#though I will be starting writing them tonight

[oneforthemunny]

not sure if we're still playing but i figured i would send this in case inspiration struck! what is modern!eddie like when he's jealous? i feel like he reacts sooo over the top, as if he's a cartoon character or sth

thank you for sharing these, your writing is making my standards too high for most real men 😽😽

surprise surprise loverboy gets insanely jealous lol and demands attention. in classic modern!eddie style, he's gotta be a little needy lol. fluffy with a little smut at the end, but not graphic at all lol. enjoy <3

"What are you doing?" The click in your tone made Eddie wince, and though he couldn't see you, he knew your nose was scrunched, lips in an aggravated snarl.

"Get- Stop touching me, Ed." You huffed, shoving him off you, his body slacking against yours, arms heavy around your waist. Why he chose to get touchy in the middle of this party- with too many people, and no air flow- was a mystery to you.

Eddie let his arms fall, but kept one hand on your jean shorts, fingers curling around the loops, fingertips brushing the exposed skin on your back. His eyes didn't meet yours, narrowed in a glare across the room, jaw set tight looking at her- Avery.

Eddie knew of Avery- sort of.

He knew you'd been in a casual relationship before him, that the two of you had been roommates, and broke it off on mutual terms; really, there was no need for him to not like her.

Except, for the fact that the two of you had dated. That she was your ex. And that when you saw her tonight, she gave you a hug that lasted a second too long, in Eddie's opinion. And that she had managed to make you laugh- your real laugh, that always teetered on a snarky snicker and always left Eddie dizzy. It left him reeling tonight, too, but in a much different way.

In a way that had his chest tightening, heart dropping with fear, hands clammy when they first reached out to grab at your hip- a territorial move, sure, but he wanted to make sure Avery knew.

"What's the matter with you?" You squinted, turning to Eddie. "You were the one who wanted to come, and now you're actin' like a fuckin' freak-"

"-I'm not-"

"- You absolutely are." You scoffed, eyes rolling over his frame. "You're being all weird. Did you take something?"

"No." Eddie's jaw clenched, sure his cheeks were beginning to burn red with embarrassment.

"So why are you being weird?" You snapped, lifting a brow at him. "And why are you touching me so much?" Your hand shoved his off of you, taking a wide step back, nearly hitting a couple behind you.

Eddie let out a short huff of air, shaking his head like he was the one who was annoyed- it had your eyes narrowing. "God fuckin' forbid I think you look hot, right? How dare I show you some appreciation?" He snapped sarcastically.

You didn't snarl or bitch, no snapping comment- instead, your eyes narrowed, looking at him so intensely it made him shift. His gaze shifted from yours, around the room, eyes landing on her for a moment too long.

He hoped you'd miss it. You didn't, of course.

A snap of your neck and you immediately knew where his gaze was lingering, where it had been all night. For a moment, you felt your own jealousy seep in out of instinct, until the realization came to you-

"You're- Are you serious?" Gawking at him in disbelief, your eyes widened, fighting back a grin.

"Fuck off, alright? Don't start-"

"-You're jealous?"

"So what if I am?" Eddie snapped, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "What? You gonna go talk to her some more now? Flirt right in front of me- torture me?"

Your lips pressed in a line, swallowing down a nasally mean and mocking laugh. Instead, your hands found his, hesitating for a moment before you placed them back on your hips. PDA wasn't your thing, especially not in a crowded, hot room, but the way Eddie was pouting, lip jutting and huffing with shifting eyes- how could you not indulge?

Fingers sliding over his sweaty curls, your pulled Eddie in by the base of his neck, body slotting to fit into his, lips on his for a very sloppy, very public smooch in the middle of the party. Eddie's hands roamed over your body, squeezing at the fat of your ass, pressing you further into him.

The two of you left the party shortly after that, excitedly scampering to his car. Eddie was laid out in the driver's side, the seat reclined while you climbed on top, sinking on his dick, hovered over him. Both of you were thankful for the tinted windows.

[tobesolnelyx]

I NEED MORR FRATBOY LOTTIE!!! maybe reader is super sensitive and one of lottie’s dick friends says a mean joke that makes her cry? lottie stands up for reader and then they go back home to cuddle and watch a movie

— sweet nothings || fratboy!lottie matthews x fem!reader ☁️

a/n: starting to think that writing is bad for me. smoked so much while writing this lmao.

summary: your protective girlfriend <3. modern college au. fluff.

warnings: none! pure fluff

word count: around 1.4k

Being extremely sensitive and dating someone like Lottie could be... quite a burden. Not because she was abusive, or screamed at you, or went out of her way to hurt you. It wasn't that. Lottie was just naturally mean. To everyone. Some she prodded just to get a reaction, to see them squirm—because she could.

With you, it felt like some twisted love language. The teasing. The offhand jabs. Lottie simply wasn't very good at keeping her mouth shut

But she was trying. She never said it aloud, but you knew how terrible she felt every time she made you cry. Not that it was on purpose. And it wasn't even the worst thing someone could say—but you were sensitive. And for once in her life, Lottie decided to take that seriously. To not make a joke every time you didn't react the way she expected.

You didn't always want to talk about it. You didn't want to make yourself out to be a victim. After all, you didn't have any real reason to cry! Lottie was a good girlfriend—at least she was trying to be. She respected you deeply. She just... went too far sometimes. And there were days when one sharp remark was enough to ignite something in you like a live wire.

Lottie wasn't great at verbal apologies, but if she noticed you were upset, she'd curl up in your lap like a guilty pup, pressing gentle kisses to your fingers and knuckles. The next day she'd show up with flowers or something pretty in hand. You told her she didn't have to do that. You knew she wasn't trying to hurt you.

But Lottie was stubborn. And after a few months of being a couple, she'd become an expert at spotting the exact moment you started to feel off—when something someone said or did twisted in your chest like a dull blade. She learned your tells: how you stiffened first, then fidgeted; how your hands would compulsively tuck your hair behind your ears, then worry at your fingers; how you sometimes chewed the inside of your cheek when the feelings were too much.

She noticed. And she was always just in time—to stop the tears, or at least soften the explosion that was already cracking through you.

Tonight was no different.

Lottie had dragged you to a bonfire organized by some of her frat friends. "Friends," because in truth, Lottie didn't like many of them. She loved gossiping about them with you. You didn't know them all that well—you were new to the group, and most of them saw you only as "Lottie's girlfriend."

And though no one ever said it aloud, they all thought you were temporary. Just another phase. Another sweet, naive girl who'd be replaced in a few months. If only they knew how Lottie was when you were alone. How obsessively she cares on you. On you in general.

Lottie told you not to worry about it. And you believed her. You had no reason not to. Sure, she'd had plenty of partners before—but that didn't matter anymore. What mattered was that Lottie wasn't the cheating type. Not when she had something she was terrified of losing.

She left you by the fire for a bit to kick a ball around with some of the others. Not that she went far. Not before wrapping you tightly in her lap and asking—ten times—if you were really okay with it. She didn't need your permission, but she wanted you to feel safe. She made sure you had your favorite beer and weren't cold (even stuffed her hoodie into your arms, despite the warm July night and the fire right in front of you), and only then stepped a few paces away.

You watched her laugh, doing ridiculous tricks with the ball. When one finally landed the way she wanted—on the hundredth try—she turned to you with a triumphant grin, checking to see that you were watching.

It could've been a nice night. The fire crackled softly. The scent of her perfume still lingered on your sleeves. You half-listened to whatever nonsense her friends were rambling about.

But they'd started drinking. Heavily. And drunk, they lost all sense of filter.

One of them—the group's resident idiot —was especially talented at spouting drunk garbage. You couldn't even remember his name. Something insanely white and basic, like Chris? Or Jack? He was the poster child for stunted boyhood, a horned-up man-child. If Lottie was occasionally insufferable, this guy was insufferable squared.

That night, you were his target. The early comments about Lottie spending too much on you, you brushed off. They sounded more like half-baked jokes than accusations.

Then it got worse.

"She tell you yet that you're just her cumdump?"

He laughed like it was the funniest thing he'd ever said. Face flushed from alcohol, voice raspy from yelling. The guy didn't seem capable of speaking at a normal volume.

You stared at him. You'd never once felt like Lottie saw you as some kind of toy—but the insult hit like a slap.

You bit your lip. That horrible tightness rose in your throat.

Unluckily for him, Lottie heard.

"Say that again, you little shit."

She was at your side in seconds, muscles taut like she was ready to throw hands. Her fists were clenched so hard her knuckles turned white. She towered over him, eyes gleaming with fury.

"Jesus, chill out, Matthews," he muttered, rolling his eyes—clearly not taking her seriously. You thought for a moment she might rip the beer bottle out of his hand and smash it over his face. But something held her back. Maybe the knowledge that you were watching. “It was a joke!”

"Oh yeah?" she snapped. Now the whole circle was watching. No one wanted to get on Lottie Matthews' bad side. Not when her father owned half the damn college. "Real fucking hilarious."

You watched, stomach in knots. His words were still echoing in your head, coiling deep inside you like rot. You shouldn't have let him get under your skin. But he had.

His smirk faded. You could almost see the moment his booze-soaked brain realized he'd royally screwed up.

"Okay, look, I'm sorry—"

Before he could finish, Lottie grabbed his collar and shoved him toward you.

He looked at you, bewildered. Lottie's glare was venomous.

"You're apologizing to me, you fucking idiot?" She shook him, hard. You didn't want a scene, not in front of everyone, but Lottie didn't care. No one got to talk to her girl like that.

He swallowed hard, then mumbled a pathetic excuse for an apology in your direction.

Lottie gave him one final shove, pushing him well away from you. Then her fingers wrapped gently around your wrist.

"Come on," she murmured. Still trembling with rage, but careful—deliberate in her gentleness. "We're going home, love."

You followed, fingers laced with hers—longer than yours, and so much warmer. Your shoes crunched over gravel as you reached the car. She opened the door, and once you were inside, insisted on buckling your seatbelt herself.

Something inside you cracked.

You tried to hold the tears back, staring fixedly at a point on the dashboard. You clenched your jaw, but Lottie noticed. She knelt beside you and kissed each of your knuckles, one by one.

"Don't let him get to you," she said softly, using the voice reserved for quiet moments between you—like when the two of you lay curled in bed at night.

At home, she had one mission: to comfort you. She practically carried you into the living room like some ridiculous knight rescuing a damsel in the distress, just to make you laugh. It didn't matter if it was at her stupidity, or because her jokes were dumb. What mattered was that you were laughing.

A fort of blankets and pillows appeared on the couch, dragged meticulously from your bedroom. She wrapped you in one like a burrito.

"Lot—" you began, smiling through your tears.

She cut you off with a kiss.

"I'm not done yet."

"You don't have t—"

"I can't hear you!"

She darted into the kitchen and returned with a mug of steaming hot chocolate, placing it triumphantly on the coffee table before burrowing into the blanket fortress with you. She tugged the blanket over your head, and you snorted softly.

"Scoot over," she grumbled, wedging herself next to you under the pile.

"You're taking up all the space," you mumbled, pretending to be annoyed, then melting into her arms.

"Sorry. It's these muscles," she sighed dramatically, reaching for the remote. "And my big—"

"Don't finish that sentence," you said with a small smile.

"Hey...!"

[xxsinisterbunniexx]

No Caller ID - Ticci Toby x female reader NSFW

Warnings: dubcon?

Originally published on AO3, which you can read here if you’d prefer :)

Tags: Phone Sex, Stalking, Breaking and Entering, Mutual Masturbation, Vaginal Fingering, Cunnilingus, Choking, Degradation, Obsessive Behavior, German dirty talk, Hide and Seek

Words: 6.3k

Summary: Your friend canceling on you gives you an unexpected treat: a night in to yourself. Your boredom leads you to entertain a stranger that dialed the wrong number. Little do you know, he's watching from your window.

As always:

⋆˙⟡ All canon will be flexible to make way for sexy ⟡˙⋆

Alright so YES this was supposed to be for Toby’s bday and it’s a bit belated… I knew I had to write something for Toby's bday but I was crunched for time so I went for a ghost face-esque sort of theme. A basic idea I know but I kind of love the way it turned out so… slay?

“I can’t make it tonight.” Your friend’s voice rang through the phone’s speaker.

“What? No way.” You said, hanging your keys back up.

“My car won’t start. Fucking battery is busted or something. I’m really sorry. Can we reschedule?” She really did sound sorry. If only she knew how much she didn’t need to be.

“Man, that fucking sucks… No big deal though, we can always hang another day.” You tried to contain your glee, slipping your shoes off.

“Totally! I’ll talk to you later. I gotta get this car shit figured out. Love youuuu, bye.”

“Okay, love you byeeeeeeee.” You hung up quickly.

Immediately after you set down your phone, you did a little happy dance.

Fuck yes!

It was a true rarity for you to have a night in to yourself. You already had the perfect idea. You had a tub of ice cream that was waiting in the fridge and a box of brownie mix that was screaming at you to bake it.

You quickly ran to your room, ditching your going out clothes for a pair of sleep shorts and an old band tee.

This was going to be an awesome night. You already couldn’t wait.

—

Toby watched as you danced around the kitchen, loving how adorable you looked. God, you were the perfect distraction tonight.

He had things he was supposed to be doing of course, but how was he supposed to resist you? You had no blinds on those kitchen windows, and the light from the room pouring out into the darkness of the night attracted his attention. What he saw through the window, though, was far more captivating. He was the moth and you were the flame, an irresistible force pulling him in. Those people he was supposed to murder could die anytime. He had to have you tonight.

His eyes were fixed on you as you twirled around, giving the performance of a lifetime to your cat. He couldn’t help the smile that broke out across his face and the small laugh that escaped him. You were so carefree, all caught up in your own little world. You’d never notice him watching you from the bushes outside your window.

The longer he watched you, the faster he was becoming infatuated with you. Everything about you was drawing him in. He loved the way your shirt was loosely hanging off one shoulder, exposing just the right amount of skin. Your sleep shorts were perfectly hugging your ass, and the way you moved in them around the kitchen got him in a trance.

He felt his jeans grow tighter, his bulge straining against them. His mind was already racing, thinking of all the things he wanted to do to you. He imagined how your body would writhe under him, how your cunt would look stretched around his cock as you arched your back.

He wanted to know how you sounded when you moaned, the way you’d scream his name when you came. Right now, he needed to know what your voice sounded like.

It was time to see how much fun you’d be.

—

“So~ melodramatic but it turns me on. I clo~ose my eyes, it feels just like a movie.” You sang out, using a spoon as an imaginary microphone. “I’m convinced that we don’t make sense but I’d kill-”

Beep! Beep!

“Alright, alright. I heard ya.” You pulled the brownies out, setting them on the counter to cool. Now all you needed to do was find a good movie on Netflix and you’d be so set for tonight. You hummed as you walked to the fridge, ready to pull out that tub of ice cream, when your phone rang.

You looked down at it. It was a number you didn’t recognize. You shrugged and silenced it.

If it’s important they’ll leave a voicemail.

To your surprise, your phone started ringing again. It was the same number.

Well, if it’s a scammer at least they’re persistent.

It’d been a while since you messed with a scammer. At least you’d be able to get a laugh out of being silly with them. If they’re gonna try to waste your time, it’s fair game for you to waste theirs.

You picked up the phone. “Helloooooo~” you answered in a sing-song voice.

“Hello.” A lower, gravely voice rang through the speaker.

“So like… what’s the dealio~?” You held the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you got the ice cream out of the fridge.

He had to contain a giggle. You were already so much fun. He leveled his tone before speaking. “I’m looking for someone but I’m -fuck- not sure if this is the right number.” His neck cracked in tandem with the swear as he spoke. He hoped that hadn’t thrown you off too much.

You straightened up upon hearing that.

Oh shit, this is like a real guy.

You decided to be normal now. “Oh sorry, I thought you were a scammer.” You laughed a little. “Who are you trying to call?”

“Who is this?”

You raised your eyebrow a bit, slightly amused with the oddity of this situation. This was starting to feel a little like a very familiar movie scene. “I don’t think I’m who you’re looking for.” You smiled, scooping out your ice cream. “Good luck though.”

You hung up the phone and set it on the counter, finishing your scooping. Just as you set the ice cream tub back in the freezer you heard your phone ring again.

It was the same number.

You scoffed, wondering why he called again. Yet, you picked up the phone and answered. “Hello?”

“Whoops, I guess my finger slipped.” His voice was almost sultry.

Is he… trying to flirt with me?

It felt like you were jumping the gun a little to think that already but what was with that tone? Plus, he called you again after you already told him he had the wrong number. Either way, you didn’t really mind that he had. It’s not like you had anything better to do. Plus, he had a pretty nice sounding voice, and the way he had just said that was kind of hot. Nonetheless, this was some random guy calling you by mistake.

“Well, I think I’m still not who you’re looking for.”

“Are you sure?”

You walked to the living room with your ice cream, sitting down on the couch. “Oh, I’m pretty sure. I hope you find them though.”

“Wait, don’t hang up so soon.” He said as he followed you to living room, watching the way you froze for a second.

He had an even better view of you at the window beside your couch. Being this close to you, all without you knowing was stirring up his arousal. The darkness completely hid him from your view, not that you were paying much attention anyways.

Your lips curled upward a bit as you answered. “Why not? You lonely?”

So maybe flirting with some random guy who called you by accident wasn’t the best idea but who cares? You don’t know him in real life and it’s not like you’ll ever have to see him. It’s just a little harmless fun. Besides, he started it.

He was loving the banter you two had started up. The tone of your voice, your flirtatiousness, was only serving to tempt him further. “Maybe. You can’t spare a little time and humor me?”

You smiled even more. “Hmmm… I dunno. I’m kinda busy.” You sunk into the couch, resting your back against the cushions while you twirled your hair.

“Just -fuck- answer a question for me.” He bit his lip, annoyed that he couldn’t keep his tics under control while talking to you.

“Let me guess, you wanna know what I’m wearing?” You teased.

He was so amused with your behavior. You were much bolder than he was expecting. He knew you were trying to rile him up, and it was working like a charm. “Yeah? I wouldn’t mind knowing. Tell me.” His voice was low and husky, sending heat between your thighs.

“Hm…. No way~” You said cutely, a big smile on your face.

His laugh sent butterflies swarming in your stomach.

“Aw, playing hard to get? That’s cute.” He said.

Watching your jaw drop had him stifling a growl. He could just imagine that pretty little mouth wrapped around his cock. He was already starting to feel a little impatient, but he wanted to hold out for a bit longer. He wanted to play with you a little more before he pounced. “Tell me your name.”

“Well that wasn’t a question.” You said sarcastically, but your enjoyment was evident in your voice.

“C’mon, I’ll tell you mine.” He coaxed. Of course, he already knew your name though. It wasn’t hard to find your name and phone number, especially since he already knew your address. Really, it was a test of naivety. He was seeing how easily you’d give information to a stranger.

He watched as you took a bite of ice cream before you answered, loving the sight of your mouth sucking it off the spoon.

“Tell me yours then.”

“It’s Toby.” He said easily.

“Hm… Toby, Toby, Toby.” You drew out the -y part on the last one, doing a little experimenting with saying his name.

He’d never loved hearing his name more than just now when it came from your lips. “Mm, careful how you say it now.”

“Why’s that, Toby~?” You said, taking another bite of ice cream before wincing as brain freeze hit you. “Ack-”

“What’s wrong?”

“Ugh, I just got a brain freeze.” You pushed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to alleviate it quickly.

“Eating something cold?” He silently wondered what that felt like, both the pain and the cold.

“Yup, I was just having some ice cream.”

“You have a big sweet tooth or something?”

“Eh, I dunno. I’m just having a little night in to myself and I thought I’d be a little indulgent.”

Crap, probably not the best idea to tell a stranger I’m alone.

“What kind of ice cream is it?”

“Cookie dough~”

“Is that your favorite flavor?” At this point Toby was just having a bit of fun chatting with you, getting you to relax and open up.

You had a thoughtful expression for a moment. “Oh, I dunno. There’s so many ice cream flavors. That’s a really hard question.”

“Well, how about an easier question? What’s your name?”

A smile broke out across your face again. “You really wanna know, huh? It’s a secret.”

“You’re really not gonna tell me? Why? You scared?” His voice was like a caress, just a little breathy and somehow making your heart race.

“Pfft, I’m not scared. It’s just fun to mess with you.”

“That’s fine. Haah… I think it’s sexy when you play hard to get.” His breathing was a little heavier.

You shifted on the couch, feeling the moisture collect in your panties. You questioned if your hearing was off or if he truly sounded like he was having a lot more fun talking to you than you thought. You were probably reading too much into it. There was no way he was… doing something like that.

Your own breathing picked up. You bit your lip, wondering if you should say something. You heard another breathy sound on the line. It sounded almost like a moan.

If he was truly doing what you were thinking he was, that would be really creepy, right? Not… hot at all. You shifted again, feeling the uncomfortable tension building between your thighs.

“Whatcha doing over there?” You asked, a little nervously.

He laughed breathlessly and you pulled your knees up, hiding your face in them.

God, I’ve only heard his voice but why the fuck is he so hot?

“Whatever do you mean?” His panting got a bit louder.

“I mean… um… it- it kind of sounds like you’re doing something… inappropriate…” You said the last word in a tiny voice, not even wanting to say it out loud.

He chuckled again, and you almost couldn’t take it.

He knew he was driving you wild, and it was only serving to make him harder as he freed himself from his boxers. He started to lazily stroke his cock. “Mm… does it?” He let out another breathy sound. “Maybe I am. Maybe I’m thinking about you and all the things I wanna do to you.”

Your breath hitched at his confirmation, and it was the last straw. Your hand traveled down between your legs, lightly cupping yourself and adding just a little pressure, just enough to sate your aching clit. “Well, if you are, that’s pretty gross then.”

He bit his lip hard to stifle the growl that erupted from his throat as he watched you touch your cunt while you lied to him. His voice started to sound more ragged, “Yeah? It’s gross? Why aren’t you hanging up then? I bet you’re already wet for me.”

Your breath hitched again, getting just a bit heavier as you started to rub yourself through your sleep shorts. “As if I’m getting turned on by some pervert touching himself while he talks to me.”

He moaned breathily as he watched you start to rub yourself harder, grinding your hips against your hand. He chuckled again, “Mhm… sure you’re not. I guess you’re not rubbing your cute little pussy to the sound of my voice are you?”

A sigh escaped you as you kept grinding against your hand. “I’m not doing anything, but I bet you’re stroking your cock right now.”

This time you heard a low groan emit from the speaker. “And I bet you’re playing with your pussy like a little slut.”

You bit your lip hard to stifle the moan that threatened to escape. This was getting you way more worked up than you’d care to admit. You pulled off your shorts and your panties, discarding them to the side. Settling back down on the couch, you leaned back against the back of it. You spread your legs wide, letting them fall to the sides of you with your knees pulled up to your chest, exposing your cunt fully.

You kept a hard bite on your lip, trying to stifle any sounds as you slipped a finger inside.

Toby groaned again, fisting his cock harder as he watched your finger disappear into your cunt. It was taking everything in him not to just walk up to your door and let himself in. He knew you needed more than just your little fingers to satiate you. You needed something bigger. “What’s the matter, pretty girl? Cat got your tongue? Or are you just too occupied to say anything back?”

You were slowly dipping your finger in and out of your cunt. You were trying to be quiet, but secretly you really wanted him to hear. You wanted him to pick up on your tiny moans and whimpers. “No, I just thought I’d let you sit here and entertain your own fantasies.” You slipped another finger in, picking up the pace. You were so dripping wet your fingers made little sticky wet sounds each time you pushed them inside.

“You think I can’t hear what you’re doing?” His voice was low and breathy, with just a tinge of roughness. “You think I can’t hear you fingerfuck your sloppy cunt?”

“Oh… god…” You moaned as you moved your fingers faster. You put the phone on speaker, setting it down beside you so you could use your other hand to rub your clit.

“Fuck… I wanna be inside you so bad… need to feel that pretty cunt wrapped around my cock…” He groaned as he picked up the pace, trying to match the rhythm of your movements.

“Mm… I wanna feel your cock stretching me open.” You whined, feeling your stomach start to tense as the pleasure built deep inside you.

“God… fuck…” he grit out. “I wanna feel you coming around my cock so bad… I need to feel you come all over my cock.”

Your whines and whimpers were getting more desperate, rubbing your clit faster and pushing your fingers deeper as you imagined him fucking you. You knew it’d feel so fucking good, he’d get deeper than your fingers ever possibly could.

“Are you gonna come? Huh? Are you gonna come just from hearing my voice like the pathetic little slut you are?” His groans were also sounding more desperate. “That’s all it takes for you? All I had to do was call you and you turn into a filthy little whore.”

“You’re the one who couldn’t resist stroking your cock to the thought of fucking me.” You were so fucking close now, just a little more. “You probably called me… fuck….. just for this.”

“I know you’re so fucking close. You wanna come for me? Be a good girl and say my name while you come.”

That was it. “Fuck… Toby…!” You cried out as your cunt started to convulse around your fingers. You kept rubbing your clit, riding the waves of pleasure as you listed to a strangled growl come out of Toby.

It was the final straw for Toby too. “See you soon.” The call ended.

That had shocked you out of your post orgasm haze. Your heart immediately started to race.

What the fuck does that mean?!

You suddenly realized the gravity of the situation. This guy was a complete stranger to you and you just had phone sex with him and told him you wanted him to fuck you.

You started to look around, feeling a little less safe in your home now. You grabbed your panties and shorts, pulling them back on so you could at least go double check all your doors were locked.

You checked the front door, finding it locked. Looking around your windows, you saw nothing as you walked to your back door to make sure it was locked too.

Sure enough, it was also locked.

Maybe you were overreacting. He could’ve just said that as some kind of prank.

Pretty shitty prank.

Just as you felt the coast was clear, you heard some noise coming from the front door, like someone was trying to open it, or pick the lock.

You ran to the door, determined to lock it back if someone picked the lock. Your heart was racing, hoping you’d make it in time.

Just as you reached for the handle, the knob turned, and the door pushed open. You grabbed the door, but just as you did another, much larger hand was placed over yours.

“Toby…?” You trembled as you spoke. Your stomach dropped as his large frame pushed through, entering your home.

He was much taller than you, towering over you as he stepped inside. He had messy brown hair and dark eyes that bore into yours. His eyes were the only thing you could really focus on, the rest of his face was covered by some kind of mouth guard that sort of looked like a muzzle.

You tried to take in as much as you could about his appearance, grasping at straws to try to find something that would help you decipher his motives. There was a pair of orange scratched up goggles on his head and he wore a striped jacket along with jeans. Nothing really jumped out at you until you noticed the hatchet hooked at his hip.

You started to take slow steps backwards as he closed in on you. The only thing that could be heard throughout your empty house was the sound of your own shaky breathing, trembling in fear.

You continued to back up until your back pressed against the wall, looking up into his eyes.

He placed his hands on the wall beside you on each side. “Aw, what’s-” he interrupted himself with a breathy laugh. “What’s wrong, pretty girl?”

He pulled off his mouth guard, revealing the rest of his face. He had a kind of grizzly attractiveness to him, but the most notable feature on his face was a large gash on his right cheek. It was jaggedly scarred up, and deep enough to go all the way through, exposing his teeth.

A wolfish grin spread across his face. “You scared?”

Honestly, you were, but not in the way he was thinking. Much to your displeasure, it was the good kind of fear. The kind that made you feel the need to press your thighs together, wondering what he was going to do with you.

God, I need mental help.

You shouldn’t be finding this hot. You really shouldn’t and you knew that. You should be running away, screaming, something other than standing here getting wetter. You truly pondered where in the evolution process you had failed. Your flight or flight response had suddenly presented you with a third option: fuck.

Your only choice was to bring your hands up to cover your face, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

He let out a sick sounding giggle when he saw you do that, eating up all your reactions. “Oh no, don’t try to hide from me.” He grabbed your wrists, pulling your hands away from your face. “Don’t tell you’re all shy now. After you just came to my voice.”

Even after he moved your hands you kept your head down, trying to keep your face out of his view.

“Aw, you’re acting so pathetic, baby.” His voice was taunting. “What happened to all that boldness you had on the phone?”

He leaned in close to your ear, letting out a breathy laugh when you shivered. “Tell you what.”

Your whole body was trembling in anticipation.

“Since you wanna hide so bad, I’ll give you ten seconds to hide.”

Much to your displeasure, the idea of playing some kind of twisted hide and seek game with him excited you even more. “What happens if you find me…?” You just had to ask.

“You’ll find out when I find you.” He let go of your wrists.

You immediately broke into a sprint, already hearing him counting.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

You really had no idea where to hide. It was like the adrenaline killed your ability to think. You ended up in your bedroom, and he was already halfway to ten.

Under the bed felt too obvious, not like the closet was any better. Your eyes darted between the two places. You heard Toby call out nine and you yanked the closet door open, getting inside and shutting it just as he got to ten.

Your heart was jumping out of your chest as you heard his footsteps. Your house wasn’t that big, he was clearly just toying with you, taking his sweet time to find you.

The door to your bedroom swung open slowly. You clamped your hand over your mouth to quiet your breathing. Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears, loud enough you feared he could hear it.

He appeared in your field of vision through the crack of the door.

“I know you’re in here.” His voice was only slightly menacing.

He dropped down to the floor looking under the bed.

I knew that was a shitty spot.

“Not there? Guess you’re a little -fuck- smarter than I thought.”

You watched as his neck cracked uncontrollably, straightening back up before turning to the closet you were in.

A big sinister looking smile stretched across his face as he slowly approached the closet. Your heart felt like it was going to explode.

“I know where you are…” He said before yanking open the door.

You froze. Partially because there was nowhere to run to, and partially because you weren’t sure you really wanted to.

He bit his lip as he closed in on you. You looked like a bunny hiding in its burrow, eyes wide and heart racing. You couldn’t look more adorable to him. He felt his cock throb in his jeans, a painful reminder that he still hadn’t came yet.

He pressed his body up against yours, pulling your chin up to look at him. “Found you.”

His hands were already all over you, grabbing and squeezing wildly. “A little too -fuck- obvious, don’t you think? It’s like you -fuck- really wanted to be found.” His neck was cracking and twitching uncontrollably even more, like getting him riled up made it worse.

Your lips fell open in a gasp, and he took the opportunity to capture your mouth, instantly pushing his tongue into it. His kiss was desperate, like he was pouring all of his desire into you. He grabbed your waist, roughly pressing your body into his. You gripped at his hoodie, trying to anchor yourself with something as he overtook you.

He released your mouth, his lips traveling down to leave bites and suck dark marks into your neck. He moved his hand from your face down to your waistband, pushing past it and into your panties, instantly feeling how wet you were.

He laughed, pulling away from your neck. “Oh, you’re so worked up. You like this? You like being scared?”

You nodded your head, not having the courage to say it out loud.

Now it was his turn to have wide eyes. He truly hadn’t expected you to agree. You kept proving you were better than he thought. He grabbed you, pulling you out of the closet and pushing you down onto your bed.

His eyes traveled up and down your body, drinking you in. You pressed your thighs together again, trying to sate that ache. The action caught his attention and he smirked, looking up into your eyes. “Oh, you really do like this don’t you?”

He ran his hand down your neck, just a featherlight touch. You shivered as he kept going, down to your collarbone and slowly down the curve of your waist. At this point you were contemplating begging him to just touch you already.

Finally, he hooked his fingers into your waistband, yanking your shorts down and taking your panties with them.

He grabbed your legs, pushing them back to your chest and spreading you wide open. You let out an almost squeak sound in embarrassment.

“There’s that pretty pussy you showed me earlier.” He was staring hard.

“You don’t have to stare… so directly…” You mumbled nervously.

He let go of your legs, looking up at you. “Keep those there.” Just the look in his eyes was enough to keep you in place, but his tone had you set on staying put.

Your legs trembled as he continued to stare, inching his face closer to your cunt. “You’re dripping onto the bed. Fuck… that’s hot.” He said, running his finger up your slit to collect the moisture.

He grabbed your hips and jerked you to the edge on the bed as he sunk to his knees. “Need to feel your cunt coming on my tongue.” He mumbled before pressing his mouth against you.

You couldn’t help but moan out the second he did. He started sucking your clit a little before tracing slow languid strokes up your cunt. You arched off the bed, only for a second before Toby roughly grabbed your hips, holding them down with a bruising force.

You placed your hands over his, grabbing them as a way to ground yourself. He sucked your clit again, starting a slow steady rhythm that had you writhing and whimpering.

“Toby….” You whined.

You felt him chuckle into your cunt, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure even more. He moved his tongue down to your entrance, slowly pressing his tongue inside.

He moved one of his hands down to rub your clit with his thumb and the other he used to hold your hand, lacing your fingers together on top of your hip where he could still hold you down.

He started moving his tongue in and out of your cunt, while keeping pressure on your clit with his thumb. Your orgasm was building rapidly, the combination of every way he was touching you had you clenching around his tongue before you even realized you were that close.

He moaned when you came around his tongue, lapping up every bit of your arousal that flowed out. He kept going, drawing out your orgasm for as long as possible.

You thought that would be enough for him, but he switched the placement of his tongue and hand, slowly pushing a finger into you while he sucked your clit lightly.

Your head was going numb as he stretched you open with his finger, slowly working a second one in and curling them forward. At this point you didn’t even have the capacity to think about how embarrassing the sounds you were making were. You were moaning unabashedly because that was all you were able to do.

He was sloppily dragging his tongue over your clit over and over. Drool poured from the gash on his face, only making your cunt messier. He pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, making wet noises fill the room from him pressing your g-spot over and over.

You squeezed his hand you were holding hard, a pitiful whimper coming from you as you came again. He moaned on your clit when he felt you squeeze his fingers, which only served to heighten the feeling of your orgasm. Your whole body felt like it was on pins and needles, all stemming from the wet heat of his mouth and fingers torturing your cunt.

He pulled his fingers out slowly, lightly running them over your cunt as he climbed back onto the bed. “You’re so cute~” He cooed. “This time I wanna watch while you come.”

This time…?!

He pushed your shirt up, exposing your chest. He took a nipple in his mouth as he slowly pushed his fingers back in. Your body jolted and trembled, it was like every little touch was sending electric shocks through your body.

He laughed and then said, “Ich könnte dich jetzt sofort brechen.”

You weren’t sure what scared you more, the fact that you had no idea what the fuck he said or the tone he said it in. Either way, it had you tightening around his fingers, eliciting a growl from Toby.

His cock was so painfully hard, screaming at him to claim your pussy already. He was in a battle with himself, he wanted to come so badly, but he was also enraptured watching you come. He just needed one more from you.

He pushed his fingers deep inside you, grinding them against your g-spot, his palm pressing down on your clit. You struggled to keep up when he leaned down and kissed you sloppily. Your whole body was being surrendered to him. He pulled away, loving the way your tongue stayed out a bit even after he pulled away.

He cupped the side of your face, pushing your hair back with his fingers. “Look at that slutty face you’re making. I wish you could see how much of a whore you look like right now.”

You tried to keep your eyes locked with his, failing miserably. Your head felt so fuzzy, the only thing you could focus on was the pleasure building deep in your cunt.

“You want my cock, pretty girl?” He asked.

You instantly responded with an eager nod. “Pathetic…” he said under his breath with a smirk.

His breathing was so ragged. He leaned down close to your ear, his fingers so deep in your cunt as he whispered, “Ich kann fühlen, wie gut sich deine Fotze anfühlt. Ich kann es kaum erwarten, es in dich zu stecken.”

You were so close to coming again, just a little more would tip you over the precipice.

As if he could read your mind, Toby bit your neck, sucking the skin right below the ear, right where he could feel your pulse. Your head went fully blank as you convulsed around his fingers. Your cunt was greedily sucking him in and that was the last straw for him. At this point it would be cruel to not give you what you so desperately need.

He stood up, pulling off his jacket and his shirt. Your eyes ran over his form, taking note of his slender, yet somewhat muscular form. What really stood out to you was the tattoo on his chest, right below his right collarbone. It looked like a scratchy drawn circle with an X through it.

You could practically feel the impatience coming off him in waves. His hatchet made a dull thud on your bedroom floor as it was tossed to the side. He yanked his zipper down, not even bothering to pull his pants off before pulling his throbbing hard cock out. You could hear the way his heavy breathing was shaking, how close he was to losing his restraint, how much he wanted to give into his overwhelming need for you.

He positioned his cock at your entrance, his head falling back in a groan when he ran it up your slit, your cunt coating the tip in your wetness. “Du bist so verdammt nass...es fühlt sich so gut an, dein kleines Fotze gegen mich zu reiben...” He said breathlessly.

“Please…” You whined. Feeling his hard cock press on your clit was too much. You needed him inside you before you went insane.

“Mm… You can ask better than that. C’mon, I know you want this cock. Beg for it. Show me how much you want it.”

You whimpered, already feeling pathetic enough. “Please, Toby… I need it so bad.”

He kept running the tip over your clit, teasing you with the feeling of his hard cock. “Is this what you imagined on the phone? You imagined my thick cock rubbing against your cute little clit and making you feel good? Tell me again what you said you wanted.”

You thought back to your phone call, trying to remember what you said in your cum drunk stupor. You grabbed your legs, pulling them up for him to expose your dripping cunt even more. “I wanna feel your cock stretching me open.”

“That’s a good girl.” He groaned, slowly pushing his cock into you. The gush of your cunt was audible as he filled you completely. He took a deep breath, trying to control himself. He couldn’t break his new toy already. “God…” He harshly sucked in a breath. “Your slutty fucking cunt is gushing.”

You let out a particularly lewd moan, the stretch of his cock was nothing short of pure euphoria. Your eyes rolled back in your head as he started to thrust into you, starting a slow and hard pace.

“Yeah… that’s it. Fuck… Moan and cry and gush all over my cock.” The sounds of your sloppy cunt only amplified as he picked up the pace, hooking his arms behind your shoulders. “God… you’re such a good little cock sleeve. You’re so fucking pathetic, you know that?”

Your wanton eyes met his dark lustful ones. You nodded profusely. “I’m so pathetic…” You whined.

He growled, using one of his hands to pull your mouth open. You were so obedient, giving him no resistance as he spit in your mouth. You swallowed it, still holding his gaze.

“Pretty fucking slut.” He looked absolutely enamored with you at this point. “Du bist so nass, deine Möse fühlt sich so gut an.”

He leaned back, hooking his arms under your legs so he could hold them back himself. He wrapped his hands around your neck, applying just enough pressure to feel your pulse. Your hands scrambled to his shoulders as he started drilling into you.

“Ich werde dich so sehr züchten, dass du nicht mehr klar denken kannst, mein Mädchen.” He grit out. He was getting close, your cunt wrapping around him perfectly. He could hardly take it, the slutty face you were making, the way your tits bounced each time he pounded his cock into you, the way your cunt looked stretched around him. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

His voice was getting breather, whinier almost as he rutted into you like you were his lifeline. “God… you’re such a perfect little slut, so fucking perfect. Ich werde dich zu meiner eigenen kleinen Besitzung machen und dafür sorgen, dass du nie wieder von mir weg willst.”

“So good… fuckkkk… Du wirst mir gehören, ob du willst oder nicht.” His head was scrambled, rapidly switching between English and German as he slammed into your cervix.

His cock felt so good nestled right against your cervix, pressing so deep you were seeing stars. You came hard around his cock, sucking him in.

The feeling of your cunt milking his cock pushed him over the edge. He pressed in deep, filling your cunt with his cum.

He didn’t pull out right away. Your head was spinning, feeling his cock throb inside you with his aftershocks. He captured your lips again, lazily pushing his tongue into your mouth. You were both exhausted. He pulled back, cupping your face like you were the most precious thing in the world. “You’re cute. I wanna keep you.”

He got up, pushing a hand through his hair, looking pensive for a moment. “I gotta go take care of some business though…”

“I’ll be back for you.” He said casually, he picked up his shirt, slipping it back on.

“Hm…?” You tilted your head to the side in confusion, still feeling out of it.

He smiled to himself, not really noting your confusion. “Maybe you should get some things together… probably not coming back for a while.”

You finally realized what he meant. This harmless fun of yours had gone farther than you thought it would.

He headed for your bedroom door, turning back and grabbing his hatchet. “By the way…” He said with a sick little giggle. “Don’t try to run later. I don’t wanna have to use this thing on a pretty girl like you.”

He left, leaving you alone with your thoughts and apparently giving you time to pack. It turned out your night had been more eventful than you planned.

~please remember to distinguish fiction from reality

Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments <3 I love hearing what u guys think and I'm always open to constructive criticism

[wendichester]

can you write smth about cas x reader where shes autistic and dean and sam dont know how to handle her because one minute she's fine, the next shes not and only cas knows how to handle her? absolutely no pressure sweetheart, love your work and would love to see your where you take it 🫶🏼🩷

𓍯𓂃 the language only you speak,

summary. you're overwhelmed. the noises. the lighting. the air. everything's too much. everything but castiel. castiel is everything you need.

pairing. castiel x autistic!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 756

notes / warnings. soft cas being the best emotional support angel 🩷

It starts small. It always does.

The bunker’s too loud tonight. Dean’s clanging around in the kitchen, and Sam’s arguing with him over something dumb, and the lights are too bright, and the hum of the AC feels like it’s drilling into the soft spot behind your eyes.

You try to smile. You try to be normal.

But it���s like your skin is wearing you instead of the other way around. Everything itches. Everything scrapes.

“Hey,” Dean says, tossing a beer cap onto the counter. “You okay?”

You nod too fast, too hard. The wrong rhythm. Dean’s eyebrows pinch, confused. Sam glances at you, then at Dean, like you’re a puzzle with missing pieces they can’t find.

You open your mouth, but no words come out.

Dean shifts awkwardly. “Uh… well, we're gonna watch a movie if you wanna—"

“No,” you blurt, louder than you mean to. "No thank you."

The words are stiff, clunky, mechanical. They feel wrong. You feel wrong.

Sam frowns. “You sure? It’s not scary or anything. It’s just—”

“I said no," you choke out, pressing your palms to your thighs, grounding yourself. "I’m fine. I'm fine."

You can tell they don’t believe you.

They exchange that look — the one where they don’t know if they should back off or push. The one that makes you feel like a bomb with a missing timer. Dangerous, unstable.

You bolt.

You don’t mean to. You just have to.

The hallway spins around you as you speed-walk to your room, shutting the door quietly (quietly, you have to stay good, you have to stay polite, don’t slam it, don’t draw more attention).

You sit on the bed, wrapping your arms around yourself, fighting back the burn building behind your eyes.

It’s stupid. You’re stupid. They probably think you’re crazy.

You're so lost in the spiral you almost don’t hear the soft knock on your door.

“Can I come in?” Cas.

You nod, even though he can't see you.

He enters gently, not saying anything. He doesn’t turn on the overhead light. He doesn’t stomp his boots. He just crosses the room like he's made of water and weightless things, and sits beside you on the bed.

“I could sense your distress,” he says simply.

You blink rapidly. “I’m fine.”

Cas tilts his head. "That is a common lie among humans."

The smallest, tiniest huff of a laugh escapes you. It cracks the shell you’re in just enough to breathe.

Cas waits.

Not like the others do — not heavy with expectation, not pacing in impatience — but truly waits. Like there’s all the time in the universe and he’s already given it to you.

You squeeze your hands together so tight it hurts. “It’s just... sometimes everything’s too much. Too loud. Too bright. Too everything.”

Cas nods, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you just told him the sky is blue.

“They don't mean to make it worse,” you whisper. “They just... don’t know what to do with me.”

“They love you,” Cas says quietly. “But they do not understand you the way you deserve.”

You blink again, tears finally breaking free. Cas reaches out — slow, careful — and places his hand over yours.

Warmth. Steady. Anchor.

“You are not a burden,” he says. His voice hums like a prayer. “Your feelings are not wrong. Your needs are not wrong. You are not wrong.”

You clutch his hand like a lifeline. Like a tether pulling you back to the earth.

“I don’t know how to make them not... uncomfortable," you admit, voice shaking. “I don’t want to be a problem.”

“You are not a problem,” Cas says firmly. “You are a person. One who experiences the world more sharply, perhaps. But that is not something to fix. It is something to cherish.”

You hiccup a soft, broken laugh. “Dean would probably disagree.”

Cas’s mouth twitches into something almost-smile. “Dean is often wrong.”

You snort. Cas squeezes your hand, just once.

“They will learn,” he says. "I will help them."

You look at him — this strange, stubborn, tender creature who always sees the parts of you you try to hide — and for the first time tonight, your chest feels a little lighter.

You lean your head against his shoulder. He lets you. No flinching, no fidgeting, no trying to fix you. Just there.

Just enough.

Maybe you’re not broken after all.

Maybe you just needed someone who speaks the same language.

And Cas? Cas is fluent in you.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[thatacotargirl]

Shadows and Surprises (8)

Part 8 of Azriel x Reader fanfic! So sorry for the delay everyone - but we are BACK in business!

Summary: Azriel meets y/n at Rita's and spends a single night of passion with you before heading your separate ways. Only, the Mother had different ideas.

Warnings: none.

Tag list - @nickishadow139 @dee-writes-smut @minnieoo @st4r-girl-official

@courtofjurdan @mirandasidefics @lilah-asteria @nyxbranwenn @impossibelle

@mybestfriendmademe @hauntedstudentobservationus @julesofvolterra @acourtofbatboydreams @rogersbarnesxx

@skylarkalchemist @sidthedollface2 @aehllitas-blog @fullmoon-94 @acourtofbatboydreams

@aehllitas-blog @fullmoon-94 @5onedirection5 @mindofthescattered @rcarbo1

@dumblani @melmo567 @myheartfollower @bravo-delta-eccho @dumblani

Azriel's POV

The words on the page blur before his eyes, his heart pounding louder than his thoughts. The ink smears, and for a brief moment, it feels like the world itself is closing in around him.

Y/N’s gone.

Azriel’s breath catches in his throat, the hollow ache in his chest expanding with every beat of his heart. The house feels colder, emptier, like the air itself has thickened and no longer offers him respite. He reaches for the paper, willing it to change, for the words to reverse, to mean something else entirely.

But they remain the same.

Y/N is gone.

He stands there, frozen, feeling the weight of his own failure crush him. He should have known. He should have seen this coming. She was hurting, he had seen it in her eyes, how she had pulled away from him tonight, tried to hide her tears earlier when he had been so oblivious to her pain.

His mind races, reeling back through the months they’d spent together, every moment he had taken for granted. Her quiet strength, the way she never asked for help but always gave it in return. The way she carried their child with such tenderness, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. And yet, he had never said the words that needed to be said.

He never told her how much he cared.

The anger in his chest flares. Why didn’t I tell her?

Azriel clenches his jaw, his fists tight at his sides. There’s no use in regrets now. She’s gone, and he has no idea where.

He stumbles toward the window, pushing it open with force, not even caring that the cold night air immediately sweeps in. His wings ache to take flight, to follow her, to find her. But where would he even start? How could he fix this?

A soft voice interrupts his spiraling thoughts.

"Azriel."

His body stiffens. He turns, almost expecting to see her standing there, just a trick of his mind. But no, it’s only Rhysand, standing in the doorway, his usual calm demeanor replaced by something far more somber.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Rhys says, his tone more serious than usual.

Azriel shakes his head, his mind spinning. "I’ve lost her, Rhys. She’s gone."

Rhys takes a step forward, his expression unreadable. "What happened? Why would she leave? I thought everything was -”

"Everything was fine," Azriel interrupts, his voice strained. "But I fucked up. I let her slip through my fingers. I was so damn stupid, trying to force myself to feel something I wasn’t ready for. And now she’s gone. She didn’t even tell me where. Just this damn note."

Azriel shoves the paper at Rhys, his frustration pouring out. Rhys doesn’t take it at first, just stands there, watching him. His eyes flick to the paper and then back to Azriel, the weight of the moment pressing down on them both.

"I never told her, Rhys," Azriel continues, his voice low, barely above a whisper. "I never told her how much I care. How much I love her. And now…" His voice cracks, betraying the raw vulnerability he’s never shown anyone. "Now she’s gone."

Rhys looks at him, his gaze piercing. "You love her, don’t you?"

Azriel nods, the truth finally escaping him, like it had been buried so deep for so long that it couldn’t stay hidden anymore.

"Then go after her."

Azriel lifts his head, his heart pounding in his chest. "What if she doesn’t want me? What if I’ve ruined it for good?"

Rhys crosses the room in three long strides, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. "You won’t know unless you try. She’s hurting, Az, but so are you. You both need each other. Don’t let this be the thing that breaks you."

Azriel doesn’t hesitate. He pushes past Rhys and heads for the door. But as he reaches the threshold, Rhys’ voice stops him.

"Azriel, wait."

He turns to see Rhys standing in the doorway, his expression softer now, but still holding an unspoken challenge.

"Don’t make the same mistake I did with Feyre," Rhys says quietly. "Don’t wait too long."

With that, Azriel is gone.

His wings unfurl, and before he can second-guess himself, he takes off into the night sky, the wind rushing past him. The city below is a blur, the lights of Velaris shining like stars, guiding him to the one place he knows he belongs, by her side.

Please still be there, he thinks, his heart hammering in his chest. Please.

Y/N’s POV

Y/N had been running for a few hours before she came to a gasping stop, dehydrated and exhausted. Her body ached, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness that had settled in her chest. She hadn’t been running from Azriel - not really - but from everything that came with him. From the weight of the future.

From the crippling fear that Azriel didn’t want this.

Her breath hitched, a wave of nausea and panic swamping her. She hadn’t thought it through, hadn’t allowed herself to consider the consequences of leaving the House in the middle of the night. But she needed space. Time to think. Time to breathe without feeling his gaze on her, without the constant shadow of his concern.

And there was the baby.

The baby that was a part of him, a part of her. A living, breathing reminder of that one reckless night that had changed everything.

But what terrified her most wasn’t the pregnancy itself, it was the unanswered questions that lingered between her and Azriel.

What if he didn’t want this baby? What if he never did?

She had heard the whispers, the subtle hesitations in his voice. The way he’d pull away when she’d reach for him, the way he would tense when she’d speak too openly about the future. She didn’t want to believe it, but the doubt crept in, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts.

Azriel had been kind. He had been patient. He had stayed with her at the House of Wind, offering support without asking for anything in return. But the longer she spent with him, the more she realized how much of that kindness came from obligation. From guilt. From duty.

Y/N's hand drifted to her stomach instinctively, her fingers brushing the curve of the small life growing inside her. A surge of protectiveness filled her, she wanted this child. She was ready for it.

But Azriel?

Was he ready?

Every time she saw the flicker of emotion in his eyes - fear, maybe, or uncertainty - she would convince herself it was just her imagination. But now, alone in the stillness of the night, that fear felt too real to ignore. She knew him well enough to sense when something weighed heavy on his soul.

She couldn’t ask him outright. The words felt too sharp, too raw. Instead, she kept them locked in her chest, afraid of the answer she might get.

The baby’s tiny kicks, growing stronger every day, only seemed to remind her of what she feared most: that the one person she wanted to share this with might never truly want it. He might not want her. He might not want the life they could build together.

Y/N wiped a tear from her cheek, frustrated by the uncertainty that gnawed at her heart.

No. She couldn’t keep running forever. She had to go back.

But even as she thought that, her chest tightened with hesitation. Back to what? Back to the unspoken words that hung between them, the unresolved tension, the dread that clung to her every step. Back to the man who might feel obligated to care for her, but who, at least in her eyes, wasn't fully there, wasn’t fully ready to face what lay ahead.

She loved Azriel. She did. But did he love her? Did he love the child?

-

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden rustle from behind her, too soft to be the wind. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled.

She wasn’t alone.

Stay calm.

Her mind raced as she turned slowly, every sense on high alert, searching the shadows. The moonlight barely filtered through the trees, casting long, twisting shadows across the garden. But there, just at the edge of the clearing, a figure emerged, tall and cloaked in darkness.

She couldn’t make out their features, but the way the shadows clung to them felt wrong - too thick, too oppressive.

“Who are you?” she demanded, her voice wavering slightly as she instinctively took a step back, hands clasped protectively over her stomach, heartbeat quickening.

The figure tilted its head slightly, amused by her question, and took a step forward. "You shouldn’t have left," the voice was low, gravelly, but there was an edge to it, a threat hanging in every word.

Her stomach twisted.

“What do you want?” Y/N asked, her voice firmer now, though her heart thudded in her chest.

“I’m just here to collect what’s mine,” the figure said, a dark amusement coloring their tone.

She took another step back, her instincts telling her to run, but her feet felt rooted to the ground. The figure stepped closer, the shadows around them shifting unnaturally, as if alive, stretching and bending in ways they shouldn’t.

Her breath quickened as she felt the darkness pressing in. She wanted to scream. To call for help. But something in the air - the tension, the oppressive presence - made her feel small, powerless.

“Stop,” she demanded, her voice shaking now as the shadows closed in. She held her hand out instinctively, trying to push against the weight, but the darkness clung to her like a thick fog, wrapping around her limbs, making it harder to move.

The figure took another step forward, a grin spreading across their face, though their expression was hidden by the darkness. “You don’t belong here. You never did.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat, panic rising within her.

The shadows twisted, pulling her forward, and she finally snapped into motion, her heart pounding as she turned to run. She stumbled, her breath ragged as her feet scrambled for purchase on the uneven ground. But the darkness seemed to chase her, encircling her, pressing in on every side, suffocating her.

She could feel it now, the weight of the power pressing against her skin, pushing her back. A sharp pain shot through her leg as she stumbled, the world spinning around her.

No. No, no, no.

She tried to cry out, but the words died in her throat as the shadows closed in. Her vision blurred, and her body felt like it was betraying her. She was so close to the edge of the garden now - so close to the house - but the force pulling her backward was too strong. She felt herself falling, her vision fading as the ground seemed to slip away beneath her.

Then, nothing.

[wlw-imagines]

Grief - Emily Prentiss x Reader (Criminal Minds)

a/n: anyone else on the criminal minds fic train?! this is an oldie but a goldie in an attempt to write emily p angst

cw: major character death, grief

summary: Y/N loved Emily. In those quiet BAU nights, in the touches that lingered too long, in the near-confession before the Doyle case. And then Emily dies.

Only… she doesn’t. And when Y/N finds out the truth months later something inside you breaks in a new way. Maybe love isn’t always enough.

Part of Mayloncholy 2025: Day Two, major character death of @may-lancholy

It’s nearly midnight in the bullpen.

Only a few desk lamps remain on, creating small islands of light in an otherwise sleeping office. The hum of electronics is the only thing that breaks the silence now, monitors left on, coffee machines cooling down, the occasional creak of old vents exhaling the last breaths of the day.

You and Emily sit across from each other, huddled over a desk strewn with case files and half-eaten takeout containers. The smell of sesame chicken lingers in the air, warm and salty. You’re both slouched in your chairs, shoes kicked off hours ago, top buttons undone, jackets draped over chairs. The tension of the week has faded into the quiet comfort of shared exhaustion.

Emily leans back, head tilted to rest against the chair, and exhales slowly through her nose. Her eyes, tired but still so sharp, find yours across the table. You catch a flicker of something behind them. A thought, a longing. Something tender.

“Sometimes I think about leaving it all behind,” she says, voice low, almost like she’s talking to herself.

It catches you off guard. Your hand stills on the rim of your coffee cup. You weren’t expecting her to say something like that, not tonight. Not to you.

You glance up. Her expression is unreadable, caught somewhere between wistful and worn-down. You feel something twist in your chest.

You try to keep your tone light, though your voice comes out softer than intended. “Would you… take anyone with you?” You nudge her foot beneath the table, a gentle tap meant to pass for teasing. A joke, maybe. You’re pretending it’s nothing. Pretending it doesn’t mean everything.

Emily doesn’t answer right away. She turns her head and looks at you fully now, really looks at you. And for the first time in a long time, neither of you are hiding behind sarcasm or shields.

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then, just barely, she smiles. It’s small, brief. But real. “Mmm, maybe,” she says.

You nod like you understand. Like you’re okay with the maybe. Like that word doesn’t make your heart ache just a little.

You don’t say anything else. Neither does she.

But the moment doesn’t dissolve. It stretches between you, silent and delicate. And maybe that’s enough. For now.

The bullpen stays quiet. Somewhere, a printer kicks on in the background, unattended. The office sleeps. You stay where you are, not ready to go home, not ready to break the spell.

Emily reaches for her coffee again, her hand brushing yours for the briefest second. She doesn’t pull away. Neither do you. Your hands remain intertwined.

You don’t say it.

But it’s there. In the space between silence and breath.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

The Doyle case pulls the light out of her.

Not all at once. It’s a slow, creeping thing, like dusk swallowing up the last of the day. Emily becomes quieter. Still shows up early, still files her reports, still laughs at Morgan’s jokes but the warmth behind it all starts to flicker.

And then, one day, it’s just... gone.

She stops meeting your eyes. Starts slipping out of the bullpen without a word, phone clutched too tightly in her hand. You catch her once, standing alone in the corridor outside Hotch’s office, lips moving around a name you’re not supposed to hear. You try not to listen.

She starts keeping secrets like they’re second nature.

You try not to mind. You pretend you don’t notice. But the spaces between you stretch longer. Colder. And it scares you because she’s still here, but she feels far away. Like someone already halfway gone.

You find her one morning at the coffee machine, staring into the dark brew like it might hold an answer. The overhead lights are too bright, casting pale shadows under her eyes. She looks like she hasn’t slept in days.

Her shoulders are pulled tight beneath her blazer, her mouth pressed into a line that’s one part anger, two parts grief.

You hesitate, but only for a moment.

“Talk to me,” you say, softly. Your voice barely makes a ripple in the quiet of the office. “Please.”

She doesn’t look at you. Just stiffens. Her hands tremble slightly as she reaches for a paper cup.

“You don’t want to be part of this,” she says, voice clipped but not unkind. “You shouldn’t be.” She softens.

“I already am,” you say, gently. You step closer, just enough to feel the warmth coming off her body. “You just won’t let me in.”

She finally turns to you then, eyes glassy and tired. There’s a flicker of something, guilt, maybe. Or love. Or both.

“I never wanted you to be part of this,” she says, but the words shift in her mouth even as she speaks. “It means too much to me. You mean too much to me. Just…” She falters. “Just let me handle it.”

And then she walks away.

She doesn’t say goodbye. Doesn’t touch your hand or offer a smile or look back.

You stand there in the break room, your coffee going cold, and something inside you tells you that’s it.

That’s the last time.

The last time you see her alive.

And you don't even know it yet.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

JJ is the one who says it.

“She’s gone.”

Just that. Nothing more. No soft preamble, no preparation. Just the words. Words that are clean, cruel and final.

You let out an involuntary scoff mixed with a laugh.

It’s a horrible sound, hollow and cracking. It punches the air out of the room. Reid flinches. Rossi shifts like he might stand.

“She said she’d come back,” you whisper, like it’s proof. Like promises matter.

Nobody speaks. Not Morgan. Not Hotch. Not even JJ, whose eyes are already glassy. Their silence is the worst part, it's confirmation wrapped in pity.

You turn away before they can watch you break.

You don’t go home that night. Or the next. For three days, no one hears from you. You don’t answer calls. You don’t respond to texts. You can’t stand the thought of hearing anyone else’s voice when the only one you want is gone.

You end up back in your apartment eventually. The lights stay off. The air is stale. Her coat is still on the back of your chair. You sit in silence, curled up on the floor like something wounded.

The voicemail button on your phone calls out in the dark. A tiny wound bleeding red.

You stare at it for a long time. It's an old one you've been meaning to listen to for almost a week now.

Eventually, you press play.

Her voice fills the room. Warm. Familiar. A little rushed, like always.

'Hey. I know you're probably not at home right now, in a meeting or somewhere running on caffeine fumes, but I just wanted to say - I'm thinking about you. I’ll be back soon. Promise.'

You can’t breathe.

It takes a full minute before you even realize you’re crying. Not the kind of tears that fall softly and silently. These are hot and sudden and angry, sliding down your cheeks as your whole chest clenches.

You replay the message.

Then again.

And again.

On the fourth time, you delete it. A single tap. Gone.

You sit in the quiet, staring at the phone. The seconds stretch like hours.

Then you restore it.

It reappears, like magic. Like resurrection. Like hope.

You want to listen again. You almost do.

Instead, you throw the phone across the room. It hits the wall and clatters to the floor, skidding under the coffee table, the screen going dark.

You curl your arms around your knees and stay there, rocking slightly. You are made of sharp edges and silence. Of everything unsaid. Of everything lost.

The apartment stays quiet.

And Emily’s voice, still waiting in your voicemail, becomes the only piece of her you haven’t destroyed or deteached yourself wholly from.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

You come back on the fourth day.

No fanfare. No welcome back. The bullpen just holds its breath.

You drop into your chair like the wind's been knocked out of you. You don’t take off your coat. Don’t turn on your monitor. You just sit there, staring at nothing, slouched. Breathing like it hurts.

Garcia appears, gentle as rain, clutching a paper cup with both hands.

“I thought maybe coffee?” she offers, voice high and soft, like she’s trying not to spook you.

You blink at her. Then say, “You think that'll fix it all?”

The tone is sharp. Too sharp. She flinches like you slapped her.

You don’t apologize.

Morgan stops by your desk later, leaning his elbows on the edge, easygoing and patient the way only he can be. “We’re here if you wanna talk.”

You don’t even look at him. “I don't.”

He leaves without another word.

You dodge JJ entirely. You can’t look at her. Not when she’s the one who told you. Not when her face is the one you saw right before the floor caved in. She’s the memory of the moment your world stopped, and you can’t stomach that.

Reid tries next.

“Hey,” he says softly, sliding into the chair beside you like he’s sitting with a scared animal. “She’d... She would want you to hold on.”

You whip around so fast your chair squeals.

“Too bad, Reid. She doesn’t get to want anything for me anymore.” Your voice cracks like dry ice. “She can’t anyway. She’s gone.”

His mouth opens, then closes again. He nods once and gets up. Doesn’t say anything else.

The next time you're with him, it's in a briefing. Whilst JJ is talking, you are zoned out, stuck inside the loop of the past few weeks. At some point, you break a pencil in your hand without noticing. The snap echoes in the quiet. Everyone's eyes flicker to you. They immediately look away, try to hide it.

You stare at the pieces in your fist.

Reid gently replaces it with a new one. Doesn’t say a word. Just sweeps the broken halves into his palm and keeps going.

You don’t thank him. You can’t. You just nod slightly to yourself.

That weekend, you go to her grave.

You wait until it’s dark, until you’re sure no one will see you fall apart. The ground is wet from earlier rain, and your knees sink into the mud without much resistance. Your hands tremble over the headstone. Cold granite. Her name carved into it like it’s always been there.

“I loved you,” you whisper. “And you died knowing it. And it’s still not fair.”

You press your palm to the stone. Your breath clouds in the air.

“I didn’t get to say goodbye. I didn’t get to try. You didn’t let me. It's just... it's not fair.”

You bury your face in your hands and finally let the sob escape your chest, the kind that sounds like it’s tearing something out of you.

Grief isn’t poetic. It isn’t graceful.

It’s loud and ugly and aching.

And it sits with you in the dark, long after everyone else goes home.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It takes another week but eventually you bring Garcia coffee.

You don’t say anything, just set it down on her desk without a word. Her fingers curl around the cup, eyes wide as they flick up to yours.

She doesn’t ask why.

She just says, “Thanks, sugarplum,” and smiles, soft, like she knows not to push too hard.

Morgan catches your eye from across the room. You nod, barely perceptible. He nods back.

Later, you find JJ in the hallway. She startles when she sees you. Not because you’re there, but because for the first time, you don’t immediately turn away.

“I owe you an apology,” you say. Voice thin, barely more than a thread.

JJ blinks. “No, really, you don’t-”

“I do.” You swallow. “I blamed you." JJ flinches slightly but you notice it and your guilt doubles, they've all been grieving. "I... balmed you for saying it. For being the one to tell me. But it wasn’t your fault. I was angry… I still am. But not at you.”

JJ’s eyes fill with quiet tears. She nods. “I know.” There’s a pause. A silence that feels like a bridge, not a wall this time. “I miss her too,” she whispers.

“I know,” you say.

In the conference room, you sit beside Reid again.

You don’t speak for a long time. Neither does he. Eventually, you glance at him.

“I’m sorry for yelling.”

He looks surprised, but only for a second. Then he offers you the ghost of a smile. “I forgive you.”

You nod, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve. “She wouldn’t want me to push you all away.”

“No,” he agrees. “But she’d understand why you did.”

There’s something about that, the gentleness in his certainty, that breaks something loose inside you.

You stare down at the folder in front of you. A new case. A new name. Life doesn’t stop.

“She’s everywhere,” you murmur.

“She always was,” Reid says. “Now we just feel it more.”

You let out a shaky breath.

You’re not okay. Not even close.

But you’re trying.

And that counts for something.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Emily walks back into the BAU like a ghost that forgot it should be dead.

Gasps echo through the bullpen, disbelief turned into tears from some, into laughter from others, into arms flung around her. Hug after hug, her name whispered like a prayer. It’s joy, confusion, relief, too many emotions crashing like waves around her.

You don’t move and you're not the only one.

You stay rooted where you are, cold and still, watching from the edge like a stranger in your own life. Your pulse is pounding in your ears, loud and furious. Your throat burns. Her face looks different now. It's more tired, more alive, somehow both.

Her eyes find yours. Like they always do.

She steps toward you, hesitant.

“I wanted to tell you-” she begins.

You cut her off with venom in your voice. “No because... you let me mourn you.”

The room quiets, like the air’s been vacuumed out.

“You watched me grieve.”

Her face crumples, but you don’t stop. You can’t. “I had to,” she says, helpless, hands trembling at her sides.

JJ stepped forward, "We-" You feel like you have been suckerpunched and you shake your head, a ferocious edge in the movement.

"You let us bury her," Your voice trembles, “You chose to let me bury you,” you say, your words becoming sharp and deliberate. “You think I’m supposed to thank you for being alive?”

Silence. Even the machines seem to stop humming.

You walk out.

You don’t look back.

She’s everywhere now.

Like smoke. Like static. You breathe her in by accident. Her perfume lingering. Her jacket over a chair. Her cough echoing down the hall. A ghost re-learning her body. A ghost who refuses to stay in her grave.

It makes you feel like you're going insane, complaining about your love rising from the dead. Despite that, You avoid her like it might save you.

It doesn’t.

You change your routines. Take the stairs instead of the elevator. Get coffee earlier, stay later. Still, she lingers. A shadow in the break room. A murmur just outside your earshot. She’s alive and she’s everywhere and it’s killing you.

JJ corners you in the hallway.

“She didn’t do it to hurt you,” she says, gentle but firm. "Neither of us did."

You scoff, tired. Hollow. “She just didn’t care if it did.” You paused, "And you... I don't understand how you could look at me. How you could..." You trail off, not sure how to finish.

JJ flinches. But she doesn’t argue.

Because she knows you’re not entirely wrong.

One afternoon, you’re filling out a report when you hear it... that laugh.

That goddamn laugh.

Your fingers freeze on the keyboard. It twists through your ribs, unexpected and brutal. You hear it before you even realize it’s hers. And then, suddenly, it’s hers. Undeniably, of course it is. Bright and real and infuriating.

You glance up, barely.

She’s at her desk.

The same desk.

Her nameplate’s back. Her mug too, still chipped at the rim, the one you used to tease her about. She’s leaned back in her chair like she never left. Like she didn’t rip your world apart. Like she didn’t make you carry the weight of her ghost.

You look down.

You pretend you didn’t hear it.

Because if you let yourself feel it, you might never stop.

They try. Of course they do.

Garcia starts bringing you your favorite snacks again, setting them beside your monitor with a sticky note that just says: still here, sugarplum in looping pink ink.

You thank her. You manage a smile even. But the snack stays untouched.

Morgan pulls you into conversation during case briefings, tossing you the easy questions, and the ones you used to jump at. He gives you room to breathe, to catch your balance. But the answers don’t come as fast anymore. And when they do, they don’t sound like you.

Reid sits beside you in the lounge one morning, talking about whatever book he’s reading, slow and soft. He never asks for anything. Just keeps you company, like gravity. You let him. You even laugh when he stumbles over a particularly long sentence, and he lights up at the sound.

JJ’s the hardest.

She keeps her distance. Not out of malice but out of respect. She gives you space, but her eyes follow you across the room. You know she’s waiting for something you can’t give.

Not yet.

You don’t lash out anymore. Not like before. Which, for your team, is perhaps more unsettling than the shouting and the anger.

But there’s something in you that still won’t settle. Something that won’t let the warmth or relief in, not all the way.

It’s like you’re watching them through a window. You see their kindness, their care. You want to go to them. But the glass never opens.

The world feels quiet now. Heavy. Not empty, just muted. Like every part of you is wrapped in plastic wrap.

You’re getting better at pretending. At remembering to smile when someone speaks to you. At saying “I’m okay” without flinching. But it’s just muscle memory. Your body going through motions your heart doesn’t feel. This feels like a whole new grief. A grief of losing yourself.

One night, you find yourself in the round table room long after everyone’s gone.

The files are already put away. Lights dimmed. Just you and the shadows.

You sit in Emily’s old chair without thinking.

And you sit there for a long time.

You don’t cry. You don’t speak.

You just sit. Trying to feel something that isn’t just loss. Trying to remember what it felt like to look at her and not ache.

When you finally get up, you touch the back of the chair once before leaving the room.

You don’t look back.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s raining.

The kind of rain that drowns the streets, slicks the pavement with silver, and turns the whole world into a hush. Like even the sky knows to be quiet.

You open the door, and she’s standing there. She's soaked to the skin, curls plastered to her cheeks, her jacket clinging to her like a second skin. Her arms hang uselessly at her sides. There’s no umbrella. No excuse. Just her.

“Hi,” Emily says. Her voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

You don’t say it back.

The light from the hallway spills over you both, warm against the cold drizzle. She doesn’t step inside. You don’t invite her.

“You could’ve left a message.” Your voice is flat, like someone else is speaking through you. “One word. Anything. You knew what you were to me.”

Her lips part, but no sound comes. Then, “I thought it would hurt you more if you knew. I couldn't-”

Your laugh cuts her off, but there’s nothing warm in it. “You were right. It did hurt more. Just… not the way you meant.”

Silence spreads out between you. You don’t rush to fill it.

She shifts her weight, shivers, but doesn’t ask to come in. Doesn’t beg. That’s never been her way.

“I thought I was protecting you,” Emily says softly. “I thought it would be easier if you didn’t have to choose between me and your peace.”

“You were wrong.”

She nods. Like she’s known that for a long time.

“So what now?” she asks. Her eyes are wide and raw. You’ve never seen her like this—so open, so undone. “What happens to us now?”

You don’t soften. You don’t step closer. You just look at her, every inch of you burning from the inside out.

“Now,” you say, your voice low, steady, “you live with the version of me you made."

It’s not cruel. It’s just true.

Emily’s breath stutters. Her lips press together like she’s holding something in, apology, regret, maybe even love. You can’t tell anymore.

Then, slowly, you close the door.

Quietly.

No slam. No drama. Just the soft click of something ending.

Outside, the rain keeps falling. You listen to it for a long time.

She doesn’t knock again.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s late.

The kind of late where the streetlights flicker like they’re tired, and the whole world feels hollowed out and humming. Cold wind cuts through the empty parking lot. Your breath fogs in the air.

She’s there, leaning against your car like she’s been waiting hours. Maybe she has. Maybe she couldn’t leave. Maybe she didn’t want to.

She's been there a lot recently. Just present, not pushing, but lingering. She's apologising with her presence. You find yourself softening, ever so slightly.

Emily doesn’t speak right away. She watches you approach like she’s not sure you’ll come all the way. Like she wouldn’t blame you if you turned around.

You stop a few feet from her. Just far enough that she can’t reach you unless you let her.

Her voice breaks the stillness. Quiet. Unsteady.

“I never stopped loving you.”

The words fall like glass. Not dramatic, not loud, just painful and honest.

You meet her eyes. Yours are tired. Bruised in the way people are when they’ve been carrying grief too long. You don’t flinch. But you don’t smile either.

You swallow. The words come slow, like they’ve been waiting in your throat for weeks.

“I had to, you get that right? You weren't there to love. I pulled myself forwards, to move on."

Emily’s shoulders fall. She closes her eyes, just for a moment, like she’s absorbing the hit. Like she already knows it’s true. The worst part is, she doesn’t argue.

“I didn’t mean to,” she says. “I thought I was keeping you safe. I always thought if I came back and you hated me, that would be easier than you getting hurt. I'd just hoped that I'd be wrong, that we could fall back to before.”

You let out a slow breath. “You don’t get to decide how I break.”

She steps forward, cautiously. There’s space between you now, but not the kind you can measure in feet. This distance is built from months of silence, from a voicemail never finished, from flowers at a grave that shouldn’t have existed.

“Can I earn it back?” she asks.

You don’t answer right away.

The wind picks up. A leaf scrapes across the pavement. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wails. Neither of you move.

Then, your head tilts slightly. Not a nod. Not a shake. Just enough.

“Maybe,” you say, voice low. “Maybe ask me again when it doesn’t still hurt quite so much to look at you.”

Emily nods. Like she’ll wait forever if you ask her to. Like she knows she might never get the chance again and that she still has to try.

You turn, unlocking your car. The door creaks open.

You don’t look back.

You drive away slowly, headlights cutting a path through the rain.

In your rearview mirror, she’s still standing there.

Soaked.

Still choosing you.

[httpseungmxn]

Sinful Sunshine 

Idol!Felix X Fem!Reader

🍰 - suggestive, smutty

Author's note: Hello again My Angels! I am finally back from my disappearance from this app again to finally bring you the felix smut fic you all wanted! I genuinely did not have any inspiration for this because Felix is one of those members that I dont think ive ever thought about in the smutty sense, that's not saying I've never found him attractive though! I have decided to cast those feelings onto my writing in hopes something absolutely incredible is made for you guys! So without further ado, I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Warnings: Suggestive, virgin!reader, corn with no plot!!!, marking - lots of hickeys, spit swapping, oral(f! rec.), brief cum eating, lots of tit play(felix is a tits man), reader is innocent minded, sweetheart!felix :3

Triggers: none, as far as I can think of! 

How you had gotten into this position was beyond your thought process. You couldn’t remember how it had all started really. The only thought on your mind was how good Felix's tongue felt on your pretty little pink pussy. How it swirled so slowly around your clit before just barely dipping into your little virgin hole. The hole you had every intention of letting him corrupt because he was the only man you trusted to take care of you. 

You felt his index and middle finger prod gently at your entrance before slowly pushing the two fingers in and curling them in your entrance evoking a sharp gasp from your lips. Your whine being covered up by his lips on yours. Eyes shutting  as you drink in the pleasure he was introducing you to. Arching your back when he refuses to escape the kiss to breathe and instead slips his tongue into your mouth.

Your tongue being pulled into his mouth caused the spit on your tongue to mix perfectly with his before being swallowed by the both of you when you pulled away from him. Eyes half lidded and staring deep into his while his fingers gently worked inside of you to prep you for what was to come. Pushing you back to lay down completely as his free hand slid up your body slowly to cup your breast and play with your nipple.

His whole body was playing with you now. One hand on your tit as his tongue worked the other nipple, his fingers buried deep enough in your pussy to have you seeing stars up in the sky, and his hips bucking against your thigh for a little bit of friction himself. He still had yet to be given any proper satisfaction, but he had specifically told you before that tonight was all about you.

It was crazy enough to him that he was being given the chance to take your virginity, he wouldnt take advantage of that by using you for his own selfish pleasure. He would take his time and make sure you felt like you were in Heaven. Floating high on cloud nine until he grounded you in the end. Which is what he was doing now that he felt you tense up in his grasp suddenly.

Felix took sight of tears in your eyes and the worry instantly set in that he had done something wrong. Pulling his fingers out as quickly but gently as he could and cupping your cheek as he cleaned his fingers from your essence with his mouth. 

“Angel..? What’s the matter? Have I hurt you..?”.

You shook your head as you watched him intensely, feeling yourself growing wetter by the minute just because of his actions. You had never seen someone so ethereal as him do something as lewd as lick your wetness from his fingers while asking if you were okay. Felix was such an Angel but he was doing something so downright dirty to you.

Feeling his pretty lips attach to your neck and begin to leave deep purple and pink marks along your neck and collarbones. Covering as many spots as he can to leave people know who you truly belonged to. The marks continued along between the valley of your breasts, all the way down to your thighs. Your body trembling from each brush of his lips down there.

You couldn’t take it anymore. You needed more, and the faint brushes were only teasing you further, slowly deteriorating your mind. Letting out a soft whine of his name which seemed to snap something inside of him. Within seconds his boxers were on the ground and your legs were being gently hoisted over his hips. His left hand comes down to brush his tip against your entrance. Looking at you with such a loving look to make sure you were okay.

When you gave him a shy nod of your head, he was slowly pushing his tip in until he couldn’t hold back anymore and pushed the rest in. The gasp that left your lips when he was fully sheathed inside had him letting out a groan from your walls gripping him. It was sucking him into you further, making him fall even more in love with you.

His hips slowly moved as he dragged his dick almost completely out before he was shoving himself back in. Wanting to take his time with you since this was your first time, but the desperation in your moans was too much for him and before he knew it he was setting into a steady quick pace. Your hands gripped at his shoulders with each thrust.

Body trembling underneath his as he sped up, bringing you the most earth-shattering you could ever experience in your life. His tip pressing against a spot inside of you that had your back arching off the bed and your toes curling. It only took a few more thrusts against that spot before you were crying out his name and white was clouding your gaze. The soft groan of your name that fell from his lips egged the pleasure on even more.

Felix didn’t last very long either,a few more quick thrusts of his hips had him pulling out quickly to gently spill his cum all over your thighs. The warmth making you shudder and open your eyes to look at him. The sight almost making you cum all over again, watching felix swirl the cum with yours before scooping some of it up to lick from his fingers. Giving you a soft angelic smile that had you thinking maybe you had died and really were in heaven.

Felix was Heaven, and you were his Guardian Angel. That was all there was to it.

Authors ending note; I’m gonna be so honest right now, Angels. I felt so awkward writing out the actual smut, like that part felt so weird to write because I’m still not used to it. 😭 However, I truly hope you all were able to somewhat enjoy this because I did go a ways out of my comfort zone to properly write what I thought you all would enjoy. Feel free to leave me critiques about it and tell me what you want next! Whether you want a part two with more plot, a different person, or eve something much more intense than this, I am always willing to write whatever you guys want! I will probably announce within the next week what my next piece will be and when it will be released! Let me know what you guys thought in the comments about this one! Until next time, My Lovely Angels 🫶

[rabbit-is-wise]

are we in the mood for more lore discussion tonight? no? i dont care!

part of why clancy is so important is that he’s a revolutionary. no one has ever done things quite like him—no one has escaped as many times, no one has resisted smearing the way he can, no one has attracted the same bishop attention, and no one has ever been used as a voice by the bishops. the narrative is meant to show us that clancy is different well before we find out he is an exception.

i hear people call him an unreliable narrator, and he is, but not for the reasons people say. i hear it most often for claiming that he has always been clancy, and we have discussed at length why that isn’t true in these posts. no, he’s unreliable simply due to his limited knowledge of the world around him, and moreso because of his view of himself.

clancy isn’t just some random citizen who stumbled upon the power to seize, even though he thinks of himself as such for so long. he’s always been an exception, and we know this because of the aforementioned reasons. he has a stronger escape drive than anyone we hear about from the fpe letters, he’s able to remember parts of trench despite being smeared, and the bishops take special notice of him. he has two on his tail all the time, and the way he describes keons in comparison to the other bishops makes it sound like they are very distant from their districts. nico in particular is stated as never even being at clancy’s writing sessions during sai, so if he didn’t appear at those, i would imagine he is not directly involved with the citizens of his district if they fall in line out of fear of him. we know the bishops know about clancy being an exception for two reasons: they seize him while he is very much alive, and keons knew to send him to voldsøy. they obviously wouldn’t tell clancy about this, since the fact that he can seize is the key to taking them down (something he openly acknowledges once gaining the ability).

but we know clancy doesn’t view himself through this lens for much of the story, something i’ve touched on before. when seeing himself in trench, he thinks of the person he sees as strong, brave, fearless, “unaffected by the fear of the unknown - the fear that tends to cripple me. to him, the terrain seemed familiar, as if he had been out here before,” to directly quote his journal. as well as:

“I had no idea that I was known outside of my cell, but they informed me that I had garnered notoriety for my schemes and outbursts.”

(from his journal on voldsøy)

“Many lost their lives in the attack, and I was thrashed through the bitter cold waves, yet somehow survived. Did this icy cold preserve me? Why was I spared? I am still so cold as I write.”

(from the same entry)

“This is absurd.

Why was this given to me? Why am I the only one that can wield it? Was this the reason that I survived?”

(from his second entry on voldsøy)

it’s not until he gains community again in the torchbearer and the banditos that his view begins to change.

“This small eerie island has made me a weapon. We both believe that we can use it to change the momentum of this war.”

(from the second voldsøy entry)

“I can reach them all. I can recruit everyone with eyes that see beyond the horizon. I can teach them. They can learn what I've learned, and fly by all of the constructs Dema has placed in front of them. We will take it back.”

(from a post voldsøy, pre clancy entry)

“I'm not as scared as a I used to be. Their mystery begins to fade as a method to defeat them becomes more clear. I no longer feel powerless. I can outsmart them. This new power of psychokinesis worked, and I believe it can work again. I stand here, looking down at the line where the water meets the sand - a starting line. All the while, knowing there is a finish Iine across the Strait. Their compass lies, but mine remains true. I've left embers of inspiration, I only hope whatever spark was left has grown to a torch, and together we create an inferno.”

(a whole entry, after the last one i quoted)

he’s gaining confidence as he grows and learns, something crucial to his victory. he’s no more unreliable than any other first person narrator. at first, he views himself as just another citizen, but wonders if he is the only one aware of dema’s corruption. his journey leads him to understanding his place in everything, and accepting as well as claiming his identity and his position as rebellion leader.

he has a character arc, is my thesis, because he’s the main character. it takes away from his journey to claim he wasn’t the clancy we see at the beginning of the story through his journals. because if he isn’t, what insight do we even have into his character pre-sai? we would have nothing, no basis for this character who now takes center stage. the journals serve as supplemental to the videos, but they have never been meant to be taken separately. they are each providing pieces of the same story about the same character.

the journals show us clancy’s inner thoughts, while the videos show us his actions and story events. without them, we would have no idea how truly conflicted he feels about dema, his deep love for trench, and his compassion for the citizens still suffering. if you view tyler as separate from clancy, you can only take the videos and sai/clancy era entries as his story, and you lose that crucial motivation for everything he does.

furthermore, clancy would continue haunting the narrative if he were simply killed on the side. he’d be everywhere, his legacy would hang over everything if tyler was meant to carry on his name and purpose. but he doesn’t, because clancy is still very much active in the story. to forego him entirely after taking his name would be incredibly weak storytelling on (irl) tyler’s part.

i understand the appeal in a character that represents lost potential, but the lost potential is represented by the glorious gone, and i beg you not to forget their significance. clancy’s importance stems from how this is the first time this has happened. there has never been another exception, there has never been another rebellion leader from dema itself. as i’ve said before and will continue to say, he serves as the unifier between every other party in the story, something that has never been seen until him.

im sorry. every single song (post) is about you (why tyler and clancy are the same)

[encachette]

𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉: 𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒖𝒆

Ch. 1 | 2

❣ Professor!Bucky Barnes x F!(former)student

❣ uni au, F! former student is in her 20s  ❣ cw: it’s just pwp, again. subby!bucky this time <3 and some angst if you squint; casual alcohol consumption in social context ❣ MDNI ❣ Word Count: 9.4k

❣ Summary: Several months since your romp with Dr. Barnes and the stifling tension between you two, you run into each other at a bar.

❣ Author's Note:  

Epilogue of professor!Barnes. Because I didn’t want to let this piece go, just yet. I kinda want to turn this into a cute lil drabble series. Flashbacks in italics. Haha as if anyone in academia faces the consequences of their actions. We gotta finish proletarianizing the academics STAT.

epilogue

✶

Several Months Later

Dr. Bucky Barnes, assistant professor of the prestigious Department of Political Science at MCU, was absolutely burned out after such a chaotic semester. So he let the happy burn of the first shot of tequila rip a hiss from his throat, his best friends Steve and Sam slapping his back and cheering him on. Bucky was going to get drunk tonight, take a load off before the start of summer break and then get back into where his head really wanted to be — working on the final draft of his first manuscript, up for publication next spring by Marvel Academic Press. 

“About time you came out with us, Barnes,” Sam says, sucking on his own wedge of lime after downing another shot, “Been too cooped up in that library.” 

“Yeah, well, had a lot on my plate,” Bucky responds, taking a gulp of his water, not particularly inclined to share much these days. His thoughts flash to you for a second, before he shakes them away, fist opening and closing as he tries to get rid of the tension that comes up whenever he thinks of you. Steve eyes his best friend with a wary curiosity, having seen his best friend fray at the edges throughout the last few months. He knew Bucky was dealing with something, but nothing he’d tell Steve in detail.

“Tell me about it,” Steve concurs somberly, “Stark keeps getting on my ass about those grant applications and volunteered me to run point on orientation in the fall,” he takes a swig of his drink, shuddering as it goes down, before he adds with an annoyed chuckle, “For the freshmen.”

“That guy’s gettin’ on my last fuckin’ nerve,” Bucky agrees — he was often overworked by the department chair as well, too overstretched to give the time to his research that it deserved. To give the time to his personal life, or really anything outside of the walls of Thunderbolt Hall. “He’s got me chairing a conference in the fall,” Bucky continues, dread filling him as he emptied his beer.

“Shoulda gotten degrees in STEM, fellas,” Sam jokingly chimes in, determined to lighten the mood, “My boss doesn’t give a shit what I do and my salary is like, double yours.”

“Okay, we get it, we get it, Wilson,” Steve rebukes, “Just so you know, not a single engineering major in my classes can write a grammatically correct sentence.” Bucky snorts his amusement, turning and signalling the bartender for another beer.

“Whatever lager you’ve got on tap, please,” he practically yells over the rock music, hoping the bartender could understand him. He turns back to his friends, ready to agree with whatever Steve was saying when something strikes him frozen in his tracks. 

You.

Out of all the places he’d expected to see a girl like you on a Friday night, it wasn’t at some dive bar downtown where the side streets smelled like piss and the bar bathrooms streaked with remnants of last night’s 8 ball. In fact, Bucky usually imagined you curled up in a chair by the fire, maybe in a cozy robe, warm mug in hand as you listened to music. Whatever you were doing, he always imagined you’d smell good. In the months since his… tête-à-tête with you. He always wondered what kind of music you listened to in those earphones, ostensibly attached to your ears with super glue. 

Right now though, there were no earphones in your ears. Usual book bag nowhere in sight. Your usual pink lip balm swapped with something more red, more confident. Bucky allows his eyes to work their way up your figure. He’s struck, and the ache this time at the sight of you is more insistent than usual. It’s slow, the way it roils in his chest. He almost dares to shift his gaze up to your face. Bucky didn’t think he could meet your eyes without wanting to combust right on the spot. They haven’t left his thoughts. He thinks about your eyes a lot, actually. Especially at night, when the stress of life keeps him from sinking into much-needed sleep.

God, those eyes, he thinks when he finds the stones to look directly at your face. 

“Earth to Barnes?” a hand snaps in front of his face, bringing him back to reality,drawing him back into the increasing loudness of the bar. Snap out of it, Barnes, he chides himself. Trying to smooth his expression into one of nonchalance, he turns toward Sam, as if nothing happened.

“What’s up?” he asks, willing himself not to look over at you again. Stay cool. Just stay cool. Clearing his throat several times does nothing to help conceal his deeply uncool 

“Why are you starin’ at that girl, Buck?” Sam questions, slightly amused. “Honestly, she looks young enough to be a student,” he adds as he sips his cocktail.   

But for Steve, everything clicks when he sees Bucky’s cheeks and neck flush a deep crimson; Steve practically fuckin’ squeals a gleeful “oh my god.” Bucky’s eyes flash to Steve, hoping his death threats could be telepathically communicated to someone who was supposed to be his best friend. Steve just laughs, clapping Bucky on the back, “That’s who you wouldn’t tell me about?” Steve teases.

“Wait, what’s going on here?” Sam’s eyes shift between Bucky and Steve — one with a murderous expression of foreboding, the other merrily teasing at his best friend like they were in grade school.

“Buck — Buck has a crush on a student,” Steve explains in between hiccups, “That was her —”

“— Steven, you will NO LONGER be my best friend if you keep talking —” Bucky interrupts.

“Ooooh, aggressive! Bucky likes a girl,” Steve teases again, “And she’s a hot student!”

“Steven, I am going to throat punch y—” 

“James Buchanan Barnes, you dog,” Sam gasps over Bucky’s mounting threats, pretending to be scandalized in the same way WASP suburbanites clutched at their pearls. 

“Former. Student.” He growls in response, irate. “And I don’t have a crush, I’m 33,” Bucky states plainly, assuming the tone of a know-it-all, yet again, “That’s undignified.” 

Steve just rolls his eyes.

Bucky turns around, making sure his back is to you. He doesn’t think you  noticed him.

“Tell me what she’s doing,” he hisses at Steve and Sam, who are losing their inebriated minds over the juvenility of it all. Sam claps his hands on Bucky’s back, the slap of flesh against the leather jacket making Bucky wince. His flesh hand flexes out of discomfort — god, he felt like he was in high school again.

“Sure, if you tell us what happened,” Sam says with Steve’s agreement.

“Nothing. Happened.” Bucky grits out, frustration bubbling and complicating his Friday night, “Now tell me what she’s doing. Is she with someone?” He figures swigging his beer might tame the nerves flicking their way up to his chest. 

“Oh hey! She’s with one of my students — Parker, I think is his name,” Steve offers cheerily.

“Will you keep your voice down?,” Bucky begs, hoping you didn’t hear. Even though the rock music emanating from the subwoofers seemed to be piercing his ear drums in their assault on  his senses. And he was trying to focus on the fact that you are here with someone — had you moved on? Had that day meant nothing to you? Because he couldn’t go a goddamn night without thinking about it. 

He takes another swig, hoping the frothy, coolness of the beer would help him decide what to do. Should he leave — risk facing you on his way out the door? Should he wait it out, for you to leave first? Maybe he could sneak out the back entrance — there had to be a back entrance, right? There’s always a back entrance.

“Buck — you need to relax,” Steve drags out the last syllable a bit too long, “Tell us what happened.” Bucky heaves a breath, closing his eyes and shaking his head, like it’d clear his head, etch-a-sketch style.

“She’s a student. Or, was as a student, rather. We, uh — we, y’know — we,” he struggles to find the words. Fuck was too hollow. Too devoid of the meaning that your tryst had imbued in him, plagued him for months afterward.

“Yeah, we get it, Buck,” Steve encourages gently before adding, “Doesn’t seem like she’s with Parker, another girl just arrived — they look cozy.”

“I know that girl — MJ? I think? She’s taken two of my trig courses and passed,” Sam narrates, eyes observing you and your friends behind Bucky’s back. “Yeah, your girl doesn’t seem to be dating that nebbish little white kid,” Sam affirms.

Bucky gives a half-hearted chuckle as Steve breaks out into another fit of giggles.

“So what happened after?” Sam asks.

When Bucky just gives him a confused furrow of the eyebrows, Sam rolls his eyes and clarifies, “After you guys hooked up?” Bucky cringes again.

“‘Hooked up?’” he sputters, “Please, it wasn’t like that.” He’s miffed. Annoyed that Sam would dare choose words that assigned such little value to what happened between you two. 

“Then what was it?” Steve teases, glassy eyes bright with mirth.

“I —,” Bucky frowns, wracking his brain for a witty rebuke, “It was — It was a mistake, that’s what it was,” he ultimately huffs, deflated. Tired of thinking about it, running and rerunning it over in his head until he went crazy. Every word he should have said, instead of the ones he actually did say — they rattled against his skull late at night when he was too worked up to do anything other than snake his hands into his pants, trying his damned hardest to make it feel as good as having you on his desk.

Sam and Steve just wait for Bucky to continue, patient as always, letting Bucky mull over his thoughts in his brooding manner. He takes a minute to deliberate, downing the last gulp of his beer and signalling the bartender for another. He was starting to feel the sweetness of the alcohol laving against his senses, loosening the tongue and feelings that he’d spent several months squashing to the bottom of his mental health to-do list.

“Okay,” he starts, correcting himself first to get a foothold on the conversation, “It wasn’t a mistake.” He’s even a bit peeved with himself for saying it was. “Honestly, it was the hottest sex I’d ever had in my life,” he says, though his glow is dimmed by the glum realization that he’d never have it again…

﹍﹎﹎﹍

It hadn’t taken long for the afterglow of Bucky’s well-earned orgasm to subside, the creep of anxiety and panic beginning to settle into the back of his mind as he forced himself to breathe evenly. What the everloving fuck did he just do? Were you going to hold this against him? Turn him into the department? Oh my god, he was going to lose his job. He was going to lose his job and be blacklisted in academia — he was going to have to find a new job. But what new job? He has a PhD in fuckin’ political science, who the fuck is going to hire him? Oh my fuck, he’s gonna starve, him and his poor baby Alpine are gonna be out on the street corner; he was going to have to teach Alpine tricks to entice alms from snooty private school college kids — wait! Maybe Steve can take Alpine for a while if things get really bad; it’s fine, it’s not like he’s worked his whole life for this career and threw it all away for pussy so fucking good he thinks he’ll never fuck with such passion again —

“Dr. Barnes?” Your voice abruptly halts his train of thought, which seems to have been headed straight toward hell. You were sitting on the table, with only your lingerie on, looking so well-fucked. “Anyone home in there?” A delicate touch comes up to his neck, stroking the hair at the base of his scalp. Almost angelic, with your messy hair framing your face, lips puckered into a bemused line — when he meets your eyes, it’s as if that afterglow gains a second wind. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs. He presses his lips to your furrowed brows, and you hum with content. “Did you say something?” Bucky lets the sensation of your palms, smoothing your palms in circles on his back, lull him back into the lustful daze of satisfaction. You giggle, face against his chest as he holds you. He feels your head shake against his pecs.

Every so often you stop at a particularly tense muscle and take your time to knead it with applied pressure, coaxing groans of relief, pleasure, exhilaration up Bucky’s spine. He could stand there for eternity, he thinks, between your legs as you’re perched on his desk, leaking remnants of craving satiated. 

Still, Bucky can’t completely untangle himself from the mass of trepidation in his chest, waging a fight against the bliss he was so reluctant to abandon. And the longer he stood there, hoping you would say something to puncture the ache swelling in him, the more visceral his anxiety. He pulls back a little, separating himself from the warmth of your skin, a slight ring in his ears as he tries to focus on you. Your face was so serene, glassy eyes meeting him with such unguarded genuinity, unceasing mischief, that he felt his heart jump out of his throat.

You tighten your legs around his waist, pulling him in towards you, beckoning him to break through his senses, to crawl toward the obscenity of it all. But he can’t. He can’t, in good faith, let it go any further. So, against the screaming protests of his cock, his senses, his heart, just before your lips meet, Bucky murmurs, so cautiously, 

“This can’t happen again.”

﹍﹎﹎﹍

“...so I gave her an A on her final, and we haven’t spoken since,” he finishes, looking downtrodden at his empty beer bottle. Maybe he should order another one, he thinks to himself.

The first thing Sam does right after Bucky finishes recounting his sad little story is smack his bionic friend upside his empty head. 

“Ow!” Bucky flinches, glaring daggers at his assailant, “What the fuck, Samuel?” Rubbing the back of his head, part of Bucky knows that he deserved that. Sam just laughs at him with incredulity. He looks to Steve, hoping that he, at the very least, would be on Bucky’s team.

Unfortunately, Steve’s goofy grin has grown with such mirth and reddend , Bucky had no hope of finding an ally. Sam mocks him, pitching his voice ten times higher,

“‘What the fuck, Samuel?’ You stupid motherfucker, Barnes,” Sam laments, gulping down the last of his drink before interrogating Bucky, “First of all, why would you say that to a woman right after sex?” Sam just stares at Bucky patiently, waiting for a response.

“I don’t know,” he struggles to grab onto any wisp of confidence left in him. So he shrugs, admitting to himself, “I panicked, I guess.” Sam just snorts at his half-assed answer.

“Guess a little harder, bub,” Steve interjects, grabbing at the glass of water that Sam holds out to him. Bucky huffs,

“I panicked! I had just slept with a student, and I liked it, okay?” He flexes and unflexes his flesh hand, nerves spilling out when he admits, “I liked her.” It takes a moment for it to sink in, for the words to settle in the air. And despite the magnitude of the revelation, at least from Bucky’s vantage point, Sam is there to ruin it again.

“Obviously,” he exaggerates, “Anyone with eyes can see that. Now second, what are you going to do about it?” Bucky feels that his friends are too busy taunting him to see the gravity of the situation.

“Good, now’s your chance, ‘cause she’s been talking to some new guy for the past ten minutes,” Sam announces, not without a glint of glee in his grin.

Bucky whips around, forgetting that he had to be casual, that he didn’t want to draw your attention to him — and his eyes land on a sight that sends a shock of irritation bubbling through his tipsiness. The next few words out of his mouth are spat unplanned, but to this day, he can’t bring himself to regret that little breach of decorum.

✶

“What the fuck?”

Unfortunately, Bucky’s subconscious choice to utter those words coincided with a switch in the record. So, to his embarrassment: you, along with your date, MJ and Peter at the next table over, along with the rest of the bar turn their heads toward the source of the noise.

You feel the surprise take over your face before you register that Dr. Barnes was staring right at you. Oh dear lord, Your eyes snap back to your date, who had already recovered from the shock — the music had already resumed and the rest of the bar back to its usual business, but you feel Dr. Barnes’ stare boring into the side of your head now.

“Wonder what’s up with that guy, huh?” your date — whose name was currently much too evasive for your memory — muses congenially..

You hum a little noise of ascent, vague and unresponsive as you make eye contact with Peter and MJ. They knew about you and Dr. Barnes — you had told them both one night, about a week after Dr. Barnes so unceremoniously threw you out of his office, never to speak to you again. A drunken story recounted to your best friends in a moment of weakness. Still, they’re both returning your gaze with creased brows and plain worry. You can’t do anything but shoot them a weak smile, thumb nail picking at the wet label on your beer bottle.

You turn back to your date, trying to tune back in to his yammering — for fuck’s sake he had been irritating tonight. What was his name? Pietro? Wouldn’t stop talking a mile a minute, couldn’t linger on a subject long enough to really develop any rapport with you. It was hard to keep up.

“So, what do you think?” Pietro asks, face patient and expectant as he takes a break to sip his vodka. Ugh, gross, you think. Vodka straight is crazy.

“I’m sorry — can you repeat that?” you respond, no longer in the mood to entertain a date, not with Dr. Barnes’ eyes pinned on you. You felt it, and you felt the goosebumps erupt on your skin as your heart speeds up.

“Hey, guys!” Thank fucking god for MJ. Truly, a best friend sent from heaven. “We’re about to dip, do you want to catch a ride?” She fixes her sight on you, gauging your reaction. Peter looks a little sheepish, having set you up with Pietro on this blind date gone awry.

“Actually —”

“I’d love to,” you interrupt Pietro, who emits an indignant little harumph. So to him you say, “Pietro, thanks for the drink. I’m sorry, I don’t think it’s going to work out — you’re too young for me,” you shrug, hoping that the $10 bill you slapped down on the table was enough to cover your tip.

“Honestly?,” Pietro replies, still friendly, “I get it. No hard feelings.” He flashes Peter a bro-ey nod, and you turn as the two of them make small bro-ey talk.

“I’ll meet you outside,” Peter nods at the both of you.

MJ’s drapes an arm over your shoulder as you two file out of the bar together.

As soon as you step out into the humid summer breeze, you gulp in a mouthful of fresh air — well, as fresh as any urban American city can provide — and focus on clearing your mind.

“You okay?” MJ assesses you with a frown. You shrug it off, hoping that if you carry on long enough with the false nonchalance, it’ll eventually become real to you.

“Yeah, fine,” you nod, trying to give an easy smile and leaning on MJ’s shoulder. “Where’s Parker? Let’s get the fuck outta here,” you sigh, letting the familiarity of MJ’s shampoo and smell, wafted by summer breeze, settle you.

Both of you look up as Peter exits the bar with a new friend, cackling boyishly at something Pietro said. Both seemed a little pink and overly smiley. Well, at least Peter did. They bid each other goodbye with one of those machismo slaps on the back. Peter comes to drape his arm over MJ’s shoulder, still laughing about whatever joke was shared between him and his new buddy.

“Pietro’s a good guy,” he shrugs when you look up at him expectantly, “We’re going to the gym together next week!” MJ just plants a kiss on his cheek, rolling her eyes with love.

“Boys,” she mutters, swiping a thumb across his cheeks to remove her lip balm residue. You had to agree with Peter. Pietro was cute, nice enough, but not particularly interesting to you. Nothing to talk about besides the weird social idiosyncrasies that all people your age shared. There were only so many ways you could dance the dance until it became boring — “Oh, so what do you do? Where’d you go to college? Any pets?” There were only so many finance guys you could tolerate before you gave up dating — and there were so. many. of these quarter-sleeve adorning fucks.

Tonight’s date was supposed to be different. Peter had jumped at the chance to set you up with a coworker. And after months of MJ’s worried invectives, stewing in your own anger about Dr. Barnes, and an array of one-night-stands slamming the door on their way out of your apartment, you were ready to find something a little more meaningful. Peter and MJ were ready for you to stop being so damn moody all the time. Even Friday was ready for you to get out of the house. 

It had taken you so embarrassingly long to get over being dismissed by Dr. Barnes in such a blasé, disrespectful manner. You had dressed as quickly as possible and got the hell out of dodge the moment Dr. Barnes had dismissed you. “This can’t happen again,” you had run over and over in your head in the months afterwards. The couple of months between then and graduation had been painful. You’d show up to class, sit in the front, as always but there was no quick-witted insult, no sarcastic quip ready to put Barnes in his place. You felt, for lack of a better word, shame about the whole thing, if not a little longing.

So you kept your head down, got the grades you always got, did your job to the best of your ability (which was already incommensurate with your wage), and graduated. You took a gap year to figure out what you wanted to do next — you needed to talk to normal people again. Got a job that would satisfy Friday’s expensive tastes in cat food (only wet food now, the spoiled brat), had a string of hobbies, took your time really exploring the city. Sometimes you took a shift at the university library reference desk if they were short-staffed, and on those nights, you hoped to god you wouldn’t come face to face with Dr. Barnes. 

You let men and women on the latest dating app take you to dinner. Sometimes you fucked them. Rarer were your orgasms. Never were they invited back. Any of them. None of them had come even close to making you feel as exhilarated as you yearned to feel – adrenaline rushing through your veins at not knowing what was going to come next, not knowing every word that would come out of the mouth of your date. More often than not, you went to bed, pent up and unable to sleep just from physical tension alone.

Alas, your life since college has been steady. Rewarding. You had your book club with MJ still going, expanded to include a few others (Peter crashed the meeting sometimes for the free pizza). You had narrowed down which graduate programs you wanted to apply to in the fall. Friday lost her winter chub. 

You bid both of your friends goodbye, you turning one way and MJ and Peter turning around the block as you head to your homes. A few steps down the sidewalk, you hear the faint crash of wood on concrete as the door to the bar entrance slams open, then a call of your name. It takes you a second — maybe you’d imagined it, but it’s repeated again. Closer, this time, and you turn to the sight of Dr. Barnes jogging to catch up to you.

Under the glow of the streetlights, the both of you just kind of stare at each other — you with an expectant look of derision, an eyebrow quirked; him with an expression of agitated nervousness, mouth opening and closing in false starts. You refuse to speak first, and mentally give him ten more seconds before you turn around and leave. You’d leave even if that tiny piqued curiosity in you wanted so badly for you to stay, to pick at why Dr. Barnes was here in front of you in the fi— He says your name, with so much warmth that you feel it shoot up your spine, the way he says it. But you don’t let it get to your exterior.

“What?” you ask plainly. Bored look on your face, as if you were looking at a pesky fly on your windshield.

“I —,” you watch him struggle for words, mad that he seems even more handsome than when you saw him last, “Can we talk?”

“Eloquent as ever, Dr. Barnes — we’re talking right now.” you quip, “Actually, I’m listening and letting you talk to me. So what do you want?” You swear you see him exhale a little relief, and he smiles at you — almost as if he can’t help it.

“How about we go somewhere and talk?” he suggests, looking around to appraise his options before setting his gaze on you again.

“Why?” you adhere to your god-given obdurance, “Just say what you have to say here.” This was fucking weird. You don’t really know what you want right now. You watch him shake his head.

“No, we should sit down and really talk,” he insists, “I have a lot to apologize for.” He’s looking around, craning his neck to read the board on the coffee shop window across the street — closed. The mention of the apology, though, reeled you straight into him. But you keep quiet for a few extended seconds, making him wait for it, pretending that you were actually deliberating his request.

“Fine. Nothing’s open though, and I’m not going back into that noisy bar,” you turn around and start walking toward your apartment, “I live a block this way.” You know he’s going to follow you, and you quietly smile to yourself when you hear the crunch of poorly-maintained sidewalk under his shoes. He catches up with you, easily falling into stride next to you.

“Fancy seeing you here, huh?” Dr. Barnes makes excitable small talk, “Of all the gin joints.” You had to snort at that.

“Gin joints? You’re such a grandpa,” you deride. You weren’t sure how to reciprocate. Small talk had never been the MO between you two. And you were still indignant about the whole thing. Still, Dr. Barnes just gives a quiet, boyish laugh. You continue your walk home, nose in the air with a huff, determined not to acknowledge how cute he was. Or how good he smelled, like leather and expensive cologne.

“Were you on a date?” he asks, less meek now. You’re taken aback, looking over at him and raising an eyebrow. He didn’t seem to regret his question, quiet confidence in his face as he looked directly back at you, anticipation etched in the frown of his lips.

“And if I was?” Your response is coy, unable to hide the fact that you were elated with his apparent jealousy. Dr. Barnes seems to carefully deliberate his next few words.

“Didn’t peg him as your type, is all,” he decides, clearly hoping that he had suavely delivered his bait. You can’t help but snort.

“First of all,” you start, amusement laced in your sardonic words, “you need to learn how to hide the bait. But I’ll take it anyway. Second,” you say as he follows you up the path to your first floor duplex apartment, “Yes. It was a date.” Dr. Barnes doesn’t respond. 

You turn on the lights, kicking off your shoes and making sure that Dr. Barnes does the same. Friday comes meowing down the hall, as if she hadn’t spent the better part of the early evening perched on your lap, snoring into oblivion.

“Oh my god, hello you precious thing,” Dr. Barnes coos at her, holding out his hand for him to sniff. You turn, unable to keep your heart from melting as Friday leans into his large hand, letting him scratch her chin with her tail straight up in the air.

“This is Friday,” you introduce, ever the proud mother, “She’s really friendly.” You turn on the lamps, bathing your modest, but homely apartment in a cozy warmth as you invite Dr. Barnes into your home. He follows you, and settles next to you on the small loveseat you got secondhand. Friday lays down by your feet on the rug, content with the comfort it provided as she got down to giving herself her fourth bath of the day.

“I have one at home,” Dr. Barnes nods at Friday as he speaks, “Her name is Alpine.” His eyes have such a sparkle to them, you notice. So blue and genuine, when you really look at them. And you almost swoon, against your better judgment.

“Cute,” you say nonchalantly, even though you’re anything but. “So what did you want to say?” Your tone isn’t overly confrontational. Just plain. The nerves in your veins send a rush of anticipation, and you start picking at the frayed ends of the throw blanket you have on the loveseat. You watch him take in a huge breath, as if preparing himself for something of real consequence.

Dr. Barnes angles himself toward you, the dim glow of the streetlights outside highlighting the depth of blue when you return his gaze. Your knees are touching. You feel his hand slide toward yours, folded in your lap. In what seems like fucking forever, you feel a thrill at the thought of someone holding your hand; when your fingers unfurl and he slots his fingers through yours, you let his slight squeeze cradle your shaky, reluctant grasp. 

“I’m sorry, doll,” his voice is all honey and sincerity, “For everything.” You can’t explain why, but your chest just squeezes inwards, even though you had rehearsed what you would say for this moment several times in your head over the past few months. You start stroking your thumb over his fingers, 

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Barnes,” you respond with wryness. You watch as his face wrinkles with confusion — handsome, with a shadow of stubble that you ached to kiss.

“No, I do,” he swallows, insistent, “I was your professor and I took advantage of you, doll, and I —” he pauses, trying to find his words, “I’m just so sorry.” You slowly remove your hands from his grip, the situation too hot, discomfort threatening to writhe its way through your lungs.

“Like I said.” You try your best to express disinterest, “Nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t a big deal.” You dare to look back at his eyes, hardened by your response, the way you resisted his touch. 

“Right,” he chokes out, flesh hand flexing in his lap, where yours had been a few moments earlier, “I don’t think you mean that.” And unlike you, he’s not enough of a coward to keep your gaze. You hate that. There has to be a way out of this.

“Look,” you try a new tactic, “If you’re worried about me telling anyone, don’t be. I won’t report you to Stark — I have a reputation to maintain, too.” One of the threads on the blanket you’ve started picking at snaps under your finger. “I’m not interested in bureaucratic shitheads prying into my private life.” At least that last part had some truth to it. Dr. Barnes just looks even more hurt at your new line of reasoning. He closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath, as if searching for patience. His nose flares just a bit when he grits out:

“You think that’s what I care about?” You do what he did, and take a deep breath for yourself. "You know, for a smart ass sometimes you don't really know what the fuck you're talking about." You don't like this, this kind of anger from him. He made you feel guilty.

This was too much. You needed to breathe properly and your small apartment was getting stuffy. You calmly rise to your feet, wood creaking under you. Dr. Barnes watches as you open two windows, creating a cross-breeze in your apartment that helps you loosen your shoulders, fresh air wafting through the room and carrying with it the scent of the tomato leaves on your window sill. Friday stretches, butt and tail up high in the air as she makes her way toward the window sill, peering out onto the busy city streets below through the bug screen. Dr. Barnes has yet to take his eyes off of you, and you feel his stare follow you, cling to your skin as you finally look back at him. You sit next to him again, calmer than before.

“Shouldn’t you be on your knees thanking me?” you throw at him, sardonically, “You got to fuck a student, and you’re gonna away with it.” You can tell he’s starting to lose whatever patience he managed to hold on to a few moments ago. His eyes close, he takes another deep breath as he shakes his head,

“No, that’s not what I came to say.” He’s not going to let you derail the real conversation. One hand comes up to cup your cheek, steady and sure as his thumbs swipe at one of your tears that managed to escape. 

“I’m sorry for how I treated you,” he says, unwavering. “I’m sorry for ignoring you.” You hate that he could probably feel the furious heat warming the apples of your cheeks. That he could feel your jaw flex under his palm as you try not to let any more traitorous tears escape.You lean into the warmth of him. The smell of him throwing you right back into that moment with him, on his desk. Right before he threw you out of his office. Before he ignored you. Before you flirted with other students in front of him, to no avail. Before you spotted him on a date with another university professor. Before this fucking mess you became right at that instant, like putty in his able, commanding hands.

“Like I said,” you felt like a robot, sticking with your prepared defense, “No big deal. It’s over. It meant nothing.” But by now, your ability to convince anyone of your indifference has melted into nothing. Dr. Barnes pulls you in closer, planting a soft kiss to the side of you head, whispering,

“I don’t think you mean that, sweetheart,” he whispers, so tenderly as he cups his metal hand at the base of your neck. “You know what I think?” he taunts you, planting another kiss on your temple, pad of his flesh thumb coming up and pressing against your adorable pout, dragging along your  bottom lip as he rasps with conviction.

“I think you’re chicken shit.” You freeze. Pulling back to look straight at him, but letting him keep his distance, glaring at him right in the eyes.

“Excuse me?” 

“Yeah,” he nods, amusement and frustration simultaneously blooming in a dry, boyish smile. “You’re scared to admit that it meant something to you.” You’d never seen Dr. Barnes this confident in the words he’d said. “You don’t want to admit, to me or yourself, that I mean something to you,” he continues, coming closer to you, hovering way too close for you to think clearly. He smelled too good, his words too potent as he enticed you even closer.

“And how would you know anything about that?” you challenge, tears drying as you finally confront him, face to face. Stubborn, as always. And right before he pulls you into a heated, consuming kiss, he quietly murmurs, just for the two of you,

“Because it meant something to me.”

✶

Bucky feels you kiss him back, and a triumphant spark of glee ignites thoughts of you. So many thoughts and feelings about you. You under him again, you wrapped around his cock — lips, hands, pussy — whichever. You, writhing under him as he drove into you, fingers on your clit, on your nipples, pinching until your pretty, gasping cries satisfied his need. He’d spent too many nights thinking about this, about having you again. No other person he’d been with had compared to cumming into his own fist while thinking about you. He desired you, and his desire was so singular — he would take tonight as a sign.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky sighs into you in between kisses, arms coming up to cage you in his hold, “I’m so sorry, baby.” He’s desperate, he feels it; feels like he’d do whatever you asked of him if it meant that you knew how he felt. How he wanted you. Needed a release that he just knew you’d be able to give him.

“Yeah?” You’re just as consumed and winded by lust, “Prove it,” you command. “Prove to me that you’re sorry Dr. Barnes,” you come in to nibble on his ear lobe, licking a messy trail around the shell of his ear – “Please.”

Bucky groans, trying to get a grip on the situation first, ignoring the growing bulge in his pants as he mutters into your neck, refusing to detach from you. From the flowery, sweet scent of you in the summer breeze.

“First, you can call me ‘Bucky,’ he instructs.

“Bucky?” you raised your eyebrows, “How provincial,” you snort.

“Hey,” he chides, bringing your hands up to his lips and pressing a short, loving kiss to them and  then shrugging his retort, “My ma thought it was funny namin’ me after one of the worst presidents in history, so I’m Bucky.” He smiles at you, proudly at his name, a little glassy eyed and giddy, you think. 

“Bucky,” you let his name roll off your tongue, sweet and soft. Bucky thinks he wants to hear you say it while he makes you feel good. For you to groan it in his ear while he drives himself into you, coaxing you toward the throes of an ecstatic pleasure that you grip him again, just like you did on his desk. “At least she didn’t name you ‘Andrew Johnson,’” you shrug with a chuckle, “He’s ten times worse.” Bucky laughs along with you, charmed as he kisses up your neck, down your jaw, hands gripping at your waist, thighs.

“God, Buck—” he starts tending to a particularly sensitive spot at the juncture of your neck shoulder, sending goosebumps down your back.You pull back, asking him,

“What was the second?” 

“Huh?” His goofy smile warms you, his eyes so deep with blue and desire. He looks just how you felt; exhilarated, awaiting something that felt like it had been so impossibly out of reach, that when it's finally in front of you, you can’t help but feel let pressure, the eagerness of the moment seize you. 

“You said, ‘First, you can call me Bucky,” you explain patiently, amused at his desire. “What was the second?” His eyes perk in recognition,

“Oh,” his hands start moving toward the bottom of your t-shirt, peeling it off. “Hands up, baby,” he murmurs, pulling your top over your head, “Second, you got a bed around here?” You can’t help but giggle, leaning in to give him a hard, forgiving kiss. His flesh grabs at your breast over the silk of your bra, massaging at an increasing pace in a way that drags the moans straight from your chest. You break the kiss, searching for air,

“Down the hall,” you nod toward your bedroom. Dr. Ba—Bucky stands and grabs your hands, pulling you up to stand in front of him — he’s too tall. You have to crane your neck slightly just to look him directly in the eye. You can’t help but let your heart spark in your chest, letting that feeling of adrenaline rush through your veins and dominating your desires.

Bucky kisses you again, building up with such slow urgency, a skilled tongue, and wandering, soft hands. He picks you up, bridal style, and walks you two into your bedroom. On your way, a flick of your wrist floods the room with the warm glow of the lamp in the corner, next to a few bookshelves and your bed. It seems Friday had made her way to the middle of your bed at some point during the commotion in the living room.

Bucky takes in your room, finding that it suits you so well. Little pieces of who you were, who he wanted to know, a girl he had so many questions for — so much of it revealed to him in the blink of a light switch. He wanted to know which books on your shelf you liked, which ones you hated. If the spot on the carpet lit up in the sun; if Friday liked sleeping there as much as Alpine loved sleeping in the sun. He wanted to ask about the photos of you with your friends, your family, scattered across the walls, next to posters of several indie bands that he enjoyed. Other posters he didn’t recognize. As he gingerly places you on the bed and hovers over you, Bucky thinks about what he’d do to make this last, to make the time last with you — so he could ask all the questions he needed the answers to. Until he could take what he needed. 

Your hands make quick work of removing his clothes, and he strips you down to nothing. Bucky swallows thickly. That simpering, sweet smile on your face, still so mischievous, so sexy. Just like when he makes himself cum at night.

“Let me make you feel good, baby,” he kisses down your body, positioning your leg over his shoulder and refusing to break eye contact with you, “Let me show you how sorry I am.” You can’t do anything but swallow and nod vehemently, head cloudy with need. 

The moment Bucky’s tongue licks a stripe right up the middle of your cunt, you feel yourself twitch, releasing a breath at the relief of that first, pleasurable stroke. He continued to lick with pressure, taking care to smear his spit all over, but avoiding your clit. Your hand comes up to grab your tit, pinching at the nipples just the way you like it. Bucky observes, licking you into intense desire, and brings his flesh hand up to grab your other breast, twisting and pulling at your nipple just like you were doing.

“Oh —” you gasp, your other hand grabbing a fistful of his dark hair, but not enough for it to hurt. Bucky lets his tongue, flattened against your sopping pussy, travel up to nudge your clit. You let out a sigh of relief, a shock of pleasure running up to your head as he repeats his motions over and over. “Fuck, yes, Buck— oh gosh—” you keen up into his mouth, chasing the pressure of his tongue. He slows down, groaning into your clit and sending another wave of pleasure. So patient, so focused on you, Bucky carefully, with so much tenderness in his eyes as he looked up at you, carefully inserts two fingers into you, drawing another gasp.

At some point, he begins to fuck his metal fingers into you, gradually gaining speed, tongue diving back to draw circles around your clit. You don’t do anything but moan, letting him make you feel like you were on cloud nine. The coolness, the metal of his fingers creates an intense sensation as you repeatedly tighten around them. The moment he starts to crook his fingers into just the right spot, the sweet spot that has you gushing if you bullied it enough — when Bucky starts sucking your clit in earnest, you can’t help let a loud, whiny moan escape.

“Oooooh, fuck yes,” you murmur, “Keep doing that, keep doing that and I’ll—” you’re cut off as Bucky starts to suck even harder on your clit, his fingers repeatedly rubbing against your g-spot and coaxing your pleasure out, manipulating it into waves as the dirty, sexy squelch of your arousal leaks down his hand. “Uh-huh, baby, right there,” you encourage, grinding your pussy into his willing mouth, letting him bring you to the brink of your orgasm. Just as you’re about to climax, you stop Bucky abruptly, hand grabbing his metal wrist and twitching as he removes his fingers from you.

“Wait,” you instruct, trying to catch your breath. “Wanna cum with you inside me,” maintaining eye contact as you divulge your dirty little secret out loud. Bucky’s pupils darken, face shiny with you, the evidence of how good he made you feel. 

“You’re so perfect,”  he whispers, coming in to capture your lips again — to no avail.

“Ah, ah, ah — “ You cut him off, hand on his chest to push him back. “Sit up” you nod toward the pillows, where Bucky rests his back as follows your instructions. His smile is giddy with anticipation. You take this moment to scour his body, taking in details that you couldn’t memorize the first time. From the lust in his eyes, well-built, muscular body, and a thick, erect cock begging to be touched by you, you couldn’t comprehend anything other than your desire for him, for him to make you feel good, for him to really prove that he was worth your forgiveness.

You move to plant your knees on either side of him, hands gripping onto his biceps to help you hover right above where he needed you. But you refused to let him in yet, refused to let his cock, angry and red with leaking precum claim you until he knew you were serious. So you just move your hips back and forth, never quite letting him notch his cock inside you, but slipping your pussy back and forth on him, drawing out small breaths of his desperation, his lust, his need for you. You lean in to kiss him, searing into him a possessiveness, a desire to claim him as your place your palms on his chest for your support. Bucky’s hands travel up, one gripping the fat of your asscheek, the other high on your waist, metal thumb swiping across your nipple as you moaned and slicked yourself back and forth on his cock. His whines become needier by the minute, and he swears he hasn’t been this fucking hard in forever.

“Please, doll,” he murmurs desperately into your mouth, grunting when you nip a little too hard on his bottom lip, feeling the sensitive tip of his cock nudge your clit. “Fuck me, please.” He’s not above begging. Not at this point. Not when an angel presents herself to him, ready to let him make her feel just as good she could make him feel. Bucky whines in frustration when you shake your head in denial, breathy whimpers doing nothing to break your control over him, even as you’re about to lose yourself in the pleasure of rubbing your pussy against him.

“Not yet, Buck,” you deny. “Not until I know you’re sorry.”

“Baby, you know I’m sorry,” he kisses you. So desperate. “Please,” his hips buck upwards, trying to get you to acquiesce to his desires, “Let me make you feel good, huh? Let me fuck this pussy and remind you how sorry I am, doll.” He knows he’s begging now. He knows how desperate he is to make you come. For you to know that he means something to you.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky thinks he might cum on the spot when he feels you notch the head of his cock into your hole, and when you start to sink down on his dick, perfectly manicured fingernails digging into his biceps, Bucky knows that he’s in heaven, that he’d do anything to make earn your forgiveness.

Your moans don’t do anything to help his patience. The further you suck down on his cock, the more the stretch, the sensations, the pure lust enveloped you. 

“God, this feels amazing,” you moan straight into his ear. Bucky feels some of your slick, evidence of how good he made you feel, dripping down his cock, confirmed by the sound of your wetness as you let him bottom out inside of you.

“Fuck yes, baby. Take my cock. Let me make you feel good, c’mon,” he encourages you, stroking your back with tenderness in his touch, his other hand coming to your hips and guiding you back and forth on his cock.

You ride him like you have something to prove, letting the friction of his cock pulling against your walls rip lewd, salacious cries from your chest. You were purely chasing your own pleasure, feeling every little sensation that promised release.

“S-so deep,” you whimper, your clit repeatedly dragging against Bucky, the sounds of him feeling just as fucking good as you drowning out your own thoughts as you focused on the building tension in your lower stomach. 

“O-oh fuck, doll,” he pants, “Just like that, please.” So tight, so wet — he was losing his mind. The closeness of you, how willing he was to let you use his body for what you needed, Bucky was overcome with so much desire that he couldn’t think about anything else besides making you feel good, just as satiated as last time. Except now, he was going to do things right.

Bucky groans your name into your ear, even more desperate than before; he could feel his balls tighten in anticipation.

“Gonna cum, baby,” he warns you, breaking a kiss that had you both melting into each other. You don’t break your pace, ass plopping up and down repeatedly as you fuck yourself silly on his cock.

“Not yet,” you pant, “Wait.” Bucky’s eyes widen with the effort it takes not to come as you utter your demand. He liked it, you taking charge. He thinks he might have gotten even harder as you continue to roll your hips against him. He’s going to lose his mind, he doesn’t know what to do, how he would hold himself back from the blinding white pleasure of spilling inside you.

“Doll, pl-please,” he begs pathetically. “Need to cum, wanna cum in you, please, baby ple—” His own gasp cuts him off as he feels your pussy pulse around him, impossibly tight as you whine into his ear,

“Don’t —” you whine as you come, hips still rolling against him fervently, “Don’t fucking cum until I saw you can,” you finish your command, letting your orgasm finally overwhelm you. Bucky starts fucking up into you, deep as he can go, determined to draw as much from you as he can, to make you feel how much he wanted you.

“Cum for me, doll,” he coos, “So fucking beautiful on my cock.” Desperate words of encouragement carrying with them a silent plea to let him come, too. And as you ride out your pleasure, convulsing on his cock, you murmur sweet little words that Bucky makes a mental note to stow away for the future.

“Bucky, oh fuck,” you giggle, out of breath but still slowly, torturously gyrating your hips with in you. He can’t do anything but look up at you, full of awe and want. You give him a peck, sinking into his arms as they wrap around your body. “You wanna cum, now Bucky?” Your question is coy, full of promises, your hips taunting him as they circled with his cock nested inside you. He nods vigorously, swallowing before he yelps a small,

“Please, please let me cum, baby.” You smile as you kiss him again, nodding your consent. It’s all Bucky needs to flip you both over, wrap your legs around his waist, and start fucking into you with abandon.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he pants against your open mouth, breathing in your moans as he drives into you with calculated force and precision, “I’m so, so sorry. I want you so fucking bad,” he confesses against your lips.

“It’s okay, Buck—” you forgive him; in the cloud of lust, the haze of sex and cravings, you let him know that you forgave him, “Oh god, you’re so d-deep. Need your cum.”

“Keep sayin’ that, doll,” he grunts, just on the precipice. Your legs tighten around his waist, locking him against you as he drags his cock in, out, in—

“Fuck me until you cum, baby,” you whisper into his ears, just as desperate, knowing your words were truthful. “Fuck it into me, I need it—”

“I’m gonna — fuck,” Bucky feels his cock twitch inside you, and he buries his head in the crook of your neck as he rides out his pleasure, an overwhelming orgasm tingling from the base of his spine up into the sex-filled haze in his head. You’re kissing along his neck, stroking his back comfortingly as you coo,

“Just like that, baby,” you soothe, “Fuck it into me.” Bucky’s hips don’t stop rolling into yours, making sure that his cum was fucked into you just like you wanted, like you told him to do, trying not to whine at the oversensitivity.

As you both come down from the heights of sexual release, Bucky still inside you, on top of you, kissing praise into your lips, you let that sense of contentment flood through you, surround you, envelope you in comfort. Bucky pulls back to look into your eyes with such sincerity, brows furrowed.

“You know I mean it, doll?” he whispers, planting another kiss, “I’m sorry for hurting you.” You’re sure he could feel the steady beat of your heart against his chest, how calm were right then as you rubbed your hands up and down his back — you needed that, the feel of warm skin. It was intimate, the way you could elicit a sensual shudder from Bucky every time your hand kneaded at a particularly sore muscle. You just nod, unable to contain your smile as you accept what Bucky has to say.

“I know,” you say, pressing another sloppy kiss to Bucky’s red, inviting lips. “I’m sorry, too.”

✶

An annoying, blaring sound jostles you from your sleep, and you wake with a sudden movement — annoyed that you were tangled in sheets that slowed your progress toward thrashing your alarm clock.

As you smash your palm against your alarm clock to muzzle the noise, its sound is replaced by a faint snoring. You look over on the other side of your bed to see Dr. Bucky Barnes, drooling and snoring right into one of your pillows. Surprisingly charming, you think, letting yourself embrace the warmth that spreads through you at the sight of him sleeping. Heavy sleeper, you note.

You sink back into bed, and your movement stirs Bucky. He groans slightly, refusing to open his eyes as he pulls you into his body, spooning you as he presses a kiss into your head

“Good morning, baby,” he rasps, hands starting to roam over your body slowly. You let yourself enjoy the intimacy of the moment, sleep still heavy on your eyelids.

“Morning,” you return with a yawn.

“Still sleepy?” you hear Bucky yawn as his arms wrap around you, cuddling you like you were a body pillow.

“Mhm,” you hum, peeking at the sliver in your curtains, revealing a still-rising sun.

“Let’s get some more sleep,” Bucky suggests as he nuzzles into you. You can’t imagine feeling more relaxed. “Then I’ll take you to breakfast when we wake up. Sound good?”

You hum your ascent once again, and you let the drowsiness pull the both of you into a dreamy, comfortable sleep.

[suzukiblu]

a quickie lil' Saturday night kink meme! ✨️🍑✨️

( for reasons that totally don't have annnnnything to do with me being extremely ADHD and/or susceptible to anons randomly asking me about fun writing meme options when I was already halfway debating doing a writing meme this weekend. definitely not. )

Send me an ask with a kink and a DC character and/or pairing included, and I will write you a lil' bit of related kink and/or porn in return! Also open to just getting sent a kink if you want surprised, and I'll do dealer's choice for the character or pairing.

Also-also, not a mandatory thing, but bonus points for:

a) rarepairs,

b) KON rarepairs,

and

c) giving me a reason why you think the kink vibes with the character/pairing.

Multiple requests are fine; just please send 'em in separate asks, it makes it way easier for me to answer them.

[gatzbright]

“you are my sun, my moon, and all my stars” — e.e. cummings

[dallonwrites]

wrote 437 words and whilst i'm glad i have an outline for this chapter i forgot briefly about the beauty of discovery writer swag because none of what i wrote was planned and all stemmed from one description line like i got carried away but i had fun. i was free

[spilling-blood]

What if I said during this period of giving myself permission to not write at all I keep coming up with ideas while I clean and pack, and one of them is a pre canon Fyoguchi oneshot...

[omnipicureans]

[S'MORES] - A classic treat, easily made in the bonfires that crop up as the sun begins to set, and perfect for sharing.

The night was winding down, and Fu Hua sat before a fire, a stick before the pit. As heat slowly enraptured the gooey marshmallow, she would hum. She was at peace. That was, until a familiar figure would drift closer out of the shadows.

"Who's there?" She called out, her tone rather sweet. "I'm just making some s'mores and uh, I've got more than enough to share, if you'd like to join me!" Despite all that had come before, that nerve in meeting someone new still managed to find itself tickling the end of each sentence. A soft sigh at the hesitation, before her eyes widened. The realization of who was approaching hit harder than any foe she'd ever faced.

"Aponia..." she whispered, her stick lowering closer to the bonfire. The golden goodness would burn over, blackened and charred like the wood fueling the flame. The state of her snack isn't on her mind, however. Her old friend is.

(Realizing that Fu Hua would probably have a breakdown at seeing any of the flame-chasers but like don't worry about it yk)

𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄'𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇! ╱ ghsolstice prompts.

SIMULATIONS HAD NOT THE NECESSITIES OF HUMAN LIMITS, & thus, the drawl of shuddering wind across dark skies had not summoned forth the thought of retreating back home to unceremoniously end the night. or maybe, instead, the simple thought of having somewhere to retreat was the catalyst of discipline's aimless wandering. sand crushed beneath platformed sandals, moonlight caught between clasped hands, aponia walked & walked & walked until the shore was behind her wake——— hooded eyes glazed over with the barest flicker of fatigue ; THE FOREVER EMOTION TRAPPED BETWEEN THE BINARIES OF HER RIBCAGE, an immortal ghost of her humanity.

at least, in this, the mortal delight of watching setting suns & waking moons would be enjoyed, without the ignorance of pretending how numbers made up the sky & codes reflected the light cast upon her. that, as wispy as the breeze, followed the memory of companionship, a———

shy blue eyes blinked away the exhaustion, napping up at the direction of a stranger's voice. how far had she walked, aimless yet inevitably into the radius of another, more fortunate soul? lips pursed into the beginnings of a frown, TOO QUAINT TO MIMIC THE TRUTH OF A SCOWL, one she, herself, seemed incapable of creating. the greeting though was welcoming enough, & truth to the offer, it had been years since she had the luxury of a smore. ( what exactly that was, she seemed forgetful, but the smell of charring sugar shed a possible light on the sweet's making. )

❛ ah, you are too kind. i apologize for interrupting your peace. ❜ wandering feet set themselves forward to a destination, that beneath the brushes of foliage & into the clearing lit only by a pit of carefully tamed fire. pursed lips became that of a smile, gentle & appreciative, before her gaze finally reached the lady perched beside the flames. ❛ if you will allow me, then i will join you. i. . . ❜

FAMILIARITY GRASPED HER THROAT, & STRANGLED FORTH ANY UTTERANCE OF FURTHER EXPLANATIONS. the feeling was so sudden, so impossibly swift, discipline nearly split apart the fragment she stood as, a shock so utterly disobedient, her expression fell with an uncomfortable ease.

in contrast to herself, fu hua sat casually before her, though evidently not absent of a similar surprise as the disbelief that refused to release her. AGAINST ALL ODDS, FU HUA EXISTED. it was simply a strange oddity that she existed in front of discipline, of all ghosts.

her name fell softly from fu hua's lips, though she had yet to tear herself from the disbelief ; CONFUSED EYES MET THOSE OF A VIBRANT COLOR, so unlike the gaze she remembered, yet belonging to the memory as no other would. quiet, aponia uttered, ❛ fu hua. ❜ & said nothing else, simply to digest the name in full. discipline turned taut, then, once all was consumed. she straightened what had relaxed, pressed together lips that fell open, & changed all besides the tenderness of her gaze.

❛ . . . you are different. ❜ came, first, the obvious. second, followed the trail of her feet, guiding her forward until she stood closer, further into the light. in little time, such sternness softened. ❛ i am surprised, but cannot be anymore. you are a force of the untouchable, fu hua. ❜

( HAVE YOU MISSED ME AS I HAVE MISSED YOU? WHAT HAS BECOME OF YOU NOW, & DOES IT BEAR RESEMBLANCE TO THE REBIRTH OF MYSELF? WHAT HAS CHANGED BETWEEN US, OR HAS ANYTHING AT ALL?

[ . . . ] discipline remained silent of all inquiries, scripted only to the very moment it existed within. )

careful gaze flitted to the empty log beside her. an offer, a boundary, ❛ may i sit with you, still? ❜

[violetsareblue-selfships]

good morning <33

[beautiful-songbird]

Slamming my head against the wall as I write this paper