#so i can go pick it up a different day...

[barnesonly]

Yearning

bucky barnes x reader

summary: you and bucky have been together for a while now, but haven’t had sex yet—he’s insecure, afraid he forgot how. but one night, things finally happen…

word count: 5,6k

WARNINGS: 18+ explicit content, MDNI. fluff to smut, insecure!bucky, established relationship, curse words, age difference, dirty talk, praise, oral (f receiving), PiV, unprotected sex.

Bucky Barnes is a man out of time, and you’re reminded of it every single day.

Sometimes it’s the obvious things—like how he still squints at his phone as if the apps might leap off the screen and bite him, or how he physically recoils every time you say the word “TikTok.” Sometimes it’s subtler—like the way he insists on walking on the outside of the sidewalk, or how he always opens doors for you without thinking, like muscle memory trained from another era.

And then there are the flowers.

Almost every day, without fail, a small, lovingly picked bouquet appears on your kitchen counter. Sometimes they’re store-bought, sometimes hand-picked from wherever he was that day. Always with a little handwritten note tucked beneath the stems. He never says much about it—just a casual “these made me think of you” and a kiss to your temple. But the habit is so consistent it’s become its own kind of love language.

You’re dating Bucky fucking Barnes and that still feels unreal sometimes.

He’s grumpy. He’s anxious. He has whole decades of trauma stacked inside him like old, worn-out newspapers.

But he also loves you. Deeply. Devotedly. You can see it in the smallest things—the way his hand always finds yours under the table, or how he tenses any time someone looks at you the wrong way. He still doesn’t sleep through the night, but when he does sleep, it’s usually best when you’re wrapped around him.

You’ve been together for a while now. Long enough to fall into a rhythm. Long enough to know what makes him tick, what makes him laugh. Long enough to feel the unspoken ache between you both.

Because there’s one thing you haven’t done yet.

Sex.

You’ve talked about it—briefly, carefully—but Bucky always brushes it off. Not with rejection, but hesitation. You know he wants to… you can feel that he does. But he’s scared. Scared he’s forgotten how. Scared he won’t be good at it anymore. Scared of what might surface, or what might go wrong.

You’d never pressure him. Never.

But god, you want him. Not just the sex—though, yeah, definitely that—but him. His body, his trust, his pleasure. You want him to feel good. You want him to feel wanted.

You’ve started to think he’s almost ready.

You don’t say it aloud. You don’t want to spook him. But there’s a shift in him lately—like maybe he’s starting to believe he deserves this. Deserves you.

Still, you remember the last time you two got close.

It was a quiet night, nothing special. The two of you were curled up on the couch, some half-watched movie playing in the background. You’d ended up in his lap, legs straddling his thighs, your fingers twisted into his hair, your mouths tangled in a kiss that had gone from sweet to hungry in seconds.

He was so warm beneath you, so solid. His hands rested on your waist like he didn’t trust himself to move them, like he was afraid of holding on too tightly. You could feel him, hard through his sweats, pressing up against your center—and the way his breath caught every time you shifted your hips only made you want him more.

You kissed him like he was the last good thing in the world. And he kissed you back like he believed it.

But then—just as your fingers slipped beneath the hem of his shirt, just as he let out this low, needy sound in the back of his throat—he pulled away.

Not all at once. Slowly. Like it hurt him to stop.

“Babe…” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. His voice was hoarse, his chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. “I’m… I’m sorry. I can’t. Not yet.”

You didn’t sigh. Didn’t roll your eyes or pull away. You just cupped his cheek and smiled at him—soft and sure and full of love.

“No worries, Bucky,” you whispered, brushing your thumb across his cheekbone. “You know I love you, right?”

He nodded, and god, the look in his eyes… like he couldn’t understand how someone like you could be so patient. So kind.

You shifted, slowly climbing off his lap, careful not to make it feel like rejection. Just giving him space. You tucked yourself beside him on the couch, your knee still brushing his, your presence still close. You didn’t say anything right away.

He let out a long sigh and dragged a hand down his face. The other stayed loosely resting on his thigh, still balled into a fist like he was holding something back.

“I just…” he started, voice rough. “I’m scared I’ll fuck this up. Or that I’ll hurt you.”

Your heart cracked a little, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak. He rarely did. Not like this.

He leaned his head back against the couch cushion, eyes on the ceiling like he couldn’t bear to look at you. “I used to be such a charmer in the ’40s, y’know? Smooth talker. Confident. I had moves.”

You huffed a tiny laugh, not mocking—just warm. “I believe it.”

He glanced at you then, barely a flicker, and smiled faintly.

“But now?” he said, the smile dropping. “Now I feel like I’ve forgotten how to even… touch someone the right way. Hell, half the time I’m afraid to want anything too much, ‘cause what if I screw it up? What if I mess you up?”

His jaw tensed. You could see the war in his mind, the echo of every cruel thing that’s ever been drilled into him—by Hydra, by time, by the weight of his own past.

You reached over, took his hand, gently pried open his fingers from that tight fist and laced them with yours.

“Bucky,” you said, soft but sure, “you’re not going to hurt me.”

He swallowed hard, eyes still on your joined hands.

“And you’re not gonna mess anything up. Okay? Wanting something doesn’t make you dangerous. It makes you human.”

He didn’t answer right away. You let the silence settle around you both. Not awkward. Just… honest.

“I want to make you feel good,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper now. “I want you to feel… Safe. Loved.”

He turned his head toward you. His eyes were glassy, a little overwhelmed, but you could see it—the crack of light breaking through all the fear.

“I do feel loved,” you said quietly. “Every day.”

You squeezed his hand, just once, then let go so you could reach up and cradle his jaw instead—thumb brushing lightly along the edge of his cheekbone.

Then you leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hungry or needy. It was soft. Steady. Like a quiet promise whispered between two heartbeats. He kissed you back like he was still learning how, but already knew it by heart.

When you pulled back, your foreheads touched, your noses brushing, the air between you thick with unsaid things.

“I love you,” he murmured, like he didn’t even mean to say it aloud. “I don’t think I ever really understood what love felt like until you.”

Your breath caught a little, chest tightening.

He kept going, voice rough and low. “You’ve made my life feel like… a life again. Like I’m not just surviving. I didn’t think I’d get to have this. I didn’t think I deserved to. But then you came along and you just—god, sweetheart, you gave me something I never thought I’d have again.”

You felt yourself melting, your heart a puddle in your chest. His hand came up to rest on your thigh, not to start anything, not to take—it just landed there like he needed to touch you, to feel that you were real.

You leaned your head against his shoulder and sighed dramatically. “Jesus Christ, Barnes. You trying to make me cry?”

A breath of a laugh escaped him.

You tilted your head to grin at him. “You say one more sweet thing and I’m gonna have to marry you and sign up for bridge night at the senior center.”

He huffed a laugh, and that shy little smile of his—god, it destroyed you.

“I mean it,” he said quietly, “even if you joke your way out of it.”

You reached over, cupped his cheek again. “I know you do,” you whispered. “And I love you back, you old fossil.”

He laughed for real that time—head tilted back, the kind of laugh that cracked through all the walls he’d built. And it made you smile so big your cheeks ached.

That memory still sits warm in your chest—etched there like sunlight caught in glass.

You think about it sometimes. The weight of him beneath you, the kiss that lingered on your lips for hours after, the way his voice cracked when he told you what you meant to him. How you called him a fossil to hide the way your heart was splitting open inside your ribcage.

And now?

Now you’re in the kitchen with him, barefoot and sleepy-eyed on a Sunday morning. The radio’s playing something soft and old—something he probably heard first on vinyl. You’re standing at the stove, flipping pancakes while he hovers beside you, clearly pretending not to be watching them like a hawk.

He’s wearing a T-shirt that’s faded to hell and a pair of sweats low on his hips. You’ve got one of his flannels buttoned over your pajamas. The sleeves are way too long. He tried to roll them up for you earlier but got distracted kissing your shoulder halfway through.

Domestic bliss, Barnes-style.

You pass him the next pancake on the stack and bump his hip with yours.

“You’re lucky I love you,” you say. “Because these pancakes are borderline tragic.”

“They’re not tragic,” he replies, grinning as he takes a bite. “They’re… rustic.”

You give him a look.

He shrugs, chewing. “I like ‘em a little burnt. Adds character.”

You snort and turn back to the pan.

There’s a pause—quiet but easy—until his voice breaks it again. Low. Soft.

“I wanna marry you one day, you know?”

The spatula freezes in your hand.

You blink, heart skipping, and glance over your shoulder at him.

He’s looking at you like he’s thinking about saying it again, just to make sure you heard him right. His eyes are clear. Calm. No panic. No second-guessing. Just… love. Simple and steady.

“I mean it,” he says. “I don’t know when. I’m not gonna rush it. But I do. I think about it all the time.”

You stare at him for a second, and then your lips stretch into the stupidest, softest smile.

You turn back to the stove and flip the pancake onto the plate.

“Well, good,” you say. “Because if you didn’t marry me, I’d have to haunt you for eternity. Like, aggressively. I’d knock shit off your shelves.”

He chuckles behind you, then steps closer, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. His lips brush your temple.

“You already haunt me,” he murmurs. “Just… in a really nice way.”

His arms stay wrapped around you for a long moment after he says it—forehead resting against the side of your head, his body warm against your back. The scent of syrup and coffee hangs in the air, but all you can feel is him.

„I think I’m ready, doll.” He continues, firmly and with determination in his voice.

You set the spatula down gently, not because you’re finished cooking but because suddenly—this is more important.

You turn in his arms, hands slipping up his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart under your palms. His eyes meet yours. They’re soft. Honest. A little nervous. But not afraid.

“You know we don’t have to,” you say, voice quiet. “Not today. Not ever, if you’re not ready. I love you exactly like this.”

His hands come up to cradle your face—gentle, almost reverent. His thumb traces your cheek.

“I know,” he says, and there’s a flicker of something in his eyes. That old ache, the one that never quite leaves. But it’s softer now. “But I want to.”

Your breath catches.

“I’ve been scared for a long time,” he admits. “Scared that I’d mess this up, or hurt you, or—hell, that I wouldn’t remember how to be with someone like that. But the truth is… I think I just didn’t believe I deserved that kind of love.”

You swallow, eyes stinging.

“And now?” you whisper.

“Now I do,” he says. “Because of you.”

He leans in and kisses you then—slow, deep, tender. No hesitation. No trembling hands. Just Bucky. All of him.

When he pulls back, you’re already smiling, breathless and dazed.

“God,” you murmur, forehead pressed to his, “you say stuff like that and I get why girls in the 40s were all over you.”

He grins, a little crooked. “Yeah, well… guess I’ve still got it.”

“Barely,” you tease. “You made a grunting noise getting off the couch last night.”

He groans. “Why would you bring that up now?”

“Because I love you,” you say sweetly.

He’s laughing when he kisses you again—and this time, his hands wander a little. One settles at your lower back, pulling you closer. The other slides into your hair, gentle but firm.

The kiss deepens, lazy but loaded, and it starts to hum between you—want. Warm and steady and mutual.

His lips trail to your jaw, barely there kisses—soft, unhurried.

But then he pauses, nose brushing your cheek. His voice is low, warm, still a little breathless from the kiss. “Let me take you out tonight, huh?”

You blink, pulling back slightly to look at him. “Yeah?”

He nods. “Someplace nice. Fancy. White tablecloths, cloth napkins, the whole deal. I’ll put on that stupid tie you like, even if it’s choking me the whole night.”

Your heart squeezes.

“Bucky…”

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, thumb trailing down your jaw. His gaze is steady now, sure. “I wanna do this right,” he murmurs. “You’re my girl. A lady. You should be treated like one.”

God, you’re melting.

You’re not sure if it’s the way he says it—like it’s the most obvious thing in the world—or the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already undressing you in his mind but still wants to kiss your hand first and open every damn door along the way.

“Okay,” you whisper, your smile blooming full and wide. “Yeah. I’d love that.”

His grin is all boyish charm now—relieved, excited, maybe even a little smug. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, looping your arms around his neck. “Only if I get to wear something ridiculous and make you all flustered.”

His brows lift, amused. “Doll, you could show up in a trash bag and I’d still forget how to breathe.”

You laugh, full and bright, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek. He catches you before you pull away, stealing another kiss—this one slower, deeper. Like he’s already thinking about later. About what this night could be.

You pull back just enough to whisper, “You’re gonna spoil me, Bucky Barnes.”

His lips curve as he presses his forehead to yours.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

———

The restaurant is dimly lit and elegant, all low murmurs and soft clinks of silverware. Candlelight dances on the white tablecloth between you, casting gold on Bucky’s jaw—strong, clean-shaven, way too handsome for a man who claims he “doesn’t clean up well.”

He does. He really, really does.

That tie he promised to wear? Yeah, it’s perfectly knotted, navy blue to match his eyes. And the sleeves of his button-up? Rolled just enough to show a hint of his forearms.

And Bucky?

Bucky’s a goner.

He’s been staring at you since you walked into the room. Like, actually speechless. The moment you stepped out of the bedroom tonight in your dress—tight in all the right places, maybe a little backless, maybe with a slit high enough to kill a man—he made a sound. A tiny, quiet, reverent “fuck” that he probably didn’t mean to say out loud.

You’d just smiled and said, “Told you I’d make you flustered.”

Now, over an hour into dinner, he still hasn’t recovered.

“You cold, doll?” he asks, already sliding his hand across the table toward yours.

You shake your head. “Nope. Perfectly warm.”

He nods, but his hand doesn’t go back to his wine glass. It lingers, then slowly drifts down… under the table.

And then you feel it—his palm resting gently on your bare thigh. Not groping. Not demanding. Just there. Warm. Intentional.

Your eyes flick to him, and he’s sipping his drink like he didn’t just set your entire bloodstream on fire.

“You know,” you murmur, leaning slightly over your plate, “this is a very respectable restaurant, Sergeant Barnes.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just gives you a slow, easy smile. Then leans in slightly, voice a notch lower now—just for you.

„I told you, I used to be a charmer.” He shrugs.

His thumb strokes slow circles against your skin, just above your knee now. It’s not obscene. Not yet. But it’s loaded. And the heat in his eyes tells you everything—he’s ready.

Maybe not to take you home and rip your clothes off (well… maybe that too), but to have you. Finally. Properly. To show you how much he wants you in every possible way.

And god, you’ve never felt so desired. Or so fucking loved.

———

The ride home is quiet.

Not tense. Not awkward. Just… charged. The kind of silence that hums under your skin, thick with everything that didn’t need to be said at dinner. Your hand rests on his thigh, his knuckles grazing your knee as he drives, and the whole way back you can feel his gaze flicking to you at every red light.

When he parks in front of your building, he kills the engine and just sits there a second. One hand on the steering wheel. The other finding yours.

He doesn’t say anything—he just looks at you.

And you nod.

Yeah. You’re ready, too.

Inside, everything is soft.

You kick off your shoes. He hangs up his coat. His tie is already loosened, and there’s a flush to his cheeks that’s not from the wine—it’s from you.

He steps toward you slowly, like he’s afraid if he rushes, you’ll vanish.

But you don’t. You stay right there.

And when his hands come up to rest gently on your waist, you melt into him without hesitation.

His voice is low, quiet. “You sure?”

You nod again, reaching up to cup his face. “I’m sure.”

He exhales, almost like relief. Like he’s been holding his breath for months and finally—finally—he can let go.

Then he kisses you.

God, it’s different now. It’s not frantic or messy. It’s not lust without thought.

It’s slow. Deep. He kisses you like he’s mapping your mouth, relearning how to love someone through touch. His hands stay respectful, still at your waist, not drifting, not rushing. Just there.

You kiss him back, soft and patient, running your fingers through his hair. He shudders when you tug gently—just enough to pull a little sound from him, something low in his chest that makes your knees wobble.

He pulls back, barely, and rests his forehead against yours.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper. “Me too.”

His hands finally move then—one gliding up your back, the other brushing along your jaw. His metal fingers are warm from your skin, and when they graze your cheek, you lean into them like instinct.

“I wanna take my time,” he says, voice hoarse now. “Wanna make you feel good. Wanna make sure you know how much I—how much you mean to me.”

Your heart stutters.

“You do,” you whisper. “You already do.”

But you let him show you anyway.

He leans down, kisses your neck—slow and reverent—and then he starts walking you backward, one step at a time, toward the bedroom.

Your back hits the edge of the bed and Bucky pauses there, standing in front of you, breathing a little harder than he should be for someone who’s only kissed you.

But it’s not nerves anymore. Not fear. It’s want.

“C’mere,” you whisper, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt.

He steps in closer. Between your knees now. His hands find your thighs again, thumbs brushing along the fabric of your dress as if he’s still memorizing the shape of you.

He eases you back onto the bed like you’re made of glass—slow, steady, never breaking eye contact. His body follows, covering yours without pressing you down, one arm braced beside your head, the other tracing the line of your hip with reverence.

He kisses you again, slower than before. Softer. Less lips, more mouths—open and warm and lingering. You part your legs to cradle him, and the sigh that falls from his lips ghosts across your cheek like a prayer.

His skin is hot against yours. Muscle and scar and heat. You run your hands down his back, memorizing every dip, every edge. He shivers at your touch, exhales into your mouth like he’s trying not to fall apart just from being this close.

His fingers reach up to your shoulder, brushing the strap of your dress aside, and he looks at you like he’s asking for permission without even saying a word.

You nod once.

So he slips the strap down. Then the other. His touch is featherlight—almost hesitant—but his hands don’t tremble this time.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, voice barely more than a breath.

Your chest rises with the compliment. It’s not the first time he’s said it—but something about this moment… the way his eyes are locked on you, the way he swallows hard like he’s overwhelmed just seeing you… it hits different.

He tugs your dress down slowly, letting it fall to your waist, then lower, until you’re sitting there in nothing but your bra and panties. The air between you shifts—warmer now, heavier.

His hands brush your arms, your waist, your hips—everywhere but the places you want them most. But you let him go at his pace. You want him to feel in control.

“Can I…” he starts, fingers ghosting over your bra strap, “…take this off?”

You nod again. “Yeah. Please.”

So he does. Gently. Carefully. Like he’s unwrapping something precious.

When your bra falls away, his breath catches.

“Jesus,” he whispers, eyes roaming your chest like he’s never seen anything so perfect.

When he undresses you fully, he does it slowly, dragging fabric down your legs with both hands, his metal fingers brushing over your skin with a tenderness that almost makes you ache.

You lift your hands to the hem of his shirt. “Your turn, Sergeant.”

He huffs a breath, a little grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am.”

You pull his shirt over his head, revealing the planes of his chest, the lines of scars, the metal arm, the years carved into him. You trace your fingers over the dog tags that still hang around his neck.

His skin is hot against yours. Muscle and scar and heat. You run your hands down his back, memorizing every dip, every edge. He shivers at your touch, exhales into your mouth like he’s trying not to fall apart just from being this close. His dog tags clink as they fall between you, cold against your bare skin.

He kisses you again, and this time when he settles between your thighs, you feel him fully—heavy and hard, pressing against you.

He settles there like he belongs there—shoulders broad between your thighs, hands gentle on your hips as he lowers himself, eyes never leaving yours.

Then he speaks—low, reverent.

“Let me taste you first, sweetheart. Make you feel good.”

And god, you don’t even have the breath to respond. You just nod, breath hitching, thighs already trembling beneath his touch.

He kisses the inside of your knee first. Then the other. Trails his lips upward, slow, soft, maddening. You can feel the warmth of his breath long before his mouth finds you—feel it ghost over your skin, spreading goosebumps down your spine.

His hands stay firm on your thighs, holding you open, holding you still. But his touch is tender, steady. There’s nothing rushed in the way he moves. Like he’s unwrapping something sacred.

And when his mouth finally finds you—lips parting, tongue tasting—

You gasp.

Quiet, breathy, uncontrollable. Your fingers twist in the sheets, one hand reaching instinctively for him. He groans against you when you thread your fingers into his hair, and the sound of it vibrates straight through you.

He’s slow at first. Careful. Testing. Tasting.

Learning you.

But he’s good at learning.

He watches you, listens to your breath, the way your body reacts—what makes your hips jerk, what makes your thighs tighten around his shoulders. His tongue strokes long and slow, then soft flicks, and when he hears the change in your breathing—there, that’s what makes your voice break—he stays right there.

He moans again, deeper this time, and the way he grips your hips tightens just slightly. Like he can’t take it. Like he’s the one unraveling just from the way you taste, the way you sound.

The dog tags still hang from his neck, cool against your skin. His hair’s messy from your fingers, jaw flexing as he works, as he buries his face deeper into you like a man starved.

And all you can do is feel.

The rise of pleasure. The way it blooms low and hot and thick in your belly. The burn of it, the ache. Every stroke of his tongue makes it worse. Makes it better.

Your thighs begin to tremble. Your back arches.

And still, he doesn’t stop.

He devours you.

Not greedily. Worshipfully.

Like he’s not just tasting you—he’s loving you with his mouth. Showing you just how deeply he means it.

And when you finally come—soft and shaking, moaning into your hand, thighs trembling around his head—he stays with you. Rides it out. Holds you through it.

He only pulls away when your body begins to relax beneath him, when your hand goes soft in his hair, when your breath evens out in his ears.

Then he rises slowly, kisses your inner thigh once more, then your stomach, your ribs, your chest.

He kisses you like he’s grounding you.

And when he finally reaches your lips again, he just hovers there, noses brushing.

You smile.

He smiles back—soft, flushed, eyes dark with affection and want.

And then, finally, finally, he settles between your legs again—not to taste you this time, but to be with you. To love you. Completely.

His mouth brushes yours—soft, almost shy. But the hand that cups your face? That’s steady. Grounded. He strokes your cheek with his thumb like he’s feeling it all through his fingertips.

Your legs wrap around his hips without thinking.

And when his hips settle against yours, when you feel the hard press of him, your breath hitches all over again.

He groans quietly—deep in his throat. The sound of it is raw. Barely controlled.

You reach between you, fingertips ghosting over his length. He shudders—actually shudders—and buries his face in your neck like he’s ashamed of how badly he wants this. Wants you.

You guide him to you.

And he pauses. Just for a second.

His forehead presses to yours and his voice, when it finally breaks the silence, is low and hoarse.

“…You okay?”

You nod. Whisper, “Yes.”

When Bucky sinks into you, it’s slow—but the depth? It knocks the air from your lungs.

He presses in all the way, until you feel him everywhere, and he stays there for a second—deep, thick, pulsing inside you while his breath stutters against your mouth.

Your mouth parts. His name catches in your throat. The stretch is deep and full and perfect, and for a moment, all either of you can do is feel.

He stills at the bottom, buried inside you completely. His eyes flutter shut, jaw clenched, like he’s trying not to lose it already.

Then he pulls back just a a little.

You moan into his shoulder. Fingers gripping the sheets. He groans, too—but it’s quiet, choked, like it costs him to keep this slow.

You’re soaked. Warm and clenching around him. And he groans when you tighten, like the feel of you is almost too much.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice shaking. “You feel… baby, you feel so good.”

His hips roll—smooth and deliberate—and you arch beneath him with a soft moan. He starts to move then, slow but filthy, every thrust long and deep, like he wants to stay inside you as long as he can.

His hand grips your thigh, pulling it higher around his waist. The shift makes his next thrust hit deeper—you gasp, and Bucky curses low into your neck.

“Shit, that’s it,” he groans. “That’s my girl. Just like that.”

The sounds between you are quiet but thick—breath and skin and need. The soft slap of his hips against yours. The low whimper you didn’t mean to let out when he hits that spot just right.

Your nails scrape his back, your heels press into him, needing more—more of his heat, his weight, the drag of him pulling out and sliding right back in, making you stretch and flutter and lose your rhythm

He makes you feel it—every thrust, every stroke, every trembling inhale.

You wrap your legs tighter around him, tilt your hips up, chasing the friction, and his rhythm stutters.

He’s panting now, buried in your chest, hips moving in slow, punishing strokes that leave you trembling.

Every sound you make—every whimper, gasp, broken moan—he drinks it in like it’s what keeps him going.

His hand finds yours above your head. He laces your fingers together. Holds you there.

Grounds himself in you.

“You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice all grit and heat, “so tight around me, fuck—feels like I’m gonna lose my fuckin’ mind.”

You can’t even speak.

Just nod. Moan. Cling to him.

Your body is burning, slick and hot and aching for release again, and he knows. He feels the way you tighten, the way you start chasing his thrusts, hips rolling up against him.

His pace stutters. Picks up. Just a little. Just enough.

“Gonna cum for me?” he pants, his lips at your jaw, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight, messy circles over your clit. “Yeah? Gonna fall apart on my cock, baby?”

You cry out—soft and desperate—and he loves it. Groans low, grinding into you just right, fucking you through it as your walls flutter and clench, dragging him toward the edge with you.

“You’re so perfect,” he rasps, right against your ear, hips snapping a little harder now. “So fuckin’ perfect, holy shit—”

You’re spiraling again, thighs shaking, breath hitching—

And then you break.

Your whole body arches off the bed as you cum around him, gasping his name, your nails digging into his back.

He chokes on a moan and buries himself deep.

And follows you with a shudder that rocks through him—his hips stalling, cock twitching inside you as he spills with a low, broken growl.

“Fuck—oh my god, baby—”

He holds you tight through it. Hand in your hair. Face in your neck. Heart pounding against yours.

You’re still tangled up in each other, the sheets barely covering you, your head tucked beneath Bucky’s chin as you catch your breath.

Everything’s warm. His skin, his breath, the way his arms hold you like you’re something he earned.

You shift a little, snuggle closer. “Seriously, James?” you mutter, voice muffled against his chest. “You’re so fucking good. I can’t believe you were actually insecure you forgot how to have sex.”

He lets out a groan—somewhere between bashful and bashful-aggressive.

“Doll…”

“No, like—seriously.” You sit up just enough to look at him, eyes wide and dramatic now. “That was insane. Like, are you sure you haven’t been practicing with a pillow or something while I wasn’t around?”

“Absolutely not,” he mutters, one hand dragging over his face. His ears are pink. “Jesus Christ.”

You grin. He’s blushing. This gorgeous, 110-year-old supersoldier with arms the size of your thighs and a tongue that just rewired your soul is blushing.

“I mean, the way you—” You gesture vaguely at your lower half. “You knew exactly what to do.”

He looks like he might implode.

“Maybe it’s muscle memory,” he mumbles, avoiding your eyes. “Maybe I just got lucky.”

“Oh, baby,” you say, all fond and exasperated. You crawl back on top of him, straddling his stomach, hands on his flushed chest. “That wasn’t luck. That was talent.”

He groans again, letting his head fall back on the pillow—but his hands settle instinctively on your hips, keeping you there like he doesn’t actually want you to stop.

“Don’t do this to me,” he pleads, but you can see the smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.

“I’m genuinely impressed, Bucky,” you say, mock-serious now. “Like, maybe you should’ve been cocky about it.”

He shoots you a look. “I can’t tell If this is your way of mocking me or you really mean it.”

You giggle—hard. Collapse onto his chest and wrap your arms around his middle while he sighs dramatically.

But he’s smiling.

You nuzzle your face into his neck and soften, voice low now, honest.

“You were amazing,” you whisper. “Like… beyond. You didn’t just make me feel good, Buck. You made me feel loved.”

That gets him quiet.

One hand slips up your back. His metal one curls protectively around your waist. He kisses your temple like he can’t help it.

“Only ever wanted to make you feel that,” he murmurs.

And now you’re blushing.

You both lie there a while—grinning, tangled, all warm limbs and wandering fingers.

“…So, round two?” you say sweetly.

He barks a laugh, grabs you around the waist, and rolls you beneath him.

“Bet.”

tags: @iamthatonefangirl @thatsbucknasty @buckytakethewheel @buckybarneswife125

[bunnyclawzz]

Okai hear me out. Nerd mark, he has a HUGE crush on you, like, HUGE. He's been in love with you since you're both like 12, but he has never talked to you since he's too shy. Now, he gets his power, getting a lil bit confident and realize that he can steal whatever he wants from your room when you're sleeping/not in your house

What stuff the different warrants would take from your room? How would they use it? Would they return it? 👀

Haii!! I was like, dying for a request like this because I know Mark is a weird little freak!! I haven’t written lengthy smut in a while so forgive me if this isn’t written too well 😓 It’s a bit longer than I intended it to be but that’s whateverr

(˶' ꒳ '˶)

Warnings: Smut (not sex), clothes stealing, very freak/perv Mark, fem reader

Ever since he had first seen you back in middle school he's been head over heels. From day one he was completely enamored by you, he just did his best to hide his heart eyes for you...Which he always failed at doing.

He always watched from a distance like a stalker. Sitting in class admiring you year after year, eavesdropping on conversations just to hear your sweet voice, bumping into countless walls and people because he had been to distracted staring at you in the halls instead of paying attention to his surroundings. He knew had no chance of getting with you. Him, Mark Grayson, the guy who spends every Burger Mart paycheck on comics and collectibles dating you?? It's laughable! Then it happened. He finally got his powers after years of waiting for it to happen. He was of course ecstatic! He could fly, he got super strong,his stamina is so much better, he has enhanced senses!!

It took a long while for him to get used to it, of course. A lot of training and practicing to be a real hero. But as soon as he had it all under control? Being thee Invincible was the biggest ego boost ever. Becoming a hero, being on the news all the time, reporters practically begging to know more about him....it definitely made him confident. He would do extra long patrols just for the attention, just walking or flying wherever to "keep the city safe." Whilst on one of these extra long patrols he saw you. Nothing bad going on, just you walking home by yourself. Why would you ever do such a thing? You're so smart! You know what kind of things happen to people who walk alone late at night, so why would you even think to do it? He just can't have that! He had no option other than to walk you home safely! He loved how chatty you were the whole time, he doesn't even mind that the first time he gets a real conversation with you is as his hero persona

"What's it like fighting all the time?" "You seem so strong! Is it hard to workout and keep your strength? "What's flying like, it seems so fun to be able to do that!" All perfectly endearing questions which he Gladly answered for you as he walked beside you.

He got you home safely, walked you to the door and all like a real gentleman..and as soon as he realized he now knew exactly where you lived? Oh there was no stopping him and his stupid ideas. They stayed ideas at first! He didn't want to scare you by watching you from your window or sneaking in like he's been daydreaming about! But he could only fantasize so long before he acted on it.

It was as “normal” as stalking could be at first. Just watching your home from the sky-just to watch for any intruders, of course! What if someone tried to break in?! He had to be there to stop them! Just watching your home for at least an hour every day for five days. During that time he was able to pick up your schedule; when you left the house to go on a walk, or when you left to go shopping for hours on end, and how he noticed that you left your window open all the time. Yes, it’s just a small little crack, but honestly…you were practically inviting him inside with that.

Once he knew your home was completely empty, he flew down. He hesitated for a short second before he pushed the rest of your window open and slid inside. He was stunned for a moment. Your room really reflected you. All soft and sweetness. Just how he would imagine your room to be

He went to your bed first. Sat on your plush comforter like an awkward guest at first. It’s wrong, he thought to himself. What was he even doing in here? It’s gross really, why would anyone-and then he cuts his own thoughts short by shoving his face into your heart shaped pillow. He inhales deeply, practically huffing the thing. It smells just like you-his new heightened senses only help him. Smells just like you; from your hair products to your perfume and body oils/ perfume.

“Oh fuck….you can’t be real..” he murmured the words to himself between breathes, a hand already palming his bulge through the skin tight suit. “You can’t be human…such a f-fucking angel” he continued to speak to himself between breathes, his hand now clutching your still warm comforter as he grinds into your mattress. “Y-you smell so good-“ he murmured as if he was talking to you “-so perfect, baby” he groans as he tightens his hold on the pastel sheets. You already got him so close, nearing the edge from your sent alone, right about to tip over before he gasps and forces himself to sit up.

It’s wrong. Sneaking into his long term crushes room wad bad enough, but humping your bed was way too far!! He just felt so guilty about the thought of cumming in your room!

Unfortunately for you, that was only the first time he snuck in. The guilt and worry didn’t compare to the need and desperation he was feeling.

It became routine; waiting for your home to be empty, slipping inside, and perving around. The first few times he mainly just laid in your bed; daydreaming he was laying beside you, cuddling with you and not the pillow he held to his nose. The same one he began to hump and grind on after a week of sneaking in. Of course he didn’t only lay in your bed-you had so much other stuff to go through!

You’re vanity; all your pretty makeup, where you kept your perfume and where he would spray said perfume on his wrists so he could smell you even after he left. The closet where he would go through all your tops and bottoms, reminiscing about the first time he saw you in each article of clothing. You really do just have the prettiest outfits, don’t you? He’d gladly buy you more. Any little outfit and accessories you wanted as long as he got to watch you model them for him.

It became like a ritualistic schedule; Sneak in, lay in your bed, sniff nearly everything like a dog, go through your makeup, spray your perfume-But what really got him to act like a real pervert? The laundry basket.

He he didn’t do it at first. That first time he snuck in he completely avoided it. The second day though, the light brown wood container practically calling to him. Leaving it open that day with a pair of your used underwear at the top of the pile was practically an invite to Mark. When he took the dainty cloth out he whined. He stared at the garment with a pout. Who were you wearing these lacy panties for? Why do you even have something this pretty if it wasn’t for him? He had so many thoughts, so many that just got burrowed beneath his loudest thought.

He felt so guilty for using your used underwear like this. Yet he didn’t stop; Whining and moaning into your underwear, desperately licking at where your perfect cunt would have been-where he knew your fluids woukd leak out as he fists his cock on your bed. Using your lotion.

“B-Baabbyy..” he whines the nickname, huffing in your musky scent. He takes one more deep inhale of the flimsy lace before he moves it downwards onto his flushed dick. “P-please..god—You feel so good-“ He moans and moans over and over again till he can’t hear anything other than himself. It didn’t take long for him to cum, mouth hung open, whining and bucking his hips up as he pretty much ruined a pair of your fancy underwear. He pants heavily, looks like he just got out of a harsh fight with the way he was breathing. Once he came back to Earth, he pouts at the sight of your soiled underwear, he couldn’t just let this be a one time thing!

Over around two weeks you begin to notice more and more items of yours missing. Whining to your friends about how so much of your lotion is gone, how your soo sure that the washing machine is eating your underwear, how it’s weirdly warm and almost musky like in your room when you come home in the evening.

Just completely blissfully unaware that it’s your shy nerdy classmate Mark who’s sneaking into your room. How it’s him who’s using up so much of your lotion, who’s messing up your bedsheets and rummaging through all your items.

Or how it’s him stealing your used panties and shirts to sniff at while he jerks off just to imagine it’s really you in the room taking care of his needs.

[heartyluv]

Note: Please —Click Here— to read part one if you’d like! I’m finally getting around to giving them a second part, omg. I hope I did it justice. Enjoy, my beautiful baes!

Warning: A woman picks a fight with you over Caleb (she’s not a real threat, dw), you get really possessive over him, car sex, use of ‘angel’ for a nickname

Word Count: 4K

Summary: A night out quickly takes a different turn.

Cowboy!Caleb/PossessiveReader

“C’mon, angel. You got it. Push your thighs in tighter,” Caleb instructs you. “Harder. Good, like that, like I taught you.”

You bite your lip, uncertainty coiling through you as you feel the back and forth motion in your hips. You’ve been at this for what is definitely far too long, but with Caleb, you didn’t mind the time it took. Choosing not to be patient wouldn’t get you anywhere, not when you wanted to succeed so badly.

“I—I’m gonna fall again!” you squeak, your nerves calming just barely when he holds you by your hip, silently reassuring you as Applebottom begins to strut along the even terrain of the rich green grass.

“She can sense your nervousness. That’s why she’s so ready to throw you off,” he chuckles, remaining beside you before patting on the large horse’s side with three quick loving taps. “Confidence is key, alright? Show her who’s the boss.”

“You’re her boss!” you yelp right before she trots in place, her hooves pounding into the ground unforgivingly with whine-like neighing to follow. The typically sweet animal did this every time she wanted to set her boundaries and make it known that she did not want whoever was on her back.

It was understandable. You’d only wanted Caleb on top of you, too.

It’s been a few days since you’ve been staying with him on his parents’ ranch, simply because you wanted to, you could, and he offered—no, he begged you to come over. With your dad being able to take on farm work again without needing help, you told lied to him about how you’d be staying over at a friend’s house for a much deserved break.

He still doesn’t know that the man he strictly told you to keep out, was in your room the morning they returned. You had to explain to Caleb later why you frantically pulled him from your bed and threw his sweatpants at him like you were a teenager sneaking a boy out.

You were able to get away with it because not only is the guest room thankfully on the second floor, but momma called your phone and said they needed you both to come down and help haul their stuff and the hand-me-down farm clothes Grams surprisingly let them take, upstairs.

That was about a month ago and a complete win in your book, despite the near heart attack at first. And now, after the time it took for you to have this privacy, you’ve been delightfully basking in the presence of your beloved cowboy.

Since Caleb’s workaholic mother and father tended to be so busy with other business ventures, they were often out of town a lot and this week was one of those instances you both were more than willing to take advantage of.

It was safe to say that you two have been going at it like you were making up for lost time. From sex in his room, to the shower, and even with you bent over the kitchen counter that you ended up scrubbing with bleach because you felt awful about it post orgasm, Caleb has had you folded up in too many ways to count.

He even asked you to be his girlfriend, to which you declined.

Yes, he had your heart, he’s had and will continue to have your body, but you needed to make sure this wasn’t some glorified honeymoon phase. Everything was and felt perfect right now because of how excited you two were to have each other entirely without fear, limitations, and uncertainty—well, nearly.

Your dad will come around when you tell him, you’re almost positive.

But, waiting a bit would prove to you if this feeling was something that would stick without the memories and nostalgia you share being the anchor to it all.

Besides, you two still have a lot to learn about one another all over again before you outwardly labeled this beauty of a man as your boyfriend. You weren’t lying when you said you loved him, but love didn’t mean you had to rush. It meant that you had all the time in the world together to figure it out.

Right?

He understood your concerns, even if he wished you would’ve told him yes and let him fuck you in celebration. Granted, he still did, but it was with determination—to show you that there was no such thing as a fluke when it came to how he felt about you.

Besides all the mushy feelings though, it’s been immensely freeing with him. Like he promised the morning after he made love to you for the first time, in the early evenings during your stay, he’s been helping you try to learn how to ride a horse before he took you out to buy you one of your own.

No matter how much you failed, it was the reality that Caleb was your helping hand to make your heart dance in your chest.

You whole heartedly blamed your pops for your inability, but it partially on you, too. He tried to teach you when you were younger, but gave up once he realized how scared you’d always be no matter what horse he put you on or in front of you. Despite how badly he wanted you to conquer, he refused to traumatize his little girl further after all the falls and near accidents.

And Caleb was far too young and inexperienced himself at the time to try, so you simply never got the hang of it. Not even when he took you a few times to ride on Applebottom before you left for college.

You were honestly too embarrassed to try asking for any assistance the older you became and add you leaving on top of that, horse riding just became a skill you accepted that you’d never acquire.

Caleb soothed the beautiful steed, rubbing down her nose and scratched below her chin to ease her defiance.

“You wanna call it a day?” he grinned up at you, the warm setting sun making his dewy skin glow.

“Please.”

“No worries, angel. Scoot back.”

You maneuver yourself on the leather saddle to make room for the burly man, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting against him once he sat and grabbed hold of the reigns before making sure you were ready to go. After your confirmation, with a click of his tongue and a soft “go ‘head girl”, you were riding towards his large home with the slightly humid wind wiping across your dampened skin.

“I’m taking you out tonight,” he said the closer you got.

“For what?”

“Because I want us to have some fun.”

“I think we have a lot of that here, don’t you think?”

He laughs, the sound warming you on the inside. “You’re not lyin’, but I wanna take you dancing. Remember the last time we went?”

You flip through your memories like they’re pages on a book, not having any recollection.

“Exactly,” he fills in your silence. “We weren’t even ten years old and couldn’t catch a beat for shit.”

“Caleb, that does not count!” Now you’re the one laughing, hard enough to make you snort a little bit.

“It definitely does!” Slowing Applebottom down until she completely stops beside the wrap around porch, he jumps down first to then help you. When you’re standing in front of him, he cups your face in his hands and kisses your lips tenderly.

“I’m gonna set her up for the night, we’ll head in, get cleaned up, and I want to be back down in my pickup in an hour. You got that, angel?”

“Yes, sir,” you tease, making him smirk.

“Go on.” He plucks his cowboy hat off his head and hits you playfully on the ass with it on your way up the steps. “Get the shower going for us.”

You and Caleb have been on the dance floor for nearly an hour straight, and you couldn’t get enough. With every twirl and the feeling of his body pressed against you alongside all the other patrons having their own fun, you wished this night could go on forever.

In your floral pink knee length summer dress, his strong hands were on your waist as he moved you side to side to the thumping beat that vibrated the walls and floors of the classical country dance bar that’s been around long before the both of you.

Your sexy cowboy was a sight to drool over in his sage green long sleeve shirt that he had pulled up on his strong forearms to display his tattoos and dark blue jeans that showed off some of his impressive physique.

You were wearing his black Cattleman that he slyly placed atop your head in the middle of you swaying to the music. You helplessly giggled when he kissed down your neck and took you by the hand to spin you around to face him.

His skin was slightly flushed and his soft hair a small whirlwind of a mess, but if you asked Caleb what he was feeling—complete and alive were the only adjectives that could come to mind.

Your arms went around his neck with a bright smile to accompany your eagerness as you sang along to the lyrics of a song your momma still loves to blast on her cleaning days. Caleb flashed you that boyish grin that made you swoon when you grew dramatic in your efforts to match the passion of the talented singer’s voice blasting through the speakers.

Then he started to sing with you and for a moment, there was no care in the world about how crazy you both sounded. This was where you had fun and you wouldn’t let anything prevent you from enjoying it to its fullest potential.

That was your intention until a woman walked up to you both as the upbeat song ended and transitioned to something slower. You couldn’t even get close to him again before an airy voice said behind you, “You finished with her yet, C?”

C? Who the hell is she calling C?

You craned your neck to figure out who was emitting the strong aroma of too-much perfume. A pretty and short, long haired brunette looking up at Caleb with very clear fuck-me eyes, proved to be the answer to the mystery.

Her complete disregard for your presence wasn’t missed, either.

“I know your mother raised you to have some respect, Maycee,” Caleb replied sharply, not bothering to look at her.

“What? I waited ‘til the song was over,” she shrugs, moving closer to him and making this weird primal behavior surge within you when her perfectly manicured fingers tried to rest on his shoulder before he shucked her off.

“That was respectful enough, was it not? I just want to talk with you.” Her judgmental eyes look into yours that’s slowly losing the light it had second ago. “Alone.”

“We’ve got nothin’ to talk about. Coming up to me when I’m with my girl is out of line.”

“Nothing to talk about? Your girl?” she spits out in disbelief. “Seems like you’ve made the wrong choice.”

“Am I invisible?” you interrupt swiftly, the irritation coursing through your body making it impossible to keep your mouth shut any longer. The looks were hard to ignore, but the nosiness of others did nothing to put out the flame stoking in your chest.

You face her head on, ready to defend yourself with zero intimidation at her attempt to size you up.

“This has nothing to do with you.”

“The moment you spoke to him made it have every fucking thing to do with me.”

“Aww, let me guess: you think you’re special?” she scoffs with a mocking grin. “Tell her about our time together Caleb, since it’s so necessary that she stays clued in.”

Your body tenses as your jaw ticks. The noticeable reaction makes her smile as if she’s triumphant.

“I’d really rather not embarrass you or ourselves more than you’ve already done yourself, Maycee,” Caleb says through gritted teeth. “That’s not what I want or what I do, but you have a tendency of pushing your fucking luck. You’ve done enough. I suggest you know when to walk away.”

You were hard to rile up—very hard. But Caleb was one of the few people who knew how you could get if that’s where you were brought. It’s one of the reasons he’s trying to deescalate the situation as quickly as possible.

“You’re such an asshole. Her over me—seriously?” She sucks her teeth. “Call me when you come back to your senses. My mouth really misses you.”

Your eyes narrow and you check her before Caleb can try. Your tone drops to make sure that even with the quietness that’s suffocating the already stuffy space, only she can hear you clearly.

“Know that my name was tattooed on his chest while his dick was in your mouth.” You get in her face now, feeling a strong hand on your arm to hold you back.

“I want you to make sure you sit with the fact that every time he got hard, it’s because he thought of me. Even when he was inside of you.”

Maycee’s chest rises and falls, the clear shock and disbelief swirling in her irises.

“Baby, let’s just go,” Caleb calls to you, his grip pressing a little harder to make sure you’re aware that he’s trying to keep you calm.

It’s ridiculous how easily your night has been ruined, and now all the fun is washed out your veins.

Not another word is spoken when you take off his hat and press it roughly to his chest, not caring if he doesn’t catch it. You snatch yourself away from him before you storm out the bar and into the now cool night.

Your anger is misplaced, you know that. But it’s feels impossible to correct with the way it was encompassing your entire being.

Caleb doesn’t waste a moment following you, quickly unlocking his vehicle and opening the door to let you climb inside. Once behind the wheel, he maneuvers the tires over the gravel parking lot before rolling onto the smooth roads, and god is the drive uncomfortable.

“You wanna talk now?” he voices ten minutes in, sighing at your refusal to answer—again.

You told yourself you weren’t jealous of his past, that you didn’t care. And truly, you didn’t.

But the mere thought of Maycee with Caleb in any way, made your blood boil. The way she walked up to him like she was so familiar fueled you with violence.

He was yours, he belongs to you.

“Pull over,” you mumble, making his eyebrow furrow.

“I’m not letting you walk if that’s what you think you’re about to do. I don’t care—”

“Pull. Over,” you repeat slowly.

He does. What other choice does he have when the woman he loves looks ready to set fire to anything in her path that dared to give her a reason?

There’s nothing but long empty rode in front and behind you in the dark night of chirping crickets and twinkling fireflies as he puts the car in park to the side. Caleb looks over at you, the moonlight and rows of illuminated warm street lamps pouring through the windshield giving him the privilege to set eyes on his lady.

“Angel, you know she doesn’t mean anythin’ to me. I know you know.”

“I do.” You turn your body to face him.

“We only hooked up twice, pretty. I don’t want you being upset with me. Tell me what you need me—” Your hand reaching over the center console and the tug on his belt makes his words slow.

“I want you,” you breathe out, your voice shaky and the need to have him overriding anything sensible. “I want you to fuck me, Caleb. I want to erase her from you—erase all of them.”

Pretty,” he coos apologetically. “You’ve already done that. But anything you want. Just let me take us home.”

“No,” you shake your head stubbornly. “Now. I want it now.”

“Fuck…” His cock comes to life at your possessiveness.

He leans in to kiss you deeply, his tongue tangling with yours as he swallows your whimpers and identifies your cravings without more needing to be said. You stay like that for a moment, letting him savor your taste.

When he releases you, he gets out the truck so that he can slide into the black leather seat in the back. The moment he shuts the door and sits, waiting with his legs spread wide, you’re kicking off your shoes and climbing toward him like he’s your reclamation.

The lack of sufficient space isn’t enough to stop you from sitting in his lap and pulling on his hair, grinding your panty clad pussy against the rough material of his jeans. He sucks on your neck, the sweet and tangy taste on your skin only making his balls tighten with need.

You have to see your name that marks him, that gives you ownership of him. Impatiently, you pull the hem of his shirt up and over his head, tossing it to the side and tracing your fingertips along the mesmerizing ink.

“I’m yours, angel,” he whispers, his hands gripping your hips hungrily.

“Show me,” you beg. You feel down his pecs and toned abs before quickly beginning to undo his belt. The clinks echo in the enclosed space at the same time that he bunches your dress above your waist.

Wrapping your hand around his thickness and pulling him out of his confines, you pump him agonizingly slow in your palm.

“You told me this was my cock,” you say against lips, your heart hammering so fast that you’re not too sure how coherent you sound. “You said both of you were devoted to me.”

Your mouths graze, but never meet. “Give me what’s mine…”

Caleb curses under his breath when you swipe a thumb along his slit and smear his precum around, his hips bucking up with eagerness. “I’ll listen to your every w—word. Sit up on your knees, baby…Let me make it better.”

Bracing one hand on him, you follow his instruction and push out a desperate huff when he roughly tugs your panties to the side after you lift yourself.

You didn’t want a condom. In fact, you’d lose your shit if he even offered one. That’s all you’ve been using since your first time together and right now, you just wanted to feel him without any barriers.

When his bare tip slides into your leaking hole, you press your lips together with a pleased hum.

“They can never have you again,” you cry as he helps lower you down to take every pulsating veiny inch. “Hngh—Yes…I miss you like this…”

“N—Never,” he solidifies through a raspy groan, his dick twitching inside your hot and slick walls when you squeeze him.

“You hear how we sound together?” You get closer as you make your hips rise and steadily fall, the squelching of your connection filling your ears. “Only we could make music so powerful.”

The truck begins to shake the harder you go, your palms pressing against the cushioning behind him so your nails had something to scratch when he fucks into you, knocking the breath out of your pliable body.

His fingers dig in your flesh through your dress, surely bruising you, but you need him to. You need that tinge of pain as a reminder that neither of you are never going anywhere because you’ve already made your mark.

“You—hah—you feel so fucking good, Caleb…” The effortless gliding in your pussy makes white dots spot in your vision and your nipples ache beneath the meddlesome fabric.

“We’ve always been in tune.” He shakily reaches over and grabs his Cattleman, placing it on your disarrayed strands and running his thumb across your lip before his large hand caresses down your neck before grasping one of your breasts over your dress. Your lack of a bra lets him flick a nipple, making a strained whimper fall from your puffy lips.

“Don’t ever take it off again. I’m your cowboy, pretty. Own that.” He loses his train of thought for a moment, being buried so snuggly in your heat.

“Ah, fuck…fuck…M—Make me feel it…”

You nod, leaning further back against the console so the outside streetlights could shine upon where you’re connected. Your lover looks down to watch your cunt greedily spread the sticky fluids up and down his cock with unabashed desire.

“Y—you’re not C…” you mewl tiredly, rotating your hips to grind against him. “You’re my Caleb…Just mine…”

The new motion sends shivers down his spine. “You’re right…That’ll never change. It never has…”

The interior grows foggy and humid, sweat beading down your back and his temples the faster your orgasm approaches. You use your muscles to tighten your cunt around his throbbing length, and each contraction makes him feel more precum spurt out in preparation to claim you from the inside.

“That’sss right…oh, baby, keep going… just like that…W—Wanna fill you up so badly…” He pulls your panties over more to gain complete access, his thumb lazily circling your taunt bundle of nerves and sending shockwaves through you.

“Make you so fuckin’ full of me, pretty—I know you want it.”

He sucks air in through his teeth when your peak hits you so hard and unexpectedly that it has you trying to crawl away from him at the simultaneous moment that his cum rushes inside your shuddering walls.

Your moans are on the precipice of pornographic, but for him, it’s the embodiment of sublimity.

You serenade him with your gentle sounds and wavering tone, letting yourself succumb to the deliriousness like you’ve done many times now. Caleb holds you down to make sure you’re filled to the brim, rubbing along your trembling inner thighs. He keeps you spread open so he can watch how the copious amount of cum has no choice but to spill out of your hole and down cock before reaching his balls and staining his clothes.

“‘M so sorry for what happened,” he speaks softly after giving you the space to catch your breath.

“It’s not your fault,” you mumble, holding his hat so that it’ll stay on your head as you sit up before taking it off. Fear consumes him for a brief moment when you place it on his.

“Remember when I told you no?” Your head tilts, taking his hand and placing it on your cheek to nestle into. “About being your girlfriend?”

“I do.”

“Tonight has shown me that…I think I’m in wayyy too deep to be trying to play it safe.”

He smiles. “A mutual sentiment.”

“Will you do me the honor,” you flash a genuine one as well, adjusting the crooked hat and brushing his hair away from his eyebrows. “and let me be your one and only cowgirl?”

“You never even have to ask, angel. C’mere.”

After you share yet another kiss, he presses a sweeter one to the tip your nose.

“Your dad is going to whoop my ass.”

You laugh, the vibrations making you remember that Caleb is still inside of you.

“He’ll be okay. Momma will hold him back.”

“Thanks, baby,” he rolls his eyes with playful sarcasm. “That means a lot.”

“Whatever he does, I’ll be there to kiss it better.”

“Yeah?” he smirks.

“Mhmmm.”

You don’t know what you were even going to try and say or do next because any and all calmness and sentimentally is gone when you see red and blue light flash along with two curt blares of a police siren.

“Shit!” you panic, flicking Caleb’s forehead when he starts to muffle his laugh.

“Ow!” he whisper shouts.

“Move your ass!”

“I can’t until you do!”

Then a knock at the driver’s window sounds. You would forever be in debt to tinted windows now.

“Play dead,” you suggest lowly.

“You’re a terrible problem solver.”

“Well, I’m not seeing you come up with any bright ideas!”

When what you know is the final polite knock sounds with four hits instead of the initial two, Caleb closes his eyes and lays his head back, the hat falling over his eyes and forehead.

“You’re right,” he says, his words muffled. “Play dead.”

“You’re all worried about my dad when me and this police officer is getting ready to kick your ass.”

“Can’t. I’m already dead.”

“Caleb!”

“Mr. Xia?” calls a male voice.

“Who the hell..?”

“Oh,” he huffs in relief. “It’s just Xavier.”

“From high school!?” you ask, completely stunned.

He nods. “He moved back a year after you left. Nothing to worry about. We’re cool.”

“You’re shirtless and still in me!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be embarrassed.”

You pluck his forehead once more. “I can’t stand you!”

He rubs his forehead, then pulls you into him. “I’m in love with you too, angel. But flick me again and I’ll fuck you again with him right outside.”

“Just do something!” you pout, your face getting heated at the thought.

Glad to have made you flustered, he smiles. “Anything for you.”

A/N: I felt like creating a scenario like this felt kinda realistic for them because I definitely believe people would fight over a man like Caleb—especially if he sexes you as good as he looks LOLLLL!!!! I didn’t think it would’ve just been sunshine and rainbows initially in a small town where Caleb has been around the block…I could’ve just done a big time skip to their happily ever after, but where’s the fun in that?!?! But I think I’ve unintentionally started another series, DAMNIT! JAYLA, PLS PUT THE PHONE DOWN!!!!

🍎 Tags: @sucre-princesse @brailsthesmolgurl @klossnite @grlyeetswrld @beesin03 @dramaticalsachan @moonchildjae00 @caien @stargirlygirl @multisstuff @littledarlingsthings @purpleamethyst25 @lazygelpen @meadowinthesky @nod4mnm3rcyy @loveinorion @ur-l0cal-crypt1d @inutrasha94 @cowaungabungabby @gravity-pilot @nyanahogini @rosiesluv @goochfiddler99 @torturedbabyapple @kiyadeleine @carcelswaifu @blushofeve @whattnanii @ashirelle @sylvieisoffline @saturnquartz @dewmarionette @horanghaeegr @iconoclastoc

♾️ Tags: @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @sensual-study @sweetcalebb @asiaticapple @raemanova @awquaz @callads7 @floatinginaer @crimsonsylus @aquarianbeat

Creds to @/saradika, @/saradika-graphics, and @/bbyg4rlhelps for the dividers!

[usagimygoatfr]

you saw a what?! - sophia laforteza x reader

synopsis: sophia's errand day turns to a paranormal experience...?

☆ミ fluff, crack, i was bored

wc: 590

it has been established that sophia will always buy the groceries after the manon and lara incident. sometimes, she would bring one of the members along with her if it's going to be a restock day. today, however, was a friday. and fridays are sophia's errand days. she usually asks a member or two what they want from the grocery store, and she'll get it for them, and today was megan's day. unfortunately for her, megan wrote down what she wanted while she was in game. and while megan tries to do something while she's is in game, that could only mean one thing.

"what kind of penmanship is this, megan?" sophia groans, her eyes scrunching as she tries to make out megan's grocery list. sophia grabs her phone, scrolling through her contact list to find megan's number. she clicks the contact name and waits for megan to pick up. the faint music from the grocery store keeping her company.

"sophia, i'm in game! call me later!" megan shouts from her computer before abruptly ending the call.

on the same aisle, y/n is seen pushing her cart as she scans through the flour section. apparently, double zero flour was indeed different from all purpose. she will definitely remember that the next time she bakes cookies.

"ugh, megan." sophia groans. y/n's head snaps at the direction of the voice. she sees a hooded figure with a basket in hand, the other hand frantically typing something on her phone. 'should i help her?' y/n asks herself. she walks towards the woman, pushing her cart in a corner and setting it aside, "excuse me, do you need help?" she asks. sophia's head turns towards the voice, her eyes meeting y/n's. "ah, i'm fine–" sophia cuts herself off, "actually, do you mind reading this for me?" she hands y/n the crumpled paper with what looked like scribbles at first glance.

y/n reads the paper, her eyebrows furrowing a bit. "one tteokbokki, one peelable mango gummy, two monster energy drinks, and 1 strawbery sorbet, the one that comes in those little tiny..." y/n pauses, "packets." she adds, handing sophia the note.

sophia's eyes widened, "how did you do that?" she asks, amazement evident in her tone. y/n chuckles, "i'm a pharmacist."

"oh," sophia laughs, her eyes scrunching as she does, "that actually makes so much sense. thank you so much..." she pauses, "y/n. my name's y/n." y/n replies. "thank you so much, y/n. i'm sophia." she extends her hand. y/n shakes sophia's hand gently, "i know, from katseye, yeah?" sophia's eyes widened for a split second, "yes. are you a fan?" she asks. y/n nods, "i am, actually. i like your music," she smiles. sophia smiles as well, "do you want a picture?" she asks. y/n shakes her head, "no, not really. i'm glad i can help you though." she replies, walking back to her cart and blissfully pushing her cart to get her all purpose flour. unaware of the absolute shock on sophia's face.

sophia stood in complete stillness that people who were just passing by would think that she's a carboard cutout of a woman holding a basket. her self-induced trance is shattered when her phone rang—megan was calling.

"hey, i'm done. why did you call?" faint video game music can be heard from the background. "hello? sophia? are you okay?" megan asks, watching the leader who was uncharacteristically quiet.

"i think i just saw a ghost."

an: first fic, kinda nervous (i did not proofread this whatsoever)

[peachesofteal]

Like Real People Do previous + masterlist Simon Riley/female reader - hospital au CW: none except a prickly Simon

“Did he answer you?”

“No.” You glance at the open chat window again, just to be sure. “It’s only been five minutes though?”

“This can’t wait, these little suckers can turn on a dime so fast.” She sighs, and then motions down the hall. “You’ll have to wake him up. He’s in call room two.” It’s eight am, but according to everyone on the floor, he’s been here since twenty hundred yesterday, and had a midnight case that had him in the OR until six.

Meaning he just went to bed.

Fuck.

“Maybe you should go… he doesn’t really like me much.” An understatement.

“Uh uh. This is your patient, you face the wrath.” Another nurse peeks around her monitor at the station.

“You’re cruel Key.” She shrugs.

“She’ll have to do it eventually.” She looks at the chart again, and chews on her lip. “He’ll want to look at her before he puts anything in, and once he realizes what’s going on he won’t be mad. Hurry up.” Your shoulders slump in defeat.

“Fine.”

You’ve been on the unit for two weeks.

In that time, you’ve verbally interacted with Doctor Riley a whole three times.

Once, in the OR.

“Have you ever circulated before?”

“Daisy is shadowing me.” Key assures him, omitting the part where you indeed, have never circulated. There aren’t many things you haven’t done at this point in your career, but circulating is one of them. It’s a mix of counting things a million times and directing all the traffic in the OR. You’re not inept. You don’t doubt your ability to learn new things, but you’d be lying if you said it’s not intimidating.

Especially when he looks at you over his mask, gaze cold and laser focused.

“Have you ever circulated before Daisy?” He repeats himself. Key sighs like she’s ready for the day to be over already, and you shake your head.

“No.” Anger flashes in his eyes, and he glares at her.

“Fucking hell. My OR is not the place to learn how to circulate, Keona.”

“Well, you do the most cases, Doctor Riley. She has to learn sometime.” There’s a razor in her voice, softened by a syrupy lilt, and he gives her another withering look before directing his attention back to you.

“Don’t touch anything.”

Once, in the hallway.

“Daisy!” He barks at your back and you instinctively freeze, shoulders shooting up beneath your ears before you manage to turn and face him.

“Y-yes?”

“You have Maverick? Crib B?” Your palms instinctively start sweating. Nothing is wrong. You were literally just in there and he was stable. Cute. Sleeping. He’s stable. Nothing is wrong. Right?

“Yeah- yes. He’s mine.” He scrutinizes you like he’s searching for something, ever present frown affixed to his lips.

“Why is his bili light still on?” Oh no. Did you leave it on?

“What?” He stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met. And who knows, maybe you are.

“Do I need to repeat myself?”

“Sorry ah, no. It shouldn’t be on. I thought…”

“You thought?” You’re used to getting kicked around. Surgeons have god complexes, residents think they’re so far ahead of where they truly are, attendings love to pick you apart if they’re having a bad day. Not all of them, but enough that there is a reputation, and when you’re new, you get run over. When you’re seasoned, you learn to navigate it.

But Doctor Riley coming down on you is completely different, and shame curdles in your stomach at the idea of making a mistake.

“You’re telling me you don’t know if that light is on or off?”

“I-”

“I know you’re used to a floor where you can do the bare minimum to keep your patients alive until they get transferred, but the NICU requires a bit more attention to detail. Do you think you can do that?” Your throat goes dry, and you stare at him, words evaporating as he repeats himself, slowly. “Do… you… think… you… can…. do... that?” Jesus Christ.

“I thought I turned it off.” He steps closer. Close enough you can smell his dial soap and the barely there whiff of aftershave. Close enough he blots out the light on the ceiling. He tsks.

“Do you think you can do that Daisy?”

“Yes.” You whisper, closing your eyes. He hates you. He hates you and it’s so much worse than just some run of the mill asshole provider who’s got it out for you. So much more. “Yes I can do that. I- I’ll go check on him right now.” He nods, and then doesn’t even spare you a glance as he strides down the hall, swearing under his breath.

And then once in the parking garage.

“Wait!” You sprint to the elevator, breathless as you jump through the quickly closing door-

and right into the chest of Doctor Riley.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch, only grabs you by the upper arms to keep you from toppling over.

“Oh my god. I’m so sorry.” He drops his hands as soon as you’re steady, but doesn’t step away.

“It’s alright.” He’s studying you. Again. Always. You noticed him doing it the other day on the floor, watching you over the head of his resident, a bug under a microscope that he’s going crush. “You have straw on your sweatshirt.”

“What?”

“Straw.” He says it slowly, like you’re hard of hearing. “On your clothes.” His gaze flicks to the collar of your sweater, where indeed, a souvenir from the barn is clinging to the fabric. Jesus.

“Ah, oops. Thanks.” The elevator lurches to a stop on the next floor of the garage, and when it opens, Doctor Price is standing on the other side. He immediately smiles, corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Daisy.” He doesn’t even say hi to Doctor Riley, just slips inside and leans against the wall. “How is it in baby-land?” Doctor Riley glares at him, one of his ‘I am thinking about ending your life’ glares that you’ve been on the receiving end too many times, and Price chuckles.

“Uh, it’s good Doctor Price.”

“Daze, please. I’ve asked you a million times to call me John.”

“Sorry, old habits die hard.” You manage a nervous laugh.

“You takin’ care of my girl Simon?” Awkward silence descends over the three of you, and your heart thumps around in your chest like a drum. Doctor Price- John, raises an eyebrow.

“Seems like you’ve coddled her enough already.” Doctor Riley grunts. Your face burns, and you stare straight ahead, begging the doors to open and release you. From your peripheral, you can see John’s facial expression change, but you stay facing forward, drowning in your embarrassment, your shame.

“Arsehole.” John growls. The doors pick a miraculous moment to slide wide and you dart through them, Doctor’s Riley response lost as you disappear around a corner.

“Doctor Riley?” You knock a little louder, mentally crossing your fingers he’ll answer and you won’t actually have to open the door. “Um… Doctor Riley? Are you in there?”

Nothing.

Shit.

Cool metal gives under the pressure of your fingers on the handle, and you call for him through the crack of the door. “Doctor Riley?”

Silence.

Double shit.

You cross the threshold, two steps inside. “Doctor Riley?”

There’s a sharp, startled inhale, and then the grit of his voice is drifting through the darkness. “What?”

“Uh, it’s… I tried messaging you but you didn’t answer. It’s the Anderson baby, she’s bradycardic and I don’t know, her muscle tone is off, I think -”

“What?” He’s alert, immediately. The mattress creaks and then he’s flicking the light on, appearing in front of you like a ghost-

without a shirt on.

You try to look away. You do. But his chest is right in front of you, his chest with golden brown hair, hair that travels down his sternum to his belly and continues to disappear into his pants. There's muscle beneath the weight on him, and it all sits well. Perfectly. And the tattoo, the 360 sleeve stretching from should to wrist is the icing on the cake of this paradox of a giant.

Brilliant man who loves little babies, who’s skill for saving their lives is known far and wide, who looks like he could fell a tree with one swing of an axe, who saved your Riley’s life-

and who without a doubt, hates you.

You can’t look away, so you do the next best thing. You slam your eyes shut. “Um I’ll just… I’ll wait outside.” You turn, eyes still closed, and smack your face into the metal door frame so hard your orbital bone sings. You bite your lip to swallow the cursed yell that tries to burst free.

“You alright?”

“Yep.” Your lie is high pitched, and you duck around the door to wait out of sight.

When it clicks shut behind him, he turns to face you. Studying again. Scrutinizing, this time with a hand clenched at his side. “Sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.” You’re not going to let him catch you being weak. Not for a single second. His lips down into a frown, and he shakes his head.

“Let’s go.”

Baby Anderson is tough. Probably tougher than you’ll ever be. She goes to surgery not ten minutes after Doctor Riley is at her crib, and then comes out like a champ, stable after a valve repair.

The relief makes your knees weak. It’s what carries you to the end of the day, all the way through your shift up until you’re walking across the parking garage, broken backpack hanging off your shoulder, oblivious to everything around you.

Then you hear him.

“Daisy.” You whirl. He’s standing there, a step behind you, arms crossed. “I’ve been calling your name.”

“Oh I… I was distracted.” You look away because it sounds so pathetic and you’re sure he’s sneering at you. “Sorry.” He’s quiet for a beat, and you study your shoes. They’re old and worn down. You really need new ones. Everyone on the unit has those new sneakers, the popular ones they all swear by, the ones that look like a dream. Lots of cushioning. You fantasize for a second about somehow making it work out to where you could afford a pair, but the fantasy fades away in the face of reality. You can’t even afford feed for the horses this week.

“Good catch today.” You blink. Who’s he talking to?

“What?” There’s a very long, very deep inhale, and then the rumble of his voice.

“I said, good catch today, with the Anderson baby. She would have tanked without you.”

“Oh, I didn’t do much.” You laugh it off. Because why is this man who despises you all of the sudden saying you did something right?

“You correlated the bradycardia with the muscle tone. That’s enough.”

“Right.” He’s not wrong, but you’re surprised all the same. “Um, thanks.” You finally glance up at him, and to no one’s surprise, he’s studying you again.

“Have a good night.” You momentarily forget yourself. Who? You have a good night? Your manners come back after a beat, and you manage  a strained, polite smile.

“You too Doctor Riley.”

[its-in-the-woods]

About Damn Time

~ Series of smutty one-shots with Congressmen Bucky Barnes ~

Masterlist

MINORS and AI dickbags GET OUT.

Synopsis: You and the congressmen have been dating for a while now, and you cannot wait to jump his bones any longer.

Pairing: James Buchanan Barnes/Bucky x You/x reader (afab) no use of y/n

Word count: 4.6k

Rating/Warning: Established relationship, somewhere between TFATWS and Thunderbolts*. CongressmenBucky, p in v, slight dombucky subby reader, Smut, oral (f), slight body image issues from everyone, ingering, creampie (wrap it), biting, kissing, cussing, fun to bad had

Author notes: This will probably end up being a series of cute, funny, and ridiculously smutty one-shots. Enjoy, tell your friends ;)

All mistakes, grammar, and plot holes are my own.

You met him at a veterans' fundraiser, he had been kind, caring, easy to talk to. He’d sit with anyone who wanted to speak to him, really let them be heard. It was clear that was why he had gotten the votes, his actual care for others seeped through his pores. It was so rare a sight in the modern day.  So when he came to sit beside you, you were surprised. You had arranged the event, invited many members who were running for congress, but Mr. Barnes had been the only one that had stayed.  The only one that couldn't keep his eyes off you.

“Thank you for organizing the event,” He said quietly, sitting beside you, right hand fiddling with the glove covering the left. 

You smile, “Thank you for staying. Means a lot to the vets to hear from you. “

Just like that it started. 

He’d show up at your job, always bringing coffee or something sweet. You were pretty certain that some of your co-workers had let slip what you enjoyed to the charming congressmen. It also helped that he never missed an event. Barnes was old-fashioned that way; he didn’t push, didn’t press things, just showed up. Until finally you gave him your number, and told him if he didn’t set up a date, you would. 

He picked you up at your place, flowers in hand, opening up your door and pulling out your chair. The place was small, tucked away in Brooklyn. The owner knew him by name, you caught him giving a thumbs up to James, Bucky. 

You knew then that you’d have taken him home that night. Months of talking and flirting, it had felt right. But after making out in his car like you were fourteen again, he’d walked you to your door, kissed your forehead, and walked back to his car. Promising it would be worth the wait.

That had been four dates ago, several coffees, and a dozen run-ins, and you were not waiting any longer. The man was going to be the death of you, and you were determined to get him through that door somehow. 

“So, I am leaving in about fifteen, going to stay at Chad’s place,” Your roommate, Dahlia, said from the other side of the door. “And I really need to pee!” She grumbles, “Isn’t this like your five hundredths date, is he impotent or something?” 

You open the door with a huff, “No, He is not impotent.” Stopping for a second you think of that. “Okay, just because he is over a hundred years old, doesn’t mean that it doesn’t work.”

Her eyes narrow, “So then why has it taken him so long? Look at you, you’re a ten everyday. And he’s just dragging it out.” 

“Oh hush. I am six on a good day.” You roll your eyes. “He’s just.” Your cheeks flush, making Dahlia gag as she checks her hair in the mirror. “Different, doesn’t like to rush things. Beside, this, what, your eighth time going back to Chad? You can do better.” 

It was Dahlia’s turn to roll her eyes. “Unfortunately, guys from the forties don’t just appear at my work like they do yours. And the sex is good.”

You wrinkle your face, checking that you have all your stuff in your purse. Phone buzzing in your hand. 

Bucky <3 : Be there in five. Can’t wait to see you.

The flush that creeps up your neck is totally normal, you tell yourself.

“Alright, hot stuff, I am out of here.” Dahlia grins, twirling a piece of her hair with her fingers. “Going to want all the details about your old man.”

You groan and she winks before taking off into the night. Checking yourself for the tenth time, you wonder if you’re overdoing it. The dress is emerald green, sweetheart neckline, long flowing sleeves, and mid-thigh slit. You wore black heels that weren’t too high, and a clutch that matched it. Chewing on your lip, you almost decided to change into something different when a knock came at the door. 

Butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you decide it's now or never. Walking over to the door to open it. Bucky stands on the other side, wearing black on black, the top couple buttons on his dress shirt undone, hair ruffled back as he takes you in. 

“Wow,” He blinked, his tongue wetting his lips. “You look fantastic.”

You let out a small giggle, “Not so bad yourself, Sergeant Barnes.” 

He chuckles, holding his arm out for you to take. You close the door behind you, grabbing his arm to start the way to his car. 

“It isn’t too much is it?” You ask quietly, as he goes to open the door. 

His eyes crinkle as he looks at you over again, “Never is, when it’s you.”

You roll your eyes and pat his hand before getting into the car. 

Dinner was at a steakhouse downtown, it wasn’t where either of you normally went, but man was the food delicious. Bucky told stories of dealing with the press, you had no idea how he managed all of it, and learning how to be press ready. Something along the lines of saying worry four times in one interview, didn’t seem to work well for them. You told him about fighting for grants and funding. That, despite the endless amount of paperwork, you still had more to do.

He’d hold your hand with his gloved one, thumb running over the top of your knuckles. Watching you closely as you spoke of troubles and worries you had. Reaffirming that you would figure it out, and he’d do what he could help. It was easy, it always had been. The way he understood without being patronizing, supportive, and not overbearing. Like the whole world stopped when you spoke.

Meal finished you sat, finishing up your glass of wine and Bucky sipping on whiskey.

“I was thinking-”  “Would you-”

Both of you are stumbling over your words. 

You bite your lip before holding up a hand, “No, no, go first.” 

His cheeks stained pink, “Would you like to come to my place?” Swallowing, his eyes glancing down at were your hands are linked. “Umm, tonight.”

Grinning, you nod, “I would love that. Was going to invite you into mine.”

His eyebrows go up, “Really? Got tired of waiting?”

Your face flushes, “I’d wait for you.” You reach over and grab both his hands in yours across the table. “But I am certainly not going to say, no.”

The bill is paid for quickly, the air between you is now charged more than normal, his hands don’t stop touching you. He holds your hand at the table as the bill is paid, as you get up to leave, his hand slides gently onto the small of your back. In the car, his large palm slips gently past the fabric of your dress to rest warmly on your thigh. 

Your skin prickles with heat, goosebumps running up your neck, when he squeezes slightly. His eyes on the road, but they glance over at your more, that unspoken quietness that has you wanting to pull the car over. Low music playing in the background, but your mind is starting to melt. It was finally happening, and you were surprisingly more excited than anxious.

He pulls up in front of a small apartment complex, it’s in a quieter, older end of the city. It should surprise you, but it doesn't, it’s perfectly Bucky. Stepping out into the cool night air you look at the area. It’s older, less generatified than many, small stores underneath the apartments. An older lady walks by, with a small white fluffy dog, saying hello to Bucky. She gives you a smile and a wink, and of course he is known by everyone. 

Grabbing your hand, he leans down and gives you a quick kiss, before guiding you inside. You follow eagerly, face already flushed as you ascend the set of stairs. Cursing slightly at the fact that you decided to wear heels. 

“Hold on,” Bucky whispers at a landing, before he is picking you up, one arm under your legs, the other holding your back. You let out a squeak before wrapping  your arms around his neck.

“Got to warn a girl, Bucky,” You giggle, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

“Can’t have you worn out before we get up there now.” Bucky replies, before easily carrying you up the next flight of stairs 

He unlocks the door with one hand and pushes it open. He flicks on a light to reveal his home. The lights are dim, older fixtures that he has clearly restored, bathing the place in a warm glow. The kitchen is tidy, a rack of dishes sits on the counter, and a coffee pot half filled. The living room has a worn sofa, with a wall of bookcases, full of worn books, and a small tv in the corner that definitely has dust on it. It’s cozy and comfortable, a space clearly cherished and lived in. 

He carefully lowers you to the ground, you lean up to kiss him again, your fingers running through the hair along the back of his neck. He kisses you back, hand coming up to cup your jaw. Thumb making lazy circles over your cheekbones. You nip at his lips, hearing him let out a small groan, his free hand sliding to your hip. 

Pulling back, he leans his forehead against yours, a small smile spreading over his face. “Let’s get these shoes off.”

You hum, watching him kneel down in front of you, heart stuttering in your chest when he looks up at you. Blue eyes framed by dark hair, a warm hand sliding down your calf, as a cool one slips down over your heel and pops it off. He moves over to the next one, cool hand sliding up along your leg, his eyes following it. The other heel hits the ground, the metal of his hand stays on your calf, moving up and pushing the slit of your dress open slightly. He leans forward and kisses the skin on the inside of your knee. 

A shiver runs down your spine as your foot hits the cool wood floor below your feet. You hold a hand out, that Bucky takes, standing up, he leans down to kiss you again. Pulling you tight against his chest, you hear your heart thumping in your ears as your hands reach up to cup his face. His hands move to your hips, fingers digging into the material as he opens his mouth to nip at your lips. A small groan escapes as your tongue pushes into his mouth. The taste of whisky and him making your toes curl.

“You taste so sweet,” He murmurs, slowly pushing you past the kitchen, towards a short hallway.

Your back hits the door, and both of you fumble for the handle. It opens, and you both topple forward. You are pretty sure the neighbors hear you nearly scream as you fall. Bucky catches you and rolls so that you land on top of him. A giggle erupts out of both of you as you lie there in a tangle of limbs.

“Not what I had planned,” Bucky murmurs, his cheeks gone pink. It only furthers your giggling fit, burying your head against his chest. 

“Guess you could say you swept me off my feet.” Your own face red from the ridiculous jokes.

Bucky groans, eyes rolling, “Been reduced to Dad jokes.”

You continue the gigglefest, as the two of you get up off the floor. It was hard not to feel a little silly around him, he had that effect. Walls sliding down easily, making you feel safe, like no one else could.

“Where were we?” You lean into him, one hand on his chest, the other coming up to cup his jaw. 

He leans against your palm, eyes closing, as he breathes you in. The stubble on his cheeks makes your fingers tingle, as you rub small circles into the skin. Fingers run from our hips up along your sides, a shiver running down your spine, making you squirm. Pulling you closer his hands move to your back find the zipper, he leans in close to your ear.

“Think you’re wearing too many clothes,” He whispers into your ear, his voice a deep growl that makes the hair on your arms stand up. “Turn around.”

A shudder comes out, you do what he asks and turn around. Warm fingers find the zipper and slowly pull it down, as the teeth click, a cool finger runs down the now bare skin. A gasp escapes from your lips, his hands moving from your back up to the sleeves of the dress, slowly pushing them down your arms. His lips find your skin, kissing along the top of your shoulder. You shrug the dress down one shoulder, his hand pushing the other down. The dress slides down to your hips, pooling fabric around your waist. Bucky’s lips don’t stop moving. He kisses slowly down your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist. Clothed body pressing behind you, one hand moving to cup at your breast. 

“Bucky,” You whisper, your head tipping back against him. Groaning as his one hand moves down and pushes the rest of your dress down. 

“Turn around,” He hushes, kissing down along your neck. His teeth scraped against the skin, your mind turning to mush as you turn to face him. 

You stand there nearly bare, save for a matching set of black underwear and bra, watching him look you over. His cool eyes going down along your skin, eyes moving along you like he was trying to burn the memory of you into his mind, 

“You’re stunning,” He whispers, holding your gaze. “You tell me if it’s too much.”

You nod, it wasn't, it couldn’t be, not with him. Right there you’d do just about anything he would ask. “I will, but it’s not. It’s never too much.”

A small smirk crosses his face, his shoulders roll as he pushes his suit jacket off. Fingers moving up to do the buttons, you move forward wanting to help, but he holds up a hand, stopping you. Butterflies blossom in your stomach as you stand back. Watching as he undoes the buttons, fingers easily slipping them out of each slot. He pulls the shirt out from the waistband of his pants, pushing the material back off his chest. You swallow, watching the wide expanse of his chest appear, the way his movement flexes the muscles. Hands clenching against your bare thigh with the need to touch.

The shirt snags where his shoulder and arm meet on the left side, his face scrunching in frustration at the material. You don’t hesitate, moving forward, one hand rest on his pec and the other goes over to the caught fabric. Sliding a finger underneath, you carefully work the fabric out before pushing it down. His body stills, his eyes flicking down to you. You hold his gaze as the shirt drops down, finger moving along his skin. Feeling the different scars that dot his chest, you flick down to the large scar where the metal meets the skin. 

You don’t ask, instead leaning down to kiss at some of the smaller scars, watching his breath hitch as you move over. Keeping your eyes on his you kiss down the ragged edges of his scar, you can hear his heart start to pick up. You start at the top of his shoulder, going down along it, leaving your kiss light, soft, leaving room for him to tell you to stop. Moving your hands, you reach up to gently touch his face, leaning on your toes, you kiss him softly. 

“All the details, the stories,” You whisper quietly. “I want to know every one of them.” 

A shutter rattles his body, and his hands are on you. Finger digging into your hips, as his lips crash into yours, it is hungry and desperate. You kiss back against the onslaught, your hands weaving into his hair, pulling just enough to anchor you to him. He backs you up slowly, your legs hitting the edge of the bed. 

“Fuck, wanted to do this for so long,” Bucky groans, kissing down your neck, as you both fall back against the bed. 

Your hands move down to his belt, and he swats them away. You moan. “Buckyyy, please.”

“Not yet, sweetheart. Want to make it a night to remember.” He smirks, resting so that he is leaning over top of you.

“It already is,” You complain, hands running along his chest and down his arms, squeezing at them.

He leans forward, kissing down your neck, down along your shoulder, around your collarbones. Resting on his metal arm, he uses his free hand to reach behind you and unclip your bra. Arching your back, you help him free it before his mouth moves again. Hand kneading at your breast, making you hiss as he leans down to suck at one of your nipples. A whimper leaves your lips as he laps at it, teeth scraping at the sensitive bud. 

Whimpering your hands move to grab at his back. The metal hand moves quickly snatching both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. 

“You squirm so much,” He grins, holding you steady as you pout. Kissing your pout, he switches to the other nipple, making you squirm more, breathy pants coming as you feel heat pulse in your core. 

“Goddamn, you’re such a tease.” You huff, now trying to arch your hips up for some friction. 

Bucky grumbles, shifting so that his legs spread yours open, making it difficult for you to try and move up. The more you struggle, the more he grins, and he goes back to kissing down your body, stretching as far as he can reach with your hands pinned. 

“I am going to let go,” His eyes are dark with need, desire, swirling in the air. “If you move I stop.”

“Ahh, I should have known you were kinky.” You yip back, trying not to squirm. “It’s always the quiet ones-” Your breath is suddenly sucked out of your lungs, when he tongues just below your naval. 

His teeth nip harder here, making you shiver, he licks and sucks after each bite, leaving a squiggling line of bruises across your lower stomach. Going further down, his tongue moves down and licks along the edge of your panties. 

Your body clenches as you try not to squirm, fist balling up the soft bedding underneath. Nearly losing it when you look down to see him lying between your legs, hands holding onto your hips, as he grabs onto your panties with his teeth. Bucky looks up at your eyes, connecting with yours as he works them down. Moving them just enough that he can get where he wants to go. Eyes pinning you in place as he leans forward, thumbs pushing your fold open as his tongue flicks out and tastes you. 

A whimper leaves your mouth, as his eyes close, he pushes forward eagerly, tongue taking a deep sweep as he groans. The vibrations have your hands fisted in the sheets, mind melting into a puddle as he continues to lick into your core. 

“Please,” You whimper, legs shaking as his nose brushes against your clit. “Let me touch you.”

His head raises, lips and chin soaked in your slick, which just makes you want to reach for him more. Bucky shakes his head. Before doubling his efforts, he moves his left hand down, running the cool metal along where your thigh and core meet. Mouth moving up to nip at your folds, making you buck up, just as one of the cold metal fingers slips inside.

“Oh fuck,” You gasp, he stops moving for a second, eyes focused on your face as he starts to work one finger in and out. 

Keening, your hips move down against the friction, it's not enough. As if reading your mind, he slips another finger in. Scissoring them and opening you up, heat starting to grow in your stomach. A cry leaving as he latches onto your clit, sucking and humming, the slow pace picking up as his fingers move deeper. They curl up looking for the spongy spot, when he hits your eyes slam shut body pulsing as he keeps moving. Fingers moving up and pressing at it over and over, combined with him sucking and humming on your clit has you teetering on the edge. 

“I am-” Your breath stutters as he pops off your clit. “Don’t you dare stop.” 

Grinning he moves his tongue down to wear his fingers are, scissoring you open so he can stick his tongue deep inside. 

“Goddamnit, Bucky please. Please.” You’re begging, the edge of release is right there, just under his tongue. 

The bastard chuckles, leaning forward to blow on your clit, “So pretty when you beg.”

You don’t have time to curse him out, as he latches back onto your clit, tongue swirling around as his fingers push up and against the spot. Eyes opening wide, mouth agape in a slight scream as pleasure washes over you. He doesn’t stop moving and sucking against you. The feeling keeps building, the fire growing, tingling out through your lower abdomen. It’s not enough and too much at the same time. You couldn’t help but let your fingers finally card into his hair, they clenched in and out. 

Bucky finally eases up, your thighs shaking as you try to find words in the haze. He moves up fingers, carefully slipping out of you, and you let out a huff at losing the sensation. Hands coming to cup his face, you bring him closer and kiss him, tongue pushing in so that you can taste a mix of you both.

“You broke the rules,” He teases, kissing the tip of your nose. His body is not quite laying on top of yours. 

A small giggles leave your mouth, “Still can’t think straight.” Your hands move down along his broad back, “Next time you’re just going to have to tie me up.”

Bucky grins, eyes crinkling as he kisses along your jaw. “Next time huh?”

Your hands roam down over his still cloth covered lower half, you squeeze his ass with one hand, the other moving to his front to work his belt open. 

“Many more times,” You grin, kissing his forehead as you slide the belt out. 

He sits back up, standing, and slides his pants and underwear down in one motion. Revealing his straining cock, it bumps against his lower abdomen, leaking enough to leave a mark there. You stare a little longer than you mean to, before your eyes flick back up to his. He smirks and crawls back onto the bed, his arms encasing you as he peers down at you. 

“So many promises,” He whispers, his metal arm hikes up one of your thighs as his mouth finds yours. 

Gasp escapes your lips as the thick tip of cock rubs against your folds, you are going to feel this, every bit of it. His hand drags you closer, letting you start to sink into it, and the feel of him starts to stretch you. Your hands digging into the flesh of his back. Moving your hips, you finally get him to sink deeper.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” He hushes, kissing down along your jaw, tongue running from below your ear and down your neck. He found the spot where your shoulder met your neck and latched onto it.

He sinks all the way in, your mouth opens, gasping his name, throwing your other leg over top of his hips. Rocking up to meet his hips, your bodies flush where you join. He waits a moment, and you want to scream for him to move, to do something. So full, body aching and fluttering around him, still sensitive from your release earlier. 

Finally, he moves, slowly pulling out, then sliding back in, he moans into your ear. Saying your name softly as he continues to move, at a steady, unrelenting pace. One of your hands grips his hip, the other running into his hair, pulling him into a devastating kiss. You pull back, resting your forehead against his, his face slack with pleasure, yet lined as he holds back. 

“Don’t hold back,” You whisper quietly, leaning in to bite at his lip.

Something snaps in the air, his hips still for a moment, then his hands are gripping your hips, dragging you up onto his lap. His hips snap up making you gasp, strong arms wrapping around you as he starts to fuck in earnst. You can feel how deep he sits inside you, the way your stretched out, mind going fuzzy with the sound of your bodies filling the air. Nothing holds him back, you just cling onto him, mind goes blank. Your hand moves between you, rubbing at your clit. Making your insides spasm around him. 

“I am so close,” He whispers, grunting with the effort, muscle straining as he pumps into you. “Where?”

You kean, feeling your own pleasure renewing and blooming out. “Inisde, fuck please, inside me.” 

His mouth latches onto the top of your shoulder, biting hard, and a shout rips out of you as you come. Your eyes rolling back in the fog of pleasure and pain, making your whole body clench around him. His body spasms as he holds you close. His own body tensing, breath in short pants, heart hammering as he keeps pumping into you over and over. Metal hand placed on your lower back, as his rhythm falters, you feel him slam in cock twitching as he spills inside you. 

Breath still in short pants, you both collapse onto the bed, Bucky still holding you tight against his warm body. His heart just under your ear, body aching in the best way possible. Sweat and hair mingled together as you lay there happily. 

“You okay?” He whisper hands rubbing gently up and down your ribs, you could still feel him inside you.

“Mmhmm,” You mumble, trying to find words that seem to have left your brain. “Think you broke me.”

You felt him tense up at the words, you smack at his arm. “Not like that.” You giggle leaving light kisses across his hot skin. “Just a little foggy.”

He relaxes, moving so he can look at you, “That good or bad?”

You lean back grabbing a pillow to shove under both of your heads. “So, so good.”

He kisses you quietly, carefully unwrapping your legs from his before pulling out. You grumble at losing the feeling , but don’t hesitate to smack his butt as he goes to leave. 

“Behave,” He says with a grin. “Be right back.”

You groan, shifting a little, kicking and moving the blankets so that you can crawl underneath. The sheets were soft and comfortable, your head still riding the high of the orgasm. You could get used to this, a small smile crosses your face. 

Bucky slips in, two glasses of water in one large hand, another holds a washcloth. He puts the drink down, flipping the covers up, he grabs your ankles and drags you closer to him.

“You love to manhandle me,” You giggles, letting him carefully clean up the mess between your legs. 

“Think you like it as much as I do,” He grins, before tossing the towel into a basket near the closet.

You nod your head as you take the water glass, taking a few stips, “Not used to being thrown around, can’t say I mind.”

He drinks his own water, before crawling into bed beside you. “Good, cause you still owe me for breaking the rules.” 

~*~*~*~*~*

Let me know if you enjoyed it <3 Reblog, comment, like, more to cum *cough*

[natsrealgf]

About a girl

Natalie Scatorccio x fem!reader

Summary: in which you and Natalie are the homoerotic friendship final bosses.

Wc: 859

Warnings: mentions of underage drinking and weed consumption.

You sat in Natalie’s bed pressing the buttons on her Walkman while you waited for her to get out of the bathroom, miraculously your team had won nationals, thanks to a certain lucky number 7 in your opinion, so you were all going to nationals the next day.

You had all been invited to a bonfire party, Natalie didn’t really feel like going much too upset about what happened to Allie earlier that day. But you convinced her to go, it was tradition after all, Jackie’s words and she wasn’t particularly hard to sway, sometimes you felt like she’d follow you anywhere, you enjoyed that feeling and her company.

Finally, as if on cue, Nat gets out of the bathroom, wearing a red plaid skirt, ripped fishnets, her signature black leather jacket and dark scuffed combat boots.

“Find something you like?” she questions when she sees you messing with her Walkman.

Oh you found something you liked alright. You can’t help but look her up and down, she looks amazing. Natalie can feel your eyes on her. You can tell she suddenly feels self-conscious under your gaze, which would leave the average person confused, Natalie Scatorccio exuded nothing but confidence, but you knew better, after being best friends with the girl for years.

You smile and decide to tell her what you think, what you really think, not whatever crap her mind managed to conjure up. “You look so beautiful.” You finally say rather cheerfully.

“Shut up.” She deflects but the flush on her cheeks tells you a different story.

Natalie than drove to your house so you could get ready, now it’s her turn to wait for you, you had come out wearing three different dresses already, and she’d given you the same response every time “nice”, “looks good”. She truly was useless when it came to help you pick what to wear. Until you put on the final dress, it honestly made you feel slightly self conscious, the dress hugging your waist and having more of a plunging neckline than what you’re usually comfortable wearing.

“Yes, I know nice.” You say waiting for her usual monotone response as you look at yourself in the mirror.

But her eyes widen as she takes a look at you. “You look… wow…” she stammers.

Well this one got a reaction, you think to yourself. “I look the same.” You play it off trying your hardest not to shrink under her predatory gaze.

“Well yea. But you look really good right now.”

“So I don’t usually?” You tease.

The blonde rolls her eyes slightly as she shoots you a playful grin. “Oh shut up. You know what I mean.” She counters.

The two of you make your way to the party, you don’t miss the way her arm interlocks with yours possessively or how she keeps shooting glares at guys who look at you. That’s the thing about Nat she’s always been incredibly protective of you. You figured it was because she had more of a back bone than you, or because you were her only friend. Sometimes people wondered why you’d associate yourself with Natalie, a girl known for being more than a little rough around the edges, but you knew her, really knew her, beyond petty rumours and whispered lies, you knew the girl who cared maybe a little too much, so she had to hide it behind a wall of sarcasm and bad attitude to protect herself from getting hurt.

You and her had had a bit too much to drink already and were currently sitting by the fire watching the orange flame dance from side to side, Nat had offered you her joint and the weed was making your brain fuzzy and your eyes droopy when you looked at Nat, it was like the rest of the party fell into the background and it was just the two of you in that moment, alone under the stars, with the fire illuminating both of your faces.

So, you leaned in and kissed her, it wasn’t the first time you two had kissed, it probably wouldn’t be the last either, in fact she was your first, when you were 14 and confessed you had never kissed anyone she offered to teach you so you’d know what to do, of course. You could feel her right hand on your cheek urging you closer while she kissed you deeper she tastes the same as she did than, cigarette smoke and cheap cherry lip balm, a combination you’ve learned to love dearly.

The two of you pull away in search for air, when she starts giggling and pulls you closer so you’re half sitting on her lap, she looks so beautiful so carefree in this moment.

Her lips find yours again, as she deepens the kiss, one hand now gently cradled around your neck, the other gripping firmly at your hip. She’s holding onto you almost desperately, kissing you ravenously, like you’re her favourite vice.

You wonder if it’s just the weed or if there’s a chance her desperation has even an inkling of truth to it. But you two never talk about it, after all don’t all friends kiss?

[galaxy-stardust]

Simon Ghost Riley x you feat. TF 141

You call him cute

The safehouse is unusually quiet.

The kind of quiet that only comes after days of adrenaline and bloodshed.

The team’s scattered - Soap passed out on the couch with one boot off, Gaz humming to himself at the kitchen counter, Price somewhere on a call, probably reporting in.

Ghost? He’s in his corner.

That damn quiet corner he always claims - back to the wall, knee up, weapons sprawled out like a ritual. His mask’s still on, of course. He always keeps it on after missions, like he hasn’t quite put Ghost back in the box yet. The skull stares at nothing while his hands move with clean, mechanical precision.

You sit nearby, pretending to read something - maybe you're even holding a tablet - but your eyes are locked on him.

His gloves are off. That’s rare. You can see the way his fingers move over the metal, slow, careful, almost reverent. There’s so much focus in his silence, so much tension held in check.

And then it just... slips out.

A whisper. Barely audible. More breath than words, just for yourself.

“God, he’s so cute like this…”

It wasn’t meant to be heard.

It was meant to live and die in your chest.

But fate, as always, has other plans.

Soap moves on the couch - without even opening his eyes - “I’m sorry, what the hell did I just hear?”

Your heart stops.

You glance up in horror. Simon’s hands freeze mid-motion, a cloth paused on the slide of his rifle. He doesn’t move his head. Doesn’t say a word. But every inch of his body suddenly radiates death.

Gaz shouts from the kitchen, halfway through a bite - “No. Nooooo. Did she just call Ghost cute?” He turns, wide-eyed. “Like - adorable cute?”

Soap, already sitting up, absolutely delighted. “Oh this is gold. This is better than the time I caught him petting that stray cat in Belgrade.”

You whisper - desperate: “I - I didn’t mean it like that, I was just watching and he looked - ”

Gaz, grinning like the bastard he is. “Cute? Like a little focused murder goblin polishing his toys?”

Soap already mock-crying. “She broke him. Broke the killer. Ghost.exe has stopped responding.”

Ghost finally moves. Slowly. He finishes wiping the rifle, sets it down beside him with meticulous care, and then looks at you.

Not at them.

Just at you.

And his voice is dead calm.

“Cute, huh?”

You open your mouth. Close it again.

Soap's nearly hyperventilating in the background.

Gaz is egging him on. “Say it again. I want to see if his eye twitches.”

You hear Price’s voice from down the hall: “What in God’s name is going on out here?”

Soap is still cackling: “She called Ghost cute, Captain. While he was cleaning his weapon. Cute.”

Price takes a deep sigh. “Brilliant. Now he’s gonna kill one of you.”

Ghost’s voice cuts through it all. “You’ve got ten seconds to shut up.”

“BLOODY RUN, GAZ, HE’S COUNTING - ”

Soap grins. Gaz bolts.

Footsteps. Laughter. Chairs knocked over.

But Ghost still hasn’t looked away from you.

And under all that quiet fury - under the shame, the chaos, the mockery - there’s that tiny flicker in his eye. That glint that means something different. A quiet warmth.

He didn’t mind you saying it.

Just didn’t want anyone else to hear it.

You bite your lip.

He sighs, deep, low, resigned.

Mutters - only loud enough for you: “…Cute, fuckin’ hell…”

Then picks up the cloth and starts cleaning again, as if the entire building isn’t falling apart in the background.

[supremehavok]

Indecent Proposal (two shot) | m.r

plot: Truly, there is never a right time for Robby to propose to you.

category: fluff, a tiny bit of angst if you squint muse: Dr. Michael “Robby” Robinavitch

c/w: Myrna is a warning in her own right, sexual language but no actual smut, bodily fluids (piss), mentions of death, mentions of a gunshot wound, fracture bone and all that comes with it (bone realignment, etc), inaccurate medical depictions (I’m not a doctor I just play one on tv), reader has feminine pronouns, no use of y/n

w/c: 1.3k

a/n: This is a two shot!! There will be a conclusion. I thought it was getting too long anyways and decided to split it up into two parts

“I’m not doing it today.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not the right time for it.”

“There’s never a right time for it. The morale in this place takes a nosedive every thirty minutes. We all leave our shifts crying at least once a week. What makes today so different?” Dana shrugged.

Robby rubbed the back of his neck. “Her car crash patient hemorrhaged a few minutes into surgery. He’s not gonna make it.”

“Poor kid,” Dana grimaced briefly.

“She notified his parents, and they really laid into her. We always tell everyone not to take it personally, but—”

“...but sometimes it’s hard not to,” Dana finished the sentence, the same line both she and Robby repeated to the younger nurses and doctors.

Even after sharing a moment of mutual understanding, Robby shook his head at the charge nurse. “She won’t want to entertain anything I’d have planned. It’s not happening tonight.” It was pretty much the end of the discussion at that point. Robby patted his hand down on the surface of Dana’s desk before excusing himself to a patient’s room.

For months now Robby has felt the conflicted pattern of emotions; he wanted to propose to you so badly, but he was so fixated on it being ‘the right time’ that anytime any minor inconvenience occurred, he’d tell himself it’s just not the right day and then say he’d do it tomorrow. The tomorrows had come and gone ever since he picked up the engagement ring from the jeweler. He knew he was being neurotic, but he couldn’t help it. At the end of the day, he wanted the moment he got down on one knee to be memorable. He wanted it to be special for you.

He decided that the day your patient died and their grieving parents chewed you out was not the perfect time.

Several days later, he was ready. Everything seemed perfect. The weather was nice, the Pitt was surprisingly docile, and it all felt so correct. It was going to be the perfect day until EMTs came bursting through the trauma bay with an unresponsive woman lying on a gurney. Once Langdon shouted out, “Can I get some help over here?’ you came running and ready to administer all the help you could. That is, until you took an unfortunate slip and fell right on your back in a puddle of a patient’s piss that Esme was just coming around to cleaning up. Other nurses had already made it to the gurney to assist Langdon, so you just allowed yourself to completely feel the dull aches in your spine all the way down to your tailbone. Feeling completely defeated as Mel came to your aid with an extended hand.

“I’m just gonna… I’m just going to go…,” you muttered, more to yourself than anyone else. You put your hand out softly to Mel as she took a few steps towards you to help, but you felt too stunned and embarrassed to even look her fully in the eye as you walked back to the scrubs dispenser to get a new set and to wash yourself as best you could while hiding away in the bathroom for a few minutes. After he heard what had happened, Robby walked by the nurse’s station, glanced at Dana as he walked by, and said, “Nope.”

He decided that the day you slipped in piss and nearly broke your tailbone was not the perfect time.

Robby gave it time. He watched the days go by, went through a few more less than glamorous shifts with you, until he got that feeling again. Today was the day. The ring was practically burning a hole in his dresser drawer at home. He knew exactly how he’d do it: he’d invite you to come back to his house instead of walking you home like usual, he’d make a late night dinner and allow you both to unwind, after dinner he’d take you to the couch and recite the little speech he wrote months ago, and right then would be when he popped the question. It was simple, not much room for error—hopefully. It set Robby’s mind at ease that he could actually have worked his way up to this point. It felt surreal to think that in a few hours, you’d be wearing the ring, saying yes to being his wife, saying yes to sharing your life with him.

Then the incident happened, because of course it did. A patient came in complaining of intense pain in their abdomen. You and Whitaker took him to an available room, and just as you were both helping him onto the bed, another flare-up of intense cramps and aches occurred. The patient seemed to seize up and go limp from the pain, leaving Whitaker’s hand trapped under the dead weight of the patient’s back.

“Ah shit,” Whitaker winced, “I think I’m stuck.”

You immediately came to his aid, gripping his forearm to yank his hand free. There wasn’t much coordination established, just a sharp tug on your end that worked a little bit too well, as Whitaker’s hand was pulled free and his knuckles snapped back to nail you right in the nose. You fell down from the force of the med student’s hand striking your face; the stinging sensation of the injury and the taste of blood dripping into your mouth were all-consuming for a minute. You waved off Whitaker’s panicked apologies, getting up and calling out for Princess to take over in your absence.

A fractured nose. Deliciously painful and now a cosmetic reminder of friendly fire in the workplace. Truthfully, it wasn't as bad as it could’ve been. You weren’t in the market for a nose job, so having your nose realigned manually with no prognosis of needed surgery was a win in your very sad little book of the day. Later on that day, Robby found himself in front of Dana’s station, and she gave him that look.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“She will be your girlfriend until she has to put you in a nursing home if you continue putting this off any longer than you already have.”

Robby pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. He knew full well that Dana was right; he had been putting this off for way too long, and the longer he waited, the more impossible the task seemed. “I know, okay, I know. I just don’t think realigning the bone and cartilage of her nose sets the tone for the day I ask her to be my wife.”

“If you want my advice, fruitcake.” Myrna. The soft rattle of her arm moving against her handcuffs signalled her arrival before her voice even did. Her wheelchair creeping up on Robby’s left side, poking herself into the conversation in the usual fashion. “The way to get a woman to say yes to anything is to eat her pussy like it’s your last meal before death.”

Dana shut her eyes as if blocking her vision would keep herself composed. Her lips tightened, and she was barely holding in the impending shout of laughter. “You have to be real good at it though,” Myrna continued, no one stopping her. “I once slept with this man back in ‘86. Licked me like I was a frozen lamppost, so I waited ‘til he fell asleep and robbed his ass blind for wasting my time.”

“Alright, as always, it was great speaking to you, Myrna.” Robby turned around to take the handles of Myrna’s wheelchair and move her back to a different corner of the ER. He flagged down Donnie to take Myrna to get a sandwich from the cart—effectively getting away from her as he walked back to Dana.

“If all else fails,” was all Dana could muster as she finally allowed herself to laugh, covering her reddening face with the papers she had been reading. Robby shook his head, torn between feeling exasperated and amused. It was easier for him to just let out a long sigh from his nose and move onto something to capture his focus and allow him to put off confronting his anxieties. Supervising Santos stitching up a gnarly gunshot wound was as good of a distraction as any.

[devinescribe]

The Kinda Guy To…

Hiccup Haddock Ver.

- He knows you inside and out. Not like that you freaks, like he knows everything there is to know about you. You can look at him and he knows exactly what you want.

- I'm gonna say you were friends before he was a hot commodity. Because honestly, you were the only one that was nice to him the only one that actually cared about him and stayed by his side.

- Is he jealous? ... no. What are you talking about? Jealous? He's not jealous.

"Which is why Toothless scared that guy off?"

"...yep."

- Night rides. You love them as much as he does, and he loves showing off to you what a Night Fury can do.

- randomly starts rambling to you. Let's set the scene, it's late at night, you're in his bed, head on his chest and all of a sudden he starts talking about one of the pages in the book of dragons or in the personal notes of Bork.

- He really likes your kindness. You never once doubted him, and you're always so kind to him. It's what makes him fall in the first place.

- Toothless... loves you. Almost more than he loves Hiccup. Hiccup always watches as you coo and give Toothless scratches, how you giggle and copy the dragon.

- Not only are you good with dragons, you're good with people. You're always willing to help the village in any way you can, often opting to stay behind on missions to help the village prepare for what may be coming. Weather proofing houses, helping make more coats, or more swords. Whatever it is, he knows you'll do it, and you'll do it well.

- With that... he's future chief... so when his dad says, "oh and Hiccup... that lass that's always with ya?"

"Oh um... Y/N?"

"Yeah... that's the one. I like her. You should keep her... she'd make a great future chieftess."

"Th-that's... um... that's the plan... dad."

- Another thing? You're fearless. Well, you don't show it if you are. You jump into action, defending him or yourself. Against dragons or other threats.

- You go along with him for dragon training. He loves how you have learned to handle every dragon they have. Even the terrible terrors! But his favorite is watching you fly Hookfang and Hookfang listening to you. Just because it makes Snotlout speechless and upset. He loves that.

- He loves when you play with his hair. Loves it. Doesn't want you to stop. Ever. Actually whines when you stop. You have to laugh and tell him your hands are tired.

- Speaking of, if you do something for him and later you say x or y part of your body hurts or is sore, he feels bad because he knows it's because you were helping him. Will make it up to you.

- He's strong. I don't make the rules. He's strong. He worked in a forge for years. He handles a dragon. He's strong. If you fall asleep somewhere that's not a bed, you bet he's picking you up and taking you to a bed.

- tinkers and makes you different tools to help you. Whether to defend yourself or just to make certain tasks easier. These things include:

A ring that can flick open with a twist. Inside? A sharp blade. If you get trapped, it’s easy to cut.

Makes you a pair of fire proof gloves(how??? I dunno) not only do you help with dragons, but often times with fires, so it just helps.

A journal. Just a regular journal… fireproof…

- You could be messy and dirty from a hard day’s work and he’s saying you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.

- He wasn’t praised as a kid. Nor was he given lots of physical affection. Those are his favorite love languages to receive and give.

- Willing to do anything to keep you safe and to make you happy.

- That being said, when you’re captured his first instinct is to just go and get you. He has a night fury how hard can it be? But then he remembers that he needs a plan to keep you safe and get you out unharmed.

- Let’s you engrave your initials oh his stuff. His saddle, his shield, the hilt of his sword, he would let you do it on his metal leg if he didn’t lose them so often.

- At first, when he brought you to the edge, he wanted you to have your own place. And you do. That you barely ever use. Because you basically live with him.

- Has a really good sense of what you need. Do you need to be alone or do you need comfort? Do you need quiet or do you need talking? He knows what you need.

- Gets sick and tries to refuse your help saying he’ll get you sick too, but he literally will not stay down for more than five minutes. You have to remind his he needs rest to feel better and he can’t help anyone if he’s sick. He knows you’re right. Doesn’t mean he likes it though…

[revelboo]

The different dynamics between the LL's trouple is something worth taking notice of. Cygate + human is currently comfortable with each other while CDRW + Human is in the angst route. May we have an aftercare from the latest (and possibly ongoing slow burn angst) chapter of Circles, perhaps a "future" scenario. ( ＾ω＾ )

Also thank you for feeding us your wonderful work I kind of stalked your posting schedule so whenever it strikes to "that time" I check if you posted anything. Fufufu hope you have a great day!

🤣 sure! If I’m awake and not busy, I’m typically writing. 🔞 mass displaced mechs 🌶️

Circles- Future Scenario

Rewind x Reader x Chromedome

• Why does it bother him whenever he walks in on you and Rewind tangled together? After all this time, there’s still a faint whisper of unease in finding you in Rewind’s lap, head resting against him as he talks to you and you answer, your voices too low to pick out the words. Knows it’s innocent, but it feels like he’s being left behind. Replaced and it twists sickeningly through him until he feels almost frantic. And you both turn to look at him, your cheek against Rewind’s shoulder as you reach a hand out in invitation and that anxiety eases.

• Watching Chromedome put a knee on the berth and mass shift to join them, Rewind reaches out like you’re doing and Chromedome eases down, dragging you both into his frame. And despite the mask and visor hiding his partner’s expression, he knows him well enough to know something’s off. That something had triggered him and his insecurities and sometimes it’s too much. Feels the weight of Chromedome’s hangups falling around his shoulders, crushing him. Trying to hold him and you together when he’s struggling, too. “Everything okay?” He asks as you cup Chromedome’s face in a soft hand.

• And Rewind leans back when Chromedome plants a hand near his hip, using his frame to push you both back. So you end up sprawled on top of Rewind on your belly as Chromedome releases his spike to pressurize. “Better now,” Chromedome mutters, but his tone is off. Knowing that in this mood, he’s going to claim you both over and over. Soothing and reassuring himself that you’re both his because words won’t help when he’s like this. Know Rewind’s released his modesty panels when Chromedome lifts the smaller bots hips and drives into his valve with a snarl, feeling Rewind’s spike pressurize against your belly, but you’re too busy trying to not slide off Rewind to try anything. Feeling Chromedome’s hips smack into you and Rewind both as he ruts into the smaller bot in urgent thrusts.

• Servos tightening on Rewind as he moves inside his wet heat, he reminds himself that Rewind loves him. That you’re not his competition because you’re his, too. Hips pumping as Rewind groans, venting raggedly and hips bucking, the cassette shudders as he overloads and he moves faster, driving deep until he’s filling him with his release and slipping free, he flips up the bottom hem of the loose covering you’re wearing to bury himself in you, spike slick with Rewind. Hearing you whimper as Rewind touches you, touches him. He’s not being forgotten. Or replaced. You’re both his and he’s going to fight for his happiness and ignore that vague sense of unease.

• Cupping Chromedome’s cheek, feeling his bigger mate nuzzle against him as he claims you, Rewind knows this is hard for him sometimes. That there’s something there in the other bot’s past that makes trust hard. Even now. Like Chromedome can’t quite believe that Rewind can love you and him both. Need you both. Battle mask retracting as Chromedome pins you between them, Domey’s own mask retracts as his mouth slides against Rewind’s. And he’s moving under you, hips rocking his spike against your belly as Chromedome moves inside you. Hears you gasp as you come apart and Chromedome bites his lip when he overloads to fill you, slipping free and easing back so Rewind can roll you under him. Sheathing his spike inside you as you tremble and Chromedome shifts behind him, Domey’s spike stretching him again. The three of you moving urgently against each other as his fans kick on and he hears Chromedome’s engine rumbling. “We’re not going anywhere,” he groans, feeling Domey’s mouth on his back plating as he bucks into him, driving him forward into you.

[lush-escape]

The Vigilante's Guide to Grief

pairing: Jason Todd x f!reader wc: 2.3k a/n: it's the end! It's been fun(?). It's definitely been fun gaining new friends from this series (if we talk one (1) time we are friends idc I don't make the rules). anywaaaay enjoy the ending chapter 💛 prev: testing

Stage seven: Acceptance

Jason spent most of his mornings in silence these days. He has a routine now. Wake up, bathroom, coffee, journal. But today is different. Today marks two years since you've been gone. And honestly? Jason isn't in the mood to write down what he's feeling. He isn't in the mood to make coffee or shower or do much of anything.

And the family, without even needing to hear from him, can sense it.

Jason hates how in tune they can be when he gets a call from Dick. Of course he picks up, Dick never calls unless there's an emergency

“Hey, let's grab coffee and breakfast at that shitty place downtown.”

“Why would I go if it's shitty?”

“Okay well, I know you're going to call it shitty. I think they have really good bagels. Let's go, I'll meet you there in fifteen.” Jason can hear Dick's sympathetic smile and he wants to punch his brother's perfect smile through the phone.

“Who says I even want to spend time with you?” Jason's question comes out sharper, meaner, than he wants it to. He winces to himself at Dick’s silence.

“That's clear across town.” He mumbles to make up for the quiet, "Won't make it in fifteen.” Jason grumbles but he's already digging through his closet for something clean to wear.

“Sure you will. See you then.” Dick hangs up and Jason sighs.

But Dick is right, of course. After breaking multiple traffic laws on his bike he makes it to the cafe in thirteen minutes. He's parking it on the street when he sees Dick walking over to him with a warm smile.

“Told you,”

“Shut it.”

The two walk down the street after getting their coffee and pastries in tense silence. Not a bad one, but one that Jason wants desperately to ignore.

“So,” Dick speaks up.

And then time stands still. Dick stiffens because surely there's no way. He's on guard immediately. Jason, on the other hand, drops everything he's holding. His heart stops. He feels sick to his stomach and his knees feel weak.

“Dick,” he rasps out in a whisper. His hand reaches for his brother in a way to ground himself.

“I know.” Dick whispers back. “It's not. It can't be.”

The flow of the crowded sidewalk parts around them as if they were just an obstacle in the way. Two grown men stopped dead center in the sidewalk

Staring at you.

“It's not-”

“It can't be-” They both speak at the same time.

“What the fuck?” Jason whispers.

It's you. You. Standing there at the end of the sidewalk, like a ghost, in the outfit you wore on the day you died. You just stood there, staring.

Jason knows, logically, that it's not you. They had found your body, had you cremated, you were in an urn on his dresser safe at home in his dresser. His breath catches and his eyes fill with tears. And before he can stop himself, before Dick can even stop him, he's jogging down the sidewalk towards you.

You turn the corner as he gets closer and Jason calls your name, desperately trying to get you to stop.

“Please don't-!” He turns the corner, the same one you rounded just a second prior and for a moment he loses you in the crowd. Dick is hot on his trails and with a pant he points.

“There. She crossed the street.”

“Shit,” Jason crosses over with Dick behind him. He's already sending over texts about what's happening.

You're fast, faster than Jason remembers. You were never able to outrun him, let alone Dick as well. Yet here you were, running down the sidewalk away from them. Jason feels like he's in a never ending nightmare, the kind where you're running down a hallway that gets longer and longer with each step.

The two aren't sure how far they run, their surroundings begin to blur together as their focus is on you. It's only when Dick sees the warehouse uphead that he begins to slow down, his hand on Jason's shoulder to stop him.

“Jay, wait-” he pants.

Jason watches desperately as you run to the warehouse.

“Let me go!” Jason shrugs his shoulder away from Dick who grabs hold again.

“No. No!” Dick is stern, he turns Jason around to face him. “We have to think about this. It's obviously a trap. Jay that's not-” his voice wavers.

Jason visibly swallows, “I- but what if it is? What if I can save her this time?”

Dick shakes his head, “You can't. Because that's not her.” Saying it out loud feels like swallowing glass. “You know it's not. I know it's not.” He continues on. “We have to think about this.” He repeats.

“But-” Jason whines. He needs it to be you, needs you to be here with him again.

“Bruce and Tim are on their way.” Dick tells him. “We can't just rush in there, okay?”

Jason feels some sort of relief knowing Dick isn't stopping him completely from barging into the warehouse. Jason nods. He tells himself he needs to be logical but his mind is at war with itself.

“Good. Give me just a second, I'm calling Babs.” Dick says before taking a few steps away, keeping Jason in his eyesight. Jason runs a hand through his hair and paces anxiously.

“Okay.” Dick comes back. “Babs has eyes on the warehouse. She's only picking up on one heat source which means they're likely alone. Bruce and Tim are five minutes out-"

“Motherfucker,” Jason growls out, “we can take him. Easy. He's a p-”

“Easy there,” Dick puts on a hand on Jason's shoulder again to reel him back in. “We can. I'll let Bruce know. But when we get in there don't… don't freeze up on me, okay?”

“I won't.” Jason grits through his teeth. He's pulling his pistol, tucked neatly in the back of his jeans. Dick scrunches his eyebrows together.

“You seriously have that on you? We went out for coffee.”

“Never leave home without it.”

“Yeah…that checks…” Dick sighs before pulling an escrima stick from his boot. Jason lets himself smirk before the two walk to the warehouse.

Jason and Dick stand on either side of the warehouse door before Dick nods an okay to Jason. He proceeds to aim his gun, cocked and ready, before kicking the warehouse door open.

And there you are. In the dark with only one singular light overhead. You're tied to a chair with ropes and you look so defensiveless and small and real.

Jason's taken back in time to the moment he first saw you on the screen in the Batcave. The room you were being held in was dark with only a single light above you. You were tied to a chair and blindfolded. Slowly Joker walks into frame from behind you, crowbar in hand.

Jason is visibly shaking, the entire family watched with bated breaths.

“Where is she?” Bruce demands in a quiet voice.

“I- I don't know. I don't know, I'm <I>trying</I>.” Babs is heard through the comms. Her voice shakes as she typed furiously at her computer. “I can't pinpoint them-”

“That's not good enough.” Bruce is having trouble keeping his anger in check. No one can blame him.

Jason feels like he's going to throw up. The decades old blood on the crowbar has iodized, turning into a deep dark color.

“Hello, chat!” Joker gets close to the camera he's using to livestream his little event. He laughs in amusement. “My special guest here today is none other than Red Hood’s soon to be wife. Isn't that something?”

He casually strolls toward you and Jason's hands ball into tight fists.

“Don't touch her, don't touch her-” he's repeating quietly through clenched teeth.

“I didn't even get a wedding invite! I was heartbroken,” Joker goes on dramatically. He trails a finger over your jaw and you jerk your head away from him, teeth bared.

“Baba, let me go after him. I will burn down every building until I find him-” Damian is cut off by Dick shaking his head, silently telling him to stay quiet, that his outburst wasn't helping.

“Feisty.” Joker laughs again at how quickly you jerk away from him, before bringing the crowbar up to your cheek. “Robin, sorry-” he cuts himself off with a smirk, “Red Hood acted the same way. You two are just simply made for each other. Adorable.”

“I'll fucking kill him.” Jason spits.

“I think I almost have him.” Babs tells the family.

Steph and Cass stand beside Tim at the Batcomputer, Steph crying as Cass holds onto her.

“Do you think you can come back to life too?” Joker whispers in your ear. You rear your head back enough to headbutt his temple.

“Ow!” Joker reels back, holding his head.

“Alright, enough of that.” He spits before he brings the crowbar down against your thigh with a sickening crunch.

“Fuck!” You wail, your tears stain the fabric covering your eyes.

“Mother fucker!” Jason erupts back at the cave as he watches the livestream. “I'm going to fucking kill him, B!” He's already reaching for his helmet.

“Hold on, we don't know where she is.” Dick interjects.

“I don't fucking care. I'm not going to sit around and watch this when I can be out looking for her.” Jason snaps back at Dick.

Jason turns to look at the screen in time to see Joker right up close, like he knows Jason is watching.

“Poll time.” He sing songs. “Who thinks the little birdy’s girlfriend should die?”

The room swells with an aggressive tension. Every single comment on the livestream that pours in is a flood of yeses. Jason's blood runs cold. He's on the verge of throwing up again.

“No…” he whispers.

“You heard the people!” Joker laughs maniacally and saunters back over to you. “Any last words for your love bird?”

“Please, please-” but you're not talking to Joker, you're not begging him. You know, that if he's out there watching, Jason is blaming himself. And even in your final moments the last thing you want is for Jason to be taking any sort of blame for what's about to happen.

Joker rolls his eyes and pulls your blindfold down and Jason's heart stops. This can't be happening, he refuses to believe it. He's questioning everything.

How did the Joker find you? How did he know you were with Jason? If only he had been more careful, protected you better-

“Tick tock.” Joker muses as he begins to pull out his revolver.

“I love you,” you whisper with tears in your eyes.

BAM!

“No.” Jason takes a faltering step. “I found them!” Babs speaks at the same time. Steph lets out a surprised yelp. Bruce slams his hand against the desk. “What the-” Tim whispers. It all happens in slow motion.

“Jay?” Dick asks in anguish, turning in time to catch Jason who's falling to his knees.

“No, no, no-” Jason shakes his head. His voice is strangled and choked and no one's ever heard him sound so small before.

“Baba?” Damian’s voice quivers, his eyes are glued to the screen.

There you're sat, tied to that damn metal chair. Your head hangs forward as blood drips down your face.

Jason's hand slams against the concrete floor. Once. Twice. A third time. Dick stops him when he hears the all too familiar crunch of bones breaking.

“No-” Jason breathes.

“Shit,” Dick's own voice stammers.

Then they hear it. The all too familiar sound of Joker’s laughter.

“Oh, how delightful! Two birds with one stone today? This couldn't have gone any better if I tried.” Joker steps out from behind the shadows.

“She said only one heat signature..” Dick whispers to himself.

“I'm so glad you're here to see your beloved die in person this time ‘round. I'm still upset I wasn't invited to the wedding.”

Jason's mouth is dry, his head is spinning. Dick takes a step forward.

“Why are you doing this?” He demands.

Joker stands beside you, his gun pointed to your temple again and Jason is frozen in place. He can't breathe let alone move.

“Why?” Joker laughs. “For putting me back in Arkham. And for fun, I suppose. It's always a good time celebrating anniversaries!”

He's quick to pull the trigger again. Dick and Jason both lunge forward, crying out. But instead of dying, again. Instead of watching your skull and blood splatter against the concrete, you begin to turn to a sickly orange matter.

“You said you wouldn't shoot!” Clayface pouts at Joker. Jason and Dick stop in their tracks in shock.

“Oh calm down, not like it can kill you.” Joker rolls his eyes petulantly.

Jason is seeing red. His vision is focused on Joker and Joker alone. He doesn't see Dick next to him with his hands reaching for Jason's arm, he doesn't see Clayface making a move to get out of the way.

All he sees is Joker’s surprised smile, like he's excited, as Jason raises his gun and pulls the trigger. He feels like he's moving in slow motion.

A second later everything rushed into him like a tidal wave.

“What did you do?” Dick whispers as Joker's body hits the floor in a spine chilling thump.

“What I should have done the first time he killed her.” Is what Jason replies before dropping his gun to the cement floor.

All of Jason's progress, all of the hard work he put into getting through his process of grieving was gone in an instant. Shot dead, just like the love of his life.

But this? His progress, his hard work, the months he spent pushing to get better, for you, only to have it all taken away from him in the blink of an eye because of a deranged clown? He wasn't going to grieve any of it.

taglist: @thy-crimson-king @vellichor01 @theendofthematerialgworl @tinasdcstuff @4rachn3 @cecebookworm @eva-ngelionn

[justwinginglife]

Ok this was supposed to be short, like 500 words max, and then I accidentally wrote 1500. But anyway. Here's a little piece about Hoshina blaming himself for you getting hurt and you slapping some sense into him, just cuz I was feeling the need to write some Hoshina today.

Hoshina didn’t need sleep ever again.

He didn’t want it. He didn’t welcome it. He simply refused. 

How could he sleep when you were lying in the infirmary at this very moment because of his shortcomings? When you were bandaged and bruised all because he wasn’t fast enough, because he wasn’t strong enough, because he just wasn’t enough. You had trusted him to have your back. You had given him that same, silly smile you always did before you went off to battle. You had fought by his side like you did every other fight. Even compared your kills to his, like you did on any ordinary day. The only difference was that today he couldn’t save you. Today, his failure had landed you in the infirmary. 

And he wouldn’t sleep ever again.

He’d replay the fight in his mind. Figure out how to be better, how to be anything but worthless. Train until he dropped dead and then train some more. 

But you knew he was like this. You saw the face he made just before you lost consciousness. Saw the desperation, the disappointment in himself, the dread. The first thing you did when you woke up was sneak out of the infirmary. You couldn’t be sure he was in the training room at this very moment but you had a hunch.

When you slumped against the door frame, exhaustion weighing heavy on your wound-riddled body, your eyes finally landed on his figure. There he was, bags under his eyes, strain eating away at his muscles, slicing and stabbing at the air like it would somehow erase your pain, like it would somehow undo his past mistakes. He knew it wouldn’t do a damn thing, but he sacrificed his sleep as atonement anyway. 

He was an idiot.

“Put the damn swords down, Hoshina,” You sighed. 

He whipped around to face you immediately, eyes widening to the size of tennis balls. “You shouldn’t be out of bed! What are you doing here??” He hissed, dropping his swords (not caring how ungodly expensive they were and how ungodly careless he was now being with them), and rushed to your side, hands hovering around you, attempting to aid you however you needed it, even as useless as he knew his aid was. “Are you okay? Do you need me to carry you? How are you feeling?”

You laughed softly and tried to ignore the pain searing through your ribs with every miniscule movement. “You sound like my mom. I’m alright, really.”

He had yet to relax, his shoulders still tense, and eyes darting all over your figure, examining every injury he’d previously been blaming himself for. “You don’t look alright.”

You took a weak step towards him and when you faltered slightly, he dove for you, hands steadying you against him.

“You shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t even be moving!” He lectured you coldly, but his voice was seeped in worry and panic. 

“I had to come here. I knew you were here. Just had a gut feeling that someone was being a dumbass and blaming himself for my injuries, so I came to tell him off.” 

He sighed, exasperated. “The thought was very sweet, but really, we should get you to bed.” He bent down to pick you up, meaning to carry you back to the infirmary himself, but you stopped him.

“I’m not going back to bed until you tell me you’ll stop with this nonsense.”

He frowned at you.

“I’m serious, Hoshina. Stop blaming yourself. It was my fau-”

“No, it wasn’t. I’m the one who didn’t save you. I’m the one who wasn’t good enough. It’s my-” His voice quivered in his throat, “my fault you got hurt.” 

You pinched his cheeks hard and he winced. “Didn’t I tell you to quit being such a dummy? I just wasn’t fast enough; I should’ve been watching my six. It’s not your fault at all. I need you to repeat that for me, can you do that?”

He pursed his lips together in a stubborn line.

You raised a brow. “Hoshina. I mean it. I’m not leaving until you tell me it wasn’t your fault.”

“But it was-”

“Shut up. I’m the one who got hurt, didn’t I? So I think I have a say in whose fault it is. You want to blame someone? Blame me for not listening when you told me to be careful. Blame the ground for being unstable. Blame the Kaiju for taking a cheap shot at me. But stop blaming yourself- I won’t allow it.” 

He clenched and unclenched his jaw. “I just…I…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you got hurt, and ended up like…” His voice trailed off, shoulders slumping again as his eyes raked over your ragged form. 

“Ended up like what? Like this? I think I could still run for Pageant Queen, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You cocked a grin.

He scoffed, but the tension between his brows finally eased some. “Sure, if you were running for Miss Infirmary. I mean, you really do embody the spirit of the injured.” 

You felt a weight lift from your shoulders as he began to talk like his normal self again. This was the Hoshina you loved. “Would you vote for me?”

“Are you kidding? I’d make you posters, hand out your advertisements, maybe wave a little sign in the audience.” He smiled warmly at you as his hands began to wrap tighter around your waist.

“Oh, just a little sign? Too pussy for a big one?” You teased. 

“Big sign it is. The biggest.”

You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest. “I missed you. It’s cold in the infirmary.”

He laughed softly, but you could tell the sound had caught on his throat on the way out. “I…I missed you too. I’ll…I’ll tell them to turn the temp up in the morning.” 

“And what about right now?”

“For now,” He scooped you up into his arms and began carrying you back to the infirmary. “I’ll just warm you up myself.”

“Well, in that case, I don’t need the temp raised. Just stay with me until I’m recovered.”

He laughed again. “That’s a tall order, commanding your Vice Captain to abandon his duties to cater to one soldier.”

“And who was abandoning his sleep to train in the middle of the night??”

“Got me there. I just…when you got hurt-” He cut himself off and kept marching forward in silence. 

“You were scared. I know. I was scared too. Kept thinking about the look on your face when you saw me go down. Kept thinking that couldn’t be the last thing I saw. I had to make it back to you. To tell you not to blame yourself. To tell you to smile for me instead.”

His gaze trailed over your face before looking forward again. “It’s kind of you to worry about me when you’re the one who needs worrying about.”

“I told you- I’m fine. I’m alive, aren’t I? That’s enough for me.”

He bit his lip before responding. “But it’s not enough for me. I should’ve been there for you.”

“You’re here now- that’s all that matters. Look at me.” You caressed his cheek but he stubbornly refused to meet your gaze. “Soshiro, look at me.”

He set you down on your bed and climbed in beside you before finally bringing his gaze to yours. 

You cupped his face in your hands. “I want you to stop blaming yourself, okay? That’s not helping you or me. We’ll both do better next time, but for right now, just be with me. Just hold me and don’t let go. I love you.”

He let out a shaky exhale. “Okay…I’ll…I’ll do my best. I…I love you too.” He rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “Just don’t… don’t ever leave me.”

“Never.” You whispered back, arms wrapping around him as tightly (or as tight as you had the strength for.)

He sunk into your embrace. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you not…being here anymore.”

“Shh, I know, baby. I know. But I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re stuck with me forever which means you’ll be stuck with my endless lectures if I find out you so much as skipped out on even an hour of sleep because you were punishing yourself again. Got that?”

He nuzzled against you. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

“That’s a good Vice Captain.”

His laughter spilled into the quiet, night air, making your frigid infirmary room feel warmer and warmer by the second. “Now go to sleep before I knock you out myself.”

“You can try, but we both know I’m better in a fight.”

He rolled his eyes. “Says the girl in the infirmary bed.”

“Only cuz you brought me here!”

“You were here originally.”

“Well, you’re here now too. So now we both have to sleep.” You huffed.

He smiled, eyes gazing down at you lovingly. 

“Aye, aye, Captain.”

[diabolicalevil]

OK how do you think the primarchs would react to their partner or maybe their crush flirting with them or giving a (sort of lewd) compliment?? :3

How would the Primarchs react to flirting?

ohh this is a fun one, I'll go with crush since I think partner flirting has been done alr, if I find it I'll come back & link it. I have negative rizz so I will not be writing anything specific and this is a bit longer than my usual headcanons.

Warnings: mentions of flirting being a kind of inherent "permission." doesn't go anywhere in here but take that as you will.

Lion El'johnson: Affronted that he's feeling anything other than utter indifference to a person. Often goes out of his way to avoid you, rude when you do meet, etc. So when look at him fondly and flatter him endlessly regardless? Completely baffled. Once he's past the initial arrogant feeling having his ego strokes gives he starts moving like a rusty robot. It's the cosest he's ever been to stuttering in his entire life. Alone in his room he's fighting demons (emotions) to convince himself not to put on a huge display of power for no one but you. (it's not working)

Fulgrim: He's delighted! It was rare he was hesitant about approaching someone but you had him questioning. A part of him was self assured that romance was inevitable but another was absolutely doubting. When you initiate, throw him off his feet a bit, not only is a thrilling experience it's also a relief that it isn't one sided. From then on he'll take whatever flirting he's already been doing up a notch.

Perturabo: Scoffs and grumbles quite a bit. He assumes any compliments are teasing and assumes any teasing is intended as a lethal attack. He doesn't quite believe you when you flirt but he does want to. Replays it over and over while he's alone and it starts to drive him a bit crazy.

Jaghatai Khan: normal guy award keeps going to him. He is smiling like he's just won an award. Doesn't begin to court you immediately, could just be a one off since you two are getting closer, but he does keep an eye on little things you do. Standing close to him, searching for him, the way you speak and the words use. It's like he's keeping a tally of all the "intimate" things you do until he feels comfortable pursuing you.

Leman Russ: you are lucky if he doesn't pick you up and declare you his new spouse. Exaggerating, but you can see him get new ideas of how far he can take this. He's not an oaf, he knows the procedures of romancing a human (even if he and his legion take it to the extreme) but you can tell he'd much rather elope back to Fenris then and there.

Rogal Dorn: Silently ecstatic. hes done weeks, perhaps months, of carefully planned flirting. He thinks he's been overt and expects an overt gesture in return. So it's a shame you have entirely different ideas of flirting. Once you crack the code that what he really wants is discussions and compliments of the structural integrity of his buildings, things get substantially easier.

Konrad Curze: Scrunches his face, looks all annoyed and slinks off for the rest of the day. He's weird like that so you pay him little mind. In reality he's overjoyed you've finally given him permission to kidnap court you. He's busying himself tying up any loose ends in his leigon to make sure your future cell home with him is as comfortable as possible.

Sanguinius: He relishes moments of real human interaction very deeply. Privately, you're encouraged to joke with and treat him like a friend, even if being in the "friendzone" starts to sting. You've been like this too long and now you have to be explicit with how you flirt. If you're successful? Wings immediately extend out to the length of the room. It's unconscious and he apologises for knocking things over. But the urge to pursue you, while always there, has just hit him full force. Because you've just given him permission, haven't you?

Ferrus Manus: He does not see it as a crush. You've made him aware of how weak baselines truly are and his mission is not to rectify that. You're not his beloved, you're a project, so he tells himself. It's unfortunate that you seem so averse to his augmentations. He's no monster however, and instead tries to convince you rather than force you. Once you seem receptive to at least the idea of it hes thrilled that you're coming around a bit. Watching you sat quietly, obediently, as the apocathery evaluates your body he's struck with a sense of awe he would never feel towards a mere project. He realises he feels it because it's you. His ultimate goal has not been improvement but assimilation. He already loves you, now he must make you prepared to stand at his side and with his legion, awful as they may be.

Angron: The butchers nails colour every second of his life. He could never hate you truly, you're too much like how he once was. But the way he acts doesn't reflect that in the slightest. And yet you stay kind to him and you stay patient. You offered him a fruit, something about there being too many to go around around your colleagues. Ridiculous really, he was far too big for it to have any value to him. And yet he took it. Of course, he didn't stay long. The physical strain to not crush it in his mighty palm was too great to ignore and for once he did not wish for you to see him so cruelly.

Roboute Guilliman: He is so tired all of the time. The few minutes, perhaps a cumulative hour, a day he gets to see you are what keeps him going. So of course he allows you certain freedoms. Of course you have free reign to enter his office, of course you can sit on his desk and watch him work, of course you can distract him and tease him about how he's going to lose his muscle at this rate, of course you can ask to see them- wait, what? He takes your immediate laughter as a sign it was a simple jest but he spent the rest of the day unusually unfocused.

Mortarion: weird, weird man he is (affectionate). He is far worse at flirting than Dorn. Flirts through gift giving and does it in the rudest way possible. He's shoved books into your arms, informing you that your lack of literacy in a subject is embarrassing and reflects poorly on the leigon. Regardless, you smile and thank him for caring about you. He seems almost insulted by the implication and runs off quickly. The next time you meet you get a surprisingly quiet, "I'd like you to see Barbarus some day." you cannot even begin to comprehend his mind.

Magnus: A terrible flirt and terribly bad at it, really. The urge to simply manipulate you and make it quicker for both of you is strong but he does not. Clumsy as it may be, his diatribes and esoteric book recommendations and general cockiness are charming to you, he can tell. It pains him to be absent from you for some days but he must. Amd when he returns he's greeted with a genuine, "I missed hearing you speak." If he were a lesser man, perhaps one of his brothers, he may have swept you away thar instant. But no, he's learned that patience is key. He has all the time in the universe to win you over after all.

Horus Lupercal: Like Roboute, his work is all consuming. He kept his charms though, of course. Can't get enough of how shy you get when he so openly flirts with you. It does hurt his pride a bit when you turn him down regularly, giving one excuse after another, but he can just put that up to you being more reserved. The first time you enthusiastically replied to his flirting he almost stopped dead in his tracks. Almost, as he could tell you were about to backtrack and he would not let this slip between his fingers. The hours after that seem to move in slow motion, but it doesn't bother him as it normally would.

Lorgar Aurelian: Not flirting, idolising. Even the smallest things give him reason to put you on a pedestal and kneel at your feet in reverence. You're a little embarrassed, you're just one person among trillions in the Empire. But a small, vain part of you decides to humour him just once. Rather than try to jump off, you lounge on the pedestal like you belong there. To embrace his worship with open arms is to watch him fall even deeper into his religious fervour.

Vulkan: For a long time he refused to let himself want you. He was used to his sons having pseudo families on Nocturne, but this was different. He was a Primarch and especially huge at that. However, it did not change how much he cherished you. Vulkan accepted, albeit did not reciprocate, flirty remarks, they were his little guilty pleasure. Today he was far more loose lipped, responding to a compliment of his forge work with one aimed at you. He had known you long enough to know that you'd smile and take it sweetly, yet it still struck him silent. There were so many reasons to not pursue you but he couldn't help wanting to see more of that delightful smile.

Corvus Corax: Loving you was a challenge, not because of anything you did, but because he was terribly aware of your places in life. He could never help himself though. He knew his place was in the shadows watching over you, and yet he stayed at your side. Complimenting his hair most likely meant little to you, but to him it was yet another selfish reason to cling on to what he knew would be fleeting.

Alpharius/Omegon: Every moment, aside from maybe your first encounter, was carefully calculated on Alpharius' part. It was impossible to truly know his intentions, but he was aiming for romance, that much was clear. Omegon didn't love you, but he certainly found Alpharius' affection amusing. He'd take his brother's place, how cute that you didn't even notice. He knew he was receiving words and confessions meant for another, but what was the difference, truly? They were two halves of the same man. He continued acting as your lover when Alpharius wasn't present. It was a far faster way to hear the words he desired from you than to be honest about who he was. Perhaps his brother's interest wasn't unfounded after all.

okayy, thank you for reading. apologies if this isn't what you had in mind but I really cannot flirt for shit lol

[kedreeva]

You asked to be reminded about a banding video

I did! I don't have enough people here to get banding videos of the adult peafowl, nor of the adult quail. But I did get two videos of banding the babies, one of fresh babies and one of a week old baby.

Please be aware the chirping is normal. The birds are mad at being restrained and tipped and not being able to pull their leg back under them when they want to, but they are not being harmed, just inconvenienced and they have opinions about inconveniences.

Also please note- I usually band the RIGHT leg of newly-hatched quail, but i did the left leg because I figured it would be easier to see. Left legs are usually reserved for quail I am not planning on keeping (wrong colors, usually), or for additional "notes" (for example, boys get their bloodline band on the right and year band on the left leg as adults, compared to hens who get both year and bloodline bands on one leg, so I can tell the non-feather-sexable ones apart at a glance). I generally find it easier to handle them and band the right leg, so if you're having trouble with banding the babies, try the other leg.

The video audio explains what I am doing, and why, but basically you pick the quail up as shown, brace the ankle between your fingers so they can't push against your hand or wiggle out of your grasp, and put on the already-closed zip tie. It should be tightened just until it's tight enough to stay on, but as loose as it can be without sliding off. The older bird is being held differently to prevent it from vomiting water as a defense mechanism, which can kill them if they aspirate any. The younger bird is fresh from the incubator and has not had water yet, so there's no danger.

Zip tie bands NEED to be checked DAILY for signs of over tightening. If they get caught on something, if they sit on them weird, if freak accidents happen, a band can tighten to the point of cutting off circulation. They also need to be checked especially on growing birds, as these birds outgrow bands REALLY fast. Usually day-old bands will last less than a week. Week-old bands will last a week, maybe 2 on a slower quail but probably not. The 2-week bands usually last a couple of weeks, and the 4 week bands, if you make them loose enough, can usually be made loose enough to last into adulthood as a snug adult band. They STILL need to be checked as adults.

You can get pigeon bands, the sort that don't open and close, but rather slip on when the bird is young and growing, and they outgrow the ability for it to slip off again, but these bands are too big and can't go on baby quail until they're close to around 2-3 weeks of age. I don't use those because they're expensive, BUT they are numbered so you can keep records on specific individuals instead of just bloodlines like I do. If I ever find myself in need of tracking individuals instead, I'd get pigeon bands.

[yap-city-population-1]

I really would love to make a big long post about Jason and Dick’s relationship and the really unique dynamic you get when you have a huge age gap with your older sibling, but every time I try to talk about them I end up getting so off topic because like. I can’t help projecting SO HARD. Because I LIVED that shit.

(Very personal ramble under the cut that’s only really tangentially related to Jason and Dick)

I was 11, and for the first time in my life, I had a sister. A stepsister, one who was almost a decade older than me and was never around, but a sister nonetheless.

She was loud. She was confrontational. She wanted nothing to do with me. She once had a screaming match with my mother because she didn’t want to go apple picking. Apple picking.

She was also brave, and outgoing, and she walked into every room like she was daring someone to tell her she didn’t belong. She was a fuck up and she owned it. Landed on her feet just to prove she could, just to spite everyone who told her she would fail. She picked fights and rode four wheelers and stayed out past 2AM, and I remember looking up at her and thinking, holy shit, you are everything I’ve ever wanted to be and can never become.

She wanted nothing to do with me. I wanted to be her. I hated her. I wanted her to move back in but also never come home again. For years, nearly every conversation we had was just awkward enough to be hostile. Our parents so obviously treated me differently than they’d ever treated her, and every tiny thing I got away with drove another wedge between my sister and the rest of us.

But also.

Also, she picked me up from school once and took me out for frozen yogurt, just the two of us.

Also, I got really overwhelmed the day we moved into our new house, and she took me to see Incredibles 2 in theaters so I could have a break from all the packing.

Also, once, we were at a family member’s funeral—a family member from my mom’s side, who my sister didn’t even really know—and my mom stood up to give the eulogy and I was sobbing, and without a single word my sister reached out, tugged me into her side, and let me cry on her shoulder. And I stayed there getting snot on her nice dress even after my mom sat back down. I stayed there the whole service, and she never gave me shit for it. Didn’t even bring it up, not once.

Also, when I was in high school, she came home in the middle of the night with a new tattoo. And she told me our parents didn’t know yet, just me. And she smiled at me like it was our little secret. And I felt so nice.

I’m not saying it was perfect. It wasn’t even good, most of the time. I’m just saying that in between the distance and the passive aggression and the snark, there were movie nights and hugs and little moments I treasured like fucking gold. I’m just saying that she was always my sister. The word felt weird, at first, but nowadays it comes to me as easy as breathing. Even though I can’t remember the last time I called her that to her face.

And sometimes I just see a panel of Jason and Dick, acting the way you act with a person you love so fiercely even though they feel like a stranger. And I think about last Christmas, when my sister and I both came home to visit, and she hugged me. She hesitated for a second, like she wasn’t sure she was allowed to hug me, but she still did it. It wasn’t easy, but it was still nice.

Sometimes I look at Jason and Dick and think “I hope, even after everything, you still have moments that are just nice.”