#Bear Hands Distraction | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fushitoru · 8 months ago

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back to the kittty, cause she's kinda pretty!

pairings ⸺ (SEPERATE) bf!sukuna x reader x toji, masseuse!nanami x reader, bully!suguru x reader, childhood best friend!choso x reader, best friend!gojo x reader

summary ⸺ jjk men as overused p0rn tropes! (part 2) inspired by this awesome post by the cool and super talented @/osamucide! pls check it out and the rest of his work :3

warnings ⸺ SMUT (mdni), sub!satoru supermacy, porn no plot, vaginal sex, doggy, fem reader, "sloppy seconds," pre-established consent for all, reader accidently eats an aphrosidiac for choso's, bullying in suguru's, oral (m and frecieving), fingering, semi-public humiliation, lowk pathetic toji, art by 3aem, nOT EDITED

a/n choso's is my favorite yet again i love a pathetic man that rails me into next tuesday <3

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

KAMO CHOSO ⸺ MY HOT CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND ATE SOME WEIRD CHOCOLATE AND WANTS ME TO DICK HER DOWN!

Your best friend, Choso, was lounging on his couch, flipping through different movie options on Netflix while you were in the kitchen, bending and squinting through the different options. It’s a Friday night, and the both of you opted to stay in for movie night.

“Choso!” You complained, huffing while putting your hands on your hips to shout at him in the living room. “Why do you only have fuckin protein shakes and raw chicken in your fridge?”

All you get is a noncommittal shrug while he pauses on the preview for some shonen anime. “There should be some chocolate.”

Gasping in excitement, you go back to rummaging through his fridge like a raccoon and there you find it—-a pink chocolate box titled “tabs.” Smiling to yourself in excitement, you don’t hesitate before popping on of the bars in your mouth, appreciating the cherry flavor while grabbing another one. With your mouth full, you ask, “Do you want one? These are sooo good, where'd you buy them?”

“Nah, I’m good. Just come over here, you’ve been taking too long.” He sends you a glare and motions for you to sit next to him, to which you set the chocolate back in the fridge and pad your way over to him. “I think Sukuna bought these off the internet and that they were kinda bougie.”

You look at him, slightly alarmed. “Isn’t he going to kill you?”

He looks over at you—a little softly, you note—and ruffles your hair, to your dismay. “It’s okay, I’ll buy it again for him. Gonna blame your big back ass for it being gone.”

“Die.” You stick your tongue out, crossing your arms while settling into his side.

Choso noted that you were being a bit more cuddly than usual, touching him more as soon as you got onto the couch. He decides to ignore it. “Ok, we’re going with Spider-man, k?”

You nodded into his side—he could tell you were flushed by the way you had continued to grow warmer and warmer, with beads of sweat dotting your temple. He paid it no mind, choosing instead to click on the movie and watch it play.

You were heating up.

You tried to ignore it, because you hadn’t felt feverish before or done anything in particular to cause you to be sick (your coffee and ramen diet had been fixed after midterms season after Choso got on your ass about it). But about 25 minutes into the movie, you couldn’t bear it anymore, your vision blurring at the edges as you mumbled, “‘ts too hot. Gonna take off my shirt.”

Choso, who had been focused on the movie, tensed and looked at you, eyes slightly widened. “Wh—” Before he could even get a word out, you stood up—eyes slightly unfocused—arching your back while grabbing the bottom hem of your t-shirt and peeling it off, causing Choso to gulp as you uncovered the swell of your breasts in your red lace bra. You went back to borrowing yourself on his side, the softness of your boobs pressing against his arm.

Choso closed his eyes because there was nooo way he was popping a boner for his best friend. No way. As both of your eyes went back to the movie, Choso focused on reciting the Japanese National Anthem to distract himself from the soft breaths you were letting out near his ears—and the way they tickled them��as well as the rise and press of your chest against his arms as you heaved.

You, on the other hand, did not feel relieved. At all. There was a stickiness in between your thighs that made you think your period had started, but it had ended a week ago. You were probably just ovulating. Cuddling into Choso further, you put your legs on either side of his torso, burying your face into his neck and taking a deep sniff. At this point, you ignore the movie as you tried the soothe the heat that was going through you.

“What are you doing?” Choso was ram–rod straight and turned to peer down at you incredulously while reciting in his brain, until the tiny pebbles, grow into massive boulders.

You continued your whiffing—-he just smelled sooo good—and sobbed, “I don’t know, but it hurts.” At this point, the feeling between your thighs was unbearable. You started to subtly grind on the side of his torso, much to Choso’s surprise. “‘M sick, Cho, but I’ve been eating healthy! I promise!” you whined. “Except for the chocolate right now. It hurts!”

At that moment, he knew he fucked up.

These were the tabs chocolates Sukuna was buying for his girlfriend. The ones viral on social media for serving as aphrodisiacs.

“Fuck,” he groaned while you continued to rub yourself onto him, now fully moaning and sighing as you tried to chase relief. “Fuck! I fucked up.”

“Choso,” you whined loudly, prompting him to leave his state of anguish to look at you worriedly. “I feel so empty.”

Choso snapped.

Bent over, face buried in a pillow on the couch, Choso rams into your creamy, wet pussy, the squelching sounds echoing across the empty apartment. Punctuating his words with a thrust, “is-” plap! “what-” plap! “you-” plap! “wanted?”

“Yes!” you squeal, body bouncing as his rough snaps of his hips jostled you around, “You’re making me feel so good, Cho!”

“Do you know how much of a tease you’ve been?” he growled, balls hitting your ass as he pulled a hand back to spank you, red handprint imprinting itself on your cheeks. He groans at the sight of him leaving his mark on you. “Gonna take my cum, right?”

FUSHIGURO TOJI AND SUKUNA RYOMEN ⸺ I GET MY BEST FRIEND’S SLOPPY SECONDS! (a/n lol im not gonna lie this is just me ovulating and wanting to be creampied by two men)

Whenever Toji was at Sukuna’s place, it was like you, his girlfriend, pretended he wasn’t there. Because why were you always dressed in the tiniest of shorts and a tank top that could barely even hold your tits in and keep them covered? Sometimes, Toji thought it was Sukuna’s play—dangling you in front of him like a piece of meat, reminding him what he couldn’t have.

Sukuna and Toji did have a bit of a…competitive friendship—one of good nature, of course. Toji, nonchalant as he is, didn’t really care whether he lost or not in the little skirmishes they had, whether it be seeing who can lift the most at the gym or walk somewhere faster. But he’s definitely seen Sukuna eye his groin in a mental competition to see if he was bigger or not.

Safe to say, Sukuna relished in the win. In a sense, he was obsessed with the submission. Not that Toji could care. He didn’t care when he flaunted his girlfriend around, groping you in front of him just to make him feel jealous…right?

Because why was his dick hard, him all hot and bothered as he listens to your moans and the plap! plap! plap! and squelches of Sukuna’s dick drilling in you? You’re both in the room, and Toji’s in the living room, confused as to why the fuck Sukuna asked him to come over when you clearly had a dick appointment with him.

“Mmm, Sukuna you’re making me feel so good!” You whine, and Toji curses, closing his eyes and cursing whatever god was out there to make him subject to such torture. In his gray sweatpants, his bulge is undeniable as he hears Sukuna pleasure you.

Then, he hears Sukuna call out to him, jumping as the other man yells, “Yo, Toji. I know you’re out there, man. Come in!” He then laughs meanly, speeding up to silence whatever protests you were making. Toji curses once again and moves to open the door just for his eyes to widen at what he’s seeing.

There is an obscene amount of cum oozing from your hole, it looked battered and swollen from the abuse Sukuna has dealt to it. There are tears in your eyes, a pretty pout on your face as Sukuna continues to use you as your fucktoy. And Toji realizes that Sukuna is looking at him while his hips languidly gyrate into you.

“‘kuna–” you sob, embarrassed and cheeks heating up even further as you felt Toji’s eyes rove over your form, utterly decimated by Sukuna.

But you’re interrupted out of any potential protests you can make as Sukuna smacks your ass—Toji’s eyes not missing the jiggle—as he abruptly pulls out and motions Toji to come closer. “I’m gonna let him borrow you, okay baby? You see, Toji’s kind of pathetic here. Might as well give him sloppy seconds, right?”

With that, Toji is moaning as he slowly enters you, your pussy sweetly clamping on his dick as he can literally feel Sukuna’s cum every time he thrusts. The utterly debauched feeling of his still-hot come lubricating his every thrust makes his eyes roll back, lost in the feeling of your pussy as you whimper and squeal everytime he hits your g-spot.

“Yo,” and Toji’s attention is temporarily swayed to Sukuna, who’s watching the both of you with darkened eyes, manspread in a chair. “Come inside, okay? It’s my treat.”

NANAMI KENTO ⸺ DIRTY MASSEUSE GIVES HOT BABE A DEEP TISSUE MASSAGE! (WITH A HAPPY ENDING)

Working in corporate was hell.

Sitting in a chair all day slaving away at spreadsheets and emails was definitely not something your younger self imagined you doing, but alas, you were only but a slave to capitalism. Even your hip flexors could feel it—they were tight, and your upper back hurt a lot.

So, here you were, in the waiting room of this bougie massage salon that you decided to treat yourself to. After all, you’ve been a good girl with your savings, making sure not to spend loads on stress-virtual-shopping so you can blow lots of bucks into this 2 hour service. The lobby is neat and glamorous, as you wait while rubbing your back. You’re currently engrossed in watching a compilation of Moo Deng videos until a deep cough interrupts you. “Miss?”

You turn to face the rich, baritone voice that’s said your name, and then suddenly reeling back. In front of you was probably one of the most handsomest men you’ve ever seen, with blond hair and sharp cut facial lines. He’s rubbing his palms together, which seem laden with oil as he looks at you plaintively. “Shall we take it to the massage room?”

“Y–yes. We can do that,” you nervously affirmed, gathering your purse and belongings to tightly follow behind him.

When you arrive at the room, the stoic man motions for you to get changed. “Please put on a towel. We’re going to be doing a deep tissue massage, so the towel will serve as a protective measure.”

You blush at the thought of this man seeing your body covered in nothing but a towel, but follow his directions regardless, putting your belongings in a corner while you step out of the changing room and into the massage room once again. You try to preserve your modesty as best you can as you go to lie down on the table. The only things you hear from him are the clinks of bottles as he rummages through different oils, uncovering them. The smell hits you dead on, soothing your senses already with the essential oils.

And then, his rough, big hands are on your back, pressing into your shoulder blades. You jump, like a scared deer, and he lets out a deep chuckle. “My bad. I’ll be doing your back side first.”

“Okay,” you whisper in response, already closing your eyes in bliss with the way he’s roving his thumbs over the planes of your back, pressing in deep as he works out the kinks in your back.

In one particular spot in your lower back and hips—the one that’s been hurting like a bitch because of your endless time sitting in a chair—he presses his thumbs with the exact right pressure, and you moan.

You can’t help it—the chronic back pain has always been there, but he makes it disappear with a languid movement of his fingers over your back. But he pauses slightly as soon as the whimper comes out of your mouth. “Miss, are you alright?” Flushing, you are quick to affirm. “Yes, sorry.” With a lower voice, you say, “That was, um, that was just really relieving.”

He laughs melodically and continues his ministrations, going even lower, but pausing right before putting his hands on your ass. “May I pull the towel up? Direct contact will be helpful in this region for a deep tissue massage.”

“Y-yeah,” you say softly. “You can do that, you’re the professional.” He’s just doing this for massage reasons, right? With your consent, he slowly inches up your towel to uncover your bare ass to him, you clenching your thighs with the fact that he can see everything.

He then puts his hands on the fat of your ass, moving his hands in a circular motion that spreads your ass every time he moves in an outward rotation. Kento’s trying really hard to stay professional, but seeing your glistening wetness makes him groan inwardly. “Miss,” you perk up slightly as he refers to you, “I’ll continue with the deep tissue massage as requested, okay? There’s a spot that I believe really needs my attention.”

Innocently, you nod, and Kento can’t help but feel so aroused that you’re so naively believing him, letting him touch you as if it’s an appropriate part of his job. His hands inch closer and closer, and soon enough he’s fingering you while languidly licking you up.

“Does this feel good, miss?” Kento is out of breath as he nudges his nose deeper into your pussy while you’re squealing at the feeling of his fingers slamming into your g-spot, sending jolts of pleasure down your spine. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as he goes in, sucking at your clit just perfectly.

“It’s rude not to answer someone,” your masseuse gives you a slap, and quickly soothes it over.

“‘M sorry!” you squeal, bucking your hips as soon as you feel like you’re getting closer, “It feels soo good.” With that, he pauses his ministration to give you a gentle kiss on your pussy, and the plush of his lips is enough to set you squirting, riding his face as you drench him in your juices. Safe to say, you were feeling very de-stressed.

GOJO SATORU ⸺ BEST FRIEND CATCHES HIM MASTURBATING, JOINS IN ON THE FUN!

Satoru groans, squeezing his ball at the base to avoid cumming prematurely. What he was originally doing was trying to find some porn to empty his balls to, releasing stress and gaining dopamine from masturbating. But eventually—like he’s been doing a lot these days—his fingers direct him to your Instagram profile. You, his best friend.

Satoru does this in secret, waiting until he’s alone in his and Suguru’s apartment to go into his room, close the door, and sin by thinking of you in a way friends don’t of each other. So, he’s trying not to bust too early while he zooms in on your tits in the cute bikini picture you posted just last week, the ones he took of you. The pixels of your magnificent breasts zoom in, sweat and water glistening off of them as your bra hugs and makes them sit just right. He groans, throwing his head back as he feels his cockhead pulse again, deciding to end his edging to cum.

In his focus on stroking his dick—the squelching and whines echoing in his room—he doesn’t notice the sound of the door opening. Nor of the footsteps heading towards his door, because he moves his hand up and down, up and down, up and down until he’s so close to cumm—-

“Satoru! I got us some mochi!” You yell loudly, and Satoru screams in return, albeit for a different reason. As your head whips up to look at him, alarmed at his shout, you register that his cock and balls are out. And that, in his left hand, is a photo of you.

You blink, and Satoru blinks back, except with a red, throbbing length in his hand. Then, slowly, you ask, “Why is my picture open, Satoru?”

Satoru swallows, already hearing funeral bells and utters out, “I—I—that was a mistake. I meant to be on Pornhub. Haha! I mean,” he continues on rambling, “why would I be looking at your picture? Obviously, my hand slipped while I was jerking off I mean—” he cuts himself off, because in his yapping, he’s failed to notice how you’ve stalked over to his bed, now straddling him while spitting on his cock.

“Fuck,” he curses, as his pupils dilate watching the thicky, frothy mix of your spit ooze down from your pursed lips onto his dick. “W–what are you—” You motion for him to stand up, orienting yourself so that your throat was hanging off the bed and you were on your back on his mattress.

“Since you’re so desperate,” you give him a deadly sweet smile as he stands, dick above your face. You give his tip a little kiss, and he shivers. “You can fuck my throat.”

Satoru definitely takes you up on that offer.

He can’t even believe that he’s here, you deepthroating his dick so nice. “Thank you, thank you,” he whines, gyrating his hips sloppily into the tight, wet heat of your mouth as your lips suckle on him. “Needed this so, so much.” You’ve even uncovered your tits, them bouncing nicely as Satoru continuously lodges himself in your throat. “Please, please let me cum.”

You gently push against his hips, indicating you want him out of your mouth. Raspily, you wipe the trail of spit that’s left your mouth and laugh meanly and give him a deceptively sweet kiss on his balls. “You have to last at least 10 more minutes, okay?”

And Satoru can do nothing but obey you, driving himself to the hinge of climax but never over, whimpering as your mouth swallows him up.

GETO SUGURU ⸺ BIG DICKED BULLY FUCKS CUTE ANIME GIRL INTO SUBMISSION!

Your safe haven is your library. There, the man who’s been torturing you for most of your college career, Suguru Geto, doesn’t know where you hide, nor does he frequent the place. You’re focused in on your assignments right now, having fallen behind due to Suguru’s antics of bothering you and disturbing your peace to humiliate you across campus. It’s late at night, and there’s not a lot of people to disturb you. You thought.

You’re wrenched out of your state of focus as someone harshly pulls your chair back, grabbing your chin to meet your eyes with his. Your bully, Suguru.

You gasp in surprise as he roves his eyes over you and what you’re wearing. A short skirt, one he dare wouldn’t admit made you look cute, and a sweater. Silently, he sits down while you tremble, looking at him with shaky eyes that makes his cock swell in his pants.

He smirks. “You thought you could hide from me?” He then ticks his head towards your textbook. “Whatcha reading? Recite it to me.”

Even though you were confused as to why he would have you do that, you hurried to do as he said. Meanwhile, his siren eyes roved over your form, choosing to settle in between your thighs.

“Schroedinger’s theory had proved classical physicists wro—-“ You’re interrupted by your own gasp, because Suguru’s laid a hand that’s gently caressing your inner thigh.

“Go on,” he purrs, getting closer and closer to the heat of your pussy.

You swallow and go on. “…had proved classical physicists wrong, showing that unexplained phenomena in spectroscopy and atoms demonstrated discrete—-“

Meanwhile, he’s inched his hand inside of your panties, softly rubbing at your clit in a manner unbecoming of the mean Suguru you know. Before you know it, your orgasm was creeping up on you, and your legs were trembling while Suguru buried his face in your neck, giving you soft kisses.

“Cmon, you slut,” he whispered, the softness of his voice contrasting with the harshness of his words, “are you too stupid to read?”

You whimper as he delves a finger into your hole, collecting the ooze there and going back to your clit. “…atoms demonstrated discrete properties, referred to as quanta—-“ It’s with a nasty lick to the shell or your ear that you’re cumming, squealing loudly as you cream on his fingers, humiliated at the show you were forced to put on in the library.

Suguru pulls his fingers out and sucks on them languidly, looking you in the eye. “Now slut, you’re going to do that seated on my dick. Got it?”

kinktober masterlist | general masterlist

a/n hiii pookies this was late sorry </3 but ANYWAYS im excited to write (and ride) cowboy geto and spiderman!gojo next! consider joining my kinktober taglist if you're interested <3 part 1 of this here btw

comment and reblog to let me know ur thots :p

TAGLIST

@sugoroo @ryutotsukai0824 @sharkubi @lisvanrouge @mxlktae

@samisfunky @achbbys000 @xd3pr3ss3dx @jottositto @cheescakebroom

@r0ckst4rjk @callmeagardengnome @rottmntrulesall @blankwashed @sindulgent666

@honeynanamin @obsessgurlll @starrnai @herefor-tojis-tits

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eraserbread · 15 days ago

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welcoming your husband, nanami, home from work with a little help from your toddler ✧

→ f!reader, toddler dad nanami, sfw

"daddy homeeeeee!"

"rin, wa-

zooming out of your lap like she hasn't seen him in years, rin is so full of energy you just spent the last two hours trying to drain from her. it's late afternoon—exactly her nap time.

your plan was to get her down before kento came home, but that's long forgotten. just like you, curled up on the little toddler bed your husband built.

when you're sitting up, your heart beats harder in anticipation. after all these years, you're still excited to see him, and your daughter is your carbon copy—you can't blame her. walking into the hallway, you hear him before you see him—the front door clicks, and he laughs. rin squeals.

"daddy!"

"hi, my darling! oh- careful, remember to keep fingers away from the door."

before he's even in the house, rin is blocking him, little hands pulling at the gap to open it further. "daddy, what doin'?"

"i'm saying hello to my little girl. what are you doing, rin? did you have a good day with your mother?" like a narrator, kento drops his work bag and scoops his daughter in his arms, big hand covering the entirety of her neck as he pulls her in for a welcome-home kiss.

you're watching them with a soft smile, leaning against the wall in the hallway, when he notices you. he gives a little sideways smile, steered back into conversation when rin sees his loving gaze falter.

"we colored... and play outside..." she begins, attention drifting off into space as she fixates on his tie. she's too distracted to see the quick glances you two are sharing. "n we play dressup. mommy wore pretty dress like princess."

"did she, now? did you take any pictures to show daddy?"

"mm-mm." she declares with a shake of the head, fitting hands making fists in the luxe fabric. "wan' it."

"oh, you want my tie?" as whipped as he is with you, he's even more gullible for his baby girl. one hand works it loose from his neck, arm barely flexing as he balances her in one. halfway off, he resorts to his teeth, pulling it loose and draping it over rin's neck—moreso her small shoulders. then, he turns, giving that split second of distraction to you.

"we missed you today," you smile, biting your lip as you approach them. she's so taken with her daddy's tie that she jumps when you approach, hand ruffling the slick part in her pigtailed hair.

"i missed my girls, too." his voice softens as you two stand so close that your breath becomes one. it's just a force of habit for him to lean in and press a kiss to your lips. like always, he lingers there for a second, brushing his nose against yours and smiling into your soft lips.

when rin wants her dad's attention again, she reaches out to pull at his shirt, pouting like it was her full-time job. "daddy, I don't wan' take nap."

kento chuckles against your lips, then pulls away, giving his daughter that fake stern stare he always gives you when your attitude rages. she reaches up, forgetting about the tie, and squeezes his cheek.

"oh, no." he replies, voice jumbled and muffled from her hold on his face. "we're taking a nap."

"did you see that link i sent you?" you ask, leaning against the counter as kento sheds his shoes—popping a few buttons on his dark blue shirt. "about her pre-school, it's expensive, but when I toured it-

"we'll get her signed up."

"i- thanks. also, ken-

"dada!!"

as he unlinks his cuffs and pulls his sleeves over his forearms, rin sprints out of her room with a stuffed bear in her hands. it's one she's had since she was a baby—torn and scuffed from constant love.

"yes, beautiful?" at his feet, she rises to her toes, waving it for him to reach and grab. "oh, thank you. I'll take good care of him."

and, she's off again. you watch her trip over her tiny bare feet, making a beeline back to her room.

"ken, she has to go to the doctor for an exam before she can enroll, I've been calling arou-

"daddy!!"

"yes, princess?" this time, at his feet, rin is waving a silver plastic tiara, tiny fist locked in the straight fabric of his pants. "oh, am I the princess?"

"dada wear." she states like she's on a mission, staring up at him sternly with those identical hazel wide-eyed stare.

so he does without further question. he combs his slicked hair back with his hand and slips the thing right over his head. you giggle, stifling back more as you cover your mouth. he's shameless—much less serious about himself since he's entered this phase of fatherhood. you love this way of being so much on him. it's like he's finally free from his burdens. but, you know the truth. he's only so carefree around his daughter.

"how do i look, hm?" he reads rin's stance—both arms stretched high like she wants to be picked up. she doesn't have to tell him twice, he's leaning over with a grunt, scooping her back into his safe arms. "am I a pretty princess?"

"no-

he gasps—fake as hell, but emotive enough to draw a series of innocent giggles right from his favorite source. "oh, I forgot—the prettiest princess around is my little nanami rin, hm?"

"mama!"

kento pulls her close for another kiss on the cheek, moving her to his side to carry her off to her room. you're just glad he's willing to subdue her to sleep today. she'll drift off in seconds if it's him at her side. "mm, no. mama's much more of a queen who rules with an iron fist."

"wha's that mean?"

#omg they're everything to me #i'm crying so hard rn #he's moving like he wants me to put another baby in him #ok back to writing my soul crushing angst #.nanami <3 #.the wife guy!! <3 #jjk x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fluff #jjk x you #nanami x reader #nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento fluff #kento fluff #kento nanami x reader

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thejoyofviolentmovement · 1 year ago

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New Video: Bear Hands Shares Eurodance-like "Intrusive Thoughts"

New Video: Bear Hands Shares Eurodance-like "Intrusive Thoughts" @bearhandsband @CantoraRecords @RostrumRecords @grandstandhq

Brooklyn-based dance punks Bear Hands — Dylan Tau (vocals, guitar), Val Loper (bass) and TJ Orscher (drums) — formed back in 2006. They gained early attention with 2010’s “What a Drag,” which led to the trio signing with Cantora Records, who released their full-length debut, that year’s Burning Bush Supper Club. 2014’s sophomore effort Distraction was a critical and commercial success with the…

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ceilidho · 3 months ago

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prompt: you and Price get in an accident (1.6k)

He comes into your life like nothing less than divine intervention.

A fender bender, of all things. It’s a bad day and you’re distracted, too busy thinking about your dad calling to tell you that he lost ten thousand from his retirement fund when the stock he’d invested in crashed and how you’re supposed to help him out of this mess, and the roads are slick with that last snowfall of early spring, still unsalted even hours after the snow started.

So when you slam on the brakes at the last second after noticing the car in front of you stopped at a red light, your car slips on the ice and slides forward, hitting the back of the stopped car and sending it forward a foot. It’s quick and sudden, and though you stepped on the brakes early enough to avoid a worse collision, your head snaps forward with the jolt and the seatbelt yanks you back violently, winding you.

Your hands go tight around the wheel, eyes so wide that they nearly pop out of your head as you stare at the car directly in front of you. All of the dread in the world pools in your mouth and then down your throat when you swallow, heart galloping in your chest. You almost can’t believe it for a second.

Then the car in front of you—a big, fuck-you SUV that only worsens your anxiety because of all cars to hit, it had to be someone with a fancy, brand new car that probably has a lawyer on speed dial—puts their hazards on and the driver’s side doors opens and reality snaps like a rubberband back into you. With shaky hands, you put your car into park and put your hazards on as well.

“Oh shit,” you whisper under your breath. An understatement.

A tall man in a brown parka steps out of the car and stares at you through the windshield, a stern expression on his face. He has a beanie pulled down over his head and a full beard, and for a second, the mental image of a bear emerging out of its den flickers in your imagination, all snow-dusted and irritable.

He’s grizzled and older than you. The only consolation is that he doesn’t match the image of the driver that you had in your head—no seven thousand dollar suit or bluetooth earpiece; instead, he seems like the kind of man who’d drive an old pickup or a schooner, wearing an Aran sweater and a skipper's cap, with a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He seems out of place in the middle of the road in your small town.

But he is real, and even though you watch him march over to you, you flinch when he raps on the window with his knuckles.

“Roll the window down,” he instructs, voice muffled through the glass, and you do because the command cuts through the buzzing in your ear. When you do, he reaches into your car with one hand and pops the lock, then takes a step back to open the door. You’d freak out if the situation were different, but you must be in shock because all you can do is stare at him dumbly as he leans into the car and undoes your seatbelt. “C’mon, sweetheart. Out.”

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get you to step out of the car. All he has to do is step back and you get out, knees nearly buckling, like jelly under you. He holds your elbow to steady you. Your elbow feels delicate and tiny in the width of his palm.

“You alright, sweetheart?” he asks, looking all over your face.

You want to answer him, but all you can do is whimper, “I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, none of that. It was an accident. You alright though? Anything hurt?”

“Uh…I don’t…I don’t know.” It hasn’t really sunk in yet, you think. Maybe tomorrow you’ll be sore all over, but right now you feel fine. On the verge of shaking out of your skin, teeth nearly clattering together, but more or less okay.

“Nothing too bad then. Wanna give me your insurance so we can deal with this, sweetheart?”

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Let me just—” You move to reach back into your car to fetch your purse, but he stops you, insisting on getting it for you.

And you let him, docile like a doll, watching as he leans into your car and across the seats to grab your purse, big frame looking comically large in your little car. Looking like he’d barely fit in the front seat if he tried to get in.

He comes back out with your little purse in hand and opens it, handing you your wallet and purse by its strap. Your fingers are still shaking when you pull out your insurance information and hand it to him. Everything feels surreal and muted, and the tears are going to flow at any minute now if you don’t get a handle on it.

He must notice because a knuckle fits under your chin and lifts your head up. “Hey, what’s wrong?

“No, no,” you say, reaching up to swipe your fingers over your eyes. “I’m just—I’m really embarrassed. I’ve never been in an accident before.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about.” His voice is much softer now, pitched low in the way handlers talk to spooked animals. He puts his thumb to your chin, holding you in place. “No one got hurt. Could’ve been worse than it was, and we’ve both got insurance, so what’s done is done. I don’t look mad, do I?”

Trapped between his thumb and knuckle, you can only give a slight shake of your head. “No.”

“Then let’s just take it one step at a time and no tears. Okay?”

You sniff. “Okay.”

“Okay. I’m going to call the insurance, so you get back in the car and sit tight, alright?”

You nod.

“Good girl,” he says, a hint of praise in his voice. “Put the heat on too. It’s too cold for that jacket.”

That makes you go warm all over, flustered and tongue-tied. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to expect a response out of you. The only thing he expects you to do is get back in the car and turn the heat back on, the warm air billowing into your face when he leans in to crank it up all the way.

Though most of the sound is muffled from inside the car, you turn down the heat and crack the window open slightly to hear him give his name to his insurance company. John Price. Even his name evokes the image of him somewhere else in the world, settled into the nooks and crannies of history.

John handles everything for you while you sit in the car like he told you to, settling everything with the insurance companies and calling for a tow truck right after that. You don’t realize that, of course, until the tow truck pulls up in front of his car and he comes back to usher you out of your car.

“How am I supposed to get home?” you croak. The tow truck driver hitches your car to the bed of the lift and pulls it up, your little car looking pathetic all alone up there.

“I’ll drive you home then bring mine in later.”

“Why can’t I drive my car to the garage too?” You’re petulant now that you’ve learned that he won’t bite, and you know it’s petulance because you don’t actually put up much of a fight to get your car taken off the tow truck.

That petulance trembles when his expression grows stern again. “You’re getting it checked by a mechanic before you get behind the wheel again,” he tells you in no uncertain terms, eyes daring you to contradict him.

You don’t. It’s hard to argue with someone so adamant on your wellbeing. A mechanic in later days will tell John, with you by his side, that your car was mostly fine apart from some slight damage to the bumper, but that you made the right call to bring it in just in case the frame cracked during the accident.

John’s arm will be around your waist at the time and he’ll pull you tighter into his side when the mechanic says that. And what do you do but go with it, curling into his side like it’s natural. You’ll have already fucked him by then anyway. It’ll be no less forward than letting him take you for coffee and then back home, following you up to your apartment and into your bed.

Now though, you let him usher you into the passenger seat of his car and shut the door behind you, the wind cutting off abruptly. It only comes back when the door opens on his side.

You rattle off your address and watch bemusedly as he programs it into his GPS and hits save. You don’t have the temerity to question him, to poke a hole in the bubble of familiarity ballooning around the two of you. The real world seems far away in his car, like you’re in limbo, the rules different here somehow.

“How about a coffee?” he asks at the next light, putting his hand on your thigh and shaking when you don’t respond right away. “Does a hot drink sound good right about now?”

“I guess?” you say. In truth, it sounds great, but you’re losing the thread of this conversation, your old preoccupations getting further and further away from you.

John gives your thigh a squeeze, lingering for a beat before pulling away. “Good. It’ll be a nice little pick me up before we go home. My treat.”

All you can do is nod, your throat dry.

#ceil writing #just a little thing to refresh me because i haven't written all month and needed to reset my brain #price x reader #price/reader #cod x reader #john price x reader #john price x you

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yameoto · 7 months ago

Text

butch pussy + femme cock = using you

tw; free-use, somno, cnc, morning sex, butchpussy (vi) femmecock (cait), implied bratty!reader. wc; 1.2k

vi and caitlyn linger at the doorway, to your shared bedroom. patrols are a bitch—and it is not always that they can get home, early. it's never been a problem exactly. except—

“ah..” vi’s mouth waters.

dawn crawls on the horizon. its heralding light seeps in through gossamer curtains, spilling out to bask your sleeping form in an unmitigated glow. your very nude, sleeping form. as if teasing them—you let out the most adorable yawn, in the midst of sleep. your leg curls upwards, covers slipping off.

caitlyn swallows, hard.

the two of them are immediately seized with an irrational jealousy for being so robbed from witnessing you, like this. “since when does she sleep naked?” “suppose it’s hot nowadays.” caitlyn answers airly, as if her nails aren't digging into the heel of her palm and the tent in her trousers' isn't stiffening. urgently. since when did she have the libido of a teenage boy? vi elbows her, voice teasing—if not equally as hoarse. “cupcake. you’re packing.”

"like you're not thinking the same." caitlyn scoffs, and vi can't argue with that. she is thinking the same. if the same, is the idea of hovering over your blissfully relaxed figure, splayed out on the bedspread. tearing off her pants and—

“..perhaps, we could.. indulge.”

“oh, baby. you read my mind.”

you wake, to a burning in your lungs, and your cunt. there's a stuffy headiness enveloping your head, something hot and wet and slippery pressing up against your chin. you open your mouth, only half-consciously, when your tongue meets salt and your eyelids flicker open in sleepy befuddlement. heat, and muscular thighs clamp down on either side of your head. a rough hand twists in your hair.

vi jerks you tongue-first into her cunt. your, whatthefuckisgoingon??? comes out more like; "mmrmgh?”

"poor baby. can't breathe, huh?" vi only shoves you deeper up the wedge of her thighs, your nose burrowed into the curls of her hot-pink bush and mouth at her sopping pussy. "oh, right there, princess."

she hisses, wresting you by the hair and rubbing her slickened folds against your face. your hands are scrambling at the mattress, each and every attempt at speech muffled by the squeezing of vi's legs. she pants in pleasure, as you pant in need, into her pussy—choked out by the sheer force of which vi's thighs are coiled around your head. she eases up, just enough for you to wriggle your mouth to gasp for air, and release a breathy, plaintive whine—eyes sleep-glazed and blinking hard, trying to get your bearings. c'mon, now—get with it; you're being suffocated by your girlfriend's pussy. not four AM on a workday and your chin is coated with slick. vi lets out a petulantly dissatisfied noise when you're gulping air for too long—shoving your head back down with a low growl. "don't—hah—you fuckin' stop."

you're so preoccupied with trying to breathe, head spinning, cogs whirring at a slow, slow pace as it attempts to process the fact you're gasping into your girlfriend's pussy; you almost don't realise the burning in your belly has rescinded to a low simmer. mistake.

"don't tell me you forgot about me, darling." like caitlyn can sense your distraction, there is a blinding jolt of lightning that crackles through your body as she gives you an idle jerk. something twitches, and you realise, belatedly, there is a cock inside of you. you tense up, and your walls clench. caitlyn's moan is dizzying.

"ah—ah.. fuck, sweetheart. you feel almost as good as you did, before."

vi presses up flush against your face, groaning as she rocks, grinding picking up the pace. of course, the tighter she holds, the less you can breathe, and your limbs jerk, fingers fisting into the sheets.

"stop squirming. you're only going to make it worse." caitlyn's pace is leisurely, manicured nails pinching either side of your hips. she rolls her hips forward, teeth biting down at her bottom lip. "it's a shame. you made such a good cocksleeve. all relaxed. pliant."

it feels wrong to hear words so vulgar rolling off her silken tongue, so casually, so early-in-the-fucking-morning, as if you haven't heard filthier come out of her mouth. the shock of it is wearing, giving way to the blazing warmth that so throbs in your pussy that you can't believe you hadn't noticed. though perhaps, that was the whole point.

"you didn't expect me to wait my turn, did you?" oh, caitlyn is definitely smirking. you can hear the smug undercurrent in her voice; even if you can't see a thing, other than the swollen nub of vi's clit and the hastily-cut bristles of her bush as she gets off, chest rising and falling in shallowing breaths. caitlyn, however, is still only working in idle, languid pumps. like she's savouring your sleep-ridden compliancy; how you are, for once, thoroughly silenced by the clench of vi's pussy and vice of her thighs.

"you—mm—do look pretty when you shut up." vi gasps out, and you can feel her cunt pulsing around you, you want to whine, grumble, protest—anything—but the press of your lips only spurs her on, the hand in your hair yanking you deeper. vi's breaths stutter, tensing. "..shit." vi cums, her weight on your chest shifting, smushing you against the mattress as she squirts, right down your throat. caitlyn barely moves, content to, apparently, continue using you as her personal cocksleeve as vi humps out her orgasm against your face, milky fluid and your own saliva—from having nowhere to go—completely immersed in heat. caitlyn's thrusts are lazy, and vi's grinding vigorous. your chest is tight, thoughts almost nothing in your light-headedness, mindlessly gaping open and simply taking it.

the second vi collapses, thighs finally, finally lifting off your shoulders—caitlyn rams her cock into you. no longer muffled by vi's cunt (though, her cum still dribbling out from your lips), you cry out. you really can't catch a break, can you?

"shh." caitlyn commands, and now, you can see her eyes flicker up at you in annoyance, though beneath the gaze—gleams amusement. she slides herself in, deep, and your own hips rise in instinctive reaction, whimpering, lungs all used up.

you manage to do as caitlyn says, and shut up, chests heaving as you needily gulp in the mercy of fresh air. vi's large hands skim your bare chest, circling your nipples, thumb swiping underneath your breasts. "easy," she husks, voice gravelly, as if you have the energy to go anything but. or perhaps, she's talking to caitlyn. you can't tell, because caitlyn is certainly not going easy—and you are paying the price. in fact, she's begun to jam her hips with vicious force, pace vigorous—pulling out, ever-so-slow, before plunging back in again. there is no longer any restraint; as if she has held herself back, enough, and deserves this. to plow your pussy and drink in each and every broken gasp it elicits.

she thrusts, particularly brutal. you gasp—throat raw—and you unspool all over her cock, body betraying you. caitlyn's pupils dilate, just like that, at the sight of your cum oozing out in thick, creamy bursts around her base, with each slam of her body—has her head falling back, throat baring. her hips falter, before she drives inside you, harsh and hard—one last time—and paints your insides sticky.

#yam talks #caitvi #caitvi x reader #caitlyn kiramman #caitlyn kiramman x reader #caitlyn kiramman smut #trans!caitlyn #caitlyn kiramman drabble #arcane #vi x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi smut #vi arcane smut #vi x caitlyn #arcane x reader #arcane smut #caitvi smut #caitlyn x reader

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harrysfolklore · 4 months ago

Text

papa bear - mv1

summary: max becomes a papa bear when it comes to his favorite two girls (basically just dad-to-be max fluff)

folkie radio: oh boy do i love dad max !!!! and it's becoming canon soon i can't believe it. anywayyy i hope you like thisss

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux and 109,625 others

yourinstagram that's a wrap for the first half of the season! now I get this one to myself for 3 weeks ❤️

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username1 AWEEE

username2 you guys are literally the cutest couple ever

username3 enjoy the break guys!! max deserves it after dominating the whole season frfr

username4 protect these two at all costs

redbullracing 🧡💙

sophiekumpen My babies! ❤️ Enjoy the break, see you both for dinner tomorrow xx

└ yourinstagram we love you !

landonorris bet he's already in the sim

└ yourinstagram he’s cuddling the cats right now but you can bet he’s getting on that stream soon

└ username1 CRYING MAX CUDDLING WITH THE CATS

carmenmmundt cuties! girls day soon? 💕

└ iamrebeccad Please !!

└ lilymhe count me in

└ alexandrasaintmleux 🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️🙋‍♀️

└ yourinstagram ABSOLUTELY

└ username2 ughh i just want to be one of them

username5 ALREADY MISSING THEM

username6 if max doesn’t put a ring on it soon istg

username7 THE WAY YOU CAN SEE HIS SMILE HERE

username8 i hope they have a nice breeaaaak

maxverstappen1 Ready for no distractions, just us ❤️

└ username1 MAX THE SIMP BOYFRIEND THAT YOU ARE

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,056,826 others

maxverstappen1 Thank you Spa, wishing you all a lovely summer break ✌️

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username1 THE GOATTTT

username2 he looks so good omfg

yourinstagram proud of you always ❤️ now hand over that phone 😌

└ username1 max listen to your future wife

└ maxverstappen1 Your wish is my command

└ username2 YOUR WISH IS MY COMMAND

redbullracing Enjoy the break champ

danielricciardo Send it mate! Catch you in Zandvoort 🤙

username3 SUPER MAXXX

username4 i hope we get some content during the summer break

username5 max boyfriend era activated

username6 he’s going to disappear but at least he’ll be spending time with our queen yn

username7 why is he glowing so much is he pregnant or something

username8 his babies will have the prettiest eyes ever

liked by username1, username2 and 38,625 others

f1updates Our favorite couple enjoying their summer break! Max and YN spotted enjoying some downtime after an incredible first half of the season.

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username1 PARENTS

username2 they look so happy and relaxed

username3 anyone else notice yn looks different? 👀

username4 is it just me or has yn gained a little weight? she's usually so tiny

└ username1 let's not comment on people's bodies... she looks gorgeous as always

└ username2 ffs who cares if she did. be normal

username5 she has been glowing lately and max is so protective of her here

username6 the way he's holding her so close in the first pic 🥺

username7 something's different about yn...

└ username8 right? she definitely gained some weight

└ username1 itsg im reporting every single comments who keeps deserting her body you people are insensitive

username9 why are people commenting about her weight? she looks beautiful let them live

username10 these two are gonna give us baby ver one day and break the internet

username11 PROTECT YN FROM THESE WEIRDOS AT ALL COSTS

username12 max seems even more protective than usual lately... interesting 👀

username13 maybe she’s just bloated guys 😭

└ username2 kindly fuck off

username14 she's literally giving off pregnancy glow but okay

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liked by username1, username2 and 15,736 others

f1updates Our championship leader spotted doing a late night grocery run? 👀 Max Verstappen seen buying what appears to be... stroopwafels, pickles, and various snacks at nearly midnight!

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username1 HES SO WEIRD

username2 is he high ?

username3 not the stroopwafels and pickles combo 😭

username4 THE PREGNANCY CRAVINGS ARE REALLL

username5 bros really out here doing midnight snack runs, yn got him WHIPPED

username6 max "i hate shopping" verstappen doing midnight store runs? she must be pregnant fr fr

username7 anyone who's been pregnant knows exactly what those snacks mean

username8 pickles AND stroopwafels? yeah that's definitely not for him 😌

username9 the way this man will do anything for yn

username10 everyone saying this is for his girlfriend but this mean could have the weirdest munchies combo

username11 the way he's trying to hide the bags I can't 💀

username12 leave them alone guys... but also BABY VER COMING???

username13 he looks so done with people taking pics 😭

liked by iamrebeccad, maxverstappen1 and 267,836 others

yourinstagram best break with you @maxverstappen1 ❤️ teady for the second half of the season

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username1 SO DAMN CUTEEEE

username2 there are my parents

carmenmmundt You guys are glowing! 💕

└ yourinstagram we love youuuu

username3 why is she wearing such loose clothes lately?

└ username1 maybe mind your own business?

landonorris max actually took time off the sim? unbelievable 😂

└ yourinstagram believe it or not he did

username4 THE THIRD PIC HAS ME DYING

usernsme5 he baggy clothes aren't hiding what we think they're hiding 👀

sophieklumen My beautiful loves! ❤️

└ yourinstagram love you so much 💓

username6 is no one gonna talk about how max is looking at her stomach in the last picture?

username7 yn's literally glowing stop lying to us 😭

username8 yn definitely looks… different

username9 why are people so obsessed with her clothes? let them live

username10 that ocean pic needs to be framed

maxverstappen1 Thanks for the best summer break ❤️ I love you

└ yourinstagram i love you the most 🥹

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 847,936 others

maxverstappen1 Amazing to race in front of the Orange Army again. Missing someone special today but she was supporting from home ❤️ Thank you all for the incredible energy! 🇳🇱

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username1 DU DU DU MAX VERSTAPPEN

username2 the goat

yourinstagram SO proud of you! sorry i couldn't be there but i had the best view from the couch with our cats 🧡 see you soon champion

└ maxverstappen1 Home soon ❤️

username3 first time yn's missed a race in ages 👀

username4 The Dutch Princess missing the Dutch GP? Something's definitely up

username5 she's never missed Zandvoort before...

sophieklumen Killed it schatje! YN we missed you today! Feel better soon ❤️

└ username1 she might just have the flu and yall are claiming she’s pregnant lol

landonorris Proper job mate! Tell yn she owes me a gaming session

username6 "supporting from home" yeah with morning sickness probably 😌

username7 nobody celebrating in parc fermé with max felt so weird

redbullracing That’s our champion 💙

username8 she's never missed a home race... this basically confirms it

username9 the way he kept looking for her after getting out of the car 🥺

username10 extremely weird that you assume that she’s pregnant just because she’s not in the paddock and her body looks different

username11 some of these comments are delusional

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liked by maxverstappen1, iamrebeccad and 278,395 others

yourinstagram words can't describe how proud i am! four-time world champion, my incredible max ! 🦁 gutted i couldn't be there but celebrating from home with happy tears! the greatest driver, even better person 🤍 i love you @/maxverstappen1

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username1 MAXIE IS THE WORLD CHAMPION

username2 i can’t believe this is the first time she misses a championship

maxverstappen1 Wish you were here ❤️ Coming home to you soon! I love you

username3 what kind of girlfriend misses her boyfriend's championship win? pathetic

└ username1 shut up, she's clearly not well

username4 so selfish to not even show up for the biggest moment

username5 some of these comments are disgusting. leave her alone!

username6 she's literally been at every race for years, clearly something serious is keeping her home

victoriaverstappen CHAMP 💙

username7 the way he kept saying "wish she was here" in every interview 🥺

username8 not even showing up for THIS? something's definitely up...

username9 some of these comments are vile. let her take care of herself

username10 the haters are just mad their fav could never

liked by username1, username2 and 79,736 others

f1_gossip_daily EXCLUSIVE: The Real Reason Behind YN's Absence 🚨

After months of speculation, here's your confirmation! Sources close to the couple confirm YN is expecting! This explains her absence from recent races including Max's championship win. These pictures were taken outside of a clinic 👀

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username1 WHAT THE FUCK

username2 MAX IS GOING TO BE A DAD ???

username3 DELETE THIS. they clearly weren't ready to share. this is disgusting.

username4 reporting this post this is a massive invasion of privacy

username5 following and photographing someone at their DOCTOR'S office?? you've crossed a line

username6 this is absolutely vile they deserved to announce this their own way

username7 well this explains a lot

username8 this is why we can't have nice things. delete this immediately

username9 taking photos of someone at medical appointments is a new low

username10 they deserved to share their happiness on their own terms this is heartbreaking

username11 MASS REPORT THIS POST

username12 this isn't gossip, this is harassment.

username13 no wonder max is always so protective. this is awful

username14 this is literally illegal in most countries. hope they sue

username15 their first baby announcement stolen from them. I feel sick

maxverstappen1 Hope the clicks were worth it. My lawyers will be in touch. Next time respect people's privacy.

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liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 504,826 others

yourinstagram Privacy was the one thing I wanted during this special time. The choice to share this journey was taken from us in the most invasive way possible. For months we've been trying to protect this precious secret, wanting to experience these moments just between us and our loved ones.

Being forced to hide because of long-lens cameras at doctor appointments, avoiding races I desperately wanted to attend, missing Max's championship celebration - all to try keeping this private as long as possible. Not because we weren't excited, but because everyone deserves to share their joy in their own way, in their own time.

To those who violated our privacy - you didn't just take photos, you took away moments we can never get back. To those who defended us and reported those images - thank you. Your respect means everything.

But since this is now public... Yes, Baby Verstappen is joining the grid in 2025 💕 Not the way we planned to share this, but our joy can't be diminished. Max, watching you become a father already is the most beautiful thing. I love you ❤️

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username1 OH MY FUCKING GOD

username2 i hate everyone who ruined this for them

carmenmmundt You handled this with such grace. Can't wait to meet baby V!

username3 we knew something was up when you kept missing races

username4 THE WAY HE'S BEEN PROTECTING HER ALL THIS TIME 😭

username5 so happy it's finally out but so angry at how it happened

sophieklumen The best news! Already the most loved baby ❤️

danielricciardo uncle danny is ready for babysitting duties!

username6 anyone else crying at "watching you become a father already"

username7 the grace and class in this post after what happened... we stan the right person

username8 baby ver about to have the most protective dad in F1 history

lando does this mean I can finally talk about hiding snacks in the garage for yn? 😂

username9 MOST LOVED BABY EVER ALREADY

username10 i hope people who harassed her rot in jail tbh

username11 can we talk about how beautiful this pic is tho

username12 MAX IS A DAD OMFG

carlossainz55 Such beautiful news! Felicidades! ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux the most beautiful mama already

victoriaverstappen Finally we can celebrate properly! Love you both so much!

maxverstappen1 So proud of you both. I love you with everything I am and more

liked by yourinstagram, lando and 2,048,648 others

maxverstappen1 I rarely address personal matters, but today I have to. What happened yesterday crossed every line. Following my girlfriend to medical appointments, hiding in bushes to take photos - this isn't journalism, it's harassment. The people involved will be dealt with legally.

YN has been my strength through everything. Watching her try to hide her happiness these past months because of invasive cameras has been infuriating. She missed races she wanted to attend, stayed away from celebrations, all to protect our privacy. She even missed our championship moment - something that crushed us both - because we were trying to keep this joy to ourselves for a little longer.

To everyone who mass reported those photos and defended our privacy - thank you.

To the "journalists" who did this - I hope those clicks were worth it. Actions have consequences.

But yes, we're having a baby. YN is the strongest person I know, already the most incredible mother. Nobody can take away our happiness about this, even if they tried to take away our moment.

And to any paparazzi reading this - stay away from my family. This is your only warning.

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username1 PAPA BEAR MAX ACTIVATED AND WE'RE HERE FOR IT

username2 IM SOBBING

yourinstagram i love you ❤️ best daddy already

victoriaverstappen My protective big brother 🥺 Love you both!

charles_leclerc Well said Max. We stand with you both.

username3 this man won a championship and is still more focused on protecting his family

lando already ordering mini racing suits

username4 that last line wasn't a warning, it was a THREAT

username5 the way he goes from soft boyfriend to protective beast in one post 😭

username6 yn calling him best daddy already i can't handle this

username7 "Stay away from my family. This is your only warning." CHILLS.

username8 the whole grid in the comments ready to throw hands for them

username9 protective max is scary max

username10 love how he went from soft "yn is my strength" to "this is your only warning"

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liked by maxverstappen1, lando and 398,267 others

yourinstagram since it's out there anyway... let me expose papa bear a bit 😂❤️

catching him putting headphones on my belly to "start early with engine sounds." coming home to find him practicing assembly with the crib (yes, 5 months early). finding children's books about racing in 4 different languages because "the baby needs options."

my favorite is him speaking in dutch to my belly because "the baby needs to understand the language.”

also special mention to his 3 AM grocery runs because "we" were craving stroopwafels, and him threatening to fire his trainer for not changing his routine because "what if I need to carry both of them?"

the "most aggressive driver on the grid" everyone 🥺

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username1 IM SOBBING

username2 DADDY MAX YOU ARE SO WHOLESOME

maxverstappen1 The baby DOES need to understand dutch 😤❤️

username3 MAX IS SUCH A PAPA BEAR I CANT

lando NOW I can talk about finding baby books in his driver room

victoriaverstappen My brother the softie 🥺

sophieklumen The cutest papa bear ❤️

username4 SOFT MAX UNLOCKED

username5 not him being the most prepared dad ever

username6 the way he's been secretly nesting this whole time and we had NO IDEA

username7 "what if I need to carry both of them" STOP HE'S SO 🥺

username8 not him threatening his trainer I'M CRYING

username9 imagine being the most feared driver on track but also doing 3am stroopwafel runs

username10 the fact that he's been doing this for months while we all thought he was just focused on racing 🥺

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liked by maxverstappen1, iamrebeccad and 512,038 others

yourinstagram since we didn't get to share our first baby news the way we wanted to, we're keeping this moment ours ❤️ baby girl verstappen coming to shake up the grid ! already has her papa wrapped around her tiny finger (and the entire paddock as her protective uncles 😂)

max hasn't stopped talking about "daddy-daughter karting lessons" since we found out (though i caught him googling "how to say no to puppy eyes" so at least he knows what he's in for 😅)

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username1 OMFG

username2 MAX IS A GIRL DAD

maxverstappen1 She's getting her first kart before she can walk 😤❤️

sebastianvettel Another racing princess! Congratulations!

username3 FIRST FEMALE WORLD CHAMPION INCOMING

victoriaverstappen My first niece 😭❤️ Can't wait to spoil her!

lilymhe the cutest little princess already !

username4 GIRL DAD MAX ERA INCOMING 😭

username5 the way the whole grid is ready to be protective uncles

username6 first he protects yn, now he's gonna protect their princess

username7 GIRL DAD MAX IS GOING TO BE EVERYTHING 😭

username8 the most protected baby girl in motorsport history incoming

alexandrasaintmleux CONGRATS 💓

username9 max "I'll fight anyone on track" verstappen about to be wrapped around a tiny finger

username10 sebastian coming out of retirement to comment 🥺

username11 Danny Ric and Lando fighting for favorite uncle position already

username12 this baby girl about to have the most iconic childhood ever

username13 max trying to prepare for puppy eyes while simultaneously planning her racing career is killing me

username14 first she'll have max wrapped around her finger, then the whole grid

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,388,936 others

maxverstappen1 Never knew I could love someone I haven't met yet this much. Already know she's going to be faster than her old man one day

(YN says I have to wait until she can walk before getting her first kart, but what she doesn't know is that GP and the engineering team are already working on the safest baby kart ever made 🤫)

Can't wait to be your dad, little princess ❤️

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username1 IM SOBBING

username2 GIRL DAD MAX IS REAL

yourinstagram we love you so much, papa bear

sebastianvettel Welcome to the girl dad club. Your wallet and heart don't stand a chance 😂

redbullracing Our champion's toughest challenge yet: resisting puppy eyes 😅

lando WE LOVE YOU PRINCESS VERSTAPPEN

username3 MAX "I'LL FIGHT EVERYONE" VERSTAPPEN TURNING INTO THE SOFTEST GIRL DAD

username4 engineering team making the safest baby kart ever is so wholesome 🥺

username5 man's whole tough image about to be destroyed by a tiny girl

username6 the way every uncle is already fighting for favorite position

username7 "Never knew I could love someone I haven't met yet" WHO IS CUTTING ONIONS

username8 sebastian coming to warn him about girl dad life 🥺

username9 everyone ready to watch tough Max melt for his baby girl

username10 not the entire paddock becoming protective uncles immediately

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liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 439,037 others

yourinstagram These last few months have been everything ❤️ Can't believe we're so close to meeting our little racer.

The entire paddock has turned into protective uncles, Max reads engineering books to her every night (she kicks like crazy when she hears his voice), and GP's already got her first little team radio headset ready.

To our little girl: your papa's already planning your racing career (though we'll talk about that), the whole grid is waiting to spoil you, and we can't wait to meet you

Few more laps until we see you princess 🏁❤️

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username1 NOT MAX READING ENGINEERING BOOKS TO THE BUMP 😭

iamrebeccad best mama already !

username2 "few more laps" THE F1 REFERENCES ARE KILLING ME

lilymhe look at you 🥺🥺🥺

username3 GP ALREADY HAVING A TINY RADIO HEADSET PREPARED HELP

username4 MAX IS REALLY ABOUT TO BECOME A DAD

lando baby verstappen is so loved already. and of course i'm her favorite uncle

username5 THE DRIVERS AS UNCLES I CANT DO THIS

username6 the way she kicks when she hears Max's voice STOP 😭

victoriaverstappen I can't wait to hold my little niece 💕

username7 the whole grid waiting to spoil her is the cutest thing ever

username8 max being a GIRL DAD is the best thing ever

danielricciardo Love you mates ! you'll be the best parents ever

username9 IM SOBBING THE BABY IS COMING SOON

username10 this is the best max era

maxverstappen1 Thank you for making all of my dreams come true, I love you both so much ❤️

liked by yourinstagram, carlossainz55 and 1,904,658 others

maxverstappen1 To the strongest woman I know - watching you carry our daughter these past months has made me fall in love with you all over again. You're already the most incredible mother.

Everyone sees the racing, the wins, the championships. But this, right here? You and our little girl? This is everything.

I promise you both - I'll always protect you, always take care of you. No trophy could ever compare to what you're giving me

Thank you for making me the luckiest man in the world, twice over. First by choosing me, and now by making me a father.

Few more weeks until we meet our princess. I love you both more than anything ❤️

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username1 "NO TROPHY COULD EVER COMPARE" I'M SOBBING

username2 THIS MAN WENT FROM COLD RACER TO SOFTESTBOI SO FAST

username3 THIS IS THE MOST BEAUTIFUL CAPTION EVER

sophieklumen So proud of you both. Can't wait to meet my granddaughter ❤️

victoriaverstappen Who is this sweet man and what did he do with my brother? 😭

username4 THIS IS THE SWEETEST THING HE'S EVER POSTED OMG

username5 THE WAY HE JUST EXPOSED HIS WHOLE HEART LIKE THIS

username6 he really said "championships who? my girls are everything"

lando still showing everyone baby scan pictures in drivers' briefing

charles_leclerc Time flies. Congrats future dad

username7 "first by choosing me" STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE

username8 this is the man who terrorizes the grid every weekend?

lewishamilton This is what it's all about mate ❤️ Beautiful words

username9 BABY VERSTAPPEN YOU ARE SO LOVED

username10 i can't believe max verstappen typed this

yourinstagram you really are a papa bear. and we love you so much

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little-miss-dilf-lover · 25 days ago

Text

COME BACK TO ME, PLEASE. 18+

bucky barnes x fem!reader

wc. 4153 summary. bucky would never return home late from a mission, not if he could help it anyway. he would always give you updates and little texts when he gets the chance. though tonight he doesn’t message and all your texts go undelivered. you immediately think the worst and are left to wallow in your made up grief for hours before he returns back home to you. warnings. 18+ only! thunderbolts* era bucky, bit of angst at beginning, implicit suicide mention (reader says she’d join him if something bad were to happen to him (romeo and juliet who?)) established relationship (implied that they’re married) wound tending, comforting, dry humping, titty kissing, eating it from the back (only a little) unprotected pinv, ‘I missed you’ sex, bit of roughness, creampie, allusions to aftercare (I got lazy) mdni

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Time had become a mystery to you by now, any sense of the minute or hour truly lost. If you were to guess by the pain in your ass from the hard floor and ache in your eyes from the bright corridor lights, you would assume it to be ten, maybe eleven pm — three ish hours after Bucky said he’d be home.

It wasn’t like him. He would never be home later than arranged, not if he could help it anyway. Though it wasn’t the lateness that bothered you, it was lack of communication that became the issue.

Throughout most missions, if not, all, Bucky would check in randomly with texts, keeping you up to date with his ETA and wellbeing, sometimes even just an emoji heart to let you know that he’s thinking of you. But tonight, the last and only message you received was an indistinguishable jumble of words, those dozen letters unclear and worrying. Immediately you thought the worst, thinking it was his final text to you before something awful happened.

Ultimately the dreaded feeling grew more intense when your messages to Yelena went undelivered, even the ones you sent to John.

And so, here you still sit. Outside the apartment, your back against the door with your knees bent up, elbows resting atop as you keep your face buried in your hands. It was agonising, left to your own devices with nothing but terrible thoughts to chip away at your brain. You knew you should keep yourself distracted and busy and occupied, but you couldn’t bear the thought of accidentally missing a message if one were to ever come through. So you waited, sitting out front so you could spot him coming out the elevators.

He would always find a way to communicate with you — to let you know all’s well so you don’t fret, so why hasn’t he this time? Could it really be as bad as what you were thinking, is it possible it could be worse? You thought.

Your palms glide up your face and your fingers run over your hair briefly, a small attempt to alleviate some of the turmoil residing inside you. You twist the band on your left ring finger, turning it around three times like you were wordlessly granting a wish for Bucky’s return.

The hopeless feeling continues to bloom and you drop your head into crossed arms, your shoulders beginning to shudder with your silent cries. You hear a ding in the near distance but you can’t bear to look up and be met with yet another stranger. So you keep your head down, not so keen on re-feeling the weight of disappointment again so soon.

You hear your name being called from down the corridor, the voice all too familiar and you peer up. You blink away the water that clouds your vision and see your lover jog towards you, heavy boots thudding on the carpeted floors. He says your name again and you stand, rushing towards him with open arms.

“Oh my god, oh my god,” you mumble, the sight of him reopening a floodgate of tears. You throw yourself into him, arms wrapping tightly around his neck like you were afraid he’d slip through your fingers. “Oh my god,” you sob into him, thankful he’s made it back.

Bucky’s arms encircle you, grip tight around the middle of your back as buries his face into the crook of your neck, re-familiarising himself with your comfort. “I’m so sorry,” he squeezes you tighter, scared that you, too, may fall through his grasp. “I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats. “I tried, I really did.”

You didn’t need to question what that meant, you already knew. You knew he would exhaust every means in order to speak to you.

“I know,” you muffle and pull away. You wipe the snotty nose on your sleeve and look over him, eager to assess his damage. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” you hone in on his forehead, only just noticing some gashes above his brow. You tilt his head with your hands either side of his face, moving him gently to get a better look. “What happened?” you ask, saddened eyes meeting his tired ones.

He brings his thumbs to swipe away the wet under your eyes and then wraps his hands around your wrists, pulling them from his face. “It’s nothing,” he assures and slips his hands into yours, giving them a comforting squeeze.

“It doesn’t look like nothing,” you protest and sniffle, eyes narrowing at him. “It looks like it hurts, actually, quite a bit.”

His head cocks and his eyes close, it’s like he knew there was no way of making you think otherwise. To you, it was the face of acceptance. Reluctant acceptance. He inhales deeply and nods, wordlessly admitting the agony and irritation it had been causing him.

He should've attended to the wound hours ago by himself, but between the nightmare mission and everything that had happened, it simply fell onto the back burner — his own issues discarded in that very typical Bucky way. But truthfully, he much preferred it when you’d attend to his cuts and scrapes after missions. He loved the fuss you’d make over him. It made him feel safe knowing he had something so tender and loving there waiting for his return.

He steps around you and guides you towards the apartment, hand still entwined in yours as you walk through the door. Instinctively you each move around purely on muscle memory: Bucky throwing his jacket aside and taking a seat at the dining table, you heading to the bathroom to wash up and collect the first aid kit.

Your slippers scuffle along the floor as you make your way back to him at the table, you tighten your robe and sit beside him.

Although you were glad he was back, you found it difficult to look at him. It was like a new wave of fear stills inside you, like you were afraid that if you were to look too hard his face would morph into someone else like a bad dream. As if you were scared he wasn’t actually there and instead a pigment of your imagination.

But his eyes remain solely on you even when yours couldn’t — watching you intently as you carefully pick up his fleshed hand. He could see it in you without even having to meet your eyes; you were feeling a concoction of all things bad, and it was more than evident in your demeanour.

Your gaze hangs low as you swipe an antiseptic pad over his knuckles, wiping away the residual blood that he very obviously ‘cleaned’ with his top. You feel his fingers tighten in yours like he was offering solace and your bottom lip begins to wobble.

He moves his head as if to try and meet your eyes, but close them tight, the act an attempt to stop yourself from crying yet again. He places his left, metal hand on your knee slotted between his and he smoothes over your thigh, trying to assure you.

“I really thought I lost you,” you admit quietly.

There wasn’t much he could say. Of course it was bound to be a dire situation for you, the uncertainty of the night amplifying all those bad thoughts of yours. He couldn’t change what happened, but he can change the way you feel about it now. Or at least he could try.

“I wouldn’t let that happen.”

You scoff softly and peer up from his hand to look at him. “You can’t know that,” your head shakes faintly as if to reinforce your words.

There was truly no way he could know that. As strong as he is, there is always going to be someone stronger, someone more powerful. Someone is always going to have a better set of skills and there will be a time where he won’t be able to do anything about it.

“I do,” he scooches forward on his chair, getting even closer to you. “If I have you waiting here, there’s no way I’m not coming back.”

You smile sadly at him, almost wishing you believed it. In some aspects, you did. You knew he meant his words, but it was something out of his control to promise.

You look down to his hand in yours and thumb over the dozens of tiny cuts — reminding yourself of all the times he’d come home despite being bloodied and beaten and worn next to nothing. He always did return. So maybe he did mean it.

You pick up a clean wipe from the pack on the table and guide it to his brow, slowly and carefully starting to blot around the gash. You keep your eyes fixed on the wound as you debate whether to translate your inner monologue into something vocal, into something he can hear too.

“By the way,” you start, hesitantly deciding to voice your thoughts. “If you go, I do, too.”

Bucky firms, shoulders tightening at the realisation that very well may be true. He focuses on you, watching the concentration in your expression as you clean the cut.

“You can’t mean that.”

“I do,” you turn his words back on him, repeating what he voiced to you a few moments ago.

“I don’t want you doing that.”

“You won’t get a choice… because you won’t be here,” you meet his gaze and thumb the corner of his eye, looking at him sweetly.

Maybe it was dramatic, and maybe it should’ve gone unsaid. But after the night you’ve each had, some daunting honesty could do you both some good.

All he can do is simply just look at you, the thought that you would follow him if something were to ever happen to him made him feel guilty, incredibly guilty. Just knowing that you’d be so consumed by your grief that you will actually join him. It was too heavy a thought and it wasn’t something he could stomach right now.

Bucky’s head shakes subtly, like it was an attempt to discard the thought entirely. He looks down at his lap like he was ashamed almost, like he was disgusted with himself for putting you through so much stress. He was so caught up in finally being able to take action that he didn’t stop to think about how it was all affecting you.

Though you’ve grown to know him well, almost too well and you knew in his bashful, diverted gaze that he was conflicted. You smooth a band-aid on the cut above his brow, running your thumb along the sticky edges to further seal it.

“You know I’m proud of you, right?” you offer some reassurance of your own, neck craning to the side like you were trying to meet his eyes the way he did you not long before. “I’m so proud of what you do,” you smile, eyes softening when he finally meets your gaze. “James, you save people. Like actually save people’s lives.”

“I wouldn’t—”

You cut him off, wanting to get ahead of the self-depreciation. “You do so much good,” your eyes firm as you look at him. “You are a hero and I am proud of who you are. I can deal with the stress, and the worry— just,” you pause, eyes losing their sense of sternness. “Just always come home to me,” your whisper reflecting your sincerity.

His hand moves to yours in your lap, fingers lacing together as he gently pulls you forward — implicitly guiding you from your seat. He leads you to his thighs, hands momentarily settling on your waist as you perch upon his lap, facing him.

Innately you drape your arms over his shoulders, fingers connecting loosely behind his neck while you survey him from your slightly elevated viewpoint. His gaze remains attentive, pure focus settled on you as he flickers between eyes and lips.

You slowly itch yourself closer, faces meeting as you reach his mouth. Your lips linger for a mere moment, ghosting his before you finally initiate contact, pressing a lengthy, gentle kiss to him. Though when it breaks, you’re both keen to rekindle, and so he extends upwards — meeting you again.

But this time around, it progresses, rather hastily transitioning into something more urgent. Your arms envelop his head, hands holding him firmly as if to keep him close while his grasp around your waist grows all the more prominent. Grip beginning to circle your hips atop him, small, little winding movements forming like you were each desperate for more.

His touch rises from your waist, though you continue the tiny grinds unprompted. He reaches for the bow of your nightgown and tugs slowly on the lengths — gradually exposing you like time was no such issue. You follow suit and drop your hands from his face, letting them hang at your sides as if to help him. He parts from the kiss and your forehead briefly presses against his, noses nudging quite like you were both trying to even your breathing and regain control of yourselves again.

He watches his movements as he settles his hands either side of your neck, watching your skin twitch and flutter beneath his touch. His fingers slip under the fabric of the robe covering your shoulders, the slight movement of his hands allows the material to fall down the lengths of your arms and to pool around your stomach.

Without a moment of deliberation, his hands move to your bare tits, giving each a gentle, but somehow a firm squeeze. He observes the way they roll in his palm, how they fit so perfectly and comfortable in his hold.

You reach to the hem of his compression tee, fingers slinking under the tight, black fabric to undress him in a way he did similar to you. You drag it up the length of his back, delicate, unrushed movements matching his prior.

Bucky lifts his arms, indirectly helping you undress him. You discard the top aside and run your fingers down him across the upper of his chest, fingers toying with the wedding band he attached to the dogtag chain around his neck. You repeat the motion from earlier, turning the ring three times as if it was giving thanks for his safe return.

He releases a grip around one of your breasts and guides it to your waist, urging you to pick up your faltering winds over him. But with the one he still has cupped under your tit, he holds it upwards to meet his mouth — lips almost immediately finding themselves latched to your nipple.

Lapping at it leisurely, he matches the motion of his lips and tongue to that of your hips, synchronising the pleasure so you could feel something alike to him. Your head falls back and your lips part slightly, a visual and physical representation surfacing what you feel inside.

You can feel him grow hard through his jeans, cock beginning to chub up against your covered cunt. And so, you direct your winding movements right on top of it, bumping over him gently as if to prepare yourselves: firm him up and loosen you.

He lets your nipple fall from his mouth and he wraps his arms around your middle, holding you snuggly as he stands. You settle on your feet and the robe falls to the floor. You then turn, twisting to face the window ahead of the dining table.

Bucky’s arms stay intact in their placement around your middle and he presses his chest up against your back, holding you close as he peppers quick hasty kisses to the side of your throat. His hands glide up your midriff from behind, needy hands pawing as they reach your tits once again.

You lift a knee and place it at the edge of the table. And as you do so, you extend a hand back to hold the side of his head, cupping over his ear to keep him there — quite like you didn’t want him to pull away or stop. Your mind empties as you lose yourself in the little acts of affection and your head falls to the opposite side, exposing more of your neck and ultimately granting him more of you.

Though the ache between your thighs grows distracting and you find it hard to concentrate on the way his lips feel on your neck when you would much rather them be somewhere else. So you reach your free hand behind your back and palm over his cock through his pants.

He takes the rather large, obvious glowing sign and releases his tight hold on you. With his grasp loosened, you lean forward and splay yourself over the table — both feet planted to the floor, arms crossing on the surface, chin resting atop.

Bucky bends behind you, taking a knee so he could be more level. He litters a faint, alternating trail of kisses up the backs of your thighs, each one getting closer to the cheeks of your ass. His touch rises and his palms skirt over your ass, he follows the billowing shape all the way to the elastic of your underwear. He gives it a small yank, another tug following as he drags them down your legs.

The underwear pools around your ankles and you step out of the fabric while simultaneously broadening your stance. Feet more than shoulder distance apart to allow him access to where you wanted him.

His kisses pick up from where he left off, continuing on from the cheek of your ass and going inwards. His tongue steadily swipes through your folds from behind, the muscle flat as he starts at your clit and parts his way between your pussy’s lips. Languidly lapping at your cunt from its upside down, and rather unfamiliar angle.

Bucky plants a kiss to the centre of your pussy and then seals a final one to your thigh before he stands. Teeth skimming the flesh like he couldn’t quite help himself. If it were any other day, literally any day other than today, he could and would lap and suck and toy with you for hours — but right now that’s not what he wanted. And it wasn’t what you wanted either.

The metal on his belt clatters as he unbuckles his jeans, the sound titillating your senses when you hear his pants thud on the floor around his boots. He reaches downwards and wraps his right, fleshed hand around his cock — giving himself a few preparatory pumps as he guides closer.

He slaps the top of his dick on your ass, two, three, maybe four times, unable to keep his eyes away from the way you twitch and shudder beneath his touch. Quickly guiding his hand to his mouth, he spits in the palm and begins working it over his cock, focusing on the head as he gives it a polishing motion.

Bucky adjusts you in place with his other hand, the vibranium one tilting and angling you by with a firm grip on your hip. He itches himself towards your cunt from behind and starts swiping his cock though your wetness, collecting it around his tip. Lining himself up with you, he nudges forward and his head sinks in.

You each gasp faint at the initial contact, though that quiet volume is short lived when he pushes the rest of himself inside with the same motion. But tonight he doesn’t give much time for either one of you to adjust, instead he pushes himself impossibly further — so, so deep inside that he bottoms out, balls pressing firmly against your clit from behind.

You whine out, the noise emitting deep from your lungs and almost guttural from the surprise, you claw at the table and your neck grows slack, forehead resting on your forearm as you pant wildly.

Both his hands settle on the small of your back as he uses you to steady himself, a large portion of his weight holds your body down, eager to keep you in place so he can show you just how much he needs you. He tests with a small thrust, only retracting a teeny, tiny amount of his dick from its snug placement before he rams himself back in again.

He repeats that a few times over until a pattern forms, wind of his hips growing closer together. And eventually a precise, meticulous system falls into place, cock stretching and filling you in a way so deliciously that any noise you make, sounds strained and strangled. Every gasp getting cut short by the snapping motion of Bucky behind.

One of his hands trails up the expanse of your back, gliding along your spine until his metal grip settles on the back of your neck. He holds you there while his other paws and kneads and squeezes at the doughy flesh of your ass, his grasp around it making you meet his jutting thrusts. Ass beginning to clap and slap against his thighs.

You pull your left arm out from under your chin and place your hand on the table beside your head, wordlessly communicating with him. You were too fucked out your brain to speak in a decipherable manner so you hoped he would catch onto your silent signal.

He notices your splayed out hand and places his atop yours, vibranium fingers slotting into yours sweetly despite the harsh, almost nasty nature of his fucking. A pulse-like squeeze of his hand matching the pace of his punctuated ploughing, the difference between the two actions like night and day.

“Leg up,” he says, voice hoarse and gravelly as he slaps and squeezes the cheek of your ass, tacitly indicating the one he wants elevated.

You lift your leg like the response was of sole instinct, doing as asked as soon as the command hits your ears. The position now is quite similar to earlier: knee resting on the edge of the table, though the rest of your body remains in place. You subconsciously mirror his blissed, lewd noise with the new angle — your raised knee opening you up further, allowing him to reach deeper inside than you ever thought possible.

Separately, you each assumed this conjugal moment to last longer, for it to go on hours into the night, but with all that’s happened, it was like everything was already on edge. Like your bodies were running on pure adrenaline, already tired and at their max with how much they could take.

Bucky leans over you slightly, weight noticeable on the back of your hand as he stabilises himself. Using you for balance as he fucks you both over the last little hurdle.

It all becomes too much and you feel everything build impossibly further inside you: the sounds, the feels, the emotions — all of it collecting and creating an air bubble in the pitt of your stomach. The jabbing of his cock acts as a pin, threatening to make you pop with every harsh snap of his hips.

You near your end and your cunt clamps around him incessantly, pulsing and fluttering and jotting as the strength in your leg dissipates. Your stability feigning and moans hitching. And in turn, your climax triggers that of his own; breaths heavy and grunts loud as he empties himself inside you, filling you with nothing but himself.

His movements dwindle down to a halt and he pauses, allowing both of you several seconds to ease down from the high. Each of you far too sensitive for anything other than stillness. And when he eventually retracts himself, he moves slowly — cock acting as a plug and letting a trickle of his cum seep from you.

Leaning over you briefly, he presses a kiss to your bare shoulder, cementing something gentle and earnest into your skin before helping you up. He kicks off his boots and pants as he peels you from the tables surface, your body limp and fucked utterly sensless. But still, you stand rather capably, facing Bucky head on, meeting his lazy, tired, but yet pleased smile with one of your own.

“Bath?” you question plainly, sweetly gazing at him.

“Of course,” he nods, replying like it was obvious. He would never turn down some bubbles and candles, no matter how late it may be.

Bucky bends slightly and lifts you onto his shoulder, holding you in a barrel-like carry like the object of weight were no such issue. His arms wrap around you carefully, supporting you with one arm secured around the back of your knees, the other just under your ass. Holding you like a prized possession as he guides you through doorframes and hallways, heading for the bathroom.

His smile widens as the sound of your faint giggles tingle pleasantly in his ears — a far happier sound than when he returned home. Just the way it should be.

⎯ ☆ ⎯

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky smut #bucky x reader #bucky x reader smut #bucky x female reader

1K notes · View notes

superhoeva · 1 month ago

Text

𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞𝐬 – 𝐦. 𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 (𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | what a fucking delight it was to write this, as someone who has a big fat crush on this ^ man right here and as someone who is also a lifelong steeler fan. this one goes out to @ovaryacted (who pretty much beta-ed the first handful of pages for this), @heavenbarnes (who maybe might have been bitten by the robby bug?? no pressure to read babes), @jackabbotsfakeleg (who is the first fellow steelers fan i found on tumblr; this team is my doom but i love them!), plus all the robby fiends

warning(s) include language, inappropriate relations (?),age gap (reader is 25ish/2nd year med student, while robby is pushing 50), he fell first and harder, sexual tension, reader is a steelers fan and from pittsburgh, (american) football talk, baltimore ravens trashing, injury (mentioned), smut, penetrative sex (p in v), oral sex (f receiving), handjob, nipple play, bodily fluids, big dick/down bad!robby, special appearance at the end; she's thick, guys... sitting at 5.2k words!

Medical school lecture halls are just as chilly as Robby remembers.

The air feels a little less clean, a little more human, but still. There’s a nip to the air that takes him back to his Monday-Wednesday-Friday EMED 851 lecture. Part of him wishes he had worn one of his hoodies, though that would look a little weird with the button-up and slacks he has on. The light blue–cornflower, the tag reads–top and black bottoms feel odd, tugging at Robby’s skin in a way that his scrubs and cargos don’t.

There’s a wide array of students scattered across the seats of the room. To his surprise, most of them listen to him ramble about airways with attentive eyes and scribble down whatever they can catch. Good. That means that they’re maybe halfway serious about this shit, which earns them 2% of the qualification needed to work in emergency medicine.

Other than a lull of awkward silence at the very beginning plus a few verbal stumbles in the form of curses that cause the class to giggle while he apologizes and gathers himself, the doctor is pretty solid.

There’s only one other time he flounders, if he should even call it that. It was more of an unforeseen pause. Nothing more than the tick of a few seconds when his eyes lock with yours for the first time today.

You’re already staring in his direction, waiting for him to finish the word that collapses surprisingly easy on his lips at the sight of you. He blinks, a strange flush ricocheting across the skin of his face when you blink at him, even throwing in a little grin just as he snatches back his composure with a distracted um.

The shirt you’re wearing is nice. Simple and fitted. Cap sleeves stop right below your shoulder and reveal intricate lines of ink that swirl back under the fabric in loops that make Robby wonder more than he should. You’re wearing shorts, too. Huh. He’d have half a mind to question how your exposed legs bear the nippy air of the hall, but it doesn’t matter. You make it work–and well–the material cutting off just a little higher than he initially realized.

Zipping his eyes back up to yours, he warms at how you’re picking at your bottom lip; your other hand now using your pen to write down something you remember him saying a few moments earlier.

Covering his gulp with a fast wipe at his beard, Robby somehow finds a way to push out the words that have been stuck in his throat for what feels like longer than the brisk five seconds that have passed since he spoke last.

His head tilts, barely, and his lips twitch into a small smile, dragging his stare from you to the carpet beneath him so he can speak again. Robby plays off the mistake as him thinking–about the question itself and not how you are unmistakably the prettiest thing in this room.

Eleven. That’s how many times he glances at you between then and the end of his lecture. The first three times were a genuine accident, and boy, did they feel like one. Goosebumps flutter across the back of his neck, which he’s rubbed enough times that some of the students probably think there’s something wrong with the tendons there. Robby almost agrees, with the way they keep allowing him to swivel and study you.

The more it happens, the oops of peeking at you, the longer it takes for him to look away. By the end of his knowledge-packed but run-on sentence answers, Robby’s stare cements to you. You’re nodding, legs crossed, and unintentionally drawing patterns with the pad of your finger across the skin of your thigh. For some reason, he’s fairly confident in the fact that you probably don’t even realize you’re doing it.

“Any more questions for Dr. Robinavitch?”

Dr. Robinavitch. Professors, man.

Robby doesn’t try to stop himself from glimpsing in your vicinity. Not right at you but close, so his peripheral can catch any possible movement of your hand raising. His eyes burn with an unsettling eagerness while he waits for something to happen. What the fuck is wrong with him? What the fuck is wrong with you for wearing shorts that fit that well even while you’re sitting?

Your hand stays where it is, arm propped against the side of your seat, fingers fiddling with the pen he can tell you’re trying not to click. The small pang of disappointment that rises inside him squashes away in seconds, and he prays that his ears don’t start to hue red after you hold his stare the longest you have for the entire class.

Looking at him through your lashes, you wait. And wait… and wait. A smirk barely ghosts across your mouth, and Robby rips away his stare. Throat bobbing while he swallows, blinking faster than he means to, he looks to the professor.

“Think they’re ready to kick me out, Dr. Hummel. I’ve probably rambled for long enough, yeah?” Robby shrugs. A sheepish smile warms his face when the room echoes with a healthy applause, and Robby almost recoils at the sound. There’s no way Hummel didn’t tell them to do that. And all he can do is stand and take it, hands tucked into his pockets, his thanks an awkward nod and embarrassed grimace-flavored grin.

Robby tries not to blush when he spots you clapping along with everyone else. He tucks his chin, feeling a little silly with how satisfying it feels to know he’s spoken well enough for you to show some appreciation. Or maybe you’re just doing it to be nice. Either way, you’re making the attending pinker than usual.

Class wraps in a daze.

Dr. Hummel leaves Robby lingering to the side, a wave of shuffling backpacks and zippers echoes throughout the hall. There’s a reminder announcement about a research paper due two weeks from today… or is it a presentation? Robby doesn’t listen hard enough to verify.

A sprinkle of pupils, glowing with a luster that only presents itself after their final class of the week concludes, come up to formally greet Robby. All with names he’ll try to remember but won’t. Bright-eyed and buzzing more than he thinks one would be after an hour and a half long lecture on airways, but hey. He appreciates the eagerness, even if it’s a little much.

Doing his best to be polite, Robby tries to seem as if he’s actively listening–nodding, humming, and throwing in a smile for good measure. He catches a few of the words being smattered his way, but he’s already forgotten them by the time the students leave him be. A sigh of relief sinks out of his nose when he turns his head to find you still in the room, only just now standing from your chair and sliding a thick notebook into your bag.

A line of spit gets caught in his throat when he sees you adjust your shorts, subtly tugging at where they’ve ridden up in between the warmth of your thighs–warmth of your thighs? Fuck, Michael, get it the hell together.

Robby coughs loudly into the crook of his elbow before pivoting to find you gliding his way. His heart jumps as you head right for the man, and his mind races to search for something to say. Hi? Nice to meet you? I really like those shorts?

His mouth opens to speak, though he quickly settles it into a kind grin as you scoot past him with a smile of your own.

“S’cuse me,” you pronounce gently, and Robby’s throat bobs.

“Of course,” he nods, voice huskier than he means for it to be as he takes a polite step to the side. You gift him one last breath-snatching smile before floating out of the hall without a second look. A long hum seeps from Robby, his fingers reaching to scrape at the nape of his neck.

Fuck, he needs to change out of these clothes… and maybe receive a beating of some kind for how long he let himself gawk at your ass just now.

Unfortunately, Robby doesn’t find the courage to ask anyone to smack him across the face the entire walk to his car. He does, however, have enough sense to unfasten the button that’s been digging into his skin since he threw on the shirt.

The man could cry happy tears when he pulls into the Panera Bread parking lot to find it close to empty. Surprising, considering that it’s the middle of the day on the UPMC campus but hey. He’s not complaining. The less college students in line between him and his overpriced iced green tea and tomato basil BLT, the better. In fact, he might splurge and go for a brownie, too… maybe that’ll clear the fog you’ve spelled him under.

His mind wandered for the whole ride over–swirling with blurry images of you and tingling with unanswered questions. Robby even stumbles through his order a few times, though the embarrassment over that is briskly wiped away when he turns his head to find you sitting at one of the tables.

Of course, you’re here.

Of course, you’re here and snacking on chocolate croissants and sipping coffee while reading off the screen of your laptop with the most delightful expression of intrigue he’s ever seen.

You aren’t real… you can’t be because only dreams are this coincidental.

Teeth grinding, Robby scans the area around you. Empty, other than an older man stirring his tomato soup and a mother and daughter sharing a frosted cookie with a pair of soft smiles. Robby’s eyes crinkle at the sight, shifting in his place at the counter in deep thought.

He guesses it’ll be a short wait for his food, as it always is. Then all he needs to do is fill his cup at the machine, wait for his number to be called and he’s home free… no matter how tempting it would be to tip over your way and say a quick hello. There’s a voice in the back of his head chanting for him to swallow the nerves and fucking do it, yet he still isn’t sure what’d he start with. What do you say to a young woman you’re certain will haunt you for the rest of you life–

“Dr. Robinavitch? Hi…”

It takes Robby a second to look at you. Even without, an odd feeling tightens Robby’s chest. He finally turns, swallowing through a tickle in his throat, just barely blinking away how his eyes try to water as you approach him carefully. Dear lord, someone please help him–your voice. All you’ve said is his name and a simple, normal hello yet he’s already turning into a puddle of nothing.

“Oh, please. Everyone just calls me Robby,” he holds his hand out for you to shake but regrets it immediately at the spark that ignites when your palms touch. Clenching his teeth at the feeling, Robby masks his tight jaw with a warm smile. “You were just in my lecture, if I remember correctly.”

Robby feels dumb when he tags on the question at the end. There’s no doubt surrounding whether he’s remembering correctly, as he’ll never forget you or those shorts even if he were to try.

“Yeah, for Hummel’s class. I’m actually glad I ran into you again. I really enjoyed you coming to talk to us today. And I’m sorry, I feel like I should’ve said something before leaving class but I couldn’t think of any cool questions to ask you afterwards but, uh, yeah. Having an actual attending from an ED come to talk to you about using a mac versus a miller is much more pleasing than reading about it in some textbook at three in the morning.”

A small chuckle lightens his face. “That’s very kind of you, ‘m glad you liked it. Is ED your main interest?”

“One-hundred percent. I mean, I won’t even start my rotations for another year but that’s definitely the end goal.”

“Well, good. That’s good, um… sorry, one sec,” Robby’s cut off by the calling of his number, but raises a gentle hand with a pleasant smile in hopes that you’ll stay put. He mumbles a small thank you to the worker that slides him his bag, turning back to you with a lick to his lips. “Like I was saying, that’s great. We could always use more people like you in the ED.”

Wait. Shit. People like you? The man hasn’t even known you for that long and has talked to you for even less. He finds himself lucky when you decide not to think about the statement as hard as he does, accepting the compliment with a small grin.

“I appreciate that, Robby. Hopefully at least one of my clinicals ends up being in The Pitt. I can’t even imagine all the things I’d learn as your MS considering that all it took was a class of you speaking for me to fill up two pages of notes.”

Is he as red as he feels?

“Ah, hearing that, I’m sure you’d fit right in wherever you end up. Secretly kinda hoping it is in my ED at some point, though.” And not just because you’re a knockout and a half. “Just over the short time I’ve talked to you, you seem stellar. Good listener, pretty, cares about the details.”

Wait. Shit, that second one is a slip and much too obvious to just glaze over like his last one. You’re blinking at him in a way that itches his insides, and he exhales a rough breath. Shaking his head, he dips his nose in an embarrassed hang of his head.

“‘M sorry,” he starts with a breathy laugh because it’s all he can do. “That wasn’t appropriate of me, I’m sorry. Your good looks have nothin’ to do with your abilities.”

Suddenly, it feels like karma is having its way with Robby. Was there a door he should’ve held but didn’t? A thank you he forgot to tell someone? There must be because he’s usually quicker to control himself around someone that’s piqued his interests as much as you have.

When he tilts his gaze back to you, there’s something in your face hinting at something he doesn’t let himself attempt to decrypt.

“Jeez, I’m really eatin’ it today, aren’t I,” Robby squirms with a sheepish smile. “And that feels like my cue to leave you to you’re studying before I am forced to have you gag me.”

“Oh, I’m not studying. I mean, I should be but your answer to that one question Jeremiah asked has me knee deep in an article about the history of clinical airway management. Also, I didn’t take you to be into that kinda stuff, but I’ll make sure to be gentle if you really want me to.”

Brow line raising in a flutter of rousing excitement, Robby allows himself a full grin. You match the toothy-smile, leaning with something that looks like anticipation with another wring of your hands.

What a well-dressed, witty, gorgeous geek you’re proving yourself to be.

“I, uh, I actually know of a few other studies you might be interested in,” Robby suggests, a wave of poise centering his thoughts and reprioritizing his intentions. “...if you've got the time?”

The next sixty-ish minutes pass devastatingly fast. A few more people have populated the Panera dining room but Robby’s too high on your presence and one and a half cups of iced green tea to care.

“You’re making this up, you gotta be.”

“I swear, Robby,” you hold up your hands. “I will admit, losing to the ratbirds–at home, in OT–does tend to cloud one's judegment, but enough to think they have the upperhand against a metal lightpost? All Dad saw was red and I ended up waiting in the ER with him while he waited to get his fingers re-set. We we’re at chairs for a while and then brought to the back, and the thing I remember the most was this hum hanging in the air the entire time. Even though I was only around five, that shit was… addicting. Not as electric as a Steelers home game but pretty close. The nurse and my dad kept having to tell me to stay behind the curtain but, of course, I didn’t. ‘Cause, you know. Children. But watching all those people come in broken just to have people like you give their everything to try and fix them… that’s when I knew I wanted to be an emergency physician.”

The corner of Robby’s lips quirks up as he watches you. You stare back at him with held breath before ripping your eyes away to the half-eaten piece of brownie he’d offered you. A little dry but completely worth it with how your hands brushed when he passed you the sweet.

“So basically what I’m hearing is that the Baltimore Ravens are the reason you were able to find your purpose in life so early on…” Robby eases out, rubbing a hand across his beard in anticipation of the response he’s fishing for. He gets it and more when your face wrinkles into a cute grimace and you flinch with a shudder.

“You put it that way, and it almost makes me think I should drop outta med school to move to Canada.”

Your words pull a deep chuckle from Robby, who’s feeling warm at how the two of you are leaning and talking. Bodies relaxed and bellies content with sandwiches and baked goods, the dance you’re both performing is becoming more difficult by the second.

He’s starting to feel less and less sorry about how the side of his shoe keeps knocking against yours, even doing it once on purpose as a thanks for when you notify him of a loose crumb in his beard. The tips of your fingers keep creeping towards each other but Robby blames that on the smaller scale of the table he’s joined you at. You got up, once, for napkins and the man had to take in a deep breath at the swing of your hips. He’s not sure he looked away fast enough either. At least, that’s what the smirk that dashes across your face reveals to him.

“So,” Robby starts after a comfortable lull in the conversation, pausing to clear his throat. “Are all of Hummel’s students this awesome or did I just get lucky runnin’ into you again?”

Flattery. The age old tactic and Robby makes sure not to lay it on too thick. In all of his bumbling and slip ups from earlier, he’s maganed to regain some of his bravado. It returns to him slowly but surely as he starts to unravel you. Not by much but enough to finger out what makes you tick; which jokes to draw out, what subjects (medical or otherwise) gets you going, which throw of his timbre embellishes the shine in your eyes.

“Mm, most of them are pretty cool. Some are also the biggest assholes you’ll ever meet but what’s any place without a few of those?”

“Heaven,” Robby answers with an unbothered shrug of his shoulders and you bob your head in agreement.

“Preach,” you grin, popping a corner of brownie into your mouth. “They were on their best behavior today with you being there but trust me, they’re incapable of going twenty four hours without creaming their pants over making other people feel like shit.”

Wow. “Oh, yeah?”

“For sure. Dr. Hummel should have you come around more often, though. Maybe next time you can snap a few egos in check.”

You’re into whatever this is, Robby can feel it. It’s in your eyes, that don’t notice their lingering on the hair that’s peeking out at the top of his exposed chest. In your voice, that’s lilting in a manner that’s ringing through the thick fog he entered the building with to guide his ship closer to your sweet taunt.

Robby’s quicker than the hesitation his words want to bite back on, tilting his head to give you a quick once over before flicking them away with a grin that’s smugger than he means for it to be.

“Oh, that’s definitely something I’d consider as long as you're still sittin’ front row.”

Your lips curl upwards and Robby is buzzing at the win. It makes his chest puff a little, too, and his head starts to feel a little funny when he catches you staring again.

“Hey, uh,” just do it, Rob, “why don’t we exhancge numbers? You know, in case you ever feel like conversing more over slightly-stale bread and the best passion papaya iced green tea on this side of the Mississippi.”

Taking a second to think, you sniff.

“While I have had better passion… papaya iced green tea–” you recite the words with a subtle unsureness, laughing a little at the nod Robby encourages you with.

“You got it,” he reassures you, voice rasping with obvious amusement before letting you continue.

“–I’d love to keep picking your brain. I will warn you, though, since the age of eleven, I have somehow managed to, uh, shift every conversation I’ve been a part of to the topic of the Pittsburgh Steelers at some point, so if that’s not your thing, then…”

Your words melt into a stronger laugh than you expected to leave you, and it wraps arround the high-pitched giggle trickles out of Robby.

“Oh, I’ve dealt with worse, sweetheart,” he winks, pulling out his phone from his back pocket and opening it before sliding it your way. He holds his breath the entire time you add your contact, eyes flicking to his screen where he sees your name along with a simple :). He huffs at the sight, plucking the device back into his grip. “Much, much worse.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

You add a smirk and tip of your head with the question. Robby’s soaring.

The following hours prove to be just as indelible as your shorts, and it’s all because of you.

You’re more than special, and Robby sits undisputed in that fact as he commences the third round of the night. The slide into you is just as good as the first and the second. You’re on top this time, your hands clutching his face to rub at the thick of his beard while you sink down onto him.

Robby holds your waist, hands light but still there as he splits you open. A noise breaks from his throat when you sit fully, and he rests his forehead against yours. While you take a second to adjust, Robby peeks down past the pudge of his belly to where the two of you meet, groaning at the sight of you stretcehed around him.

Eyes flicking to yours, Robby tightens the arm he has around your waist to tug you until your breasts are flush against his chest. You cling to him at the shift, hips barely lifting before collapsing back down onto him with a shuggering grunt.

Your body keeps the same languid speed, Robby helping you just barely with a hand splayed just above your ass.

“Fuck, you’re so deep,” you pant out against his mouth. “And fucking huge. I should’ve known considering how you walked into class earlier, though.”

“Shit,” Robby moans. “Really?”

You bob your head, hand reaching to grab at Robby’s shoulder. The muscle holds strong under your squeeze, you answer him during another rock of your hips.

“Mmhm. You just… oh, fuck, you walk like it’s big. Which it totally is, by the way.”

“So you’ve said,” Robby ribs, adding a few bucks of his hips that yanks a squeak out of you. “Actually screamed it a few times, too.”

“Well, can you blame me–”

You’re interrupted by Robby, who surprises you with a steep roll to the side. Now hanging over you, Robby pants through a groan. He’s gonna feel that tomorrow but the chance of a strained back isn’t gonna stop him from trying to get you to keep making those sounds that have him seeing stars.

He takes the miracle of his cock remaining inside you even after the change of position, hitching both of your legs back as far as they’ll let him and jerking you with a thrust. It’s deep and driving, intentional enough to make you feel every inch and vein of his swollen member. You wail out right next to his ear and he smiles against the tattoo on your shoulder in victory. He still doesn’t know what it is. You won’t tell him and he got tired of guessing.

“No, I can’t,” Robby throws back, hips falling into a pattern of sharp thrusts. You feel bottomless and it makes his stomach clench. “Eyes on me, baby. Right here, okay?

Robby meets your stare as soon as you crack open your lids. He tightens the snap of his hips, allowing himself to indulge. Call it a habit but he likes to look… observe the way your mouth parts as you puff out air every time your clit hits his pelvis… how your brows pinch together and eyes water as he pounds into the spot it only took him a total of seven thrusts to find… how your hands reach for his neck, squeezing when you hear him flutter your name out on a gruttal moan.

You especially like him loud, he’s found. Not bold enough to ask for it, Robby had the pleasure of figuring the phenomenon out on his own. It didn’t take long, thankfully, as he got embarrassingly close to blowing a vocal cord when you tongued at his nipples and skillfully jerked out his cum onto your stomach. Afterwards, his taste buds found your slit a sopping mess of slick and cream, which he slurped away at until you tugged him up by the hair and kissed your juices from his mouth.

The first time he’d fucked you, it was slow. A loitering exploration of every indent and ripple inside your hole, every mole and freckle of your skin. You’d already come once against his tongue after he’d convinced you that no, you were not going to die if he didn’t kiss you right then.

(‘What about her, hm?’ He’d asked with a finger ghosting across your clit. ‘Nothin’ wrong with being a little greedy but I gotta show her some love, too, alright? She’s much too pretty to ignore, even with you givin’ me those eyes…’)

However, it’s the first time you peak around him that the sky parts. Heaven calls, singing songs of eternal delights but Robby declines the offer. His soul finds the symphony of you falling apart much more satisfying. Ever more gratifying, as it’s his name flooding from your lips. Not God’s or some boy in one of your classes in those cold ass rooms–his.

The second time you’d come around him hits both of you like a train. He’d gotten you trapped on your side, leg hanging in the air helplessly. Neck stretching, you’d bit at his tongue a few times when he’d upped the speed of his hips, warning Robby that you were gonna come again. After you added on a whine that you did not want him pulling out when he came, he flipped you into a rough prone bone, pounding you until your pussy creamed with his cum and your ears heard nothing but dial tones.

This time–the third time–Robby lets himself get lost in it. Uses his mind and body for the sole purpose of calling forth and tying your euphoria to his. A perfect ache is throbbing a pulse through his cock, and the man can only plunge himself in and out of you with mindless, hoarse grunts.

Robby executes it flawlessly, the seaming of the end of your climax grazing just over the start of his. You cry out unintelligible words, grabbing at him like he’ll disappear if you don’t and trembling as he works to milk out your release for as long as he can.

“That’s my–fuck… yeah, that’s my sweet girl,” Robby pants, still rocking you as his thrusts melt into a sloppy chasing of his own end. His sweet girl. That’s exactly what you are now, regardless of what happens after this. “Gonna fill you up again. Make you nice and full’a me.”

The only warning Robby’s able to give is a long, choked swear before he starts to spasm, sack twitching as he surges out rope after rope of a plentiful load. He uses a few more thrusts to fuck the cum deeper before joining your lips in a tired kiss. When you run your hands up his back to rake your nails through his hair, Robby groans.

Hips still, his softening cock remains a welcome intrusion. His eyes flicker shut at your appreciated touch across his scalp, the man melts completely into you, hoping it takes a long while for your breaths to return.

Robby’s mind is completely still. Numb, even, and there are only figures of you. Clenching his eyes, he sighs before mumbling something so muffled that he has to repeat it.

“I said,” he begins with a kiss to your jaw, “the Ravens might be my new favorite team.”

Robby feels your inhale pause and lifts his head to look in your eyes. A short laugh wheezes out of him when he finds you already staring back, your face a cross of complete and utter confusion and a little bit of hurt.

“What on earth could have possibly compelled you to say that to me?”

Your question starts strong but falls apart with giggles at how Robby keeps laughing. The two of you shake with stupid giggles, and Robby has to take a second to remember where he was going with this.

“Only ‘cause they led you to me. No Ravens, no angry dad. No angry dad, no ER visit. No ER visit, no grand revelation of wanting to become a doctor in emergency medicine. It’s simple, I’m a little surprised I had to explain it.”

“...you think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“Oh, baby, I know I am.”

“Hello?”

Robby blinks, and wants to glower at the fingers Jack snaps in front of his face until he remembers he’s supposed to be answering something. A question. He’s supposed to be answering a question.

Which question?

Fuck if he knows.

Who asked it?

Fuck if he knows.

It takes every part of Robby’s being to not look to the right because that’s where you’re sitting with a wide smile just barely hidden beneath your palm. Eyes boring into him, you stretch your crossed legs and reposition.

“E-even though that might have looked like a stroke, guys, it was not… I don’t think,” Jack picks up for Robby with a pat to the later man’s shoulder. “It’s actually something we in our profession call getting old, but please don’t worry. I’m going through it, too. Apparently, not as fast as this guy, though.”

The rest of the room lightens with a chuckle so Robby’s laughs along with them. It’s fake and ugly but the pause gives him a chance to zip his eyes your way and back.

And, of course, Jack catches him. Hell, he knows Robby well enough to have already seen the way that his hand clenches into a fist every time you move so much as an inch.

As Dr. Hummel attempts to return order to the slightly distracted class, Jack gives Robby a silent not bad, Rob. At all, though a little more decorum wouldn’t hurt.

Robby bites at his tongue, completely pink.

#the pitt x reader #the pitt x you #michael robinavitch smut #michael robinavitch x reader #michael robinavich x reader #dr robby smut #dr robby x reader #dr robby x you #robby robinavitch x reader #michael robby robinavitch #michael robinavitch #the pitt fic #the pitt hbo #noah wyle

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swordgrace · 16 days ago

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❝ 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦. ❞

┊ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: forced to attend a charity gala for val, you and bucky navigate a new life in the spotlight. the only caveat is, he’s pining for you — and he’s pining hard.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: (post-tb*) bucky barnes x fem!reader.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.0K.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: light nsfw, very mild smut, friends to lovers, yearning bucky, confession of feelings, bucky is silly & charming, lots of fluff, heavy making out, neck kissing, sexual tension, body worship, light dry humping, groping & lots of touching, really sweet ending.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: this might be one of my favorite fics I’ve written lately ngl :’) I just adore a softer side to Bucky where he’s happy. If enough people like this fic, I have a part 2 planned! ❤️ I hope you all enjoy! 🫶

Frivolous events have never been your forte.

Thousands of crystals dangle from a gaudy chandelier, hanging high from a scaling ceiling in the middle of the ballroom. Light dances in luminescent refraction, spilling onto the pale marble below.

It’s mesmerizing, a worthwhile distraction that effectively silences the hum of conversation buzzing around you. Excitement blankets the air, teeming with business disguised as laughter.

In the space for reflection, you find yourself more discomforted by your dress than the atmosphere. Philanthropists, chairmen, politicians — it all felt exceedingly ‘larger-than-life’ for you.

The New Avengers Foundation Gala was the solution to a cut in funding Valentina had experienced in the wake of O.X.E Group’s dismantlement.

In the upper wings of the hall, were showrooms dedicated to the new mightiest heroes of a futuristic generation. It was all too polished, too modernized, too corporate — it was somewhat soulless, each of you washed down to a mere moniker.

Attendees, patrons, and donors alike were thoroughly engrossed with Valentina’s peacocking display — and the press loved it, too.

Banners hung from the rafters, bearing a glamour shot of each member of the team, all wearing new gear that held an exaggerated flair. It was strange, seeing your face plastered there — haunting, really.

Unfortunately for the team, you were all along for the ride; a tumultuous, unpredictable ride that left you feeling mildly uncomfortable.

It was as if you were living in a skin that didn’t belong to you, catering to people who saw you as an accessory, a curiosity.

Indigo silk barely touched the floor beneath you, off-the-shoulder sleeves accentuating your neckline as if you had something to show. The wardrobe wasn’t something you’d selected; Val chose it.

Constricted within your fabric coffin, you continued to marvel at the general splendor of the pavilion, cradling a half-drank glass of champagne.

Unbeknownst to you, Bucky Barnes’s eyes had followed you across the room for the past hour, his gaze disarmingly soft. It was to check in on you, he’d told himself, but it extended beyond that.

To any outsider, he resembled a man yearning for someone who didn’t have a clue, wistful and contemplative. Friends don’t look at one another in the way Bucky looks at you.

Discomfort rippled from you in waves, slithering like some fever over your skin, tugging at the corners of your thoughts.

Whenever you took a step, you felt as if you might collapse from the pressure, or simply from the balancing act on stilettos.

From afar, Bucky was deliberating going to you, noticing the way Valentina had swarmed in with calculated, measured steps. She was dangerous, even still; and he didn’t trust her with you.

“God, you do clean up nicely,” Valentina’s biting tone sank into you like teeth, spiking your nervous system. “You know, I started to think you might’ve been a little hopeless.” She chimes, champagne in-hand.

Swiveling, you’re faced with your boss, the corner of her mouth pulled into a half-smirk. After everything, you’re still wary of her, never fully bringing your guard down in the process.

“Thanks,” With a low mumble, you can’t quite decipher if she’s paying you a compliment or mocking you — maybe it’s somewhere in between. “I’m not used to this.” You confessed, fingers tense around your glass.

“You’ll have to work on your posture,” She chided, clicking her tongue with faux disapproval. “Looks bad in the pictures.”

It was all optics with her — a team of government rejects rebranded as the new face of heroism, rebuilding the legacy left behind by shoes too big to fill. Admittedly, she made you nervous; too sharp, too clever, a well-dressed viper.

Withholding the urge to retort with a quip of your own, you forced a smile, noticing photographers swimming in your peripheral like sharks.

“Turn around and give them a smile, yeah?” Valentina uttered, low enough for only you to hear. A hand fell flat against the back of your arm, turning you just in time to be bombarded by flashes of light and camera clicks.

With pearlescent teeth and a wolfish smile, she stood firmly beside you, guiding you through it. Your own smile was threadbare and pensive, as if it pained you to play along.

It all seemed scripted, rehearsed, fake. Everything lacked authenticity, and it grated on you through the photographs.

Bucky was already in-motion, weaving through the gathering crowd, departing a conversation with an investor mid-sentence. He wouldn’t call it a rescue mission, but he knew you, knew how anxious it made you.

His brief stint in Washington as a congressman afforded him time in the spotlight, pressed beneath mountains of questions and constant prying.

Quietly, he slipped in from the fringes, coming to stand beside you. Valentina noticed, but made no motion to dismiss him, allowing the press to make a frenzy of it all.

Vibranium graced the small of your back, a kiss of ice through the silk that clung to you, the gesture comforting. Realizing that Bucky had joined you, you began to relax, anchoring yourself to his presence.

When the cameras receded, the weight within your chest had lifted, replaced by relief as you turned to Bucky. “Thank you,” You murmured, appreciative. “Don’t go anywhere.” It was a soft plea, one that he heeded.

“Mr. Barnes,” Valentina spoke as if he’d irked her in some regard, polished nails tapping against her champagne glass. “Suit’s a little outdated, but we can work with that.” She remarked condescendingly.

Bucky huffed, hovering near your right side, one hand shoved into his pocket. “Yeah, well,” He shrugged, nonchalant. “I’m a little old-fashioned.” His own wry joke prompted him to smile.

With a snarky hum, Valentina dismissed his jest, peering over her shoulder as an older man approached, a New Avengers pin on his lapel. “Ah, Senator Locke. It’s a pleasure to have you at our little event.”

Involuntarily, you stayed close to Bucky, glued to his hip whenever the crowds grew thick. Even with his newfound status as an Avenger, many people still saw the Winter Soldier, a Soviet machine, capable of such destruction.

“Wouldn’t miss it, Ms. Fontaine. You’ve done excellent work, keeping Americans safe with the team you’ve assembled.” He chimed, gaze flickering toward you and Bucky; you, in particular.

“The safety and security of our citizens is our highest priority. The Avengers work with that at the forefront of their mission,” Smooth, calculated and completely fake. “Your contribution is appreciated.”

Bucky bristled, holding back a scoff as he attempted to maintain some level of cordiality. A majority of the people in-attendance held Valentina in some high regard.

Every syllable that dripped from Valentina was steeped by a facade of altruism — she was purely in this for personal gain.

Senator Locke glanced at you, perhaps for too long, prompting you to shift your weight. The stilettos dug into your heels, feet aching as you cleared your throat.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss. You’re certainly much prettier in-person than on a television screen.” Locke nodded, hand outstretched for a shake. Knowing that you’re left without options, you keep the gesture brief.

Through a clenched jaw and furrowed brows, Bucky bites his tongue, keeping himself in-check when the Senator brazenly remarks about your appearance. He was the essence of ire, stewing quietly beside you, digits clenched into his pocket.

“Oh,” It was all you could muster before Valentina shot you a pointed glare through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Senator. I suppose I wanted the world to see a new side of me.” God, it sounded so ridiculous.

“I would like to speak to you further about your involvement with the Avengers. Have you been to Washington?” He continued, and Valentina seemed poised to interject, capitalizing on the opportunity — in her own way.

“Senator, my team is incredibly busy with global threats and outreach efforts,” With another pensive, venomous smile, she tapped her now-empty glass. “Though, I’m certain she’d entertain a dance.”

The more he spoke, the more livid Bucky became, silently seething as he prepared for a scare tactic. He turned around, and one swipe of his phone had told him where Senator Locke’s address was.

As the proposition of a dance was placed into the open, you gawked, jaw unhinged as you closed your mouth. Unfortunately, you couldn’t object — you were playing the part, catering to strangers for funding.

Waved over by another gaggle of shareholders, Valentina hummed, heels clicking over polished marble. “Senator, if you’ll excuse me.”

As she departed, you were left with Locke and Bucky. However, Bucky had a scheme of his own, throwing on a charming smile, maliciously deceptive as he cleared his throat.

“So, about Washington …” Locke began, but not before Bucky could interject.

He leaned down, low and calculating, murmuring something indecipherable into the Senator’s ear. You couldn’t quite discern what was being exchanged between the two, but Locke’s face had turned as white as a sheet.

“I deeply apologize for the offense, M—Mr. Barnes, I …” As pale as a ghost, the man hastily nodded several times over, swallowing the lump within his throat before stepping away. “Pardon me.”

Bewildered, you watched in stunned silence as the Senator quickly retreated, weaving back through the sea of patrons to find Valentina.

It left you shocked, brows creased in confusion, craning to glance at Bucky with a hint of amusement. “What was that all about? You looked like you scared him into an early grave.” You mused, head cocked to one side.

A hint of smugness crept onto his features, turning to look at you, visibly playful. “Told him that I knew his address and how to track him.” Bucky chimed, gesturing for you to follow him elsewhere.

“Bucky, you didn’t!” With a conspiratorial gasp, you were swift to follow, abandoning your lukewarm glass of champagne on the table behind you. “How did you know where he lived, anyway?”

“Google.” Holding up his phone from the confines of his pocket, his tone held a charming lilt, more upbeat now that Locke and Valentina were gone.

Smooth jazz reverberated from the ballroom, a live band dresses in finely-tailored suits situated in one corner. There were plenty of people dancing already, a good place to assimilate and disappear from prying senators.

With a bubbly laugh, you slipped inside with him, heartbeat beginning to settle, anxiousness receding altogether. Having him by your side seemed to ease whatever discomfort you’d experienced before.

“Thank you for that,” A sigh of relief escaped you, hands twisting together, fingers locked before your navel. “I don’t like being here, and I don’t …” Trailing off, you felt Bucky’s gaze shift to you.

A tender stare settled over your countenance, openly admiring your beauty; it was involuntary, revolving around you as if you were the sun itself. “It’s alright.” He murmured, able to understand your frustration.

Pushing a tremulous exhale through your nose, you mustered up a smile, palm running over the underside of your forearm. “Sometimes I miss the way things were before we became Avengers.”

Valentina would’ve labeled you ungrateful, shaming you for being apprehensive at the opportunity presented to you. Maybe you should’ve been happy about it all, but the public light wasn’t for you.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, lips pulling into a half-smile, placating. “Me too.” Despite his short-lived career as a congressman, the current limelight made him miss it; just a little bit.

The friendship you formed with Bucky was meaningful to you, but some sliver wanted more, craved something else. It whispered between stolen glances, hands brushing but never firm, eyes following one another around a room.

Between rooms of shareholders, media, and senators, he was the prettiest thing here — the only thing interesting enough to keep you grounded.

Broad shoulders were accentuated by the fit of his blazer, white dress shirt complete with a bowtie; so handsome that it made you pause. Bucky was always attractive, but more so now, inches apart and smiling.

“Before he comes back, interested in a dance?” Bucky propositions, his question seemingly innocuous. He narrowly avoided dancing at a previous Congress gala, but this seemed as good a time as any.

Smitten, you attempt to swallow the twinge of nervousness that pools within your belly, still rubbing at your arm. “I might step on you, if that’s okay with you. These heels are killing me.”

Bucky chuckles, unperturbed by the idea of being stepped on mid-sway. “I think I can handle it.” He offers a hand, metallic palm shimmering beneath the crystalline glow, visibly reassuring.

Steeling yourself, flesh slips into icy metal, soothing the heat that’s made residence in your skin. Slowly, the both of you step out onto the ballroom floor, over sparkling tile, intermingling amongst the crowds.

Some time ago, he was somewhat adverse to touch — felt undeserving, felt as if he’d ruin something good. When your hand slipped into his, he found himself craving it, but only if it came from you.

There were plenty of fleeting moments; moments that still whispered from the recesses of his mind, bright spots slipping through the dark. You grounded him; you were a sanctuary.

A slow jazz ballad blankets the room, chandelier glistening overhead, idle chatter humming in the spaces between. Gently, Bucky’s hand finds your waist, digits slipping over satiny, azure fabric, the texture soft.

It was muscle memory for him, lamenting over memories from nearly a century ago; for you, it was somewhat awkward. Joined hands drift to your sides in a classic waltz, something slow and idle.

Baccarat Rouge 540 — it’s Bucky’s cologne, an amalgamation of woodsy scents, imbued with strains of amber and a spice of something floral. It’s rich, a smell that you commit to memory, being this close together.

As you slowly turn about the floor, you decide to shatter the silence, gaze fluttering toward the stubbled slope of his jaw. “You’re really good at this,” You muse, hushed. “Very smooth.”

A bemused huff escaped him, accompanied by a glint of pearlescent teeth. “It’s been a long time,” He confessed, keeping you close. “You haven’t stepped on me yet.” Bucky remarks teasingly.

“We just started, there’s still plenty of time,” Playful, you return his quip with one of your own, minding his feet as you shift to the right. “Hopefully Valentina isn’t upset about the Senator thing.”

“She’ll live,” Bucky murmured, still sore about the entire ordeal. She was vicious, calculating; there was always an ulterior motive with her, wreathed in shadows. “I don’t trust her with you.”

While you were flattered by his concern, you felt that you could handle yourself, despite the uncertainty. “I’ll be alright, Buck. I think she took advantage of my discomfort, that’s all.”

“That’s my point. She’s dangerous.” Through pinched brows, his gaze fell to you, wrought with something incendiary. He was protective over you for a multitude of reasons. “I want to keep you safe.”

His cadence softened to a gentle lull, one that filled your stomach with butterflies. The way he stared at you — it didn’t seem strictly platonic, but maybe you were reading into it too much.

“Thanks.” Little more than a mere whisper, you danced with him still, swaying to the melodramatic hum of the music. The both of you seemed to settle, enjoying the presence of one another; he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

The heel of your stiletto happened to wobble, but he was swift in steadying you, hand tight around your waist. “Easy,” Bucky murmured, a brief chuckle bubbling from his throat. “I’ve got you, doll.”

It was an innocuous nickname, sweet; Bucky had called you it only on a handful of occasions, and all of them were typically playful.

The way he said it this time almost held a weight to it, as if there were underlying implications.

“Still haven’t stepped on you,” Teasingly, you muster up a smile, one that makes Bucky’s heart stop. It’s accompanied by a flutter of lashes, a soft laugh, a gaze tender enough to melt through him. “Yet.”

Bucky huffed, giving you a look as he drew you closer, involuntarily. The distance between bodies had grown thin, breath hitching within your throat when you realized it.

Shy, your hand came to perch against his chest, digits brushing over his bowtie, throat stirring with a low hum. Silence settled in between, a tenuous pause full of unspoken feelings, thoughts left unsaid.

Through parted lips, Bucky decided to break the ice, dark lashes kissing the skin beneath his eyes. Jazz continued to fill the ballroom with the croon of trumpets and gentle piano, the both of you waltzing in tentative steps.

“You look really beautiful.” Bucky murmured, swallowing the growing lump within his throat. It wasn’t often that he paid compliments like these, but his charm was still perfectly intact, albeit rusty.

He’d been on a handful of dates after the coding in his brain had been broken; none of them were fulfilling. There was a lack of true understanding, a baseless connection.

Until he met you, and he found himself fearful — you were something to lose. You left him feeling seen in ways he didn’t think possible, comfortable to be himself, just Bucky Barnes, the rawest iteration of his heart.

Flustered, you smiled at him, attempting to keep your heartbeat from teetering off of the edge. “Thank you, Buck,” Smiling still, you mustered the courage to look at him fully. “You … You look really handsome, too.”

Bucky chuckled as if you’d said something humorous, vibranium palm cold over yours, thumb lightly tracing your knuckles. “It’s the bowtie, isn’t it?” He mused, wisps of dark hair framing his countenance.

“Mm-hm,” Dimples formed at either corner of your mouth, gaze softening as he gently spun you around. “It ties everything together.” Your tongue-and-cheek joke almost made you cringe, nose wrinkling.

“Funny. Did you mean to make that joke?” He teases, and you feel heat warm your features, smitten as you look elsewhere. God, you were perfect — beautiful beyond comprehension.

“Accidental,” With a soft huff, you clear your throat, deciding to press the matter further and be serious. “Really, Bucky. You look wonderful.” The tender cadence of your tone had magnetized him.

“I don’t hold a candle to you,” Bucky utters, voice thick with a pleasant husk, one that itches at the back of your mind. “Nobody in here does.” It’s that soft admittance that makes you shiver from delight.

His eyes never leave you, and suddenly, everything feels too real, too close; the flush of his lips entice you, and you’re left wanting.

Stunned speechless, you quiet, stewing within the tension that brews between the both of you. It’s been simmering for months — part of you wondered when to let it snap, but you’re afraid of the consequences.

Bucky deliberates on what to do next, what to say; your mouth is dangerously close, lips parted, gaze innocuously doe-eyed. He’s imagined it often, what it might’ve been like to kiss you — and it’s always the sweetest fantasy.

“Bucky,” Words hang heavy within your throat, confession sizzling away like floating ash. There’s so much left unsaid — he knows it, and so do you. “Do you really mean that?” Serious, you let your voice hush.

The both of you have danced around the burning flame smoldering between you for a long while, now. It was beginning to reach out, take you both, and Bucky found himself preparing to take that plunge with enthusiasm.

“Yeah,” He says it softly, as if it’s reserved only for you, and he feels nervous. You make him want more, more than he ever thought possible. “I mean it, doll.” Bucky utters, and he’s a second away from bridging the gap.

In a room full of people, you’re comfortable enough to simply exist, fading into the background, and he fades with you.

It’s as if time slows, suspended in the moment — you want to live in it, blinking in sluggish flickers of your eyelashes. The erratic hum of your heartbeat sings a melody beneath your chest, hand absently clenching around his metal one.

He’s thinking of kissing you — any unsteadiness shifts into certainty, and the longer he stares at you, the more his resolve crumbles. Bucky tilts closer, enough for you to feel his breath feather over your mouth.

“Kiss me, Bucky.”

That’s all it takes — it’s his name on your tongue, spoken with such tenderness that he fears he’ll fall apart in front of you, unraveling.

A hitch forms within the bottom of his throat, and he’s moving inward, lips a mere breadth apart. His mouth is almost on yours, disarmingly gentle, and then it’s all ripped away.

“Bucky!”

Congressman Gary’s voice pierces through the tension, deflating it entirely, and the tension slithers away into a state of dormancy. The music begins to come to a close, a sense of finality present as you recoil, features burning with heat.

When he realizes how close you were, he’s left frustrated, noticing that you’ve already receded. Soured, his gaze floats past your shoulder and toward Gary, who seems eager to speak with him.

The smile you give him is cordial, a kindly facade that does little to mask your true feelings. He can see it, lingering beneath your eyes — you’re disappointed, but you smother it anyway.

“Sorry about that.” Bucky mumbles a grousing apology, but you’re quick to dismiss it. He tries to turn on the practiced politician’s charm — but it falters when he thinks about kissing you.

“It’s okay,” Reassuring, you squeeze his metal hand and step away, allowing him space to speak with Gary. “I’m going to find Yelena.” You nod, and he’s reluctant to let you go, but he does anyway.

With a soft nod, Bucky watches you go, slipping away through the crowd in your indigo gown. He’s cursing himself, left sorely shattered in the wake of it all, his head swimming, thoughts scrambled entirely.

He doesn’t register whatever jargon Gary throws his way — something about shareholders, but Bucky is too preoccupied with watching you leave to care.

Your feet are killing you — a raw blister has rubbed into your heel, splitting skin, pangs of a dull ache shooting into your legs. As soon as you cross the threshold into the Watchtower, you’re discarding the stilettos, bare feet crossing over cold tile.

For the duration of the gala, you avoided Valentina, speaking cordially with those who approached, but it was exceedingly difficult.

Bucky hadn’t left your mind — he’d invaded it, a feverish haze that you didn’t want to escape from. The dance left you wrought with exhilaration, wondering if whatever you felt wasn’t misinterpreted like you thought.

The team disperses not long after arrival, a mutual exhaustion from an evening of prying eyes, camera flashes, and being brandished like a polished accessory.

In the inky gloom that pools through tinted window panes, moonlight catches over dark flooring, the night unobstructed by clouds. A pair of stilettos dangles from your hand, footsteps light as you stop to lean against the island.

Relief washes through you as you rock the balls of your feet against the tile, happy to be rid of your high-heels. It’s quiet — too quiet, save for the sound of footsteps behind you.

“Kicked the heels off quick.” Bucky’s timbre cuts through the hush, warm and amiable as he makes a round to the refrigerator.

His bowtie is loosened, first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, blazer draped in a pleated heap over one shoulder. The sight is devastatingly handsome, causing your breath to hitch within your throat.

“My feet are already thanking me,” You remark, leaning against the dark, polished granite. Bucky takes a swig of water, vibranium hand closed around a cool glass. “How was your talk with Gary?”

He was still feeling the stinging disappointment of not being able to kiss you at the gala. Bucky was attempting to discern how to broach the topic with you, or at the very least, come clean about how he felt.

It was easier said than done, wanting someone that he thought he was entirely undeserving of. The way you stared at him, leaned in, said his name — it was all he could think about, consuming every waking thought.

“Nothing important,” Bucky shrugs, ogling you from over the rim of his glass. “Could’ve sent a text.” He muses, body jostling with a soft scoff.

“Oh.” You hum, your tone sounding somewhat awkward. Whatever happened at the gala was something you were desperate to talk about, addressing unspoken feelings.

That’s all you can muster, a meager ‘oh’ as you fumble about. Swallowing the lump within your throat, a gap of silence settles between, thick with a cloud of tension.

Bucky deliberates, still clutching onto his glass as if it’s anchoring him to reality. It begins to splinter beneath the pressure of vibranium.

“Well, I … I think I’m going to go change and lay down. I’m eager to get out of this dress,” Sheepishly, you shuffle around the island and slowly begin to make your way towards the corridor. “Goodnight, Buck.”

As you awkwardly make for the mouth of the hallway, Bucky calmly places his glass into the sink, bristling with a newfound determination. He makes the choice to go after you, finish what began at the gala.

With measured strides, he’s following after you. He watched you leave once already tonight without kissing you — he wasn’t about to make the same mistake twice.

“Wait.” He stops you, a gentle palm on your waist, cadence laced with a thinly-veiled want. “You’re gonna run off on me like that, doll?”

Listening to the pace behind you climb in intensity, you whirl around, nearly colliding into Bucky as he plants a chaste kiss against your mouth.

It’s disarming, but fleeting, brief — he’s wading into your waters. “Bucky, what …” You whisper, doe-eyed and awestruck.

Exhilarated and breathless, you’re stunned when his stubbled mouth fans over yours, and the contact is too hurried, too hasty. Yet, he burns your lips with the kiss, and you’re left wanting more.

“I should’ve done that sooner.” He confesses, tone dropping to a warm timbre that makes your stomach erupt with butterflies. Your breath hitches, gaze wide-eyed and wanton.

“You should’ve.” Breathless, you concur, lashes fluttering as they kiss the skin beneath your eyes. Fingers tense around the backs of your stilettos, and you’re waiting.

Bucky’s jaw clenches, blue eyes burning as he peers down at you — azure dress, dazzling eyes, taking his breath away.

He exhales; the sound is sharp, poignant, excited — his gaze traces over your countenance, across delicate features and the curve of your mouth.

His body is close, chests nearly brushing, hand still hovering around your waist. “May I?” Bucky’s tone softens, a humming purr that makes your knees wobble.

“Please, Buck.” Lips parted, and you’re careening up on your toes to meet him halfway. He dips down, mouth clamoring for yours, lips brushing in a heated swarm.

Stifling a gasp, your hand drops your stilettos as if they’re a meaningless thing, listening to them clatter against the tile. They both gather against his chest, muscle firm beneath your palms.

Passion bleeds through his lips, certain and steady, vibranium hand shifting to cup your jaw. You shiver from the contact, icy metal sweeping over burning skin, other hand holding your hips.

It’s fireworks — months of pining, of dancing around smothered feelings, only to explode to the surface. Satisfaction ripples through you, a warm elation that curls around your bones.

Wisps of brunette tickle your cheeks, his hair soft as it brushes over your face. The pleasant scratch of his beard grounds you, a reminder that all of this is real, visceral — not a fantasy.

There’s a lull in the kiss as you draw away, chest constricting with soft, excitable sighs. “I’ve been waiting on you, Bucky Barnes.” You whisper, unable to keep yourself from beaming, teeth and all.

“Wish I got the hint,” Bucky grumbles, his metal thumb circling over the soft flesh beneath your jaw, pressing a kiss to your crown. “You’re beautiful.” He murmurs, appreciative as he cups your face.

“I wasn’t very good at dropping hints,” The softness of your confession pulls a chuckle from him, arm still caging you against his body. “I just — You’re incredible, Bucky.” Your words come as a surprise, but aren’t unwanted.

A rosy pallor clings to his features, slipping beneath his beard as he plants another kiss to your forehead, gaze warm as it follows the curve of your mouth. “I don’t know about that, sweetheart.” He admires your sentiment, nonetheless.

“I know,” Insistent, you gently tap his chest, fingertips hovering above his collarbone. “I know that I adore you just the way you are.” Affection curled within your tone, sweet and tender.

Bucky paused, a slow smile spreading over his features, lashes fluttering a time or two. There was something raw about the way he stared at you, as if you were the thing he lived for, breathed for.

A comfortable bout of silence slipped between, his hand still stroking over your jaw, fingertips circling your cheekbone. “I think you’re perfect.” He stated, as if it were fact.

A hitch formed within your throat, taken aback by the sincerity of his words. His stare never wavered, exceedingly soft as you coaxed him in for another kiss; and he didn’t protest.

It was soft, wrought with ardor, something that stole every wisp of air from your lungs. Bucky only craved your touch — you were what he wanted, everything he wanted.

Physical intimacy wasn’t something he’d experienced for years; between HYDRA, the ice, scrambled memories, on the run … It never allowed him time to let it sink in, that he could be desirable.

The way your hands caressed over his chest pulled a low grunt from his mouth, lost within entangled lips as he reciprocated.

“Do you …” Murmuring against his mouth, Bucky stilled, lashes fluttering in rapid succession. “Do you want to come to my room?” You asked, insides stirring with butterflies.

A brief pause settled between the two of you, the idea being turned over within his mind. The implications were there — what you wanted, what he wanted.

“I’ll follow you, doll.” Bucky murmured, cadence low and warm as it curled around you, eliciting a brief shiver. His vibranium hand smoothed over the small of your back, and he stooped to retrieve your shoes, too.

Hushed, the both of you strolled for your room, at the very end of the main level. It was a corridor you shared with Bob and Ava, typically quiet with minimal disturbances.

The rhythm of your heart had kicked into a gallop, slamming beneath your breast as you traipsed barefoot over cold tile, Bucky sticking close to your side.

He was smiling, and so were you; anticipation hung heavy, a subtle expectancy that you were eager to entertain. As you came up to your door, you pressed the button, letting it open with a soft hiss.

The room you’d concocted for yourself was home — warm and comely, surrounded by all facets of your personality, vibrant with color. It was very lived-in, bed partially made, items scattered over your vanity.

Bucky had been inside a handful of times, drinking in the details when he slipped inside behind you. He placed your stilettos down, pacing forward with a tender gaze.

“Always thought you had a knack for decorating,” He teased, cadence disarmingly gentle, little more than a soft husk. “Smells good in here, too.” It’s all you — floral scents, sweeter aromas that he’s associated with you.

“It’s a mess of colors,” You muse, nose wrinkling as he moves to sit down on the edge of your bed, forearms resting against his knees. “It’s the honeycomb lavender scent, if you’re interested.”

Bucky chuckles, flashing a glimpse of pearlescent teeth, canting his head to one side. “Yeah?” He muses, gaze boring into you like fire, melting right through you with ease.

“Mm-hm, I can get you a bottle.” Playful, you step closer, lingering within arm’s reach. Being around him like this still feels surreal, as if reality hasn’t fully settled in.

Gently, he reaches for your hand, coaxing you closer until you’re standing in-between his legs. “Might take you up on that.” He utters, palms settling over your hips, thumbs tracing circles over your dress.

Soft fingertips shift to caress over his hairline, carding into brunette tresses. It pulls a low, content sigh from his lips, mouth still upturned into a light smile, gaze tracing across your figure.

He holds you tightly when you dip down to kiss him, lips flush, colliding in a passionate kiss. Hands trace reverently along your sides, and you shiver beneath the gentle contact.

Metal fingertips find the zipper at the middle of your spine, hesitant; he looks to you for consent, and you’re quick to nod.

“Let me.” In a hushed tone, you gently tug at your dress, unraveling azure fabric from your body. Bucky unzips you with care, dragging it down until it kisses the small of your back.

The dress piles in a heap at your feet, leaving you in your undergarments, eliciting a sigh from his mouth. He appraises you with rapture, metal palm akin to a touch of ice to your hip.

“You’re gorgeous.” Bucky huffs, mesmerized and awestruck as he coaxes you into his lap. Your knees come to squeeze at either side of his hips, sweet breath feathering over his face.

“Thanks,” Flustered, you accept his compliment without protest, hands loosely gathering over the bowtie that he’s partially undone. “So are you.”

He cracks a smile, a brief chuckle splitting through his chest as he plants a kiss to your jaw. “Hm,” He hums, low and content, hands caressing over your hips. “You mind if I …”

“You don’t have to ask, Buck.” Through fluttering lashes and another dizzying, pretty smile, he leans forward to kiss you, mouths connecting in a flurry of passion. He’s tender, but not excessively so.

Mouths mold together, his stubble scraping over your maw, a reminder that this is all real. Your breath hitches, excitement pooling within your belly.

His kiss makes your legs quiver, fingers gingerly shifting towards the buttons still holding his dress shirt together.

Digits tense over his sternum, each action marked by a gentle affection that Bucky craves. His hands leave your hips, moving to tug his bowtie off, encouraging you to remove his shirt.

It’s sluggish, meant to savor — he’s still kissing you even as you’re untethering each button, pushing the white fabric off of him.

Bucky exhales, a contented noise that drags through his chest, steady and sure, throat bobbing as he swallows. He finds a purpose with you; something clean, something gentle.

A flicker of nervousness stirs within him; he hasn’t had something like this in decades. You’re something sacred, something to lose, and he looks at you like you’re the sun, as if he hasn’t felt warmth in years.

He’s still in a white, sleeveless undershirt, material stretched snugly over his burly musculature. The silvery glint of dog-tags sparkles beneath the dim lighting of your bedroom.

A tangle of now-faded scars sits at the divide where vibranium kisses flesh, drawing your gaze there, oozing with empathy.

Lips collide, and collide again — a tangle of heat and brewing desire. He kisses you as if you might slip right through his fingers, stopping only to let his mouth press over your throat.

“Bucky.” You sigh, feeling his hand settle over your hip, the other slipping to stroke over your ribs. Metal smooths across your body, caressing until he cups your breast.

Soft fingertips trace over his chest, moving to gently grasp at the nape of his neck, threading over his hair. He continues to lavish your neck in sweet, lingering kisses, kneading at your clothed chest.

Desire pulls at the fringes of your mind, creeping in like some haze. His mouth peppers a trail, from beneath your jaw to your collar, and back up again. He repeats it a time or two, stroking your hip.

His mouth works at you still, drifting from your jaw to the silky expanse of your throat, scruffy beard scratching pleasantly against your skin.

One of your palms settles over his vibranium bicep, firm and icy underneath your flesh. Bucky shudders as if it’s a phantom sensation, lips parting with surprise.

Your embrace is fearless, and you touch his arm as if it’s just that, just him; not an instrument of destruction like he used to believe. His mouth finds yours again, bleeding passion.

Quiet, he grips you tightly before standing, ensuring that one of your legs settles over his hip. Bucky moves you back into your pillows, pressed further into the mattress, lips still joined.

He settles between your legs, pulling a soft moan from your mouth, noses brushing over one another. Your hand idly drags along his metal forearm, the other gliding beneath his undershirt, feeling along his abdomen.

Your fingertips are like kisses of silk — affectionate, tender, and delicate. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this, as if he were something to covet, someone worth loving.

Coming to rest on either side of him, your knees idly squeeze at his ribs, hand continuing to ascend. Bucky indulges you, using one arm to tug off his undershirt, dog-tags dangling toward your collar.

Something incendiary resides within his gaze, warm and smoldering intermingled with adoration. Through a momentary gap, you exhale, warm breath pluming over his lips before you resume the kiss.

With a soft sigh, you’re turning into him, chest brushing against his, other hand drifting to grasp at his bicep. His mouth is ceaseless, constant — you’re lost within his lips.

The warm flesh of his hand returns to knead at your breast, rolling over flesh, tingles of bliss shooting through your body.

Bodies bump together, flush; Bucky shivers when your hips seem to grind against his own, producing a friction that nearly shatters his resolve. He wants to; he thinks about it often.

He’s deliberate, attentive; Bucky kisses you as if you’re the center of everything, tender as it stretches on for several moments.

Kisses edge with something desirous, and you withdraw to catch your breath, visibly smitten. He moves toward your throat again, dipping further until he finds your collarbone.

“Bucky,” Another low, pleading moan ripples through your chest, a sound that he’s desperate to hear more of. “Bucky, please.” You sigh, satisfied and yearning for more.

There’s a moment of him continuing — metal fingers fisting into the sheets, walking the fine line of restraint. Desire rages between the both of you like a burning wildfire.

Again, he lavishes kisses over your chest, trailing towards the soft juncture between your shoulder and throat. After leaving his mark there, he finds your mouth once more, and kisses hard.

Reciprocating, the heat of entangled mouths lasts for what feels like a lifetime; it’s like fireworks dancing in your belly, nerves electrified, and you’re soaring, floating.

It slows to a crawl when he draws away, settled comfortably between your thighs. “I want to do this the right way.” He drawls, hot breath feathering over your visage.

“What’s wrong?” Thinking it was something to do with you, the sudden pause in your heated proclivities struck you as concerning.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky doesn’t stray far, still hovering above you, propped up on one arm. The other moves to cup your jaw, warm and soothing. “You deserve a first date before all of this.” He muses, a twinkle in his eye.

Relieved, you can’t help but smile, flustered and completely enamored with him. “For a second, I thought I’d scared you off.” You murmur, sweet and playful as you trace your fingers over his chest.

“Not in the slightest,” He utters, and for a second, he looks razed. “You’ve got any idea what you do to me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s tone drops to a husky purr, and it makes your head spin.

“I have an inkling,” Through an excitable sigh, you relax when his lips press against your jaw, lingering and affectionate. “You might have to show me.”

Bucky huffs, gaze somewhat half-lidded, eclipsed by both ardor and desire. You can tell he wants you, but he wants to show a little chivalry; it’s ridiculously attractive.

“I want to show you, believe me,” He assures, lips still climbing over your cheek, sealing beside the corner of your mouth. “I want to take you out first, that’s all.”

“When are you taking me out?” You muse, lips still tugged into a smile. The fact that he cares enough for this means the world to you, and to him.

Bucky couldn’t recall the last time he’d really taken a girl out, and meant it. The look on your face was enchanting, full of mirth and delight as you caressed his collarbone.

“After recon in Kaunas,” He chuckles, moving to lay down beside you. Still, he doesn’t go anywhere, drawing you right into the warmth of his chest, hand holding tightly to your hip. “Gives me time to figure out how to impress you.”

The laughter that tumbled from your lips made him feel alive; it got a faint smile out of him, mouth crinkling at either corner. “You don’t need to impress me,” You assure. “I just want to be with you.”

With a nonplussed hum, his brows furrowed together, chest falling as he exhaled. “You’re perfect,” Bucky murmured, planting a kiss against your crown. “Me too, doll.”

Exhaustion began to creep up, and you were too tired to throw your pajamas on, comfortably curled into his side. He continued to caress from your hip to your spine, his breathing evening out.

“Don’t go anywhere, Buck.” Through a soft whisper, your tone is fringed with grogginess, as if you’re actively staving off sleep. He huffs, with no intention of leaving you anytime soon; or forever, if you wanted that.

“I’m not,” He presses a kiss against your forehead when you begin to succumb to sleep, lightly tugging your sheets around your body. “I’m not going anywhere.”

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