#unhinged freak we kiss on the lips!!!!!!!!!!!

[seitmai]

Ahh so many thoughts

Steve Rogers left you in your hotel room, a quivering emotional, mess.

I hope hehas left as quivering, emotional mess too 🤭

A lot happened in a short amount of time that caused you to deny your feelings for him. And now you were no longer trying to keep him out. 

Good for her!

He was definitely a distraction, but now you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer. You just needed to be a woman about it and tell him.

Yeah let's woman up 💪🏻

Steve had to stop himself from going back up to your room three times after he left.

As he should 😌🤭

He finally exited the hotel and stalked down the street back to the Rebirth building to his car and pulled out his phone, dialing Bucky and pulling out of the garage. “Remember that shopping trip we took a few weeks ago? For the ring?”

Before you thought too hard, you sent it to Steve, then jumped in bed and pulled the covers over your head with that feeling of dread and panic when you don’t know if you’ve done something supremely reckless or not.

Literally me every time I send a message that stresses me out for various reasons haha (most of the time it's just my anxiety lol)

“It absofuckinlutely was. You’re joking about it being the wrong thread, right? That is mine, correct?” You shivered at his double meaning and at his possessiveness. “Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

👀

“You can have whatever you want...”  A sense of power flooded Steve’s body, both heady and intoxicating at your admission. “You should be very careful when you make that offer, Peach,” he said softly.  “I trust you.” 

They're jumping straight in

This man was wearing a corduroy suit and he made it look damn good.  And he made you feral.

Valid 🤷🏻‍♀️

You decided to give your cousin a hard time to prevent yourself from becoming a simp. “You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

Hahaha ballsy coming from a woman that just almost drooled over a corduroy suit 😂

She didn’t look at you as you yanked her chain. She just continued to follow Bucky’s every move and lit up when he glanced her way. She was gone, girl.

Let them be! They are in love🥰

His smile when you made eye contact knocked the breath out of your lungs. In that moment, you realized that you were in love with Steven Grant Rogers. 

Yeah and making fun of others being in love just a few minutes before 🤭

“Hush, I’m trying to get the dirt. Now Nico, tell the truth…” Steve sat back and listened to your unhinged behavior on the drive over to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Your spirit and your laugh made him warm inside, despite the cold day.

Haha love that she interrogates Nico and Steve is just sitting there watching her like 🥰😍

“I know Nico wouldn’t crack, but I could tell from the way he went red. Those whores….” “Literal Freaks,” replied Steve. “Bunny is an appropriate nickname for him, because he and your cousin…” 

Hahahha 😂

“Beautiful,” you murmured. And then you noticed that he was looking at you.

I'm swooning 🥰

“I want to capture the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, or how you're gripping the bench like you're about to get up and run.”

It's in the details 🤭

Steve’s eyes lit up and he reached for you, pulling you into his lap as his lips crashed into yours. His hands were everywhere. He tugged you closer as he kissed you and both hands came down to grab your ass and pull you onto his erection. His desire for you was apparent. When you broke apart, you chased his lips and then kissed him again, greedy.

😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

“I’ve been ready. Been yours for a while, now Peach. Since the day I saw you…” His voice was gentle and he was looking at you like you were fine porcelain. You felt so safe in his arms. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

“What if I don’t want you to behave? Like you said, you have the pavilion reserved. You can bend me over the bench and fuck me raw. Right here.” Steve’s pupils took over his eyes and his jaw clenched. Your stomach dropped as he looked as if he was about to do just as you suggested. But he took a deep breath and smiled. “We’ll explore that kink later. Our first time needs to be in private.”

Yeah let's just put a pin into it 🤭

“Your heart's beating so fast,” you whispered.  “You do that to me, Peach.” “Really?” you questioned, suddenly unsure of yourself. “You have no idea how much power you have, do you?” 

I'm swooning

“Oh god, Steve. I- I love you too.” Your smile blinded him. If he blinked it was because of that. Not that he was going to cry. Not at all. 

Yeah, absolutely not because of any tears 🤭

Then, he pulled his underwear down, eyes on your face for your reaction. It was classic, your mouth hinged open and your eyes were like saucers. There was no way anyone could be that perfect.

🤭🤭🤭

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby.”

Is that a promise? 😉🤭

 Inch after thick inch, he claimed you, stretched you, with a delicious push/pull of pleasure/pain. His length was one thing, but his girth was everything.

🥵🥵🥵

“You want me to cum inside you? You trying to have my baby?” “Unnnnnnghhhh! Maybe….” 

That's not no 👀

“I would die for you, Y/N L/N,” Steve murmured against your temple, panting. He held you tight, carding his fingers in your hair. “I promise to keep you safe, and give you everything you need, I promise you that.” “I believe you, Steve. I trust that.”

Ahh finally, them are making so much progress 🥰

“Hmmmmm. I’d have to marry you before I answered that question.” Your heart slammed against your chest and your eyes went wide in the dark.

Huh? 👀

"You can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. It was a joke, Peach.”

Yeah, a joke, right👀

“Do you… are you saying that you want to get married?” Steve thought about the ring that he had at his penthouse.

Omg

“Nah… what we looking like just up and getting married like that? We hardly know each other.” “True. But when you know, you know.” Steve kissed you and the small amount of logic in your brain was rapidly dissipating. “Would it make us look crazy…?” You could sense Steve’s smile in the dark. “…Or would it be so beautiful?” He replied.

Omg this conversation between them is everything! They so are gonna get hitched right away!! And everyone will think it's crazy, except for them because they think it's beautiful 🥰😌 and you know who else is gonna find it beautiful? A certain cousin and best friend, because this is gonna be the last push for Bucky to get down on one knee too 🤭

“If you ask me, I’m ready…” The light switched on and you were staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

I have a feeling that he is on one knee or getting dressed speeding to his penthouse to geta certain thing 🤭😍

Peach VI

Peach V | Peach VII

Summary: Steven Grant Rogers is a mob boss trying to get clean. It’s definitely because he’s in love. With you. He's got you on his turf in NYC. You two FINALLY admit your feelings for one another and seal the deal. But how far are you willing to go for this love?

Pairing: Art Dealer/Artist/Philanthopist (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Reader (Peach)

A/N: This is it! I hope the smut is up to par. When I tell you I’ve agonized about this. But thank you to all who were in my inbox and dms giving me encouragement this week. Love you bunches! ❤️

This fic is connected to the Bucky Barnes Knock You Down AU, and DIRECTLY AFTER the events in Peach V. Your interaction keeps me writing, so let me know if you like it by commenting and reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Angst. Slow burn, Mutual pining, idiots in love, eye fucking, Steve Rogers is an artist, y'all!, sending (almost) nudes, phone sex, possessive Steve, references to shibari, mutual masturbation, pining, references to sex in a car, the "L" word, oral (f recieving), fingering, overstimulation, nipple play, size kink, pleasurable pain with sex, definite breeding kink, raw p in v, Lil bit of Dom Steve if you squint, references to murder. Something big may or may not happen after the last line.

Not Beta'd. All errors my own.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-------

Steve Rogers left you in your hotel room, a quivering emotional, mess.

He’d made you cum, hard, but you felt that he was holding back, that if you’d told him how you felt it would have been so much better.

Or maybe that was all in your mind. Steven Grant Rogers was on your mind since you met him as Grant Stevens in Atlanta.

A lot happened in a short amount of time that caused you to deny your feelings for him. And now you were no longer trying to keep him out. 

He was definitely a distraction, but now you couldn’t deny your feelings for him any longer. You just needed to be a woman about it and tell him.

What’s the worst that could happen? You weren’t going to marry the guy, you just want to explore these mutual feelings. It shouldn’t be complicated.

Right?

You still had the rest of the week in New York to stress out about it, so that was a plus. The afternoon was ahead of you and the next day was the Summitt.

After that, you had your one on one with Steve.

Bucky told you about Steve being an artist himself during your meeting with him. So, for your meeting with Steve, you requested that you see some of his artwork, and he agreed.

You were curious to see what he could create, and you were anxious and turned on at the thought of him as a creator.

You were so into Steve Rogers.

And you didn’t know what you were going to do about that.

—--

Steve had to stop himself from going back up to your room three times after he left. He finally exited the hotel and stalked down the street back to the Rebirth building to his car and pulled out his phone, dialing Bucky and pulling out of the garage.

He needed a drive and a little alone time to clear his head and come down from you, but he also needed his friend’s help.

“Wassssaaaap! Did you get the–”

Steve cut Bucky off.

“Remember that shopping trip we took a few weeks ago? For the ring?”

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Meet me on 47th street.”

—-

That afternoon, you just kept your distance from Sharon and ignored her, focusing on the task at hand and all business. You didn’t want to waste energy on her.

Your energy was spent on thinking about Steve and wondering if he was thinking of you too. You wanted to text him, but you were chilling. You didn’t want to seem to eager.

You were successful in your self control until 11 pm as you tossed and turned in your hotel king bed. Doubts, but mostly need and desire, coursed through you. 

You were going to find out exactly what Steve was doing right now and who he might be with. You shook your head at how much you cared; it was definitely not something you regularly did. You were used to feening for someone.

You were choosing violence as you posed on the bed in front of the mirror. You sat on the bed, crossed your legs and snapped a picture.

You weren’t naked, but your panties were skin tone and your sleep bra was sheer and you were feeling needy.

Before you thought too hard, you sent it to Steve, then jumped in bed and pulled the covers over your head with that feeling of dread and panic when you don’t know if you’ve done something supremely reckless or not.

—

Steve was ready for the Summit, but he couldn’t stop thinking of you. Sleep was elusive, so he was self medicating, sketching your body from memory of mostly touch.

His phone vibrated and he almost didn’t pick it up, but when he saw your name, his heart sped up.

He clicked through to your message and his heart started hammering in his chest. 

Sorry, wrong thread.

The picture you sent along threatened to give him a heart attack. He zoomed in a couple of times and then read the message again. What the fuck?

——-

In less than a minute your phone was ringing. You picked up immediately.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Peach.”

Steve’s growl got you wet, but you instantly regretted your horny decisions.

“It was a mistake.”

“It absofuckinlutely was. You’re joking about it being the wrong thread, right? That is mine, correct?”

You shivered at his double meaning and at his possessiveness.

“Yes, Mr. Rogers.”

Your voice was needy and that awakened a hunger in Steve. He was beyond frustrated that he wasn’t there to spank your ass raw, but he remained quiet.

You sensed his mood.

“If I were there, I’d make it up to you…”

You were testing the waters, experimenting to see if he would give you what you wanted despite his annoyance.

If he would give you what you needed.

“What would you do?” 

Steve’s baritone was silk in your ear.

“What?” 

You suddenly found that you couldn’t breathe.

“What would you do if you were here?”

“I’d kiss you,” you rushed out in a whisper.

Steve paused, letting your sentence hang in the air.

“And?” 

There was an edge to the question. 

“And… My lips. All over you.” 

Fuck, he was hard. Just a few words in your husky voice, and Steve delirious, imagining his hands in your hair as you kissed him.

“Where?” he asked mercilessly, his voice broken with lust.

“Everywhere…your face, your neck, your nipples, your abs. Your cock.” 

You were definitely not a virgin, but you were blushing through the phone although your hand was rubbing the skin at the edge of your underwear.

“Want you in my throat.” 

Steve had to concentrate to stay hard. 

“Oh? What if I want more than that?” 

“You can have whatever you want...” 

A sense of power flooded Steve’s body, both heady and intoxicating at your admission.

“You should be very careful when you make that offer, Peach,” he said softly. 

“I trust you.” 

Holy fuck. Why did that mean everything to him?  He cleared his throat.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered.

“Okay.” 

You complied so readily, it made Steve even harder.

Your clit was so hard as you circled it.

“Are you wet, Sweetheart?” 

You moaned and Steve reached into his sweats and curled his fingers around his aching cock.

“My pussy is so messy for you, Mr. Rogers,” you whispered, thrilled and afraid of how much you wanted him. 

Steve rolled his eyes as his cocked jerked for you.

“Such a good little slut.” 

“Fuck…” 

You realized the breath you’d been holding as you listened for his voice.

“Your pussy is so beautiful Peach. And god, you taste so good. Just like a sweet peach.”

Steve knew he had you in the palm of his hand. But fuck, you had him in yours too. 

“But your cunt is so tiny. I’m gonna needs to get you ready for me, Baby.”

“Is it going to hurt me?” you whined. 

Steve was about to explode at your little innocent voice asking the most nasty question.

“Yes, Peach. It is,” he growled as your anticipation reached 100.

Your breath sped up and so did your fingers. Steve grunted, his fist moving faster, thumb swiping the copious dribbles of precum dripping from his slit.

He should have known it was over as soon as he opened your message.

Hot sex was happening.

Electronically.

As the coil in your belly wind tighter, you realized with both joy and dismay that you were addicted.

“Steve, “m so close…” 

“Of course you are.” 

Steve soaked up your cute little sex sounds, thirsty for more. 

“You know what I’m thinking about, Doll?” 

A shaky breath was your only response. Steve continued.

“I think I want to tie you up. Silk ropes all over you, pretty little knots. I’d tie your arms behind your back, so those tits would sit up pretty for me to slap, lick and suck. That ass would be tied up so sweet and open so I could eat it.”

Your eyes rolled at the sensations his words and your fingers were sending to your clit. 

“I’d fuck your throat and cum all over that soft, sweet body. Over and over, while I tease your greedy little cunt. I want to see it drip down your delicious nipples, your belly, your hungry pussy, your pretty face. I need to see all of you covered in my cum. Everywhere, marking you as mine…Mine.” 

You gasped, and then moaned and your entire body tightened up then released.

Your mouth hinged open as you came. 

“Mine,” Steve hissed, tightening the knots around you both and jerking his cock until cum spurted out. He listened to your breathing and knew that you’d just cum as well. 

Suddenly, he missed you.

“You good, Peach?”

You hesitated.You heard the yearning in his voice and you wanted to be in his arms, but you lied to him anyway.

“Yeah.”

Steve smiled at you. He shook his head even though you couldn’t see.

“Sweet dreams. See you tomorrow.”

“Night Steve.”

—---

You needed a distraction.

Steve looked so delicious this morning, sitting on stage and serving art intellectual in a dark turtleneck and brown corduroy suit. A suit that was tailored to the detriment of everyone who looked at him. 

Holy shit.

This man was wearing a corduroy suit and he made it look damn good.  

And he made you feral.

You decided to give your cousin a hard time to prevent yourself from becoming a simp.

“You look like that damn heart eyes emoji, ya know.”

She didn’t look at you as you yanked her chain. She just continued to follow Bucky’s every move and lit up when he glanced her way. She was gone, girl.

You teased her some more until you saw Steve. You sighed and gazed at him, straightening your spine as you remembered how he made you cum twice yesterday. And he’d hardly touched you. 

As if sensing your gaze, Steve’s head turned. Those mesmerizing blue eyes locked with yours, and the rest of the world disappeared in an instant. For a moment, you were frozen. Pinned in your seat by his magnetism.

This feeling was so heady.

When you realized you’d been caught staring Steve down, you tried to change the unspoken subject.

“Bucky is pretty much the man.”

“Fucking-A.” 

Her chuckle was all-knowing. Then she read you.

“Steve is the shit too.”

You couldn’t front anymore.

“He’s amazing. I had no idea about everything that he does. Have to say, I’m impressed.”

She was speechless and so were you. You both continued enjoying the forum when your phone buzzed.

You look beautiful today. You’re my favorite thing to study. Can’t wait for today’s art experience. Meet me at the Laguardia Place entrance immediately after the talk. Sunlight is precious.

You were his favorite thing to study!

You waited on the edge of your seat until the end of the summit. Then you were up and walking out toward the entrance post haste.

The hair on the back of your neck raised when you saw Steve watching you from the door of Rosenthal Pavilion.

His smile when you made eye contact knocked the breath out of your lungs.

In that moment, you realized that you were in love with Steven Grant Rogers. 

Holy hell.

His deep voice greeted you as you arrived.

“I’m anxious to get started.”

Steve searched your face and found a different look from the partially closed off expression you’d showed him since Thanksgiving.

Your face was open and trusting. His heart did a funny thing in his chest. It was almost too good to be true.

Could you love him, too?

He tempered his mood with sensible words, filling the space that he wanted to fill with romantic declarations.

“I’m going to take you to my favorite artistic landmark in the city. I’ve loved it since I was a boy.”

You smiled up at him and took his hand.

“Let’s not waste any more time.”

—--

The driver that was taking you and Steve to your meeting place was the same one who picked you up from the airport. The one that your cousin knew so well. 

You stared at the back of his head and then glanced over at Steve. He raised his eyebrow at you because of the look on your face. You grinned back, then leaned forward to tap the driver on the shoulder.

“So… Nico…” 

Your eyes cut over to Steve with a mischievous look. His heart beat out of his chest at the joy you were serving him along with your chaos. 

“You ever drive my cousin and Bucky around the city?”

Nico stole a look at you and smiled.

“Yes ma’am. All the time.”

“Do they ever do the nasty back here…?”

Nico laughed heartily as Steve shook his head.

“Peach…”

You shushed Steve.

“Hush, I’m trying to get the dirt. Now Nico, tell the truth…”

Steve sat back and listened to your unhinged behavior on the drive over to the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. Your spirit and your laugh made him warm inside, despite the cold day.

—-

Nico stopped the car at the Washington Avenue entrance to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. Steve got out, shouldered his backpack, and then reached for your gloved hand with his own.

For some reason, you felt like a princess as you stepped on the path. The air was crisp, and there were traces of snow lingering on the ground.

You came out of the car chattering and laughing, making Steve’s heart light.

“I know Nico wouldn’t crack, but I could tell from the way he went red. Those whores….”

“Literal Freaks,” replied Steve. “Bunny is an appropriate nickname for him, because he and your cousin…” 

Steve shook his head and rolled his eyes, although he fantasized about christening the backseat of the Lincoln for you and him.

The wrought-iron gate creaked softly behind you as you entered the Garden, and you looked around in wonder as the gravel path crunched beneath your boots. A magnificent metal and glass structure was in front of you.

“This is the Steinhardt Conservatory. Wait until you see the inside.”

Steve smiled and took your hand as you stepped through the glass doors into sudden warmth shaking your head at him. 

There was a heavy scent of flowers and a haze of the waning rays of sunlight beaming through the glass panels overhead. It gave everything golden highlights, including you and Steve. 

You squeezed his hand as you looked around in awe. 

“Beautiful,” you murmured.

And then you noticed that he was looking at you. 

“Yes…”

You grew warm as you looked into his gorgeous blue eyes.

“It’s like a completely different world in here.”

“It’s our world for the moment. Just you and me.”

He wanted to add the word Forever, but he didn’t. You felt it though.

You started on an indoor path and Steve pointed out the unique flowers and plants in his warm baritone. You were impressed, again, with how much he knew.

Steve Rogers was not a stereotypical mobster. This was a man who followed a path in life that landed him where he didn’t want to be and was trying to make up for it. 

As he spoke, Steve drew you into his enthusiasm, and you found yourself smiling and relaxing, asking questions and marveling at the vast indoor space. 

When you came to a small alcove furnished with a wooden bench and beneath a sprawling magnolia tree, Steve stopped and took his backpack off his shoulder, and then taking off his coat and draping it over the bench as you did the same.

"Please, sit." 

His voice was quiet, but there was no mistaking the subtle command.

You hesitated. 

"Why?"

"So I can sketch you."

Your stomach did an odd little flip. 

"Here? Now? I wanted to see your sketches, not be your sketches."

You performed on stage in front of hundreds with barely no clothes on and you were so nervous to let Steve Rogers sketch you with winter layers of clothes on. What was wrong with you?

Steve raised his eyebrow and his gaze swept up your body slowly, making you shiver. Clothes couldn’t stop the intimate of that look.

“Too late for that.”

You raised your eyebrow at him and you felt irrationally happy. Steve had drawn you.

“Do you not trust me?”

You regarded him, guardian your reaction because you didn’t want to seem too eager.

“I do Steve. I trust you.”

It was true.

Steve smiled. 

“Then please, sit down.”

You gave in with a sigh and lowered yourself onto the bench. 

"Fine," you muttered. "But no weird artistic liberties. I better have a nose."

Steve chuckled, flipping open the sketchbook. 

"I make no promises."

You watched as he proceeded to balance the sketchbook against his bended knee. Then he looked at you seriously, holding your gaze for a moment before his attention returned to the page, and his pencil began gliding effortlessly across the paper. 

His thick fingers were surprisingly agile, moving with long, sure strokes. But then again, you shouldn’t have been surprised, with the way his fingers had previously made you feel…

For a few moments, the only sound was the soft scratch of his pencil against paper. 

You attempted to sit still, staring at the plants around you. You also tried to pretend that you weren’t aware of the way he studied you with that relentless focus, switching his gaze between you and the sketchbook.

After a few minutes, Steve made a soft noise, something between a hum and a chuckle.

“What?” you asked, turning your head and narrowing your eyes at him.

“Nothing.” 

He didn’t look up. But he spoke.

“It’s just... you’re trying so hard not to move, but you’re fidgeting anyway.”

You caught the hint of humor in his tone and it made you a little too happy again, so you decided to cause problems. 

"Well, maybe if you didn’t look at me like that.”

"Like what?" 

His lips curled into a knowing smirk, looking up at you quickly, then back down.

You fidgeted again.

"You know…"

Steve chuckled, deep and low and shook his head.

"Oh. Am I ‘sparkling my eyes at you again?’”

You scowled at him and he laughed.

“I'm an artist, Peach. I study form." 

His eyes traced up and down your body, lighting you on fire again.

You clenched your thighs together to fight the flow of arousal threatening your thighs. This was dangerous. Steve was dangerous.

"You're insufferable, Steven."

“Well, can you suffer on a little longer, so I can capture more detail?”

You cocked your head in that adorable way.

“What details do you need?”

“I need…” 

Steve looked at you like he needed all of you. 

And he did. 

“I want to capture the way your nose crinkles when you're annoyed, or how you're gripping the bench like you're about to get up and run.”

You unclenched your hands and sat back.

“You’re making me nervous.”

He tapped his pencil against the sketchbook. Then he looked down again to continue drawing.

"Interesting."

"What is?"

He licked those red lips of his and your eyes tracked the movement.

"The fact that I make you nervous."

The way he was looking at you made butterflies riot in your stomach. That special electricity was buzzing around you both. 

Suddenly, his pencil stopped. Then, without warning, he reached out, brushing his fingers beneath your chin, tilting your face slightly.

You stiffened.

"Hold still," he murmured. 

His thumb ghosted over the curve of your jaw and settled at the edge of your throat.

Your breath hitched.

Steve’s eyes were dark now and his voice was softer when he spoke again, but there was an edge to it now, hinting at something rough beneath the surface.

“You always do this?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“React like this when someone touches you.”

You pursed your lips together and shook your head. 

Just you.

"You’re doing it again," he mused as he stroked the side of your throat with his thumb.

"What, Mr. Rogers?"

You were about to combust. He clenched his jaw and increased the pressure of his fingers on your neck.

"Fighting it."

"I- I don’t know what you’re talking about."

"You do," he intoned, his voice stern.

"Don’t hide from me, Peach." 

Your pulse beat beneath his fingertips.

"You think I don’t notice how you react to me?" 

Steve’s hand grasped your throat, pressing more firmly before he let go.

"Hold. Still," he murmured, those blue, blue eyes stormy.

His fingers tilted your face up with authority now. You froze for a moment as his thumb came up to pull your chin down to open your mouth.

“Breathe.”

He slowly pulled his hand away and you had to stop yourself from chasing his touch. 

Steve clenched his jaw, trying to restrain himself. If he had to guess, you were wet and ready for him to do whatever he wanted to you right now. But he willed himself to be patient. 

He picked up his pencil again, rolling it between his fingers, like nothing had happened. 

"Good girl," he offered to the page as he returned to his sketch.

Steve knew what he was doing. Knew exactly how much he affected you. You waited impatiently, clenching your thighs together desperately as his pencil continued to scratch on the paper. 

"Done," he said, as he lifted the sketchbook toward you.

You gasped as you looked at the page. 

The drawing was stunning. Steve had captured you with uncanny accuracy, from the curve of your parted lips to the shading of the different colors in your eyes. The hollow of your throat seemed to pulse, and you could almost see the indentations of his fingers. 

The portrait was beautiful. And it told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.

“This is… how can I thank you?”

Steve’s heart flipped in his chest as he reached out and grabbed your waist, pulling you toward him on the bench.

"Steve…"

His eyes went to your mouth.

"Say that again," he murmured, barely above a whisper.

Your whole body was burning, but you stayed quiet. You were paralyzed with the possibilities.

"No? Too shy now?"

His voice made you impossibly wet. If you gave in, you were about to get everything you didn’t know that you wanted. And that scared you.

You let out a shaky breath. 

"Steve."

Something flickered behind his eyes. Something hot.

“Have I told you that I love the way you say my name?”

His hand came up again against your side, slowly, more deliberate. His fingers moved over the curve of your side, and slid against your breast, his thumb ghosting over your nipple.

He continued, tracing over your cleavage and finally landing against your throat again, pressing against your pulse and driving you crazy.

"You're shaking," he murmured, voice low, thick with need.

Then, without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and gave you a kiss against your throat. And he lingered, lips warm against your skin, before pulling back just enough to smile against your skin.

Your whimper told him so much. 

"You act so tough, but you’re so easy to ruin."

You raised your arms and pulled him close, fingers playing at the nape clutching the hair spilling over his collar.

“You made me this way, Steve. And I don’t want you to stop.”

His now dark blue eyes searched yours as his fingers tightened on your waist. 

“What does that mean, Peach?”

He’d pulled you closer, his eyes on your face as he waited for your answer. The anticipation was so much. He huffed and then dove into the curve of your neck, inhaling and tasting you there, as if he couldn’t help himself. His large hands palmed your breasts, pressing your nipples insistently.

“Oh…my….Steve!”

You squirmed in his grip.

“I asked you a question. Do I need to stop touching you so you can answer?”

“Please, no, Steve. Need you...”

You were the queen of changing the subject.

“Is that what you wanted to tell me?”

His lips were on the curve of your jaw, so close to your lips. You whined. He cocked his eyebrow, the question not so silent.

You huffed, making your decision to go for it as your hands came to the side of his face so that he knew your intentionality. You wanted to look into his eyes when you said it.

“Moment of honesty? I want you Steve. I feel…I want to be yours. Really been yours since you put your hands on me in Atalanta. I can’t categorize or control this feeling. So I’m giving in. Are you ready for the chaos that is me being yours?”

Steve’s eyes lit up and he reached for you, pulling you into his lap as his lips crashed into yours. His hands were everywhere. He tugged you closer as he kissed you and both hands came down to grab your ass and pull you onto his erection. His desire for you was apparent.

When you broke apart, you chased his lips and then kissed him again, greedy.

“I’ve been ready. Been yours for a while, now Peach. Since the day I saw you…”

His voice was gentle and he was looking at you like you were fine porcelain. You felt so safe in his arms. He pulled back to look you in the eye.

“And this feeling? This is exactly how it should feel when it's meant to be.”

He kissed you again and his mouth took possession of yours in a way that was tender, yet full of promise. 

“I gotta let you know that if you’re mine, I’m gonna give you what you need. When you need it. Do you want that? Do you trust me with that?”

This was the important question.

“Yes, please. I want that, Mr. Rogers, sir. And I trust you.” 

"That’s so fucking hot… but I’m trying to behave. Even though I reserved the pavilion just for us, we’re still in a public place,” he murmured. 

His voice was calm, controlled. But those sea blue eyes told a different story.

"You call this behaving?"

You rolled your hips against his cock. Steve kissed you again and let out a sexy chuckle, then stood you both up, leaning down to whisper in your ear.

"If I wasn’t," he murmured, "you’d already be begging me for more." 

You linked your arms around his neck and looked up at him as the cutest woman on earth.

“What if I don’t want you to behave? Like you said, you have the pavilion reserved. You can bend me over the bench and fuck me raw. Right here.”

Steve’s pupils took over his eyes and his jaw clenched. Your stomach dropped as he looked as if he was about to do just as you suggested. But he took a deep breath and smiled.

“We’ll explore that kink later. Our first time needs to be in private.”

Steve reached for your coat and helped you with it before putting his own on and gathering his things. He took your hand and led you out and across the grounds. He pointed to a familiar building. 

“Your hotel is right there. Or do you want me to call Nico to take us to my place?”

You looked up at Steve as your breath vaporized in the cold air.

“We need my hotel. I’m ready. Right now.”

—--

You were in your room again, not entirely sure how you arrived, the journey through the park hurried and full of anticipation. You weren’t thinking too hard, you just knew you needed Steve. Immediately.

You were pushing his coat and blazer off his body and feeling his chest. The steady thrum of his pulse tapped a staccato in your palm.

“Your heart's beating so fast,” you whispered. 

“You do that to me, Peach.” 

“Really?” you questioned, suddenly unsure of yourself.

“You have no idea how much power you have, do you?” 

“Me?” you asked in a small voice. 

Steve nodded.

“You drive me crazy. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.” 

It was confession time.

“It’s you that has the power, Steve. I can't stop thinking about you. Your voice gets me there.” 

You felt tongue tied as you told him your raw feelings, all the while taking off your and his clothes. 

“Sometimes I — I think I'm going to cum just from hearing you speak. Today, at NYU, I could hardly sit still. You're like a drug, pulling all my attention.” 

Steve’s shirt was off now and you were in your bra and he pulled you near him to get his mouth on your tits.

“When I'm near you, I'm so hard it aches.”

 “Really?” you whispered. “Are you aching right now?” 

Steve groaned as you pulled back to unzip your skirt and take off your boots. He leaned back against the wall and palmed his crotch over his pants. 

“Like you wouldn't believe.” 

Steve couldn’t believe that he had you here like this, giving yourself to him. He had to tell you the truth.

“Look at me, Peach.”

You looked into his eyes.

“I’m In love with you.”

His rough voice pulled an involuntary sound from you. 

“You're mine, Peach You always have been.

Your breath caught in your throat and your heart thudded against yor ribs.

“Oh god, Steve. I- I love you too.”

Your smile blinded him. If he blinked it was because of that. Not that he was going to cry. 

Not at all. 

He laughed as an expression of joy and then your lips met.

The kiss wasn't soft or sweet. This was feral, sharp, and intense. You moaned into his mouth, sucking his bottom lip into yours as he unhooked your bra.

“I fucking want you,” you whimpered into his mouth. 

Steve smiled against your lips.

“Good, cause I fucking need you, my sweet Peach.”

Steve stood, looming over you, all big and fucking magnificent. The vision of him, all lithe muscles covered in smooth skin, and light feathering of hair making its way down his torso, between the defined planes of his abs and into his waistband, was… Good Lord.

You licked your lips, mouth instantly dry. 

Steve’s mouth hooked up on one side as his fingers worked his belt and fly. His pants fell in a matter of seconds, and there he was, wearing nothing but black boxer briefs.

Steve was all thick thighs, and long, powerful legs, his hand slowly stroking himself over the sizable bulge in his underwear. 

You gaped at him. 

Then, he pulled his underwear down, eyes on your face for your reaction. It was classic, your mouth hinged open and your eyes were like saucers. There was no way anyone could be that perfect.

His dick was long and wide, at least eight or nine inches, and curved eloquently (if a dick could do that) against his abs. It was so pretty and your mouth watered for it at the same time your pussy clenched, as you were thinking he was correct. You would struggle to take him.

His smirked deepened as he reached for you and pulled your panties down slowly, his short fingernails scratching your legs and making you shiver.

For a moment he just stared, drinking in the sight of you spread before him

“Fucking sublime,” Steve breathed, the words filled with reverence. 

“I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else, baby.” 

He leaned over you and set about doing just that, kissing you deep and filthy, tongue diving to claim every inch of your mouth. You cried out, scratching at his broad shoulders as he suckled and nipped, worshiping your breasts until you were mindless with sensation. 

Steve took his time tracing your torso with his lips, teeth and tongue, learning your body and  paying attention to every sigh of pleasure as he climbed down your body.

The press of his mouth to your pussy made your back arch, and a ragged moan escape your mouth. Steve growled into you, the vibrations running through your soaked cunt.

He parted your pussy lips with his thumbs, and dove to lick your clit with the hot velvet of his tongue. 

Slow, thorough licks made you writhe beneath him. 

“That’s it,” he whispered, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

“Ride my face, Sweetheart. Fuck my mouth ‘til you cum all over it.” 

You arched like a bow as he latched on to your clit and sucked, two thick fingers thrusting deep to stroke along your inner wall. His practiced fingers found your g-spot and massaged it ruthlessly, curling and scissoring until you sobbed his name.

“Love when you call my name, Peach.”

He looked at you like you were something to be worshipped, and then continued what he was doing. When Steve bit down gently on your clit, your orgasm crashed over you in a burst of white light. 

You shuddered through the aftershocks, trembling as Steve lapped at your folds. Each lick sent a jolt of electricity through you, on the edge of too much. 

Rising to his knees, the thick, heavy length of him rose up again, even more swollen and glistening at the tip. 

Steve notched the thick head of his cock at your entrance and his eyes crossed as he slowly sank into your tight, dripping heat. 

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

Inch after thick inch, he claimed you, stretched you, with a delicious push/pull of pleasure/pain. His length was one thing, but his girth was everything.

When he bottomed out, you both groaned at the intensity of the connection. He looked you in our eyes as your hearts pounded in sync, your breaths mingling as you got used to his size.

“I’ve never felt so full, Stevie…”

You quivered in his arms. And he knew that he was utterly possessed by you. It was more than just physical; it was an overwhelming sense of rightness. 

“Perfect,” Steve rasped.

“So fuckin’ perfect, sweetheart. Like you were made for me.”

He dropped his head and trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of your throat, pausing to suck hard at your pulse point. 

“Please,” you whimpered, the ache between your thighs growing unbearable. “Move.”

“As you wish.” he whispered, brows knitted together. 

You whimpered and your hands grasped the sheets as he started to move. He bent and sucked your nipple hard, causing a jolt of electricity through your body. Your brain was cloudy and your scratched his back as your eyes shuttered closed.

“Open your eyes, Peach,” Steve ordered darkly. 

As he looked you in your beautiful eyes, Steve couldn’t hold back any longer. He started increasing his pace until he was fucking you roughly, pushing your knees to your chest. 

“Yes.. feels so good Steve. Oh my godddddd, fuck me!”

Steve’s eyes roamed your body as he did as you asked. Your beautiful breasts bounced. The bed knocked against the wall and you gasped for breath, your face transfixed on the eye contact between you and Steve.

He was lost, one hand gripped your hair, and the other braced on the headboard. He fucked you hard, grinding against your clit with every stroke. 

You were whimpering, on the verge of screaming as you two made noise up and down the hotel hallway.

He leaned up and grasped your throat, gritting his teeth as he asked a question.

“You want me to cum inside you? You trying to have my baby?”

“Unnnnnnghhhh! Maybe….” 

You opened your eyes and pouted up at him.

“Paint my walls, Steve...”

Steve choked on air as he spurted hot cum into your welcoming pussy, but he pulled out, shooting the last jet of cum on your clit and pussy lips. Then, like a heathen, he bent between your thighs and started licking. 

You sobbed, writhing as he devoured you. 

“Need to eat you more than anything, my sweet, sweet Peach. 

“Steve, Stevie… oh my god!” 

You clutched his hair, tugging sharply. It was too much.

“Oh my God. Please Steveeeee!” 

He raised his head, grinning as you fully collapsed, limp and spent. Your pussy was tender, your face flushed, your eyes gleaming. 

You were eautiful.

You looked at him and shook your head as he took you in his arms. 

“Are you mine?” 

“Yes,” you whimpered out. 

“I would die for you, Y/N L/N,” Steve murmured against your temple, panting. He held you tight, carding his fingers in your hair.

“I promise to keep you safe, and give you everything you need, I promise you that.”

“I believe you, Steve. I trust that.”

—

You and Steve stayed up late, ordered room service and talked about a lot of things, music, your parents, his friendship with Bucky, Nat, and Steve, everything.

You laughed and cried, and then settled back in his arms in the dark to sleep, his hand rubbing your hip as his breathing began to slow.

“Steve, can I ask you a question?”

It had been nagging at you for a while.

His sleepy voice answered you.

“Shoot.”

You chuckled.

“That’s just it. Have you ever… have you ever killed someone?”

Steve stirred, pulling you closer to him and moving his mouth next to your ear.

“Hmmmmm. I’d have to marry you before I answered that question.”

Your heart slammed against your chest and your eyes went wide in the dark.

“What?”

You tried to keep your voice even. You didn’t know what this feeling was that came over you. Steve continued, seemingly calm and not spiraling like you were.

“You can’t be compelled to testify against your spouse. It was a joke, Peach.”

You were silent for a good while.

“Oh.”

Steve stirred, leaning up against his elbow.

“Do you… are you saying that you want to get married?”

Steve thought about the ring that he had at his penthouse.

You laughed.

“Nah… what we looking like just up and getting married like that? We hardly know each other.”

“True. But when you know, you know.”

Steve kissed you and the small amount of logic in your brain was rapidly dissipating.

“Would it make us look crazy…?”

You could sense Steve’s smile in the dark.

“…Or would it be so beautiful?” He replied.

Steve wrapped you up in his arms and settled down again. Your mind spun as his breathing slowed to a steady rhythm and you spoke again. 

He was probably asleep, but you had to get it out.

“If you ask me, I’m ready…”

The light switched on and you were staring into the beautiful blue eyes of Steve Rogers.

——

I’m so anxious about this one! Please let me know how you feel? Reblog, comment, like. TIA!

[greasybrakes]

hello flat top nation is this anything

[darkenedurge]

𝐁𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐌𝐞. (𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭).

.

CONTENT : Blood Kink | P in V Sex (Fem Durge) | Violence, Violent Language | Durge being a freak, Gortash eating it right up | Pre-Tadpole Durge & Gortash

.

˚ ✧.

“If I didn’t love you so, I’d drown in your blood. It’d be pretty, I bet. I can see it.” She says, as she lays – naked, head upon his chest, pointed nail tracing his chest hair. Disturbing it, coercing it into haphazard patterns. She has a habit of this, accompanying tender, gentle movements with deranged words spoken in her pretty, pretty voice. It had never frightened Gortash. Surprised him perhaps, when she had first enlightened him toward the notion – she was rolling her hips into his, palms cupping his jaw with an uncharacteristic softness, completely unbefitting to her, and the tandem of her hips.

“I wish I could slit your throat, and drive my tongue across the slash. Taste you, in ways I haven’t before.”

A minx, he’d called her, with a shake of his head – a tut, and a huffed chuckle.

“I am no General Thorm, dearest,” Gortash replies, finally, his hand trailing down to her thigh – repositioning her. She whines. “Cut me too deep, and I will not be resurrected.”

Silence, for a moment.

And then, a compromise.

“Let me cut your tongue, slice it.. I want to sup the blood as it spills, as we kiss.”

There was always a breathiness to her voice, a shuddering undertone of unadulterated, unhinged, excitement. Carnal desire, urge. There’s a tremor, in the very tips of her fingers, as she grips the blade – like a vice, furthered well beyond its limits. Gortash pretends to consider, pretends to have his debate – internal, between yes, and no. He pretends, and pretends, before simply sticking out his tongue.

She grins, giggles, raises her blade. Her blade was always close, always near. Within arms length.

She then shifts, onto her knees – resting on her heels, eyes flickering with want. Need.

“Only a little cut,” She specifies, and she’s honest, “I don’t want to ruin you..”

A half-tease. Gortash raises a brow.

True to her word, she makes the slit – immediate in tangling her tongue with his, succumbing to the sickly, sweet taste of iron. Copper, intermingling with the heady aftertaste of wine on his tongue. On hers. They always drank, always fucked. Always talked, always kissed. Bled, burned.

The downfall of one another, the detonation to one another’s ticking time bomb.

“Incredible,” She gasps, breaking them from their saliva stricken embrace – a string of desaturated red still maintaining a shred of connection between them. “You’re incredible.”

Gortash shakes his head, pinning her beneath him in one push – a press of his hand, fingers curling around her crisscrossed wrists, burying her bones in the mattress beneath them. “You are the incredible one, my dearest, dearest pet.”

“I hate it when you call me that.” She lies, spreading her legs – sinfully wet.

He pries her apart, sheathes himself inside of her – the fluttering of her walls greeting his cock, accompanied by her hellish, flaming heat. Her constrictive tightness, mouth falling open with a wiggle and a squirm. “No you don’t,” Gortash replies, with a grunt of effort, as he fucks into her hard. Harsh. Abusive and abrasive.

She moans, upon each thrust, thighs tensing and untensing, only to tense again.

“Bleed me again,” Gortash pants out, gaze dark – voice, low. Despite its strain.

His grip upon her hip, with his free hand, is blissfully bruising. “Kiss me,” She demands, commands, pleads – all at once. “Kiss me, and I will.”

And so kiss her he does. She bites his lip, drawing blood –letting it dribble, down, down his stubbled chin. She drags her tongue, efficiently cleaning up the mess. Her mess.

Gortash finishes, inside of her, not long after. She’d squeezed his throat, their first time together, thumb pressed hard – “You fill me up. Everytime. Don’t waste your seed, lordling. Don’t go claiming anyone else. No, you’ve claimed me now.”

He’d lost count, this was perhaps their third time of the night. Fourth, fifth, even.

Though, she finally seems tired – small, curled in his arms, nestled against him. He knows she doesn’t sleep much. Doesn’t like to, doesn’t want to. She’ll be up again, in the midst of the night – naked, hands buried in some poor unfortunate’s innards. He’ll cling to the smell of her skin, imprinted on the linen sheets.

[wroteclassicaly]

A/N: Just a little fluff. Felt good to write this. I’m ovulating and emotional rn, so… This is the one night stand drabbles I mentioned that were coming. So, here’s some! ;)

Warnings: Pregnancy, labor and delivery, pain, and tooth rotting fluff.

Pairings: Steve Harrington x Best-friend!Reader

During labor with your baby that you made with best-friend Steve, resulting from your one night stand, you freak out during intense contractions and say that you can’t do it. You panic, your heart rate increases. But Steve steps right in, his palm cradling your sweat soaked cheek, resting his forehead against yours, bringing the focus solely between you two.

“Look at me. Don’t worry about anything else. Just us, right here.”

“I can’t do it.” You’re barely able to see through your tears, your hands at your sides to fist into the sheets.

The nurses have begun to prop your legs up for delivery. It’s open, too vulnerable. Monsters, emotions, all of it, it doesn’t match the fear you’re facing now. Knowing you have to give everything in your body, so that your child can have life. What if you can’t? What if you won’t be able to protect it from Hawkins?

He thumbs them away, voice low, so only you can hear, already sensing those thoughts, having had them himself. But Steve has always been sure of one thing in this world, especially these past several years in growing close - you.

“Remember what you did for us last year? When we were upside down. You did that. You fought for me, for us. I know that you can do this, honey.”

His mossy eyes are reflected with unshed tears, but a strong reassurance. You’re filled to the brim with a fluttering warmth, it wraps around you, leaving no room for anything else. You take Steve’s hand, lacing tightly, just like that night, your forehead staying pressed, matching his deep breaths, and you listen to his repeating of the nurse’s “push” instructions. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, cradled into Steve’s embrace, every push and pull on your body setting you on fire, exhausting you. But it ends sooner than you expected, you aren’t really aware.

The doctor and his team are informing you to look down, your cheek meeting Steve’s stubble as you both do so, and at that moment, your baby enters the world. His jaw is unhinged, lower lip quivering. Is this really happening? It is. His baby. Your baby.

“You wanna cut the cord, dad?” Snaps you out of your disbelieving reverie. It’s you who has to reassure Steve this time. He nods, fingers shaking as he reaches to clamp down on the scissors.

He brings himself back to you as they take your baby to get checked out and cleaned off a little. You break your rule, the line you’d never thought you would cross again. Your lips meet in a kiss, Steve’s hand gripping gently at your neck’s nape. His nose nudges yours on the break away, words only for you. “You did so good. You did that, honey.” He points towards the crying newborn, voice wobbling.

“We did, Steve. We did.” You break the rule once more, bringing him in for another kiss.

“Here she is. Healthy and wonderful. Congratulations, mom and dad.” A pair of ruby red lips part, the middle aged woman holding your baby, swaddled in pink, offers her to Steve.

“Her?” You’re choking back a sob, but it fails.

Steve is gently accepting the baby, repeating your sentiments. It’s as if she’s made of glass and he’s suddenly more afraid than everything and anything that he’s ever faced in his lifetime. His daughter. As her warm body is laid across his forearm, giving him leverage to cuddle her into his embrace, he’s overcome, floating off planet earth and descending back down upon a new reality. One where he would do anything to protect this piece of him.

“Hey, hi.” He whispers to her, cradling her in his massive hands, her small body close to his chest, one palm and set of fingers supporting her head. She looks so tiny, so angelic. Has anyone ever been this perfect? No, Steve knows automatically, instinctually, just the person who grew her, the other part of her. You.

You’re watching in wonder, Steve nose wrinkling in that way, bridge pinched. He’s crying. He leans down and presses a kiss to your daughter’s tiny cheek, before he brings her over to you, placing her over your chest, your arms already wrapping around her. He stays close, laying a kiss to your perspired neck.

Your family, you’re thinking.

My family, Steve is thinking.

[fuctacles]

Stevie: the gift that keeps on giving

she's here again! i'm unhinged! feral for Stevie! also late this time but happy belated Women's Day for all the trans and nb ladies

@steddiemicrofic "pin" | G | 388 | no cw | transfem Stevie, Established but very recent relationship, They r disgustingly in love | part 1 part 2

“Happy Women’s Day!”

Stevie beams at the red and black bouquet of roses she’s presented with. She presses her nose into it and inhales deeply and then, in a flurry of petals, presses a quick kiss to Eddie’s cheek.

“Thank you. I kind of have something for you too,” she says, caressing the soft flowers.

Eddie frowns, confused.  

“But it’s your day? I’m not a woman.”

“Well…” she trails off, suddenly radiating an anxious energy. “It’s also kind of a gift for me? But it’s also super late, so it’s a shitty gift. But Robin said Women’s Day is the best day to open it. But I feel super weird about it hanging at my place. I love it, but it’s still weird.”

Eddie lets her rant on until he senses the hesitant, self-conscious pause and steps in, gently circling her waist and pressing a soft kiss on her lips to shut her up. It works like a charm and he uses the distraction to peel her fingers away from the cellophane wrap around the bouquet. In her distress, the grip has turned claw-like.

“How about we get some water for these bad boys and you tell me all about this lovely not-gift waiting for me, okay?”

She nods reluctantly and lets him steer them into the kitchen.

“You know I’d love anything from you, even if it was an animal carcass.”

Stevie scoffs, leaving his grasp to look for a makeshift vase. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? You little metalhead freak.”

“Hey!” He puts his hands on his hips in mock offense. “I ain’t little!”

“No? Let me get my heels then.”

“That’s cheating!”

“You can wear heels too,” she offers, taking the bouquet from him to put it in the jar she found.

“You know I can’t walk in them!”

“Sounds like a you problem,” she smirks, eyeing the flower arrangement now adoring her table. She looks happy and Eddie indulges himself with the sight before his curiosity flares up.

“Soo, the not-gift?”

“I’ve made a pin-up calendar,” she blurts out.

Eddie blinks.

“Pardon?”

“Robin gifted me a photoshoot session…” she explains while grabbing the calendar to hand him. He opens it reverently like a Holy Bible.

“I’m hanging it in my office,” he says with awe. “And I need a framed copy of Miss October.”

[aerialflight]

fic rec list (in other words, i need a list for my neurotic brain and its obsessions, f me)

Yeah, everything said above. also, the deadpool and wolverine brainrot is real. i only watched it a week ago. nfeiwofpewafe.

-

[Deadpool and Wolverine] (i'm still desperately searching for more. i just need a list for the ones that won't leave me alone fyufivuohbjl)

How To Pay For Rent 💸 by fictionfeast

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson (i still can't believe this is the ship name, they actually put worst wolverine as a specification. it's such a unique dynamic and relationship that we NEED that differentiation. amazing.)

To pay for rent, Logan and Wade take odd jobs on Craigslist.

(listen, LISTEN. just from the fact craiglist is involved, you KNOW it's gonna be off the walls crack and hilarity. i swear, this fic went in directions i never in a million years would've predicted, it's amazing. the voices for these characters are impeccable and i, too, would like to shake deadpool like a snowglobe so some goddamn honestly will barf out. logan, you have my sympathies. please read, i'm literally going insane.)

shattered glass by anarkissed

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

At first, Wade is pretty sure it all starts with the bullet- the one Logan had held in his teeth and spit out like it was a prize. Or maybe it starts in the Honda Odyssey. Or maybe it had started way back with Logan's smile. That first sardonic one when they'd met. Or maybe it's the way Logan is always staring at him. Or maybe- "I think you're enjoying this too much." "Maybe you're not enjoying it enough." It’s more bite than kiss, more claim than caress, but it’s their mouths connecting all the same, and Wade gasps, hoarsely, as blood wells up from his lips and Logan tongues it away like it’s his god-given right. Oh, oh oh, oh- he’s crazy. He’s so crazy. Wade has never wanted anyone so badly in his entire life. Wade tries to figure out where whatever he has with Logan started. (And he's kind of hoping he never has to see how it ends.)

Part 1 of dying engine (poolverine/deadclaws)

(i'm not fucking kidding when i say this is my favorite d&w fic. i want to gnaw this in my mouth and develop vampire canines as i sharpen them every fucking reread. there are passages here that i reread like a fucking lunatic and i use the find in page option for the word 'crazy' just so i can go to my favorite part. and the fact there's a freaking part 2? that has logan's pov in it??? and it makes me feel just as unhinged??? it makes me want to go apeshit. please read. for the love of god.)

how easy you are to need by Patricia_Sage

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

Wade smiles when the doctor opens the door. "Hi, we have a vet appointment at 2:00. Please tell me he doesn't have rabies because I have been scratched and bitten plenty." *** Logan gets treatment for adamantium poisoning. Wade helps.

Part 2 of he has risen, babygirl

(i fucking CACKLED reading this, omfg. also, wade's version of helping is both sweet and freaking hilarious, i love this idiot so much. and this fic! addresses the fact logan probably has ptsd medical trauma and i love that. it's hardly ever addressed and i appreciate how it's shown here. also, it's a series! part 1 is great too, you don't need to read it to understand part 2 though, dw.)

Void by RovingOtter

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

After a week without contact, Logan leaves Wade a weird voicemail.

(i'm religiously checking in on this for updates. i know the summary doesn't say anything, so i'll say it here. logan becomes aware of the fourth wall and it's so fascinating??? a genuine look on what happens if the wolverine becomes aware that he's a fictional character and the exploration of that premise here is *chefs kiss* delicious. and how wade reacts to it and how they both deal with the aftermath of this development is so interesting and god, i NEED to know how this fic will go. genuinely one of those fics that have a premise i've never thought about before and it's GLORIOUS!)

where soul meets body by Edgebug

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

"I'll probably see you around?" "Probably not," Logan says, something in his spine still shaking even now, and Wade looks at him with those huge dark eyes that look--hurt, maybe, heartbroken, and Logan knows he has to get up and leave before he can't. Each step is agony increasing, the thing in his spine trembling ever-harder and then Wade calls his name and he stops, turns, sees those eyes again; pleading, desperate. A rush of emotion slams into his hindbrain, it feels half foreign and half his own; don't do this can't do this without you please stay please stay stay stay stay let me stay stay stay "Come home with me," Wade blurts out, and Logan finds that he's taken steps toward Wade without realizing it, closing the yawning gap between them, and the thing in his spine relaxes just a little. "Okay," he says. (In which something very interesting happens underneath the Time Ripper, and Wade and Logan deal with the aftermath.)

(they vulcan mind melded and now can't live without the other. i just love this author's writing and i read every one of their d&w fics. i'm in love with their characterization of not just d&w but the rest of the cast as well! and the banter and genuinely fun interactions between d&w has me kicking my feet and giggling like a school girl. please read, i totally recommend this fic and the rest of the author's other fics XD)

your fool in this game for two by abillionstars

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

“Have you ever lived with anyone before?” At Wade’s question, Logan pauses to think. Scratches his balls for a second, and says, “I lived at Xavier’s school for a while, before I left. Lived in a clapboard boarding house about seventy years back. A couple of times, I slept in a park with other people nearby. Do those count?” “That was a rhetorical question,” says Wade. “Some might even call it an accusatory one. Mostly because—dude. I’m a fucking mess. But you’re even worse.” (two loser loners, falling in love.)

(this is crack. the peak of romance, the very height of big squishy feelings. it's perfect. god, i am utterly trash for this fic, it's so fucking good fnewiofpew)

Love You All Over by FinelyDressedSpacemen

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

The bad guys have love spells now, apparently. Logan gets nailed. Wade tries not to. With great power over your sexiest friend comes great emotional responsibility.

(where wade tries his best to respect logan and logan makes this, so freaking hard for him lmao. lovesick logan is truly the most flirty version of wolverine and it's incredible. it's like if hugh jackman himself is trying to romance the shit out of you. wade really is the stronger person, incredible. anyway, this was a joy to read and if you like musicals, this is definitely for you <3)

I'm the worst at what I do by Thestarvedghost

Ship: Logan | Worst Wolverine/Wade Wilson

Logan finds out from Wade after everything is said and done, universes saved and friends met, that most hims across the multiverse have some sort of memory issue, one way or another. Logan wishes he was that fucking lucky. He remembers it all.

Part 1 of No end and no beginning

(i recommend this entire series, the progression on d&w's relationship has me singing! it's so sweet and fluffy! well, as fluffy as 2 murderous, self-hating bastards can be anyway lol.)

-

[Dimension 20] (Fantasy High, A Court of Fey and Flowers, A Crown of Candy)

interchange by fangirl_squee

Fandom: Fantasy High

Oh, the Bad Kids? Yeah, in that group they have [checks notes] a pirate cleric, a goblin bard, a Helioic fighter, an elven barbarian, a tiefling rogue, and a half-orc wizard.

(it's so interesting how different yet the same the bad kids are even with their class changes. man, the idea of fabian being a freaking cleric still makes me want to cackle. he'd be so much more Exasperated by the bad kids, especially freshman fabian X'D. also barbarian adaine has my whole fucking heart.)

yeah you held me the whole way through, when i couldn’t say the words like you by zedif_y

Fandom: Fantasy High

Ship: Riz Gukgak/Fabian Aramais Seacaster

When Fabian is ten, his Papa tells him the story of how he married his mother. It’s a gory tale, one that involves a cut eye and bodies hitting the deck. He tells Fabian of a love that sent him to his knees, that leads a man like him– fearsome and powerful, the greatest pirate to ever live– to start a family. A love that gave him Fabian. --- A study on Fabian, grief, and, ultimately— love.

(an exploration on fabian's idea of what love is. god, it's so well written. i love this fic and absolutely recommend it! <3)

white knuckles by thathastu

Fandom: Fantasy High

Ships: Fabian/everyone (but all unrequited)

His ex-fling’s little sister. Two people in committed relationships who also happen to be in the same mega famous rock band. A heartbroken lesbian who doesn’t want to be involved with men in any way. And Riz fucking Gukgak. Fabian Aramais Seacaster, son of Bill Seacaster, finds himself falling for all of his friends.

(seeing the bad kids through fabian's eyes made me realize why the bad kids would be considered attractive to people who know them! it's so sweet how much fabian cares and pays attention to them and the constant feeling of 'oh no oh no' both made me want to laugh and coo at him lmao)

life in a wallflower garden with my friends by sickoflosiingsoulmates for lesbiansweetflips

Fandom: Fantasy High

Ship: Ayda Aguefort/Figueroth Faeth

This is what Ayda has spent her entire life searching after. This is what she built the friendship section in the library in hopes of, what she spent long, lonely nights dreaming of. A night with a friend, a true friend, laughing and talking about nothing in particular. [or, ayda finds friends in the bad kids]

(ayda has friends! ayda has frieeenndss!! i'm so so in love with her and this fic is so fluffy and sweet! gah, instant shot of endorphins, guarantee!)

allies and fealty, or, on finding the first knight of the new Court of Craft by fangirl_squee

Fandom: A Court of Fey and Flowers

Ship: Binx Choppley/Captain K. P. Hob

The enemy of my enemy is kind of my friend. Or something.

(i'm always a sucker for rare pairs and man, this is something i didn't even know i wanted. i love how slowly and carefully they build trust in each other, especially binx who is so secretive and initiated this relationship in the first place. by the end, i completely bought this ship and the potential for it.)

I've walked a fragile line and I've fallen down by jadeandquartz

Fandom: A Crown of Candy

Anger is burning in Lapin’s chest. It is bitter, and it is bloody, and it shines brighter than any Bulb the church might care to invent. Normally, he leaves his emotions be. He cannot afford to let feelings drive him forwards. Remaining logical is the only safe way to play the game of politics - and if you do not play it safe, you die. And if you die, then what was the point? But nothing about their predicament is normal. So, fuck playing the game safely. Fuck that. The world will not play safe with the lives of those he loves. *** In which Belizabeth Brassica is looking for a heretic, and Lapin confesses to his apostasy to protect the House of Rocks.

(one of the first crown of candy fics i read and i never looked back. lapin survive stories makes me so feral and god i love this cantankerous bunny so so much fnewiofewp)

to leave this all behind (halo round his head) by grumpyhedgehogs

Fandom: A Crown of Candy

Lapin blinks slowly at Brassica as she steps up to the bars of his cell, the guards splitting around her like so much water over a stone. He inclines his head, trying for regal and probably failing. “Heretic.” Her voice grates against his eardrums. “You have awakened.” “Zealot. You haven’t killed me.” Lapin replies, dry.

(another, much longer fic where lapin survives and i'm so in love with how much detail and fantastic characterization this fic has, not just for lapin but for the whole cast! the day i stop loving the lapin survives trope is the day i die.)

-

[The Terror] (yeah, i know, extremely random, and yet here we are. it's due to this animatic here that i was introduced to this show in the first place. def recommend both the show and this artist *thumbs up*)

I'll be Homeward Bound in Time by clandestinegardenias

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

Back in the Arctic, stuffed two to a sleeping sack and trying to keep each other alert, he and James used to name every good type of thing they would eat when they got back, knowing–as they thought–the time would never come. 'Cream puffs', James had sighed one frigid night in a partial feverish delirium. Francis could hardly see him but for the lightest starlight, yet he had heard the smile evident in his voice all the same. That close, he had nearly felt it. --- Hailed as heroes on their miraculous return to England, Francis and James fail to cope, but nonetheless manage to fall together.

(i love how warm they are here, how clearly these two depend on one another and find joy despite the fact london is trying it's best to stamp out this closeness. post-rescue is always such an interesting time where they get to reflect and be traumatized by what happened in the arctic and the lack of understanding that is found when they go home. it's done so well here and man, i just love these two together. the ship that sails their ships lmao)

death is a sailing ship by Maleann

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

"James had died knowing that his heart, the core of his very being that no biographer would ever know, would carry on in Francis Crozier. Would be protected, cherished even, because Francis deemed him worthy of such care. Oh, how he had loved Francis then. He had been at peace with this being his last living thought. It’s his only thought now. In this undead life, his love has nowhere to go."  ___ James Fitzjames wakes up in the Afterlife. It looks strangely similar to his cabin on Erebus. (Updated with amazing artwork by Marella!)

(the fic is so!! kind!!! to all its characters! and fitzjames is in full form here, i love how it's him that's trying so hard to take care of his men, despite sir john and his lack of empathy. to have fitzjames damn what is proper and trying to do his best as always even in the freaking afterlife, god. you can just see how much fitzjames changed from the beginning of the show to his end in this fic. how all the characters changed, really. every character here is given room to heal and face the consequences of their actions and there were moments that it seriously made me cry. this is my fave fic in this entire list, it just does an amazing job of showing compassion to all its characters and i love it.)

there but for the grace of- by TheGoodDoctor

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

“I wish you would stop being such a martyr,” a languid voice says quietly, drawling as well as a man can with two missing molars and a glassy, bloodshot eye, leaking all the while from open chest wounds. Francis is rather impressed with his dedication to the role, somewhere under the roil of fury and exhaustion. “You know as well as I do that you could have this bed sometimes, if it didn’t suit you to stomp about with blacked eyes and a put-upon expression.” “And what should we do with you all the while, Commander,” he says, all on a great sigh, “wrap you in sailcloth already? Come, man, you’re either well enough to cease bleeding on my sheets or too ill to get out of them, you can’t have it both ways.” “Francis,” Ross began, “I did not undertake to accept the position of second on Franklin’s expedition for you, as you asked.”

(this fic scratched a brain itch i didn't even know i had. it's so interesting to think about, the idea of crozier not being on the expedition and instead being the person who rescues them instead. fitzjames and crozier actually developing a relationship based on this premise, without the shared trauma, is so so intriguing to me and i wish i had more of this. also, the fact crozier is so much more mentally healthier than canon due to ross makes me want to laugh and cry. god, if only.)

out of the sea came he, still hid in mist by dazydaisy for shortcrust

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

You make bargains you cannot keep. You make promises you plan to break. You give things that are not yours to give.

(a haunting, magical realism fic that feels like a gothic fairy tale. exactly my kind of fic! and if it's yours? definitely a good read *thumbs up*)

At Civil Twilight by lieutenant_iceberg

“Well,” said Francis. “Jopson, will you see what you can do with this three-year-old peace offering? A cup for each of us, and one for you.” “Sir,” said Jopson, collecting one of the bags. “You’ll be up all night if you take coffee now.” “I’ll be up all night anyway. Go, Jopson, go.” When he was gone, Francis got up from the table, and they stared into the depths of the bag together. Finally, Francis cleared his throat and said, “All right, then, James. How have you fared since I hit you?” A few days after Carnivale, Crozier and Fitzjames make a faltering attempt to talk things over.

Part 1 of Civil Twilight

(oooh, the very start of their friendship! how to make peace when their entire relationship is based on animosity and contempt! the dialogue and characterization of these two in this series is so good and i absolutely recommend!)

rebuilding by wildcard_47 for 20thcenturyvole

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

Once they stepped ashore, a fey dark-haired man burst through the crowd a few heads down from Jane Franklin. When Fitzjames saw his brother, he startled, and when Will surged forward in the first press of the crowds around the returned—elfin face wet with tears as he swept James into a fierce embrace—only then did Fitzjames release his grip on Francis’s arm. Only then did Francis feel as if he could step away at last. Written for the 2023 Fall Fitzier Exchange, for the prompt: "Post-canon AU where, once they get home, Crozier and Fitzjames are riddled with guilt and trauma, and deal with their feelings by throwing themselves into caring for the surviving men..."

(i'm always so fascinated by post-rescue stories that actually deal with the aftermath, the logistics of it all. how the characters struggle to handle their own traumas, how they help one another through their experiences, all of it. and how both crozier and fitzjames step up for their men even now, even when they're no longer captains in the arctic and have to deal with london and all it's trappings. this fic handles all that so very well, i love it <3)

As Bullet Speaks to Gun by pointyshades

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames, Thomas Jopson/Edward Little

Against all odds, they are rescued. Cornelius Hickey is court-martialed for his mutiny, and the whole mess of the expedition is unfurled in front of the public. With their names being dragged through the mud, Francis Crozier and James Fitzjames reach out to each other. Meanwhile, Thomas Jopson seeks revenge for what he believes is his captain's betrayal, and Edward Little tries to come to terms with the truth.

(yes!! edward little my beloved gets to shine here! and jopson is so bitter and angry and messy, it's great! again, i love fics that tackle what would happen post-rescue and how london would react to it. the trials, both actual and mental, they have to face in order to move on and be happy (oh please oh please) is handled expertly and i love it! crozier/fitzjames ship is a little more background in this fic compared to jopson/little, but honestly? i'm so sucked into the latter ship that it doesn't matter. both ships are written very well here and again, my beloved edward little is glorious in this fic and i love it! you go edward! woohoo!!!)

Principles of Magnetism (a Comedy of Manners) by acaramelmacchiato

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

The one where they're married but it's still Victorian times and also it's an accident.

(you don't understand, this fic is so fucking funny. it's so goddamn victorian and sir john is so jane-austen-silly-characters coded. i want to both shake his hand for making this premise happen in the first place, and punch him in his punchable face. and crozier is perfectly characterized here, i can visually picture his disgruntled expressions so clearly in my mind, it's incredible.)

Thaw by orphan_account

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames, Past Captain Francis Crozier/Sophia Cracroft

Courteous, charming Fitzjames, whittled down to maturity by the North, and being there, very obviously, not as Francis's right-hand man or as his comrade, but as his mate; a soulmate. Sophia had no need to look at Francis’s face, at the discoloration that would have turned one of his blue eyes into the good-coffee brown of Fitzjames's, to know it, so blatant and luminous a thing it was.

Part 1 of A Victorian Soulmate AU

(very interesting fic where one can choose their soulmates, choose who they want to bond with for life. and the fact it's sophia's pov and how she deals with this fact is handled so carefully and full of goodwill. it makes me want to applaud. i love how clear it is that they're grown ass adults willing to discuss and make peace with one another because they're all genuinely good people who want happiness both for others and themselves. this fic feels like a flower that you hold in your hands to admire it's beauty and delicacy.)

And It Is Now, And It Is Here by 20thcenturyvole, pointyshades

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames

Before the ships are trapped in the ice, James Fitzjames sees a terrible vision of the future, a harbinger of his own death. Before the ships are trapped in the ice, Francis Crozier is visited by a tender apparition, an angel wearing James Fitzjames' face. They are both seeing the same vision. Whether they can heed its warning is another matter entirely.

(when the ghost of your future haunts you, you better believe it changes to the plot. i love the dichotomy of how crozier and fitzjames reacts to ghost fitzjames! it's so interesting and i was on the edge of my seat the entire time i read this. if you want to know how it all ends, please read! i promise this fic is a ride you want to get on.)

Waistcoats! or, Life Before the Passage by sadsparties

Ship: Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames, Lady Ann Ross/Sir James Clark Ross, Lt Henry T. D. Le Vesconte/Original Character

Commander James Fitzjames of the Royal Navy is the Best Man that a best friend could ever ask for. A chance meeting forces him to share his arctic expedition duties with one Captain Francis R. M. Crozier, and perhaps other duties as well.

(listen, the terror is a horror show and i both want and need lighthearted fics in order to deal with all the horrors lol. but seriously, this fic was genuinely just fun to read and i love the banter and slowly developing friendship and relationship between crozier and fitzjames! truly the romantic comedy fic in this fandom. XD)

[daydreams-after-dark]

Fem!han x non specified gender y/n // House party smut.

MDNI // 18 + content below

Ref: this Han

So I’ve been thinking about fem!Hannie a lot this week (as you probably know) and this filthy little scenario came to mind. Remember fem!Hannie is a little freak whom I adore so much.

Unhinged level 🤡🤡🤡

MDNI

A/n: if fem skz isn’t your thing please don’t read and just scroll past 😘

CW/ below

CW/ double pen dildo fucking in front of ppl at a house party. Squirting.

…..

It’s not long after you arrive at fem!Channie’s house party that you and fem!Hannie find yourselves making out on the couch. Your little babygirl is dressed in one of her signature crop tees (no bra) and a plaid print little wrap around netball skirt. Her look is finished off with black combat boots, her hair up in two little pig tails (the rest of her hair loose), and a painted love heart on her cheek. Cute.

She straddled you about ten minutes ago, grinding on you like no one’s watching. Actually, she was grinding like everyone was watching because she’s a little exhibitionist.

And people were watching. They couldn’t look away. Your sloppy, messy makeout session looked fucking wild. Fem!hannie loved it when dribble was involved, running down your chins.

Your hands slid up to squeeze her little tits and pinch her nipples hard enough to make her yelp. Then you pushed her top up enough to latch onto her nipple. You loved her tits. You loved how they’d harden against your tongue. You especially loved to make her squirm and try to get out of your grasp, but you would bite down harder, forcing her to take it. You could be so mean sometimes.

After you’d given her tits enough attention, you popped your mouth off, leaving them wet with your saliva. Then you ran your hands up her petite thighs, squeezing them as you nipped her lip with your tongue. You wondered if she was wearing anything under her skirt? She was known for going sans panties sometimes. Your thumb reached the juncture of her thighs to brush against a bit of mesh fabric. You knew which one it was. Her white mesh thong. The one that goes even more see through when she’s wet. Which is practically all the time. The needy little thing.

“Fuck, you’re wet, babygirl.” You whispered and slip your thumb underneath the mesh so you could feel her arousal directly on your skin. “Want me to fuck you with my fingers?”

She shook her head. “I’ve brought something” she giggled and reached across to open her little metallic gold backpack and pulled out her extra thick dildo. The “realistic” one that was skin coloured with veins.

“Babygirl, people can see.”

“Shhh… no one’s looking.”

They were looking and she knew it.

“Hold it between your thighs for me.” She instructed and lifted off you so she could pull her panties to the side and line it up with her entrance.

“Did you bring lube?” You whispered. She just grinned and sunk down on the dildo.

“Not for this one.” She laughed as she started to bounce up and down.

Not for this one? You peeked into her backpack to see she brought her matching dildo, the same as the the one inside her pussy right now, except a little smaller. This was the one she used for her ass.

Your head snapped up to her. Fucking slut. So fucking hot.

“Do you want me to prep you baby, then we can find a room upstairs?”

She bit her bottom lip mischievously and grabbed your hands, pulling them around to her ass. Your fingers were met with a little metal handle. Her butt plug.

“Fuck babygirl. No wonder you’re so horny.” You pulled her face down to yours, initiating another sloppy make out session. You gripped the plug and began to gently tug on it. She moaned in your mouth and started to fuck herself harder.

You pulled away from the kiss to gauge the room. People were looking, and they were getting horny it seemed. Some people were just watching, others were palming their erections. Girls were grinding on each other or fingering themselves. And in the far corner of the room, two people were actually fucking, and a few guys were getting blow jobs.

You knew your little Hannie. She’d want to outdo everyone.

“Okay, babygirl. Over my lap now.” You growled.

With the dildo still deep in her cunt, she laid across your lap on all fours. Her pretty little ass in the air. You lifted her skirt up, peeled off her panties and exposed her filled holes to the room.

You started the show by slowly fucking her with the dildo whilst at the the same time pulling the plug halfway out of her ass, stopping at the widest part of the plug so her little hole was stretched. So perfect. Then you’d push it back in, watching her hole shrink back around the slimmest part of the plug.

She was doing so well to stay as still as possible, but you knew she was close to tears. She’d be so ready to cum right now. Poor needy little thing.

You repeated this a few times, sometimes pulling the plug out entirely to watch her hole gape for a moment, then pushed it back in before it clenched around nothing.

“Actually, babygirl. Let’s move you a little so everyone can watch.” You smacked her ass, and repositioned her so she was leaning on the back of the couch with her ass in the air for the whole room to see.

You kneeled next to her so you could reach over and fuck her pussy for a little while. Leaving the dildo lodged deep in her cunt, you reached into her bag to retrieve her other dildo and quickly lubed it up.

All eyes were on the two of you. You gently pulled on the plug until it slipped out of her, and lined up the dildo. You pressed it inside an inch, eliciting a collective gasp/groan from the onlookers.

You slowly worked the dildo into her ass. Each time you withdrew the dildo from her pussy, you’d push the one in her ass a little deeper.

The poor little thing’s legs were trembling when you finally had both dildos deep inside of her. Then you fucked her by alternating your thrusts. Eventually, you fucked her by withdrawing both dildos simultaneously, almost the whole way out, then push them both in as far as they’d go.

After that, you just fucked her hard and fast. She whimpered and moaned in a way that indicated she was close.

“Play with yourself babygirl. Show them how you can squirt.”

She brought her fingers between her legs and rubbed her delectable little clit at the same time you kept furiously fucking her holes.

Everyone was on the edge of their seats, eyes glued to your baby’s sweet pussy. And then she exploded, shaking uncontrollably and squirting her juices all over the couch beneath her.

A collective cheer erupted at the achievement and a lot of cursing under breathes.

You slowly removed the two dildos and tossed them to the side and with your hands spread her cheeks so everyone could see her holes relax back to their natural state. There was cream smeared around the entrance to her cunt and the fluid from her ejaculation running down her legs.

Fem!hannie collapsed and you pulled her into your lap. You cupped her face. “You did so good babygirl.” You wiped the tears that were running down her cheeks. Her little love heart was smudged.

“Did it feel good?” You checked in with her. She nodded.

“Fucking incredible, honey.” She laughed gleefully. “I love you.” She gazed at you.

“I love you too babygirl.”

You pulled her into a deep kiss.

…..

@noellllslut @wolfennracha

[sleepyiswhumping]

Freak, 2

Content: Blood, Noncon Touching, Noncon Kissing, Creepy Whumper, Intimate Whumper, Defiant Whumpee, Violence, Choking

~~~~~~~~~~

Unsettled, Whumpee stared nervously at Whumper.

“You’re a fucking freak, you know that? Unhinged piece of shit.”

Whumper chuckled, kneeling. They ran their hand gently down Whumpee’s face, lifting their chin with a finger, so Whumpee was looking into their eyes again. 

“Darling, you have the prettiest eyes. I might just keep them, when I’m done with you.” Whumper remarked, staring deeply into Whumpee’s eyes, Whumper’s icy gaze piercing through Whumpee. 

Whumpee couldn’t bear it any longer. They flung their head forward again, trying to get Whumper away. Whumper was ready this time, however, and, sliding their hand past Whumpee’s chin, they caught Whumpee by the throat effortlessly, hand wrapping tightly, cutting off their airway.

“Oh, baby. You’re so feisty,” Whumper teased, as they leaned closer. 

They licked their lips, then pressed them against Whumpees, their iron grasp preventing Whumpee from pulling away. At Whumpee’s groans of protest, they purred, then dug their teeth into Whumpee’s lower lip. Whumpee’s groans turned into shrieks as Whumper sank their teeth into Whumpee’s skin, biting harder and harder, until their teeth split the flesh, filling both of their mouths with warm, salty, metallic blood. 

“Oh, what’s the matter, darling? I thought you liked pain? Or is it just when I get hurt?” Whumper pouted, licking the blood off their lips. 

Whumpee screamed, thrashing, trying to get out of Whumper’s grip, but their screeching faded as Whumper tightened their grasp, squeezing Whumpee’s throat tightly. 

“Come now, don’t make such a fuss. We both need our fun.” Whumper hissed.

~~~~~~~~~~

Freak, 1

Saw deranged Whumper in the comments. This deranged? I'm having fun writing this, despite it not being the best and quite an odd dynamic.

Taglist: @morning-star-whump, @lthrboy Also tagging: @makemake22 and @whump-queen. You two seemed QUITE interested in this, but lmk if you want to be added to or removed from the taglist proper for the next parts :D

[fenris-slytherin]

barty crouch jr mood board. unhinged freak, we kiss on the lips

got the not-barty images from @ shittykinaesthetics

[writing-in-mermish]

The Elf of the Rose

So in the prettiest rose on the rose tree (I thought they were bushes but, whatever) lives an invisibly small elf (also very pretty though that seems rather unimportant). He lives a pretty charmed life in his pretty rose house in the pretty garden where the rose tree grows.

One day he decides to take a long ass walk on the vein of a leaf to count his steps (man was ahead of his time), but because he is the littlest of guys (invisibly so) and started to late in the day, night hits before he gets half way. Things are cold and the roses are closed, he is having a bad time. But he recalls an arbor with honeysuckle (which cannot close up) and plans to go there to sleep.

On his way he overhears to love birds (humans to be precise) complain the the girl's brother hates her beau and is making him go away for business. The girl is hella dramatic and cries and kisses a rose so hard it opens up before she passes it to her lover.

The elf said to himself

and ventures inside to rest. But this dumb lover's heart is beating so damn hard our littlest guy cannot sleep! Also, he (like his sweetheart) keeps violently mackn’ on this rose.

Judgy brother shows up, lookin’ gloomy and wicked as hell, and fuckin’ stabs the fool to death while he’s kissing the rose. He cuts off his head and buries the body and head under the linden tree (brutal). He conveniently explains that this was his plan all along, because everyone would assume he died or disappeared on his business trip and then his sister would move on (absolutely unhinged behavior).

Bro accidentally brings the littlest guy with him in a dried linden leaf on his hat, who is horrified and angy at this situation. They get to bro’s house early in the morn, which gives him the time to go creepily laugh over his sister (dreaming about her boo) like a freak and accidentally deposit the leaf on the window sill.

Our littlest guy goes to the girl while she sleeps with all his indignation and spills the beans and tells her if she thinks she’s simply dreaming a linden leaf will be on her bed as a sign when she wakes.

She sees and believes and is gut wrenched with no one to talk to. The elf sees the window is open but is too invested to leave, so he parks himself in the monthly rose bush (so this one's a bush, what's the difference?) in the window.

Bro keeps coming by without a glimmer of guilt, so when night rolls around she goes to investigate and finds her lover and considers pulling a Juliet, but instead chooses to take up man’s severed head, clean him off and kiss his dead lips (that’s some gothic ass shit if I’ve ever heard it) and then. Takes. Him. Home. (and some jasmine too)

Then she got a big old pot and hid his head inside and planted said jasmine. The elf felt like this was enough sadness for him and dipped, only to find that his rosebush was withered, leaving him melancholy as hell.

He found a new rose to live in but kept coming back to home girl's room, watching her waste away, seemingly giving her life force to her jasmine plant through her tears and kisses.

Her bro told her not to be so weird, not understanding why she cared so much about this stupid plant (her lovers head was rotting inside).

Our littlest guy takes pity on her sleeping one day and pulls up to talk about more positive things from his life, in hopes of improving her dreams. And it did, as she dreamed of her lover. And the jasmine grieved with her the only way it knew how, by blooming beautifully.

Her bro got weirdly possessive of the plant and stole it to put in his room by his bed (I am both sensing a pattern of concerning behavior and some dark irony here).

The elf decides this is the time to spill the tea to the new flower spirits who say "we already know. We are born of this tea. It came installed." Our boy didn't understand how they could be so calm about it, so he told the gossip to the bees, who responded much more satisfyingly by telling their queen, who decided the proper response was to murder the lout.

But before they could, gothic girly dies and that night the jasmine spirits armed with poison go to whisper nightmares in the murderers ears and stab his mouth with poison, claiming their revenge for the dead.

Our littlest guy, the queen bee, and bee army rush over the next morning, only to find people hanging around claiming the scent of the jasmine killed him (oddly not that far off). The elf figures out what happened and explaines to the queen, who instructs her army to tend to the plant.

The humans, not understanding, want to get rid of the bees and have some poor sap remove the plant, which inspires one bee to sting, causing the man to drop the pot and reveal the lover's skull, which in turn reveals the murder to all.

The bees rejoiced and sang of the flowers and the elf for taking revenge and uncovering a murderous plot.

TLDR: an invisible flower elf uncovers a murder of a girl's lover by her brother. He gives her the deets to find his body, retrieve his head, and bring it home to plant jasmine on top of.

She is sad, her brother's mad and steals her bloomed pot of jasmine away. Elf spills the tea to the flowers (who already be knowing) and then bees, who want to murder.

Sister dies, flowers take revenge, bees and elf come by and see some people at the aftermath. Bees sting some dude for removing flowers, revealing skull which tips humans off to the plot, bees rejoice and praise the jasmine and elf for their good deeds.

[landscaping-your-mind]

[ID: TikTok comments.

The first is from Laura Malaurakey and reads, "I have a weird crush on him and I think its because I could overpower him physically but he could outwit me. Don't worry, I'm in therapy."

The second is from bk and reads, "i would give anything to give him a silent and unyielding stare and watch him desperately try to fill the silence with weird faces and noises"

The third is from Aaron's Art Room and reads, "he's just got that animal magnetism. no explaining it. it just is"

The fourth is from maddie and reads, "unhinged freak. we kiss on the lips"

The fifth is from Meg and reads, "He's like a pair of good shoes — even better when broken in a lil and scuffed up"

The sixth is from H☆NEY and reads, "doesn't feel right seeing him clean"

collecting these like funky little bugs..................

[hedonicghost]

FUCK that other anon. Garak didnt like ziyal back because she was too VANILLA. The only spice there was the fact that she was DUKAT'S DAUGHTER. Ghost is a FREAK. Ghost is UNHINGED. Garak would kiss you on the LIPS 💋

anon im kissing you as we speak

[dadsbongos]

Idk if you're taking requests but I just read the deku having a crush on his wife and it was so cute. If possible can I request one of shoto??? Ty!!

men being their wife's #1 supporter >>>>> Warnings: fem reader, shoto’s a little feral Word Count: 1 K ~~~

The interviewer holds a stack of question cards, eyes skimming the first one before looking up at Shoto, “So, the story is that you, apparently, are a newlywed?”

“Yes, and it’s the happiest time of my life - don’t say it’s the honeymoon phase,” Shoto looks over at the camera, “I plan on only growing more unhinged in my love for my wife as the years go.”

“Well, we look forward to that!” the man chuckles.

.

.

.

“Uh, babe?” you turn to where your husband sits beside you on the couch, his arm thrown over your shoulders, “Did you ever see the title of the video for that interview you did?”

“No,” he switches his gaze from the TV to you, “why?”

“Oh, nothing,” you grin before shoving your phone in his face to show off the video, “Just this.”

Shoto’s eyes scan the title - “Prohero Shoto Shows Off Massive Crush on Wife”.

He merely nods, “Sounds about right. It was that same guy from a few years ago, when we first got married.”

“Can I watch it? I think I should know what was said about me.”

“As if I would say no,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead before standing, “Put it on the TV, I’ll make tea.”

Once Shoto comes back to his favorite spot on the couch, beside you, you hit play and after the intro is a shot of the interviewer sat across from your husband. He grins as he introduces Shoto to the camera, as if people wouldn’t already know who the hero was.

“I think just right off the bat, I have to ask,” the man’s grin is cheesy, but it conveys enough joy to keep the energy up, “what’s ridiculous to you about the media? And since your father hated interviews, do you think you’ve gotten any of that from him?”

“Interviews are fine. People are just doing their jobs, I get that,” he presses his lips into a thin line as he thinks, “What’s strange to me about the media, however, is actually a specific moment.”

“Oh? And what is that?”

“There was this one gala that I took my wife to a few months ago and everyone was obsessing over her look,” he nods curtly, “as they should have. But what was weird was how everyone was just now paying attention to her. It was like… like watching a piece of art go unnoticed.”

“Like the Mona Lisa?”

“No, like actual art.”

The chuckle bubbling from the man’s lips is genuine as he says, “I see. Well- “

“And I remember for our wedding she was tired of trying on things and said she was going to wear sweatpants,” he shakes his head, “I- I could only ask what color so it’d match with my tie. You know?”

“I imagine,” he nods.

“And on our wedding day,” Shoto puts up a finger to stop the interviewer before he can even begin speaking, “we had a private, not really dinner, but a moment, before the reception. And we just kept calling each other by first and last name, because she was taking my last name and it was,” he tilts his head, “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. And I do have a lovely mother and great siblings and friends, but truly they do not compare.”

“Well, speaking of your wife being so pretty to you- “

“I’ll reach over there and wrangle you if you don’t correct that.”

“Well, speaking of your wife being so pretty,” Shoto nods, muttering a quiet ‘good’ under his breath as the interviewer continues, “I’d like to bring up a recent ‘scandal’ for lack of a better term.”

“Is this about the ‘damn mommy’ incident,” Shoto wrings his hands together nervously.

The man can’t help but laugh as he nods, “It is. What’s the story behind that?”

“I sneezed and accidentally commented ‘damn mommy’ on my wife’s post,” Shoto crosses his arms and leans back in the chair, “Freak accident.”

“According to my research,” the man shakes his head now, “it was on every single one of her posts.”

“I had the flu.”

“Understandable,” the man flips to a card, “we have a few questions from fans. First of all, what would you say is the strangest thing that you own?”

“Strangest thing I own,” Shoto taps the armrest of the chair, “sometimes I have to leave for long periods of time for work and I’m very clingy, obviously, and so my wife surprised me with a teddy bear. But the teddy bear actually has her voice in it and it’s her saying she loves me. It’s the most incredible thing ever. I’d say that everyone should get one, but I don’t think they deserve it. At all.”

“I see. Well, another question that we have for you is what’s your favorite phrase or a phrase that interests you?”

“One time my wife was on the phone with me while I was away for work and she was telling me that ‘wish you were here’ in Persian is…” he pauses to mutter under his breath, “is jāy-e shom�� khālīst,” he looks at the camera, “apologies for poor pronunciation, but it apparently translates to ‘your place is empty’. And I’ve never forgotten it because it felt so true.”

“Right, of course,” the man flips to another card, “And just to finish it off, what was a big moment of pain in your life that you had to overcome?”

“One time I asked my wife if she still would’ve married me if I was a worm and she said that she didn’t think it was even legal, so she couldn’t. I honestly still don’t think I’m even over that.”

~

Turning away from the video, you look at Shoto, “Aw, baby. I’m sorry about the worm thing.”

“No, no, dear,” he leans over to kiss your forehead, “I’m not mad. I could never be mad at you over something like that.”

“Well, that’s good,” you take his chin in your hand to tilt his head and press a kiss to his lips, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he brings you closer to his side.

“Yeah, I think that everyone who watched this knows that, but thank you. You’re such a good husband.”

“Only the best for my incredible wife.”

[yuyuonabeat]

Prettiest Mommy, I mean prettiest girl I’ve ever laid eyes on before.

Very Sweet, hence the name. Kind and caring.

Funny as fuck (she matched my freak the moment we started talking).

Listens but talks a lot (keep going babe, I love listening to whatever comes out of those pretty lips).

Is so so so pretty like.☹️☹️🥺

Has made me a simp. Woke my mommy kink back up. I quite literally look at her with heart eyes when she speaks to me.

She’s strong and has her goals set. She’s not afraid to speak up or call anyone out.

Get on her nerves and you’re gonna get the Thanos treatment (dust after a click of a finger), so don’t mess with her.

Did I already mentioned she’s funny as fuck? Well she is. Full on crack head mode.

Deranged and unhinged 24/7. I love especially when she makes weird noises or starts to dance funny all of a sudden. When she starts singing a random song in a funny voice.

Pussy pussy pussy (we talk about pussy all day, whether it’s referring to our pet cats or actual pussy).

My happy pill if I’m completely honest.

It’s like I rarely find anyone that can put a huge smile on my face.

All it takes is a single text from her, could be anything at all, and I’m kicking my feet and giggling like an idiot.

So yeah. Very special person to me.

Distance is the only thing keeping me away from giving her a huge hug and kisses (and that’s to say cuz I hate skinship).

Love you pookie.💜

Go ham!

[syrma-sensei]

Moon's Scarab → Ch. 1: Welcome to Egypt, again.

Marc Spector x Layla El-Faouly.

pre-canon fic; based on the Marvel comics and Disney's series Moon Knight.

warning: violence, cursing, angst, smut maybe in the future (?), the majority of spoken Arabic in this story is in Egyptian dialect.

word count: 1.9k

beta-read by the awesome: @kesskirata

series masterlist | next chapter

° Author's note:

okay, it's been a very very very long time since the last time I fangirl-ed over a canon and straight couple. Fuck, Marc and Layla are my favourite OTP now; despite the shit they've been through, their couple dynamics are just freaking awesome, they got me screaming in the last episode, and had me in bi panic. Just fucking amazing, I just adore power couples. And now we have the Scarlet Scarab in throughout the process... Chef kiss to Marvel. So, I figured that, especially with the criminal lack of fics for this amazing ship, I decided to do something and write a long fic about them; how they've met and got married. Yep, as it's said up there, this is gonna be a pre-canon fic.

And remember, feedbacks, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Enjoy~

Marc Spector

The image of a fuchsia scarf with scarab details spurts into Marc's head as a female flight hostess instructs the passengers to tighten their belts, for they're about to land in Cairo International Airport. It hasn't actually left his mind, really; it hunts him almost every night ever since that night in the Egyptian desert close to the borders with Sudan, depriving him from sleep.

Marc feels nauseous, the urge to vomit is becoming stronger and stronger, lurching and tugging at his stomach as the plane descends within the air. It's very much unlike him, he never had this before. He notices his grips tightening on the armrests of the chair; his jaws tick.

Fuck, he almost hisses, but the vile word reverberates only through his head. He can't allow past memories to freak him out, and lose control now. He can't afford to. Khonshu's current mission, which has led him right back to Egypt, is critical; the country isn't at its best times.

After the military upheaval of Abdelfattah Elsisi, the previous defence minister, against Muhammad Morsi and overthrowing him, a great majority of people weren't pleased with the result. So, multiple protests have emerged, again. The people are enraged and pissed, for Morsi is the first elected president of Egypt since the royal family has been dethroned. However, Elsisi is a military man, and solving problems with peaceful negotiation isn't on the table.

And now, almost two years after the coup, Elsisi is the country's president despite the people's grouse; riots are rising, and the situation is unhinged, or Ala kaff ifreet [On a Jinny's palm] as the locals say. On one hand, Marc thinks, it may be in favour, he can easily carry on his god's wishes without much trouble, since the country is already in chaos, he can deal with and use it to his advantage, all he needs to do is to keep himself in check, and bury his emotions inside his consciousness, he's pretty good at that after all. He can do it — he must.

Marc flinches a bit as the plane sinks harder, and he sneers. Yep, definitely gonna hold it. He snickers.

“Heya awwal marrah as'ab marrah,” [The first time is the hardest one.]

Marc's head turns around, his adjacent traveller looking at him with concern. A kid girl, an elementary school student, fifth grade maybe. She has a dark and curly hair, her tan skin is revealed by the sleeveless top she wears.

She extends her hand to him, smiling so innocently, a window between her teeth is apparent, ready to cradle the permanent ones. “Feek temsek edy law awez,” [You can hold my hand if you want.]

Marc nods and swallows, surprising even himself when finds his hand reach out to hers. His large hand engulfs her tiny one, and oddly enough, he finds something sedating about the whole act.

“Sh-shukran,” [Thanks.] He tries to smile, but his lips curl into a grimace instead, the girl giggles.

“Enta mush masri?” [You're not Egyptian?]

Marc shakes his head, “No.”

The girl's smile widens, “No?”

“Ana amriki.” [I'm American]

“Oh! Amriki wo betetkallam arabi? Helow awy!” [American and you speak Arabic? So cool!]

The girl laughs in zealousness, “My name's Shahd, and you're...?”

“Marc,”

“Ammo Marc,” Shahd says, “Enta jay ala Masr leh?” [Why did you come to Egypt?]

Ammo? Marc raises an eyebrow, does he look that old to have a young kid calling him uncle? He's only freaking twenty nine; he scowls a bit.

“Uhhh...” Marc regards the young girl's face, discombobulated.

Of course, he'd not tell an eleven years-old why he's really here, and most certainly, he can't tell anyone, obviously. But looking at her grinning face unsettles him more than he already is. Wait, maybe she's one of those young spies who are trained to ensnare people who are like he's used to be. He's encountered many of them before, when he was still a soldier then a CIA agent, serving in Iraq and Afghanistan and many other places, child recruits who work for certain groups and systems. Fuck, he even told her his real name.

Way to go, Spector, way to go...

“To see the pyramids?” She asks him, still giving him that toothless grin.

Damn, why is he so tense and suspicious? She's just a kid, a fucking kid, he can deal with her, he can deal with much worse.

Marc nods, flexing his brows, “Oh, yeah, to see the pyramids,”

“Ya'ni enta tourist?” [Means you're a tourist?]

“Exactly,” He hisses unintentionally when the plane dips down and the landing gear meets the ground. Shahd squeezes his hand for assurance, still smiling at him.

Marc gazes at their clasped hands, hers is so small compared to his, so soft and delicate compared to his calloused and rough one. He closes his eyes for a moment, seeing a blurry image of Randall's hand clutching into his desperately as he tries to push himself up to save himself from drowning, he sees his little brother crying and begging for help, panicked and scared to death, his only hope in his big brother to save them both, which he terribly failed at.

Marc yanks his hand from Shahd's. They look at eachother awkwardly for a moment, Shahd's blinking and Marc's swallowing hard. He throws a quick scan around before asking, “Howa feen babaki wo mamtek?” [Where are your parents?] He clears his throat and adds, “Akeed mush betsafri lewahdek, mush kida?” [Surely you don't travel alone, right?] He tries to grin playfully at her.

Shahd giggles, “Akeed la ya ammo Marc!” [Of course no, uncle Marc!] Then she points at the chair two lines in front of them to the left. Marc traces her finger to see a man watching them both, a proud smile on his face.

“Da babaya!” [That's Daddy!] She exclaims, “Baba bus! Ammo Marc amriki wo beyetkallam arabi zayina!” [Look, daddy! Uncle Marc's American and speaks Arabic like us!]

Marc tries to smile cordially, his qualms rising again in his chest, “She's lovely,”

“Thank you, sir,” The man smiles back, something truly genuine haloes his presence. Marc feels a bit more relieved.

The plane's movement hauls to a stop, then another stewardess' voice echoes through, in Arabic then English, politely informing the passengers of the safe landing they just had, then she courteously instructs them to keep calm and to not jostle among eachother, then wishes them a happy trip.

Marc loosens his belt then waits for several minutes before he moves and grabs his bags from the cabin baggage. He then puts his cap on his head, and takes a gum into his mouth and starts chewing on it. And before he walks down the aisles, a small hand tugs on his shirt.

“Nice to meet you, Ammo Marc,” Shahd extends her hand with confidence.

Marc smiles, “Nice to meet ya, kid,” He shakes her hand. She giggles and Marc's smile softens more. He offers her a gum which she delightfully accepts.

When he sees her father he nods at him in acknowledgement. Shahd's dad smiles back as he says in Arabian-accented English “Enjoy your stay in Masr, sir!”

Marc is already past him, he scoffs at himself, “Yeah, sure I will.”

•••

“Yeah, I'm in, Frenchie,” Marc's head rests against his right shoulder, while holding the phone in between, and unpacking his stuff. He sighs, grabbing the phone with his hand now, “Told ya I need a man to watch from afar, and can't trust anyone but you, Frenchie,”

It's a conversation he and his friend have had before. His co-worker and right hand, Jean-Paul Duchamp, has insisted to come along and help Marc in Egypt by being at the latter's side.

“Oui, oui, you did make it clear, Marc,” Duchamp's French accent answers from the other side of the line, “But let me remind you, shall I sense anything off, I'd certainly come for the rescue,”

Marc chuckles, “Yeah, counting on that actually,”

Duchamp guffaws, “You rascal,” Marc can see a very clear picture of his friend twirling his mustache playfully. “Anyway, sent you the info you might need on this case, if you want anything else, just gimme a call, d'accord?”

“Yeah, sure,” Marc scratches his eyebrow with his thumbnail, “Anything else?”

Duchamp clears his throat before he adds, “Well, actually yes, Marc,” He stops for a moment, “You're surely aware that, after the huge amount of investigation we've had, this is most likely has a link to what happened that day, aren't you?”

Marc tries to sound unaffected, unfazed, “Your point?”

“Are you ready to face it again, Marc?” Duchamp's usual sarcastic tone disappears as he asks, “Are you ready to—”

Marc cuts him off, “What happened that day remains in the past, Frenchie,”

“We have yet to locate him as you know,”

Marc cards a hand through his hand indignantly, “Doesn't matter,”

“You sure? Last time you underestimated him, he made a hole in your stomach and left you to die in the desert.”

“Yes,” Marc snaps, exasperated, “But I came back alive, didn't I?”

“Oui, somehow,”

“Then there's no need to worry, Frenchie,”

After they bid eachother goodbyes, Marc starts to set up his computer supplies, wires and devices have soon covered the entire room. From a year onwards, Marc has been careful when it comes to use Khonshu's armour, he doesn't summon it until the situation grows critical and too serious, he can handle many situations depending only on his skills and talents, obtained from years of experience, as a warrior against evildoers and sinners. He couldn't risk drawing the attention of the intelligence and the chance of being arrested; an international fugitive, uses superpowers and act as a vigilante. He either would be dragged to acquiesce to the bullshit they name "Sokovia Accords" or they're going to throw his ass in prison if he refuses to submit to it, which he certainly will do, like they did to many Avengers members.

Moon Knight doesn't work like that, he doesn't submit to anyone's wishes but his god, which in this case is Khonshu. The world is indeed going into deeper shit, with the Avengers split, and two of them are off of the world, crime has been increasing around the globe. That's when Moon Knight must act, maybe that what motivates him to keep doing this even though he hates it. It's his way to atone for his misdeeds.

“You know I will protect you with everything I have; you are worth protecting.”

Marc closes his eyes, trying not to startle, whipping his head to face his master. He nods silently, craning his head up to gaze at the deity, the one who saved his life two years ago. He still remembers every bit of it, every moment of it. Marc still feels the cold steel of his gun pressing against his chin ready to end his misery underneath the god's statue, still feels his blood life gushing out of his stomach, streaming and smearing the white sand he crawled upon, still hears his choked apologies for the people who'd met their demise because of his actions.

“You shall face your fears, Marc Spector,” He remarks, “And by my name you shall crush them underneath your feet and by that, you're going to protect the travellers of the night.”

[ohbuckie]

ALPHA SIGMA WHATEVER-THE-FUCK | B.B.

Summary: Bucky’s a douchebag frat brother, but Christ, is he delicious.

Warnings: smut, bathroom sex, drinking (both parties are sober and able to give consent), mention of drugs

Word Count: 1.7k

Bucky Barnes. Conceited, loud, irritating. Built like a Greek God—with that perfect jaw, and those thick forearms, and that firm chest. All of his t-shirts are a size too small, and he’s never been caught wearing a baseball cap forwards, or without a protein shake in his hand.

“Hey, Y/N,” he jogs to catch up with you, “what’s up?”

“Walking.” You answer dryly. It’s unsurprising, really, that he just randomly bumped into you. He always seems to.

“Where?”

“To class.”

“I won’t keep you long, then.”

“Please don’t ‘keep me’ at all, Bucky. What do you want?”

“I’m having a party tonight. Thought you could come. Wear something cute.”

“Don’t be gross.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are.” You step up to the building that your class is in, and turn to him to speak. “I’ll come if I don’t have to bring anything.”

“Perfect. Beach theme.”

Of course it is. Any excuse for every girl there to be wearing the smallest outfit possible.

“Okay, whatever.” You step through the door, and hear him again before it closes behind you.

“Wear that blue bikini top you have!”

“You’re a freak, Barnes!”

—

You show up in the bikini top he mentioned, but only because your roommate, Natasha, told you it looked better than the other ones. You’re wearing an unbuttoned tropical shirt over it, and shorts on the bottom, which is a lot tamer than some of the other girls in the house, dressed in only bikinis, or a t-shirt with just bottoms. You won’t allow Bucky to see you like that without working for it first.

He greets you at the door, dressed in only swim trunks and sunglasses and holding a can of cheap beer. His best friend, Steve Rogers, steps up behind him to greet Natasha, who he so obviously wants to fuck. He takes the bowl of veggie dip that she insisted on bringing from her hands and gestures for her to come inside. You roll your eyes.

“What, you got a crush on Stevie?”

“He makes it so obvious how badly he wants to bang her.” You explain, thinking maybe he’ll take the hint. He doesn’t. “Where are the drinks?”

“I’ll show you.” He waves you inside and leads you to the counter through the sea of people already in the house, pointing to where all of the containers of mixed drinks are, telling you about what’s in them. You’re really only paying attention to the way the muscles of his back interact, how they tense and move as he moves his arms to point and turns around to look at you while he speaks. “You listening?” He grins.

“Wha- uh, yeah, of course.” You feel your cheeks heat up, and you hate that he caught you staring. If he wasn’t so insufferable, you’d have slept with him by now, but he insists on being the biggest douchebag anybody’s ever met.

“You want me to get you a drink?”

“No, thanks. I’m perfectly capable.”

“Yeah, okay. Alright, I’m gonna go find Sam. Maybe he doesn’t have a stick up his ass.”

You scoff and find a cup, filling it with whatever the last thing Bucky showed you was; sangria, probably. It’s much too strong, but you don’t mind so much—it’s not like you came here to be sober.

It doesn’t take long for Natasha and Steve to loosen up enough to be grinding on each other—Steve’s chest pressed against her back, his hands on her waist, his lips on the side of her neck. Bucky and Sam are playing beer pong with a few other brothers, yelling everything they say and spilling drinks on each other.

You’re only a couple in—far from drunk—but the way that Bucky’s personality takes up the entire room is far more intoxicating than any alcohol in this house. He has streams of beer dribbling down his chin and chest, and perhaps it’s a little unhinged. but you want nothing more than to lick it off.

You step over to him and he instinctively puts his arm around your waist. “You wanna do this one?”

“Oh, no, I’m not-”

“No, no, come on, I’ll show you.” He stands behind you and takes your wrist in his hand, pulling it back to where it needs to be. “Be gentle with it. Use your wrist more than your elbow.” He places the ball in your hand, and trusts you to do the rest, standing back with his arms crossed over his chest. You flick the plastic towards the gathering of Solo cups across the table and, miraculously, falls into one. Bucky throws his arms up and cheers for you, watching Sam drink across the table.

He looks down at you with a smile on his face, and it goes straight to your stomach. You stick to him for the rest of the game, taking his turns and letting him keep his hands on you. You realize his hands have never been on you before, but you very much like it; he knows where to keep them.

When you win, you take the opportunity to kiss him, feeling overly confident from the adrenaline that comes with an entire room of people cheering for you. His lips are soft, and he holds you close, with one hand on your back and the other on your waist. He’s a decent kisser—not too slobbery, like most other frat guys—and can keep his tongue to himself, for the most part. One of his friends shoves him playfully, and you pull away from him, giggling.

“You’re not drunk, right?” He asks, pushing some of your hair behind your ear.

You shake your head. “Are you?”

“Nope.” He takes your hand and brings you to the hallway near the bathroom, pushing you against the wall and pressing his lips to yours again. His hands cup your cheeks, and this time, his tongue makes an appearance. It moves along your bottom lip, making its way into your mouth. He tastes like beer and smells like Irish Spring, but it acts as a pheromone of sorts, and makes you want him even more.

His knee slides between your legs and presses against your core, and you wrap your arms around his neck to try to get closer, if that’s even possible. His breath fans over your cheek and his thumb rubs your cheekbone, but before anything allows this moment to be sweet, somebody pats Bucky on the back and informs him that the bathroom is now free.

He wastes no time in pulling you through the door, nearly slamming it behind him. Your lower back hits the counter and sends a pain up your spine, but you quickly forget it when his hands move down your torso and stop at your ass. He kisses down your neck sloppily, holding your head back by your hair. He pushes your shirt down your shoulders, urging you to shimmy it off of your arms, which you do.

“Turn around.” He breathes, running his fingers through his thick hair.

You stare at him, distracted, before processing his words and doing as he asked. You bend over the counter and feel him reach around you to unbutton your shorts, letting them fall to the floor.

“You wore the matching bottoms?” He chuckles, hotly kissing the nape of your neck.

You shrug. “They’re cute.”

He responds only by saying “Uh-huh,” and tugging them down past your thighs.

“How many girls have you fucked in here, Barnes?”

“That’s not relevant.” He mumbles, and you hear his belt hit the floor. “Drawer next to you is condoms.” You open it and find what you’re looking for, holding your hand behind your back with the packet between your fingertips.

He unwraps it quickly and takes a moment to roll it down his cock before he rubs the tip against your pussy, earning a surprised gasp from you. Slowly, he breaches your entrance, and he’s a lot bigger than you expected, with how big of a douchebag he is.

“Fuck, Bucky.”

“I’ve been telling you we should fuck.���

“Shut up.” You moan. “You’re ruining it.”

He grabs onto your hips and pulls you backwards, bottoming out completely. He starts thrusting shallowly, and you can feel him staring at where your bodies meet, watching himself disappear inside of you like he’s wanted to for so long.

“Jesus Christ, you’re so hot.” He moans, deepening his thrusts and picking up the pace.

You look down at your hands—pressed against the porcelain, slipping back and forth every time Bucky fucks himself into you. There’s powder beneath your fingers, but you decide you won’t try to guess if it’s cocaine or something else.

You hear his skin slapping against yours, echoing off of the walls, surely loud enough for anybody outside to hear. “God, Buck, it feels-”

“So fucking good.”

You nod. “Uh-huh.”

He continues fucking you, so that your pelvic bones dig into the counter in front of you, and your toes just barely reach the floor. He takes a fistful of your hair and yanks your head backwards so that you’re staring at the mirror.

“Look at me while I fuck you.”

It makes you swallow hard and clench around him, and it’s probably the first time you’ve ever done something he’s told you to do without any hesitation. You look at his concentrated face, the sweat gleaming on his forehead and chest, his teeth digging into his lower lip to keep himself quiet. He’s never been so dedicated to something in his entire life.

You feel him hit a spot inside of you that’s never been touched before, and it makes you cry out. “Goddamnit, Barnes! Fuck, I’m close, don’t stop!”

“Was not planning on it.” He says, snapping his hips until your knees buckle and shake, and you tell him you’re cumming. He fucks you through it, and finishes in the middle of your orgasm, pushing himself all the way into you until he spills everything he has into the condom. “Fuck.” He mutters, and pulls out of you, tying the condom and tossing it in the trash can next to the toilet.

You stand straight and gather your things from the floor—your button-up, your swimsuit bottoms, your shorts—before putting them back on and turning to face him. “I didn’t think you knew how to do that.”

“How to do what?”

“Make a girl cum.”