. “You blanket hog.”

“Fine,” you drawl, and you disentangle yourself from the cocoon of blankets.

“Why, thank you, madame,” Bucky says, extending his hand in a mock salute, and he sits down in the now available spot, before sidling up the mattress, to rest his back on the headboard.

The broadness of his shoulders don’t leave much room between the two of you, and you decide to snuggle up to his side in a bid to get comfortable. You feel him tense with the proximity, but he doesn’t push you away or say anything.

“Are you ready now?” you ask, reaching for the remote. “For the movie?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” he rasps, nodding quickly.

Despite his initial nerves, Bucky settles comfortably in your presence — half of the movie goes by undisturbed with only the occasional shuffling to get comfortable after getting a snack, or a drink.

That all changes the moment Bucky becomes restless,his leg twitching against yours constantly, and he repositions himself every couple of minutes. From the corner of your eye, you see his mouth opening and closing; the courage building within him to speak up. You bite your tongue against the urge — let him speak first, you chided yourself.

“So,” Bucky eventually says, his voice quiet. “How are your classes going, Buttercup?”

You take your eyes off the screen and face Bucky, but he’s already looking at you, his eyes bright from the glow of the TV.

“They’re going good,” you reply, just as quietly. “Yeah, they’re busy — hectic, even, but good.”

The fabric of the comforter ruffles as you turn your body towards him — your shorts ride up with the movement, and your bare thighs brush against his sweats. Bucky tenses while you settle in and only relaxes when you stop shifting in place. “This time of year is always busy, the coursework and exams,” you continue, shrugging your shoulders. “But I’m managing okay, thanks.”

Bucky nods his head thoughtfully. “Yeah, all those art projects you’ve gotta finish, it must be tiring.”

Shock slackens your features and you reel back — you could not recall telling him what you studied. “How do you know what major I’m taking?”

“I– um,” Bucky stutters, suddenly overwhelmingly shy. “I hear you talking to Steve about it. Y’know, when– When you come over, on movie nights, and other nights.”

You can sense Bucky is not done explaining; he licks his lips and stares at his lap, where he fidgets, again. Quietly, as if embarrassed, he continues, “I see you lugging your big canvases across campus sometimes, too. From class, and– And from the window, when I’m actually studying.”

Warmth creeps up your neck again and you blink rapidly. You hadn’t noticed that he took so much notice of you before now, and you couldn’t help but feel endeared over it.

Desperate to shift the attention away from yourself, you blurt, “How’s, uh– How’s training going for football season this year?”

Bucky freezes for a second, then trips over his words, “Oh, it’s good– Yeah, it’s great. Coach says I’m progressing well, so I’m doing alright, I guess.”

“So modest, Buck,” you tease. It was common knowledge on campus that Bucky is the star player of the college football team, while also being scouted to join the professional leagues. You place your hand on his arm and squeeze his bicep reassuringly, lending him a bit of your confidence. “Don’t you sell yourself short, I’ve seen you play — you’re amazing!”

He inhales sharply and grimaces, an expression that contorts his handsome face. “You really think so?”

“Bucky,” you say slowly. The tense line of his body is obvious as you shuffle closer, but you are determined to prove your point; assure him of his talent and abilities, for all of a shy puppy that he is.

“Listen to me, honey,” you continue, and Bucky refuses to meet your gaze, instead focusing on his hands. “Everyone can see it, all of us — all of the women in the crowds, all of the kids that watch you from the sidelines. We’re all screaming for you.”

His skin is warm under your palm, but you don’t remove your hand. Instead, you grip his arm and shake it a little. “You’re amazing.”

Bucky stays silent — contemplative of your words, and you take the opportunity to think over the reason why Bucky chooses to stay in on a Friday night.

There is no questioning the fact that Bucky Barnes could pull anyone he wanted, whether it was to party, or to fuck, but to your recollection — and from what Steve had slipped in the past — no one has ever witnessed Bucky bringing anyone home, drunk or otherwise. No partner he could call his own, either, and he didn’t brag about the obvious charm he held over the many women on or off campus.

Cautiously, you venture towards the subject of your curiosity. “Speaking of, shouldn’t you be going out on dates on a Friday night, like Stevie? Surely you’ve got tons of girls lined up for you.”

Bucky’s silence turns deafening, unnatural. His body becomes stiff and he looks to be barely breathing.

“Buck?” You sit up and look into his face. It’s pulled taut with what you could only guess as shame, but that made no sense, and with a mounting, swelling horror, you realise you may have pushed him too far; teased beyond the point of what is acceptable between friends. “Hey, did I say something wrong? I’m so sorry–”

“No! No– I… fuck.” Bucky throws his head back against the headboard and covers his face. “Oh, God,” he groans, muffled by his hands. “Shit.”

“Bucky–” You hesitate, unsure of what to do or what to say. You’ve never seen Bucky behave like this, so anxious and uneasy. “I– I’ll go, it’s alright, I’m sorry,” you say quickly, and you start to shuffle off of the bed when you hear his muffled voice say something behind his hands. “What was that, I didn’t–?”

A heavy sigh lifts his shoulders, and they slump back down as he exhales. “Ihaventevenhadmyfirstkissyet.”

“Sweetheart,” you say quietly, and you shift back towards him. The curtain of hair he’s so fond of covers and conceals his eyes from view, but you refrain from tucking it behind his ear. “I did not understand a word of what you just said.”

Bucky clears his throat and shifts uncomfortably, looking up at you with a great effort. “I– uh.” His hands land on his thighs with a finality not unlike the final siren at his football games, and he utters a reluctant, “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.”

His bedroom is quiet enough you would hear a pin drop. The TV had long powered off, since the movie finished while you talked, and the tension was palpable; a living, breathing encumberment that could not be cut with a knife. The flickering light from the still burning candle on his bedside drawers makes shadows dance across Bucky’s face.

Okay, you think privately, so what?

Bucky hasn’t kissed anyone before. It was justifiable — too busy with life, training and keeping up his GPA. You didn’t have to make a big deal out of this. “That’s okay–” Then the reality of the situation hits you, and your mind screeches to a halt.

If Bucky hasn’t had his first kiss… “Does– Wait, does that mean–?”

“Yes.” Bucky squeezes his eyes tight and refuses to look at you — it is obviously a painful confession, yet he still forces himself to spit it out, putting voice to the doubt in your mind. “I’m a virgin.”

Now that catches you off guard.

Bucky… is a virgin?

Bucky, the star football player; built like a Greek god with the charisma to match.

Sweat beads on his forehead and he looks like he is about to bolt from the room in his fear, and you realise all of your thoughts had shown in your expression.

“Oh,” you manage, blinking slowly. The hand that was gripping his arm had moved without you realising, and you hastily place it back on his bicep. “Oh, Bucky.”

No other words come to mind.

When you came to visit Steve for movie night, a calm, easy tradition in your routine, you never expected to end up in this kind of situation; on the other side of a confession that has left you speechless with shock, all while a strange confliction brews deep within your guts.

You had been there once, and what you wouldn’t have given to have the opportunity to experience it with someone you trusted wholeheartedly — like you did Bucky, your mind supplies not-so-helpfully.

The realisation hits you harder than you expect, and you gasp quietly, still gripping his arm to reassure him.

Bucky moves his hands to cover his face again, and his chest rises and falls with a sharp hitch. The nervous pants for air that part his lips bring you back down to earth and away from that revelation. You know he’s embarrassed; ducking his head to his chest and glancing up as though you had scolded him. The entirety of his toned body is rigid with fear, each muscle clenching and poised to run, to save what dignity he feels he has left after such a confession.

It’s difficult not to stare at the veins that line and bulge from his forearms down to his deft hands, and you almost feel guilty for it; he’s in distress, fretting over the reveal of his lack of sexual prowess, but you cannot help the lingering gaze over his body. He just looks so pretty.

From the get go, ever since you had met the star football player, you have always fantasised about him. The silent crush on Bucky had developed into such a deep attraction you almost couldn’t bear it any longer.

Having convinced yourself of the non-existent reciprocation kept your tongue at bay, in the past. And while Bucky’s virginity is a surprise, it did not hinder or lessen your feelings for him, quite the opposite; the heady weight of it settling over your mind like a blanket.

What was stopping you now? What would be the harm in testing the waters?

To hell with it, you decide. The springs of the mattress creak as you move to shuck the blanket off of your body, then your legs.

Bucky audibly gulps behind his hands when you move closer, and he positively freezes, like a deer in headlights, as you lift your leg up and over his thighs to straddle him. The soft brush of his sweatpants over your legs sends a shiver up your spine, and you sit down, settling your body comfortably on his thighs, just above his knees.

“What– What are you doing–?” Bucky whispers, and his words are muffled behind his palms. You grin, unseen by your quarry, and you shuffle up his thighs to his hips, your clothed cunt just below the seam at his crotch.

The sound of Bucky choking on his own spit is comical.

You pull his hands away from his face, the urge to kiss each palm overwhelming; feather-soft brushes of your lips against the soft skin sends the pulse in his throat racing. “Buttercup, please– This is embarrassing enough–”

“Bucky,” you whisper, cutting him off. “Look at me.”

Blue eyes meet yours, and you pour all of the unspoken words between you both in your soft gaze, willing him to feel the yearning. “Kiss me.”

“But–” He hesitates, a fish out of water again. His mouth hangs slack from the shock of such a bold request, and you place your pointer finger over his lips, shushing him before he can carry on protesting.

You pout, placing a hint of pleading in your tone, “Please?”

He looks at you as though you’ve grown two heads. “I– What, I mean,” he flounders, arms hovering at his sides, hesitant to touch you — terrified of taking it a step too far. “I don’t know–“

“Aw, Buck,” you coo, smiling softly. Carefully, you shuffle further up his lap until your knees brush against the headboard of his bed. Gently, you place your palms on Bucky’s toned chest, just above his beating heart hammering away — not wanting to frighten him. “I’ll show you, okay?”

“Yeah.” The tremble in his voice makes your heart ache, but you smile encouragingly.

“Here we go,” you soothe. He smiles weakly back, eyes still wide with shock. “I’ve got you.”

You slowly and steadily move closer to Bucky’s face. A shudder racks through his whole body when he feels your breath against his neck, and you peck his stubbled cheek before sitting back upright to face him.

“Okay,” Bucky shakily says, fisting the blankets in his hands. “Okay. That was okay.”

“See? It’s not so bad,” you tease, and you tilt your head to the side, sticking out your cheek. “Your turn.” From the corner of your eyes, you watch his eyes sweep across your face, still hesitant and nervous, but a slither of curiosity now shining through.

Broad, strong shoulders lift in tandem with his deep, grounding breath, and he steadily leans in before he second guesses himself. He resolutely does not touch your body, but he manages to find the confidence to gently press his lips against your skin, kissing your cheek.

This time, he sits back and looks up at you for direction and reassurance.

You consider it, ignoring the fluttering of your heart. His touch was sweet, but polite; a kiss on the cheek that you would give a friend after such a long time apart. And, in the end, you want Bucky to gain more confidence and actually enjoy kissing — he shouldn’t have to be ashamed to want it. “Good, that was good,” you say, keeping your tone mellow so as to not spook him.

He is making good progress, and gentle encouragement is the way to ensure it continues, you reason with yourself. “Now, I want you to do the exact same thing, but start gradually moving towards my lips.”

“Oh– Okay, okay,” he breathes, and his eyes widen slightly before they dart down towards his lap.

That needs to be rectified immediately, before he shuts down, you hastily think, and you react swifty, your hands roaming from his chest and up to the sides of his neck, adding a little pressure to bring him back down to earth.

There was an innate need for him to know that he could trust you; that you would treat him with the respect he deserves.

Gently, you lift his head up, forcing him to look at you, and the downturn of his lips makes your heart ache. All you want to do is soothe the fear and rid the worry from his pretty eyes that pierce you, even through the strands of hair that have fallen in his face.

“You’re okay, Buck,” you soothe, rubbing your thumbs over his warm, rosy cheeks. The movement and assurance seem to do the trick. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

A minute passes, and you watch as the confliction flitters across his face; an inward battle to assemble his courage to bridge the gap between you both.

There is another minute of silence, when he slowly advances, leaving his palms flat on the covers of his bed as he kisses you on the cheek.

“That’s it,” you praise, sitting still in his lap, but smiling softly in encouragement.

Bucky hesitantly returns the smile, and he doesn’t move away, rather, he decides to stay close. “You did good,” you say, still smiling, and he takes you by surprise when he moves forwards again to place another tiny kiss even closer to your lips. “Oh–”

The soft brush of his lips makes you freeze, and he takes his time, building his confidence with each peck he makes.

Finally, he reaches the corner of your lips, and he stalls; confidence wavering and faltering with the daunting task. You go to part your lips to speak on instinct, to encourage him, when he suddenly moves even closer to your face, making you hastily shut your mouth and brace for what was to come; willing for your heart to slow down the tattoo it beats against your throat.

“Okay,” Bucky whispers more to himself, and he clears his throat before licking his lips. “Okay, okay. Just–” His lips connect with the curve of you own, the brief and fleeting connection enough to tell you that his lips are plump; ripe to swell and redden with a passionate make out session.

Hastily, Bucky withdraws, but not all the way back — he lingers and only allows the tiniest space between your faces.

“You did it, sweetheart,” you coo, keeping your voice low. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Th– Thanks,” he stutters, and the rosy blush he sported turns a splotchy crimson. Interesting, you think.

You turn your head to look at him, and the proximity of his face makes both of your lips brush against each other. The intoxicating softness consumes you, and you cannot deny the reality that Bucky is there, he is right there. A torture that intensifies in the billowing silence, while a burning, reckless spike of adrenaline rushes through your veins.

“Do you want more?” you ask quietly, breaking the silence and shattering the tension.

A harsh breath falls from Bucky’s lips, and he presses forward to kiss you properly for the first time.

Whatever you had been expecting for a first kiss from the inexperienced, sweet, charming man beneath you, flew out the window. Your lips slot perfectly over his, a chaste kiss that held enough need and want to be something far more; it could not hold a candle to the sex you had with past flings.

The kiss, unexpected as it was, lasts only for a couple seconds longer before Bucky pulls back from it, panting lightly — puffs of air fanning over your slightly parted lips. He lingers, bumping his nose into yours to keep close.

But eventually, Bucky pulls all the way back to rest against the headboard.

The silence is not deafening — not like it was before, and you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Bucky is already staring at you. His eyes are glazed over with hunger, and he's out of breath, the rise and fall of his chest faster than before.

You fare no better. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, but it still feels like it’s lodged in your throat. No words are spoken between the two of you; just an invisible string that keeps you entwined to one another.

It’s difficult to find the words to say, especially after something so raw and vulnerable; so new and budding. You want him to feel safe, like he had done good, though; you want to tell him he has nothing to worry about, not with you.

And just as you open your mouth to speak, to praise him for how well he had done, Bucky slides his hands up your thighs, over your waist, and up to your neck, cupping the back of it in his large palm. “I want–”

To your utter shock, he drags you closer, his lips greedily slotting over yours for a far deeper kiss.

Bucky can’t get enough of you; already addicted and demanding more. You can’t be mad for it, not when he’s a sensational kisser — he’s good, far too good. The basics have you dizzy with want, and you decide on a whim to challenge him, to push him a little further and test the boundaries.��

You part your lips as Bucky pulls back, and before he could kiss you again, you tentatively tease your tongue against his lips. The sensation makes him sit rigid again beneath you, and he chases your tongue, the surprised moan he lets slip vibrates into your mouth.

The power of such a move has you smirking into the kiss.

You only plan to stoke the fire by pushing him into the deep end a little — the prospect of overwhelming him too risky, but when you feel the effortless slide of Bucky’s tongue entering your parted lips to dance with your own, it leaves you physically stunned and unable to move.

Bucky compliments you perfectly, as though he is a natural, and someone so timid should not be capable of that — it’s dangerous.

It escalates — tongues dance and lips clash, and Bucky’s breath is heavy on your lips, as yours is on his, when he pulls back for air. There’s a pull that you can’t ignore, not any longer, and you bring your hands up from his neck to his hair, threading your fingers through it, making him moan quietly against your lips, “Bu–”

Your nails scrape against his scalp while he speaks, and you squeak in shock as Bucky’s hips surge upwards, forcing his hard cock against your clothed cunt. “Oh, fuck–” he gasps, and his body turns rigid with fear again while he pleads for forgiveness. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Bubs– I–”

Quickly, you place your index finger over his lips. “Hush, you. It’s alright. I loved it,” you reassure, and suddenly, it turns into a game for you — you are desperate to see how Bucky plays along, how close to the edge you can get him. “Let it go, it’s okay.”

Bucky’s breath hitches as you grind down hard against him, and his hands rush down from your neck to grip your waist. The unabashed moan he lets slip is sinful; a delight to be the cause of, and a Cheshire Cat grin splits your lips. You’ll be damned if you don’t get more from him, you decide.

“Fuck,” he grits out, the grip of his hands on your waist turning painful. “Fuck, yes.”

You moan and allow him to move your body where he wants it — predictably, he perches you straight on his crotch and his hands wander, slipping beneath the tank top you wear to brush against your skin.

The resolve he had held onto so strongly is starting to slip, and you inwardly scream with joy at the dilation of his pupils, the heavy pants of his breath — a poor, virtuous man is melting into a puddle at your feet.

The position of your body gives you an impression of just how big Bucky is, and with his cock hard, you can feel the girth and the size of him against your cunt — a crime, you think, that it wasn’t inside you.

Your motions of grinding down into him have the tip of his cock catching on your clit through your shorts, and the thin material has no pretence of protectiveness, and you greedily lap every single, last sensation up while shamelessly taking more.

“Bucky,” you whine against his mouth, and in turn, he nips at your swollen bottom lip before sucking on it. “Fuck– S’good.”

“Buttercup, baby,” Bucky slurs, and his fingertips dig into your skin, unknowingly marking you in his lust-fuelled haze. “Fuckin’ feel good, please,” he whimpers, unable to keep kissing you with the way his moans and litany of quiet cries fall from his lips, longing for more; too far gone, he can’t help himself anymore. “Need more, please.”

You’re all too pleased to listen to his cries for you; begging would taste so much sweeter, though. Next time. “Okay,” you soothe, pecking him on the nose. “I’ll give you more, sweetheart.”

The bed creaks as you shuffle up Bucky’s lap, and you move your hands to grip the headboard. “Don’t keep quiet on me,” you warn.

“Wha– Fuck!”

You pant as you grind down on Bucky’s cock, the effort of making your hips work this hard and fast steals your breath, but the sounds — oh, the sounds falling from his pretty lips make it all worth it.

The added friction of your lace panties against your soaked clit only amplifies the pleasure for you, and it’s all you can do to keep going.

Bucky throws his head back and groans to the ceiling, but you follow him, leaning over and panting into each other's mouths and kissing messily, barely able to put anything behind them as you work the both of you closer to release.

You pull back to look at him, and the slope of his neck is too tempting to leave alone — the loose strands from his hair are sticking to the sweat gathering on his skin, and you watch a bead of it roll down a curve of corded muscle.

Of course, you weren’t going to let it go — you want him to crack.

Bucky moans, his breath stuttering as your tongue chases the bead of sweat, and you latch onto his skin, sucking steadily at his pulse point. “Baby– Baby, please, fuck,” he babbles, forcing his head back further to expose more of his neck.

You oblige, all too willingly and with a giddy enthusiasm; the bow of your lips trace over his Adam’s apple and down to his collarbone, where you bite down gently.

“Shit, shit,” Bucky suddenly exclaims, his words slurring together. “No– No, please, I ca– Can’t,” he begs, and you pull away from his neck, brows furrowing in concern. “Please, I don’t want to– To, shit–”

Words seem to be out of his grasp, and you wait patiently for him to gather his thoughts while you watch the thread of his restraint wearing thin, so close to snapping when he’s this overwhelmed with the pleasure you are giving him.

You can’t have that, though.

Bucky was torturing himself, not allowing himself the pleasure of giving into his base desires - what he needs. “Can’t what, sweetheart?” you ask. “You can’t cum?”

Bucky nods his head frantically, his eyes widening. You consider him, the sweat on his brow and upper lip, the way his eyes plead for something more; he’s so desperate to not cum, to let go.

It’s plain as day that he is holding himself back, when you knew deep down that he is itching to relinquish control and give in.

You decide then to push, to throw caution to the wind and make him take it. “Why not?” you whine, grinding back and forth, back and forth, over his painfully hard cock. “Doesn’t my pussy feel good, baby?”

Bucky whimpers and scrunches his face up, cock throbbing as he grows closer to finishing. You don’t think he realises how he rambles to himself, “Fuck, yes! It does—fuck, it does baby.”

“Think for me, sweetheart,” you say, leaning close to his face. “Just think for me, how good being inside my pussy would be.” The lure of being inside your cunt cracks the last of his resolve; control slipping through his fingers before he can grasp hold of it.

You smirk, watching how his brows furrow and his eyes squeeze shut. “Just think, Bucky,” you repeat, “How wet and tight I’d be for you. How I would scream for more; beg for more of your cock and what you give me.”

The sound Bucky makes is close to a wounded animal, and his grip on your waist is sure to leave bruises. “Oh, sweetheart,” you coo, mouthing softly up his neck until your lips brush over the shell of his ear, and you whisper, “Doesn’t that sound good, baby?”

Something snaps within him.

The headboard of the bed thumps against the wall as Bucky tumbles over the cliff, his restraint long gone, and he wraps his arms tightly around you, curling them around your waist to hold you impossibly close. You feel something wet on your neck, and you realise belatedly that Bucky is crying silently, overwhelmed with the pleasure.

To reassure him, you thread your fingers through his hair again to scratch at his scalp. You feel his lips move up and down your neck, placing open mouthed kisses over the skin “Are you okay?” you ask softly, careful to not move in his hold. “Bucky, baby?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, and he buries his face further into your neck, nodding frantically. “Pleasepleaseplease.”

A victorious smirk pulls the corner of your lips up. You know you have him — Bucky’s too far gone to come back down now, and he won’t be able to stop.

“Go on,” you purr. Bucky hungrily grinds up into your heat, seeking it out and forcing a gasp from your lips with the pressure. “That’s it,” you push, and your last deadly blow has the dam breaking, once and for all: “Cum for me then, pretty boy.”

“Oh, oh, fuck– Baby–” Bucky moaned, but you keep steady pressure over his cock, and his hips start to stutter in rhythm. “Shit!”

“That’s it, that’s it, sweetheart,” you coax, just as a damp patch stains the crotch of his sweats, and his legs tremble under your thighs. There’s a loud thump as his head hits the headboard of his bed.

“Fuck–” Your own climax begins to mount, the tension of it unbearable, and just the band snaps, you cry out to the ceiling, “Bucky!”

The room is full of pants for air, the synchronised rise and fall of your chests in tandem with the twitching muscles of your body; the rushed gasps for breath a symphony to your ears.

“Holy shit,” you murmur, and you finally look at Bucky — only to be taken aback with the awestruck expression on his handsome face. His lips are stretched wide in a dopey grin, and his eyes, while normally so bright and soft, are glazed over with post-orgasm bliss.

“You’re so beautiful, baby,” he whispers. You feel the brush of his fingers over your waist and thighs, a soothing touch that in combination with his words sends another wave of heat up your neck. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

You smile nervously, suddenly speechless with the earnestness and fondness in his voice. Instead, you shuffle down his thighs to rest your arms on his shoulders more comfortably, and you play with the hair on the nape of his neck — the soft locks damp with sweat.

The two of you stare into one another’s eyes, then, you rest your forehead on his to whisper, “Well, handsome, not so bad for your first kiss.”

Bucky starts to laugh, then giggles take over as he faceplants into your chest, nuzzling himself against your tits in shyness.

After a while, Bucky starts to shift in place, and you start to rise up off of his lap, when his sudden stiffness alarms you. “Bucky? What’s the matter?”

“I— I don’t, I didn’t mean to—“ He stutters, looking down at his crotch. You follow his gaze, utterly confused — there is nothing abnormal, only the wet patch of cum staining the material.

Your confusion only increases, and you look back to Bucky’s face. It’s blotchy and red from embarrassment. “Bucky?”

“I– Oh, goddamnit,” he mutters, and he looks down at his lap again pointedly.

The realisation washes over you; a lightbulb suddenly going off in your head. He was embarrassed over coming in his pants. “Bucky, sweetheart,” you say, moving to cup his cheeks and force him to look at you. “Listen to me, okay?”

Blue eyes meet yours, his gaze pensive. You muster the warmest, kindest smile; no judgement apparent in your own eyes as you stare at him. “There is no need to feel ashamed.”

“But–” Bucky tries.

“No, listen to me,” you interrupt, and you lean in closer, bumping his nose with yours before reassuring him, “There's no need to feel ashamed, sweetheart.”

His pure, innocent gaze doesn’t fail to make you swoon even more over him. “It doesn’t?”

“Of course not, you know why?” Bucky shakes his head, eyes wide and intent to listen to anything you have to say. Your lips hover over his as you whisper, “Because I love you making a mess for me, baby.”

The weekend passes by swiftly, a tangle of bedsheets and limbs; kisses and fleeting touches that turn into passionate embraces.

It was only when Steve came home on the Saturday night did he kick both you and Bucky out of the apartment with a yell of, “Bye! Have fun, kids!”

You decided to take Bucky back to your dorm-room — an easy decision when you get to watch how his eyes trail over your body as you walk down the halls holding hands.

And on Sunday morning, bright and early, a series of knocks on your dorm-room door wakes you out of your slumber. “Damn,” you grumble, blinking slowly into the dimly lit room. The curtains are drawn, but a slither of gold peeks from behind the fabric; right over Bucky’s face and the mess of his hair.

You sigh and tiredly throw the covers off you, mentally preparing yourself to get out of bed, but before you can get up, two arms curl around your waist and tug you backwards into a muscled chest. The warmth of the embrace makes you sigh contentedly.

“No,” Bucky groans before burying his face into your neck and smothering you with his body; trapping you with his arms and winding his legs around yours. “Dun’ get up.”

You giggle as he starts kissing your shoulders and nibbling at your neck — the stubble of his jaw tickling the soft skin while his lips soothed over it. “I have to,” you say quietly, and you grab his arm to pull it off, only–

“Nuh-uh. Where y’think you're goin’, Buttercup?” The deep rumble of his morning voice has you inner self trembling, memorising your antics of your weekend together. “Can’t leave me.” And to solidify his claim, Bucky clings onto you like a koala.

“Bucky, you big goof.” You slap his arm, but he just grunts his protest, clinging to your body tighter. “Come on,” you say, wriggling — it’s met with no success of him releasing you. “Get off of me so I can answer the door.”

But you should have known that he is far too stubborn to let up that easily — a stubborn puppy that refused to give up his treat. “No. Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“Fine.” Your only hope is an attempt to bribe him, you decide, and you look at him to find he’s staring at you through a half-lidded eye, the other eye obscured by his pillow. “How about you let me go, and I promise to give you unlimited cuddles for the rest of the day, no moving whatsoever?”

That gets his attention, and he perks his head up to lean closer to yours. “I wan’ unlimited kisses, too,” he negotiates, pouting his lips and narrowing his eyes.

You cannot help but chuckle. “Deal, handsome.”

Bucky plonks backwards onto the bed, star fishing in his sulking — the treat now successfully taken away.

With your newfound freedom, you sit up and stretch, ignoring the grumbles and quiet whines of, “Bein’ left alone ain’t right,” and, “Tell whoever it is to fuck off, I mean it.”

The bedsheets rustle under you when you scoot to the edge, the warmth of Bucky’s body and the softness of the covers already sorely missed, especially when you stand up and slip into your fluffy, warm gown and slippers. The brush of Bucky’s shirt over your skin makes you smile, the fabric soft and worn but oh so perfectly Bucky.

“Hurry back, Buttercup,” he calls after you as you walk slowly out of the room. “Please—don’ leave me too long.”

“Drama queen,” you whisper, quiet enough he wouldn’t hear. The knocking comes again and you curse the cause — if it’s your friend from class asking to borrow your notes again, you were going to slam the door straight back in their face. Aloud, you say, “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t bust the hinges.”

You prepare the speech to scold your friend as you walk to the door, and you grab the hand;e — the metal of it cold from the chill overnight. The door swings open with a loud creak, and you start saying, “What are you–”

The lack of a presence, or anyone at the door, stops you short — not even a shadow of someone running away down the hall. “Fucking door dashers,” you groan, and you turn on your heel to go back inside when the toe of your slipper bumps into something on the ground. “What–?”

A gift basket, filled to the brim with an assortment of chocolates and scattered gift cards to your favourite stores, is innocuously sitting there. In the middle of the basket, poking its head out next to a bouquet of your favourite flowers, is the head of a stuffie Golden Retriever, the fur irresistibly soft and the eyes bright — much like Bucky’s. Its mouth held a note scrawled in messy cursive.

“Okay,” you mumble, and you kneel down to look at it closer, worried that there had been a mix up or confusion of a dorm number. As you near the letter, you realise that the messy scrawl spells out Flower. “Wait.”

That meant only one person was responsible.

Your fingers tore open the letter and unfold it; the messy scrawl continues on the inside, too.

Flower, I’m sorry for bailing on our movie night.

I know you’re pissed, but I hope this and the beefcake attached to your back makes up for my mistake.

Love ya squirt,

Your big bro.

“Stevie,” you say, eyes darting over the lines of script. “You sneaky bastard.” There is a post script just below his sign off, and you continue to read.

P.S. Date went well, tell you all about it on movie night next week? I’m sure we’ll have guests joining us x

Shaking your head in amusement, you place the note back with the stuffie, and pick up the rest of your basket. “What am I going to do with you,” you mumble, stepping back into your dorm to place the basket on the entry table to admire it again.

“Wha’s happenin’?” a voice rasps behind you, and sure enough, the aforementioned beefcake in the letter from Steve plasters himself to your back; arms around your waist and his face tucked into your neck again. “Back to bed, c’mon.”

Bucky drags you backwards, chuckling deeply at your squeal of laughter that echoes down the hallway to your bedroom. “You made me a promise,” he grunts, and he pulls you back into bed and underneath the covers, intent on making sure you fulfil your end of the bargain.

Part Two, Part Three

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sistertotheknowitall · 7 months

Text

Danny is Some Guy being followed

Part three? I guess, cause apparently it’s not content to stay in my head. Part One, Part Two

To say Danny was awake when he fist met these guys would be true, but to say he was fully aware would be a lie, and to live in Gotham one needed to be constantly aware.

If not, they would end up in this exact situation. Being stalked by vigilantes.

Him, Danny “Phantom” Fenton, Ghost King of the Infinite realms, was being constantly followed by a vigilante family. At least Danny assumed they were a family after hearing Red Hood call Nightwing “little brother.” (“I’m older than you.” “Yeah but you’re shorter.” “That’s not how that works!”) Also there was a child and at least three teenagers running around in spandex and armor. If they weren’t a family Danny wasn’t half-dead.

Anyway, Danny was pretty-sure they were watching him. His only guess as to why, well it started with a comment he made when slightly delirious. Because on that night when he was awake but not really, he called Batman the the fury-vigilante. In front of who the young king now realizes might be the bat’s son.

Danny understands that it might have been embarrassing but also it was just a comment and not even an original one! A lot of people called him that! And sure, not always to his face but still it could not have been his first time hearing it.

So Danny saw it as unnecessary to send out his army of (admittedly nice) children to harass Danny whenever they could. It was getting old and they always looked at him as if he was the odd one. Which he was but they didn’t know that. Like, Danny is just trying to get to where he needs to go, you people are the ones squaring up to random thugs on a school night.

Not that Danny didn’t appreciate the constant rescues, but he knew the life of a teenage vigilante and it wasn’t an easy one. Danny had a list of regrets and the scars to prove it. Hell, Baby Ninja looked younger than Danny when he first started.

In the first month of being shadowed Danny was sure he had met all of Batman’s children, either by rescue or confrontation. (How was he supposed to know he wasn’t allowed near that wearhouse?) He decided that Red Robin and Signal were his favorites, they spoke to him as a fellow person. Dickwing was his least favorite. After the incident with the Fenton anti-creep stick and four creeps, Dickwing started to lecture Danny on self-preservation and “being too young to put himself in that kind of danger.” Danny had stared pointedly at Baby Ninja on the fire escape (not that Dickwing noticed.)

Danny didn’t really now what their goal was, so far outside the three a.m. gun fights, the hypocritical lectures, and Baby Ninja’s prickly nature, the Batkids weren’t so bad. Still Danny wasn’t going to tell them his name. Hello? they were following him. Yes they were vigilantes but they were also stalkers and Danny had rights.

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talaok · 17 days

Text

Sunbathing

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

Summary: you’ve decided to sunbathe topless, or as your husband Joel would put it, you’ve decided to torture him.

Warnings: needy Joel, kind of sub!joel, unprotected p in v, premature ejaculation, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), come play.

a/n: i sunbathed topless for the first time and well this wrote itself

"You've seen my boobs before babe" A soft laugh bubbled up your throat as you turned your head left.

He wasn't even pretending not to be staring.

"Not like this"

You smiled, "what does that even mean?"

"not out... here"

You lowered your sunglasses to see him better, tilting your head to ask for further explanation

Yes you were outside, by the pool of the beautiful summer house you'd rented, but you didn't get how that made any difference, they were the same boobs he'd seen hours prior in your bed.

"I'm not used to not doing anything about them"

"ah" you hummed "is it that hard?"

You didn't even need to look at the smirk painting his face to regret your choice of words.

"yeah babydoll, it's real hard"

You only needed to lower your gaze a little to asses his statement.

"You're incorrigible"

"And you're torturin' me darlin'"

"How am I torturing you?" you laughed "I'm just taking advantage of the privacy we have to get a good tan"

"and besides, I seem to remember how hard it is for you to see me with the whole bikini on too"

He sat up, the sunbed squeaking as he faced you.

"It ain't my fault if my wife's so pretty it hurts"

"you get so dramatic when you're horny" you chuckled, rolling your eyes.

He smiled, letting his gaze wander all over your body for a good minute, before getting back at your face

"nothin's gonna happen is it?" his tone was full of hope nonetheless

"no baby" you shook your head

He sighed, dramatically letting his head fall to his chest

"I'll have a swim then"

"have fun honey"

__ __ __

"darlin'?"

Not even ten minutes had passed, and that scene from the Barbie movie with the "Ken! Go for a walk or something" line couldn't not pop into your head.

"yes?"

He was standing right next to your sunbed, dripping wet and blocking out the sun.

"don't ya need sunscreen?"

A soft smile pulled at your lips.

Ten minutes, that's how long it took for him to come up with that.

"I put it on already"

He wasn't gonna give up, not on the first try.

"how long ago?"

"an hour, I think"

"the sun's real strong now doll," he said, drying his hair with a towel before throwing it on his bed "I think it's best if you put some more on… I can do it for you if you don't feel like it"

You chuckled, looking up at him, but he stayed in character, continuing to look oh-so worried about your safety.

"Somehow I knew that offer was coming"

"'m just worried about my wife, 's all"

he'd crouched down, taking your hand in his

"mh-mh" you hummed, sarcasm tracing your tone

"can't have you get sunburt now, can we?"

"no, we can't" you played along, smiling at him

"'f course" he murmured, leaning down to leave a soft kiss on your lips as he grabbed the sunscreen.

"I'm so lucky to have such a caring husband"

"I'm the only lucky one babydoll"

He gave you one more kiss, before he leaned away and got to work.

He squeezed some cream into his hand, but to your surprise, his hands didn't land where you'd expected them to-

Only his eyes were betraying him. They were only on one, or actually two things even when it was your legs he was massaging.

The coldness of the cream and his hands felt good against your warm body, so much you couldn't help but hum appreciatively.

"feels good?"

"yeah baby" you breathed as his hands made their way to your thighs.

It always amazed you how hands so big, rough, and strong were able to be so gentle and soft on you.

You couldn't deny the shivers running up your body when his fingers reached your inner thighs, getting close to your core.

"what's that?" your husband was smirking like a cat, as he dedicated himself much too long on that spot.

"I didn't say anything"

If he thought this was gonna work, he was wrong. It was too hot, and you were too relaxed to do what he so obviously wanted to do... although you both knew how much you liked seeing him desperate...

He still didn't touch your boobs, no, next were your shoulders, then your arms, and then... when he felt on the brink of exploding, when he couldn't stop himself anymore, he squeezed a generous amount of sunscreen in his hands, and oh so gently started massaging your tits.

He couldn't stop a soft groan from fleeing his lips.

It felt amazing- of course it felt amazing, but you didn't wanna give him the satisfaction, and this was mostly for him, not for you, so your eyes remained closed as you pretended like it was nothing.

But that only lasted so long, because Joel could endure just about 30 seconds of that before he was bending down, and his mouth was sucking your nipple.

"Joel!" you gasped, your eyes snapping open just in time to see him climb onto you to straddle your waist, and then go right back to groping and licking and sucking your nipples like it was his life long duty.

"baby you're all wet" you tried complaining, but the smile on your lips was everlasting.

He looked so damingly cute like this, looking up at you with those big doe eyes as he worshipped your tits.

"so are you"

And yeah so what if you were- there's only so much a woman can do in front of this.

A soft laugh spilled from your lips as your hand went to find a place in his hair, your back arching to offer more of yourself to him.

"I don't even know how good it is for you to be licking sunscreen"

The look he gave you made it very clear he didn't give one single fuck.

And just when you were about to protest again, his teeth had gently bit your nipple, and a moan had spilled from your lips.

he took that as an incentive to go further, his hand slowly sliding down your belly, between your bodies, until it was seeping underneath your bikini bottoms.

"babe-" you stopped him, your voice breathless

His hand stopped on your mound as he groaned in frustration.

You could feel his rock-hard cock on you since the moment he straddled you- the man was desperate.

"please doll" he murmured against the soft skin of your chest in between kisses "Gimmie something-anything” he pleaded “Have mercy on your poor husband"

Your response was mixed between a laugh and a moan

"I can take care of you if you want"

He shook his head, his teeth grazing your nipple "Need to feel you darlin’"

Again, a soft giggle rumbled from your chest

"’S too hot to have sex here baby"

His hand had gotten out of your bikini to reach the other on your waist.

"the pool- the ground? fuck- anywhere you want sugar, just tell me where"

His clothed hard-on was rubbing against your core now, and fuck but once again you’d succumbed to Joel and his goddamn irresistible neediness.

"bring me back into the house"

It was like he’d been waiting his whole life to hear those words.

In a haze of kisses and lust, he’d picked you up, letting you hold onto him by wrapping your arms and legs around his body as he hurriedly walked into the house.

He didn’t make it far enough to encounter a single surface- and perhaps that was because he’d stopped looking and placed you against the wall the moment he’d passed the threshold.

His mouth was on your tits again, his cock was out, and his fingers had pulled your bikini to the side.

He said nothing as he slowly began entering you, the only sounds in the room being your moan as you threw your head back, and the groan he emitted, muffled by your skin.

“Oh fuck” you cried once he bottomed out.

Your husband was a very gifted man.

"'m not gonna last"

He sounded like the mere act of talking was taking all of his energy, and yet he was thrusting up into you like it was a matter of life or death.

"'s ok"

"I've been hard since you took your top off" he murmured, his breath fanning over your chest “you-you-jesus”

Your left hand passed through his hair, softly soothing him.

“‘S alright baby, don’t wait for me”

“You’re too fuckin’-” he tried to speak, but he was interrupted by yet another groan

“What?” you taunted him, a smirk pulling at your lips “what is it baby?”

His eyes were wide with desperation as he looked up at you, as his mouth stole languid kisses from your tits.

“Too hot- too goddamn perfect”

You bit down a grin at that, still stroking his hair

“I love you baby” you breathed, his cock reaching the deepest, most fucking amazing spot inside you in the meantime.

The moment those words left your lips your husband was fucked- the only words he was able to mutter were a series of -fuckshitgoddamn- before he inevitably reached his peak, filling you up with rope after rope of come that never seemed to end.

He remained like that for a little while, buried inside you, eyes closed, mouth still connected with your boob, until you left a gentle kiss on the crown of his head, and he woke up from his heavenly trance.

He let out a soft groan as he slipped out of you, and took his time letting you down.

You were smiling at him with that soft smile that melted his insides right up, and he couldn’t help but lean in and kiss it, kiss you like you were a soft delicate thing that he was scared of breaking.

“I love you more” he promised, kissing you again, even if you were smiling.

“Feel better now?”

You said it like he was a kid with a stomach bug, and he couldn’t help but laugh a little.

“Yeah darlin’” he murmured against your mouth “thank you”

“You don’t have to thank me” you laughed, but he was already shaking his head

“Yes I do”

And without further explanation, he’d dropped to his knees.

He slid your bikini to the side once again, looking up at you with only adoration in his eyes.

“Baby you don’t have to” you tried to reason with him, but his mouth was already latched to your clit, and your hand had already flown to his hair.

He remained on your bud long enough to make you desperate, and then he started focusing on your whole core, his tongue lapping between your folds with what could only be described as feral hunger.

His come was everywhere, and yet he didn’t care, he was happy tasting the mix of your fluids, because that’s how Joel was- a nasty nasty man- only for you.

So much so that you felt his tongue enter your hole, simulating what he was doing just minutes before with his cock.

“Fuck-babe-”

Your moans were breathless, more like whines, like prayers.

You were looking at him as he was looking at you and Jesus... He looked fucking heavenly.

His hair all tussled from your fingers, his blown-out pupils, his never-stopping tongue-

“Joel” you cried, but he didn’t dare speak a word as he went back to your clit.

“Shit-baby- god!”

You had to tighten your hold on his hair as your orgasm crept up your body- and it was as you heard him groan with pleasure, as he sucked your clit into his mouth like a man starved, that it all came crumbling down, and you felt your body light on fire as your climax took over.

You were moaning and crying into the air for a good minute before you were sane again.

Only Joel hadn’t stopped eating you out for a single second, and even then, he looked like he had no intention of doing so

“Baby-baby” you whimpered, having to literally pull him away from your core.

He was smiling like a kid, and you couldn’t help but follow suit.

He put your bikini back in place, and then stood up, his hands lingering on your waist

“You’re crazy”

He couldn’t help but kiss you before answering,

“You make me”

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icekkeugf · 22 days

Text

pairing: prof!heeseung x volleyball player!reader

genre: porn without much plot

warnings: heeseung is reader's professor but neither of them know that when they engage in sexual activity, slight dom!hee, kissing, cunnilingus against the wall, blowjob, boobjob, facial, use of the petname "pretty girl"

wordcount: 2,790 words

note: koko is back ~~~ i am not sure if this is up to mark but i really hope enhablr enjoys this! reblogs are much appreciated and so are comments/feedback! happy reading ♥︎ ~~~

it's raining, soft droplets sprinkling over your already wet skin, soaking in sweat as you huff, doubling over to place your palms over your knees. slippery, it is, palms sliding down the smooth of your knees as you try your best to contain your breath, composing yourself when you notice your teammates pass by. "so, y/n, excited for the shift into university?" your volleyball captain asks, prompting you to wince. this causes concern, her brow raising and her wrist lifting to rest on your shoulders, "not a good time?" she sympathises.

"just a bit scary, not too sure how i will mingle with the people there and if i will join a team as good as ours." you mutter, playing with your stretchable wristband. the girl laughs, patting your shoulder painfully hard with a smile, "hey, your university is known for its sports department! i wouldn't put it past me to find a well equipped club and carefully handpicked members. who knows, you might make it national!" she reasons, patting the top of your head with a crooked smile.

you try not to make eye contact with the man as he introduces himself and shares his email with the students for future assistance. however, when you look up to sneak a glance at him again, you see him staring right at you, wide eyed. you're fucked and not quite literally.

"say what, are you free tonight?" she asks, looking over at the other teammates with a sneaky smile. and when you look up dazed with a slight nod, she's dragging you over to seat you on the nearest bench. "i sent you a text, be there at 7! bye, y/n!" just like that, all your teammates trickle out the training ground, snickering amongst themselves to have finally caught you in a trap, always having refused to meet them outside training.

7:06PM. still waiting, feet nearly cramped up in those narrow toothed stilettos. bad idea to show up in stilettos after vigorous training? yes, but, the location your captain had forwarded had a strict dress code to adhere to this night. right as you bend over to adjust your heels, you're met with the vision of several pairs of similar looking stilettos. "there! early as always, our y/n, let's go in!" one of your teammates urges you inside a shady looking building.

you're met with instant chaos, loud and blaring music sinking into your eardrums, the bass making the floor vibrate and your heart thump in rhythm to the music. "stay right here, tia and i will get us all some drinks!" you're left by some of your other teammates you're not too close with, merely acquaintances that play volleyball together, you'd say. excusing yourself with a smile despite being met with "they asked us to wait here!", you shake your head, reassuring them you'll be fine and right back.

it's a few minutes later that you find yourself seated by the secluded island of what seems to be a kitchen. "a house party." you figure out, still unsure if you should've placed blind faith in your captain and teammates. "not your usual scene?" comes a voice prodding its way beside you. you jump, just a little, turning around to meet hazel brown eyes that crinkle mischief at you. the man before you is donning an all denim fit, it makes you wonder if he's not close to blushing red in this humidity but you let it pass. "not really. i assume this is your usual scene though." you quip back, the man before you throwing his head back in a silent giggle.

"heeseung." he extends his hand which you take a little hesitantly. it's not long after you exchange names that you find yourself introduced to heeseung's friends, all of them welcoming and sweet, out of which, jay confirms himself to be the party host. both heeseung and you don't stray too far into private lives of eachother, maybe that is what attracts you to him, the mystery. you can't deny that he is more than decent looking, plump pink lips, doe looking eyes that may otherwise fool you into thinking he carries this weirdly sinister vibe. a sharp jawline too, you're almost sure he knows he serves a face that women and men would line up for alike.

the attraction, though, is mutual. or so, heeseung convinces you to think as his fingertips meet your satin clad hips with ease and familiarity. he leads you towards the same secluded corner, "dance with me?" he asks and you oblige, not questioning why it has to be here, infact, you're glad it's here rather than in the midst of sweaty teenage bodies that are not yet ripe enough to enter parties like this. what snaps you back to reality is his hands, that need no permission as it follows a trail circling your hips, pulling you flush against his.

maybe it's the alcohol that heeseung offered before or maybe it's the intimate proximity you two keep dancing around but the heat in the air, whether the temperature or the tension, is palpable, almost shocking in a way that it sends hot sparks down your spine. resting your head against his shoulder, you wrap an arm around him, his warm, intoxicated breath fanning over your ears. no words exchanged, really, just the synced beating of your hearts and need to feel eachother up that finally has heeseung snapping.

exhaling shakily, you nod when he asks to take you somewhere else. he's gentle as he encloses your wrist in his palm, pulling you towards the stairs that was strictly prohibited for others. perks of being jay's best friend, you reckon. the moment you enter an unoccupied room, his lips are on yours before he pulls away in a jiffy, panic settling onto his face, "is that okay, y/n?" when you nod meekly, he shuts his eyes for just a second, muttering a "fuck" under his breath before he's pushing his lips onto yours and maneuvring your body behind until your backside meets the wall. "so pretty," he murmurs into the kiss.

you roll your hips involuntarily into his, it has heeseung gritting his teeth, jaw slack and eyes purely filled with desire. "just like that, baby, do that again—you listen so well to me, pretty girl." heeseung is sure he's rambling by now, oh, he definitely is as he tells you how to rut against him pathetically. the sultry lighting of the room only enhances your need for one another, you've never felt the urge to ravage someone like this before and you know you have to ravage heeseung before this night ends if you don't want to wake up the next morning with a guilty and regret filled heart.

he coaxes your lips to meet his again, this time the contact utterly messy and just downright filthy. you can almost taste the very remnants of his drink from earlier if you shoved your tongue down just a little deeper. meanwhile, heeseung is quick in feeling you up, pushing at your knees, "spread 'em, baby, that's it," he begs, instantly losing all self control and falling to his knees when you whine, asking him to ease the ache between your legs. "wider...there you go, atta girl." he praises, soft hands cupping your knees as his lashes flutter when he looks up at you.

with a lopsided grin, he hooks a finger at the hem of your dress, lifting it just enough for your panties to peek at him. he grunts at the little wet patch that dampens and soils the middle of your panties, leaning in to disgustingly sniff at it before licking once, twice, thrice, enough to taste you through the cotton. you're shaking, beyond control and unable to balance your body by yourself so you place your hands at his shoulders, pulling him needily into you as your back arches into the wall.

pushing your entire weight onto heeseung, who only groans as he ruts his increasingly evident boner into the ground, you hook your legs around his neck. he holds onto your thighs desperately, a whimper escaping his kiss swollen lips as his tongue slithers through the side of your panties to lick at your cunt. he delicately plants a kiss over your clit, making you shudder with a broken moan, as he finds his head heavy with the need to taste you, to make you cum. so, he does just that.

heeseung finds a comfortable pace at licking through your folds, dragging his wet muscle from side to side, then up and down. he repeats the action before nipping at your clit gently, soothing the prick with a prod of his tongue. "so sweet, just like honey, baby. that's it, you gon' cum for me?" he asks sweetly against your sopping pussy, nose glistening with your juices. "look at me, y/n, my pretty girl. want you to watch me as you come undone on my tongue, okay?" you struggle to open your eyes, nodding before you do anyway.

rapid strokes of his tongue have you unstable, shaking and withering under his touch while you try your best to keep your eyes open and in contact with his as he licks at you until no end. "say my name, baby, don't be shy. let me hear your pretty moans." you let a moan rip through the confines of your throat, rocking your hips messily against his face. "no, don't move." he hisses with a displeased smirk, shaking his head to show his disapproval. "let me do all the work, just sit and take it, got it?"

just like that, the ebbs of your orgasm crash against the little pebbles, rocking you through, only for heeseung to hold you still as he continues to devour you as you come down from your high. with a final suck of your clit, he parts from your cunt, face absolutely marred by your release. "good girl, did that feel good?" he coos, tapping at your thigh, signalling you to carefully put down your leg as he makes much effort to stand up.

when you nod, pulling him into another kiss, he chuckles, trapping you against the wall yet again. "yeah? in that case, shouldn't you return the favour?" he presses a few kisses down your neck, leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. "let me make you feel good, hee." you answer in words this time, making heeseung widen his eyes but he nods, eyeing the floor once before he looks up at you, "kneel." dropping to your knees, your fingers work quickly as they unzip his denim pants. a tent visible as you cup his clothed length, you lick your lips eagerly as you imagine feeling him fill up the entirety of your mouth.

you tug at his boxers, leaving it bunched up at his knees, immediately pressing a hasty kiss at the head of his veiny cock. you notice how it is curved at the tip, pink and angry. this forces heeseung to snake a hand into your hair, clutching the strands at the roots warningly, "don't tease, pretty girl, get on with it." he doesn't have to say it twice before you are nestling his cock in the home of your wet and warm cavern. you let it soak in there for a while, not attempting to please him just yet as you adjust to his size.

soon after, flattening your tongue, you hollow your cheeks as you start to set a steady rhythm into bobbing your head for him. licking at the underside, you ensure not an inch of his cock is left untouched by you, the part that doesn't fit in your mouth caressed by your soft hands. "just for me to ruin, fuck, yes!" heeseung is blessed, really, to have a girl truly attentive to his needs, the way he wants to be touched and pleased, repeating the actions that seems to make him teeter at the edge of his orgasm. lucky bastard!

right when you think you should fasten your pace to meet with his cum painting the insides of your mouth, heeseung abruptly pulls at your mouth, his now semi soft dick covered in your spit resting at your lips, "can i cum on your face, pretty girl?" with no answer, you unzip the back of your dress, letting it pool at your hips. unclasping your bra, you hold your tits up, motioning him to slide his cock in between. this causes heeseung to let out husky groan, trying not to bust right then. he loves the way you're so proactive, he can't help it!

he squirms from the sudden increase in stimulation as you use your tits as a makeshift fleshlight, wrapping it around his now hardening cock tightly as he fucks into the space you provide him. letting a sliver of your tongue peek out, you lick at his tip each time his cock almost lodges against your lips, instantly making him cum. he sucks in a sharp breath as he spills all of him that's worth, over your tits and the lower half of your face. pretty, he thinks, fingers unconsciously reaching for his phone.

"can i take a photo of you, pretty girl—" the door to the room the two of you are in is knocked upon fiercely, "heeseung, you in here, man?" upon hearing jay, heeseung scurries to bring out tissues from the bedside table, "yes, what's up?" in three swipes, he cleans you up, cursing when his finger is also stained by his release. before he could wipe it off, though, you bring up his cum glistening finger to your lips, tongue darting out to lick it clean. "fuck, you're gonna be the death of me!" he whispers, pressing an open mouthed kiss at your lips, tasting himself in the process. "niki has been throwing up nonstop, man, i can't find the others, hurry up, will you?" you two hear the receding footsteps of a rather pissy jay, laughing into eachother once you're sure he's gone.

easing into eachother, "can we do this again, y/n? i'd really like to fuck you open, if you'd let me." he asks, his brash words lighting up a reddened blush on your cheeks, "yes, i'd love that." before you could exchange numbers though, jay knocks yet again, an impertinent cockblock, you suppose. "i have to go—see you around?" you nod, smiling at heeseung who leans down to kiss your cheek. "see you around, heeseung."

you don't remember how you get home that night after having freshened up in the room's attached restroom. all you think of for the next few days is heeseung's lingering touches, his whines and soft exhales, the way his hips bucked into your touch when you sucked him right. safe to say that you haven't been able to contact him either, having used your god given stalking skills on instagram to no avail.

it's been a few weeks, having been busy with volleyball practice and packing to move to your campus dorm. now, it's d—day! there's cardboard boxes piled up, with two suitcases of yours filled to the brim with clothes you can't bring yourself to leave behind in your childhood home. after a tearful parting with your family, you find yourself cuffed with the seatbelt on and your bestfriend driving you to the university to help you move in. while you do have much unpacking to do, it is also your first day at university!

bidding goodbye to your friend once they had helped you get your boxes and suitcases in, you change your outfit for the first class, not wanting to be late. after a whirlwind of trying to find your class, which happens to be your homeroom hour, you settle into one of the desks in the spacious room. although it's just the first day, the room is still loud with whispers and chatters about the exciting life at university. the class, however, hushes at some point, and while you were preoccupied on your phone, you hear a familiar voice.

"goodmorning, guys! how has your first day been so far?" your heart races erratically in its place, unsure if you've just misplaced the voice and its owner or if you're really doomed. slowly looking up, you find yourself glancing at heeseung, who looks at his phone for a split second before he pays attention up front. he hasn't noticed you yet, smile just as charming as it was when he first greeted you. as if on cue, all the memories from a few weeks ago flood in to liven up the black of your mind.

#heeseung smut #heeseung x reader #heeseung hard thoughts #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader

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