#trans character fics

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi, I hope you’re well :)

Do you know of any fics where both John and Sherlock are afab characters?

I’d love to read some more well-written sapphic stories.

aziralock asked: About my last ask: it doesn’t have to be sapphic. If they’re trans or whatever I don’t mind :) just afab characters would be great :)

Hi Lovely!

All good no worries!

Ah, I don't PERSONALLY know any fics that would please you, but I do have some Trans / Genderfluid / Genderqueer / Enby Characters (MFLs) lists you can check out that may have some fics you will enjoy.

I welcome anyone who has fics to please suggest them in the notes or reblogs! I'd love to have more to suggest to y'all!

[shrimpchipsss]

hm... precarious

spiritually from possession by tshirt

[formosusiniquis]

When Mike Wheeler, red faced and still faintly tear stained, asks him how he knew he liked both Steve doesn’t know how to tell him it was his sister.

Before Nancy Wheeler it had only been boys. Before Nancy Wheeler Steve had been sure he was gay and knew well enough to keep it to himself; dating around enough to earn himself a protective reputation. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Marcus Summers, from the baseball team, during freshman year. Steve had gone to every game, and had been forced to make up excuses about schoolwork and his other commitments when asked why he hadn’t tried out for himself. Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been Tommy Hagan. The summer between seventh and eighth grade had been very kind to Tommy, he was sunkissed and boy next door sweet, Steve had wanted to hold his hand and count the freckles across the bridge of his nose. 

Before Nancy Wheeler there’d been his first love, a boy who only visited one summer, the year Steve turned ten. His name had changed every time they hung out but he’d favored E’s. Eli, Emmett, Elliott, Eric, Excalibur, Excelsior, and once for about an hour Wayne. His hair brushed his chin in pretty brown curls and his big brown eyes were always bright with excitement. He always got storm off mad when any of the other boys they’d played with that summer said he was acting like a girl, E would run off to the woods and Steve would always follow. E always came up with the best games anyway, he didn’t like playing soccer or HORSE or anything else with rules that couldn’t be bent; he preferred imagination games where they were knights or wizards. He didn’t laugh when Steve said he always liked playing house, but never wanted to be the dad because why would he want to be someone who never wanted to spend any time with his kids. E who, while insisting on being called Samwise all day, was his first kiss.

Cause he knows what Mike wants to hear. He’s seen the way Mike and Will have danced around each other since the last portal closed. He’s heard the things Mike has said to and about Will. He’s heard all about the week that Will was in the Upside Down. He’s heard all about the summer of ‘85. He’s heard all about the final off again that seems to officially mark the end of Mike and El romantically. He knows that Mike wants him to say that he’d never even thought about boys before he met Eddie. That there’s just something special about Eddie that makes him want to give up his lady killing ways. That Eddie was different. That it was okay that he was having these scary new thoughts, maybe Will was just an exception.

And Steve doesn’t know how to have that conversation. When he realized he liked both it was a relief, that maybe he could have something normal and wouldn't have to spend his life lying or hiding. 

But Eddie was different. Eddie was special. Eddie was probably it for Steve which is scary in a different way that he’s not ready to touch yet -- not when it’s only been three months.

There’s never been another girl since Nancy Wheeler, not really

There will never be another boy after Eddie Munson.

So he tries to help, as best he can. It’s easier with Eddie there, not quite dozing against his shoulder -- the kid’s emergencies always seem to come so late at night these days. “When I was ten, there was a boy whose name kept changing who decided prince charming should get to kiss his faithful knight. And when I was sixteen, your sister-”

Mike’s goodwill diminishes quickly as his sister gets introduced to the conversation.

“Stevie,” Eddie says. It’s not an admonishment for bringing up Nancy. It’s awestruck and watery. “You remember that?”

“Of course I remember the first boy I ever loved," that word catches up with him a second later. Remember. 

Cause there's Eddie with his riot of brown curls and his Bambi eyes. Eddie, who has explained why soft feminine words chafe against his skin leaving him itchy and anxious. Eddie, who has an Uncle in Hawkins. Eddie who moved to town the summer before he entered high school with a buzzed head and his mother's last name. Eddie who finally settled into an E he liked best.

"Wheeler, here's a tip from me to you," Eddie says, his advice is always better received than Steve's anyway, "if you have to ask you probably already know."

"Straight people don't really spend much time wondering if they aren't really straight," Steve agrees.

They don't rush Mike out the door, a crisis is a crisis and even in the wake of new discoveries Mike deserves to be heard out. Deserves a chance to cry and rage and feel those emotions someplace safe from his Reaganite father -- just as much as Will deserves to have someone who knows what they want come to him, deserves better than experimentation.

They cross the bridge from late into early by the time Mike sets off. The sun is creeping up over the horizon and Mike looks solid, certain; the dawn hints at the man he is growing up to be. Though every instinct of Steve's begs him to drive the kid home, Eddie's soft hand lingering at his hip holds him fast. They wave instead, encouraging Mike to go home and to bed before he does anything; knowing his front bike tire is already pointed toward the Byers-Hopper place.

"The first boy you ever loved, huh, Stevie?" Eddie teases before the door has even managed to click shut.

"And the last, I'm hoping, if I play my cards right."

"You were always pretty good at that. You were the only person that summer who called me by my name, except Wayne."

"It was your name." He knows that's too simple. Knows how hard Eddie has had it, continues to have it. But that summer it had been that simple, Eddie trying on names like shirts each one fitting until they didn't. "For what it's worth, I like Eddie a lot more than Excalibur."

"Oh fuck off, I was going through a fantasy knight phase. Which I know you remember."

"Right a phase, and how much longer is this fantasy 'phase' going to last?"

They're the kind of tired that makes you feel drunk, when Eddie tackles Steve and sends them both to the floor and to giggles. Eddie might not have been his bi awakening, but Steve is pretty fine with him being his everything else.

[rodolfoparras]

Pillow talk

Pairing: FTM! Peter B. Parker x Top Male Reader

Synopsis: In which Peter, a married man, gets off to the thought of being with someone other than his spouse

Content tags: 18+, MINORS DNI, emotional infidelity, cheating kink, pillow humping, masturbation, oral sex, Peter has a size kink, Peter being a bit of a pervert

A/n: as always pls excuse any mistakes I tried a new writing style here, also if you want you can listen to More Than Friends by Isabel LaRosa while reading this since it’s heavily inspired by it!

A tired sigh escapes Peter’s lips as his bones bleed into the sheets. The window’s cracked ajar, allowing cold autumn air to mingle with the smell of MJ’s perfume that’s lingering around in the room.

He’s stripped down to nothing but his tattered pink robe, searing skin exposed to the chilly sensation emitting from his wedding ring as it trails along the length of his body.

For the first time in a while Peter’s gotten some time alone.

MJ has taken Mayday for the day and left so that Peter could have the house to himself, claiming he’d been pent up for a while and supposedly needed a break.

Peter hadn’t argued against it but had instead taken the offer with grace since it’s true that he has been feeling pent up but not for the reason MJ thinks. Peter’s sure that if she knew the reason behind his recent behaviors she wouldn’t be so willing to help him.

For the last couple of weeks Peter’s been plagued with the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor, not his next door neighbor because that man is a menace and Peter’s pretty sure the hate’s mutual.

Instead he’s come to the realization that he didn’t hate his neighbor on the floor below him, that neighbor being you.

At first he was sure that he hated you since you made his spider senses tingle, well at least that’s what he thought it was.

He’d first met you at a neighborhood block party. You had recently moved in or so he had heard and were more than eager to get acquainted with the neighbors for whatever reason.

You were lounging around in a lawn chair when he had first arrived with MJ and Mayday.

The poor thing threatened to give out under your weight but you paid it no mind as you entertained a conversation with a neighbor and nourished a beer in your hand.

When you rose to greet him, Peter noticed that you were a whole head taller than him so it was no wonder that you made his spider senses tingle.

He tried his best to ignore you but even when he couldn’t see you, he could smell you since you wore this stupid cologne that smelled stronger than anything MJ’s ever worn before and because of that he could always tell when you were lingering around.

If he thought that smelling and seeing you was bad then touching you was something else.

He’d purposely opted out of a handshake when you first greeted each other but that didn’t save his spider sense from going into overdrive after having your knees knock together while you were sat at the same table or having your elbows brush against each other while scooping up leftovers.

However even though you made his spider sense go off, Peter had quickly realized that you weren’t a threat, at least not a dangerous one.

You were friendly and always made sure to spark up a conversation with him, even when you'd be in a rush to something.

You’d go out your way to bring him any of his mail or packages that happened to be misplaced.

Hell you'd even baby sat Mayday a handful of times so it was safe to say you weren’t a threat. But for whatever reason Peter couldn’t seem to get you out of his head.

Especially after hearing your ever so polite voice protruding through his thin bedroom walls, your dirty words squeezing between his and Mj’s hushed conversations. Or seeing the way you basically engulfed whoever was in your arms but unlike the lawn chair they seemed to thrive from being in your embrace. And escaping the smell of your cologne turned out to be a hard feat since every other day someone would be prancing around in one of your shirts dozed in the smell of it.

He doesn’t even remember when he started making sure that he’d be the one to pick Mayday up from your house, just to see whatever lounge wear you’d be prancing around in that day and the bit of skin that always seemed to show through it.

He doesn’t remember when he started hoping that the mailman would misplace yet another letter or package just so that he could feel your calloused fingertips brushing against his as you handed him something.

He doesn’t even remember when he started biting his tongue just so he wouldn’t ask you who he had seen standing outside your door the previous night.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this. He has MJ and he has Mayday and as far as he knows he’s happy. He’s just pent up, like MJ had said.

It’s not like Peter and MJ don’t have sex. It’s just that she doesn’t do it for him, at least not anymore.

Every time they get intimate he’d have to fake an orgasm or jerk off after she’d gone to bed. Lately he’s even had to pretend to be asleep every time she tried to initiate something because he simply wasn’t up for it.

So he’d find other ways to entertain himself and one of the ways being with inappropriate thoughts of his neighbor.

And things kind of escalate from there not in the literal sense since you’re so fucking polite, wont even look at him twice, keeping a respectful distance to a man who has a kid and a wife.

But God Peter wishes that you did, so much so he imagines you pinning him to the bed, hip to hip, chest to chest, those strong arms and thighs caging him into the mattress

The tattered robe wrapped around his frame doesn’t compare to the way your body would feel on top of his. But he keeps it on anyway, closes his eyes and pretends that the hand leisurely dragging across his limbs is your body pushing down onto his.

He imagines the way your lips would slot together, hot breath washing over his cheek as you whisper dirty words to him.

A thumb finds his lips, teasingly tugging and taunting at the bottom lip. It feels nothing like your calloused fingertips but his tongue peaks past his lips, tasting the salty skin before sinking down on it.

He imagines how you’d tease and taunt him in that polite voice of yours that managed to whisper such dirty words, how you’d mock him for wanting to be fucked like a bitch in heat despite the wedding band digging into his skin, maybe you’d force him to say it just so that he hears it from his own lips or so that the whole neighborhood can hear how desperate he is.

He imagines you straddling his waist grinding into him while wearing nothing but your boxers, teasing him to point where he’s soaking through his own pair of underwear.

A hand slides down his chest, blunt nails dragging down his happy trail, only to stop at the fringe of curls atop of his cunt, tugging and taunting til he’s all worked up.

He imagines your long fingers thrusting into him , or making him finger himself while wearing his wedding band, prepping himself to be fucked by someone other than his spouse.

And God he’s already so wet, fingers easily coating in his arousal as he trails them up his cunt, and in that very moment he can't help but think how MJ never gets him like this.

But his fingers are not enough- this little fantasy of his is not enough but you’re too good to do anything about it so he rolls onto his stomach before propping the pillow between his legs, pretending it’s your face.

He imagines the bed creaking under your shared weight, and the way the smell of your cologne would engulf his senses. He imagines the way your calloused fingertips would sink into the supple skin of his thighs and the way your ever so polite voice would sound as you command him to properly sit down.

He starts moving slowly, rolling his hips cautiously, imagining the way your tongue would experimentally delve through his folds.

The pillow slides in between his folds, coarse fabric creating a steady pressure onto his engorged numb, not enough to overwhelm his senses but enough to send jolts of pleasure coursing through his body every time he moves his hips.

He imagines you wanting to take your time with him wanting to taste him, tongue licking a strip along his cunt up to his puffy clit where you’d continue to tease him until he’s begging and urging you to hurry before someone can find the two of you like this.

But you wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t care if anyone were to find you like this, hand slapping his ass in warning before you continued to do as you pleased.

His hand cups the globe of his cheek, much like the way you’d do it if you were with him, except his fingers feel nothing like yours. But the cold sensation from his ring as it slaps his searing skin sends sparks of pleasure coursing through his entire body and for one second it almost feels like you’re actually there with him.

The coarse fabric of the pillow case reminds him so much of your stubble and it’s so wrong but feels so right - the thought of being fucked by someone other than his wife as huffs and pants escape his lips, hips moving faster as he wanders back to his fantasy.

He imagines you having him so worked up to the point where Peter’s long forgotten about the fact that someone can just walk in on you two because the bed’s creaking and he’s loudly begging and pleading for you to stop teasing.

Eventually you'd take pity on him, showing him mercy by properly latching onto his puffy clit, eagerly suckling on it before tonguing his hole.

He adjusts his hips, and the angle in which the pillow hits his clit changes slightly, and intensifies the sensation along with it.

“Oh- oh fuck!” He squeals out, toes curling as he throws his head back.

He imagines the way you’d easily have him teetering on the edge of his release with Peter begging and pleading for you to let him finish.

He can almost taste it, can hear the Squelching sounds mingling with the sound of needy noises escaping his lips. He can even smell his arousal: strong and heady, knowing he’s probably stained the pillow under him and will need to wash it before MJ comes back but for now he can’t find it in himself to care.

He’s so close, needs just a bit more -and that’s when he picks up on the sound of your footsteps walking up the stairs, smells the scent of your cologne bleeding into the air.

You must be on your way to his apartment to bring yet another misplaced package.

And Peter knows it’s wrong but it feels so right, feels himself tip over the edge as you read what’s written on the parcel, out loud

“To Peter B. Parker, please handle with care”

[softevnstan]

(nsfw) random prompt event generator for bucky!!

Bucky and Y/N going back to one or the other's house after a date, where they eventually end up dry-humping on the couch. Y/N only intends this as foreplay, but Bucky is already getting overwhelmed. Y/N finds this amusing and endearing, leaning close to whisper something teasingly into Bucky's ear. It turns out that Bucky is more excited than Y/N thought, and hits orgasm without any further stimulation, to the surprise of Y/N and the embarrassment of Bucky. What happens next?

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral! reader

summary. After a date night out with Bucky as you explore your new relationship, you unintentionally wind up taking your makeout session a little too far. Quickly you learn it's been far too long since Bucky has had a partner.

warnings. SMUT - minors DNI. kissing, praise kink, dirty talk, size difference, beefy bucky, dry humping, masturbation (bucky and you), implied/referenced trauma, reader has v but still gender neutral. p with plot, recovering!bucky barnes (half-way).

a.n. ok, i have other things to write and originally i was gonna let this wait... until i read the prompt again and saw this as an opportunity for some mild bottom/fluffy bucky. (bucky is a bottom you can't change my mind, but i'll write top for you all i promise) starts a little fluffy at first because idk how to not write some sort of context to situations, and bucky is still in recovery reasonably so

w.c. 7.6k howdidthishappen

Your date with Bucky exceeded your expectations. Wary that things would potentially be a little rough around the edges while the soldier was still trying to put himself back together, you were pleasantly surprised when he picked you up at your apartment with a bouquet of flowers - specifically an interesting combination of sunflowers and roses. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had bought you flowers, and after running them inside so as to not ruin them by taking them on the trip, Bucky held your hand all the way to his motorcycle and helped you settle comfortably before embarking on the evening together. No awkward pauses or tense, heavy moments with Bucky; It was sweet and a dream come true that you didn’t even know you’d had.

He’d surprised you on where you both were going initially. Blindly trusting Bucky with wherever he chose your date location, he decided that the Art Museum was the safest choice. Dinners could be awkward - what if you don’t like the way someone chews their food? Movies hardly left time to actually get to know one another, instead just sitting in the dark with occasional spared glances. Anything too physical could be exerting and hinder you from another date with Bucky. So after indecisively pondering, Bucky had chosen that an art exhibit was the best way to go.

You loved it.

So many classic paintings and countless mediums of art filled the halls as you two strode hand in hand. Bucky was on the quieter side, but not enough to deter you. He’d smile and watch the twinkle in your eyes when you both came across a particularly marvelous work of art that you loved. Bucky had listened smittenly as you gushed about the way some pieces of art made you feel or the message you interpreted behind it all. Eventually, Bucky had begun to open up throughout the night to do the same. What felt like hours of enriched conversation and two people simply being in the moment.

Sometimes people don’t need candles and rose petals, sometimes people just need someone to talk to and feel just as down to earth with. 

Unfortunately, neither of you had finished going through the whole museum together in one sitting.

Bucky had used that as the opportunity to salvage the situation; “I guess that means we’ll just have to come back together.” He’d said fondly when you both stopped at the mini-cafe built in the museum before you both left.

Instead of letting the date die down when the museum began closing for the night, you offered to bring the party back to your apartment instead. Tempting Bucky with a bottle of wine sitting in your kitchen so you two could just spend some more time together, he didn’t need too much convincing. Any excuse to stay close to you, to steal some of your time just a little longer before returning to his dull apartment. 

‘How could I say no to you, doll?’ He had said, and you’d beamed at the small victory.

Truly, you hadn’t meant for it to end up where it was (not that you were complaining). When you asked Bucky to come into your apartment building, when you’d walked together hand in hand, you didn’t think you’d wind up like this. But somewhere between being plastered against Bucky’s backside and having the privilege to let your hands wander and explore tight leather hiding thick arms or the adrenaline of feeling the wind whipping in your hair, you’d started to become insatiable on the trip back.

Bucky had this way with you that made you feel like a teenager in love all over again.

Sure, he was quiet, but he was misunderstood. Soft and sweet, he had a compassionate heart and an intelligent mind, the gentle giant. 

It’d taken some time to help Bucky bring down those walls initially - countless weeks you’d spent just trying to be his friend before he finally caved and agreed. He was a private person, you learned, but once peeling back all the layers, Bucky was amazing and worth all the work that went into opening him up. Creative and smart, a book-lover and funny, he was gentle and tender and emotional in every way that a man could be if they let themselves. He wasn’t afraid to be honest, but was instead afraid to voice that too loud. He wasn’t afraid to be emotional or vulnerable with those he trusted - not the unfeeling machine that so many had made him out to be. Bucky had simply needed someone who understood him - or was willing to if nothing else.

Once you’d gotten past all of it, all of the rough nights and moody days, it was worth it. You’d watched Bucky become something he never was before…

He was the one who had taken your relationship a step further. 

Tentatively and timidly, might you add. Always endearing. He’d been anxious asking you to come out with him - as though he’d been fighting with himself for a long while on whether or not he should even ask. When he finally called you and asked if you’d like to go out on a date with him tonight - yes, he’d used date - you’d been elated. 

And sure, you were moving a little too fast at that moment, but life is short and he’s already on seventy years of borrowed time. Bucky deserves to be loved.

Warm hand had rubbed up the length of Bucky’s bicep, and you gave his shoulder a squeeze when getting off of his motorcycle with a teasing glint in your eyes.

When he walked with you into the building, you hugged his left arm to your side - refusing for any additional space to come between the both of you as you prattled on about 'Birthday', by Dorothea Tanning and how you interpreted it as the door into the imagination, and Bucky was busy trying to remember which painting it was you were talking about - it was 'the winged scared cat-creature on the floor' that rejogged his memory.

Bucky was just happy you clung so easily to the cold and hard metal of his vibranium arm as if it were his own.

Turning into your hall, you’d begun to pull Bucky by the arm. Turning on your heel and offering him a smitten smile when you tugged him closer to your body in a backward walk. His eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile, his smile wide and showing off pretty white teeth. Even the sheepish duck of his head was precious when you led him into your apartment, finally excited to have time where it could be just you and Bucky without prying eyes.

"If you were eager to get home, you could've just said so," Bucky teased you, and you gave a playful smirk in response.

"M'not, I'm just excited to finally be alone with you." you'd cooed, attempting to make the words seductive but honestly they came more sentimental than anything.

The door gave way behind you when you twisted the knob with your one hand, the other still clutching to Bucky's sleeve. It didn't give Bucky a chance to respond to your retort when you tugged him right on into your apartment. Instead, it earned a chuckle that snapped into a gasp with your pull.

It was when that door shut that something came over you. Tucked into your own little corner of the world, you didn’t fear overwhelming Bucky with affection that made him uncomfortable. No worries about people gawking and making him feel out of place (or him being afraid of gawking, really). 

When you both were just past the threshold of your apartment, you turned and used your foot to push the door shut. Fingers sliding up Bucky's arm, you used the moment to grab the lapels of his leather coat and step back - coming flush with the door and dragging Bucky right on into your tight space.

Hardly giving him a chance to protest. Wide cobalt eyes study you when you both are finally still, Bucky's hands hovering a little uselessly briefly and while shocked, still pleasantly surprised by your bravery.

"Someone is a little impatient," Bucky comments, expression softening. "Not impatient, just excited." You defend with a loving smile. "I could've sworn there was a bottle of wine mentioned..." Bucky trails. "Can you even get intoxicated?" You rhetorically question with a curious tilt of your head and a knowing grin. "Can't I drink for the taste like most people do?" Bucky retorts. "Touché."

You both fall into a small fit of giggles and soft laughs, the small talk helping to alleviate some of Bucky's nerves. His hands slowly come to settle on your sides since you're not budging from where you'd pressed flat against the door. Enjoying being wedged between a door and Bucky - you'd be crazy not to.

Despite the way, your mind is running a million miles a minute and your gaze can't seem to draw away from Bucky's pouty lips, Bucky doesn't seem to be picking up as easily on your advances. That's okay. He's always been worth the wait.

“...Did you have a good evenin’, doll?” he asks, flesh hand smoothing down to delicately rest on your hip.

“I was with you, wasn’t I?" Bucky looks at you for a beat as if slightly unconvinced... "Yes, Bucky. One of the best dates I've ever been on... ‘S a shame, I don’t want it to end.” You coo, drawing Bucky in closer until you’re both flush against each other. His left-gloved hand lifted to push your hair from your face tenderly. 

“Who says it has to end right here?” Bucky hums with his signature playboy grin - no wonder why he had every girl in Brooklyn creaming their panties.

The low husk of his voice strikes you to your very core, allowing your imagination to run wild with the countless thoughts of what the man before you could really do if he tried. Really, it wouldn’t take much; Bucky already had you curled around his finger, whether he knew it or not was another question.

“I thought you’d never ask,” pleased, you lay your hands flat on Bucky’s chest. Feeling under his open coat and hands finding the expanse of muscle. You tilt your head back, biting your bottom lip seductively with a cheeky grin.

You aren’t ready to find Bucky’s eyes watching you so intently. The way he wets his bottom lip before worrying it between his teeth and releasing that pouty lip of his. Eyes boring right into you and keeping you pinned between him and the door. Ever so carefully, Bucky cups your cheek in his large gloved palm. There’s hardly a missed beat when you turn your head and nose affectionately into his palm, able to hear the soft whirring of the machinery before pressing a chaste kiss to leave behind.

“I had fun tonight,” You reiterate to him softly - the drag of your lips accentuated with every word against his palm.

“M’glad. You look good when you’re happy.” Bucky murmurs, but he seems distracted. Cobalt eyes follow every drag of your lips, Bucky exhales a shallow breath. 

“I bet I could think of a few ways you could make me even happier, Bucky,” you singsong, hand sliding up over Bucky’s that hold your cheek to press affectionately into his touch. Always grateful for anything, nuzzling into him like a needy kitten. 

Part of you is waiting for the next step. For him to make the next move - that’s the dance between you two. You step, and Bucky steps one more further. Playing off of each other. It doesn’t come.

“M’sure you could, sugar,” Bucky starts, and you’re waiting for the ‘But’... “But,” There it is. “Maybe we should slow down just a little. It’s been such a good night…”

“We could make it better,” you offer, and Bucky flushes slightly at the implication.

“...I don’t want to move too fast,” Bucky says after a pause in a hushed whisper - as though scared if he speaks any louder, the universe may come in and rip this good thing away from him as it has a history of doing.

“Listen, I care about you. And I had a really, really good time with you - I’m still so happy you agreed to come out with me. But you’re not- Not some dame. I’m not just trying to get into your pants, Y/N…” Bucky elaborates tentatively, and you watch him with understanding in your gaze.

“I know,” You softly lament. “You’re not that kind of fella, Bucky…” “I want you to feel comfortable with me - happy,” Bucky emphasizes, and for half a moment your heart hurts for the man in front of you. So convinced he’s still capable of doing harm, even after all of this time. “I can’t think of a time I’ve been uncomfortable around you at all, actually,” Softly you contest, and Bucky offers you a briefly amused smile. 

“We can take our time,” Bucky presses; You can tell it’s more for him than it is for you. “Anything you need.” No questions about it. Nuzzling into Bucky’s palm, your lips form a chaste smile. “You’re too good to me, sugar…” “Funny, I’ve found myself thinking that all night.” Bucky finds humor in the words; expression softening and some of the tension that had begun to rebuild in him falling away. Bucky laughs. Soft, but rich. He leans in and presses a lingering kiss to your temple; Protective and loving. “Earlier, you said you had fun… So did I. This was one of the best nights in a while for me,” The admission comes with the feel of Bucky’s lips ghosting your skin. It’s distracting.

“I’m glad; You deserve good things, too, Bucky.” Something you tend to try to remind Bucky of often; You’ll slam that fact into his head until he one day decides to believe it for himself and see what everyone else sees. “You are my good thing,” he whispers even quieter; Unintentionally dropping the tone of his voice and sending shivers down your spine.

No words are exchanged when your hands lift and find Bucky’s defined jaw; cradling him gently and drawing him in for a deep but loving kiss. The first of many tonight.

Both you and Bucky had soon migrated from the door in the foyer to your cozy living room. You both struggled to keep space between one another; Lips meeting together over and over again. The only sound was your own heart pounding in your ears and the soft breaths between you and Bucky. 

You were planted in his lap. Sat on strong, thick thighs - your arms draped around Bucky’s broad shoulders. His hands sat comfortably on your sides; gloves abandoned on the coffee table when he’d wanted to feel you. Not leather obstructing him from feeling the proper warmth of your flushed skin. His head tipped back to accommodate the way you had gained a few inches on him upon being seated in his lap.

Despite the way you two were entangled, it was nothing more than kisses. His hands hadn’t dared to venture below your belt, and while the kisses were definitely full of passion, it wasn’t the flame you were yearning and burning for. To respect Bucky’s request though, you didn’t proceed any further. Content with the taste of Bucky on your tongue, the warmth of his breath, and the barely there noises you were able to draw out of him that rumbled in his chest. His lips were soft and moved naturally against one another - It was a moment of euphoria.

Just the way your mouths slotted together alone was enough to rile you up; It’d been so long, and no one was as tender a lover as Bucky was with you. Each time he touched you, it was with consideration and care for what you wanted, what would feel good. Never in the means of his own self-gain. It made you that much more desiring of him; the connection that you both maintained had been there for months, it was simply that you both had finally begun to act on it. 

You’d told yourself you’d be slow. Take this at your own pace. No one wants to rush into a relationship that has the potential to end messy. But there you were; Necking in your living room with Brooklyn’s finest bachelor since 1936. Truly, you were only human, and it hadn’t escalated further than that. Breathing each other in, heated and heavy. You hadn’t even done it intentionally.

One could only fault you so much when your hips rolled into Bucky’s. Formerly nestled still in his lap, you found yourself moving without thought. Grinding down into the soldier’s lap, it elicited a deep groan from his throat, and tilted his head down to pull your lips apart. His hands instinctively moved to your hips; Clutching moderately tight to still your ministrations. You relished in the subtle pressure that came with Bucky’s hands securely enough to hold you still for hardly a moment. It was enough time for you to have realized the mistake you’d made.

“Shit, I’m sorry–” you stammered between the both of you, and Bucky instead took a shallow inhale. “No, no– It… It was good. It felt good, it’s-... It’s just… been a while.” Bucky timidly expressed, cheeks flushed and breathless. You noticed how he struggled briefly to maintain a heated gaze with you, eyes averting before pinching shut altogether.

“Do we need to stop? It’s okay if we do, Bucky…” Let him know that he had that out if he needed it; You wouldn’t be upset.

That option left Bucky shaking his head profusely. “No,” he rasps out, and you can feel his breath fanning your face. Can still taste him on your lips. You’re both still so close… You can feel the faint flex of his fingers holding you. “I want to keep going… Just… Give me a moment, alright?” He requests, and you give him a comforting smile and an understanding nod.

Your fingers card up into Bucky’s disheveled locks and brush thick hair back from falling in his face. Some of the tension leaves his body when you press a chaste kiss to his temple. 

“Whatever you need,” you softly let him know. You’re both still for a minute or two. Simply letting Bucky hold your hips while you kept some of the pressure on your knees - dug into the cushions on either side of his thick thighs. Soothingly rubbing your fingers through Bucky’s hair and giving him a tender hug he relishes in.

Then, slowly, he pulls you back down. Guiding your ass back into his lap and bodies coming flush together. The moment is experimental and you allow Bucky to take all the time he needs even if there is a burning in your thighs from the awkward position. Basking in the relief with a soft sigh and nosing into Bucky’s hair. His hands experimentally dare to explore a little further down. Rubbing from your waist down over your hips to the tops of your thighs. His hands feel like that of a bear's paws in comparison to your physique. 

“How are we feeling…?” You ask, checking in on him. “A little better… I’ve been using that 4-7-8 breathing method my therapist recommended, actually,” Bucky says, and you can tell for a moment he just needs to play it by ear. Even if you both don’t do anything tonight, he’s worth the wait.

“Really? That’s good,” Indulging in the moment of chit-chat as his hands still continue the back-and-forth motion. Hypnotizing and leaving your thighs tingling.

Bucky’s reply comes in a soft hum, tilting his head down to nudge his nose at your neck. You tilt your head enough for him to burrow in the hollow of your throat and nose affectionately there. His warm breath makes your skin break out in goosebumps. You let out a shaky exhale before a sappy grin spreads across your face.

He begins to slowly mouth at the sensitive skin of your throat. Gentle kisses and the faint scratch of his stubble that initially tickles enough to make you wiggle in his lap. 

“Bucky!” You squeak and you feel the grin against your skin.

“Easy, easy…” Bucky lowly tells you and it burns into your core. It’s easy to go lax when he’s the voice coaxing you back. “Good doll,” Bucky says with a chuckle - clearly teasing but it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

“M’ticklish,” You defend as your arms squeeze around his shoulders. “I can tell. Might come in handy one day…” His lips still ghost over your skin; ever so distracting.

“You wouldn't.” “I might,” Bucky says, his voice smooth but thick like honey.

A playful pinch to Bucky’s shoulder makes him surrender with a laugh before tipping his head up to press your foreheads together again. This time you’re surprised to find his eyes meeting yours head-on.

“Thank you for being understanding,” Bucky addresses the elephant in the room, traces of anxiety in those gray eyes. “I’m still trying to learn how to let myself be with someone else…”

The words feels so raw; A hushed confession and a moment Bucky is being fully honest with you. Not hiding from it or skirting around it - communicating his boundaries and being able to give himself the time he needs. Your chest swells with pride for the man before you in his growth; You’re so inlove. 

“It’s okay, really. I’m not here just to get into your pants, Bucky. I care about you, and we can go as fast or as slow as you need.” You affirm, always wanting Bucky to know that. That he’s safe with you the way you are with him.

“I know,” he whispers, tipping his head up a little further to let your lips brush. “It’s why I like you so much…”

You smile, unable to help but feel a fluttering in your chest. Bucky draws you the rest of the way to press your lips together again. Starting from scratch so that Bucky is able to be more expecting and prepared this time. The build-up doesn’t bother you in the slightest, and it doesn’t take the both of you long to build up where you once were. Bucky’s comfortable kissing you. It’s everything else that daunts him.

Bucky is the one who holds your hips tight against his lap as he gives an experimental roll of his hips up into your ass; feeling the semi-bulge through his jeans. You gasp against his lips, and he seizes the moment to lick hot into your mouth. He doesn’t do it again; Teasing you and inviting you to take the next step. Experimentally, you return the gesture when you grind against Bucky’s lap. It draws a noise from both of you at that time.

“Yeah..,” Bucky huskily groans. “That’s good, fuck…” Bucky’s praise eggs you on to keep pressing down into Bucky. Rotating your hips to allow both of you to grind through your clothes; Traces of Bucky’s arousal evident in his jeans.

He steals your breath with a claiming kiss. Strong hands trailing up your thighs to test the waters. Feeling over the swell of your ass and encouraging you to keep pressing down into him. Rutting against his constricted and half-swelled cock. You’re unsure what to do with your hands other than planting them firmly on Bucky’s chest as you grind your sexes together. Fingers curling into bunch fabric of his shirt as Bucky’s head tilts to deepen your kiss further.

With each second that passes, you feel dizzier. High on the endorphins and lack of oxygen - your chest felt warm and fuzzy. Kissed senseless as Bucky’s firm hands squeeze the globes of your ass and rips a needy keen from your throat, drawing your grinds to a controlled halt. Right when you fear as though you might be too light-headed from the lack of air, Bucky shows some mercy. Freeing your lips and leaving you to gasp; Bucky licking his lips with a satisfied grin.

“I think I taste mint, did you pop a tic-tac earlier when I wasn’t looking…?” Bucky breathlessly teases, both of you so close that you can feel his smile. In that moment, you’re simply trying to return to Earth for a moment between soft, airy breaths. 

When you will yourself to finally look at Bucky again, his eyes are blown. His black pupils swallowing the blue of his eyes; leaving behind a thin ring. Something inside of him looks livelier than you’ve ever seen, Bucky’s cheeks flushed and lips swollen. 

“Jesus, Bucky,” is all you manage, earning a cheeky grin from Bucky - proud. “Speechless? I’m relieved to know after nearly a century I haven’t gotten rusty… It’d be embarrassing if I was 107 and didn’t know how to kiss,” Bucky jokes, and something inside of you feels so warm and fuzzy.

That you both can joke while still being in the moment and grinding into each other moments prior.

“Cocky, are we soldier?” You hum after regaining some of your composure, hands lifting to hold his face. Before Bucky has a chance to speak, the wiggle of your hips draws a reminder of the length in his jeans. Bucky chokes on a stifled groan low in his throat at the way you frott into him.

“Very funny,” he asks, still slightly out of breath.

“You took me by surprise,” you admit softly, “You never seem so brave…” “Frankly, sugar, it’s… Been a really long time. I’ve spent a too long runnin’ and not getting to actually feel alive - I’m not just surviving anymore. It’s taken time and it’ll still take more, but you make me feel better.” Bucky confesses fondly, and you snort with amusement. Pressing a loving kiss to his lips.

“Sap.” You murmur between soft pecks. “Only you could turn something hot into something sweet.” “Can’t we have both?” Bucky cooes. “Absolutely.”

This time, you take lead. Pecking kisses down from Bucky’s lips, over his stubbled cheek and defined jaw. His head tilts back to accommodate the way you nudge, leaving open-mouth kisses in your wake. Sucking the salty skin to leave behind loving bruises that will only last so long with Bucky’s healing factor. He groans; Adam’s apple bobbing when you stamp kisses back up his neck to the juncture of his ear and jaw. A soft kiss before you take a playful nip at his earlobe and send shivers racking through the man under you. “Oh, babydoll,” Bucky sighs airly, taking it upon himself to guide your hips. You move on your own accord as Bucky grinds you into his lap; Moving you back and forth to rut together through your clothes. You don’t have to do any of the work, instead just taking some time to give Bucky the loving he deserves.

When you peer at his face, his eyes are closed. Lashes kissing the tops of his cheeks and lips parted with soft breaths; the occasional clench of teeth pulls out a gravelly rumble from his chest. All of it has you so hot, so riled up. It’s just the two of you alone in the apartment; The air is charged with electricity between the two of you. The scrape of your teeth makes Bucky’s lips curl into a devious grin.

“You’re doin’ so good for me,” Bucky praises. “My pretty baby, yeah… God– Do you feel what you do to me, honey…?” Bucky’s voice was hoarse, the friction working him up just as much as it was you. The throbbing between your legs was becoming insatiable - your answer coming in a whimper as you sucked another purpling bruise into Bucky’s throat.

Your hips move enthusiastically. Trying to meet Bucky for every grind; Becoming too much for him to handle at one point. 

“Sl-Slow down, baby… Easy, we’ve got time,” he attempts to coax, but you’re busy chasing that high at that moment. You want to make Bucky feel good - this is doing that for him; Pleasing him. 

“What’s wrong, big guy?” You ask with an airy giggle, nosing up to Bucky’s ear. Your lips press against the shell of his ear; “I can’t get enough of you touching me, Bucky. I just want to make you come, thinking about it turns me on so much…”

You don’t realize until it’s too late what the words do to him, whispered out right in his ear. Bucky’s nose scrunches up and his jaw goes slack. His body becomes taut underneath you; Hands clutching hard and leaving a dull ache in your bones despite the way you’re still trying to move. Bucky’s hips stutter harshly, and suddenly he’s gasping out. Moaning low and breathy as he rides out his orgasm with half-hearted bucks up into your ass.

Your eyes widen with a sense of wonder as Bucky comes undone in those short few seconds. His lips curl into a perfect ‘o’ and he shudders, eyes pinched shut. “Ohhhh fuuuck,” Bucky moans, long and drawn out, and there’s not a hotter sight than Bucky Barnes coming because of you. You smile; Pleased with yourself and priding yourself on the fact of being able to be the one to do this to Bucky. You continue the grueling roll of your hips into his hard dick - little left to the imagination while your fingers tangle in his hair and you hold him close. Watching his face all the while; Not wanting to miss a single moment.

Bucky rides it out until he’s left with beads of sweat misting his hairline, panting with the rise and fall of his chest. Taking his time, licking his lips before seemingly becoming sheepish of how easily he’d just fallen apart. No warning; It’s been so long since he’s had another sexual partner to experience these things within a positive environment.

Your hips only stop when he’s well and done, knowing that most guys half the time are one-and-done. “That… That felt really good, m’sorry, it’s– it’s different. With, y’know, someone else… Versus alone…” Bucky manages awkwardly, and you simply draw him in for a lingering kiss. 

“I understand,” You murmur comfortingly against his lips. “You can clean up in the bathroom; I don’t have anything in your size for underwear, unfortunately, but I can find a pair of flannel bottoms that might fit…” “What about you?” Bucky asks, raising a brow. “Me?” “You.. You didn’t get to… Y’know.”

It’s oddly endearing how he worries about the fact that you weren’t able to get off the way he had. “What, we’re afraid to use adult language now?” You tease, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “M’bein’ serious. I want you to feel good…” Bucky says, rubbing your thighs soothingly. “I can get it up again if you give me a minute.” He adds, and for a moment you’re confused before placing the answer upon a super soldier refractory period.

“You’d be comfortable with that..?” You ask with a curious tilt, and Bucky bites his lips together; you can see the lingering daze in his eyes from the post-orgasm haze. “No,” he answers almost nervously. “I… Tonight has been a lot already. I don’t think I want to go there yet…” And you expect it to end there, but: “I have something else in mind, though.”

“Oh, do you now…?” you muse, curious. “Have you ever heard of mutual masturbation…?”

You’re both sat facing one another on the couch; One of your legs tucked under your body and pants long abandoned to the floor leaving you in nothing but your underwear. You’d felt far less reluctance than Bucky had when it came to stripping down; The layers shed easily as your anticipation festered more and more to the surface. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited. You’ve known Bucky for a while now, and let’s not lie to yourself - He’s a good-looking man who can do things with a single look. The ‘Barnes Charm’ he was so popular for when he was young was still there; Showing itself in small flickers of moments from time to time. The only instances in acting on it on your behalf were in the comfort of your bedroom, alone in the sheets. No one’s business but yours. 

But now you’re there with him and no one else. No one to disturb your private moment.

Touch was something that was hard for Bucky - he’d expressed that to you when he stammered over what he’d been asking of you. That he’d rather watch one another right then.

Bucky had no problem drinking you in, either. His eyes were fixed on every movement you made - when you’d peeled your shirt off his eyes followed the expanse of glowing skin and studied it all. Every curve and slope of your body; There was no question of how enamored he was with you. It was the first time in a long time you’d felt truly seen. Someone who wasn’t just trying to get into your pants but found you breathtaking.

It was flattering; You could feel the heat in your cheeks and the way it flustered you to be looked at in awe. There was something about Bucky that made you feel perfect. He was a man that was genuine in everything he did; Not much of a people-pleaser if he doesn’t have to be. Arguably a little stubborn, actually. You knew nothing about the way he looked at you was feigned.

He chews his lip as his eyes study you. Leaned more forward from where he’s sat sideways on his half of the couch. Left hand clutching the back of the couch cushion, Bucky had that familiar bulge in his jeans (which were now unbuttoned and peeled open to show off his navy blue briefs). 

“You look so perfect, doll…” Bucky murmurs lovingly after a moment, and your heart melts in your chest.

The words felt too intimate for you to accept easily, but you didn’t want to reject the compliment either. So rather than reply verbally, you leaned back into the cushion propped up behind you and drew your right leg up; Pressed into the back of the couch. Your right leg dangles off the side of the couch and leaving you exposed to Bucky. A welcome invitation if he decides to change his mind and wants to touch you. 

Bucky breath hitches; shuddering out a slow exhale through his nose. His gaze is hungry, his hand thoughtlessly moving to his own groin to palm the returning erection.

“I’ll love you right, one of these days, sugar.” Bucky promises with a lick of his lips. “This is just fine for tonight, Bucky,” You reassure him, and his gaze racks up to your face. “Thank you again for understanding,” And the softness in his hungry eyes sends a cold desire to your core - something more intimate about that look than the one threatening to eat you whole. “Anything for you.” You tell him, meaning every word.

With that, you make a deliberate show of teasing your fingers down your chest and tummy before slinking between your legs. 

“Aww, that’s it, sugar,” Bucky hums fondly with a breathy chuckle. “Eager little thing, gonna put on a pretty show for me..?”

“Only if you promise to do the same; This is just as much for me as it is for you,” You tease affectionately, mood defiled when you trace your hole with your middle and ring finger. The pads of your fingers are cold on sensitive skin, leaving you to shiver and sigh out an airy moan.

“M’not in nearly as a rush as you are, sweetheart.” Bucky hums, and you catch the way his hand slides down to palm at his cock through his underwear. “So excited to be on display, are we?” “Just for you,” you exhale, preening at the way he looks at you while experimentally dipping the tips of your fingers into your wet and wanting hole.

“Thank God, might have to wring someone by the neck if I gotta share a sight as sweet as this...” The tone is playful and joking, but there are traces of genuine possessiveness in Bucky’s voice. The idea alone is enough to have you showing off; gathering the wetness and making a deliberate show of smearing it over glistening skin. Bucky licks his lips with a look as though he wants to eat you alive. 

Atleast it’ll give him something to look forward to for when you both do get to the point you can be physically comfortable with intimacy. You can have more than enough fun with this. 

“Mother, mary, n’ joseph…” Bucky drawls; that Brooklyn accent of his coming through thick with the rumble of his words. He relaxes back into the couch while you continue the steady stroke of teasing yourself, playing with your clit and leaving your cunt throbbing. Bucky properly slides his jeans down his thighs and bunches his briefs along with them.

The evidence of his previous orgasm smeared in his soiled briefs, his cock thick and bobbing at the cool air. Bucky hisses through his teeth before spitting into his hand and stroking himself off languidly. 

“Don’t stop, sweetheart. Keep touchin’ yourself for me, I wanna see how you like it…” the words were hummed low, squeaking a moan out of you with just the way he spoke to you alone. “Aww, did you like that, baby? Like the way I talk to you..?”

You bite your lip, swallowing back the noises and answering Bucky’s question in a profuse nod. Fingers still insistently tracing yourself to that sweet spot, you could feel the slow knot building in the pit of your tummy.

“Ah, ah, ah… If m’gonna talk, I wanna hear those sweet noises, babydoll. Sing for me,” Bucky cooes with a breathy chuckle, still fucking his fist on the length of his cock. Pre-come beading at the slit and making the tip glisten with the signs of his arousal.

“Oh, Bucky,” You wantonly mewl out, surprising yourself with how helpless you sound. Trailing your slick fingers down to press the tip of your middle finger into your weeping cunt. Experimentally pressing in, having been pent up for what felt likes ages and aching for relief.

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky’s hand begins to speed up over his aching cock; His thickness jerking in his palm whenever you make a particularly sweet noise. “Show me how you stuff that needy cunt; I wanna see how you - fuck - take care of yourself…”

You moan for Bucky; needy and high and airy. It just feeds into his own arousal as he jerks off across from you. His own groans deep and rough - Piercing gaze keeping you pinned to the couch. Unable to look away from the way Bucky’s gaze bore into you.

His eyes watch you expectantly; Waiting for you to do what he’s asked. You oblige.

Your fingers press knuckle-deep into your cunt; Experimentally thrusting into your channel and leaving your back to arch slightly off the arm of the couch.

“Oh,” you mewl out, fingers driving into your hole, stretching your tightness and leaving your arousal to spill out. 

Bucky jerks his thick cock, hand sliding easily and the ministration made easier by the pre-come that spills over his fist. He shifts his hips, licking his lips and grinning at the way you fuck yourself open.

“Look at you, such a pretty baby,” Bucky breathes low between pants for air. “If I didn’t know any better I’d have thought you – mmh, god - were waitin’ for this. So eager to get that hole wet…”

The way Bucky talks to you makes your chest flutter. Your face feels hot, gasping as it drives the way you fuck your hole. Watching the up-stroke on Bucky’s cock - imagining the length sliding home into you and whimpering at the thought. Your eyes screw shut, the room filled with the slick sounds of your fingers in your hole.

“Oh no, babydoll, open those pretty eyes. I want you to watch me,” Bucky demands, and your eyes open on command. “Yeah, that’s it… Good baby, see this?” Bucky stops the stroking of his dick to let his fingers wrap around the girth and give a little tap of the tip to his thigh. Showing off the girth and his thick balls.

“Yeah, yeah this is all for you, honey. M’so hard for you, all for you…” The rumble of his voice was soothing as it was arousing.

“Bu-Bucky,” you squeak past trembling lips. Thighs softly quaking — Bucky’s words could get you off alone. Who knew he was such a filthy talker?

“I’m right here, sugar. ‘S okay, make yourself feel good. Don’t gotta hold back for nothin’, show me, pretty thing. I wanna see it all…” It’s permission if you’ve ever heard it, and suddenly at that moment, you realize how dependent Bucky’s say was over your building orgasm. As if your body knew it was waiting on his approval before you could let yourself come undone. 

Your legs draw up to clench your thighs – Stopping yourself when you remember Bucky’s eyes are still fixed upon your flushed body. Watching the hypnotizing display of the quick work you made fingering your needy cunt while he relished int he display. Stroking his cock languidly before building up a pace that matched your own; Wanting to follow your arousal with you. 

Just because you both weren’t touching doesn’t mean he couldn’t work with you.

It doesn’t take much; Not that it surprises you. You’d been pent up from the previous grinding into one another; hot and bothered by kisses that gave you a hint of what more could be like. 

While your one hand is busy playing with your nub, your free hand smooths up to ruck up your shirt. Bucky’s dilated eyes light up even more when your hand moves under your top; Rolling a nipple between your fingers and drawing even more whorish noise from your swollen lips.

Bucky downright growls, hips arching subtly off the couch as he fucks up into his fist.

“Fuck, you like to play with your nipples, baby? Aww, bet you’re so sensitive… Mm, fuck, yea… M’gonna love gettin’ my hands on you when we’re ready. Gonna learn every nook n’ cranny of you; Wanna worship that pretty body of yours.”

He keeps talking like that; each word straight to your aching core and leaving you soaked. Bucky picks up on it in the way you get louder — noisier.

“You like that? Of course you do — who knew you were so fuckin’ filthy, sugar? Aw, m’gonna come, baby,” Bucky’s voice even until it begins to find a sense of urgency towards the end. A sharp breath from him, both of your hands moving while you watch one another. Pleasuring yourselves and being your most intimate selves; On display for one another.

Your jaw is slack, gasping and moaning out pitiful squeaks while you touch yourself. Bucky’s hand moves smoothly over his arousal, the sound of skin on skin as he jerks himself off.

“Oh, oh fuck, please, I-I’m gonna come, Bucky,” you cry out, and Bucky thumbs at the tip of his cock; wrist twisting towards the head. 

“Come for me, baby. C-Cream all over your pretty fingers — come for me, come for me,” Bucky’s words drive you over the edge.

Your walls flutter emptily; begging to be filled as you come undone under your fingers. It’s cloud nine, riding out your high on your familiar fingers. Thighs trembling and soaked with your wetness, hips canting up into nothing as you finish on your fingers. Gasping and squealing out until you’re reduced to pathetic whimpers.

Bucky watches you all the while. Fucking his fist and growling out through his bared teeth when you come. Reaching his own orgasm and painting his fist in thick stripes of creamy white that you want to lick clean. He pants, face flushed as his cock spills his heavy load. Staining the denim of his jeans and leaving a mess (though he’s careful of the couch). 

You both slump into the couch, still facing one another when the high has passed. Panting for air, the smell of sex and sweat heavy in the air. You’re the one to break the quiet with an airy giggle, which Bucky grinds widely in response to.

“Are you alright, honey..?” Bucky asks curiously, his own voice hoarse and quiet. “Perfect. How’s about a shower…? You’ve already seen me from the stomach down, I’ve already seen your dick. That’s practically all we have. Nothing to hide,” you offer with a roughness to your own voice, swallowing thickly. You smile, still lingering in the soft air of the post-orgasmic haze.

“Sounds perfect, baby. I’ll go get the shower runnin’, okay?” Bucky offers, tucking his mess back into his underwear (he won’t be wearing them much longer anyways). Scooting forward, he uses his clean hand to cup the back of your head and press a gentle kiss to your temple. 

You nod with a soft, ‘mhm’. Enjoying the settling moment's peace and serenity despite the cooling wetness coating your thighs. Moving will be awful but it was well worth it.

Bucky certainly leaves an impression. Kicking off the evening with flowers and a ride to the art museum, strolling the halls lovingly with him while partaking in art, only to come back to your apartment and masturbate together. Bucky might be more full of surprises than you thought. You couldn’t be more excited.

[lazycranberrydoodles]

oooooh you want to read my huaxuan hookup fic sooooo bad

bonus :P

[anonymouscheeses]

I'm gonna be shitting and screaming and starting fights if Sera becomes a villain. I can't take sibling angst, Sera loves Emily I swear guys believe meeee.

[letmelickyoureyeballs]

One thing I haven’t seen in this fandom is trans people being reborn into their correct body after they die.

I mean a common thing I hear about being trans is that god or someone messed you up when making you the first time, but would they mess up a second time? And I don’t see why you’d be “reborn” wrong again as either a demon or an angel.

Maybe there are fics or something like this that I just haven’t seen, but if not, then I need more trans Hazbin Hotel characters waking up in Hell and realizing their body feels different and just having the biggest euphoria.

Or I need one of Lucifer using his powers to somehow change someone after realizing that not everyone feels happy in their body.

Where’s my fic of Lucifer helping Alastor correct what he doesn’t like about his body.

[3131]

girls lusting for gay coded male characters like

---

(transphobes fuck off!!)

[kenn-the-roach666]

my personal theory about Vox’s death

cw: discussion of mental illness, transphobia/homophobia, typical 1950s shit

also i am very tired rn so this might be confusing as hell xD

So Vox died aged 30-40s, during the 1950s. I’m going to start this off by saying that if Vox was a fit young man in those times, he likely would have been drafted into WW2. Now you could say he died then, but the war ended in 1945.

So my first assumption is he was deemed unfit (due to mental illness or the fact that he is bisexual), or he is a transgender man (that’s mostly me projecting, though).

For the sake of this I’m just gonna say it went both ways.

I think during life vox was a television broadcaster of some sort. Since WW2 opened up opportunities for more genders to work, he could still have been quite famous.

However, he was also greedy, selfish, a huge attention seeker, and overall pretty unhinged. He might have gone and tried to kill someone who he saw as a rival. And that, along with how queer people were treated, could have easily gotten him thrown into a mental institution.

Now, asylums in the 1950s were absolutely awful. They were overcrowded, the patients were experimented on, etc. just generally NOT where you wanted to be back then.

They used (and still use, although it’s much safer now) a treatment called electro convulsive therapy (ECT). During these times though, they were unmodified, which is now considered unethical. Now, ECT is a treatment that involves essentially shocking the brain, forcing a seizure. My theory is he died from that, and thus ended up in Hell.

I think this would explain his general paranoia, and need to keep his true, more evil personality secret. He clearly tries to appeal to the public as much as possible and fears imperfection. He doesn’t show his true side, not even to his apparently closest friends. He’s scared of being seen as crazy.

Vox is incredibly smart. He knows that nobody in Hell is a good person (Fuck, he would probably use that as an excuse on why he doesn’t need to genuinely change. He’s still evil, after all.) but he’s terrified of what might happen if he doesn’t present himself as perfect. People might reject him, and of course he doesn’t want that. He craves attention, his worst fear is being worthless, irrelevant, and tossed away like nothing. Just like he was before he died.

But that’s just a theory. A VOX THEORY (im sorry)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hi! I'm on the lookout for fics featuring trans or gender non-conforming Sherlock and I wonder if you've got any recs?

Hey Nonny!

Ah, any that I do have, they'll be on one of these lists:

Trans / Genderfluid / Genderqueer / Enby Characters (MFLs)

Alexx’s Lists: Trans & Genderfluid Fics

I welcome other suggestions if anyone has them! 💜🖤

[woah-uhuh-uhuh-uhuh]

rich dump

[wangxianficrecs]

To Be Known by WiseDawn13

To Be Known

by WiseDawn13 (@wisedawn13)

T, 3k, Wangxian

Summary: Lan Zhan doesn't know what possesses him to do it; he's not in his right mind. He's in a trance, and the shirt is so nice, and he just wants SOMEONE to know who he really is. "He," he says. His voice is quiet, distant, but he knows Wei Ying heard by the gentle squeeze he gives. "I know he would look so good in this shirt, so would he be able to try it on?" OR Lan Zhan is trans and in love with his best friend but no one knows about either of those facts. A single mall trip with Wei Ying changes everything. Kay's comments: This was so soft and made me so emotional. Wei Ying is so easily accepting of Lan Zhan and man, I just love that for Lan Zhan. That he has someone like this in his life! And also, they are just so cute together. Complete fluff. Excerpt: "Hi, excuse me! I was wondering if we could get a change room for my friend here. We found this shirt and I just know she would—" Lan Zhan doesn't know what possesses him to do it; he's not in his right mind. He's in a trance, and the shirt is so nice, and he just wants SOMEONE to know who he really is. "He," he says. His voice is quiet, distant, but he knows Wei Ying heard by the gentle squeeze he gives. "I know he would look so good in this shirt, so would he be able to try it on?" That's it. That's it? Not so much as a confused glance or a pause in speech? Lan Zhan had been terrified for months over what kind of reaction he might get ( any reaction is not ideal) and Wei Ying just gave his wrist a gentle squeeze and continued on as if nothing happened.

pov lan wangji, modern setting, modern no powers, trans male character, trans lan wangji, coming out, love confessions, friends to lovers, developing relationship, getting together, shopping malls, fluff, acceptance, sweet short & sweet

~*~

(Please REBLOG as a signal boost for this hard-working author if you like – or think others might like – this story.)

[rodolfoparras]

FRR, like I need to fuck a baby into that man, LIKE HOW COULD YOU NOT WANT TO its price. He has the biggest chokehold on me it’s crazy

-🐍

This is @lieutnt fault for discussing pregnancy hormones

Cw; breeding, 18+

Thinking about Price who cant get enough of your cock even after you’ve managed to knock him up who’s always up for riding you even though he’s sporting a bump now, with a hand on his bump and the other on his headboard he’s sinking down on your length, a slight smile on his face because fuck he’s missed this, being able to ride you at whatever pace he wants, you’ve been so careful with him seen him as a fragile little thing, he’s woken up countless of nights, horny and wanting for you to roughly fuck him into the mattress til he forgets who he even is, only for you to be as gentle as ever and making sure you avoid the bump in your way,

He had tried talking to you, telling you there was no need to be this careful with him but you hadn’t listen so he’d used his fingers and toys just like he’d use your cock but it wasn’t the same, didn’t make him feel as good as you’d make him feel so he took matters into his own hands, pushed you down onto the mattress before sinking down onto your length, eyes fluttering shut head lolling back as he finally gets what he’s been desiring

You’re trying to speak, trying to tell him to be careful, trying to tell him he can hurt himself but he makes it clear that there’s no need to worry while practically bouncing on your dick, secretly thanking the army for all the physical training or else he’d be far exhausted by now, but he continues to chase his release riding you at a steady pace

Doesn’t stop at one round but continues with him spread out on the bed while you piston your hips into him, and he can’t help the smile on his face, eyes fluttering shut while white knuckling the sheets, even going as far as tightening his legs around your waist and bucking his hips up to meet your pace.

You go for so many rounds , his cunt is all red and puffy at the end, leaking with your cum and trickling down onto the bed , but you just use two fingers to push it back into him, hoping and praying he can bless you with another kid

[weskie]

To Make Your Heart Sing (Albert Wesker x ftm!Reader)

3556 words, fluff, hurt/comfort, s.t.a.r.s. wesker, ftm!reader, top surgery mention, coming out, main character injury, soft wesker, established relationship | Fic Directory

some truths are simply hard to tell. still, they must be told

You tried your best to keep things under wraps.  

RCPD’s human resources department knew of your ‘condition,’ but the file that landed on Captain Wesker’s desk a year and a half ago mentioned nothing of it.  You were just, well, you.  And that’s all you needed to be.  You were hired and the rest was history.

Or it was supposed to be.  Instead, you found yourself getting into the best of trouble.  Make no mistake, Captain Wesker intimidated you to no end.  Suppose that’s why the first time you turned a corner and the both of you knocked into each other left you a stuttering mess while you tried desperately to help him pick up the stack of paper he’d been holding.  The other officers who had been in the adjacent break room had the luxury of watching with bated breath to see him chew you a new one for such a careless mistake.

But he didn’t. 

The next was when you’d overcooked your food in the microwave, leading to a loud, wet pop and spaghetti sauce all over the insides of the machine. To your embarrassment, your captain was beside the coffee pot, brow arched just above the rim of his sunglasses as you sputtered and chuckled your apologies for both the mess and the noise.

You could’ve sworn he smiled.

Then there was that day you’d been running late.  You called the precinct from your clunky Nokia, begging for forgiveness from your captain.  As a peace offering, you offered to bring him coffee from a local shop, stating that it was “so much better than the liquid tar in the break room.”  His silence had scared you half to death, but his acceptance carried the strangest hint of amusement.  Black with two sugars, he’d told you.  When you’d finally arrived and delivered it, he took it directly from you, fingers brushing yours and making your cheeks light up.

That was the first time you’d ever seen more than a miniscule smirk on his face.  

Not to mention that time you’d pulled overtime and, upon entering to deliver yet another report, you’d found Wesker with his head resting atop his folded arms on the desk.  To this very day, you still had no idea what came over you to retrieve your S.T.A.R.S. jacket from your desk and drape it over his back.  You’d returned the next day to find it neatly folded atop your desk with a sticky note that simply said ‘Thank you.’

When the day came that he cornered you in the break room, black coffee with two sugars in hand from another one of your late mornings, you felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“I want to take you on a date.” 

Your eyes practically fell out of your head and your cheeks went up in flames.  You were stunned.  Captain Wesker was into men?  Not only that, but he was into you? You didn’t know what to say, what to do– anything.  You must have sat there blinking with your mouth agape for minutes before he’d finally just hummed, snagged a napkin and wrote his number down for you.

“If you find it agreeable, call this number later.  We can… work out the details then.”  

Looking back on it, he seemed just as nervous in that moment as you felt.  Not that you could blame him.  You figured he must have observed you for a long time to gauge if you’d be receptive to advances from another man, but the risk was still high– rejection, risk of harassment accusations… all sorts of bad outcomes must have been weighing on his mind.  But, that night, you called him.  Awkward as it had been, you both settled on a restaurant an hour outside of the city to reduce the chances of you two being seen by the others from the station, and the rest?  Well, it had progressed slow and steady, but your secret relationship with Captain Wesker, now simply Albert to you when appropriate, had entered its third month.

Which is why you’d grown nervous.

You didn’t know how to tell him.  At some point, things would progress beyond warm kisses and tender touches.  At some point your… anatomy was going to matter.  You wish you would’ve told him before all of this began and saved yourself the potential heartache of losing what had been the sweetest, gentlest relationship you’d ever had.  You worried yourself sick about it, always careful never to wear tank tops or shirts bright or thin enough that the tone of your chest scars could show through.  Your testosterone shots were easy enough to hide, thankfully.

Albert had been nothing less than a pure gentleman throughout it all, never once pushing your boundaries or showing impatience when you’d shy away from things.  Even the night you’d both fallen asleep on your bed consisted of little more than a hand resting atop the small of your back and your face nuzzled against the comforting rise and fall of his chest.

But, try as you might to hide it, Wesker had picked up on your anxieties.

“Have I made you uncomfortable?”  

Your heart fell through the floor the night he’d asked that.  You swore up and down over and over again that it was nothing he’d done and that you were just dealing with something that you didn’t know how to put into words.  He accepted your answer without question, pressed a kiss to your knuckles, and continued reading the file he'd brought home from work.

Your mind always turned to thoughts of how you were going to tell him, distracting you at the worst times.  Which, of course, put you in a situation where you had no choice in how the truth would come out.

The bulletproof vest had saved your life– for the most part, that is.  Gunmen in a hostage situation had released a young girl, sending her out to run toward the blockade.  She was to be a message, clearly, because they fired at her as soon as she got close.

You bolted out to cover her, mind devoid of sense the very moment you saw one of the men emerge from the building.

You took two to the chest with the first simply lodging into the center of your vest.  The other managed to pierce, embedding in your right pectoral.  You’d laid between squad cars and the steps to the bank for god knows how long, shaking fingers applying as much pressure to your wound as you could muster while the sun beat down on you without mercy.  The next thing you knew, you were being thrown into an ambulance and given the good stuff, and you woke up after who knows how long in a hospital bed.

Your first visitors were Rebecca and Jill.  You’d grown closer with them than most of the others– save for Wesker, of course.

“How are you feeling?”

You simply answer Jill with a lopsided smile and a hum, tipping your head back against the pillow.  “Mm, yup.”

“I don’t think the pain meds have worn off yet,” Rebecca giggles from across the room where she inspects the whiteboard covered with hastily scribbled patient information.

“Lucky him.  Should let Captain Wesker know he’s at least feeling good when we go back.  He’s…”  Jill turns to you with a sweet smile, clearly pondering her words.  “Distraught is a… is a word for how he is right now..”

That, of course, breaks your heart.  He was there when it happened.  Albert saw you go down.  Silly you, covering the girl they’d released…

Your eyelids grow heavier as time goes by, eventually slipping shut while you bask in their company.  When they open again, you’ve got two nurses at your bedside.  Even in your dazed state, you can put two and two together.  Just a change of bandages…

“Hi, sweetheart!” Chirps the woman closest to you while she peels away tape and gauze.  “You bled through so we’re just cleaning you up, okay?”

You simply nod and stare up at the ceiling.  It doesn’t hurt, thankfully, and the only thing you feel is cold air on your chest.  Part of you shudders.  Medical settings could be… complicated with your unique condition.  But you try not to anticipate the worst.

Oh how wrong you are.

“You can come in,” says the other nurse.  “Just replacing his bandages.  We’ll be out in a few.”

The hum in response yanks you from whatever blissful stupor the pain meds had lulled you into and you shoot up in the bed, shocking the nurse tending your wound.

“Careful, baby! You’ll tear your stitches–”

You barely hear her, nor do you feel her hands attempting to coax you back to the bed.  You go down, but not before locking eyes with your one and only.

Fuck…

They’ve got the top of your gown off and there’s no way–

You swallow thickly as your throat closes with a wave of shame.  You shut your eyes to hide the tears gathering within them, listening intently as Wesker’s nearly silent footsteps come to a halt on the other side of your bed.  He sees you.  There’s no way he doesn’t.  He’ll have questions.  Fuck, maybe he’ll just know outright.  Wesker’s a smart man…

You should’ve told him.

You keep your eyes screwed shut for what feels like eternity, even after the door clicks and the nurses leave you to each other’s company.  Neither of you says a word and it’s nearly pure silence until you hear the drag of a chair.  You just about jump out of your skin when his fingertips graze your knuckles, but they don’t retreat.  Instead, he takes your hand in his, lifts it, and presses kiss after kiss to it.

Your eyes crack open, vision bleary from tears and clearing as they spill.  You find him looking at you with furrowed brows and some painful combination of worry and relief written across his face.  His glasses are hooked on his shirt, showing you icy blues with a touch of red in the surrounding scleras. 

“How do you feel?”  His voice is as calm as ever, but, for once, his expression betrays him.

“Like I got shot,” you rasp.  You crack the tiniest smile despite the swirling dread and anxiety filling you to the brim.  You observe him for a minute, looking for something, anything to confirm your fears.

You find nothing.

“Indeed,” he hums, lips twitching at the corners.  “I’m glad you’re in good spirits despite the tears.”

You give a weepy chuckle that turns to tight sobs.  You feel so helpless and pathetic.  You’d almost died and now your little secret had been put on wide display for him.  Part of you figures this is just the universe’s way of telling you to get on with it.  Just finally rip the bandaid off.

You suddenly start to rise from your flat position.  Wesker watches you for signs of discomfort, taking his finger off the bed controls only once you were upright and–

Oh fuck– no, no, no!

They hadn’t buttoned your gown earlier.  The front section falls forward and you scramble to push it back up, holding it in place as you clench your eyes shut and bite your tongue.  His hand leaves yours and your stomach drops, ice shooting through your veins. For a minute, you think he’s leaving, but then–

Snap.  Snap.  Snap.

Your eyes widen, gaze falling to the hands working to pinch together the little buttons that run along the seam at your shoulder.  Wesker leans across you just slightly to repeat the process on the other side.  His scent fills your lungs and you can’t help but take a deep, greedy breath, chin quivering all the while. 

“Would you like to stay with me while you recover?”  He asks softly, taking his seat once more.  “Or would you prefer if I stayed with you instead?”

It’s so earnest that you could scream.  Part of you wonders if he’s just avoiding the elephant in the room.

“I imagine the comfort of your own home would lend itself better to your recovery,” he continues, taking your hand in his once more. “But I am not averse to either choice.”

“Al, you don’t have to–”

“You’ll need the help.”  He says, giving your hand a gentle squeeze.  “I assume you’ve had restrictions like this before.”

That cold feeling runs through your body again. He’s not avoiding it.   

“Yeah…”  

And he’s completely right.  You will need help.  You doubt your restrictions will be as tight as those you had after top surgery, but you did take a bullet to the chest.  Two, technically…

“I want you to think about it.”  Wesker checks his watch as he speaks, rising from his chair with a small huffed breath.  “My break is nearly over, but I’ll try to come by again before visitation hours end.  You should rest some more.”

You let your head fall back against the pillow once again, eyes fixed on him as he pushes the chair back to its original spot.  Wesker approaches your bedside again, hand raising to rest against the side panel controls.

“Up or down?”  He asks, voice soft.

“Mm, somewhere in between please.”  

Your eyes lock with his as you descend.  That same tenderness still dances in his gaze– the kind he saves for you and you alone.  Despite the tendrils of anxiety tugging at your mind, you find such an act soothes you to the core.  Wesker breaks eye contact for a split second to glance behind himself, ever the private man he is, and he leans over you.  His lips press to your forehead first, warm and soft, and his right hand rises to your cheek to thumb at the curve.  He holds that position for a moment, breaking it only to press another to your lips.

“Hm,” he hums, breaking away to glance at the monitor.  He chuckles softly.  “Your heart rate just jumped.”

Oh god, you think it yourself.  You can practically feel your cheeks go up in flames, but you giggle nonetheless at his cheeky little observation.  “Well, you know… handsome blonde guys named Albert do that to me.”

He leaves with a light shade of pink dusting his cheeks, much to your satisfaction.

They keep you at the hospital for another full day just to be safe.  Wesker spent his lunch break with you again, during which he reminded you that he would absolutely be aiding you while you’re under physical restrictions– you need only pick the place.  He’d been positive your own home would be better, so that’s what you opted for.  

Much to your joy, you weren’t excessively limited.  No heavy lifting, no strenuous activity– all the usuals.  You were to have two full weeks off before returning to simple desk duty.  Wesker picked you up, duffel bag of his necessities already packed in the back seat of his car, and brought you home.  Things were stellar until you realized he wanted to do just about every little thing for you, convinced you would cause yourself further harm.  Cooking was out of the question, so he made you meals that you could’ve sworn belonged in a gourmet restaurant rather than your little apartment. And laundry?  Forget about it.  You practically had to wrestle a handful of socks and towels from him so that you could feel less like a deadbeat.  Wound care, though… that was where things got tricky.  Wesker insisted that he be the one to change your bandages, and he did so twice a day, which was more often than was even recommended.

“I said I would take care of you.  What kind of partner would I be if I let you walk around in old bandages, hm?” 

It had been hard to let him do it.  Despite knowing full well he had a clear view of your chest in the hospital, you were still apprehensive to let him see it again.  No questions had been raised in regard to the origin of your scars, but that was somehow worse.  For a time, you figured he chalked it up to some sort of wound obtained in the field, but the day came where his hands wandered and a fingertip trailed the line running beneath your left pectoral.

“I…” You try, swallowing thickly to quell your nerves.

“Tell me about them.” Wesker breathes, finger still running along the ridge, pausing over the parts that weren’t quite perfect.

The worst part of everything?  You know full well you could just walk away and he’d leave it.  Al never pries; he always respects your boundaries.  'No' has always been a complete sentence to him, something you’ve appreciated endlessly in your time together with him.  But, all the same, wasn’t it time you gave an inch?  The man so endlessly patient and sweet to you, despite how he presents himself to the rest of the world, deserved the truth.

So you spill.

“I’m transgender…”  You murmur, words tight in your throat as you stare down to your socked feet.  From there, the rest falls free.  Every little detail.  Childhood woes, adulthood struggles– how happy you were the day you got your very first shot of testosterone and how you felt like you had a new lease on life itself when you woke up from your chest surgery all those years ago.  A tear or two escapes you as you tell your tale, but they’re not the bad kind.  No… they come from something else entirely.  A joy you could never put to words, a cresting wave of pride that you’ve come so far and lived so well despite every bump in the road, a sense of self that felt like wings upon your back…  With every story, you find yourself meeting his gaze more often until you’re looking right into those icy blues.

If Albert is dissatisfied with your revelation, he doesn’t show it.  Instead, he stands before you and listens intently to every word.  Without his glasses, you can see his eyes soften at certain parts, but it's the way his hand doesn’t quite leave from where he’d touched your scar before that keeps you hopeful throughout the entire ordeal.

“And I– I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, I just…” You exhale hard, eyes dropping with the weaning of that miracle burst of confidence.  “Telling people is… difficult.”

“Did you think I would react badly?”

You didn’t expect such a question, let alone for it to be asked so gently.  “I… yes and no.”  You chew the inside of your cheek as you ponder the way to best explain it to him.  “Not everyone is kind about it.  I didn’t think– it wasn’t that I thought you’d be mean about it, I just… I didn’t want you to feel like I was lying to you…”

Wesker’s eyes flit to the side for a brief second.  “I understand.  Though I fail to see how you would’ve lied.”

At that, you let out a breathy little laugh, eyes closing as you shake your head.  “So you’re okay with it?”  You ask finally, hand rising to rest over his that still lingered at your chest.  The anxiety returns and you worry the side of your lower lip between your canines.

“I am,” Wesker hums, offering you perhaps the softest, sweetest smile you’ve ever seen grace his face.  His free hand reaches for the one that hangs loose by your side, holding it tenderly as he leans forward.  At first you think he’s going for a kiss, which you happily prepare for, but he presses his forehead to yours.  You allow your eyes to flutter shut, same as him.  “I’m afraid you’ve stolen my heart, my dear.” He pauses for a moment, brushing his nose against yours. “You are who you are.  I wouldn’t want you any other way.”

At that, there’s simply no helping the way you throw yourself at him, arms wrapping around him as tight as you can without agitating your wound.  He returns your embrace immediately, palms stroking up and down the length of your back, perfectly warm against your skin.  

There’s one last thing to tell him.  Something that’s been in your heart for a while now.  He deserves every truth from you, and you’re all too happy to give it to the man who assigns you heaps of reports at work and makes your heart sing at home.

“I love you.”  You murmur against his collar, smiling big and wide at how his arms tighten around you.  “I really, really love you.”

“Good,” he hums.  Wesker rests his chin atop your head, swaying slightly as if to music that wasn’t there.  “Because I really, really love you, too.”

You giggle at his mimicry, but, in truth, you’re overflowing with joy.  It’s as if the sun itself has risen in your chest to hear those words, but that is simply the effect Wesker has on you.

What bliss to know you warm his heart the same.

[softevnstan]

*NSFW PROMPT*

Imagine Bucky masturbating to the thought of you.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral!reader

summary. returning bucky's laundry to his room after owing him a favor, you're spooked at the abruptness of someone returning. taking shelter in the closet on impulse, you find yourself getting a front-row seat to bucky taking care of his pent-up frustrations.

warnings. voyeurism, unintentional exhibitionism, panty stealing, masturbation, soft!dark!bucky (he steals your underwear but he's not a creeper past that), panty sniffing, uncircumcised p (mentioned, not relevant past that), light dirty talk. SMUT - minors DNI. reader technically is breaking and entering but bucky took their underwear so they're even. reader wears thongs but nothing is ever gendered as men's or women's, just implies the reader wears similar things.

a.n. ok so not as long as my usual things but i wanna start finishing requests in general rather than making all of them super longer - it's daunting for me. so have some slightly pervy bucky and you caught him :) no beta, we die like men.

w.c. 5.3k

The sound of skin on skin is obscene; Flooding the quiet air alongside the labored pants and muted groans from Bucky. The slick slide of his fist is hypnotizing - working over the impressive length of his aching cock and twisting his wrist on the upstroke. Bucky moans low, and the sound reverberates to your core.

You hadn’t even intended to intrude on the moment. You’d brought him his laundry after taking the liberty to do it yourself since you knew Bucky suffered from rough days (anything to make it easier for him).  It was a relatively simple task in the grand scheme of things - Laundry. When did it so complicated?

Bucky wasn’t even supposed to have been back yet! How did you get yourself into this mess??

You owed Bucky his laundry due to a favor; he’d come to your aid one night in the rain when you’d run over a bottle and flattened your tire. Bucky had helped you on the side of the road, in the rain, changing your tire. To pay it forward, you insisted you’d help Bucky out with odds and ends given his schedule suffered from hectic changes from having to be on standby for Ross. You knew the help certainly couldn’t hurt and you’d feel better about having him come out to your rescue. After moments of bickering, Bucky agreed for you to help with his laundry; It was the only thing he’d been comfortable letting you do for him. Still learning to let people in.

And you were more than happy to help out a friend. But when you’d insisted to pay back Bucky, you didn’t expect it to bite you in the ass in the sweetest yet worst way possible. 

Admittedly, you were in the wrong to an extent here. Going into Bucky’s apartment while he wasn’t there? Big no-no, but leaving the basket outside the door wasn’t an option. Someone could steal it! Then what kind of friend would that make you?

Bucky lived above you in your shared building. You’d met at the laundromat around the corner one late evening and eventually weened yourself into his friend circle through tokens of affection - such as making plates for Bucky on nights when you had extra, or talking to him when you’d catch him on the fire escape overhead while watering your plants. Through persistence and patience, you were proud to say that you were one of Bucky’s friends. It especially elated you when Bucky would confirm such statements.

With becoming Bucky’s friend, you also eventually became aware of the rock that sat on the metal grates on the fire escape above yours. The first time you’d spotted it, it’d confused you - how did a rock get in a place like that? Your apartment was on the second floor, Bucky’s on the third! Was someone throwing rocks at Bucky’s windows? You never heard anything shattering or breaking, and as far you were aware, the window seemed well intact when you’d stretched out to sneak a glance at the casement. Nor had you recalled any mumbled gripes about the potential disturbance - therefore ruling out that as an option. You’d pondered it for a long while.

Eventually, you found the opportunity to inquire about the rock to Bucky one day a few weeks ago - ‘Spare key.’ was all he had told you.

It made sense; Bucky was an enhanced super soldier - scaling the side of the building to get his spare key (or just going out through your window - you’d let him if he asked) was a minimal feat at best. He wanted multiple fail-safes. 

That fail-safe had come to your aid earlier that day. After shakily climbing the flimsy metal ladder to the floor above you, you’d been relieved to come into contact with the flat landing of Bucky’s fire escape. You found safety in the more-so-stable steel grate that held your weight; The cool breeze of the afternoon served as a reminder that you were three stories above the ground and falling would be extremely inconvenient. 

Clambering with the rock was… Interesting. On the surface, it really did look like a simple rock. In your hands was only when you could tell it wasn’t; It was light in your palms and there was a line dividing the ‘rock’ into halves to anyone who was paying attention long enough to find it. Weighing in your palms, you took a moment to examine the rock and appreciate the ingenuity of the hiding place.

After attempting to pry it open with your fingers - trying to find the best means of opening it - the phony rock popped open into two pieces. Briefly, it sent a strike of fear wracking your body. The key clattered against the fire escape, stealing your breath with a shrill gasp. You quickly attempted to scoop the key up before it slipped between the slots in the steel and was lost on the ground. The last thing you needed to do was lose Bucky’s spare. Sure, you could go looking for it on the ground, but it’s about principle and responsibility.

With the brass clutched safely in your fingers, you breathed a sigh of relief before slumping against the brick wall of Bucky’s apartment behind you. Everything after that would be a piece of cake. The only thing left to do was head up to Bucky’s apartment and drop his laundry off. You’d give the key back in person when you caught up with him rather than taking your chances on the rickety metal that made your heart drop to your stomach with every creak.

After safely returning to the comfort of your apartment, you pocketed the key in your jeans for safekeeping. Then after gathering the blue, plastic laundry basket full of all of Bucky’s folded clothes, you left your apartment and climbed the stairs to the third floor. Eyes traveling the corridor, you’d scoured the orientational numbers on each beige door before halting at the door with golden numbers counting out ‘306.’ 

Rather than knock, you balanced the long basket on your hip and used your free hand to fish for the key and unlock Bucky’s apartment - telling yourself it’d be a simple in and out; Unbeknownst to you it was about to be anything but.

Bucky’s apartment was far drab compared to yours. Filled with the bare essentials, his walls didn’t hold photos or paintings of the things he loved. The coffee table he had was overwhelmed with stacks of books; A bookcase still in its box and unassembled sat perched against the living room wall. You didn’t help yourself to his home past entering, but it didn’t stop your eyes from searching curiously. His kitchen was so empty; The fridge only held a grocery list and the drainboard was full of clean dishes Bucky must’ve done recently after a build-up. Everything looked so untouched; So empty - it was disheartening to you. If Bucky were to take the time to actually personalize his space, maybe his bad days would take a little less of a toll on him without bare walls threatening to close in on him. 

That was for another day. In the meantime, you made quick work of carrying the basket to Bucky’s bedroom. Simply telling yourself you’d set the basket down and leave it before returning to your own apartment and getting a start on dinner. But when you pushed the door open to Bucky’s room, you were surprised by how lived in it seemed compared to the rest of the apartment.

There was an empty glass on Bucky’s nightstand, as well as two half-full water bottles and a digital alarm clock. Alongside the bottles sat a small, red pocket notebook with a pen next to it. The bed was half unmade; The queen size bed only being ruined on the right side, next to the nightstand. So much of his room appeared second-hand; The area was a mess of items and clutter but nothing too gaudy or expensive. You half wonder if this is a contributing factor/result of the man’s depression; Especially considering none of it looked dirty - simply unkempt. Mustering the energy must’ve been far few and in between when his priorities tend to lie with work. By the time Bucky returned to his apartment after a day’s work, perhaps he didn’t have the energy by then to keep the room maintained.

Maybe you could help him with that one day.

A desk nearby was lined with journals; Stood against the wall with their empty spines outward towards you. There had to be roughly ten to thirteen - you hadn’t counted out each one, simply guessed. A small lamp was left on at the desk; Casting the desk in a yellow light. Sticky notes and pens are scattered across the flat, wooden surface. There was a roll of tape, a bottle of paste, scissors, and the clippings of what looked like a newspaper detailing the refurnishing of the Captain America exhibit left out. A brown leather journal sat left out and untouched amongst the supplies, and you assumed it was Bucky’s most recent diary.

Setting the laundry basket on top of Bucky’s dresser, you took a closer look at Bucky’s desk. Temptation left your fingers to twitch curiously at what could be hiding in the drawers but knowing better than to help yourself. As many secrets this room no doubt had that could bring you closer to Bucky, you knew being any more invasive than you already were would deter him. Push him away. You wouldn’t want someone rifling through your things, either.

Bucky always held you at an arm’s distance. One day you hoped he no longer did; That you’d be welcomed into these spaces freely rather than technically intruding in on them. You could only hope Bucky wouldn’t be too upset; You had good intentions, you swear.

Though, as the saying goes, ‘curiosity killed the cat’. After abandoning the basket, you tentatively moved to Bucky’s desk. Crouching to peer into the round trash can that was full of crumbled and torn papers, and excess clippings that Bucky hadn’t needed for his journal. It was trash, yes, but you were curious. You’d only managed to search for a few seconds in shifting through the papers when you were suddenly jarred by the sound of the lock in the foyer sliding open. You heard the door opening next. The apartment was silent save for your breathing, which made it easy to hear, but it also made it easier for you to be heard. 

The abruptness of someone’s return shocked you; Jumping right up to your feet and eyes flickering for somewhere to hide - you were somewhere you shouldn’t be, after all. In retrospect, it was the wrong option. The only reasonable person it would be was Bucky, but you didn’t know that at that moment. And in a world where aliens and robots co-exist and the world has been on the brink of end countless times, you come to expect the worst of situations. Better not to take chances. So hiding out in the closet was instinct; Even if it was the wrong choice. And if you’d taken a moment to remember entirely where you were, you’d have been able to put together that it was Bucky returning but the thought was far from your mind in those short few seconds it took you to get to your feet. Without thought, you quickly advanced towards the closet that was a quarter of the way open; Hanging clothes peeking back at you. 

Sliding the door open, you hid inside the closet without a second thought - silently trying to slide the door back as you had found it and leave the room as untouched as you could manage. It was only then, standing on Bucky’s extra pair of shoes and attempting to not stumble over yourself, you thought to yourself: Genius idea - now what?

You didn’t have to ponder the next course of action for too long.

The heavy footfalls of Bucky’s boots on the wooden floor resounded through the empty apartment, drawing nearer and nearer. Your heart jumped into your throat, holding your breath as your mind scrambled for the next reasonable phase of action - springing out on Bucky would no doubt startle him, and lying in wait was hardly an option. Perhaps he’d leave again and a window of escape would open, even if it meant clambering down the fire escape and praying Bucky’s enhanced hearing didn’t catch your commotion. 

That meant getting to the window itself, though, which was going to be a monumental feat. Especially when you hear the click of Bucky’s heels entering the same room as you. Bucky comes to a halt somewhere around the entrance to the room; You hear no movement, no sound. Your heart pounds in your chest; Fearful he may somehow know you’re there. The last thing you wanted to do was shatter your trust in this man. It was a long moment before Bucky’s feet pick up again and he enters the bedroom. Great. Getting out undetected just became leagues more complicated.

A hollow sigh emitted from the man behind the door, and in the seconds following you could hear the springs of his bed whine under his weight. The shuffling of sheets, and still, you’d hardly breathed in that time. Body kept as stiff as possible in the cramped, dark space. 

It’s the sound of a zipper that surprises you.  Not daring to peek, you allow your mind to attempt to fill in the blanks. The long ‘ziiiiip’ leaves you to believe it’s Bucky shedding the layer of the coat he lives in - he runs cold easier. He explained it to you one time; His serum and all of its laced dysfunctions.

Bucky mumbles something to himself about the thermostat and what temperature it's on, and part of you realizes you missed his voice. Sure, Bucky was only going about his daily work while you both were apart, but hearing him and knowing you were in the same room with Bucky did bring about an odd sense of natural comfort. Just beyond this door, he was at arm’s length. What would it be like to welcome Bucky home after a long day of work?

Your thoughts are jarred when you hear the slide of a drawer. Tentatively, you lean towards the barely-there gap between the door in the wall to peek through. Bucky is sitting on the bed, one leg draped off the side and the other up with him. He’s tight up against the headboard, sat up as the soldier shuffles through his nightstand drawer. Bucky’s brown leather coat is abandoned on the edge of the bed, leaving him in his dark navy jeans and a black t-shirt that leaves little to the imagination in regard to miles and miles of muscle. It’s only then you notice the fact that Bucky’s fly is unzipped as well; The flaps of his jeans are pulled open to show his gray boxer briefs that hug his hips all too well.

The moment feels utterly invasive. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be seeing any of this - this is Bucky’s private time, but there you are, with a front-row seat, helpless but to watch.

What Bucky produces from the drawer is a clear bottle of water-based lube and… Underwear. It only takes a few seconds for horror to creep up your spine and realization dawns. It’s your thong.  Specifically, a black pair that you’d thrown into your laundry the other day; You feel shame creep up your face and color your cheeks - a sense of violation but that would make the both of you even, wouldn’t it? You’re intruding on him after all. 

You follow Bucky’s hand holding the bottle of lube as he slots it between his legs and propped up on his inner thigh; Your glance moving further to acknowledge the semi-bulge in his underwear. The angle is perfect, his headboard facing the closet doors and providing you with the best view of his spread thick thighs. 

It makes your heart pound in your chest; Your guts swoop with something akin to excitement and guilt ebbs in your mind for the fact that this is bordering on arousing. For a moment you humor the thought of how thick Bucky must be fully erect; How the weight of his cock might feel on your tongue. It’s not the first time you’ve indulged yourself privately in such explicit thoughts of your friend, and part of you had always felt silently contrite for the sexualization, but now you had a direct show. It was like finally having food for thoughts; A burning in your chest. It can’t be real, can it?

Coming to your senses, you tear away from the display face a hot face and a dizzying mind. You take a deep breath, scrubbing hands down your face attempting to cool the flush. You can’t watch something like this - how did Bucky even get your thong? Did he go snooping in your apartment? Did he take anything else?? Confliction tugs in your chest, almost frustrated with yourself for finding a sense of arousal in the thought. 

Bucky going through your things when you’re not there, taking something so intimate like a trophy… It should disturb you - someone breaking into your apartment. But thinking about it longer makes your gut feel tight and arousal swell between your legs. Were there chances he’d watched you in other intimate moments? Moments where you cried his name, muffled by your pillows and impaled on your favorite toy? It was more than just a thong, it was all the implications that came with the gesture. Was this the first time? Were there others? Questions ran a hundred miles a minute through your mind. Grounded in reality for half a moment and reminding yourself this isn’t a fantasy. It’s real, it’s wrong, it’s— A low, husky groan stops your train of thought. Going stock still, you take a moment to actually listen to what’s happening. Paralyzed in the dark, you realize you could now hear the slick slide of what you assumed was Bucky’s hand on his cock. The short pants from Bucky hung in the air; “Aw, that’s it…” Bucky husks, arousal thick in his quiet tone. “Needed this so fuckin’ bad…”

Another burst of arousal rings from your core and makes your skin tingle. The sounds are so obscene…

Against your better judgment, you redirect your attention to the gap in the door. 

You’re greeted with the delicious sight of Bucky’s pants shimmied down his thick thighs, bunched up before his knees. His cock stands half erect, his flesh fingers wrapped around the length with fingers slick with lube. You can see his heavy sac, the curve of his cock, and the way the head of his cock is slick with pre-come when his foreskin is drawn down on the stroke. He has a pretty dick, all things considered; Bucky keeps himself well-groomed in regards to his pubic hair from what you can tell, and his cock looks thick - even he barely manages to wrap his fingers entirely around the base of his cock and pump.

The motion is hypnotizing, and as much as you’d love to continue to swallow the sight whole, you can’t help but be distracted by his vibranium arm. The one that’s holding your thong between sleek black and gold fingers, held to Bucky’s face as he breathes you in. Eyes closed in bliss.

Nose buried into the fabric while he fists the length of his cock, the pornographic act surprises you. The way Bucky is so enthralled and aroused at that moment, knowing that it’s because of you, and having the dirty little secret of watching Bucky jerk off. To watch him in one of his most intimate positions. 

You’re already stuck here. What more is there to lose? You can only sell your soul once. Your hands slink down between your legs, fingers slipping past the hem of your pants and into your underwear; Fingers getting to work at coaxing your arousal.

“F-Fuuuck,” Bucky huffed out, fingers tight around the base of his cock as he jerked himself off; Fucking up into his own fist with minute thrusts, his slit weeping copious amounts of pre-come. His face still buried in the fabric of your thong, the long draws of inhales through his nose making you squirm.

You could only imagine what was going through Bucky’s mind when it came to you. What he could possibly be thinking of to egg on his own arousal so deeply? He pumped to the thought of you, and you watched his angry red cock drool at the attention. You wanted to stay with Bucky through this. Feel good with him; Pretend you were part of the equation.

With your heart pounding in your chest and your head feeling airy, your circle your fingers around your needy hole before working them in. Working experimentally to loosen your aching hole and allow the penetration; Sinking to the first knuckle as you fucked your fingers in and out of your entrance. Nowhere near the same brutal pace Bucky maintains, working yourself gradually to take the intrusion. The slide is made easier when your wetness slicks the inside of your underwear and ruins another pair.

Your needy hole swallows your fingers easily; made simple by the arousing nature of the situation. The guttural sounds from Bucky’s throat as he inhaled your scent, sending shivers down your spine with the raw display. 

“Oh God, Y/N,” Bucky groans low in his throat, the sound of your name rolling off his tongue taking you off guard. "Mm, yeah, I love your hands…" his voice is breathy, the way it hits your ears makes it feel as though Bucky is right behind you and whispering it in your ear for half a moment - you clamp a hand over your lips to avoid squeaking out a noise you shouldn't as your fingers make progressively faster work fingering yourself open. 

Bucky is pretending it's you there.

You feel like butter, bracing against the wall of the closet as you became a victim to your own lust. Fucking yourself open in the rhythm of Bucky's tugs on his hard cock. 

"Ri-Right there," Bucky speaks to himself through labored pants. "God, mm, such a good baby… Yeah, y-you're my sweet little doll-baby..." The praise coaxes you on; A barely audible muffled whine vibrates along your palm. You freeze entirely and go stock-still upon the realization you’d made some sort of noise, but Bucky’s rhythm doesn’t falter. He hadn’t even heard you. 

Relief washes over you, tight shoulders going slack before you allow yourself to melt into the euphoria of the moment again.

Bucky creates such beautiful noises on his own, but part of you imagines he’d be too self-conscious to be nearly as vocal with a partner. When you peek out at him, his jaw fluctuates between slack and baring his teeth with a clenched jaw. His swollen lips curling into a perfect ‘o’ shape as he strokes his delicious cock before worrying the flesh between his teeth again. The sight burns into your memory; Forever immortalizing itself. You’ll never need to look at another man again, truly.

Still he holds your thong to his nose, breathing in the scent deeply until he changes things up. Bucky sits up just a little more, and you bite back a keen that the show has come to a pause. Bucky shifts his weight on the bed in what you assume is an attempt to get more comfortable. He rucks up the black t-shirt to reveal the pleasant happy trail that cascades over his navel and belly button - the star of the show and stealing the spotlight is his abdomen; The man looks chiseled from marble, even with the scars that are speckled throughout his physique. Bucky’s perfect.

Bucky, still holding your thong, alternates his hands. Wrapping the fabric around the length of his cock and resorted to quick flicks; Using something that touched your most intimate places to aid in his solo session. You watch Bucky’s cock jerk with interest, and he husks out a delighted chuckle that bleeds into a blissed moan. 

His eyes never shut. Steely blue gaze always peering open and aware, it just adds to the adrenaline of hiding for you. It excites you. Wondering what would happen if he peered towards the closet and caught your gaze; In an ideal world, he keeps jerking off to the thought of you - sharing the filthy moment together and shamelessly. 

“That’s it, sugar,” his voice rumbles, and if you close your eyes, you can pretend it's you and him, not your defiled thong. You screw your eyes shut and strain to listen, fingers still working meticulously between your slick wet inner thighs. “Y’take it so fuckin’ well, made for my cock…”

You imagine what it’d be like to feel him slide home in you. The way your walls would flutter around the stretch and how Bucky would stretch you open. You’d feel so full, you imagine. Taking inch after inch until he was buried in the hilt. Would he be a rough lover? Would he jackhammer your poor hole until it was simply stretched and dripping with his come? Would he hold you missionary so he could see your face when you came around his cock?

You squeeze your thighs together and exhale shakily into your palm - attempting to control yourself even as you still finger-fuck to the beat of Bucky’s strokes. Your legs tremble with want. After a moment, your eyes squint open to see what Bucky is doing now…

Bucky’s intent focus is fixed on soiling the material he holds. Smearing his pre-come into the fabric and staining it with traces of him. He ruts into the fabric before fucking into it all together. Fisting it around his aching girth and wrapping his dick with the cotton and treating it as if it were his own hole to fuck. Though you imagine it not nearly as gratifying.

His head falls back; The column of his throat is exposed and you imagine littering it with kisses and hickeys that wouldn’t last. He’s utterly lost in that moment, hips fucking subtly off the bed into your underwear that’s wrapped around his cock. You try to meet the pace with your fingers, thrusting into your slick channel and the arousal creeping into every last crevice. Your skin feels hot, mind fuzzy with desire. Your hand isn’t enough, you wish you had more, but it’ll have to do. Fingers thrusting in, you eventually manage a third alongside your two. Bucky’s fingers would be bigger, thicker. They could hit every best part of you, or perhaps they could fill your wanting mouth while his cock takes up every last inch and then some inside of you. 

“O-Ohh, oh fuck, doll, m’gonna come,” Bucky moans, and your heart jumps into your throat. “Yeah, m’gonna fill up your greedy little hole, gonna fill you up with my fuckin’ come ‘til you’re drippin’ with it…” 

You wish you could consider it a promise, the words egging you closer and closer to your own teetering edge. His voice is so rough, the words so sultry and filthy - you’d never heard Bucky speak in such an obscene way and it reached to your core.

His hand impossibly quickens as lube-covered fingers come to roll his balls between them. Watching Bucky play with his sac left you on the cusp of drooling; You could only imagine the lewd sound his balls would make clapping against your flesh in the haze of his animalistic fucking. He’d sink balls deep into you, making you take every last drop…

“Please, please, please,” you whisper a litany in barely a breath to yourself. Begging for a man that doesn’t even know you’re there; Reduced to such a needy and wanting thing as you draw on the cusp of your own orgasm. It’s only when you angle your fingers just right and curl against that sweet spot, you see stars. It drives you right over the brink of your orgasm, hand clutching over your mouth so hard it hurts.

It’s perfect timing. As you unravel in Bucky’s closet, knees nearly buckling under you, Bucky reaches his own climax. You can tell in the way the crease forms between his brows and his eyes finally screw shut; Groaning like an animal in rut out into the air as his hips stutter and falter. You watch the fabric dampen, and the slick seed trickle down to the seam of his balls and stain the sheets under himself.

“Fuck!” Bucky moans, and you tremble.

It’s an absolutely gorgeous sight. Watching the way his adam’s apple bobs when he swallows, the sweat glistening on his flushed skin, and the mess of come that Bucky unloads into your thong. You’ll never look at the pair of underwear the same if you ever even see them again.

You pant, feeling like jelly and rather defeated by being stuck in the closet. You long for nothing more than to pull that door open and crawl into bed with Bucky, or at the very least, find sanctuary in your own apartment. 

You nearly laugh when you remember the turn of events that even brought you to this moment.

Carefully, you coax your fingers from your used hole. Biting your lip to bite back the whine that nearly leaves you when you clench around nothing; Empty. The floor of the closet is littered with shoes, and without much thought, you brace your hand on the door in an attempt to steady yourself and find better footing before you go crashing to the floor. The door gives. The way you’re holding on with your palm flush to the cool surface, the door braces against the metal horizontal rig and leaves the door to shake. The applied pressure makes the door give, and slide open; before you could find leverage on anything to save you from the fall, you stumble harshly in Bucky’s closet - meeting the carpeted floor below. Your heart is suddenly pounding in your ears, pierced with a new sort of fear and a way less sexy one.

When you prop your arms under yourself to lift up, Bucky is already standing at the closet door. Your eyes nervously raise up the length of his legs, over his half-soft cock that’s eyes level with you, to the used thong in his hands. Further up, you find that piercing gaze looking down on you. Cast in Bucky’s shadow, you suddenly feel so small as he looms over you. A grin fixed on his lips and pupils blown; it looks like he wants to eat you alive.

“Well, well, well, what're we doin' in here…?” Bucky purrs, the opposite of the anger you expect. “B-Bucky!” You gasp, the ecstasy of your high gone and instead holding a prickling knot in your stomach. “I– I wasn’t— This—” “Oh, sugar, what’re you makin’ excuses for…?” Bucky asks, voice low and almost threatening. “You think I wouldn’t notice the basket when I came in with an unlocked door? How stupid you think I am, pretty thing…?” Bucky’s sultry and rough voice sends another jolt between your legs and straight to your core. Your face burns with shame and humiliation with the implications.

Bucky knew you were there the whole time.

“Aww, nothin’ to say for yourself, baby…?” The tone is almost condescending albeit with an underlying heat. “I-I’m sorry,” you stammer uselessly, voice quaking with a mix between arousal and fear.

Bucky holds up your defiled thong before tossing it into your lap.  You jump, lifting up the thong with your fingers and only then see the load stained on the inside of the underwear. You swallow around the tightness in your throat, tentatively looking back up at the hulking man.

“No, you’re not. But you will be.”