#anyways from left to right and bottom to top :

[redd-blushing-roses]

Kisses for Extra Loving

word count: 4.9k

pairing: (pre civil war)Bucky Barnes x Reader

summary: while hiding from HYDRA, you get a serious infection. Bucky has to come to terms with his feelings and finally make a move.

warnings: angst to fluff; some gross infection descriptions and being sick. nothing too overwhelming.

notes: hello! I barely finished this, but I really wanted to get it out. I haven't had any injury get seriously infected, so I don't know how accurate this is, but I have had some nasty scrapes which had some pretty gross healing processes. for more context you can read this fic which came before, but feel free to read as a one shot if you'd like!

enjoy reading :)

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The payphone is grimy and your lip curls in disgust as you shift your feet, trying to avoid the mysterious stain at the bottom of the booth. You remind yourself you’re the one who wanted to make the call, insisting to Bucky you had to, despite his protest. 

You turn to look at him over your shoulder, the international dial tone still ringing in your ear as the line connects, Bucky’s broad shoulders leaning against the glass. He’s sporting a dark blue baseball cap, a large brown jacket and his pack; his gloved hands were folded in front of him, tense as he always was. 

He catches you staring out of the corner of his eye and he gives you a small smile. You return it, wiggling your fingers in a wave.

“Hello?” A female voice crackles on the other side of the line.

“Hi Nat.” It’s quiet for a beat. Maybe she didn’t recognize your voice.

“It’s me.”

At the sound of your name, you hear Natasha sigh. 

“Do I even want to know where you are right now?”

“Somewhere safe, I promise.” You feel an itch at the top of your thigh, and shifting the phone in your hand, you scratch at it over your jeans. “I’m sorry about the apartment.” 

You were sure she was shocked when she had returned to the apartment she had loaned you, blood staining the kitchen, her window shattered and table smashed to bits. It was too bad your line of work didn’t come with a cleaning crew.

“It’s alright. It was never something I’d call home. Besides, Stark has us staying in the tower full time now. Egyptian cotton is addicting.” You laugh. 

“Those Ikea cotton sheets I bought weren't all that bad.” It’s her turn to laugh. Your heart pulls, and you realize now how much you missed the sound.

“No. To be honest, they were cuter too.” You hear something clatter in the background, male voices arguing. LOUDLY.

“Steve, it was never about Luke killing the Emperor. Vader was the chosen one.” 

“But they’re the space Nazis, are they not?”

“And you were a much better roommate,” Natasha whispers.

“I knew you loved me.” You itch your thigh again, moving to take your red scarf off. It was getting hot in the booth.

A loud knock startles you, the sound echoing in the booth. You turn to Bucky, brows quirking with question. He taps his watch, encouraging you to speed up the call. You hold up a finger, mouthing you’d be just a minute more. 

“Anyway,” you sigh. “I just wanted to apologize, let you know I was alright.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment.

“You’re not by yourself, are you?”

“No. I’m back on the babysitting job.” 

You can practically hear the gears of her brain turning through the phone. When you had first gone into hiding, you had told Natasha you’d found a babysitting job. It was partially true, you had been watching over Bucky while he recuperated. And she had bought it.

Though now, after you’d shown up bloody on her doorstep and left in a similar manner, Natasha was sure to have figured out it wasn’t any normal babysitting job. She was smart.

“Alright. But if you find the tantrums too much, just call, okay. I’ll personally steal one of Tony’s suits and come get you. No matter where you are.” The pointedness of her voice was enough to confirm her growing suspicion. 

“Okay Nat. I promise I’ll call if things get out of hand. Say hi to Steve for me.”

“I will. Love you.” She says it in a singsong voice and you laugh again.

“Love you too.” 

The line disconnects and you hang the phone up, ready to get out of the grimy booth. God, it was hot in there.

You tap on the glass, and Bucky turns, opening the door for you. You step out onto the street, the cool breeze of the European spring refreshing after the stuffy booth. 

“Did your call go okay?” Bucky asks, handing you your backpack. You nod as you slide it on, following him as he begins to walk down the cobblestone street.

“It was good. Sounded like everything was alright on her end.” The sky is a bright blue above you and you squint at the sun glinting through the small clouds. “Steve sounded like he was doing well.” Bucky looks at you, surprised.

“You talked to him?”

“No, but I heard him. Are you ever going to reach out? I know he’s looking for you.” 

Bucky shook his head. He didn’t say anything for a while, the two of you walking up the hilly street, past the colorful shops and busy market stalls. 

You stop at an intersection, waiting for the walk sign to turn green.

“I don’t think I’m ready to see him again,” he finally says, crossing his arms as he looks at you. “Not yet.”

You nod, understanding. It was a lot to take in, to find out your best friend was still alive after almost 70 years. And not only that but you had tried to kill him the last time you’d been together. 

“It’s okay. I’m sure when you are ready, he’ll understand why you waited.” 

You pulled at your sweater, the collar itching your neck. Sweat dripped down your back. 

Bucky eyed you as you pulled your hand away from your neck to scratch at your thigh again. The itch was beginning to sting painfully and you did your best to ignore it, your adrenaline spiking as a thought entered your head. 

You knew beneath your jeans lay the still healing knife wound. It was over a month old and the stitches had mostly healed, but after the last fight you had gotten into with HYDRA agents two weeks ago, the wound had been reopened. 

Bucky had helped you close it up again, redoing the stitches as you had sat in a bathroom stall, biting down his hat as the needle went in and out of the skin. 

But you chose to ignore the red swelling which had crept up your leg the last couple of days. You couldn’t deal with an infection now, couldn’t let yourself be debilitated when you had to keep moving.

“Hey, you okay?” Bucky leaned down lower to your level, his blue eyes full of concern. You look around and realize you had spaced out, missing the chance to cross the street. A bead of sweat fell down from your hairline. 

“I’m fine.” You smiled. “Just spaced out, sorry.” 

Bucky didn’t look convinced. 

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Hours later, you shivered beneath your blanket, the hard mattress cold beneath you. Sharp, hot pain radiated up your leg, and despite how warm you felt, you still had goosebumps running up your arms, your teeth chattering without pause. 

After the phone booth, you had gone to a cafe for lunch, watching Bucky as he ate his sandwich and then polished off the second half of your sandwich, your stomach churning. 

You’d slipped into your room when you’d come home to the bare apartment, telling Bucky you’d take a nap. 

Now you sat up, your stomach turning again, body wracked with shivers. You mentally cursed.

You really should have taken a look at your leg earlier. You got up off the floor with a groan, moving slowly, as if your body had turned into sludge. 

You quietly limp to the small bathroom in the hall, glancing towards the living room as you pass it, Bucky splayed out on the floor, reading a book. The bathroom door shuts quietly behind you and you stand for a moment, leaning against the cold mirror as your head pounds. 

You eventually work up the courage to peel off your jeans, wincing as the fabric slides down your bandaged wound. You open a drawer and take out the medical kit, using the scissors inside to cut open the gauze. 

You practically wretch when you look at it, red puckered flesh pulsating with your heartbeat. You stumble and sit on the toilet, throwing the pus covered gauze away in disgust. You lean closer to inspect the wound. 

The original stitches had healed without much trouble, the upper part of the wound now a pink scar. But the lower half was still a purplish red, the part where the torn flesh stitched to meet was leaking with watery liquid, the muscle beneath twitching. And the smell-

You grabbed the trash can beside you and vomited, throwing up your sandwich and breakfast. Your ears pounded with the pressure in your head, eyes tearing up from the different parts of your body currently aching. You swallow, hands shaking, wanting to call out for Bucky, but not wanting him to see you like this. 

You sob, hand coming up quickly to stifle the sound. The pounding sound is in your ears again, your senses overwhelmed as you continue to cry. 

“Hey. Come on, open the door.” 

Bucky’s voice is muffled and your eyes widen as you realize he’s been knocking on the bathroom door for the past minute. 

You try to speak, try to get up and open the door to let him in, scared to be alone any longer. But the effort to stand sends pain shooting up your side. Nothing comes out of your mouth except a loud and wet sob. 

Bucky mutters from the other side of the door. 

You hear his metal hand grip the handle, a popping sound following a loud snap. 

He’s broken off the door handle. 

The door swings open and Bucky stands there, taking in your snot and pus filled state, tears streaming down your eyes, your infected thigh on full display. 

He drops the book he was holding, taking a step towards you cautiously. 

“Buck-” you croak between sobs. 

You barely register the moment he stops standing and when he starts holding you, cradling your head as you cry into his chest. It wasn’t much, but it would be a tenderness you'd have to be content with.

He didn’t run his hand through your hair like you wanted. 

Didn’t wipe away your tears or say he was sorry.

Didn’t kiss your forehead or give you comforting words.

Instead he told you to sit there, running a bath, his brows furrowed. He’d come back from the kitchen, a cup of salt water in hand and a towel. 

“This is going to hurt,” he told you, and you bit down on your shirt, crying out as he poured the solution onto the wound, the skin bubbling and stinging.

Bucky helped you out of your clothes, his eyes distant as he helped you into the bath, never quite looking at you. When your temperature didn’t drop, he helped you out again and into clean clothes, a large shirt and shorts. When you asked why he didn’t bandage your leg, he told you it was better to let it breathe, to let the infection air out.

You lay on the hard mattress, covering yourself with a blanket. Bucky pressed a cold washcloth to your forehead, a deep frown etched into his features.

You looked up at him from your position. He seemed so angry, and you felt terrible you hadn’t mentioned the state of your leg. It was all your fault.

“I’m sorry,” you shivered, still trying to get your body to regulate its temperature. 

Bucky just shook his head. 

“You should have told me…” his voice trails off, eyes still glued to you.

He stayed a moment longer and then left the room in a rush. You didn’t know what hurt more. 

The fact that for a moment, you had hoped he’d bridge the strange barrier between you and provide you comfort you’d been longing for; or the fact he seemed so angry with you for not telling him you were hurting. 

Your mind toyed with these thoughts. As much as you wished he'd admit his feelings, you had to be content with the emotions he did share with you. HYDRA had done a number on him.

On the both of you.

But just because you were patient didn't mean it wasn't painful.

You fell asleep on the mattress surrounded by your pain and anxiety, a final warm tear slipping down your cheek as you drifted off.

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Bucky stood in the small pharmacy, his boot tapping against the white tile. His eyes darted from bottle to box, the shelves lined with all kinds of medicine and antibiotics, but not the kind he needed. 

He finally selects a box, reading the contents quickly and stuffs it into the basket he’s holding, already filled with a bottle of orange juice, a packet of chocolate wafers, cans of chicken soup, more medical gauze, and tylenol. 

Why hadn’t you told him about your leg?

The question had been thrown about his brain ever since he left you in the room, still crying and shivering from the fever. Bucky had felt bad leaving you there, but if he didn’t get you something to combat the infection it would only get worse. 

He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. He had just got you back.

Maybe you blamed him. 

Bucky blamed himself. He was angry he hadn’t caught the warning signs of infection.

He felt responsible to take care of you. And maybe it was because he'd always had the innate desire to watch over you, only enhanced by the HYDRA programming he'd been given. Or maybe it was because he felt like he owed you. You had watched over him for so many months, and he wanted to return the favor.

Besides, by technicality, it was his fault your leg was torn up. 

Bucky tried to block out the other thought rising in the back of his mind. 

Maybe you hadn’t told him because you didn't trust him. 

It was probable. You’d spent years by his side during your time in HYDRA, always on edge, fingers twitching near your gun in enclosed spaces.

But even amidst your distrust, even after HYDRA had wiped him over and over, trying to erase you from his mind, you always lingered. Most of his memories of you were spotty. Damaged from all the wiping.

But the same thing always remains. Your eyes, sad yet kind. Observant. Evaluating.

Despite everything, he remembers how you were the only one who cared.

Bucky paid for the items and grabbed the plastic bag, hurrying down the now darkened streets. 

When he enters the small apartment again, sweaty from running, he hears your moaning from the other room. Your body is shaking against the mattress, sweat covering every inch of you, shivers wracking your body.

As painful as it looked, he knew it was a good sign. 

It meant you were still fighting. 

Bucky pulls out the tylenol and shakes out a couple pills. He comes by your side, coaxing you to open your eyes. 

“Here, take this.” You blink up at him from under the blanket, exhaustion written in your features. “It’ll help you feel better.”

You can barely sit up, but he supports you, helping you to drink the water and watching as you swallow the pills. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, shaking against his side. He holds you for a minute, but lets go faster than he'd like, sliding you back onto the mattress. 

Bucky sits beside you, pained by the sight of you. He remains there for the better part of the night, providing you with fresh cold wash cloths and making you sip water and orange juice every so often. For the most part, he just sits there, watching you toss and turn, your body fighting off the infection. 

Bucky wished he would reach out and hold you, lay there and encase your body with his.

He wished he would kiss your forehead and trace lines across the faint freckles on your face. He wished he could take your pain away.

He wished he had the words to tell you it was alright, to reassure you everything would be better. Instead he remained silent. 

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Bucky awoke with a start, his back aching from falling asleep awkwardly against the wall. He looks over at you, still laying on the mattress. Your body was so still, and for a moment he panics.

He leans over, gently rolling you over onto your back. 

Your hair is splayed out against the pillow and he’s reminded of an animated movie he had seen before he’d left for the war. 

What was the name of the movie? 

With the princess who died… no she lived but she had been in a death like sleep…

The name finally came to him. Snow White.

Bucky had taken his sister to see it. He remembered it now; how Rebecca had cried when she saw the princess in the coffin. Bucky had bought her an ice cream after to make her feel better.

He had found it strange how a kiss could have cured the princess. If only life were so similar.

You looked so similar, skin pale, lips parted with quiet breath, eyelashes not even fluttering with sleep. You looked dead. 

And it scared him. 

Bucky now regrets not holding you or telling you it would be okay. 

Bucky regrets not telling you how he wished he had kissed you back.

The moment he had felt your lips on his cheek two weeks ago, soft and warm, the smell of mint lingering from your lip balm, he had felt as though his heart would explode. He hadn’t been kissed by a girl in… 

Well, he didn’t know exactly how long. But he knew that this was different. It wasn’t the rush of adrenaline or the thrill of being the guy everyone looked up to. 

Look how many girls were in line to kiss him as he’s sent off to war. Sergeant James Barnes.

Maybe it was the attachment he had formed to you after being abused and tortured for so long. For years all he knew was isolation and violence, a never ending cycle of killing between dreams.

And then there was you. His memory of you is blurry, half destroyed between HYDRA wiping his mind constantly when it came to you. 

But he remembered clearly how you had offered your hand to him in the safe house, after he had fought with Captain America, after he had ran from the river, leaving behind the carnage and chaos of battle. 

He remembers your eyes, curious, fearful and kind. He remembers how you comforted him, how you had told him it would be alright. 

And then you had kissed him. Even though you had been injured and you were in pain, you had kissed him because you cared. 

Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t care about you. He wasn't just attracted to you- for goodness sake he had risked being captured going back to you.

If that wasn't love-

And now he sat here, his hand hovering over your forehead, heart overflowing with guilt and grief. He was already imagining losing you. He didn’t want that blood on his hands. Not without letting you know how much you meant- 

“Hey,” he shook your shoulder. “Hey come on get up. You’ve got to get up.”

Bucky leans in as you groan, mumbling something unintelligible. 

“Come on, I know it hurts but we have to get you better.” 

You crack your eyes open as he says your name, your iris’ a dull shade of their usual vibrant color. Bucky can feel his heart sinking as you mouth a word. He asks you to repeat it, leaning in close, his ear so close he can feel the barely there whisper tickle his ear.

“James.”

It’s enough to send him into a frenzy. Bucky stands and leaves the room, going to draw you another bath, determination set into his face. 

He wouldn’t lose you. He couldn’t. There was so much to say, and for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t choosing not to run. 

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Your senses come back slowly, no longer overstimulated by the heat of fever and the pain of your leg. 

The first thing you notice is the light behind your closed eyelids, and as you blink awake, you see an open window above you, early morning sun spilling in between the gauzy curtains. 

How long had you been out for? 

The last concrete memory you had was sitting in the bathroom crying, holding onto Bucky like he was a life line. Everything after and between was a strange dream- 

The feeling of being slid into a porcelain tub, the water cool against your skin. 

Calloused fingers running through your hair, holding your hand.

The taste of orange juice on your tongue and the unsavory taste of medicinal cherry.

There’s the sound of a voice, deep yet soft. But the words are lost to you.

The second thing you notice is the large body next to you. 

Your eyes slide to your right, and latch onto Bucky passed out next to you, his body splayed out on his stomach, half on the twin sized mattress, his legs and waist dangling on the hard floor.

He can hardly be comfortable. 

His right hand is hovering next to your own hand, fingers tensed slightly, as if he were reaching for something in a dream. As if he'd been holding your hand.

You lift your head gently, no longer feeling the pressure of fever or headache. Bucky must have moved the mattress into the living room at some point; the room littered with tissues and bowls. His book is crunched up beneath his foot, a bottle of orange juice and medicine resting on the floor besides your left leg.

You sit up and lean closer, inspecting your leg. The wound was still red, but it no longer oozed pus or smelled like death. Your fingers brush beside the damaged skin, the stitches looking much cleaner and knit together. 

The infection must have passed. 

Bucky stirs beside you, muttering something sleepily.

You take in the room once more and realize he must have taken care of you while you were out of it. It was obvious now: the medicine, the mattress, the fact Bucky was laying next to you. 

A smile worms its way onto your face as you lean closer to his face, fingers brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face. His hand grabs yours faster than you can blink, his eyes opening wide as they come into focus.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to wake you. You looked like you could use a few more minutes.” Bucky sits up, breath quickening. He stares at you. 

You’re taken aback for a second, the seriousness in his eyes making your smile fall. You had forgotten. Maybe he really was mad.

But the thought leaves your head just as quickly as it had appeared when Bucky gently puts down your hand, his palm coming up to touch your cheek. It was surprising and you can’t help yourself as you lean into it.

“Don’t be sorry,” he whispers. He nods his head in the direction of your healing leg, “for a minute there, I wasn’t sure…” Bucky goes quiet and he clears his throat.

“I wasn’t sure if it would get better. But I remembered something my Ma had said about sunshine and company, about how anything can be healed as long as it’s cared for.”

“Sunshine and company?” He shakes his head, a crooked grin cracking on his face, the rare one which always made your heart race.

“Don’t ask, I can’t even remember the whole saying. But look," he says, tapping your leg. "On the track to a full recovery.”

It explained why the mattress had been moved to the window, the morning sun now shining brightly on both of your heads, the rays of light haloing your head like a crown. 

“Well thank you.” You scratch the back of your neck, looking around the messy room. “How long was I out.”

“Two days.”

“Ah. Two days and it looks like a tornado swept through here.” Bucky looks around the room with you. “Makes me wonder what would have happened if I was out for any longer.” You chuckle, but Bucky doesn’t laugh. 

“Any longer and I don’t know what I would do with myself.” Your eyes slide back to his. You’re overwhelmed by the emotions flickering on his face. Sadness. Longing. Hope. Yearning. 

“James,” you start, confusion written in the way your brows furrow.

“What are you talking about?”

Bucky opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He licks his lips and tries again, but still, the words are stuck on his tongue. He pulls back from you with a frustrated groan, his palm sliding down his face. 

“Why is this so hard-”

“Why’s what-” Bucky stands and paces. You sit up, moving to the edge of the mattress carefully, watching him. 

“I don’t remember this being so hard.”

“What Buck?” He looks at you and then away, arms crossed with nervousness. He swallows thickly, his ears going red.

“Confessing to a girl.”

oh. OH. 

He wanted to confess. To you. You can’t help it as the laugh escapes your mouth, the sound ringing through the apartment. Bucky looks like he wishes he could climb into a hole and you watch as his face falls. 

You immediately feel bad, realizing he must have mistaken your laugh as a sign you thought his feelings were not reciprocated. Oh god, he must feel awful.

The one person who’s showed him an ounce of kindness amidst all the torture and abuse, who despite his reluctance and aggression, continued to show up for him, and you laughed. 

After his fear of hurting you every time you held his hand, after finally showing he cared and not being shy about sharing a part of himself he thought was long gone, and you laughed.

“No Buck-”

“It’s fine.” He backs away, chewing his cheek, eyes clouded and sad. “I should have known… with everything I’ve done. I just thought-”

“James,” you stand, wobbling on your feet. You put pressure on your leg, moving towards Bucky, hand reaching out for his tall frame.

Bad idea. 

After two days of not moving a muscle, your leg quickly gives out and you’re falling. 

Bucky is quick to catch you, his super enhanced reflexes always a surprise to you. He grips your waist gently, supporting you enough to help you stand. 

“I shouldn’t have laughed, I’m sorry. It’s just… you and me,” you gesture with your pointer finger, pointing between your chests, “I thought maybe it was just me who had caught feelings. And I didn’t want to say anything because of everything that happened. I didn’t want to put that pressure on you.”

Bucky gives you a soft smile, looking upwards as he takes in your words. 

“It’s why when I kissed you, I didn’t expect anything. Because I wanted it to be your choice.

“My choice?”

“Yeah. Whether you wanted to kiss me back or not.” 

“You wanted me to kiss you?” His brows furrow, fingers flexing against your back. You laugh again, and this time he chuckles along with you. “Wait, you wanted me to-”

“James Barnes, you can be so oblivious sometimes.” 

He rolls his eyes.

“Listen, I’m lucky I can even be having a full conversation now.” Bucky smiles at you, that cute lopsided close-lipped smile he gives. Your smile dampens, and your face gets serious. 

“I know. I think about it all the time.” You notice a strand of Bucky’s hair falling onto his face and you brush it to the side with your fingers. His eyes watch you, clearer now than you’ve ever seen them. 

Bucky brings you closer to him, careful to place himself so he wouldn’t rub up against your wounded leg. He was so close, closer than you’d ever been with him. 

You can feel your heart beating as if you were running a marathon. And when Bucky speaks again, it’s your turn to blush.

“I can hear your heart.” You look away, the smile on your face beginning to hurt. Still supporting you with his metal hand, he takes his right hand and cups your cheek, turning your face back to look at him.

He leans in closer, his nose inches apart from yours. “I think I’d like to kiss you now.” Your breath shudders and you gather the courage to speak again. Bucky waits, his gaze focused, his touch gentle. 

“Kiss me then.” And he does. 

Bucky’s hand guides your face towards him, lips gently pressed against yours. Your eyes close as you melt into him. The kiss is gentle and soft and he pulls away quicker than you’d like. 

For a second, you wonder if it wasn’t good enough. Or maybe it was too much. 

You crack open your eyes to see he still has his closed, his chest contracting as he breathes hard. He’s remembering something. And when he opens his eyes he’s looking at you with an emotion you’ve never seen on his face. 

It softens his features, the curve of his mouth, the curve of his lashes as he looks down at you. His pupils are dilated, and he’s smiling shyly. It’s the face of the young man you’d come to see in glimpses, here, on full display.

“James?”

“Sunshine, company, and a kiss for extra loving. That’s what my ma used to say.”

You look at him, really look at him. His handsome face, the stubble growing on his chin and long hair, his blue eyes. Your eyes widen as you recognize the emotion, the one you had seen in your own eyes in the bathroom mirror.

It finally hits you why he brought up the saying.

"For extra loving?" Bucky gives you a smile.

"For loving." He kisses you again, deeper and longer.  Between the kisses he trails up your cheeks and down your neck, he whispers those three tiny words.

The ones which make you feel like you could fly."I love you."

You whisper it back as you kiss his jaw, smiling at the way his eyes grow glassy.

Your hands come up to grip Bucky’s hair and he moans into your mouth, a sound which makes your stomach flip with glee. He pulls you closer, arms tight around you, your bodies now flush to one another, and as he slips his tongue into your mouth-

“Ow.” 

He breaks apart quickly, eyes scanning you intently.

“What,” he breathes, lips red and swollen, cheeks red. “What, I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No,” you sigh, holding onto him as you shake your leg a little, trying to rid it of the stinging pain which shot up your leg when it had come into contact with Bucky’s jeans. “No, I’m alright.” 

Bucky nods, but doesn’t move in again.

Instead he guides you back down to the mattress, helping you sit. He sits by you and you hold his hand, his fingers tinged pink as they slide into yours. 

He looks content. Happy almost. 

Bucky doesn't say the words again, and you know he probably won't for a while. But he doesn't have to. Your content to let him take this at his own pace.

The sun is shining down on you both and you move to kiss him again. You wish you could capture how he lit up when he smiled.

The memory would be stitched in your heart forever.

[warfaredoll]

𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗’ 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ℧ 𝚊𝚞 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

[𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲] 𝐑𝐚𝐲 𝐱 𝐟!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚁𝚊𝚢 𓃔𓃽, blurb, suggestive

you weren’t late, you wouldn’t be. Ray didn’t even have to tell you what time just “later this evening” in that slow drawl of his, smile crooked like he’d already seen you naked in his head. and you’d smiled right back, like you’d been waiting all damn summer. the second that invite left his lips, your imagination ran; water slicking down those lean muscles, the trail of hair down his belly darkening as he climbed out, his jeans long discarded, cock free.

so you dressed for it. shorts so small they barely covered the crease where thigh met hip, tank top stretched thin over your chest, no bra, not when it was coming off anyway. you brushed your hair just once, finger combed, and gave yourself a last look in the mirror. lips parted, eyes a little too wide, too eager.

you stepped out barefoot, the screen door creaking behind you, and there he was sitting on your porch. Ray sat crouched near the rail, his back to you, flicking pebbles like marbles across the old boards, shoulders rolled under the faded blue of his button up. the fabric tugged tight across his back when he shifted, one boot heel hooked on the bottom step, the other flat on the ground like he hadn’t moved in hours and wasn’t planning to anytime soon. he looked like he’d been waiting on you since the sun came up

then he turned

that grin slid over his face the second his eyes met yours, he took you in slow, no shame, not even pretending to look away

“Well now” he drawled “if that ain’t the prettiest sight this lake’s gonna see in years.”

“don’t tell me I’m overdressed.”

his gaze dropped right there on your chest, where your nipples strained hard against the thin cotton of your tank

he didn’t answer right away. just stared until the corner of his mouth tugged up again

“not for long, I hope”

he stood then, legs unfolding, thighs stretching that worn denim in a way that made you bite your lip. his shirt hung open just enough to show a peek of chest, that tanned skin you’d been dying to taste. he turned, stepping off the porch like it was the most natural thing in the world that you’d follow

“Bo!” he called, sharp whistle between two fingers

the dog perked up from the shade under the porch with eager panting, a rangy old mutt with ears too big and eyes that always seemed to know too much. he trotted alongside Ray like they did this every evening

the path to the lake was down the road, you took the kind of shortcut you memorized by heart, branches brushing your shoulders. Ray walked just ahead, boots crunching soft over dry grass, his body easy and relaxed, like he wasn’t thinking about anything except maybe how good you’d look wet

you were thinking about him as well. the way those jeans fit when he stepped, the curve of his ass, the tug of his shirt as it flared around his waist. you imagined reaching out, slipping your fingers under the hem, pulling that denim down slow until…

“cmon now” he looked over his shoulder, voice teasing “you laggin’ back ‘cause you’re shy, or ‘cause you want me to come carry you?”

you caught up in two strides, stepping beside him just in time to catch the smirk he tried to hide. your fingers brushed his hand, he caught them in his warm and rough.

Ray didn’t wait for anything. the second his boots hit the grass at the lake’s edge, he kicked them off, one thunk then another. his fingers went straight to his shirt, slow at first, the way a man does when he knows eyes are on him and he knew. oh, he knew. each button popped open, revealing that beautiful tan skin. when he shrugged the shirt off his shoulders, it slid down his arms, caught on one elbow a second before he flung it onto a low branch nearby

then came the belt. metal clinked, the buckle opened with a flick of his wrist, and his fingers slipped to the button on his jeans. fly down, he pushed them off his hips and let them fall to his ankles, stepping out of them. all that remained were the snug navy plaid boxers, the fabric stretched tight across the swell of his thighs, the outline of his cock barely hidden

you didn’t look away, not once. his body tan all over, broad shoulders, some faint scars along his forearms, stomach flat but not soft, that thick scar across him trailing from rib to belly. it wasn’t pretty, and you wanted to run your tongue along every inch of it

he caught you staring

and instead of smirking, instead of saying something cocky like he always did, he walked toward you

reaching for you. fingers hooked under the hem of your tank, and you didn’t hesitate. you lifted your arms, let him pull it over your head, his knuckles brushing against your ribs as he dragged the fabric up. when your breasts came free, nipples already hard, his eyes dropped down instantly. he didn’t speak, just looked, really looked and you let him. the way he stood there, chest rising, close, like he was holding back from touching you

you reached for him slow, tracing that scar with your fingertips

it twitched under your touch, so did he

you followed the line, down past his ribs to the flat of his stomach, where it ended just above his bellybutton, his breathing deepened. you could feel the tension in him, in the way his muscles shifted under your hand, in the way his cock began to stiffen against the fabric of his boxers

his gaze drifted up again, from your hand to your chest, his eyes settling on the soft swell of your breasts. he didn’t grab, or grope.

Ray didn’t hesitate not after your fingers had traced that jagged old scar of his. he lingered just long enough to take in the shape of you, lips parted like he meant to say something but forgot the words. then without a warning, he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, slid them down in one pull, and took off in a sprint

you blinked surprised “Ray!”

he laughed as he ran, that wild joy bursting out of him, bare ass running until he jumped in with a big splash that swallowed his whole body. the water rippled, Bo barked from the river bank, tail wagging, circling and yipping like he’d just lost his damn mind

Ray was gone for a second, then two

then he popped up with a gasp, water slick on his buzzed head, streaming down his face as he ran a hand over it and shook the drops from his eyes

“waters’ awfully nice” he said, chest rising, droplets clinging to his collarbone “cmon in”

he lifted a hand, gesturing you over

you didn’t keep him waiting. your fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts, teasing them down. your bare feet kicking it off. then came your panties, wet a little with you already, you pulled them down, let them fall, and tossed them toward the grass without looking where

his eyes never left you. the second you were fully exposed, naked, standing in the open like that, Ray let out a low whistle, a slow exhale

“Well damn” he muttered, dragging a hand through the water “you keep makin’ me wait like this, I might just have to come drag you in myself”

you giggled, breath catching in your throat as you stepped toward the water. Ray watched with that same hungry look, and in awe as you stepped in

the lake rose around your ankles, then your calves. the chill made goosebumps form on your skin, a full body shiver as the water kissed higher up your thighs. then your belly, that sensitive curve just below your ribs

“shit it’s cold” you gasped, arms curling around yourself as you stepped deeper

Ray was only a few inches away, his shoulders bobbing above the surface, eyes on you

“c’mere” he said, his hand reaching out under the water

you moved toward him, the lake parting around your waist, your breasts rose barely above the waterline. he reached for you, fingers sliding across your hips, pulling you in until your chest bumped against his

“you’re warm” you said, voice soft against his throat

he grinned “guess we’ll just have to share.”

his arms were around you, holding you against him in a way that felt instinctive. his skin was warm beneath the water, broad chest pressed to yours, the faint pressure of his gold chain brushing your breasts with every rise and fall of his breathing. it wasn’t a flashy piece just a simple loop, dull from wear, cool against your flushed skin

he raised one hand, cupped it and dipped it into the lake

you watched as the water spilled over his knuckles as he lifted it, then poured it gently over your head. it ran down your scalp, across your forehead, over your cheeks and neck, soaking your hair and sliding between your breasts. the shock of cold faded, and you let out a soft sigh leaning into him without meaning to

“little better?” he asked, voice close to your ear

you blinked, and smiled “yeah. much better”

the last of the chill had left you now, chased off by his body, the comfort of his arms, and the warmth between your thighs. his hands didn’t roam, they simply stayed at your back and hip, palms firm, but gentle. the kind of hold that said he’d wait but also that he wanted it

he bent his head and kissed your shoulder. it was soft and quick, his lips barely lingered, but his voice came right after

“might be the devil talkin’. ” he murmured, mouth still against your skin “but I want you right here”

you giggled half from nerves, half from thrill and lifted your hand to smack his shoulder lightly

“Ohh Ray” you said, rolling your eyes with a smile you couldn’t fight

he grinned back, wide and shameless

you looked around just to be sure, though your heart already knew and saw nothing but the trees, and Bo curled up under a pine tree with his nose tucked to his tail. the dog wasn’t watching, no one was watching

it was just you and Ray

“and if I let you have me?” you asked, voice soft your breath warm against his cheek, and Ray didn’t pull back, he leaned in closer

“ain’t no one around here” he said

you mirrored him, inches apart now. “mhmm” you hummed, eyes half lidded, breath mingling, your fingertips lifting to toy with the chain at his throat. you twirled it gently around one finger, felt it tug against the back of his neck. he didn’t stop you, just stood still and watched, like your little game had him held by the throat

his hands moved again, slow and warm, slipping up your sides until his thumbs found the soft skin just under your breasts. he began to rub there, slow circles, his fingers brushing the underswell where your skin curved into his palms. every pass made your thighs press together under the water

you both tilted your heads

his eyes closed shut. lips parted, breath shallow. you leaned in too, your own mouth opening just slightly, inviting, waiting. and then you stopped, right there, barely an inch left for your lips to meet his in a kiss

his breath caught enough to feel the shift in his chest against yours. he opened his eyes slow with need, and you watched his tongue flick out across his lower lip, wetting it like he was trying to savor what you almost gave him

you smiled and pulled back just enough, chest still brushing his, water rippling around you, and his mouth opened a little like he might curse but instead he laughed soft and sharp through his nose, head tipping slightly as he shook it

“goddamn” he said “you’re such a fuckin’ tease.”

you gave him your prettiest grin, sweet and smug. and he grinned right back, eyes crinkling at the corners

“you’re lucky you’re a pretty little thing” he said, hand sliding down from your ribs to squeeze your waist

“lucky?” you repeated teasing still, leaning just a little closer again

“oh yeah” he said “real lucky. ‘cause I ain’t never had a woman make me wait this long without gettin’ her soaked for it one way or another”

you raised an eyebrow “really?” lips trying not to quirk up into a smile like you could see right through him

you both knew it was bullshit

there weren’t other women. there weren’t past flings, no parade of girls with short skirts and open legs tucked into the corners of Ray’s life. you were it. the only one who’d ever gotten close enough to press against that scar on his stomach like it meant something, the only one Bo wagged for, the only one he watched like you were the best thing in his life, like he couldn’t believe someone like you had even looked at him twice.

he could pretend all he wanted. could drop that line with that cocky confidence. but you saw the way he softened every time you smiled. how his eyes got dark but tender when he looked at you like he was holding something precious in his hands, something he knew damn well not to drop

you stepped forward, let your thigh brush between his under the water, his cock stiffening slow against you. you let your fingers trail down his chest, pausing just below that old scar again

“you’re full of shit Ray” you said sweetly, chin tilted, mouth close enough to graze his “ain’t nobody else makin’ you wait. i’m the only tease you’ve got”

he didn’t deny it, didn’t even try

his mouth twitched, then curved into a smile

“you’re the only one I’ll ever want” he admitted

he pulled you closer, bringing you flush against him. you felt his cock hard against your hip now, needing you, aching, but waiting. because he would. he’d wait all night, all summer, every goddamn season if that’s what it took. that sweet pussy between your legs? he wanted it yeah. wanted it bad. but more than that.. he wanted you. all of you, every breath, every look, every tease

“you keep playin’ like this” he said, brushing his mouth over your cheek “and I’ll be beggin’ for a taste”

“and if I let you beg?” you murmured

he groaned, head dropping to your shoulder “then I’ll get on my knees, right here in this lake, and praise what’s between your thighs”

me w the 5+ cowboy Ray smuts in my drafts

@ddlydevotion @https-junebug @onmyknees4kai @sharpayslilo @iron-rot @heegasm @alexislameee @irrelevantsnowy @coconuttiez8d @joelmeller @willowpains @violetcamryn @f4nfic-lover @k-ilisi @gallaghrh @legoflowrs @illyrianbrat

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 - 𓊆ྀི 𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞𓊇ྀི

[llavender-honeyy]

࿇˚࿔ sebastian invites you backstage…

⟢ genre ; pure smut

⟢ pairing ; seb x afab!enby!reader

⟢ wc ; 4.2k

⟢ summary ; after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

⟢ warnings ; 2nd person pov ; they/them pronouns for reader ; explicit smut [piv] ; no protection used ; bottom/sub reader ; general size difference ; dubcon [coercion, drugging/aphrodisiac] ; smoking [cigarettes & weed] & forced inhalation [reader receiving] ; accidental cigarette burn [reader receiving] ; groping ; reader kinda goes along w everything ; oral [f receiving] ; i heart seb’s nose uhhh ; 1 singular usage of the word “slutty” ; squirting ; creampie ; and please feel free to lmk if i forgot anything significant !

⟢ a/n ; reminder that this is a work of fiction! i do not condone or support any illegal/unsafe activities as described below in reality. and just for clarification’s sake, the “mystery drug” i describe is just your run of the mill fanfic-grade magic aphrodisiac, to be on the safer side. stay safe, be responsible, and surround yourself with comfortable people !!

byf & dni | navi | m.list

starts under the cut !

its not like you really had a chance anyways. the truth is, you were fucked from the moment he spotted you. and it just made it all the more easy for him to go through with it, too, what with him making it out to be your idea; your tease of a threat–your innocent joke–to find him backstage was met with a taunt of his own, and really it’s cute how obedient you were to follow instructions when he beckoned you from around the back door after the show. down to those shocked, wide eyes you looked at him with, just the spitting image of a helpless deer.

it was even cuter when, after he’d ransacked his precious stash to provide you both with a shot of liquor in celebration of finishing the performance, you were too stupid to notice the hastily dissolving tablet as he handed you the small glass. stupid because he didn’t even try to hide it—had it right under your nose literally while he pretended to conversate with you before coaxing you into finally downing it. could barely keep himself contained when he saw how it went down your throat, itching to squeeze it closed or stuff it full he didn’t know. hopefully soon, you’d be in the right headspace to make the decision for him.

its only a couple more minutes of letting you lead the conversation–‘i don’t mean to be a bother to your band mates,’ ‘what was that drink anyways?’ ‘it’s getting kind of warm in here, don’t you think..?’–before he sees your eyelids set deeper and your lashes fluttering as you try to keep them open. he’s already buzzing with excitement, the anticipation coursing from his gut to his fingertips and the top of his head, nearly turning himself dizzy in the blur but he brings himself back with the thought that you were way too easy..

he cracks a forced half-smile, soft in a way to be unassuming, and uses the adrenaline to will himself into standing from the tattered black couch. he smears his palms on his too-tight jeans–they were drenched–and almost laughs at himself for being too easy to get excited.

he makes his way to the door in a steady stride, looking back briefly to see you lay yourself on the couch lazily fanning your face. you’re watching him and he wonders for a moment if that’s concern lacing your eyebrows. he attempts to sway your worries with another tight lipped smile, gripping on the handle of the door as if to open it and let in some air, just to wiggle it to double check it’s left locked.

“hey–” he turns with a hand out, palm facing down, “don’t worry.. i’ll take care of ya.”

he feels that same buzz of excitement when he hears a whimper get caught in your throat. he swallows thickly, keep it in your pants, fuck, and keeps himself from pouncing now by busying himself with cracking the small vent-sized window high on the wall adjacent to the couch. not just for your sake at this point, but for his own too.

his hand digs in his zipped open jacket for that familiar rectangular box, fishing out a cigarette with practiced movements and lighting it with equal ease. the end burns with orange embers as he takes a deep inhale through the filter, puffing at it a few times and letting the excess smoke wash over his raised hand. the harsh sensation on his throat contrasts to how it soothes his mind–each inhale almost a peek into the euphoric buzz that will be getting to indulge in you all while he convinces you it’s what you want. it's what you need now that his handy little drug has taken effect. he’ll make sure of it.

he turns on a heel to step back towards you, eyes on how you’ve tucked your legs up near you on the couch and the resulting swell of your thighs. his mouth is already watering and he needs to take a heavy gulp before he speaks again,

“look, see…you’re just a bit hot, right?” his smirk this time is genuine, but ideally you won't be privy to the real reason why, “people don’t usually wear thick sweaters like yours to crowded shows like this,” a low chuckle gets caught in his throat, focused on making sure his hands trembling with excitement don’t drop his half-smoked cigarette on your face while he brushes a few stray strands of hair back into place.

and the sweater you wear isn’t even that outlandish for the event; in fact it was probably standard attire, rips and tacky graphic and all. but at this point he’s banking on the fact that you hold him on too high a pedestal–and are gullible enough to believe him.

you nod slow, in a manner like you didn’t really hear him but go along with what he says anyways.

“it’s.. yeah… makin’ me dizzy, too..” and another victorious ding sounds in his head. he can’t hold himself back another moment, greedy paws already going to grab at the sweater resting on your waist while he makes room for himself on the couch with your resting form. scrambling like he just can’t help himself, like he needs to be pressed up against your warm and smaller-than-his body in the next few moments or he’ll truly snap. he manages to fit in front of you, almost pushing you back down into the cushion with how oppressively he traps you in.

“don’ worry, i gotcha,” he huffs under his breath, like it doesn’t matter to him whether you heard or not. it’s not genuine reassurance in the first place anyways.

there was really no reason to wiping his palms before; he can feel how the sweat is already back on his hands and the back of his neck, prickling his skin with the accompanying goosebumps that arise from feeling and hearing your pathetic breaths fan between you two. almost like a teaser for how he’ll have you sounding in a few moments, once he gets out of his head and the fantasies planted in his brain just from the way you had watched him while he was on stage.

his free hand curls around the thick of your sweater at last. his eyes are glued to where your skin peeks below the hem, and his lecherous smirk is an unconscious reaction when you don’t seem to protest his upward tugs at the fabric. in his haste the burning out cigarette gets tucked between your pretty pout, just to grab both your wrists and maneuver them above your head.

“stay just like that,” like you had a choice in the first place–your muscles were way too weak at this point to try and struggle. entirely uncoordinated and way too eager he pulls up your sweater, revealing the expanse of your soft tummy to his dark hungry gaze. and even despite just placing the cigarette in your mouth, he spares no time as he pulls almost desperately to get it over your head and off your arms, leaving the cuffs around your wrists like flimsy make-shift handcuffs.

another high pitched whine of yours blesses his ears and his cock pulses with his heart for a beat until–

“mmh.. s’gross,” manages to tumble past your lips and the white roll falls as a result, landing at your collarbone next to the strap of a bra he’s sure you hadn’t planned to show anyone; literally ripping at the seams and very obviously well-worn. he was shocked you managed to open your mouth again, chuckling lightly in disbelief–no, awe–at your determination to stay conscious. like you want to bear witness to what his depraved mind has convinced him to do.

like it somehow makes it okay if you seem conscious enough to say no if you want to, but you don’t, and who is he to say no to you offering yourself up so nicely. the way you squirm under his weight and rub your sticky skin against his palms you don’t even know that you’re only making it more exciting. how the light bounces off your sweat and creates a mesmerizing pattern, only sucking him deeper into the spell you had unknowingly put him in. or maybe you did know and that would make it all the better–because that’d mean that you want it.

you squirm again from the sensation of the burning end of the cigarette singing your collarbone. blinking he realizes his palms are groping the fat of your chest and molding to the shape of his hands, bulging between his digits and turning his mouth dry.

as if burned by your touch he draws his hands back with another idea. he suddenly remembers the joint he indulged in only halfway and set aside before he had to make appearances for the show, left for later on the very coffee table next to him; now in his hold again with his lighter fast approaching.

“try this instead then,” he speaks between a harsh drag of his own and another that he huffs into your mouth as he grabs at your jaw meanly to keep it open. 

he exhales the heavy smoke into your untrained lungs and yet your sputtering coughs don’t dissuade him–in fact they make it all the harder to not shut you up with his own mouth; show you how to handle the green and just let it take over your mind so he can take over your body.

he’s practically trembling in his excitement; it’s a wonder how he doesn’t collapse right on top of you where you lay catching your breath. you make it even harder on him when your eyes, squeezed shut to protect against the fanning weed smoke, drop tears down your temples thanks to how hard you’re coughing. your mouth, opened so wide to take in large greedy gulps of fresh air yet all you get is more of the dizzying smoke sucked from his own stash that he’s bestowing unto you–be grateful that he’s willing to sacrifice so much.

he finds himself a moment later almost having gotten carried away–thank god he caught himself before his own mind slipped too far. between his fingers is now just a roach and fuck rocking the hardening bulge in his pants up against your thighs suddenly feels so heavenly. and to think–had he not done all this, he might’ve never known! now that would just be too unfair, y’see–you’re such a tease–so he just had to make it right. eyelids setting heavier over his eyes already he drops what was left of the roll to the floor, uncaring of where it ends up.

his self control has thinned enough now, he decides. he can practically taste you on the tip of his tongue–saccharine and syrupy he just knows it. can’t bear to have it so close but so far anymore.

your bottoms are being tugged down to your thighs before your mind even has a chance to catch up, what with you still reeling from the smoke in your lungs and the resulting haze. you only register how exposed you’ve suddenly become when the air of the room feels cool against your inner thighs and sends a shiver up your spine.

“shit– you’re s’wet..” he huffs the words like they were never meant for you in the first place–maybe they weren’t, almost reverent and entirely desperate. your eyes finally open again, fuzzy and unfocused when you realize he hasn’t just exposed you, no–he’s already dived in, can’t even help himself. the line between your copious amounts of slick and the saliva dripping from his greedy maw is entirely blurred and the resulting sounds make your head heat with a self-conscious flush.

“w-wait… what are you…!” your confused plea falls on seemingly deaf ears, small and far too hushed to be convincing. your weak neck attempts to lift your head to catch sight of the mess of hot breath and spit between your legs.

should be illegal how good you taste–how well the drug worked–making you pour all this sweetness like an overflowing pot of honey into this frenzied bear’s mouth. his hands dig into the backs of your thighs, carving small crescents into the flesh. with brows furrowed he only sinks in further, drinking you down in earnest and worshipping your little hole.

it’s enough to make you squirm under his surprisingly strong grip, but with that powdered pill coursing through your veins you aren’t sure if your hips are bucking away or towards him for more. it’s effects we’re almost dizzying, a swift punch to your senses and making you feel hot, oh so hot. covered in a thin sheen of sweat and radiating every mind-numbing throb from your core to your every nerve. with that cursed nose of his, big, but strong–yet cute, you’d thought earlier in the night, bumping against your swollen clit sending involuntary shocks of pleasure through your every hyper-sensitive limb. and when he gives that a break just to suck and flick at it hard with his tongue, you know. you know that your hips are canting towards his awaiting mouth, that you welcome the trembling of your legs from the unending onslaught of his ministrations, and that you want more.

“did you.. what’d you jus’ say?”

the poor thing you are, all drugged up and pliant, didn’t even notice you said those words out loud. even all sluggish and quiet, he’s sure he heard those words right and it damn near makes him short circuit on the spot.

“not.. ‘nuff… need more,” you almost don’t recognize your own voice, how breathless and faraway it sounded in your own ears, the words processing then instead of before they tumbled out of your mouth. and… well, who was he to deny you offering yourself up so nicely.

between the heartbeat rattling against his ribcage like a bird in captivity and the same heartbeat just below his waistband, he’s wound up enough to know he doesn’t need to ask anymore questions–not that he really had to. he unclasps his belt with one hand, keeping your legs up with the other; not bothering to pull his own pants down more than necessary. just enough to flip the zipper open and dig his hand down his briefs to yank his cock out.

and he wastes no time at all lining himself up with your weeping hole which he just can’t seem to tear his eyes from, clenching around nothing but his swollen tip and turning his mouth dry. it’s as he blinks slowly, almost a split-second decision to sink himself in entirely that he curses lowly and the breath is punched out of both of your lungs.

you feel even better than he could’ve imagined, somehow. whether that be the weed in his system, or that pill in yours, or his own underestimation. he’s throbbing and aching to pound you silly and soothe that tight burn low in his gut–if only he could get a grip first. his sweaty palms release your legs which fall uselessly to either side of his hips, the heat from them alone enough to have him reeling. he hunches over you like he’s mounting you, gripping at your hips like a lifeline and holding your ass up off the couch to get even deeper. nudging right up against the spongy spot inside that makes you whimper. so pathetic and high-pitched he’s convinced you’re out to kill him.

he almost laughs, “ooh, fuck.. you have such a slutty little hole–” a depraved smile on his face but his brows furrowed, really just in disbelief. and it’s as if saying it out loud made it all the more real, but he still holds his breath as he grinds involuntarily into your gummy walls just to check. “s’like you’re suckin’ me in..” he scoots in closer, letting your hips rest on his thighs. and interestingly enough, he can’t seem to sit still.

the hot drag of your walls along his cock is all he can focus on, all he can bare to keep up with. he’s truly screwed himself somehow–put himself in the position of being devoted to humping up against you until he can’t anymore. “fuck, wait.. quit– quit squeezin’ so hard,” he’s choking up, unable to catch his breath with how restless his hips are. practically huffing down your neck and drooling over your skin, hunched over like a man starved finally getting fed. in some twisted way he is; finally found the one that’ll satiate his craving, sit back and let him take what he needs, but not just that–you asked for it, and that fact alone is making him go haywire.

“c-can’t,” you hiccup, mind already utter mush and body jolting with every gushy thrust. your fingers are clawing at the outturned sleeves still encasing your wrists; unable to get them off with your arms as weak as they are, you opted for leaving them there. in hindsight, it was a good decision. especially considering it was the only thing keeping you grounded right now, no thanks to the guy who was seemingly trying to fuck you right off the edge of the couch. the one who doubles down when he notices your back bowing reflexively, using it as motivation to really give you more like you asked for. “s’too m-much!”

“nonono, you wanted this,” he sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth and tugs you back towards him with his bruising grip, your head ending up positioned in such a way where you have no choice but to watch him sink into you over and over, “yer gonna– mmfuck– take it,” his voice breaks and so does the sharp tone, pleading more than anything through his low whines.

for a moment, you cant look away–every lewd clap of skin ringing in your ears accompanied by the sight, the feeling–and when he drags you on the couch to properly fuck into you, changing the angle and rearranging your insides to fit his shape you fall apart.

every thrust is a pain turned pleasure shooting up your spine, the blunt tip of his dick bullying your poor cervix, but you still only want more. you’re so close already, can almost taste it on the tip of your tongue. whatever was turning you silly was doing a damn good job, engulfing you in a heat that’s only being soothed by how relentless his thrusts are into your gummy walls. tightening the knot in your core, promising that sweet release, making your head and eyes roll back just before you will your lazy gaze to the source of a low broken groan.

you almost yelped out, one of his hands suddenly flying up to brace himself up against the armrest and effectively caging you in. after getting over the startle your eyes blink open again, refocusing on the face above you. his furrowed brow and slightly parted lips are dripping both sweat and saliva on your flushed skin, his own cheeks and nose similarly pinkened. the expression he makes, the utter desire and desperation written in his darkened eyes, literally drooling over you–your heart flutters suddenly and you can’t break your eyes away.

before this all started, before the drink and before even having the conversation that led you into this very room, you couldn’t deny your attraction to him. all quiet, brooding, mysterious; the only thing you knew about him was that the sight of his talented fingers stroking at the keys of that keyboard, lost in the music amidst the impressively-bustling bar crowd made you feel things. things not too different from what you’re experiencing now, just… intensified.

you tuned out everything else between the ad-libs of other onlookers and the pestering of your friends, your eyes settled snugly on the dark haired man up on the short stage that you could swear looked back at you. multiple times. and every time he did it was like you were bolted into place; at a standstill ignited by the skip of your heart like you were exchanging unspoken words.

after the performance and the crowd died down, you knew that familiar shag of black hair and the lazy, almost uninterested eyes peeking from the backstage door was a contract. a loaded one, surely–there was no way of knowing how your night would play out by walking through that door. the last gulp of your overpriced cocktail, the hurried goodbyes to your friends, and the unwavering stride you embodied to follow him through it was your signature.

in the end, all you really cared about was getting him into your pants. and it ended up happening.

a broken moan tears from your throat, garbled and needy in a way that makes his head spin, almost confusing him, “f-fuck.. you really want this, don’t you…” it takes everything in him to stay up straight and not crush you under his weight when all you do is stare back like he’s the only person in the world. he drops his chin to his chest, hearing the beat of his heart rumbling in his ears to the same rhythm of his pulsing cock. turned so sensitive from the weed and the tight squeeze of your cunt like you’re trying to milk him for all he’s worth.

in an effort to stave off his own orgasm he grabs at the fabric of the armrest and your waist like a lifeline, his eyes closed tight enough to see stars.

“gonna.. c-cum,” you really are out to kill him, he thinks.

“wait–” he gasps, if not a bit too late; the tight squelch around him a sign enough that you’ve already started tumbling over that peak, “just a bit.. l-longer,” with the amount of pre spilling from him already and how taut his balls get squished against your ass, he doesn’t know if the words are meant for you or himself.

after everything, tossing and turning the idea around in his head–the very idea that landed you here in the first place; he can’t help but want to savor it. at least a little, y’know? relish in the siren song that was your moans and whimpers, lose himself in the feel of your devilish pussy… but hell, he’s been holding on by a string for too long and it snapped the second he felt a gush of pure wet splash up against his pelvis.

his hips squish down into you, trapping you between the scratchy couch cushion and the sudden flood of hot cum in your walls. “fuckk–” he hisses close to your ear, the arm holding him up having finally given up and opting to rest on his forearm instead. he doesn’t dare to let up on grinding down into you, the feel of you constricting around him and the mixed release spilling out far too addicting. you clamp down so hard it’s like you’re trying to force him out, pulling out every last drop of the thick white his cock rubs into you.

his heavy pants feel almost sticky against your neck and collarbone, spreading tingles over your sensitive skin. as the tension dies down the chill of the room enters your senses, prickling at your skin to raise goosebumps, cooling your throat as you drink in the freshness.

breath finally finds you again–him as well, it seems–the labored rise and fall of your chest evened out. but you still hear the beat of your own heart, noticeably speeding up when he starts shifting above you.

even after just resting above your head your arms are still weak and trembling, like loose rubber bands. you find the strength in your shoulders though to finally pull them back down and the sweater sleeves around your wrists finally slide off. not knowing what else to do with your hands, you decide to take a risk and rest them on his arms.

he lifts himself back up but his head is still cast downwards. the long hair of his fringe covers his eyes, messy and riddled with stray hairs. his skin is flushed a deep pink, but that can easily be explained by anything that took place within the last 10 minutes. what otherwise can’t be is how he doesn’t even try and meet your eyes–but he also doesn’t move to take his softening hard-on out yet either. both of his hands grip into the cushions of the couch, the fabric straining and groaning under his palms like he’s holding himself back from something.

his entire mind has been jumbled into disarray–he’s not sure where to start with the scattered pieces floating around his head. you’ve effectively thrown a wrench in his plans. it was simple before; easy, foolproof even. but it turns out he was the fool the whole time. how was he to try and go through with finishing up quick, dumping you out back after having his way with you once like was written in his mental plans, head out with his bandmates and fuck off to who knows where next. how could he ignore the residual rhythmic spasming of your cunt, your thighs pressing meekly to his hips, how the slight inhale of breath you take before speaking to him sounds so similar to the ones you took while he filled you to the brim–

“c.. can we keep going? m’still, y’know…”

the good thing about plans is: when one fails, there’s always a plan b.

↳ ty for reading ♡

[satsuha]

society when people finally realise ship order is less about sex and more about characterisation

[sunfalls]

nobody asked but here is a collection of lyrics that Scream keero. to me.

[mellosberetta69]

composition of silly doodles / doodle dump !

[sysig]

Hey, hey! RnR not requested! (Patreon)

[incesthemes]

@i-already-know-im-going-2-hell tagged me to make a moodboard for myself :) actually i thought it was fun, i've never made one before!

anyway i'm supposed to tag mutuals so uhhhhhh @wastemanjohn @according2thelore @captainmicaptain @packloafer @ttaibhse and @zaegreus i guess? no obligation of course!!! :)

[runawaymun]

some very messy loose OC sketches for the sci fi series @the-commonplace-book and I are working on :D Man I just love these guys!

[cringeandunfree]

caesar the musical art dump!!!

[trammellesstangent]

I usually have thumbnails for my playlists be an image I took that generally reflects the vibe of the playlist, like this:

But I couldn’t think of an image in my camera roll that feels like my collection of The Killers’ music, so I decided to make one myself.

I spent maybe a week on this (which is not an exceptionally long time for me), and I’m actually really happy with it. See if you can find what inspired the various parts of this image. Answer is in the tags.

And once again, I am speaking to my non-existent audience.

[itastelikesand]

why is this painting thing so hard and time consuming everything is supposed to immediately be quick and easy wdym I have to develop skills over time and effort

[romeoslaughter]

and ball and chain ad ball abnd ball and chain and ball and

[jtownraindancer]

Selfie, baby

Why not~

Four days, four different looks✌🏻😗

[rejaytionships]

i saw @rexscanonwife post a self insert vs self image set and i thought the idea was SO fun and wanted to try my own!!!

credits to brie, go check out their og post for this ^^

[tsukasageorge]

assorted mostly-unfinished sketches to prove im not dead <3