#and that was with restraint and spacing them out

[izzih22]

more jealous paige plss

Claim You

Note: yall just love some jealous Paige… me too

The bass thumped low in Paige’s chest, and the lights of the crowded bar cast streaks of color across flushed faces and glittering drinks. UConn had just clinched a gritty win, and the team had swarmed Ted’s for a rare night out. Paige hadn’t wanted to go too many people, too many distractions but Azzi had flashed that smile, the one that knocked the breath from Paige’s lungs every time. So here she was. Watching.

Watching her.

Azzi was laughing. Loose, head back, glowing. And he was standing too close. Some guy in a Celtics jersey who had no idea what kind of fire he was playing with.

Paige saw his hand brush Azzi’s lower back when he leaned in to say something, saw Azzi smile polite, step away slightly. Paige’s grip tightened around her drink. The straw bent in half. Her jaw clenched.

She knew she didn’t have to worry. Knew Azzi loved her. Knew they’d been them since they were sixteen. But none of that mattered right now. Right now, Paige’s blood was running hot, and all she could think was:

Mine. Mine. Mine.

She slammed her drink down and crossed the bar in five sharp steps, not caring who was watching. Azzi turned at the last second, surprise flashing across her face.

“Paige—?”

Paige didn’t answer.

She just grabbed her by the wrist, firm but gentle, threading their fingers together before tugging her away from the crowd. Azzi stumbled to keep up, her eyes wide, heart already racing. The guy started to say something, but Paige didn’t even turn around.

They barely made it out the door before Azzi stopped her.

“Baby—what was that?”

Paige didn’t let go. She turned, the jealousy still burning behind her eyes, but now tangled with something hungrier. Hotter.

“You really don’t get it, do you?”

Azzi blinked. “Get what?”

“That I don’t like sharing,” Paige said low, stepping into her space. “I don’t like guys thinking they even have a shot. I don’t like someone else making you laugh like that.”

Azzi’s breath caught in her throat. “It was just small talk.”

“I don’t care.” Paige’s voice dropped, thick with heat. “You’re mine.”

And just like that, she kissed her.

Hard. Possessive. Fingers slipping into Azzi’s hair, the other hand splayed against her lower back, pulling her flush. Azzi gasped into her mouth, momentarily stunned, then melted completely into Paige.

The door to Ted’s was still swinging shut behind them, but Paige didn’t stop. Didn’t give Azzi time to overthink. Just walked her backward toward the car with kisses that tasted like jealousy and hours of restraint snapping.

Azzi could barely keep up. “Paige—”

“Get in.”

Her voice had dropped into something dangerous. Something only Azzi got to see. Azzi smirked.

By the time the car door slammed shut behind them, Paige was already on her, lips crashing again like she couldn’t wait another second. Azzi didn’t want her to.

She wanted all of her.

Wanted to feel what it meant to be Paige’s.

Every kiss said it. Every breath. Every tug of fabric and whispered curse and desperate moan between the moments when their mouths weren’t touching. Azzi tangled her fingers in the front of Paige’s hoodie, clinging, gasping, needing—

And Paige gave. All fire and hands and a low voice murmuring, “Let me show you who you belong to.”

⸻

Later, when Azzi was curled up on Paige’s lap in the back seat, hair messy and cheeks still flushed, Paige pressed her lips to her shoulder and said softly:

“You know I trust you, right?”

Azzi smiled, sated and glowing. “Yeah. But I kinda liked you jealous.”

Paige grinned into her skin. “Good. Because you’re mine.”

And Azzi whispered, “Always.”

[dollychou]

60 MINUTES IN HEAVEN ୨୧

꒰ summary ꒱ the crew's little scheme gets you and zoro together.

꒰ contents ꒱ smut! fem!reader. zoro is so head over heels for you. p in v. little boobs fixation. standing missionary sex. c*mming inside. sort of c*m eating? oral (fem receiving).

✉️ ྀི . . based on this ask! i think it differs a teensy bit from the request but i hope u still enjoy it <3

it is no secret that you and zoro have a thing for one another. every glance, every touch, every breath — the tension is palpable between the two of you and yet besides the entire crew, you're seemingly clueless to it all. either the both of you are just simply that dense or both equally afraid of making the first move.

so the crew decide to take it upon themselves to handle this whole ordeal.

one night, the crew are having a somewhat festive night. an array of wholesome foods prepared by none other than sanji; drinks galore and everyone's chugging it down as if it were their last; cheery music played by the talented skeleton. no special occasion — as far as you and zoro are aware. this entire party was planned by the crew for the sole reason of getting something started between you and the swordsman.

zoro is sitting next to you, a pint in his hand while his other hand rests just behind your back. not touching, just near enough to feel the fabric of your dress graze his fingertips. his face is flushed and he will contest that it's the booze but in reality, it's the thought of being next to you that's got him red — inhaling your sweet scent, hearing your voice, close enough to touch you but too scared to.

you're talking to him about the various shops you ventured in to today with nami and robin. your soft voice trills through the air, sounding like music to his ears. he is listening to you but at the same time, he can only seem to focus on the light pink that dusts your cheek and the way your lips move softly as you speak and how your knee is gently touching his own and—

"everybody!," franky yells. "come round! we're gonna be playing a super game!"

zoro's brought back to reality upon hearing franky's voice call out for them. begrudgingly, he gets up and you walk beside him, keeping close. it takes everything in him to not just drape an arm around your shoulder and pull you to his side. but he would hate to make you feel uncomfortable so with much restraint, he keeps his arms to himself, instead clutching the glass in his hand tightly that it seemed it would shatter at any moment.

franky makes everybody sit in a circle and then announces that the game you'll be playing is 7 minutes in heaven! oh, zoro's heart feels like it'll jump out of his chest. while it may be wishful thinking, to possibly get to spend it with you — a space with just you two, touching one another, possibly kissing one another, and maybe...

nami shouts out your name and his, waving two pieces of paper she had picked from a bowl. "you two! first ones in the closet!," she beams, though her smile tells zoro there's something more to this. though there isn't much time for him or you to even think about it or process everything before the whole crew pushes you into that small supply room at the end of the hall.

the door shuts and the crew's voices are heard from behind it, sounding as if they were cheering themselves on. but that's not of importance in this moment. what zoro does focus on is how he can hear you breathing near him, how your body is almost flush against his, and how you're peering up at him with the cutest doe eyes.

"ahem," he clears his throat, trying to keep any semblance of composure as he towers over you. "this is... awkward."

you let out a sigh, a smile stretching across your lips. "a little bit," you say under your breath. "well... we don't have to do anything anyway. we can just stay like this until the seven minutes are up."

though he is disappointed, he does his best not to show it. he just nods and tries to back away but accidentally stumbles over a bucket and you grab on to him to try lift him up, yet instead the two of you topple over, his back hitting the door and your body over his. he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady as his other hand grabs on to the wall.

your face is buried in his chest, grabbing a hold of his t-shirt in your fists. he can feel your shaky breathes against him and he holds you tighter and says lowly, "hey. it's okay. i got you."

you raise your head up, chin resting on him, those sweet eyes gazing up at him once more. you're so close to him and he swears you could hear his heart hammering in his chest. 'god, she's so pretty,' he thinks to himself. the pink on his face darkens. he tries to tell himself that it's just the sake but even he cannot deny the feelings blooming within him. oh, the effect you have on him.

"thanks," you whisper, still clinging to him. he expects you to shift or get yourself off him but you don't. instead it feels as if... you're inching closer to his face until he can feel your breath fanning on him.

you're just looking at each other for a few moments, not uttering a single word. he looks at you, then at your lips, then back to you. and he notices you do the same thing. he's about to say something but is cut off by your lips on his. he's a bit stunned for a moment by your actions, not knowing what to do or how to react. though soon enough his lips move in sync with yours, pulling you in closer to himself, feeling your warm body against his.

after a long few moments, he pulls away, resting his forehead on yours and says in a smug voice, "thought ya didn't wanna do anything."

your cheeks turn rose-coloured, your eyes averting his. "i... i just..."

now it's his turn to cut you off by kissing you once more, a hand coming behind your neck and the other gripping on your hips. you let out a quiet moan and that has him even more riled up. he kisses you with more hunger, more desire, more fervour. oh, he's starving for you — all this time, longing to have you like this and to have him all to himself. he feels as if it's all a dream and he hopes he never wakes up.

he's got you pressed up against the wall, kissing you with such raw passion that it has him seeing stars. his hands roam all over your body, wanting to feel every inch of you. he slides them underneath, feeling your soft skin against his calloused one. his touch makes you shiver and when he brings them up to cup your tits, you moan into his mouth. he smirks and continues to knead the doughy flesh with his large palm, relishing the way you continue to let out those adorable, quiet mewls.

his lips drag across your face down to your neck, biting on the skin and leaving a trail of little love marks all along, marking him as yours. he helps you take off your top and upon seeing your bare chest, his already hard dick seemingly gets harder and twitches in his boxers. he glides his tongue over your nipples, eyes peering up at you as he did so, to gauge your reaction. the second you moan out his name, he's sucking on your perky buds, messy and sloppy. "ahh~ 's so good," you mewl, his mouth taking in one of your nipples and suckling on it while he rubs the other one between his fingers.

he continues his ministrations on your breasts, loving how soft and supple they are and how you're squirming with every lick. he's practically salivating on them, some drool dribbling from the sides of his mouth. after quite some time, he latches off from them with a quiet 'pop', your nipples slightly red and sensitive.

he brings himself back to eye-level with you, looking at you with lust blown pupils. he tucks a strand of hair behind your hair gently and asks you, "how... how far do you want to go?"

you gesture for him to come closer and you whisper coyly in his ear, "can we... go all the way?"

zoro feels like his knees are buckling and if it weren't for his hand supporting himself on the walls, he was sure he would have fallen. he groans lowly near the shell of ear and without a second thought, he pulls down his bottoms and his heavy, thick cock springs free, slapping against his abdomen. there is pre leaking from his globular tip, white pearlescent beads trickling down his shaft.

he uses his thumb to spread his pre over his cockhead, all over his length. he hooks an arm under one of your legs, hoisting them up and bringing it to your chest. he hikes up your skirt and pushes your panties to the side, then lines himself with your wet, sopping entrance and he feels his cock throb in his hands upon feeling you on him. he slowly pushes himself inside of you and stretching you out, biting down on his bottom lip to stop the whimpers that dare to spill out. but you just feel so warm, so tight, so syrupy around his shaft.

he rocks his hips, slow and steady at first, your velvety walls taking him so well. your whines and moans are louder than they were before, face contorted so cutely as he starts to quicken his pace. his fat head begins to kiss your cervix with every thrust and it had you throwing your head back in pure pleasure and ecstasy, clinging to him to make sure you wouldn't lose your balance.

with the way you're holding onto him and how you're panting and moaning, it makes his whole mind go fuzzy, completely drunken on you. his hips begins to rut into you quicker and harder, balls slapping against your sweet core. it's a wonder how he's able to keep you upright and also be able to ram into you so deliciously yet so harshly. you can feel and hear how needy he is by the way he's slamming into you and how he's doing his best to hold back his groans but some of them slip through, making your pussy walls flutter around him

"fuck, 's too good," he growls, resting his forehead on yours, mouth agape and eyes closed as both of you moan with one another and string out a line of curses. it feels as if the entire supply room is rocking along with you, items and supplies falling of the shelves with how roughly he's slamming into you.

your walls are getting tighter and tighter, making him groan deep and primal, feeling dizzy at the way you feel around him. "zoro, zoro," you whine, nearly crying at how delirious he's making you feel. "i think 'm gonna cum."

"let go for me, baby," he grunts, feeling his own climax building up. his nails dig into the fat in your sides, bruising the area. he doesn't know how much longer he can hold back, strokes languid and sloppy and needy.

your pussy suddenly spasms around his cock, your whole body trembling from the pure pleasure you were feeling. you moan out his name, the noise filling the room and ringing through his ears, which makes him reach his own high. he's unloading his warm seed into you, coating your walls white. "shit, shit, shit," he says under his breath, hips stuttering as he finishes filling you up.

he slides his cock out of your velvety pussy, seeing his cum drip out of you. the sight has his dick twitching in his hands, marvelling at how pretty you look so fucked out because of him and how pretty you look being filled with his cum. oh, he's not done with you yet.

he crouches down in front of you, face in front of your bare cunt. he's gazing almost dreamily at your glistening, dripping core and he takes two of his fingers and stuffs his cum back inside you. he feels your pussy throb around his fingers and he smirks, feeling oddly smug at the way you're writhing above him, hands tangled in his hair.

he spreads your legs apart, taking one of them and draping it over his shoulder. he gives a few soft kisses to your core, tasting a bit of himself on you — rather salty. he begins to lick slow, long strips along your slit, getting a taste of both you and him on his tongue. you whimper adorably as he continues to lap at your folds, guzzling down your arousal.

"so sweet," he says, more so to your pussy. he uses his fingers to spread your folds apart, admiring it for a couple of moments before diving back in and ravaging your poor cunt. the sensitivity and the pleasure has you crying out his name, your high-pitched moans echoing throughout the closet.

"god baby," he muses in between suckling on your clit and tonguing at you. "you're so cute. and so sweet."

his compliments make your face red, not being used to the swordsman saying such things to you. your only response is your adorable whining that has him devouring you savagely as well as him fisting his own cock. he already feels like he's going to come undone again, purely from the way you sound and the way you taste.

you start grinding your hips on his mouth, coating your arousal all over him and he loves how dirty you're making him feel. he flattens his tongue and lets you use him however and whichever way you wish. gripping his hair and guiding his head along his tongue, rolling your hips down on him — he's truly getting off on you getting off because he's not even touching himself anymore and he can feel the white waves of pleasure on its way to engulf him.

"'m cumming, 'm cumming!," you wail, soon smearing his face with your cloying arousal and he swallows and licks everything you have to offer him. as he does so, white spurts of cum shoot from his dick, making him groan into your pussy.

once he's done consuming every single, last bit of you, he gets up on his feet, chest rising and falling and still feeling high from the pleasure. he brings you into his embrace, so uncharacteristically soft and gentle. he strokes your hair, placing a wet kiss atop your head. "was that... good for ya?," he asks, voice somewhat strained. he is really worrying that maybe he was too forward or too rough or too—

"you were perfect," you muse, hugging him. he lets out a sigh of relief, holding you closer and tighter against his chest. the two of you just stay in there for a while, basking in each other's warmth and presence, hearts beating as one.

"hey," you say, breaking the silence. "those guys never came back for us."

"i have a feeling they had a hand in this," zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes at their rather childish and immature way of getting you two together. but he can't help feeling grateful for his members too for coming up with this 'scheme'. truly, if it weren't for them, he knows it would have taken eons for him to finally confess to you. while this was never how he planned doing it, he's more than satisfied.

© dollychou ⋮ do not copy, repost, or translate any works.

[outtathisworld-imagines]

No fire without smoke

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

Pairing: Bob Reynolds x F!Barnes!Reader

Warning: Smut! +18 MDNI!, intercourse (F & M rec), smoking, fingering, masterbation, he loves a good girl moment, spanking, voyeurism, dirty talk, swearing, unprotected sex- pls wrap before you tap. Not proofread

A.N: As inspired by this ask ‘*slides into your inbox oh so sweetly* i looooved bad habit but now im trying to imagine how bucky would react to finding out about reader and bob’

Please let me know what else you guys would like! I do have a few other fics on the back-burner (for now!) that I'll start to post soon and just let me know if you'd liked to be tagged in further works too ✨

——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——☀️——

You and Bob played a dangerous game during the two months after you shared your secret with each other.

You had both been practically glued at the hip during the day and grinding against each other’s hips each night. A shared cigarette between those moments.

He had risked it a few times in the tower, sneaking a quick peck or a hand on your ass every now and then, milliseconds before anyone came into a room. It was like he knew. He was playing with fire between the twirls of smoke.

You were both currently in the bedroom of your downtown apartment, somewhere you both often snuck away to, keeping any suspicions of the team at bay by telling them you were both going to a walk to ‘clear you minds’.

When in reality you were both filling your lungs and Bob was gladly filling up you.

You had bought the apartment after the world had fell apart - yours even more so with the sudden loss of your brother. Only for him to appear five years later. You kept it as a safe space, your own place to unwind. Now it was a space you and Bob could be with each other, and most importantly, be yourselves with each other.

He had you wrapped in his arms, the pair of you easing the post-sex haze by sharing a cigarette- like you often did. You took a long drag before bringing it to his lips with your fingers still holding it as he took a deep inhale. “I don’t wanna head back.” You quietly said, your feelings getting harder to control around him. Wanting to just be together more and more often.

Bob looked down at you, staying silent but feeling the same. You turned and stubbed out the dying end of the cigarette before rolling back onto his chest again. He smiled but it was laced with sadness. Bob placed a long lingering kiss to your forehead. “We’ll have our moments. We can make moments. We’ll always have the balcony between two and three in the morning,” he half joked, a hint of seriousness peaking through. A soft grin spread over your face, you leaned down and kissed his chest. It created a feeling inside him that not even all the cigarettes and drugs in the world could match. He opened his mouth and then stoped himself. It was moments like these when he almost slipped.

He had moments over the past week in particular. He almost slipped up in the kitchen when you handed him his breakfast, almost slipped up just before you left his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, nearly slipped up after he had the chance to capture your lips with his before Alexei walked into the living room.

Each time finding just enough restraint to stop himself.

“We should get going, it’s almost four,” you went to sit up but he pulled you back by your waist.

“Five more minutes,” he frantically peppered kisses all over your face causing you to laugh hysterically.

It almost caused him to slip up again.

—•—

The next day you slipped on your shoes and eagerly jogged to meet with Bob in the hall, both of you sneaking back to your appartment or ‘going for your walk’ as you told the team.

You were stopped short seeing your brother walking towards you. “Hey Bucky!” You sent him a small smile.

“Think I’ll join you guys today. Get out of this place for a bit.” He said, grimacing at the walls he had confined himself in over the last few days.

You blinked with a blank expression “Join us?”

Bucky shrugged “Yeah on your walk?” He stated as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Like the two of you do every day.” He gestured behind your shoulder as Bob approached.

“Yes…” you drawled out, nodding your head slowly. “Walk.”

“H-hey guys!” He timidly greeted, Bucky’s presence overshadowing you both. “Bucky, what’s up?”

“He’s joining us,” you told Bob who went wide eyed and you clarified “On our walk.” His brows returned to the normal location on his forehead.

Bucky was in between both you and Bob, Central Park filled with people. The distance between you and Bob now almost immeasurable when you compared it to what you’d both be usually doing around this time. How he’d be holding your hand, the praise, the moans dripping from his mouth like molten gold, the wisps of smoke surrounding you both afterwards.

“I don’t know how you can enjoy this,” Bucky complained, breaking you away from your thoughts. “So many people. So many bugs. How can you guys actually enjoy this?”

You and Bob shared a brief glance “I enjoy it,” you replied with your hands in your pockets, nervously toying with your box of matches that your brother was blithely unaware of. “I would enjoy it more without the complaining…” you said under your breath. Bucky sighed and you rolled your eyes. “I’m getting a coffee,” you snapped “Bob? Buck?” You motioned to the little coffee cart and they nodded as you trudged over.

Your body was slowly being deprived of nicotine and your fix of Bob causing your snappish outburst. It felt like withdrawal. Your body fighting against itself for more, urging it to succumb to your cravings. You ordered three coffees, hoping the caffeine would help a little. Bob and Bucky were casually chatting away about something while your fingers went back to the matchbox and you bit on the tip of your tongue to distract you. Another bad habit of yours.

You grabbed the coffees and took them back over to them both, practically tossing yours down your throat, not even flinching at the scalding heat.

You did another round by the pond and then decided to call it a day, dismally making your way back to the watchtower. A faint “You okay?” Bob’s gentle concerned tone pulled a smile from your scowling lips, you nodded, your selfish addiction to him almost fighting you to shake your head no.

But he felt the same. It had been hours but it felt like he had gone cold turkey and been without you for decades at this point.

When 2am rolled around you made your way out to the balcony in your white nightdress, stopping just at the knees and a perfectly plunging neckline that accentuated your breasts. The cool breeze caused your nipples to almost instantly harden, you pulled the cigarette tucked from behind your ear and brought it to your lips lighting it with your trusted matches.

Then waited.

It didn’t take you too long to figure out that Bob could see the balcony and that meant you could see Bob. He was dimly illuminated by his bedside lamp as his eyes glanced up and saw you in a hazy orange glow. You smirked seeing him frantically trying to organise himself to get to your little rendezvous spot.

That’s when you decided to tease him. You took a long inhale and sharply exhaled the smoke, a new fire burning inside you as he watched you slip your hand under your nightdress. The silky white material started to bunch up from your rhythmic actions, giving Bob full view as he watched you masterbating for him from his bedroom, his body almost aching at the sight. He was experiencing the craving to end all cravings watching you pleasure yourself outside on a cool night under the stars and surrounded by smoke.

He all but flew to the balcony in order to reach you, wanting you to not get any further forward without him, without the chance for him to pleasure you too. The sight of you slapped him right in the face just as much as the sudden gust of cold wind did.

The white dress almost made you look like a puritan, but the cigarette loosely being held by your lips and your fingers knuckle deep in your own pussy told him otherwise.

“Fuck, you started without me?” He playfully pouted. Bob approached you, snatched the cigarette from your mouth and took in a mouthful of smoke before slowly exhaling it over your face and neck, it draped over your skin for a moment before disappearing. “Getting that pussy warmed up for me? Let me feel baby.” His hand joined yours and you let out a breathy moan at the sensation. Bob smirked “You’re gonna wake everyone…here,” he placed the cigarette into your mouth again. “Suck on this until it’s done and then you can suck on my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back in pleasure, his words sending you into a frenzy. His fingers taking over from your own as you gripped onto his shoulders. You took the cigarette and let him take a quick drag before he picked you up by the thighs and took you back to his room. You were giggling so much you didn’t realise the end of the smouldering cigarette fell from your fingers and hit the floor. The embers burned away as you and Bob, blissfully unaware started your own fire.

You both fucked until the early yours in the morning, your legs weak as you quietly made your way back to your room just as the sun was rising.

Little did you or anyone else know the consequences that little burnt out cigarette end would have when someone who was enjoying some solitude with a coffee out on the balcony, found it by their feet the next day.

—•—

When the next evening rolled around, Bob was about to start his second cigarette when you snaked your arms around him and discreetly kissed his shoulder “Hey,” you greeted him and he turned around with a perfect smile. A cloud of smoke surrounding you both.

“Hey there,” his voice was rough, smoke from the cigarette dancing around his vocal cords. It sent a shiver down your spine.

He went into his jean pocket and got you a cigarette, you took it happily and then, to his surprise, pulled out the lighter from his other jean pocket. “Watch this,” you flicked the trigger and it lit first time. “Are you impressed or what?” You gloated as you lit your own and puffed away.

Bob smirked, exaggerating clapping his hands. “I am impressed,” he said “But then again, I’m always impressed with how skilled your hands are…” his voice turned from rough to sultry like it was operated with a switch, he took a deep inhale and then removed his just about finished cigarette, yours fizzling out too. His eyes looked you up and down, slowly and with complete intent. The oh-so-sweet cozy, knitted jumper you had on with a skirt he could easily hike up and then have his way with you taunted him.

You mirrored his actions and then you both met in the middle, your lips perfectly syncing with one another’s and with the faintest taste of smoke from them. Bob soon succumb to his own cravings as much as you did, the cigarettes had dwindled out as they had carried on burning as you both carried on passionately kissing. Your tongue swiped his bottom lip and he opened his mouth for you. At this point the two of you were at the stage of biblical levels of gluttony.

The greed that drowned both of you, the need, the want, the craving, the smoke and ultimately the fire. It all but consumed you both.

Bob growled when you playfully bit his lip whilst pressing the palm of your hand to his hardening cock. He pulled back, his eyes blown with lust and his lips swollen. Bob quickly turned you around by your upper arms and gently pushed your back down until you were bent over the railing, bent over in front of New York.

“B-Bob?!” You yelped being taken by complete surprise, hearing the harsh noise of his zipper going down and then the shuffling of fabric down to his knees.

His hands quickly lifted your skirt, almost cumming at the sight of you not wearing any underwear. “Good girl,” he slapped your ass and you yelped again and he effortlessly slid his cock inside you, you both moaned. “I want the world to watch me fuck the prettiest girl living on it.”

Your hands tightly gripped onto the railing as your moans cascaded over the city below. “F-fuck! Yes!” Your head craned back and you could see his face contort with pleasure as he rhythmically fucked you. “You fuck me so good, Bob! So good, baby!” You groaned, your grip becoming tighter.

“Feels so fucking good, you’re so fucking perfect!” Bob cried just as loud as you. His fingers sinking into your hips as he fucked you from behind, every inch of his body filling with sheer gratification. His eyes closed, his restraint unwinding before he eventually- “God, I love you!” He slipped.

You tensed feeling him suddenly stop a few seconds after he realised what he had said. “Are you okay?” You softly asked, the words longing around your bodies like the smoke. “Bob?”

His words became lodged in his throat and he pulled out from you, causing you to groan at the sudden loss of him. You quickly turned to see him with a shocked expression on his face and he pulled up his jeans. “I didn’t mean-“

“Don’t,” you placed a hand on his chest, freezing him in place. “Don’t say you didn’t mean it because I hope you did.” You said with a smile forming on your face. His shocked expression turned to one of relief and joy.

“I did. I really, really did,” he moved closer and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I do, I do love you.”

“Good because I love you too,” you grinned, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck. He had a wide smile on his face and excitably kissed you, peppering kisses all over your face and neck before picking you up, a surprised shriek and giggle escaping from your lips.

Bobs lips never left yours as he effortlessly carried you to his room, closing the door with his foot before laying you gently on his bed. “Gonna show you how much I love you,” he traced his fingertips down your bare legs. That was before he grabbed the hem of your skirt and swiftly removed it. You removed your own top, filled with giddy delight as he stripped off too and lay on top of you. “I’m so lucky…” he softly spoke against your skin as he kissed it.

You looked in his eyes, cupping his cheek “I’m the lucky one, trust me.” He kissed you as he slid himself inside you once again.

The slow rhythmic thrusting of his hips soon turned fast, Bob sitting up slightly and grabbing you by the ankles before spreading them and fucking you like his life depended on it. Quickly becoming breathless- no thanks to the smoking- beads of sweat scattered across his forehead like stars in the sky. “So, so fucking perfect, the most perfect girl,” he strained as he finally burst. He came in you with a gristly scream, a release he didn’t even know he was craving until he had it.

“Fuck!” You cried out as you came over his cock, Bob moaning at the sensation of your pussy tightening around his cock. He collapsed on top of you, his room filling with the sound of you catching your breaths. You ran your hand through his hair as you closed your eyes.

“The sun is rising,” he said in a warning tone that was laced with sadness.

You looked out the window and then to him. Your bad habit gaining you a good outcome.

“I’ll stay, if that’s alright?” You said in a quiet voice. The two of you now crossing a boundary into unknown territory, like walking through flames.

Bob looked up to you “That’s more than alright.” He told you, holding your hand, the two of you bracing for a new journey together.

—•—

The next afternoon everyone was relaxing in the living room when the stomping of Bucky’s boots brought everyone’s attention to him.

“I found this on the balcony,” he said and harshly slammed it on the coffee table. A cigarette end. “Own up.”

You gulped, your eyes glancing over to Bob who swallowed equally as hard as he tried his best to avoid your gaze. You had been expecting this day since 1935.

“It was me,” you spoke up, finally coming clean after all these years. It was like the smoke had lifted from your life.

Bucky held out his hand. “No, no it isn’t you.” He dismissed and you blinked. You knew he still saw you as the girl in her cream and pink wool dress and pigtails, the days where he’d be fighting off everyone for you, doing what he could to protect you.

“It is.” You countered back. Bob still being painfully quiet while everyone watched on.

“It’s okay Y/N, don’t take the fall for someone else.” Bucky then glared at John.

He gasped and held out both his hands “Dude! It’s not me!”

“I-it’s actually me.” Bob stood up. Bucky snorted in amusement.

“You’re just as bad as Y/N, sit down. I know it wasn’t you.” Bob slowly sat, looking at you with a perplexed look, everyone else remained silent. “Fine, no one wants to admit? Well, I took the liberty of installing cameras outside to catch whoever it was! I haven’t seen this yet so let’s all take a look shall we?” He played the video.

Your heart stopped as well as Bob’s.

It had last nights date in the bottom corner.

The same night he railed you over the railing before admitting he loved you. “Buck I already told you-“

“Ah ah ah! Look here! It’s-“ his brows tightly knitted together. “Why are you out there Bob?” A pause, you tried to get the remote from him. “Why is Y/N out there with you?” Another pause, his voice getting tighter “Why is she hugging you?”

“Jesus enough!” You were on the verge of fighting with him to get the controller. It fell to the floor and cracked into what looked like a million pieces. Everyone was engrossed with the TV while you tried to stop the footage. The video continued.

Bucky gasped. “You’re both smoking?!” He yelled “Y/N!”

“Okay! I told you! We are the culprits!” You nervously laughed “How do we get this goddamn TV off now!” Your hands tried to find a button. Bob remained frozen on the spot. “Help would be appreciated…” you said to him through gritted teeth.

A scandalous ‘ohh’ echoed through the living room. Your eyes went wide, not as wide as your brothers however, when the footage showed you and Bob locked in a kiss.

Then, as you knew fine well, the kiss escalated.

The moans got louder. The scene more and more explicit with each passing second.

Yelena groaned and covered her eyes, Ava vanished, Alexei awkwardly turned away and tried to talk about something else and John snorted before clapping his hands, intently watching the scene unfold before him.

“Way to go Bob! Didn’t realise you had it in ya buddy!”

“Walker! Avert your eyes you absolute perv!” You stood in front of the TV, trying to cover it as best as you could with your body as Bob threw a pillow at him.

“Better than paying for it from a dodgy website.”

“Walker!” You yelled. “Bucky I-we-“ your voice was trembling.

The TV turned off, you couldn’t quite breathe a sigh of relief seeing your brother’s gaze was focused on the floor, his fists balling together.

“Well Bob,” he finally spoke “The smoking hasn’t killed you, but I’m sure as hell about to.”

[ravenking1771]

This is why I can never rate season 2 as high as Season 1. It is still good but the ridiculous emphasis on Jinx, and their inability to give Vi anything to do and tearing her down were massive flaws.

I remember a review of Star Trek V by a guy named SF Debris where he summed the major problem with the move that the director William Shatner couldn't raise his character, Captain Kirk, up without tearing down everyone-else.

Was there a way to write Jinx and Vi so they didn't fall into this trap? Absolutely and I think it would have been definitely possible with the time restraints and the general plot structure of the story. But it would mean among other things not portraying Jinx as this all important special person.

Why I find episodes 5 and 7 so galling is that they are a direct result of this favouritism. Episode 5 is all about sabotaging Vi's character, neutering her intelligence and her independence. They in short write her like an idiot. Vi could have and really should have called Jinx out on her reckless decisions, murderous violence and her complicity in the devastation of Zaun. Vi knew this stuff and if we are to take her pit-fighting career montage at face value in the head-space to really mix it up with Jinx verbally and physically. Being that the writers are going to use Vander like relationship superglue to get them back together this can be actually ugly. Instead the writers have to make Vi make stupid points (ugly gadgets), fail to make the easiest points (I didn't murder anyone Jinx) and make moronic confessions like pretending Vi's problem with Jinx was that she was over protective (you don't need my help anymore). jinx and Vi's relationship ended because Jinx chose Silco, his vindictiveness and hate and then committed reckless, murderous, selfish, and evil actions that Vi could not endure and had to stop.

Episode 7 is even worse in some respects because A.) it engages in some truly stupid world building by having Vi's death being the thing that leads the two cities to reconcile, something so stupid politically it's like claiming I can use ketchup to replace to someone's blood. B.) the AU universe is solely setup so that the writers can find someway to get Ekko and Jinx together because otherwise Ekko would not want anything to do with Jinx and to also once again steal any sort of victory or closure from Vi by saving her sister because the writers had to cram in a romance/ship in an already overstuffed and rushed season. Seriously this episode could be eliminated entirely by having Vi get through to her sister in the jail cell (Jinx can still leave to rally the Under-city instead of her suicide attempt.) and have Ekko and Jayce hideout in the Firefights base so Ambessa can't force Jayce to make weapons. Ekko can invent his Z-drive(?) thing to contain the anomaly in the Hexgates. There I just freed of 50 minutes for interesting character moments.

At the end it feels so meaningless, annoying, and arbitrary. Its like I am trying to enjoy the story and authors insist on poking me in the ye and getting in the way of the natural flow of the story.

In the game lore, Vi is a good mechanic and engineer who built her own gauntlets. In the show, only Jinx is the engineer and gets to insult Vi on not knowing how to build her own weapons.

Vi was an exceptional boxer in Season 1 and Jinx couldn't beat teen Vi's high score in hand to hand combat no matter how hard she tried. In Season 2, Jinx is a Shimmer supersoldier who goes toe to toe with Vi + Hextech gauntlets, something Shimmer Chemtanks weren't able to do.

In Season 1 Powder idolizes Vi's physical strength, watches her box with awe, and wishes she could be a strong fighter like her. In Season 2, Jinx scoffs that she never got to do fun things with Vi because Vi only liked to hit things.

In Season 2 Jinx gets to call out Vi for joining the enforcers who killed their parents. Vi never gets to retort that Jinx joined the man who killed Vander, and the only reason Vi joined the enforcers was to prevent a large scale invasion of Zaun and stop a harmful Chembaron civil war, both of which were caused by Jinx's reckless actions.

Jinx insults Vi's alcoholism and passiveness towards the oppression the Undercity was facing, even though Jinx herself hid in her hideout playing with bugs and let countless innocents face the brunt of the punishment for her crimes, and only went to the prison for Isha, not out of altruism.

There are many scenes in both seasons depicting Jinx's trauma + mental illness in depth and she gets many long monologue scenes spelling out her emotions for the audience. Vi doesn't, despite spending her entire childhood in a horrible prison while Jinx was the doted-on princess of a crime lord.

It's clear. To the show writers, Jinx is a genius engineer supersoldier expert combatant who is also a sympathetic traumatized victim and revolutionary hero. Vi is her big dumb meathead older sister.

[moonlights-shadow-warrior]

I wanna see what everyone else says 'cause while I know my answer, I am an outlier

Also uh

They were 1.79

[itspileofgoodthings]

Crash landing on you is just like *most romantic scene you’ve ever seen in your life, the boys being cute and funny, women supporting women North Korea edition, evillest snake villain of all time, Se-ri’s toad family being toads, most romantic scene you’ve ever seen in your life—

[fire-fira]

Yes, yes, yes,

5,000 times-- YES.

These are things I 100% agree with because while Raph does have some anger issues, he mellows out as he grows, matures, and learns better coping mechanisms.

Yes, he has strong and LOUD emotions, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have control over himself. He's comfortable with his emotions and isn't ashamed to express his feelings, and he's healthily honest about how he feels when he feels it. (We also get examples in the series of how he's able to step back and reflect on whether he was being fair in how he reacted to something-- the primary example of which coming to my mind being when he initially refused to help provide backup to Karai only to turn up exactly when needed during the City at War arc in season 2.)

All in all, for as 'loud' and unapologetic as he is with his feelings, he's remarkably even-keel. (You know who tends to feel strongly, be comfortable with their feelings, and are really skilled at returning to an even-keeled baseline more than most people? HSPs. Not that I can definitively say that Raph is an HSP, but as an HSP myself who had the kind of anger issues and comfortable-honesty-with-my-own-emotions that 2003 Raph reminds me strongly of, he definitely hits that vibe in some ways.)

This next point is admittedly an extrapolation born out of my own experiences and how I've seen people interpret Raph's anger and just general snarly disposition, but I think he suffers a lot in fandom from the outside negative interpretation of his snarly personality and loud emotions. It's not that there's anything 'wrong' with him, it's that people don't know how to handle those loud emotions, that comfort with freely expressing himself, and so many people have internalized that showing any kind of honest anger or upset isn't 'polite' that they then look at those who don't try to disguise or bury their negative feelings as 'uncontrolled' and therefore 'dangerous'-- never realizing that that healthy honesty in emotional expression means the person is much more likely to have learned how to control themself and their actions even when in a highly activated state. People who haven't learned how to recognize that kind of self-control in action in others, point blank, are much more likely to not recognize it and assume it's just not there even when it's demonstrated right in front of them. And-- slight projection here while also taking into account how frequently portions of the fandom tend to only do a surface reading-- that in turn makes it much more likely for Raph to get read as lacking control and 'ruled' by his emotions, even if canonly he's demonstrated restraint and self-control. (For an in-world thing for authors who might want to play with the idea, consider how absolutely maddening it is to regularly be met with "Your emotions are wrong, your anger is wrong, you're dangerous and out of control!" when at most you're mildly irritated and-- politely-- snapped at someone to back off and give you space to cool down. Or regularly getting met with "You're so aggressive and angry! You need to calm down! You need anger management therapy!" when the person in question wasn't doing anything aggressive and was just chilling-- and yes the follow-up thought in response to that nonsense, rarely verbalized though it is, tends to be "Well I wasn't irritated or angry-- until you started treating me like an aggressive asshole for just existing.")

Plus, as mentioned, Raph's most likely 15 when the 2003 series starts (and possibly 19 by the end of the 7th season). Puberty, the various traumas he's lived through, and the lousy crap he and his family go through in the series are pretty much the perfect storm for him to have had some explosive moments. Which-- again-- he grows better equipped to handle as the series goes on. Realistically, he handles all of it a LOT better than the vast majority of people would be able to, and is able to bring himself back to an even keel quickly.

2003 Raph Diagnosis

I went back and forth on Raph for a long time. I did consider a few diagnoses for him but here’s the thing—he doesn’t meet criteria for any of them. Either he doesn’t have all the symptoms or the symptoms he displays resolve.

See, a huge difference I noticed between Raph and his brothers is that the effects of what they’ve gone through don’t stick around with Raph like they do his siblings. Naturally, I started to consider why.

Simply put, Raph has more of what we call resilience than his siblings. Resilience in terms of psychology means that he bounces back and adapts to change readily.

Does this mean he didn’t have a reaction to the trauma they went through? Not at all. But Raph’s responses are receptive to change.

After they’re forced out of New York and his brother is hurt, Raph weeps (with support) and expresses his anger. He also devotes himself to helping his brother in a very productive way; they fix his swords together and discuss what happened while they do so (though we only see some of this). They PROCESS it.

After the battle on Ch’rell’s ship, Raph once again expresses his rage but then finds a productive means of healing—in this case, he steps into the leadership role Leo is struggling with and becomes a voice of reason for his brothers.

His means of helping are directly connected to outcomes of the trauma. This allows for continued processing of emotion even when it doesn’t feel like it. Raph is able to really accept and handle all the emotions their crazy lives give them.

Important to remember not everyone exposed to trauma gets #PTSD or a long trauma response. Only about 17%. Raph appears to fall outside that statistic, surprisingly.

As odd as it might seem to say, I think Raph’s anger served as a protective factor for him and I’ll tell you why:

Anger and Sadness are alarm emotions. Part of their purpose is to alert our support systems when we need help. Sadness is a much more subtle alarm but anger is loud and blaring.

Because people know Raph has temper, when his alarm goes off, they respond. When Raph is struggling, he has the support to work through things. Raph is also practical—not logical, but practical. Once his anger is spent, he’s the first to identify what needs to happen. Even if he doesn’t like it. I think we see this especially true in Season 4 when he realizes Leo isn’t at his best so he chooses to step up.

Another thing worth mentioning—Raph’s anger gets noticeably better as the series goes. Part of this is due to gaining more supports (Casey, Mrs. Morrison, Angel, etc), part of it is by gaining more coping skills (knitting especially forces him to slow down and be calm) but also he grows. While we don’t know how old the turtles are in the beginning, most series start them around 15.

Hormones are absolutely insane during puberty and I doubt that’s different for mutant turtle boys. The earlier ages of puberty are often the hardest as the body tries to figure out a balance, leading to outbursts or shorter tempers being more frequent. I think a lot of Raph’s earlier, more intense, anger can definitely have some influence from hormones. Some boys are more sensitive to it or they produce more. As Raph matures and grows, that naturally mellows out.

Lastly, let’s address the elephant in the room. The pipe vs Mikey incident. I think this is one of those blind rage situations where a perfect storm of circumstances came together—given we never see Raph have an outburst like that again. So let’s see:

—just lost his home he had from childhood (and presumably a lot of sentimental items)

—had his family attacked

—emerged topside for the first time since childhood, with separation from his father during this mess

—is in early/mid puberty with no support aside from his brothers and father

—is most likely feeling powerless given recent events

I think Mikey’s taunting was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back with a whole bunch of pressure that had been building up. And he actually handles the aftermath pretty well.

We see immediate regret, removing himself from the situation and he actually gains a confidante in Casey Jones that serves him through the rest of the series! And seeing Casey Jones demonstrating the kind of behavior Raph knows he has. Having to see it I think really drives home that motivation for Raph to improve.

And he does. He grows, uses coping skills, learns to reach out to his family (in his own way) and while he remains hotheaded and impulsive, it’s manageable.

So, would I give Raph a diagnosis? Truthfully…no. In order to have a mental health diagnosis, it has to be interfering negatively in your life and by the end of the series, Raph pretty much has his stuff handled.

Could he still benefit from some impulsivity therapy and development of coping skills, maybe a little more anger management? Yeah, but it’s not to a clinically significant level.

Raph gets V codes! (Or Z codes if you’re outside the USA)

What the heck are V codes, you ask?

V codes are indicators of something a client is working on but it’s not severe enough for a full blown diagnosis. So, things like siblings issues, housing issues, some need of more coping skills etc.

We’re going to assume Raph is self pay so I don’t HAVE to give a diagnosis (Yes, some insurances require this and it is one of the reasons why diagnosis of ‘mood disorder unspecified’ exists)

FINAL DIAGNOSIS:

V61.8 Sibling Relational Problem, High Expressed Emotion Level Within Family

V62.4 Target of (Perceived) Adverse Discrimination or Persecution

V62.89 Victim of Terrorism or Torture

V62.22 Exposure to Disaster, War, or Other Hostilities

V15.49 Other Personal History of Psychological Trauma

[soundleer]

Do ya imagine Jevin and Tunner taking their 4 kids to the movies to watch Minecraft Movie and then when the Chicken Jockey part comes, the 4 (including Tunner) starts screaming and throwing popcorn and Jevin like annoying bc all this? Like awee

the idea about the 4 causing havoc may sound funny but contrary to that belief, i dont think they (tunner, sky, peebii and jaylene) would become immature and vandalize the theatre over one clip

okay maybe peebii would only just cheer to amplify the hype but even then its not loud like the collective and rather just a fist in the air kind of cheer

[the-owl-tree]

haii im the anon from early and oooh boy, at the time it seemed so much better than now lol, I was clearly trying to imitate the way you draw fur and failing miserably,,,

CHEER IM SO HONORED YOU HAVE NO IDEA, oh my gosh this was way back when i was still muddling about with how i wanted to do eyes aaaaahhh

i hope you know that sometimes when im struggling with designs i look at ur stuff. we are fueling each other

[itsbrucey]

I hope Matt Arnold understands that he has impact on lives bc I'm why am I researching the best Warhammer 40k novels to start with.

[loveshard]

stephen laughed with disbelief, adoration, and maybe with the first taste of real possession. her approval made him even harder somehow, strained already to the limits of what his body could endure, his stomach leaping every time she asked for more. he worried, fleetingly, that he’d lose himself just from his name spoken from her lips every time they'd make love. "oh, love— do not tempt me," he whispered, and his hips obeyed her plea before his mind could process it. he drew out, then surged in, just a bit harder. it was far too soon to move quick and hard, but he couldn't help it, not with her begging him like an absolute angel. far too contained and polite for his liking. needed her to become untethered and shameless, like she wanted every ghost in this old house to know she was his, and he was hers. he let his body chase the desire, moving a little faster, less gentlemanly than before. feeling triumphant, cocky that he'd be the one to give her such pleasure, then immediately terrified because he could feel himself barreling fast toward the end.

he bent to kiss her cheek, then her mouth, drinking down every caught gasp she made as he fucked into her. mostly because he already missed the taste, and needed all of her on his tongue. her body welcomed every thrust, tugging him back in with a desperate clutch, and every time he pulled out, he ached to fit himself back inside as if it was the first time, as if it was the only thing that mattered at all. as the room became hazy, he barely registered his own keening, how high and helplessly needy he sounded. he already forgotten all about the hall staff still lingering around. but even if he could form coherent thoughts, he didn't care if they had an audience, the entire ton outside the bedroom—he was hopelessly in love, and couldn't bear the idea of ever being ruined by anyone else.

keeping one hand cupped beneath her thigh, he hiked her leg higher to drive in at a sharper, hungrier angle. wanting to keep her absolutely full, and just from her squeals and moans, he knew she was. that she wanted this, for him to take everything she had to give. stephen wanted nothing more than to fill every empty space in her with his presence, with himself. her clenching heat was so overwhelming that his mind turned slippery, decisions replaced by sensation, instincts, and base wants. "my darling, you’re making me mad," he panted, "absolutely—" another thrust, harder, the bed lurching with them, "—mad for you." the smack and pull of his cock inside her only grew louder, sloppier, joined by the ragged echo of his breathing and the music of her voice as she shuddered under him.

"you're perfect," he told her, again and again, as if it could make it true just by repetition, and with each delicious squeeze he lost more of his own coherence. he wanted to ease off, to draw it out and pleasure her until sunrise, but her eyes—her beautiful, pleading eyes—made restraint completely impossible. "sky, love, it’s perfect—i’m so close—" he muttered, but the urgency was more for her than himself. he wanted them to fall together, wanted to map her every shudder and tremor from the inside out. pressing in, hips flush, he let his thumb slip between their bellies, wanting to make her come again, greedy to discover how fiercely he could unravel her.

with every unbearably lengthened second, stephen pushed a new inch of him inside. skylar felt like she was being pushed and pulled over and over in sensation, like she was being pulled away in a carriage and then stopped in aching increments. couldn't even stop her moans, the filthy, unladylike noises from her mouth so loud and uncaged but she couldn't hope to stop it. "stephen—" his name was all she could manage between the animal sounds she made. it felt unending, like somehow his cock had lengthened, had grown in the short seconds between him putting it inside her and then pushing all of it in. felt excited that there seemed to be more of him that she could enjoy, that could be used to make her feel a height of pleasure she'd never imagine before. but also, at the same time was nervous she couldn't even take more of him anymore. like her walls were too short for him, like she would run out of space to fit him.

but then she felt it. the press of his hips meeting hers, the pregnant stop as he filled her up completely, somehow overwhelming and yet entirely perfectly slotted together. like they were made for this, like their bodies were built to complete one another. the resounding, telling moan from her husband only confirmed it; made her feel like something inside her clicked and the room fell away. "my lord," she cried, grasped at his shoulders, searched for his eyes in the shared desperation, her walls clenching around him, stuffed to the brim. held onto him as he thrust into her, no matter how shallow it was, felt something spark behind her eyes just from that. a roll of sharp heat making her whimper, the feeling spreading over her far too quickly. "my god—"

stephen's encouragement, his praise, did everything to help her cling onto something that resembled rationality still. felt another deep, shattering pleasure rock her body again with the next small movement of him inside her with an adjusted angle. wanted to grasp at every sound he made for her to keep in her chest, to search for to listen to again and again. could barely believe that it was her making him sound so uncaged. her! skylar's toes curled with each new thrust, felt herself unravel for him as the hot chills unspooled all over. her mouth parted open constantly now to make space for the consistent squeals and moans. the initial pain was like a distant memory now. her dark eyes focused on every shift in his expression, felt so eternally tethered to him now with this physical connection. unbothered that she felt a hunger for more. "stephen, my lord, you feel good. hot. very hot. so very good. how does it feel so good?" the words came out in a flurry, voice tight with desperation, hips canting to meet every other thrust. her eyes were shiny with tears she didn't understand the origins of, though her bashful smile helped. "please, keep going. i— i want more. faster, if you'd like. if it pleases you."

[purplepuggy]

having total control over my own space is one of my BIGGEST triggers (...in terms of that one AITA, Im extremely crate aggressive ig)

my mother just walked in my room to join in on a ft call to my sibling, and left a bowl of grapes, half a pound of salami in deli paper, and 4 pieces of fried chicken on my beautiful wood desk. Im actually so close to screaming at her

[sinkuna]

୨୧ ― The garage door slams shut with a muffled thud, sealing you both in the dark garage. The car is still warm from the drive home, engine ticking as the leather seats creak under Nanami’s weight. His tie hangs loose around his neck, silk fabric slithering between his fingers as he cages you against the backseat- his knee forcing your legs apart. 

"Seven days…," he grits out, the numbers sharp as his cursed blade… It was rare to hear him talk like that…

"Kento… please don't be mad… w-we ah~," impatient, his large hands shove your dress up your thighs, bunching the fabric around your waist, "We've been so busy with the girls lately." your hands tremble as you run them over the lapels of his jacket.

He catches your wrist and pulls your hand to his mouth. A shiver races up your spine as he kisses your palm, tongue hot and wet as it traces along your skin. His teeth are just as sharp, grazing against your skin in a warning, "I don't want excuses," Nanami growls, the low sound going straight to your cunt, "I want you."

His breath carries hints of bourbon and mint from dinner- restraint absolutely snapped, the kind that’s been simmering all week between packed lunched, overtime with Gojo, and your second grader’s nightmares about how daddy doesn’t come back home from work one day… 

Nanami refuses to waste any more time. Like he said, it’s been seven fucking days. He’s missed having you all to himself. The feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around him- strangling his cock just how he likes it. 

Without hesitation. His thumb hooks into your lace panties, tearing them sideways with a rip that makes you gasp and arch, "F-fuck, Kento-!~"

"Quiet," he growls against your neck, calloused palm smacking your clit once, twice, the crack echoing off the tinted windows, "You've been begging for this all night." The sound of his pants zipper fills the small space, his cock springing free- heavy and angry red with a bead of precum drooling at the tip. "Squirming in your seat. Smirking at me as your heel grazes my thigh."

He doesn't prep you- doesn't need to. Your pussy has been dripping since the appetizers, and he knows, the bastard, smirking as he swipes his tip against your entrance, "Look at you," he taunts, dragging his cock through your slick, coating himself, "So wet for me already. You missed my cock so much, hm?"

Fuck, yesyesyes you missed his cock, missed the stretch and burn and ache when he first plunges into you. A breathless, "Yes~♡ " falls from your lips, followed by a desperate moan as his fat cock rams into your soaked cunt without warning- filling you, stretching you out.

You do your best to choke back a scream. You know better, know to keep your voice down in case your girls and Yuji have fallen asleep- the last thing you need is to wake them. But Nanami is merciless, fucking you open, the squelch of your juices loud enough to drown out any other noise in the confined space, his hips snap up- slamming into you as he fucks you against the leather seats.

"I—fu—I've s'missed you, Kento~"

Nanami's eyes soften then, a small smile forming as his hand cradles your face. The pad of his thumb traces the outline of your lip before pushing in, his gaze darkening at the way your lips part for him so willingly.

His grip on your jaw turns bruising, the way his lips smash against yours- it's painful, but the sting is delicious, "You kept teasing me about wanting another kid," he grunts, sweat dripping off his jaw onto your heaving chest.

His wedding band catches the moonlight streaming through the garage window as he grips your throat, not hard enough to hurt- yet.

"Maybe I will put a third in you tonight. Watch you swell up again…" His voice drops, gravelly and low, "You'd look so beautiful like that, again."

You claw at the part of his chest that's exposed, the fabric wrinkled beyond salvation, and moan, "Y'already... nnf... can't handle two—hah!~"

He slams deeper- hand fisting in your hair cutting you off-  "Try me."

His Mercedes rattles as he flips you onto your knees, face mashed against the fogged window. His palm cracks against your ass, reddening the skin before he yanks your hips back, spearing you in one vicious stroke. Your tits crush against the seat, nipples rubbed raw by the upholstery as he drills into your g-spot.

Somewhere upstairs, he hears a floorboard squeak… The sound traveling easily through the thin wall that connects the garage to the house. Nanami freezes, cock twitching inside you. 

Then, unmistakable in the sudden silence, comes the patter of small feet and excited voices from within the house.

"Daddy and Mommy are home!"

"Shh! Remember what big bro Yuji said? We should be sleeping!"

Nanami’s eyes narrow, "S-shit." He rams home once more, burying his groan in the crook of your neck as he spills, hot and thick, painting your walls white as it floods your womb. His cum leaks down your trembling thighs as he collapses against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder blade with a defeated thud while muttering, "...they're awake-"

So much for having you to himself the rest of the night…

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ 

Nine months later, Nanami Kento is changing diapers at 3 am, dark circles under his eyes but with a tender smile that lights up the pink nursery.

"Worth it."

⋆｡˚꒰ঌ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉 ໒꒱˚｡⋆

[buckyseternaldoll]

eighteen hours.

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Summary: Weeks apart on separate missions leave you and Bucky Barnes aching, desperate, and one heartbeat away from unraveling. The reunion? Eighteen hours of pure, breathless release.

Disclaimer: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v, multiple rounds, overstimulation, edging, mutual desperation, shower sex, window sex, kitchen counter sex, use of restraints (soft), masturbation mention, lingerie tease, squirting (f), super soldier stamina, mild teasing from tb* members

It started like any other assignment.

A sharp morning. Polished boots. Steel chairs arranged around the Watchtower’s mission table. The kind of day where even the light felt clinical—too white, too bright, too final.

Valentina entered with a clipboard in hand and that usual glint in her eye, the one that said she already knew something you didn’t want to hear.

“Barnes, Yelena, Alexei, Bob—Bucharest first. Bogotá by week three. Rotating safehouses. No crossovers.”

You stiffened.

“Walker, Ava, and…”

She looked straight at you.

“You—Algeria. Then east through Istanbul. Targets on the move. You’re expected to stay mobile and out of range.”

The silence afterward said everything.

That pause before your name wasn’t a slip.

It was surgical.

Across the table, Bucky’s jaw tensed. He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders rolled tight. His metal hand flexed once, resting flat on the table like he was physically grounding himself.

This wasn’t routine.

This was designed.

The room shifted. Teams gathered their gear. Orders confirmed.

But neither of you moved.

Bucky brushed your fingers beneath the table—the kind of small, hidden touch that wasn’t meant to say goodbye. It was a promise.

We’ll find each other.

However we can.

—

Packing was mechanical.

Weapons, suits, coordinates, clearances.

Everyone was buzzing around the hangar level, focused on countdowns and jet fuel. But Bucky caught your wrist with a glance that made your breath hitch—then gently steered you down a side corridor.

He didn’t stop until you ducked into a quiet auxiliary room—once used for archive storage, now mostly forgotten. The lights were dim. A narrow bench ran along the wall. A few old mission files sat boxed in the corner.

He shut the door behind you.

“Just for a minute,” he said, voice low. “Just wanna be where you are.”

You barely nodded before he pulled you into his chest. He held you like he needed it—not tight or desperate, but complete. His warmth poured into you as you buried your face into the space between his neck and shoulder.

You ended up straddling his lap on the bench, both of you half-armored, half-undressed—hands roaming like you were trying to memorize every line, every scar, every breath.

“I hate this,” you muttered into his neck.

“I know.” His voice was steady. Anchoring. “But we’ll be okay.”

His mouth found the slope of your shoulder. Then your collarbone. Then lower—teeth grazing before lips closed around your skin and sucked.

You gasped—part surprise, part pure heat.

“Bucky—”

“Gonna leave a few. Let ‘em wonder how many more are where they can’t see.”

He left another. And another. The bruises bloomed warm beneath your skin—high enough that your tactical suit wouldn’t cover all of them.

When he pulled back to look at you, his pupils were blown wide, lips kiss-bitten and breath ragged.

“You’re mine,” he murmured. “Even if they split us across the damn planet.”

You ran your hands up under his shirt, nails scratching lightly across his ribs—grounding yourself in the solidity of him.

“You’ll text me when you can?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if it’s just one word?”

“Even if it’s just a photo.”

You smirked. “Of what?”

He grinned, leaning back like he had all the time in the world—even though you both knew better.

“I’m waiting for boob pics, love. Minimum one per timezone.”

You laughed into his neck and kissed his jaw, soft and smiling.

“You’re such a menace.”

“You love it.”

“Unfortunately.”

When the comm finally buzzed for final departure prep, you lingered another moment, forehead pressed to his.

“We’re good?”

“Always.”

And then you slipped out—his warmth still clinging to your skin, and his hickeys hidden beneath your collar like the loudest secret in the world.

—

The first few days weren’t unbearable.

Busy hours blurred the worst of it—briefings, drone recon, field scans. The kind of missions that demanded your hands stay full and your focus sharp. You told yourself it helped. That staying in motion kept the ache at bay.

But the nights were something else entirely.

By the third night, sleep wouldn’t come. The cot beneath you was too narrow, too cold. You rolled over instinctively and reached for the other side—empty. Your palm flattened against the mattress like it could summon him there.

It didn’t.

You’d already stripped out of your tactical suit, skin flushed from a lukewarm shower and a restlessness that refused to settle. The mirror over the sink caught your reflection just as the last of the sun dipped beneath the window—warm dusk light casting gold across your damp collarbone, your bare shoulder.

You grabbed your comm. Lifted your phone.

Pulled down your undershirt just enough to let the neckline dip low—sweat clinging to the curve of your breasts, a faint bruise from his mouth peeking out beneath the edge of the fabric.

The angle was deliberate.

Head tilted back. Lips parted. Not a full reveal. But it said everything.

Still thinking about the way your hands fit around my waist.

Bet you’d wreck me if you were here.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

—

His reply came six hours later. No text. Just an image.

The lighting was shit—whatever rooftop he was on barely lit by the glow of city spill—but it didn’t matter.

He was shirtless.

Dog tags heavy and low over his chest.

Hair a little messier than usual, as if he’d just run a hand through it before taking the shot.

But the part that made your thighs press together?

His sweatpants.

Slung low. Way too low. Obscene, really—the waistband clinging just above the vee of his hips, and beneath it? A thick, unmistakable bulge pressing upward. Not subtle. Not suggestive.

Hard. Veined. Heavy. Angry.

Like he’d taken the photo mid-thought, right before palming himself. Like maybe he had.

Your name was probably still on his tongue when he snapped it.

You sucked in a breath, cheeks hot, and held the screen to your chest like it could warm the parts of you he was supposed to be touching.

This was manageable, you told yourself.

Just teasing. Just playing.

It would pass.

—

It got worse.

What started as playful—just a little edge, a little fun—turned into something raw. Unbearable. Every picture, every breathy message only twisted the knife deeper.

Bucky cracked first.

The signal finally held long enough for him to send a voice note.

You were mid-gear check when it came through, tucked into a corner of the safehouse with your earbuds in.

“Woke up with my hand around my cock,” he rasped, voice low, wrecked. “Thought it was you at first. Swear to God, I could feel you there. Your breath on my neck, your legs wrapped around me. Then I realized I was alone again.”

A pause. A harsh exhale.

“And fuck, baby… I nearly lost it.”

You played it three times.

Nearly dropped your comm on the third.

—

You didn’t just tease back. You retaliated.

The next photo was a mirror shot—deliberately filthy. You stood in the dim light of your bunk, chest bare, your breasts fully visible this time, no shame. One hand was sunk into your panties, fingers clearly pressing against the soaked fabric. The other held your phone steady, angled to catch the full view: your messy hair, parted lips, heavy-lidded eyes, and the slick glint of sweat on your chest. No caption. Just raw hunger in pixels.

This help you sleep tonight? Or should I take more?

He didn’t respond immediately. But when he did, it was short.

You’re not playing fair.

My cock’s been hard since sunrise. Haven’t touched it. Saving every second of this for you.

You sent a quick clip later—just a few seconds long. You didn’t even speak in it.

Just six seconds. The camera angled low—your hand slipping beneath the blanket between your thighs. No real view, just the movement. The blanket shifted slightly with every circle you traced over your clit. Soft moans escaped—broken, breathy, like you were trying to stay quiet. Then a whimper—his name, trembling from your lips. No skin shown. No climax caught. Just the sound and the hint and the promise of you falling apart.

Bucky watched it on repeat like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

—

Then came Ava.

You’d crashed hard that night—exhausted, sweaty, and stripped down to just your lingerie. The maroon lace set he liked. The same one he’d picked out. It had become a habit—wearing it when you missed him. A reminder. A tether.

Ava had been reviewing footage by the window for perimeter movement when she caught it.

The camera was focused outward. But the mic had picked up your sleep sounds in the background.

She wasn’t trying to be cruel when she played it back.

She just raised an eyebrow and pressed play—a grin tugging at her lips as the soft moans filled the air. You were murmuring his name. Restless. Breathless. Like you were dreaming of him—no, feeling him.

“Mmh… Bucky—please… inside me… deeper—oh god… please—”

Your voice cracked on the last word, a sharp gasp like you were right on the edge.

You could’ve died.

“Jesus,” Ava had laughed, not unkind. “Want me to send it to him? Y’know, for motivation?”

You didn’t answer fast enough. She already hit send.

—

He didn’t laugh.

He didn’t even text back. Just disappeared for a few hours.

Locked himself in the bathroom of the Bogotá safehouse, palms braced on the sink, sweat dripping from his temple to his jaw. The floor was cold. His cock throbbed painfully in the tight grip of his tactical jeans, already slick with precum from the sound of your voice in his ear—played over and over again like a goddamn drug.

He groaned low, forehead resting against the mirror as he finally undid his fly—reached in and freed himself with a hissed curse.

Hard. Angry. Red at the tip and twitching. His hand flexed uselessly beside him, trembling from restraint.

He closed his eyes and whispered, “Fuck, baby… what are you doing to me…”

But he didn’t stroke.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t dare.

Not without your hands.

Not without your thighs tight around his hips.

Not without your voice whispering that he could let go.

So he tucked himself away again—biting down hard on the side of his fist until it bruised, his pulse roaring like a storm.

Later, when the signal held again, he finally texted:

This was supposed to help.

All these videos. These fucking pictures.

It’s making everything worse, doll.

I need you so bad, I swear I’m gonna lose my mind.

—

He stopped sleeping properly.

The circles under his eyes were darker now, sharp enough to draw questions if anyone had the nerve. His mouth was constantly pressed into a tight, agitated line. The usual post-mission calm he carried—that calculated, steady presence of command—was cracking.

Every time he sat down to write up route plans, his hands twitched. His left hand—the metal one—wouldn’t stop flexing. Clenching. Releasing. Like he was trying to ground himself in anything that wasn’t your voice moaning his name.

The last time he tried to issue orders midbriefing, he nearly snapped a comm tablet in half.

“Safehouse Delta’s too close to the highway,” he muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’ll reroute south. Four klicks. We’ll—”

He trailed off.

Everyone stared at the map table, then at Bucky—who was clearly no longer looking at anything but the wall. Or rather, through it.

His jaw clenched again. He tried to redirect.

“We’ll send Bob first to—”

But Bob was already looking sideways at him.

“You gonna pass out?”

“No.”

“You look like your brain’s buffering.”

“I said I’m fine.”

But his voice had cracked. Just slightly.

Yelena leaned back in her seat with a dramatic sigh, chewing on the end of a protein bar like this was better than Netflix.

“Alright,” she announced loudly, “I’m just gonna say what everyone else is thinking.”

Bucky didn’t even turn his head.

She kept going.

“You’re clearly about three days from spontaneously combusting from blue balls. You’ve been staring at walls, misreading maps, and grinding your teeth like it’s a fetish. Which—respectfully—gross.”

Alexei smothered a laugh. Bob coughed loudly into his fist.

“You need to jerk off or jump off a building,” Yelena finished, deadpan. “Pick one.”

Bucky finally looked up.

His eyes were bloodshot. His voice was tight when he replied.

“I’m not jerking off.”

That shut them up.

Yelena blinked. “…Okay. That’s not where I thought that was going.”

“I’m saving it. All of it.” His hand twitched again. “She deserves every goddamn second of it.”

A pause. The silence stretched—not awkward, just charged.

Even Alexei nodded solemnly, as if that was the only acceptable answer.

Yelena rolled her eyes but muttered, “Romantic. Disgusting. Continue suffering, I guess.”

—

Later that night, Bucky paced the rooftop alone. Fingers twitching. Breath uneven.

He pulled up your last photo again.

Your hand between your thighs. Lips parted. That little text below it:

I’d spread for you right here on this cot if you were with me.

He groaned into his palm.

Pressed the heel of his hand against the painful bulge in his pants.

Didn’t move. Didn’t stroke. Just gritted his teeth and endured.

“You better be ready for what I’m gonna do to you,” he muttered into the dark.

—

It was just after 7:00PM when the jet touched down.

The sky above the Watchtower was bruised in golds and fading gray, clouds curling low like dusk had rolled in too early. Your shoulders ached. Muscles stiff from too many hours strapped in gear, too many days sleeping with one eye open.

Your boots hit the floor with more weight than usual—the kind that didn’t come from exhaustion alone. It was something else. Something thick in your chest, pressing behind your ribs.

Inside the compound, it was unusually quiet.

Operatives passed by in pairs. Brief nods. No chatter.

Ava veered off toward medical, threw a wink over her shoulder, and mouthed, “Go get your man.”

You didn’t smile. Not yet.

Not until your fingers brushed the key panel of your shared room, and the door clicked open beneath your touch.

Something shifted the moment you stepped inside.

The air smelled like candle wax, clean linens, and something warmer underneath—musk and sandalwood, with a trace of vanilla. The room glowed gold in low light. Flickering candles burned on the desk, by the bed, and one small one beside the bathroom mirror.

It was quiet. But not empty.

He was there.

And the second he saw you, his face lit up.

“Hey,” Bucky breathed, already halfway to his feet. His voice was low but clear, as if speaking pulled breath right back into his lungs. “You’re home.”

That ache—the one locked in your chest—snapped clean open.

You dropped your duffel just as he reached you, arms wrapping tight around your waist, your cheek pressed against his collarbone. He smelled like soap and steel and something distinctly him—warm skin, freshly showered, a hint of cologne that clung to his shirt.

He didn’t devour you. Didn’t grope, didn’t rush.

He just held you.

One arm around your back, the other cradling the back of your head. His lips brushed the top of your hair.

You clung back like it might hold you together.

His hand ran slowly down your spine. You could feel the control in it—the way his chest rose hard against yours, like he was barely keeping the rest of him contained.

“I changed the sheets,” he murmured softly. “Lit a few candles. Put your shampoo out. Thought maybe you’d want a hot shower first.”

Your heart cracked, melted, rebuilt itself.

You nodded against him, cheek brushing the curve of his neck.

“You remembered.”

“Of course I did.” His smile touched his voice, even as his hand lingered low on your back. “You always say you wanna feel clean before we get dirty.”

That earned a small laugh from you—quiet, but real.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, cupping your cheek in one hand. His thumb brushed gently beneath your eye, like he was checking you for damage.

“I missed you,” he said. “Like breathing stopped.”

You kissed him, soft and slow—lips barely parting, just enough to feel the warmth of him beneath the quiet.

“Missed you more.”

He didn’t rush you when you stepped out of your gear. Just watched with quiet reverence, helping peel the layers off your shoulders and arms. He kissed your shoulder once—right over the old bruise he left weeks ago—and whispered:

“I’ve been thinking about this moment for 36 days. But I’m not rushing it. Not until you’re ready.”

Then he took your hand, kissed the inside of your wrist, and nodded toward the bathroom.

“Go on. I’ll be right here.”

—

You hadn’t even closed the door behind you.

The steam was already thick, curling from the shower where hot water slammed against tile. You peeled your clothes off slowly, shaking the last of the travel dust from your skin, limbs heavy from the mission—but your chest felt lighter. He was here. You were home.

You stepped into the spray and let it hit you.

Heat flooded your shoulders. Rolled down your spine.

The ache you’d ignored for weeks cracked wide open across your bones.

You arched slightly under the pressure of the water, fingers dragging slowly down your stomach. Your thighs pressed together at the memory of his voice—his lips on your neck, his hands gripping your hips like they belonged there.

You knelt briefly to grab a bottle you knocked over. Bent forward. Stretched.

And then—

“Mmh…”

Just a sound. A breath.

But it came from somewhere deep—unconscious, raw, and aching. It slipped from your throat like his name was caught beneath it.

The floor creaked.

You turned, startled—and everything inside you tightened.

He was there.

Bucky Barnes. Standing in the doorway of the bathroom like something ancient and carved from firelight. His chest rose fast, hard, like he’d sprinted across the room. Hair damp with sweat, not water. Shoulders tight. Fists clenched at his sides.

And he was naked.

Completely.

You hadn’t even heard him undress. But there he stood—broad, solid, his cock achingly hard and already slick with precum, flushed dark and twitching with every strained breath he took.

His eyes drank you in.

Steam wrapped around his body, clinging to every line of him. You watched his jaw twitch, chest heave. His cock twitched again—another thick drop of precum beading at the tip.

“Baby…”

His voice cracked. A breath. A prayer. Hoarse and wrecked.

“Please…”

“Please stop torturing me.”

But he didn’t move. Not yet.

Like he was waiting for your permission—even now, even while unraveling at the seams.

You reached for him.

One hand. Simple. Open. You pressed your palm to the center of his chest—felt the hammering heartbeat beneath it, the way his breath hitched.

He whimpered.

The sound broke from his lips like it had been fighting its way out for days. He stepped forward, cupped your waist, then your jaw, thumb trembling against your cheek.

“You’re real,” he whispered. “Fuck—you’re here.”

You smiled softly. Nodded.

He stepped into the shower with you—no hesitation this time.

The water soaked him instantly, but he didn’t care. He was already soaked in you. The scent. The need.

His hands were everywhere. One warm, the other metal, both reverent. They dragged up your spine, gripped your hips, held your face like it was holy.

“Missed you,” he rasped between frantic kisses.

“Missed your mouth. Your voice. Your thighs. The way you sound when I’m inside you—fuck, baby, I’ve been dying.”

Your back hit the tile with a dull thud. His body pressed into yours, all solid heat and desperation.

His cock bumped against your stomach—hot, heavy, leaking.

He gasped. “Touch me… please, just—let me feel you.”

You did more than touch.

Your hand curled around the base of him, felt him throb in your palm. He swore low against your neck, forehead pressing to yours as his hands skimmed lower, between your thighs.

“Jesus, sweetheart—”

His fingers slid through the slick between your legs.

“You’re soaked…”

He groaned. Slid two fingers inside you.

You gasped, walls clenching hard around the intrusion.

“Fuck,” he hissed. “Tight… tighter than I remember. You really waited for me?”

You bit his jaw. “I didn’t even let myself finish, Bucky. You ruined me.”

That was all it took.

He gripped your thighs, lifted you off the ground like you weighed nothing, and pinned you to the shower wall. You wrapped your legs around his waist, arms around his neck.

“Hold on to me,” he breathed. “That’s it… Good girl.”

He lined himself up. Slick head pressed against your entrance. And then—

He sank in.

One thrust. Deep. Full.

You both cried out—voices echoing in the tile and steam.

The stretch. The heat. The sudden, perfect fullness.

He fucked into you with short, desperate thrusts—buried all the way, hips snapping with precision. You met him every time, nails clawing his back, gasping against his mouth.

Your orgasm ripped through you without warning—sharp, wet, loud.

“James, I—I’m coming!”

“I’ve got you. Let go. Soak me, baby.”

You did. You clenched so hard around him he almost collapsed.

He followed seconds after—buried deep, groaning your name as he came hard inside you, hips jerking, forehead pressed to your shoulder. His body trembled with the force of it. He held you there, still wrapped around him, his cock twitching inside your pulsing heat.

“You’re mine,” he whispered. “Not letting you out of this room for days.”

You kissed him through the fog, smiling against his lips.

“Good. I’m not going anywhere.”

—

Your legs were still shaking when he carried you out of the bathroom.

No towel. No words. Just the heat of his arms around you, the steady thump of his heart against your ribs, and the way the air between you still crackled like static. You smelled like him. He smelled like you. It wasn’t over. It had only begun.

He laid you on the bed like something sacred.

Candles glowed around the room, casting golden halos over damp sheets and flushed skin. The maroon lace slip sat untouched where he’d left it—delicate, sheer, wicked.

You reached for it with trembling fingers.

But Bucky caught your wrist gently. “Let me,” he said.

His voice was lower now. Hoarse. Reverent.

He lifted the slip over your head slowly, letting the lace fall like a whisper down your body. It hugged your hips, clung to your breasts just enough to tease—translucent and sinful. His lips brushed your spine as he adjusted the straps, hands shaking.

“I thought about this every night,” he murmured, lips brushing your shoulder.

“Fantasized about it. About you, straddling me in this. Had to lie there with my fists clenched, cock aching, just—breathing through it. Didn’t touch myself. Not once.”

His voice cracked. “Didn’t want to waste a single drop that wasn’t for you.”

You whimpered.

He hovered above you now—fully naked, flushed, his cock already hard again. Veined and glistening, twitching with the pulse of how badly he needed to be inside you.

But he didn’t rush.

Didn’t even move until you cupped his jaw and pulled him down into a kiss.

Mouths met softly, then harder.

Tongues sliding slow.

His body sinking into yours, heat to heat, heartbeat to heartbeat.

You grabbed the back of his neck and whispered against his lips, “Come here. Let me ruin you.”

He groaned, deep in his throat, and you flipped him onto his back, straddling his hips with shaking thighs. The lace slip rode up your thighs, leaving nothing in the way when his cock pressed hot and heavy against your dripping heat.

“Fuck, baby,” he gasped. “You’re soaked through.”

You leaned down, your breasts brushing his chest, and ground your hips against his length. “You did this,” you whispered. “With every text. Every picture. Every breath.”

He was gone. Let you take full control.

You gathered the hem of the lace slip, just enough to bare yourself to him, and guided him in—sinking down slowly, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

Both of you moaned, raw and open, mouths slack with need.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned, head thrown back, fists clenched in the sheets.

“Still so tight, baby. Still fucking perfect.”

You started to move—slow at first, grinding your hips in deep, lazy circles that dragged the tip of his cock right against your most sensitive spot. His hands clamped hard on your thighs, trying to keep his control, but you didn’t make it easy.

“You gonna come again just from riding me?” he asked, breathless.

You nodded. “Already close.”

He groaned, slipping one hand between your bodies to rub firm, precise circles over your clit.

“There you go… let me feel you. Let go for me.”

And you did.

Your second orgasm hit like a goddamn wave—crashing through your spine, stealing your breath, squeezing around his cock so tight he choked on a moan.

He didn’t last much longer.

You kept grinding, whispering filth into his ear—how full he made you feel, how wrecked you were for him, how you still weren’t done.

That tipped him.

He came hard with a strangled moan, cock pulsing deep inside you, hips jerking as he flooded you for the second time. His arms locked around your waist as he gasped into the crook of your neck, trembling from the force of it.

You stayed like that, slumped against his chest, bodies stuck together with sweat and slick and heat.

“You alright?” he asked, voice scratchy.

“I’m feral,” you whispered back. “And I’m not finished.”

He chuckled, still panting. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not tapping out anytime soon.”

—

Later.

The wine sat untouched on the desk.

The lace slip lay discarded in a crumpled pile on the floor.

The candles had burned halfway down, wax pooling thick at the base.

And you?

You were flushed. Sweaty. Trembling.

Knees sinking into the mattress as you straddled his thighs once more, this time with your back to him—hips hovering, your whole body tingling.

He leaned against the headboard, sweat shining on his chest, watching you like a man possessed.

“You sure?” he rasped, voice ragged and frayed.

You didn’t answer.

You just reached back, gripped his cock at the base, and lowered yourself onto him slowly—inch by inch until he was buried to the hilt inside you.

Both of you moaned. Loud.

Deep.

Almost pained.

Your hands braced against his shins behind you for leverage, thighs spread wide as you rode him hard—your ass slapping against his hips, slick and flushed with every bounce.

“Oh, fuck—”

His hands gripped your waist like he was anchoring himself.

“Jesus, sweetheart—you’re still so fuckin’ tight…”

You started to move—slow, heavy grinds, rolling your hips like you needed every inch of him rooted inside you. Bucky gasped behind you, his hands traveling from your hips to your thighs to your breasts, groping, squeezing, completely feral.

“You ride me like it’s the only thing keeping you alive,” he growled.

“Look at that ass—fuck, I can see it bounce every time you fucking slam down.”

You moaned—head tilted back, chest rising and falling—sweat glistening between your breasts.

And then—his fingers slid between your thighs from behind. Two of them, circling your clit with ruthless precision.

“I wanna feel you come again, baby. Let me feel you fucking gush on my cock.”

Your thighs trembled. Muscles locked. Your core started to spasm.

“Bucky, I—I think I—fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Do it. Come on, baby. You’re dripping, you’re so fucking close—let it happen.”

You broke with a cry.

Legs shaking. Hands digging into his thighs.

Your pussy clamped down hard, and then it hit—

You squirted.

Hard.

Hot wetness sprayed between your thighs, down over his cock, soaking the sheets. Bucky let out a strangled moan, clutching your waist like he was going to lose his mind.

“Goddamn—fuck, look at you. You’re gonna make a fucking mess, aren’t you, baby?”

He didn’t stop.

He snapped his hips up into you, relentless now—grinding deep as your soaked cunt fluttered around him, so overstimulated your vision blurred.

“Still want more?” he panted, thrusting up again, angling perfectly.

“I can feel how much you need it. So greedy for me—so fucking full of my cum, and still not satisfied.”

You couldn’t answer. You just moaned, nodding wildly, nails dragging down his thighs, thighs shaking uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he whispered, his breath hot on your shoulder as he leaned forward, one hand now wrapped tight around your throat.

“You gonna come for me again? Gonna make a mess on my cock one more time?”

“Yes—James, please—”

And you did.

A second wave slammed into you.

You screamed, back arching, body locking as you squirted again—wetter this time, gushing down over his balls, onto the sheets, soaking everything beneath you.

Bucky lost it.

“Shitshitshit— I’m coming—fuck, baby—I’m—”

He grunted, jerking up into you with three final brutal thrusts as his cock pulsed deep inside you, filling you again, so hot you felt it flood your walls.

You collapsed forward onto the mattress, his arms catching you just before you slumped completely. He held you tight from behind, your body still twitching, both of you covered in sweat, slick, and release.

“Holy fuck,” he breathed, voice dazed, completely gone.

“You just… soaked me, baby.”

You half-laughed, half-whimpered. “I couldn’t help it. You broke me.”

“Good,” he growled, kissing your neck. “You can break me next.”

—

You should’ve been done.

You should’ve been shaking, satisfied, breathless from three rounds and nothing left to give.

But you weren’t.

The ache still lived in your bones.

The emptiness still throbbed between your legs.

And when Bucky’s lips brushed your temple—slow, tender, trembling—you felt it in him too.

He needed more.

You both did.

The sheets beneath you were damp. Your thighs were slick. Your chest rose with every sharp breath, nipples flushed and sensitive, body still twitching from your last orgasm. And still… the hunger hadn’t dulled.

“You okay?” he whispered against your throat.

“No,” you rasped, voice cracking.

“I need you again. Right fucking now.”

Bucky exhaled a shaky breath. His cock twitched against your thigh—already stiffening again.

“Jesus, doll… you’re insatiable.”

He kissed your jaw. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Then he shifted—slow but deliberate—and suddenly, your wrists were gathered above your head. You gasped at the motion, but his grip was careful, tender. He reached for the discarded shirt at the foot of the bed and looped it around your wrists—soft, warm, not tight.

“Just wanna keep you here,” he murmured, kissing your palms one at a time.

“Let me take care of you.”

Your stomach fluttered. Your thighs clenched.

And when he dropped between your legs, your breath hitched so hard your back arched off the bed.

“James—”

“Shhh,” he purred, brushing his stubble along the inside of your thigh.

“Gonna keep you right here, sweetheart. Gonna make you come until your body forgets what rest feels like.”

His tongue dragged through your folds—slow, warm, filthy.

The first flick over your clit sent your hips off the bed—but he was already holding you down, fingers firm, spreading you open like he was fucking home.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he growled into your cunt, voice rough with disbelief.

“Jesus, baby, you taste like both of us… fuck. You’re perfect.”

He devoured you.

Long, slow licks that lapped up his own cum still leaking from you. Wet, obscene noises filled the room—every slurp, every moan against your pussy like it was the only thing that ever mattered.

You whined. Cried out. Legs trembling.

His mouth worked faster, tongue flicking your clit with maddening precision—soft then hard, gentle then firm, always changing, always knowing exactly how to ruin you.

“Bucky—fuck—baby I—”

Your voice broke.

Your hips bucked.

You were so close again, already, already—

He pulled back.

“Not yet,” he rasped, lips wet and eyes dark.

“Not until you beg for it.”

You sobbed—from the overstimulation, from the ache, from how badly you needed to fall apart.

“Please—please, baby, I can’t—just let me—let me come, please—!”

That broke him.

He groaned, deep and guttural, and latched onto your clit with his mouth wide and relentless—tongue flat, dragging fast and rough, his fingers digging bruises into your thighs.

You exploded.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm hit like a strike of lightning—your whole body shook, fists clenched, toes curled, thighs trembling. You gasped so hard your ribs ached. The headboard thudded behind you.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice soaked in reverence.

“One more, baby. Just one more for me.”

You didn’t even get to respond.

Didn’t even breathe.

Because his tongue never stopped.

He kept sucking—soft at first, then harder—until another wave curled sharp behind your ribs. You sobbed his name, pulled at the binds, tried to run but couldn’t move.

You came again.

Harder.

Legs seizing, slick gushing between your thighs, soaking his face, your body curling from the sheer force of it.

He kissed your trembling thighs through the aftershocks.

Pressed his forehead to your belly.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“I don’t even know where I am,” you panted.

“And I think I like it.”

—

Later—

Maybe thirty minutes.

Maybe five.

Time had stopped meaning anything.

It warped, curled, bled together beneath the hum of overstimulation and breathless ache.

You lay curled on your side, one leg bent, sheets tangled around your calves. Sweat cooled on your skin in sticky rivulets. Your breathing had started to even out, but your body still pulsed from the inside—too full, too stretched, too tender to be still.

And then—

The mattress dipped behind you.

You felt his warmth before you felt his hands.

He slid in close—chest to your back, thighs pressed to yours, breath curling against your neck.

His lips brushed your shoulder.

“Still want me?” he asked, voice soft as fog.

You answered with a sigh. Reached back without looking, your palm wrapping around the hard length of him, thick and hot and already twitching against your fingers.

“Always.”

You rocked your hips back, slotting yourself perfectly into him.

He kissed your spine.

Tucked his face into the crook of your neck, and whispered like a man undone.

“I’ll never stop wanting you.”

One hand lifted your top leg, just slightly—fingers gliding over your thigh. His other arm wrapped low around your waist. You felt the weight of him, the warm press of his tip teasing at your entrance—slow, so fucking slow—until he finally pushed inside.

“Jesus Christ,” he gasped, as if the heat of you had burned him.

“You’re still tight. Still fluttering around me.”

You whimpered.

He thrust deep.

Steady. Gentle.

Every movement an unspoken prayer.

No rhythm. No pace. Just a rolling, molten motion—his cock dragging deep and slow, slick with everything you’d already shared, stroking right against the spot that still trembled.

“I could live here,” he breathed. “I want to live here.”

Your hand gripped his forearm where it wrapped across your middle. He pulled you back against him with every gentle thrust, grounding you in the heat of his body, his breath stuttering where it ghosted along your neck.

“You’re so good to me,” he murmured. “So fucking good.”

“Still feels like a dream,” you whispered.

“Then don’t wake up. Just… stay right here. Let me have you like this.”

Your eyes fluttered shut. Tears stung, soft and sudden. It wasn’t pain—it was too much pleasure. Too much love. The way he moved inside you like your body was a temple. Like every inch of you was his.

“Tell me you’re mine again,” he whispered, voice breaking.

You choked on a moan.

“I’m yours, James. Always.”

You came first—slow and quiet. A gentle quake that rippled from your core outward, your body trembling against him as your inner walls clamped down tight. You gasped softly, a sob in your throat, your hands fisting in the sheets.

“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing your shoulder.

“Let go, doll. Let me feel you.”

He wasn’t far behind.

He buried himself deep, groaning low into your hair, his whole body taut as his release surged inside you again—slow and warm, his cock pulsing deep as he held still, hips locked to yours.

You lay there, body slack and soft, his cock still inside you.

He didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

His fingers traced lazy shapes on your belly, his lips pressing soft, almost absent kisses to your damp shoulder, your neck, your cheekbone.

“You okay?” he asked eventually, voice quiet.

You nodded.

“I think I’m in love with you again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Good. I never stopped.”

—

Your body was trembling again.

Not with the sharp, writhing spasms of climax—but the deeper, low-grade tremor of exhaustion.

The kind that came after too many orgasms and too little rest.

Muscles fluttering, breath short, limbs weak. You felt boneless and heavy, like your body had melted halfway into the mattress.

And yet—

Your core still throbbed.

Your nipples still ached.

Your cunt still ached for him.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Bucky sat back on his heels beside you, eyes trailing over your form with something like worship—something like worry.

His hand reached out slowly. Brushed your sweat-slicked hair off your forehead. Pressed a soft kiss there.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentling. “You with me, sweetheart?”

You nodded once, eyes glassy. Your throat was too dry to speak right away.

“Breathe for me. C’mon.”

His thumb stroked your cheek.

“You look wrecked.”

“I am…”

Your voice came out hoarse.

“I’m so tired.”

That broke his heart a little—you could see it in the way his brows creased. His jaw clenched like he was trying to talk himself down from his own feral hunger.

“Then let’s stop, okay?” he offered softly. “Let me clean you up, hold you for a bit. You need rest.”

But your hand was already moving.

Shaky, slow—but determined.

You reached between his legs and wrapped your fingers around the base of his cock.

Still hard.

Still thick and flushed and leaking at the tip like he’d never finished.

His breath caught.

“Baby—”

“Don’t stop,” you whispered, tears suddenly springing to your lashes.

“Please, don’t stop. I need you.”

He looked stricken.

“I don’t wanna hurt you,” he murmured. “I don’t wanna take too much.”

“Then be gentle,” you gasped, stroking him slowly.

“But don’t pull away. I need more. I want you again. I want you.”

His restraint cracked like glass.

With a low, ragged sound, Bucky leaned down to kiss you—soft, shaky, like a prayer being answered. He whispered against your lips.

“Tell me when to stop, baby. Or I won’t.”

You nodded.

Wrapped your arms around his neck.

Pulled him into you.

He guided your legs open with reverent hands—watching your face the entire time, watching for any flinch or hesitation. You were sensitive. Sore. Spent.

But not done.

“I love you,” he said quietly, kissing the inside of your thigh.

“So much it hurts.”

You barely had breath left to answer.

“Then have me,” you whispered. “Take what’s already yours.”

His cock slid into you slow—so slow—inch by inch, the stretch deep and aching, but your body welcomed him like he’d never left.

He moaned into your throat.

“Fuck, baby… still so tight. I can feel your pulse around me.”

He moved gently. Just the slow grind of his hips, the full drag of his cock over soaked, sensitive walls. His hand slid under your back, pulling you flush to his chest.

“You tell me when to stop. You hear me?”

“Don’t stop,” you whimpered. “Just keep giving me all of you.”

And so he did.

With every thrust, he kissed you. With every shift of his hips, he whispered your name. His fingers stroked your side, your hip, your waist—every inch of skin he could reach. You shook beneath him, moaning soft and high each time he bottomed out.

“You’re incredible,” he rasped. “You’re still taking me like it’s the first time. My perfect girl.”

Your orgasm crept in like fog, soft and wet and overwhelming.

You came with a shuddered cry, barely able to hold him, but your body squeezed around him tight—fluttering, spasming, claiming him all over again.

“That's my girl,” he whispered, voice shaking. “So fucking good for me.”

And then he followed—hips stuttering, forehead pressed to yours as he groaned your name like a benediction. His cock throbbed deep inside, spilling more warmth into the mess already flooding between your legs.

He collapsed next to you, immediately pulling you into his arms. Your body was trembling. His thumb stroked your cheek.

“No more unless you ask,” he murmured against your hair.

“I’ll only give you what you want.”

—

The sky was beginning to lighten.

A dusky indigo bled into grey, softening the skyline behind the Watchtower’s windows. But inside the room, time was a blur of candlelight, heat, and the thick, dizzying scent of sweat and sex.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d fully caught your breath.

Your whole body felt glass-thin. Shivering. Sensitive. The sheets clung to your skin with sweat, and your legs barely worked. But the ache was still there. Nestled low. Pulsing. It didn’t fade.

Bucky’s palm slid over your thigh—soft, slow, as if testing your response.

His voice came a moment later, raspy and hesitant. “Sweetheart… we can stop. You need rest. I can wait.”

But you turned to him, eyes half-lidded, lips parted. Your fingers found his, laced through them.

“I want more,” you whispered. “Please… take me there.”

He exhaled like you’d just saved his life.

Guiding you gently toward the windows—your legs shaky, but moving—he kissed your shoulder and whispered, “I’ll be gentle. Just let me see you.”

The whole room swam around you, golden in candlelight and glimmering sweat.

The skyline stretched before you. Towering buildings, distant lights. No eyes. Just your reflection—flushed, ruined, hair damp and tangled across your shoulders.

“Fuck,” Bucky exhaled when he saw you.

“Look at yourself, baby. Look what I’ve done to you.”

You braced your palms against the cool glass, breasts pressing to it as your body arched. The contrast of heat and chill made you gasp. Bucky moved in behind you, spreading your thighs with his knee. One hand on your hip. The other wrapped around his cock, dragging the head through your soaked folds.

“Still dripping,” he muttered. “Even now. Jesus, you never stop, do you?”

“I need it,” you whispered. “Still need you.”

He didn’t make you wait.

Not this time.

He slid into you with one deep, brutal thrust—your bodies colliding with a smack so loud it echoed off the glass. Your moan fogged the window instantly, your hands flattening harder against it.

“Bucky—fuck—”

He set a hard rhythm, pulling your hips back to meet every thrust, the wet sound of your bodies filling the room. You could barely stand, legs shaking, forehead pressed to the glass.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he groaned. “So fucking perfect like this. My girl. My pussy.”

His hand slid around your throat—not squeezing, just holding, grounding. His mouth hovered by your ear.

“You were made for me,” he said. “Fucking built for this.”

“Harder,” you begged. “Please—please don’t stop.”

“Look at your reflection,” he rasped. “Look how good you look. Look how you’re taking me.”

You opened your eyes—and the sight of yourself, cock-stuffed, sweat-slick, wild-eyed, flushed and wrecked against the window, nearly sent you over the edge.

He thrust harder. Faster. Your thighs trembled violently.

“Gonna come,” you sobbed. “Can’t—Bucky—I can’t hold it—”

“Then don’t,” he growled. “Come for me, baby. Come with the whole fucking city watching.”

You shattered.

Legs giving out.

A scream ripped from your throat as your orgasm slammed through you like lightning. Your vision blurred. Your body buckled. Bucky caught you before you hit the ground—arm locking around your waist as he kept moving, groaning into your neck.

“Fuck—fuck—gonna fill you again—”

His hips snapped hard, once, twice—and then he came with a guttural sound, spilling inside you with a heat that pushed out around the edges. His head dropped to your shoulder, body shuddering as he emptied himself again.

You stood there for a long time—pressed to the glass, panting, twitching. Your hands limp against the windowpane. Bucky held you like you were breakable.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded faintly.

“Good. ‘Cause we’re not done.”

—

The sun was climbing now.

Pale gold spilled across the Watchtower skyline, casting long streaks of light onto the floor like it was forgiving the sins you were still committing.

Your whole body ached—but not in the way that begged for rest.

It was a deep, needy pulse. Faint, but still there. A hunger that wouldn’t let go.

You stumbled barefoot into the kitchenette, still bare, still slick between your thighs, wearing nothing but Bucky’s hickeys. Your hair was tangled. Your lips were swollen. Your legs trembled with every step.

Your hand landed on a protein bar. You peeled it open with shaking fingers and leaned on the counter for support.

“You better be looking for food,” you said over your shoulder, breathless and hoarse.

You heard the footsteps.

But they didn’t head for the fridge.

Bucky’s body pressed into you from behind—solid, burning hot, and still hard. He slid one arm around your waist, the other reaching up to gently move your hair aside so he could press a kiss to your neck.

“I am hungry,” he rasped, his voice low and feral.

“Just not for that.”

“Bucky,” you groaned, half-laughing, half-destroyed. “I can’t even feel my legs—”

“Good,” he whispered. “You don’t need ‘em.”

Before you could blink, he bent you over the kitchen island.

Your palms slapped down on the cold countertop, and you gasped as your bare nipples brushed the smooth marble.

You didn’t even get the chance to speak.

He lined himself up and pushed in fast—no prep, no warning, just the slick glide of his cock stretching you open again, sliding back into your wrecked body like it was home.

“Fuck, Bucky—!”

“Still so wet,” he growled behind you.

“Still squeezing me like you want more.”

His hands slid to your hips, gripping tight, pulling you back against him with every hard thrust.

This wasn’t slow.

This wasn’t tender.

It was filthy, frantic, barely-in-control fucking. Not because he didn’t care—but because he still needed you that badly.

The sound of skin slapping echoed in the tiny space. The sticky squelch of your soaked cunt taking him again and again filled the air. Your moans bounced off stainless steel and tiled walls.

You dropped your head onto your forearm.

“We… already did this—eight times,” you whimpered.

“I know,” he growled, fucking into you deeper.

“And you’re still fuckin’ perfect. Still taking it all.”

“You’re gonna kill me—”

“Then what a fucking way to go, sweetheart.”

He slid a hand around your front, fingers seeking out your clit, stroking with maddening precision. The way he touched you was still worshipful—even in this chaos.

Your whole body clenched.

“You want one more?” he asked, voice thick, rough, hungry.

“You got one more in you for me, doll?”

“Yes—yes—please—just one more—!”

You came hard. Your scream was ragged, echoing through the kitchen, and your knees nearly gave out from the force of it. The overstimulation blurred your vision with white-hot static, but your body still took every inch of him.

Bucky groaned deep and low, hips jerking as he spilled inside you one last time—his cock pulsing, his chest pressed to your back as he moaned your name like a blessing.

He didn’t sag against you. Didn’t drop.

He stayed upright, body still buzzing, cock still twitching inside you. You could feel him—full, ready again. You were the one shaking. Not him.

“Jesus Christ,” you whispered. “You’re still hard.”

“Told you,” he murmured, breath warm against your ear.

“I could do this for days.”

“James…”

He slid his arms around your waist from behind and pulled you upright, holding you there with his cock still buried deep.

“I’ll stop if you need me to,” he whispered.

“Just say the word.”

You leaned your head back against his shoulder, heart thudding weakly.

“…I think my soul already came twice.”

Bucky laughed softly. Kissed the crown of your head.

“Rest, baby. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Hard as a fucking rock.”

—

You didn’t know what time it was when you finally woke.

Only that the light outside was warmer. Honey-gold, slipping through the windows in slow streaks. The world felt distant. Blurry. But the weight behind you wasn’t.

Bucky’s arm was still around your waist, his chest pressed along your back. Warm. Steady. His breath ghosted over the back of your neck in a soft, familiar rhythm.

Your body ached in the best ways—sore thighs, puffy lips, bruised hips—but it was the ache in your chest that hummed the loudest.

You blinked. Shifted slowly.

He stirred.

“Hey,” he murmured, voice still sleep-rough.

“You okay?”

You turned to face him—carefully, slowly—and found his eyes already open, watching you.

“Mhm. Everything hurts,” you whispered. “In a good way.”

Bucky smiled. Just a little. One of those soft, private smiles he saved for no one but you.

“Told you I’d wreck you.”

“You did. Multiple times.”

He chuckled, then leaned forward to kiss you.

No tongue. No hunger. Just warmth. Lips brushing yours with slow reverence, like he was re-learning your taste now that the storm had passed.

You melted into it.

Pressed your forehead to his.

His fingers traced lazy lines across your spine, slow and aimless.

“Missed this,” he whispered. “Missed you.”

You whispered it back. Quiet. Honest.

Then let the silence settle over you both for a while—safe, sacred, slow.

Eventually, after a second nap and a shower where no one tried to fuck anyone against the tiles (God bless you), you both managed to drag yourselves into clothes and make your way toward the common area.

Bucky wore a black tee and gray sweatpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. You were in a loose hoodie and biker shorts—though judging by the soreness between your thighs, sitting might be a challenge.

His arm was around your waist the whole walk.

Your legs still wobbled slightly, and he adjusted his pace to match yours. Not a word about it. Just his warm palm pressing steady against your hipbone like a grounding wire.

—

The squad was already gathered around the Watchtower’s long dining table.

It was pasta night.

Yelena sat at the end, spooning pesto onto her plate with war-like intensity. Ava nursed a glass of wine. Bob looked half-asleep. Alexei was double-fisting garlic bread.

John Walker looked up the moment you stepped into view.

“Oh look,” he said dryly. “It lives.”

You flipped him off without stopping.

“Someone got their back blown out,” Ava added sweetly, raising her glass.

“We heard everything,” Alexei boomed. “Whole floor shook.”

“I had to wear my noise-canceling headphones,” Bob mumbled, half amused, half scarred.

Yelena didn’t even look up from her plate.

“I placed eight rounds in the pool. I win. Pay up, losers.”

You covered your face with your hands.

Bucky didn’t blink.

Just leaned in close, mouth brushing your ear, voice low and smug.

“We could’ve made it nine.”

You choked on your wine, burst out laughing, and slapped his chest as he grinned like the devil himself.

And when his hand slipped onto your thigh under the table—warm, firm, possessive—you didn’t move it.

You just smiled.

And yeah…

You weren’t done.

💜 @iamthatonefangirl @sonja-blayde

[sweetcalebb]

Caleb finding the bruises he left on your hips !

⋆˚࿔

Caleb swallowed hard, his eyes darting down to the visible bruises on your hips. Had he really been that rough?

His hand twitched at his side like he meant to reach out and touch you before thinking better of it and leaving it there.

You looked so peaceful, all sprawled out on his bed, face pressed into the pillow and eyes fluttered shut. Wearing nothing but his favorite shirt and your underwear.

Had you even noticed the pressure of his fingers last night? The way they held on too tight?

Caleb should feel sorry—he did. Just not nearly as much as he should. There was a sickening heat that still crawled up his spine at the thought that he'd marked you, branded himself into your skin in a place only you and him could see.

Then you shifted, taking a small inhale as you stretched ever so slightly. You blinked your eyes open, only to see that Caleb was lying on his side and just.. staring.

"What're you doing?" you mumbled, your voice thick with sleep and your body still aching from yesterday.

Caleb inhaled sharply, face twisting like he'd just got caught doing something he shouldn't have. Staring wasn't anything new though. He was shameless when it came to you.

But somehow, it felt wrong now.

"Nothing," he replied, voice tight. "Just... looking."

You hummed, the sound lazy and drawn out. "At what?"

Caleb's eyes flicked back down to the purple bruises peeking out under the fabric of your underwear. He glanced up again, chest tight. "I left bruises," he admitted quietly, finally letting himself reach out to touch them. "Here."

You flinched slightly, surprised at the dull pain that bloomed beneath his fingertips.

Caleb paused, catching the subtle movement. And there it was again. The sick heat he'd felt earlier. If he could will it away, he would, but instead, it pooled in his stomach. Made him twitch against his boxers.

He exhaled, trying to push his thoughts the back of his head.

"I didn't mean to be so rough.." he murmured, his hand gliding over your hip now. Soft. Reverent. Almost like an apology.

You smiled. "It's okay."

Caleb's chest swelled. You said it so sweetly, so casual. As if seeing those marks on your skin didn't make him want to take you all over again, didn't make him want to sink his fingers into those same spots and leave permanent indents.

Still.

It didn't feel right.

"It's not okay," he tried, his hand coming over your thigh now. "I shouldn't have." Despite his words, his touch grew needier, fingers flexing against your skin like he couldn't get enough of you.

You let out a soft breath. "I don't mind."

For a moment, Caleb was silent.

You didn't mind.

The thought nearly broke him. Because the marks painted into your hips didn't bother you. They didn't disgust you, didn't make you pull away or scold him. No, you liked them.

Then, as if he wasn't already hanging on by a thread, you gently laced your fingers through his hair and murmured, "Really, Caleb. I like when you lose control."

Caleb's chest tightened. You couldn't say things like that. You couldn't tell him you liked watching him lose himself when he barely had any restraint left as it was all breathless and soft like that.

With a stuttered breath, Caleb pulled you close and buried himself in the crook of your neck. He inhaled, the gesture forcing him to tug you impossibly closer. He couldn't help it; your smell was intoxicating.

Shit.

There was barely a fraction of space between you, but he still needed you closer.

Mindlessly, he curled his hand around the back of your leg and pulled it over his waist, keeping you there. "You're too good to me," he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn't hear him.

You smiled, turning your head to press a soft kiss on his temple.

"You deserve it," you whispered.

-

[itspileofgoodthings]

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