#fran's fics

[valleyfae]

𝐈𝐧𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥

Paring: Daddy!Bucky Barnes x needy!reader

Warnings: dom/sub dynamic, spanking as punishment, smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, thigh riding, reader is not a brat, Bucky is just too perfect to resist hehe!!

Word Count: 1.2k

Synopsis: Bucky only needs ten minutes to finish his work, but you can't seem to wait.

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✴︎ 𝐒. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✴︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

"Who is it?" Bucky responds to your meek knocks interrupting the isolated sound of the typing keys of his computer. His eyes remained locked on the screen.

"Daddy?" Your voice is barely audible, afraid to intrude and nervous about being a burden on his work life — and on him in general.

"Is that you?" he tries to confirm your hushed breath. "Come in, angel. Daddy's just working."

You knew that, and he had been for the past three hours. The past three hours, you were overcome with a restlessness that has been brewing in various places inside you for the past couple of days. Trying to contain the hankering yearning for your Daddy's touch and affection.

The mahogany door is heavy as you shakily step into his office with an apprehensive timidness. Your eyes instantaneously draw to Bucky's sulky grimace and nimble fingers furiously typing at his keyboard.

Only a trace of your breath leaves your mouth when you attempt to address Bucky again, but his low sigh that exerts any remaining patience he has been able to hold onto has you crawling back into your withering skin.

"Come." Bucky leans back into his plush leather chair. He smooths out his dress pants with his palms, eyes finally connecting to the helpless pout you can no longer control as the spark in your core spreads like wildfire. "You can sit on Daddy's lap while he's working. Promise it won't be much longer."

That was not true. Well, at least too long for you to wait.

Thirty minutes of using all of your strength to not let out a whimper or plea, you slide your trembling hand between both of your pent-up bodies. “Miss you.”

Bucky coos, pressing his soft lips to your forehead — his hand securing you closer on the small of your back. “I miss you more.” He sighs deeply, finally detaching his gaze from his laptop screen. “Just need to finish this one last thing. Be a good girl and wait ten more minutes for Daddy. Then we can do whatever you want.”

You know the series of events that will unfold if you continue down your path of insistent whines and clingy huffs. You will succumb to the inevitable with every roll of your hips against Bucky's abundant bulge.

The pulse radiating from your neglected sex overpowers your capability to remain patient. Bucky has diligently worked on your capacity for patience — the reward is worth the wait — but you are, without fail, helpless.

"Daddy." A whimper falls from your pouted lips. Every muscle in your body grapples to Bucky. A single second of uncontrollability.

The silence is agonizing.

"Alright," Bucky quickly closes his laptop and pushes his chair away from his busy desk. "That's enough from you." He lets out a deep sigh; frustration casts down on you, and the look displayed across his face is evidence of his instincts to correct your bratty behavior and lack of patience.

"Ten minutes and all my attention would be on you. You know this, been working on it so hard."

Bucky hushes your silent cries as tears flood your waterline. Your brows contort as you shrink into your shell, burrowing your shameful frown in his chest — hips still softly bucking in an erratic pattern.

You grip the crisp fabric straining Bucky's biceps. "'m sorry," you hiccup. "Can't—can't..." Attempts to bypass the thumping of your core tremble your legs.

"I know, I know," he tuts. Bucky's hands engulf your form as he pets the small of your back. "Take a deep breath for me."

You do as you're told. Take slow deep breaths as Bucky instructs and soothes you.

"You know I have to give you a punishment, yeah?" Bucky pecks your forehead as you shyly nod in response, sniffling and rubbing against him. "Now, be a good girl and take your pants off."

Again, you do as you're told, even though your arousal seeps through the fabric of your panties, provoking more squirming as Bucky guides you to lay over his lap. Bucky's calloused hands trail up and down your supple pristine thighs.

Groping the tender skin of your bottom, his unoccupied hand makes his way to the places that caused you to receive an over-the-knee spanking.

Bucky smirks at the wet patch your slick has created as he removes the last garment separating him and your bare backside.

"I'm gonna give you ten, alright, honey? One for every minute Daddy told you to wait. I know you're feeling needy, but you have to count for me, or we'll have to start over. I don't want to make this more difficult than it already is."

You nod, clinging onto Bucky's shin tighter with each firm strike that hits your skin. His bulge grows hard under your docile frame, letting out satisfied grunts harmonizing with your meek whimpers.

You squeak a desperate hiccup, "T-ten."

Bucky's gratifying praise flows past his content smile, his deep whispers fuzzy as you try to form a coherent sentence, but it fuels the fire rising in your abdomen. Shifting in his chair, Bucky bends forward dexterously, situating you back on his lap, juxtaposing your frantic scurrying to reconnect your aching clit to the lush fabric that encases Bucky's brawny thigh.

Leaning back in his seat, your freshly spanked flesh makes contact with Bucky driving your hips to jolt against your Daddy. Heedlessly, your hips begin to rut, sensitive bud gliding against Bucky’s thigh, painting his dress pants with your slick. 

Bucky tuts. "There you go. Just needed Daddy, huh?"

You continue to nestle further into the crook of Bucky's neck —helpless mewls from your trembling lips are muffled by Bucky's golden skin. "S-sorry, Daddy."

"You're okay. I got you." Hushing you, Bucky gently bounces his leg, sending gentle jolts of pleasure into your core. "Can you cum for Daddy now, angel?" He strengthens the grasp on your hips, asserting his dominance.

You frantically nod your tucked head, causing Bucky to chuckle. Your feverish whimpers remain steady, along with Bucky's reassuring praise. You subconsciously clutch Bucky's button down as you clench your fluttering sex around nothing, alerting Bucky that you are close.

"You can cum; go on."

Your thighs tremble when your climax hits, rushing down your body and sending goosebumps down your spine.

"That's a good girl," Bucky hums, kissing your head tenderly. "Cum for Daddy."

Pliant and yielding, your chest heaves against Bucky's — he guides you to ride out your orgasm, his palms kneading your lithe hips. Your sensitive folds graze over the apparent wet spot you have left on Bucky's dress pants.

Finally catching your breath, you giggle. "Made Daddy hard."

"Uh-huh?" Bucky grins smugly. "Are you gonna thank Daddy for stopping his work for you?" Alluding to you shimmying off his lap to suckle at his now fully hard erection. "Go on and thank Daddy, angel."

You nod up at Bucky with a sheepish smile as you move down until you're kneeling on the floor. "Thank you, Daddy."

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌

@nats-whore @floral-recs @spideysloverera @charmed-asylum @balekanemohafe @mogaruke @hallecarey1 @harrysthiccthighss @hawsx3 @buckysboobs @awaywithtime @peaceinourtime82 @glitterydeputyshepherdwagon @freakyevanss @evanstanwhore @sunflowerfive @phildunphyisadilf @mysweetlittledesire @raajali3 @traumbruch @aerangi

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[lloydenthusiast]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: LEGO Ninjago (Cartoon 2011-2022) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kai & Zane (Ninjago), Cole & Lloyd Garmadon & Kai & Nya & Jay Walker & Zane Characters: Kai (Ninjago), Zane (Ninjago), Lloyd Garmadon Additional Tags: Background Relationships, s11 rewrite, ns11, What if Kai fought the Ice Emperor scene rewrite, from Zane's POV, vex :thumbs_down: Summary:

“Get away from him.”

The Ice Emperor turns. Turns to see a man in red, holding a sword in one hand and the other a palm of fire.

 Or: What if Kai fought the Ice Emperor instead?

[recaltera]

pretty when you beg

pairing: enzo vogrincic x fem reader

🏷 smut (minors dni) teasing, underwear kink(?), oral (f rec), overstim, orgasm countdown, orgasm control, hard dom enzo and kinda mean enzo if u squint, spitting

a/n: (IMPORTANT!!) hiii this is my first fic ever i hope u like it :D if u wanna i can also translate into spanish so more people can read it. please let me know what u think and if u have any requests let me know in the ask box thingy, i write for everyone in lsdln’s cast. tyvm !! have a good day/night mwah ♡

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ꙳⭒ ༒ ✧⋆

deep breaths was all that could be heard, his lips trailing down from your neck to your abdomen. leaving a trail of wet kisses on his way to your clothed cunt.

he kept teasing you tonight, you went out to celebrate your three months together and instead of being all romantic and lovey-dovey, he was whispering the dirtiest things into your ears. but to be honest, you weren’t complaining at all, that’s one of the many things you loved about him, how dirty he could get, even in the most innocent occasions.

— going to fuck you so good tonight, angel.

all you could do was blush and giggle it off.

so here he was kissing your clit through your black laced panties you wore just for him tonight over and over again. it felt so good, yet it wasn’t enough, you needed more.

— enzo, please

he used his thumb to rub over your lips, something he did when he wanted you to open your mouth for him, wether it meant he wanted you to suck him off, or just make you suck in his fingers. however, this time he leaned over to spit in your mouth. and you gladly opened up and swallowed for him.

— shut the fuck up.

you kept bucking your hips into his face, but to no avail cause he ended up pinning you to the mattress, with his slender, pretty fingers sprawled out on your stomach. the fingers you oh so wanted somewhere else. the fingers you had spent HOURS thinking about.

as he was busy making out with your clothed pussy, kissing and sucking here and there, making the lace panties wet with his saliva. you were getting desperate to feel something, anything. you took his fingers into your own hands and guided them where you needed him the most.

— nuh uh, i want you to cum because of my mouth tonight.

you groaned when he finally took your panties off and kissed your inner thighs… slowly. still teasing you.

— fuck please, please, give me something.

and so he did, he kissed your now bare clit and started sucking on it like a desperate, starved man. the sounds he made while eating u out were like music to your ears.

he kept alternating between licks and flicks to your bud until you came, kissing your clit over and over to ride out your high. just to get off the bed and look for your favorite vibrator. he put it on a medium speed and pressed it lightly over your clit making you moan a little too loud from the overstimulation.

— s’too much enzo, no. no. no. no, stop it.

but he knew you didn’t want him to stop, if you did actually want that you would have used your safe word. he knew how fucking greedy you were. how no matter how many times he made you cum, if he wanted you to cum again then that’s what you’d do. you’d do anything to please him. anything for him.

he pressed it harder and started dragging it along your folds only stopping once the toy was on your clit again. he loved seeing your fucked out face, and how just by playing with the bundle of nerves he could get you to look like a mess; legs sprawled out and open for him, cunt red and glistening with your own juices and his spit. it was quite the sight if you asked him.

once you had relaxed and let him have his way with you for a couple of minutes, he used his index finger to put the toy on the highest setting. making the vibrations buzz around your whole body. making you shake because of the pleasure he was providing you.

he knew you were close, he already knew every part of your body, what you liked and what you didn’t. how to make u cum, how to get you on your knees for him, and how you reacted when you were about to hit your orgasm, so without moving the toy away from you, he leaned down, sticking his tongue inside of u going in and out at a fast pace. making you close your legs around his head for that extra feeling. you were so close to the edge, literally about to let go when he says;

— you cant cum until i say so.

he proceeded to begin with his 10 second countdown he loved to do when he wanted you to beg and cry for him. he loved hearing how desperate you were to cum for him. how pretty you looked with tears in your eyes.

“10… 9…”

— m’so close please

you could literally feel the tears in your eyes.

“8… 7… 6…”

— i don’t think i’ll last, please let me cum

“5… 4… 3…“

— please please please

“2…“

— fuck enzo

“1…”

— cum baby, make a mess for me, hm?

you came, you came so fucking hard letting him guide you through it.

— good job, angel. hope you are aware of the fact that we are not finished yet. or is my little doll too dumb to think right now?

he said with a pout on his lips, faking sympathy at your fucked out state. and you would be lying if you said you didn’t want whatever the fuck it was this beautiful man standing in front of you wanted to give you.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ꙳⭒ ༒ ✧⋆

[mercurycft]

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 & 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐁

## lucy bronze x reader !!

Hi all! Enjoy this very very smutty imagine with jealous and top!lucy.. there's also a possibility a part 2 if people want it!? Love always.. RG x

contains: jealous!lucy , top!lucy bottom!reader, fingering, strap-on, mentions of leah williamson, teasing, dirty talk b

1,413 words.

CONTAINS MATURE LANGUAGE & CONTENT 18+

"Strip."

Oh dear this is bad, you thought. It had been months since you had last seen Lucy in this state. Her hair was loosely thrown over her shoulders and cascading down her back, still dressed in her outfit from the party - her white shirt now unbuttoned and exposing her bra as she stood before you.

She was fuming. Not only could you feel it rattling around the room, you could see it. A fire of rage sat heavy behind her deep eyes, jaw clenching periodically as she studied you - her chest heaving as she inhaled and exhaled. You stood like a dear caught in headlights before her, eyes wide and mouth hung slightly agape at the sight of her. You had made it through the door only having it closed for maybe 30 seconds when you heard her voice ring through the room, your shoes were barely off when you turned to follow her voice.

She had gotten home before you, leaving the after-party early and ready to call it a night. The night was still young when she had decided to leave so, you stayed. Draped across your teammates as you collectively laughed, danced and sang horribly through the DJ's playlist of old-school hits.

That was two hours ago now, and after stumbling through the door of your shared apartment as quietly as possible - you were caught.

She wasn't upset you had stayed out, it happened often between you both. She wasn't upset you were dancing on tables in a dress that fit like a glove - clinging to your curves and leaving little to the average imagination. You internally ran through the possible causes of her current situation but were stumped. Then you remembered, the way she had her eyes locked on you from her seat. Your back pressed against Leah's front, bodies swaying to the beat of the song that echoed through the place. Fuck you thought, remembering how she clenched her glass and jaw in unison at the sight of you grinding against your captain.

"Did I stutter? I said, strip." Her voice ripped you from your thoughts, eyes now meeting hers. Noticing how she admired you from across the room, eyes sweeping from your head to your toes - lingering on your chest for almost a second too long.

You remained still for a moment after she spoke, thighs pressed tightly together. Don't push her, you thought. Slowly and carefully lifting your hands to clasp the fabric of your dress, pulling it up and over your head without argument - now exposed to her.

"Bedroom." She whispered, but it wasn't weak, it was strong. A command. An order. You followed it willingly, moving towards your bedroom with her following behind slowly. She couldn't help but watch how your hips moved when you walked, eyes fixated on the way they swayed with each step.

Once you had made it, you stood next to the bed back towards her. Before you had the chance to turn around and speak she had closed the gap between you, her front was pressed against you, her hand up and twisted your hair - pulling you closer against her chest.

She seemed to tower over you, five inches feeling like a foot when the back of your head met with the hot skin of her chest. Her mouth was instantly on your neck, peppering rough and needy kisses below your ear and down the length of your shoulder. Her breath was warm, goosebumps following in her path.

Your eyes were closed tightly, licking your lips as you felt her tongue travel up towards your jaw and stop when her lips pressed against your ear. "Bend over."

You and Lucy had established a long time ago that she liked to be dominant in the bedroom, giving orders and overall giving but it was rare to see her like this. You would be lying if you said it didn't set your body on fire, hairs all standing on end and heart thumping behind its bony cage at the thought of her having her way with you.

You were bent in seconds, weight resting on your hands and head facing down between them - gathering your thoughts and shuddering a deep breath in anticipation. You were left like this for a minute or two. First, there was a shuffling behind you as she searched through the drawers beside her and then silence when she had found what she was looking for. Deep down you knew what it was and the burning in the pit of your stomach increased, sending shockwaves through your lower abdomen and down your legs at the mere thought. Lucy, however, was busy admiring you from behind - on full display for her, clearly enjoying you trying to squeeze your legs together for some form of release.

When she finally caved it was her fingers, tracing through your slick folds methodically. Collecting the wetness on her fingers and circling your sensitive clit. She always knew how to please you, using the perfect amount of pressure with the pads of her fingers. You craved her, whimpering at the feeling of her fingers on you - pushing your hips back to meet her hand, begging for more friction where you needed it most.

You could practically hear her smirk from behind you, moving her fingers to circle your entrance now. Hesitating for a moment before she pulled away completely.

"Lucy, fuck, please.." You pleaded, head lifting in a contest to her actions.

"Get on the bed, on your knees." and you did, scrambling on top of the covers and planting yourself on your knees and elbows, head down facing away from her. You could hear her shuffle again, the sound of her clothes hitting the bedroom floor and her feet navigating their way into something new making your stomach somersault.

She made you wait longer, adjusting herself on the bed behind you. Amused at the way you whined for her, tossing your weight between your knees and squirming for her. Then, you felt it. The tip of her strap caressing you gently. She was gentle, but firm with her actions. Sliding the head between your folds, coating the silicone in your slick before sitting at your entrance once more.

"What's your safeword, baby.." She whispered, breaking character momentarily. It made your heart swell in your chest, perking up to reply.

"Red."

"Good girl.." She praised lowly, pressing into you. Stretching perfectly until it sat snug between your walls. She waited a minute until she was confident you were ready, bracing her hands on your hips as she began to move.

Her thrusts were calculated. Slow and hard. You whimpered into the sheets, eyes rolling into the back of your head as she filled you perfectly. Pulling out slowly just to force herself back into you, pulling your hips back to meet her halfway. Her pace increased with your volume, moaning out as the harsh slaps resonated through the room.

You could hear her breathing, it was erratic. Low curses under her breath matched her thrusts, watching as she stretched you around her.

"You take me so well, don't you baby?" She queried, voice hoarse.

You nodded below her, scared if you tried to speak you would scream out. Though the sheets did a poor job at muffling your moans when you felt her let out a breathy laugh from behind you. Your sultry noises ignited a wildfire in her veins, her hand moving to grip your hair roughly.

"God don't stop, Luce.." You begged, mouth left agape when she grumbled.

"Could she fuck you like this?" It caught you off guard, and you shivered beneath her. "Could she? Would you let her fuck you like this? Stretching you out? hm?" You knew it was rhetorical, but shook your head furiously. Unable to speak. As if she had snipped your vocal chords and stolen them straight out of your throat.

"That's what you want huh? Do you want her to fuck you? Maybe I'll send her a message... I know you love being used." You blushed at the thought, a deep pink cascading over your face and chest. You had never thought about it before, but the images she was feeding you were filthy and they contorted your stomach as her other hand snaked down to toy with your clit. "You want us both? Want us to take turns hm?"

That was all it took for you, overwhelmed by her thrusts and the images now prominent in your mind, your first orgasm ripped through you harshly. Clenching around her strap-on and crying through the room. she didn't stop though, instead pushing your head down further into the sheets and continuing.

—————————

This continued until you were spacey, head filled with the images she was compiling. The filthiest thoughts you can imagine, now after 3 orgasms you lay with her head between your legs. Her tongue grazed your swollen clit, lapping your juices up as you squirmed.

When she pulled away, her lips were red and her chin glistened with you. Smirking as she raised to kiss you passionately, passing your taste on.

She stroked your hair gently as she readjusted you and moved you to lay on the pillows, praising you for taking it so well when your eyes met hers and her shit-eating grin. She made sure you were comfy, kissing you softly in direct contrast to her previous actions.

She went to leave the room, off to grab water for you both and a towel. Though she only made it two steps out the door, poking her head back inside and you couldn't help but laugh when she uttered a low. "Maybe I'll give Leah a text.." fuck.

[imninahchan]

⌜ 𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐒: friends to lovers, fwb, cockwarming, sexo sem proteção [ó chiquititas não façam noooooo], dirty talk, elogios e ‘eu te amo’, creampie. Espanhol — tranqui (tranquila/o), no me lastimes (não me machuque). ˚ ☽ ˚. ⋆ ⌝

꒰ 𝑵𝑶𝑻𝑨𝑺 𝑫𝑨 𝑨𝑼𝑻𝑶𝑹𝑨 ꒱ en serio buenisimoooooo.

𓍢ִ໋🀦 O SOM DAS RISADAS SE MISTURAM ENQUANTO VOCÊ SE DESPEDE DOS SEUS AMIGOS ─────

Abraça um, Abraça outro. Falam sobre marcar mais um encontro, talvez na casa de fulano, e tals. Você concorda, vamos marcar, sim, mesmo sem saber se terá disposição para socializar quando o rolê sair do papel de fato.

— Tchau, amiga! — Francisco se aproxima com um sorriso enorme, os braços abertos. Você percebe, só pelo tom agudo, o nível de zoação que carrega, porque te envolve forte, e quando separa, deixa um beijinho numa bochecha, depois n’outra, e ameaça deixar um nos seus lábios, porém recua, rindo. — Ay, perdón, desequilibrei... — alega, cínico.

Você não segura o riso, por mais que quisesse ter repreendido. Nem se pergunta se algum dos seus amigos notou algo, vai na sorte mesmo, empurrando Romero pela porta até que possa se juntar aos outros no corredor. Depois de tanto sorrir, os cantos da boca até doloridos, você os vê descendo as escadas. Se apressa pra janela da sala, gritando e acenando novamente, mais uma sessão de despedidas e vozes embriagadas dizendo o quanto gostam de você, que Buenos Aires não seria legal sem ti, e blá blá blá de bêbado.

Os seus olhos partem dos seus amigos entrando no carro de aplicativo pra figura esguia de Francisco seguindo pela rua noturna. Quando não o avista mais, nem se preocupa, já conhece o trajeto que será feito — dar a volta no quarteirão e tocar o interfone do seu prédio mais uma vez.

Dito e feito. Não precisava ter atendido formalmente como faz, afinal não é surpresa quem está do outro lado da linha, mas não se arrepende de ter tirado o telefone do gancho, uma vez que o som da voz chiando uma canção antigaça te arranca boas risadas. Libera a entrada, e ao espiar pelo olho mágico, a imagem distorcida é mais cômica ainda quando ele chega com a boca bem pertinho da lente. Já tá aberta, palhaço, você resmunga, girando a maçaneta para recebê-lo outra vez.

— ¡Hola! Quanto tempo... — Ele adentra o apartamento cumprimentando, te envolvendo. Dá dois beijinhos em cada uma das suas bochechas. Não te libera depois, entretanto, prolonga o abraço, te aperta, os pezinhos de ambos cambaleando para fechar a porta novamente e avançar até o sofá da sala.

O seu corpo cai no estofado, por cima das diversas almofadas, e o peso do dele te faz rir, sabe que o rapaz está fazendo tudo para implicar, para conseguir te fazer gargalhar até a barriga doer. Ao finalmente conseguir arredá-lo pro canto, tem o pulso tomado pela mão alheia. A cabeça descansando sobre o seu ombro, todo mal posicionado, mas insistindo em estar emaranhado a ti feito um bichinho pedindo atenção.

— Vou poder dormir aqui, né? — ele quer saber, mas já com aquele entonação de pergunta retórica. Os olhos sobem pro seu rosto.

— Vou pensar — você responde, fingida também.

— Pensar?! Você me trouxe pra sua casa, me embebedou, me jogou pra fora e me chamou pra voltar só pra usar o meu corpinho... — começa a enumerar, argumentando com o indicador no ar — ...e, agora, quer me jogar na rua de novo?

— Você voltou porque quis...

Ele ergue a postura, te encarando boquiaberto, com drama. Dali, um sorriso se abre, é porque eu te amo, e vem se aproximando pra distribuir beijinhos pelo seu queixo.

Certo, vocês não são só amigos, porém se alguém questionar, é capaz de ambos não saberem exatamente o que responder.

Você conhece Fran porque ele é amigo de uma amiga sua, e quando menos percebeu já estavam ambos nas mesmas festinhas, tirando foto no espelho do banheiro de balada e se arrumando na casa um do outro pra poder sair. Talvez a tensão entre os dois tenha sido grande demais ao dançar coladinhos o som da canção de letra indecente, porque acabou se encontrando sentada no colo dele num pós-festa, passando mais gloss nos lábios só porque ele queria provar o saber através de um beijinho.

Mas é tudo silencioso demais. Os seus amigos não sabem, quem sabe desconfiam, só que ninguém diz nada, e muito menos vocês dois. Estão mais do que acostumados a fazer o que fizeram hoje — se ‘despedem’, ele dá uma volta no quarteirão só pra dar tempo de todo mundo ir embora, e aí volta pra ficar contigo. Já perdeu as contas das vezes em que ele dormiu aqui, tipo daquela vez em que fizeram a listening party de Motomami, quando o álbum saiu, e no outro dia ele acordou com o glitter da noite passada todo espalhado pelo rosto.

A presença dele te ilumina. A cada risada, você jura, é como se mil fadinhas nascessem, igual no filme da Tinker Bell. Vocês combinam tanto que é absurdo. O mesmo senso de humor, o mesmo gosto musical, às vezes se expressam da mesma forma no automático.

— Saaai! — você estende a pronúncia, empurrando-o com a primeira almofada que alcança. — Me ajuda a arrumar as coisas, anda. — Joga o corpo dele pro canto, se levantando.

Francisco cai no chão, teatral.

— Então, é pra isso que eu voltei? — parece sussurrar para si mesmo. — Pra ser empregada doméstica... A que ponto cheguei...

Mas vem atrás quando te vê partindo pra cozinha. Enquanto você lava as louças na pia, ele as seca com o pano de prato, tagarelando sobre algum acontecimento que se deu entre a família dele recentemente, ou sobre algum Tik Tok engraçado que viu e, com certeza, te mandou.

— Vou tomar banho — você avisa, e ele automaticamente escuta a frase como se fosse um convite.

A relação de vocês já está tão sólida que o rapaz tem uma pilha de coisas guardadas no seu armário, entre elas a tolha que pega agora para partir contigo pro chuveiro. Vê-lo tirar a roupa se tornou cotidiano, conhece cada pintinha no corpo masculino e os olhos são ágeis pra achar uma espinha aqui ou ali. Posso cortar seu cabelo amanhã, se você quiser, é o que oferece, afetuosa, ao correr os dedos pelos fios dele. E ele aceita, confia cem por cento.

Antes de entrar no box, porém, tem que colocar aquela playlist do banho pra tocar. As canções ecoam pelo celular sobre a pia, as faixas se somando no ambiente ao passo que vocês se alternam sob a água. Uma pausa ou outra pra cantar as letras com a embalagem de shampoo na mão, e logo já estão embalados na toalha.

Ele nem se dá ao trabalho de vestir algo mais do que a bermuda de algodão. Se esconde entre os seus cobertores, tapa a cabeça e tudo, esparramado pelo colchão. Você até tinha separado o conjuntinho de pijama que costuma vestir, mas aí lembra que provavelmente não vai dormir agora, e fica com preguiça de ter que tirar tudo. Pega uma blusa larga mesmo, se cobre só com isso.

Engatinha sobre a cama, procurando um espacinho pra se esconder sob o cobertor também.

— Vem, tá frio, uuuuh, que frio. — É dominada pelos braços do argentino. Rolam por cima da bagunça que se torna a cama, o rosto dele afundado na curva do seu pescoço enquanto murmura as gracinhas ao pé do seu ouvido. A temperatura está okay, é arriscado até que acordem suando, mas Romero os cobre totalmente. Os olhinhos arregalados te encaram sob o escurinho do cobertor. — Eu tô morrendo de frio, dá pra ver meus dentes batendo? — Exibe os dentes, engraçadinho, só pra te fazer rir. — O que você vai fazer sobre isso?

— Eu?

— É, você mesma.

— Não sei... — entra no joguinho dele. — O que você acha que eu devo fazer?

— O que eu acho?

— Uhum.

— Ah, deixa eu pensar... — Desvia o olhar, parando até o dedinho no canto da boca. — Tá tão frio hoje, eu preciso de alguém pra me esquentar... sabe... — Volta os olhos pra ti, a cara lavada é óbvia demais. — Dentro de você é tão quentinho...

Você sorri, feito boba. Tá, pode ser, autoriza. A diversão na face do argentino passa do doce, ao te acompanhar no princípio, para o lascivo quando te escuta permitir. Gracías, chiquita, ele responde de volta, te dando um beijo no cantinho da boca.

Te abraça por trás, e você não precisa nem espiar por cima dos ombros pra visualizar a destra masculina escorregando por baixo do endredom pra poder tocar a si próprio até estar pronto. O rosto de Fran mergulha entre o seu pescoço, arrasta o nariz pelo seu ombro, aspirando o perfume do sabonete usado no banho. Está sussurrando pertinho do seu ouvido, diz o quão cheirosa e bonitinha você está, agradece por não encontrar mais peça nenhuma no meio do caminho até as suas pernas. É reconfortante saber que as coisas que o excitam são os elogios que faz para ti.

Você mesma empina um pouquinho quando necessário, oferece um ângulo melhor ao jogar a bunda pra trás e separar os joelhos, de lado. Ganha outro beijo, dessa vez posicionado melhor na bochecha. Sente a cabecinha sendo esfregada pelo seu pontinho, deslizando pra cá e pra lá. E quando ele se encaixa, empurra devagarzinho, você morde o lábio, trocando um olhar com o argentino só pra poder vê-lo sorrindo ladino. Entra com cuidadinho, sem forçar muito porque não te deixou bem molhadinha primeiro.

— Agora sim... — Te aperta mais entre os braços, empurrando o quadril contra o seus, ao máximo, tudo, sempre parecendo querer ir mais fundo embora já esteja no limite. — Tão bom... — Chega a suspirar, de tamanha completude.

De fato, o somatório do calor natural do seu corpo junto da quentura do endredom formam um fervor delirante. Febril. Agora, vamo’ dormir, você deita a lateral do rosto sobre as costas das mãos, plena. Poderia estar externando também o prazer que sente; a sensação de fartura, a excitação por guardá-lo dentro de si, o jeito com que pisca ao redor do que te preenche, espremendo, fazendo o rapaz estremecer contigo, porém resolve manter a pose. Especialmente pois sabe que Francisco Romero não ostenta pose nenhuma quando se trata de ti.

Aqui, ele acata o seu comando. Pelo menos, a princípio. Não demora muito e ele quebra o personagem, feito já era de se esperar. Recua de dentro e joga de novo, ocupando mais uma vez. A boca se encarrega de beijar pelo seu pescoço, a voz arranhando próxima do seu ouvido, como um gatinho. Eu falei dormir, você reitera numa falsa irritação.

— Eu sei — ele fala —, mas não é o suficiente. — Sem muita dificuldade, se coloca por cima de ti, se trancando entre as suas pernas. — Necesito más, mi amor.

— E o que você quer? — pergunta, apesar de já imaginar o que vem por aí.

Canalha, chulo. O sorriso vai se alargando na face do argentino.

— Assim, sabe... — começa, malandrinho. Ergue o dedo indicador pra contornar as voltinhas dos seus lábios enquanto diz: ‘se eu te encher de porra, aí você vai ficar quentinha também...’

‘Vai, deixa’, insiste, com charme. Não vai ser a primeira e nem a última vez, e ‘eu sei que você gosta de dormir lotadinha de mim, hm? Não adianta dizer o contrário’, igual ele mesmo afirma.

A face que exibe aquele cretino sorriso vai chegando mais perto, os lábios finos encontram os seus. Selam, estalam, molhadinhos. Você o rodeia com os braços, traz ainda mais pra próximo.

Hm?, o escuta ronronar, meigo. Porra, que se dane qualquer marra, né? De que adianta continuar nesse joguinho de implicância quando pode ganhar uma foda gostosinha, sob o endredom quentinho, pra poder dormir tranquila a noite toda? Amanhã vai acordar, sim, com o meio das pernas todo melado, mas daí é só guiar o rapaz até o banho que tudo se repete e resolve satisfatoriamente. ‘Dale, Fran, me fode’, pede, então, num dengo sem igual.

Ele atende ao seu pedido, claro. As mãos escorregam pelos cantos do seu corpo porque devem chegar até a sua cintura, segurar ali, para poder meter com mais ritmo. Lento, porém, devorador de sanidade. É sensual na medida certa pra te fazer revirar os olhinhos e respirar pela boca entreaberta, o ar quente soprando contra o rosto alheio.

O silêncio da madrugada é propício pra sobressair o devasso do momento. Escuta a voz dele falhando, os arfares. Principalmente, escuta o som ensopadinho do seu corpo, cada vez que ele se soca no seu interior. É de alucinar. Crava as unhas nas costas dele, o que faz o garoto resmungar de tesão. Tranqui, nena, no me lastimes, murmurando nos seus lábios como se nem tivesse quase se derramado só pela selvageria.

Mas quando se derrama de verdade, os próprios dedos dele estão tão firmes e fortes na carne das suas coxas que você sente queimar. Tudo dobra de intensidade; o orgasmo, o gemido que você queria encobrir pra não ecoar pelo cômodo e, possivelmente, ser ouvido pelos vizinhos. O peito dói, o coração parece parar por uns segundinhos e voltar com tudo, disparado.

O corpo do argentino pesa sobre o seu, feito mais cedo, praticamente se joga por cima de ti, proposital. E é só você recuperar o fôlego que começa a importuná-lo, anda, Fran, levanta.

— Tempo, tempo — ele repete, ofegante. O rosto afogado na curva do seu pescoço.

— Fraaan — manha, dando tapinhas nas costas dele.

— Nossa ‘cê é muito chatinha... — Te agarra, repentino, um excesso de carinho que te faz colar o corpo nele, mais ainda porque permanece enterrado inteirinho dentro de ti. O garoto levanta o olhar, te dá um selinho. — Te amo muito, okay?

— Tá, tá, tá — murmura entre os selinhos que se seguem, os estalidos de lábio em lábio quando não se importa se vai causar ruído ou não.

— Hmmm — Esfrega a ponta do nariz no cantinho do seu rosto, meloso. — Quentinha agora?

Você sorri, e mesmo mordendo o lábio entre os dentes para disfarçá-lo, Francisco flagra, sorri junto.

— Sim, né? — responde por ti, e não mente. — Bem melhor agora, vai dormir que é uma beleza, né, gatinha? De nada, tá? — Se move outra vez, retornando com a lateral do corpo pro colchão e te abraçando por trás. No caminho, escorrega pra fora de ti, de tão encharcadinho que tudo ficou. — Ah, não... Deixa eu voltar, deixa... — lastima com desespero, apressa para suspender de levinho a sua coxa para se colocar fundo novamente.

— Vai dormir assim, é? — o questiona, entre o riso.

— Dentro de ti? — ri também, daquele jeitinho doce. — Se eu pudesse, ficava enfiado em você, bem fundo, pelo resto da minha vida.

— Bobo... — Bagunça os cabelos dele.

[madame-fear]

could you write a drabble for Francisco with these prompts? please 🥺

50. “i don't recall asking you to stop. keep kissing me.”

20. goofily smiling in between kisses.

27. “if only you knew the effect you have on me.”

꒰ ‘𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄’ | 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐁𝐁𝐋𝐄. ꒱

ೀ amira speaks! : nonnie this was so sweet and fun to write, thank you for requesting this !! this is literally the first thing I ever write for our sweet man, I hope you enjoy this! 🤧💕 also, tagging my sweet girl @luceracastro in case you are interested! <33 ˗ˏˋ ꒰ summary : request above. ♡ ˗ˏˋ ꒰ word count : 550.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ genre : fluff, established relationship, drabble. ˗ˏˋ ꒰ pairing : francisco romero x (fem!)reader ˗ˏˋ ꒰ prompts used : ⤿ mentioned above in request!

→ click here if you want to request a drabble for my followers milestone celebration! drabbles open from February 14th, to March 1st.

A silly grin quivered at the corner of your lips. Your hand was placed on the back of Fran’s head, having your fingers interwined between his dark blonde curls.

Fluttering your eyes shut, your lips softly pressed against his own thin, rosy ones; tilting your head gently to deepen the kiss. Sitting on his lap and exchanging small, sweet kisses was your favourite activity to do with your boyfriend — you could spend an entire day like this, and none of you would grow bored. In between the kiss, you could feel his own lips turning into a smile.

Humming, you reluctanctly pulled apart, feeling him breaking away the kiss for a brief moment — but his lips still grasped against yours tenderly. His light green eyes moved to stare up at you admiringly, noticing how his smile grew wider at the sight of you. He was absolutely dumbfounded at how pretty you were, in every sense. It wasn’t unusual to catch him admiring you like a fool in love, which made you feel flattered — and a bit shy sometimes, even.

“I don’t recall asking you to stop.” you retorted teasingly, moving your fingers to play with his hair lovingly. “Keep kissing me.” a soft scoff spurred from him, becoming flustered at your playful remarks. “Sorry,” Fran replied meekly, still stupidly smiling to himself. One of his hands cupped your cheek, as his other free hand was placed in your waist while his lips were pressed against the corner of your lips, placing several small pecks. “I can’t help it. I have to admire just how lucky I am.”

Closing your eyes once again, you sighed out of satisfaction at the way your boyfriend showered you in love, filling your face with loving, and delicately small kisses. Grinning widely — as the fluster in your cheeks spread across your face — you moved your face to meet his lips again, firmly cupping his cheeks with your hands One of his hands went to the back of your head, pressing you against his lips, ravenously kissing you.

In between the chaste, affectionate kisses and smooches you continously pressed against each other’s lips, occasionally humming in delight against your mouths, you smiled in a giddy manner. The corner of your lips grew leisurely with each smooch that was given and received; both of you feeling content of having one another in this manner. In a way, it felt comforting - the rest of the world didn’t exist, it was just the two of you, and the faint sound of your kisses.

Eventually, both of you softly pulled apart from one another, faintly panting, trying to catch some air after the makeout session you had. Feebly, he pressed his forehead against your own, keeping his hand in the back of your head so you would remain as close to him as possible, while his other hand moved to your arm - caressing your skin with the tips of his fingers. The amount of pride he felt at the thought of having you with him just like this overwhelmed him; he couldn’t be any more satisfied.

Pressing a final smooch on the tip of your nose, making you squirm and giggle very lightly, he whispered. “If only you knew the effect you have on me.”

[box-dwelling]

Fuck man I knew aai 1-4 had MVK being dismissive and abusive to the siblings but fuck man.

Actively saying that attending his 13 year old daughters courtroom debut isn't a priority for him

Then this exchange which is prompted by nothing beyond Miles asking to do his job even using the Von Karma framing of finding perfection only for Manfred to just completely shut him down and verbally abuse him

Miles then being completely unable to respond in shame. Even though this is God damn Bratworth were talking about and in the last scene he was saying this

And then Fran coming in to desperately try and deflect her father ire to protect him

Then when she finally does convince him to let them investigate he says this

Basically actively admitting to anyone with the context we have now that he's only making Miles a procecutor to sully Gregory's legacy.

Then Miles thanking her because he saw her defelcting Manfreds abuse for him.

Just absolutely heart breaking. It really shows the dynamic at play here perfectly. He doesn't care about Franziska. He is not putting this energy into her career and only putting it into Miles' because he is using it as an avenue to abuse and control him and further enact his revenge on Gregory. And she doesn't understand why. She doesn't get why Miles gets this attention and she doesn't. But she already knows that she has to deflect his attention to protect Miles. And Miles doesn't understand how he's doing everything he can to do the right thing but is still his target. Its such a genuinely interesting dynamic where both of them think the other is the favourite. Miles thinks it Fran because he's not constantly verbally abusing her and Fran thinks it's Miles because he actually bothers to give him the time of day and is properly mentoring him. She's 13 man. She's about to become a prosecutor at 13 and he still doesn't care about her in the slightest.

Ugh Von Karma siblings, my heart

[mimisempai]

MASTERPOST

Incorrect Good Omens Quotes Masterpost : here

Quiet, gentle & romantic Omens Masterpost : here

On the road to season 3 Masterpost : here

Daily ineffable smiles : here

Fanfictions Masterpost : here

You may ask, send whatever you want! I am always happy to answer.

[shorukarts]

Happy anniversary wdyw !!

What do you want belongs to the amazing writer and artist @the-writing-mobster

Hope you like it Mob✨❤️✨

Sorry for being late the app crashed 🥲

[saltiestbread]

My inability to type a meaningful and complex sentence is making me violent.

I want to yell all the thought in my head out, All the excitement and love and passion and feeling of overwhelming gratitude i have for the piece of media and its creators

Moment like this make me wish human is telepathically specie :(

[sednonamoris]

call off the dogs (and come home to me)

Pairing: John Price x gn!reader

Summary: You've quietly yearned after Captain John Price for a long time now, and known him even longer. With each stolen glance and interrupted moment the tension between you grows, but everything comes to a head when a mission gone wrong forces you to confront feelings that have gone unspoken for the better part of a decade.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, strong language, alcohol mention, drunk hookup, a little bit of torture + murder, fingering, porn with plot (smut should read gender neutral but let me know if any changes will make it more inclusive!!), mild angst, mutual pining with a happy ending

Word count: 3,940

A/N: My first foray into smut inspired by the incredibly talented @yeyinde!! Expect more Hound/Price content in the future bc I’m obsessed lol

--

 “Hound,” a familiar voice startles you from the mountain of paperwork on your desk, “what are you still doing here?”

 You raise a challenging brow at your captain. “Couldn’t I ask you the same thing?”

 This exchange has become familiar in the months you’ve spent grounded. Anyone else would take a bullet to the knee as a chance to slow down - switch careers entirely if they were smart - but you’re stubborn. A dog with a bone. Two surgeries and months of rehab that still aren’t finished, frankly you’re lucky to be walking. Luckier still that they let you stay on with the 141; There was a minute there that Laswell threatened you with an honourable discharge. A timely intervention with the physical therapist got you out of it, the only stipulation being that you remain firmly planted behind a desk until the doctors clear you. Having spent the better part of a lifetime hands-on in the field, it’s been hard not to overextend to prove your worth off of it.

 So after-hours paperwork it is. At least the company is good.

 “Touché,” Price huffs a laugh through his whiskers. “Fancy a cuppa? Sounds like we’ll both be here a while yet.”

 “Have I told you lately you’re my favourite? Two sugars and--”

 “--a splash of cream,” he finishes for you. The twinkle in his eye warms you right through, and you smile after him a little bit like an idiot.

 It’s been like this ever since the domestic terrorism scare your team was called in on in Belfast what feels like a lifetime ago. He was only a lieutenant then, and you a sergeant. You were assigned to civilian extraction, but took off when you saw one of the primary suspects make a dash for it through side streets. Price saw you go for him and followed, the two of you giving chase on foot for three blocks before you managed to dive-tackle him in a back alley. It was a major success to take him alive, but your captain at the time wanted blood for the abandoned civilians. Price stood up for you in front of the entire regiment.

Took after ‘im like a bloody hellhound! he’d said. That deserves a medal, not disciplinary action.  

 Just over ten years later you’re still called Hound, and he’s still the subject of your silly, unattainable daydreams. Captain John Price is a name that means something, but to you he will always be the sergeant with fire in his eyes who stood up for you when no one else would. When he asked if you were interested in joining the 141 at its inception you didn’t even hesitate. You’d follow him anywhere.

 “One tea, two sugars, splash of cream,” Price announces when he returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs to distract you from your thoughts. Yours is placed ceremoniously on an ARW coaster you ‘borrowed’ from your last commanding officer. “Now I believe you owe me something…?”

 You grin and pull out your secret stash. The false bottom of the drawer is probably meant for sensitive intel, but you’ve found it’s perfect for biscuits. Three are placed in his outstretched hand, and three next to your mug.

 “You’re lucky I’ve got a man on the inside who sends me these,” you scold as he scoffs one down almost immediately.

 “Yeah, tell your granddad I said ‘thanks’.”

 “I can’t. He’d disown me if he knew I was feeding a Brit.”

 That earns you a laugh - a true belly laugh - and you can’t help but feel entirely smug about it.

 “Fuckin’ Paddies.”

 “Ah, go fuck yourself.”

 A companionable silence blankets the room after that, broken only by the sound of shuffled papers and laptop keys. Soft lamplight illuminates your reports so unlike the harsh fluorescents everywhere else on base. You’ve done your best to make the regulation desk homey; bright sticky notes and colored pens and a picture of you and the lads after a successful mission. Occasional hums and huffs and heavy sighs from your captain’s desk across the room breathe life into the space as well. You like to think your incoherent, foul-mouthed muttering does the same for him.

 The clock reads 0100 hours when you look up again. The caffeine from the tea wore off over an hour ago and you can feel yourself starting to fade. A quick peek over at Price reveals much the same.

 You open your mouth to ask if he’s ready to tuck in when he looks up and steals the breath from your lungs. His short hair is mussed where he’s been running his hands through it, that hint of premature grey turned silver at his temples in the low light. Tired eyes crinkle fondly behind the lenses of reading glasses you haven’t stopped teasing him over but can’t get enough of. It’s achingly domestic. A glimpse into a future you’ll never have - not with anyone, and certainly not with him.

 “What are you thinking about over there?” he asks softly.

 “Nothing,” you flash a tired and unconvincing smile. “I’m knackered. Shall I close up shop or will you, Cap?”

 “I’ve got it, you get some shut-eye.”

 Your eyes linger just a bit too long as you bid him goodnight, knowing very well you won’t sleep a wink.

--

 This pub is definitely one of the shittier ones, but its location is convenient enough to pretend that the wallpaper isn’t peeling and the live band of part-time musicians and full-time retirees is any good. The handful of covers they play are indistinguishable from originals sprinkled in, all with that same, washed-out sound of empty bottles and stale dreams.

 The group of hooligans crowded up at the bar sit in stark contrast of the otherwise dour patrons. Even Ghost, who’s taken the corner seat and keeps a lazy watch over the room, is loose enough to be making those terrible jokes of his. Soap and Gaz lean over one another with goofy grins and half-empty glasses before them. Price, true to form, has taken the end seat to nurse a ‘proper pint’ alongside a lit cigar the bartender can’t dispute after lighting up what looks like at least his tenth cigarette of the night behind the bar.  

 “If it isn’t the Bionic Hound!” Gaz calls when he spots you across the poorly-lit room, waving you over with a grin.

 You shake your head, wondering why you agreed to come out tonight. But the second Gaz had started with the puppy-dog eyes there was no denying him. Drinks before leave are a 141 tradition, he’d insisted.

 So here you are.

 “You’re lucky it’s a metal knee and not laser eyes or you’d be in yesterday’s papers,” you wag a finger at him as you take your seat amongst them all.

 Ghost snorts a laugh at the empty threat.

 “Oh, come off it, Hound,” Soap says. “You love us too much.”

 Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t count on that.”

 You glare and wrinkle your nose at the comment, but he just smiles back at you with that damned twinkle in his eye. Prick. Then he wordlessly slides over your usual and you have to be grateful on top of it all. Double prick. One swift gulp and half of it is gone; you’re too sober for this.

 The lads cackle over another awful joke - Soap’s, this time. Price holds his temples.

 The drinks go down easy after that.

 “Any exciting plans for your leave, Cap?” you ask. It’s almost closing time now. This place is never full, anyway, but there’s enough alcohol in your system that you almost buy into the pretense of hearing him better as you edge further and further into his space.

 You’re not sure what you want him to say, exactly. Maybe if he reveals that there’s a cute little family or some stunning girlfriend waiting back home you’ll finally be able to move past the strangled feeling in your throat every time you look at him.  

 “Hardly,” he says around the cigar. The soft glow of it lights his face, makes him look like some sharp-eyed noir detective shrouded in smoke and mystery. “Might get a bit of fishing in, head into Liverpool and catch a game or two. What about you?”

 You wave a dismissive hand. “I make a terrible civilian. After I visit my grandfather and annoy him half to death I’m not sure what I’ll do. Maybe finally get some use out of those Egyptian cotton sheets I spent a bleedin’ fortune on.”

 “Are they nice?” he laughs, leans closer.

 You hum an affirmative, dizzy at the little space between you. He smells like tobacco and wood, whiskey and gunpowder.

“Too nice.” You should stop talking now. “End up on the floor half the time, anyway.”

He doesn’t need to know that.  

 “Sleeping alone, then?”

 His breath fans your face. Yours gets quicker, and you swear you’re more drunk off this shared air than any liquor you’ve had tonight.  

 “Sometimes.” You wet your lips. “Usually.”

 Your lashes leave tender butterfly kisses on your cheekbones as you meet his blue-eyed stare that’s gone impossibly dark, dipping down to see where your lips have parted - breathless, waiting. Wanting. His hand reaches out--

 “Last call!” the bartender’s shout snaps everything back to reality.

 You jump away from one another as though you’ve been burned. It feels a lot like you have.

 Price clears his throat, mutters something about getting back. His voice is rougher than usual. Raw. You look everywhere but him as he proceeds to round up the rest of the lads before you all stumble back to base.

 Your head pounds the whole way back to Ireland the next morning, marching drums in your mind and sandpaper beneath your eyelids. The flight has never felt lonelier.

--

 The man you bring home has blue eyes and brown hair. He’s not tall enough, certainly not broad enough, but he happened to be in the right place at the right time as you drank your sorrows away in some tiny pub up the road from your flat, and you happen to be desperate enough not to care.

 At least that’s what you tell yourself as you back him against your bed.

 When you kiss him it’s relentless and controlling. Mean. You suck a dark bruise on his neck and climb in his lap before he can think to return the favor.

 “Fuck, sweetness,” he groans at the sweet feeling of friction between your bodies. The accent is wrong. So is the endearment.

 You clamp a hand over his mouth. “Shut up and fuck me.”

 It’s a quick and sloppy affair, chasing a half-drunk high like a pair of horny teenagers. When all is said and done, you stare up at the ceiling on too-soft sheets and tell him he can go. He leans over to catch your eye briefly, maybe checking to see if you’re serious. You are. There’s hurt written across his expression - a bit of shock, too - but all you can think about is how his eyes are the wrong shade of blue.

--

 The second the doctors clear you for active duty you all but sprint to Price’s desk, demanding he get you back in the field as soon as possible. He smiles up at you in that sharp way that always makes your heart stutter and promises he’s got something small in the works - perfect to shake the rust off.

 Of course he’d think of an unsanctioned, off-the-books capture of a Russian mobster as small. You’re the only two who make the trip; your Russian is miles better than anyone else’s, and more bodies will only attract attention.

 It’s easy to forget how beautiful Moscow is. You don’t come here often, but the sprawling cityscape and romantic spires speak to your soul, set something singing inside you. You try to hold on to that feeling as you and Price make your way into the chipped paint and piss-stained sector of the city. These winding side streets and twisted back alleys are far more fitting for your line of work.

 Your mark, one Mikhail Yanovich, is a low-level enforcer for a high-interest gang that has connections to Makarov. Allegedly. That’s why you’re planning this friendly little chat. Not so much catch-and-release as catch-and-stage-a-believable-accident; if he really is involved, you can’t afford for Makarov to know you’re onto him.

 It feels strange to walk around in civvies with only a thin kevlar vest underneath to protect you. Thank goodness for the cold that makes layering less conspicuous. You look every inch the lost, frozen tourist. Price does too. You don’t think the miserable face he’s pulling beneath the beanie is acting, cheeks and nose flushed raw as they are.

 “Bloody cold out,” he mutters.

 “The fuck did you expect, tropical holidays?”

 He glowers, and you shake your head to hide a smile.

 Thankfully, kidnapping Yanovich is quick work; two bickering tourists hardly seem like the type who will stick you with a needle on your way to work and drag your unconscious body to a stashed van, driving through bad, then worse neighborhoods to reach a secure location to interrogate you.

 He wakes tied to a chair in the basement of an abandoned parking garage you and Price have taken up a temporary residence in. The captain circles him like a vulture, taking in all the details a broad frame and blockish features have to offer. You sit perched on the edge of a shitty folding table set just in the shadows. Patient. Waiting. There’s a case of freshly sharpened knives beside you - the Hound’s fangs, as Ghost likes to call them. So often the glinting threat of harsh light on metal is all it takes to break a man.

 “What can you tell us about Makarov?” Price opens.

 “Go fuck yourself.”

 The blow lands harsh on Yanovich’s cheekbone. Instantly a bruise begins to form, splotchy and plum on pale skin.

 “I asked you a bloody question. I promise you’d rather answer me than Hound over there,” Price looms over him, growls in his ear. “Makarov. Tell me everything you know.”

 There’s a stubborn set to his jaw when he says, “I know nothing.”

 If he really knew nothing he either would have laughed in your face or led with open ignorance. The way he clings to resistance can only mean there’s something to resist telling. As to how much he knows? There’s another echoing crack as Price backhands him.

 You’ll soon find out.

 “Hound,” your name on your captain’s tongue is as much a command as an invitation.

 You lean forward, step into the light. Twirl one of your knives expertly between scarred fingers. Watch it flash in the whites of his eyes.

 “I’ll ask you again: Where is Makarov?” Price demands.

 “I. Don’t. Know.”

 You step between Yanovich’s legs, lean over him and gently trace your blade over his groin with a smile sharper than the knife. He lets out a harsh breath.

 “I said I don’t know. Boss tells me nothing - I’m just a guard.”

 The knife presses, insistent. Not quite hard enough to draw blood yet. A bead of sweat rolls down Yanovich’s forehead. He’s pressed himself as far back into the chair as his bonds will allow.

 “Fine! He comes to club once a month. Speaks to the boss.”

 “What about?”

 “I don’t know-- I swear!” his accent is thick with unfamiliar syllables and fear.

 “When’s he due next?”

 “You just missed him. He always comes last day of month.”

 “Location?”

 “Changes every time,” he says, licks his lips. “I told you all I know - call off your fucking dog!”

 You dig your knife in for good measure just to watch the hate and fear in his eyes before backing off at Price’s nod.

 Turning to step away and table your knife, you don’t miss the way Yanovich mutters darkly after you, “My zdes strelaem vie brodyachikh sobak, suki. Esli ya uviju tebya snova, the mertview.”

 Then a gunshot fires.

 You pull your weapon out of its holster and whip around to cover Price, only to find the smoking gun in his hand and Yanovich’s head splattered on the wall behind him. Captain John Price stands over the body, eyes blazing, chest heaving, gun still aimed. Blood and brain matter speckles his face and clothes.  

 “What the fuck was that?” you demand. “He could have told us more! And what about the cover-up? Blowing his brains six ways to fucking Sunday isn’t exactly a bleedin’ accident!”

 You expect some kind of remorse when he turns to face you, but there’s only a grim, deadly acceptance. “He said--"

 “I heard what he said, I can speak bloody Russian!” you stalk towards him and jab a finger into his chest. “We were gonna kill the cunt anyway. You should have waited.”

 Price snarls, lip curling to bare his teeth. “You didn’t see the way he looked at you.”

 Suddenly you’re hyperaware of how close the two of you are standing. “How did he look at me?”

“He wanted to kill you the slowest way he knew how,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin, “and I’d shoot his fucking face a thousand times over to make sure he never looks at you again.”

 And just like that anything you were going to say dies in your throat, comes out a pathetic whimper. He grabs a fistful of your shirt and hauls you the rest of the short distance to him.

 “Tell me you wouldn’t do the same,” he demands. “Tell me to stop.”

 His hand burns on your chest, an iron-hot brand of possession.

 “John,” you breathe, because you don’t know what else to say. The look in his eyes is magnetic, drawing you in further still with pupils blown wide with want. “Don’t stop.”

 He kisses you rough, teeth and tongue and a certain kind of desperation brought on by the still-warm corpse lying just a few feet away. When you break for air he wastes no time kissing down your neck, every inch of exposed skin branded by his lips and the rough scrape of his beard. Yanovich’s blood smears down the column of your throat.

 “Fuck, John,” you say, “just like that.”

 “Sound so fucking perfect when you say my name,” he growls and bites down on your pulse point, leaving you gasping.

 It’s enough to distract you from his true purpose, large hands cupping beneath your ass and scooping you up into his arms. You hold on tight as three purposeful strides take you across the room to the table. One sweep of his arm has everything tumbling off it before he sets you down to stare up at him with wide eyes and a kiss-swollen mouth.

 When he captures your lips again it’s searing, molten heat rushing through your veins. It pools in your stomach, that too-hot wanting, and it suddenly hits you how much you do want this. Him. Each kiss tastes like so many years of silent longing, of standing too close and staring too long and wanting too much. All suddenly real and within reach.

 You let your hands snake up his shirt, explore the broad plane of his chest and the wiry hair that curls over it. Your fingers run over scars like braille that tell stories of violence and valor. Some of these stories you helped write. There, beneath his ribs, where you had to stitch him up in the field to keep his guts from spilling into the streets of Vienna. The lump where his collarbone never healed right after taking the brunt of a nasty blow meant for you. He shivers under your touch. Then his large, calloused hands cover yours and stop them in their tracks.

 “I’m going to fuck you now,” he says, “because I don’t think I can wait any longer than I already have to feel you.” His voice is even lower and rougher than usual, accent thick with arousal. “Do you want that?”

 You nod, afraid to speak and break the spell.

 “Come on, soldier, use your words.”

 “Yes, Captain. Please.”

 His grip on your hips tightens and he lets out a growl. “That’s my perfect soldier.”

 It’s all the warning you get before he tucks his fingers under the waistband of your trousers and underwear and tugs them down to your thighs, leaving you exposed before him.

 “Fuck, just look at you,” he says under his breath, almost like you aren’t meant to hear.

 You squirm under the scrutiny. A hot flush creeps up your neck as he stares, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He looks at you like you’re some kind of revelation, like he’s been denied salvation all his life only to find it at the apex of your thighs.

 One, two, then three fingers stretch you open for him quick and dirty. It’s too much too fast but you want it so bad, and the pleasure far outweighs any pain. When he finally unzips his trousers to free his already hard, leaking cock you think you drool a little bit. You knew he’d be big, the way he carries himself, but seeing it is something else. Your insides flutter at the thought of the tight fit. He lines up to your entrance with that same military precision you’ve always admired before pushing in slowly, slowly, slower still. When he bottoms out he does it with a deep groan, your fingernails raking down his back as you keen at the sensation. This small mercy, just a few moments to adjust with his forehead pressed to yours, is all you’re granted before he sets a brutal pace. The obscene slap of skin on skin echoes off cracked concrete. With each thrust he hits someplace deep inside you no one else has managed to find.

 Heat coils in your belly, closer and closer to fever pitch with each expert snap of his hips.

 “John,” you pant, “m’gonna… gonna cum. Feels so good.”

 He says your name like a prayer. “Cum for me, then. Want to see you make a mess of yourself on my cock.”

 Like a tidal wave breaking against a dam you cum fast and hard at his words with a broken sob. He fucks you through the high, brushing a tear from the corner of your eye with a rough thumb.

 “There you are, so good for me,” he says. “Gonna cum all over your pretty little self, make you mine.”

 “I’m yours, John,” you gasp, “all yours.”

 His thrusts turn sloppy chasing his own high, and it doesn’t take long before he pulls out and makes good on his words, covering your stomach in spend as he grinds out your name. Bent over your body, he presses a chaste kiss to the juncture of your neck before pulling back to admire his handiwork. In the afterglow you lay spread out on the table with a sheen of sweat, smeared with his cum and another man’s blood. The way his eyes darken rubbing it into your skin, and the way you shiver at the sensation, you think that you both might like it a little too much.

 “Laswell’s gonna kill us for this,” he murmurs.

 You hum your agreement. “So where shall we hide the body?”

 His eyes shine down on you with adoration and crinkle with wicked humor. “I’m sure we’ll think of something, but let’s be quick about it. The sooner we get home the better.”

 “Yes,” you hear yourself agreeing, “home.”  

 For you, it will always be at his side.

[valleyfae]

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧

𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒 ➛ Guys My Age AU: Masterlist

Paring: divorced!neighbor!Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: soft father figure Bucky, age gap (reader’s in uni and Bucky’s in his 40s), hurt/comfort, heavy topics (indications of an abusive parent), smut 18+ ONLY MDNI, unprotected sex, creampie, oral (male receiving), lots of praise, dirty talk, and teasing. Bold italicized text is from the reader’s journal or past!!

Synopsis: You can't seem to keep your plans straight or your hands off of each other.

Word Count: 3.5k words

Authors Note: I have finally decided to update this fic, and I am so sorry it took so long. This part was supposed to be double the length, but I split it in half to post something now until I am happy with the second part. Enjoy!!

𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐃𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐑𝐄𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐒 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝

𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✴︎ 𝐒. 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍 𝐌.𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ✴︎ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍

You’ve been awake for hours.

The bright rays of sunlight sneak through the narrow opening of the cream curtains that lightly sway in the summer breeze. The ashamed feeling of disgust still sunken deep into your heavy chest. Brain fuzzy, limbs weak, stomach cramping, nausea taking over your body as you groan. 

You tiredly stretch; the feeling of your cotton sheets is the only comfort you’ve gotten since Bucky held you in his safe arms. The sunken bags under your eyes become more apparent every day you go without him. 

Falling back into your drowsy state, chilling goosebumps creep down your spine. Yet, no matter the temperature, all you can feel is the isolation and the guilt you somehow manage to carry, blaming yourself for the actions others make. 

A sudden buzz from your phone instantly snaps you out of your hopeless mood. Too lethargic to check your messages, you ignore the notifications. A second buzz vibrates against your wooden bedside table. Tiredly you lift your hand out from under the covers. You squint your eyes as the bright screen inflicts your tired vision.

Dad - 9:27 am

About to leave for my business trip

Dad - 9:29 am 

Your keys are in the kitchen

His texts give a clear indication of what will be happening.

What always happens. 

You can’t deny the sick feeling that stirs your stomach from normalizing his apathetic customs. Dropping your phone onto your burdensome chest, you have zero reaction to the thump of the heavy glass screen on your exposed skin. 

You huff out, grief crawling under your skin. As you pull your covers over your face, you hear yet another buzz, your phone buzzing on your skin. "Shut up," you irately mumble into your soft duvet.

Carelessly, you sit up, sick of seeing your father's name. You quickly glance at the message, not bothering to see what it says, immediately throwing your phone back onto the sheets. 

Freezing your movements, you furrow your brows in confusion. 

You sit fully up for the first time this morning. Leaning against your headboard, you sink your teeth into your bottom lip to collect yourself from the lingering worries built up through your restless night. Nervous excitement washes the sullen expressions off your face. 

Your heart beats at a pathetically fast rate from simply seeing a notification.

Butterflies swarm your stomach, filling your throat with apprehensive nausea. Oh my god, just look at the fucking message. You take a deep breath, inhaling the sweet fragrance of the candle that lingers around your room; building up the courage, you open Bucky’s text.

Bucky - 9:31 am

Good morning, sweetheart! I hope you got a good night's sleep and got some rest. If you want to come over, I’ll be at my house. I just need to finish a little work but come whenever you want. There is a key behind the plant pot :)

Overwhelmed, you feel a sense of consolation as you read Bucky’s text repeatedly. You drag your hands down your face, shaking off your last bit of exhaustion.

It’s a little pathetically how a straightforward text Bucky probably wrote without thinking could bring you this much joy.

Stretching your sore muscles, you take your time to get out of bed – following the bright shine through the curtains, you pull them open to the sound of your father’s car dragging against the gravel. You turn your back to the window, take a deep breath, and push away your negative thoughts. 

You spend the next thirty minutes getting ready, taking your time to feel the hot water run down your back. You gently rub the sweet vanilla scent across your skin, wincing as your fingers skim over your bruises and sore muscles. 

Overcome by the debilitating urge to rush next door, you hastily gather your journal and headphones, knowing Bucky will be busy for a bit – you don’t care how long it takes him. 

You slip into a pair of shorts, the distressed denim skimming your legs, and the cotton of your old band-tee loosely hangs from your shoulders.

The warm breeze hits your skin as your shadow follows your restless steps until you reach the familiar sight of Bucky’s front door. 

You follow his expected thoughtful notes, involuntarily smiling as you pick up the cold key from the shade behind the potted plant, dragging the tip of your finger against the sharp ridges of the metal and taking a breath before gathering your overly excited body.

Carefully opening the heavy door, you step inside. The perfect type of silence and captivating scent flood your senses. Just being in Bucky’s house felt safe. The calm, sleek modern features hold a refreshing atmosphere that radiates the most precious feeling. 

As you step out of your untied Converse, the silence breaks. A faint purr draws you to the couch, and your giddiness heightens.

“Hello, pretty,” you coo, sitting beside the snow-white feline. “Don’t you look comfy?” Then, with one hand tenderly stroking Alpine, you pull your pen and journal out of your canvas bag.

Curled beside you, Alpine’s eyes flutter shut. “You have the most beautiful eyes, just like your dad.” She purrs in response closing the slight gap. “The most beautiful blue eyes.”

Your soft smile melts into a somber gulp as you take out your journal–leafing through your messy notebook and skimming over your prior writing. Lump forming in your throat, you hinder your light flipping of the pages and blankly stare at your words from the previous nights. 

The rivets of dried tear stains scatter your notes like the cuts and bruises fading from your skin.

The painful pages of burden. Every word, hit, insult, ingrained in your memory, the agonizing pluses, the claustrophobic beating of your heart, the fearful tremors, the salty tears slipping through the passage of your lips, manipulated to insanity, exhausted and delirious.

Bottled-up emotions flooded onto the pages of your journal – forever stuck in the cycle of shock, fear, denial, anger, and hopelessness. The stiffly chained pattern has never broken before.  

You never expected to feel any sort of safety.

Shame is always significant, always present, lingering in your mind, but the way Bucky cradles you in his strong arms brings you the comfort and acceptance you never expected, ever. The mounds of self-doubt that control your life slowly dissipate with every second you spend with him. The feeling he gives you is so foreign, and there are not enough words to describe it. The way he holds you in his arms. He’s nurturing. He feels like home.

The desperate longing for someone – that someone, perfect with all of their flaws and broken pieces. That person who will mend your fragile, fragmented mind, body, and soul. You never thought you would find the person, but with Bucky, it is finally starting to feel real.

You’ve never felt joy reading through your journal, repressed memories surfacing, haunting your every moment. Well, not until the night you spent the night at Buckys.

He is perfect – every part of him. 

“Sweetheart?” Bucky calls, a deep and gentle voice echoing down the stairs. His eyes land on the precious sight below him, and he gushes.

Longing gaze snapped back into reality, turning around and stuffing your journal in your bag. “Bucky?”

Nimble fingers rubbing through his beard, scratching the nape of his neck, he teases, taking his last steps to the couch. “Bunny?” kneeling, he tenderly pulls you into a hug, stroking Alpine when she lets out a jealous meow.

Walking down the hall, Bucky guides you into his bedroom. Thoughts mirroring yours, he stops you, gripping your chin between his fingers. Limbs intertwining and heavy breaths mingling, his soft lips skimming yours.

“Miss hearing that flustered hitch in your breath,” he whispers against your lips. “Perfect little girl’s all mine.”

You huff, nuzzling your heated cheeks into his buff chest. “Miss everything about you,” your words muffle against the black cloth constricting Bucky’s muscular figure.

Silence has never been more beautiful, cradled in his arms. Tension building with no fear, just desire.

“Got you something,” Bucky smirks.

Letting out a faint whine, you look up at Bucky, urgently wrapping your arms around his neck. Dwindling patience at an all-time low, heart rate climbing, Bucky welcomes your lips. His tongue glides pasts yours, syncing with the motion of your body as you cling to him.

“I got you a swimsuit,” Bucky whispers into the kiss. “Can go swimming this time, not just— God,” he curses under his breath when you playfully suck along his jaw.

“Not just… fuck me?” you pull away, surprising yourself with the way your words blatantly slip out of your mouth.

Bucky laughs, mockingly pulling away and laying a kiss on your forehead. “Someone’s got a dirty mouth today,” he chuckles, cupping your cheek.

With another sheepish grin, you follow Bucky down the hall, patiently swaying in your seat; you wait for him to bring you the swimsuit he found while in his suit.

Confidence in his step, Bucky tenderly smiles, holding out a cherry red one-piece.

Throat abruptly going dry, the customary throb radiates heat through your jean shorts. Hesitation stirs in your stomach–nervous nausea blocking your airway, cutting your breath short.

I’ve never felt uncomfortable around him. He’s never commented on my body, never drawn attention to my bruises and scars, and never made me feel weird for the horrendous way my eyes get puffy and face blotches when I cry. No one has ever made me feel the same as he does or made me feel good about myself. So does he care or only pity me because I’m just that pathetic? I don’t want him to worry about me. I don’t want him to think I just want attention. I don’t want to feel even more ashamed of myself. I just want to keep pretending that life is perfect, like how it is when I’m with him.

“I’m not the best shopper, aren't I?” Bucky sarcastically snickers, lightening the worried expression on your face.

“No, no, it’s just a little red?” you giggle, pushing your stresses aside. “I love it!”

Smiling up at Bucky, he takes your place, sitting on the linen couch. The soft chuckles of banter gone silent, you timidly undressing to rapidly put the swimsuit on. Tense arms hidden behind your back, you fidget with your fingers, eyes following the pattern of the wooden tiles.

Tongue swiping across his velvety yet slightly chapped lips, his large hand grips your discarded clothes. “Bunny?” his tone sweet and delicate, melodically humming with the blowing wind that ruffles the curtains.

Hands molding to your shoulders, he coos, “Take a deep breath for me.” Chaos constantly cluttering your mind, you follow Bucky’s instructions, giving him your vulnerability. “You don’t need to be scared of me. I’m here for you, no matter what.”

All you can do is nod, leaning into his warm embrace.

*ೃ༄

The summer sun beats down on the two of you as you agilely trace patterns down Bucky’s abdomen, centimeters away from gliding over his shorts. You shift lower in the sun lounger, intertwining your thigh around his leg.

The nervous lump thumping in your chest falls, adding to the pulse radiating off your clit and breaking the stop to your restlessness, gradually bucking your clenched hips as your nose brushes the thick trail of hair that travels beneath the waistband of his shorts.

“Feeling needy, bunny?” Bucky smugly chuckles, placing his book down and his colossal palm on your head instead. “No need to act shy; been teasing me, wiggling in those little red bottoms.” 

You tuck your head, and your flustered instinct kicks in, nose pressing against Bucky’s bulge; you whimper, realizing your position and rising embarrassment.

“Did so good for me last time. I’m still here to help but fuck.” Bucky tenderly rests his palm on your cheek. “Gonna get me hard just thinking about those soft lips wrapped around my cock, looked so pretty, so innocent sucking on my balls. Most perfect sight I’ve ever seen.”

The temperature of your face increases, but that doesn’t stop your body and your racing thoughts. Vivid images flood your memory of the first time you gave Bucky head, the first time you have ever given a man head. 

The one time has left you with a ravenous craving for Bucky, a desperate yearning to please him, the vague taste of him ingrained in your imagination every second that goes by, and it’s intoxicating.

“Can I?”

Looking up, you admire Bucky's defined abs, perfectly sculpted biceps, the bright sunlight glimmering in his crystal blue eyes. A comforting aura emits from his words, breath, and presence; that feeling of safety mixed with passion curates his effect on you, the lust that flows through your veins, leaving you writhing for friction.

You sit up, putting your weight on your heels – pressing against the emerging wet patch on your red bikini. “You know, um….” you mumble, eyes subconsciously drawing to Bucky’s bulge.

He shifts up, spreading his thighs, establishing a space for you to lay. “We have an eager little girl today, now do we?” Bucky chuckles, cupping your cheek and pressing a kiss to your forehead, savoring the feeling of his soft, blush lips on your skin before he pulls away, his gaze piercing through your eyes with a gentle smile. “You’re gonna make me crazy,” he murmurs.

Licking your lips, you tug the supple flesh with your teeth; anticipating his following instructions, you center yourself and lay your clammy palms on your legs, exhibiting your restlessness with a subtle pout.

Intertwining his fingers with yours, he guides your hands to his growing bulge. “Don’t worry, bunny. I'm here.” The trembling of your wrists dies down as Bucky reassuringly moves your shaky touch to a steady pace. “I got you.”

Slipping your fingers past the band of Bucky’s swim trunks, you pull them down his hips, gaze apprehensively shifting from Bucky’s alluring eyes to the expanding path of hair you’re gradually exposing.

“Lemme just,” Bucky grumbles, freeing his strained erection and aching full balls from the polyester. A content sigh washes over him as you finish taking off his bottoms.

Sinful and tainted, you cave in, your mouth watering excessively as you attentively watch Bucky wrap his fingers around his thick base. “Go on and lay down for me.” 

You hastily shift into the spot between Bucky’s muscular thighs, timidly placing a hand on his olive skin. “There you go, pretty girl’s so smart,” Bucky croons, his palm smoothing over your temple.

Your fingers barely conceal Bucky’s staggering girth mimicking his form seconds before; you glide your tongue up his shaft coating him with an abundant amount of your drool, all while maintaining hankering eye contact. His distinct, musky taste seeping into your taste buds, the feeling of his jutting veins intoxicating, you let out a content hum. Following your steady path, you kiss Bucky’s bulbous tip; a faint moan vibrates off your puckered lips, drawing a deep grunt from his chest.

“You see how hard you make me? Fucking hell, don’t need my help at all. So good for me—” Bucky groans, guiding your head down, pushing himself past your glistening lips. “That’s my girl.”

You immediately gag, glassy eyes building tears, your body’s natural response seeming hostile, but it’s your favorite feeling.

Both hands tentatively wrapped around him, the tip of Bucky’s cock prods the back of your throat—drool seeping past your lips, cascading over your tense knuckles.

Bucky's words meld into satisfied grunts, his chest heaving to the rhythm he enforces with his hand pressing down on the crown of your head. “Always take me like a champ,” he hisses through gritted teeth. “Don’t you, bunny?”

His pulsing tip pummels down your throat, pushing your head down further, and a perfectly sculpted outline of his cock shapes down your neck abundantly. Copious amounts of saliva coat your chin, running down your chest and creating a glistening pool to glaze over the cushion below you.

Encouraging groans flow from Bucky’s lips as he digs his pearly white teeth into his plush red lips. His eyes locked on yours, the plentiful strands of silver that weave through his hair, glimmering in the sunlight.

The thump in your chest drops between your legs. You urgently clamp your thighs together, helplessly clenching your muscles in an attempt to fulfill the ache exuding heat from your neglected clit. You sync your needy movements with the tempo Bucky set with his hand planted on the back of your head. The repetition of your self-inflicted grinds rapidly builds a coil in your stomach.

Bucky frees you from under his grasp, stifles the tempo of his thrusts, and pumps his cock. “There she is,” he groans. “Shit. Making me feel so good.” 

Increasing the speed of the rough buckling of your hips, Bucky continues to praise you as your drool-painted lips connect to his full heavy balls. His stare drops from your watery eyes to your hips, needily grinding onto nothing. “You don’t need my help, doing amazing. Love it so much you’re humping the air, aren’t you, poor thing?”

The sound of your gags is replaced by your pleading whimpers, which have become more and more substantial as you borrow your nose further against Bucky’s base, his balls drawing up as you slurp your excessive drool.

“Come here,” Bucky motions, soothingly rubbing your free hand on his thigh. “Help me cum – need to feel that pretty cunt wrapped around my fingers. Need to show my girl how proud of her I am.”

Responding with a confused hum, Bucky cups your cheek, gently guiding you up, patting the cushion; he stabilizes your trembling legs, straddling your thighs so you’re hovering over his cock, harder than ever.

He patiently hooks his dexterous fingers around the vibrant fabric, revealing your puffy clit.

He catches your keen gaze, eyes following down to your eager pout and back to your cunt, skimming your mound with his digits. Struggling to form a sentence, you reflexively roll your hips, internally screaming, begging for Bucky to speed up his sly gestures.

His soft chuckles fuel your neediness, but before he can get his words out, you huff, “be patient. I know, I know.” Digging your fingers into his biceps, you giggle, mirroring his smile.

Swimsuit fully pushed to the side, Bucky slides his tip between your folds, teasing your entrance. “Using my words against me,” he rebuts, moving his hands and securely gripping your waist. “You know I’m right. I always make you feel good.”

Playfully rolling your eyes, you whimper under your breath, “Bucky.”

Feeding your restless state, he slowly slips you down onto his length, stretching past your entrance.

As much pleasure as Bucky has brought you in every other position, this foreign fluffiness and a false sense of control is startling yet exciting. Bucky’s steady thrusts, combined with your frantic bounces as you rock your hips, almost instantly bring you to your climax.

“B-Buck–” you mewl, embarrassment and pleasure clouding your senses. “Please, I’m- I’m….” Squinting your eyes shut, you arch your back, tensing your muscles.

Maintaining his authoritative grasp on you, Bucky attaches the pad of his thumb to your clit, pulling a squeal from the back of your throat. “So quick,” he scoffs, breathlessly moaning himself. “Look at me, bunny.”

You collapse onto Bucky’s chest, tired and helplessly chasing the rapid thump in your abdomen. “Feels s-so, feels so good.” Brows furrowed, you open your heavy lids, holding back your release until Bucky reassures your pleas. “Can’t hold it, can’t hold it.”

Desperately squirming on top of Bucky, you press your parted lips to his, panting into his mouth. “Go on, cum for me.”

You let go, moaning as you jolt forward, embracing Bucky’s pace, clinging to his frame, letting him take complete control. “There you go—” Bucky’s words get increasingly gravelly as he feels himself climaxing.

His hot breath cascades down your neck–the heightening, deep, harsh snaps of hips let you know he is close. “B-Bucky, please. Please c-cum in me,” you breathlessly mumble.

“Fuck, bunny.”

Bucky holds you close, soothing you from the bliss. He isn’t thinking about anything else besides you in his arms. He lets you bask in the comfortable silence as the pulse between your legs ebbs away until all that is left painting your sensitive folds is his smooth seed that you begged him to fill you up with.

Keeping your clammy cheek pressed to his beating chest Bucky reaches for one of the pool towels he had brought out to clean up to the best of his abilities.

“Said we were swimming, and you wouldn’t just fuck me,” you murmur, voice still raspy as you pull yourself out of the hazy aftermath.

Bucky chuckles as he lays the towel back down. “Really are using my word’s against me today, aren’t you?”

“Uhmm,” you happily hum back at Bucky, shifting up to press your buzzing lips back onto his.

𝐉𝐎𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

I want to say thank you for all of your sweet messages on my form. They all mean a lot to me, and I wish there was a way for me to respond. I hope you guys enjoyed the fic. Sending my love.

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[marihem]

The Big Four as that one Gorillaz album cover

A WDYW fanart for the anniversary! ❤ Happy 4 years to this amazing fanfiction! ✨️ A physical book of this would be hella epic and I'd happily show it off on my bookshelf haha

What Do You Want? by @the-writing-mobster

Seriously, please check this fic out if you haven't and are looking for a giant book to lose yourself into a story for weeks

[recaltera]

i need, and i'm also begging, for some writing or scenario for Francisco that might involve him forcing eye contact, while he's fing*ring reader and praising her at the same time, please!!

fingering with fran…

pairing: fran romero x fem reader

🏷️ smut (minors dni), fingering, praising

a/n: omg i love this request sm his fingers ar eliterally perfect for this

there was just something he loved about feeling your walls contract around his fingers, how at first it would be difficult for him to introduce one of his fingers into your awaiting hole because you were so tight, after a while as he sucked on your neck and rubbed your clit in circles with his other hand you would loosen up, letting him fuck his fingers in and out of your pussy making wet sounds ring around your shared bedroom.

he watched your every move intently, studied your body, learning what pleases you and what makes you scream in pleasure, this is how you would end up every day you got home frustrated from work. he knew exactly what you wanted when you threw yourself onto him as soon as you stepped into the apartment, straddling his lap and wrapping your hands around his neck, giving him a hard passionate make out as you grind your wet core down on his cock making him groan.

fran forced you to watch him no matter how hard it was for you to keep your eyes open while his fingers were hitting that spongy spot inside of you and your clit was being messily rubbed by his other hand. “open your eyes, princess. eyes on me. i want to see your pretty face when you cum for me” because you always tend to hide your face on his neck as you reach your climax. you are not sure why tho, you weren’t ashamed or anything it was just a reaction by default and he would always let it pass.

this night was different tho, he knew you were close he could feel your walls spasm ing around his slim long fingers. grabbing your face roughly and squishing your cheeks making your lips pout. “if you close your eyes im going to stop, princess so better keep them open this time” . as soon as your orgasm hit you did everything in your hands to keep your eyes on fran, watching him watch you, he enjoyed every second of it. talking you throught it “good girl, you are doing such a good job” as he rode out your high, “you sound so pretty when you cum, angel” he would whisper in your ear as you were floating around cloud nine still in your post orgasm high.

letting him fuck you with his fingers was probably the best part of your frustrated days, sometimes you would fake it just so he could play with you, he knew when it wasn’t real tho. he still played along because he just loves feeling you around him in any possible way.

[mercurycft]

𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐒 — 𝐋𝐁

## lucy bronze x reader!

Hello everyone! I’ve been working on this idea for a little while.. its definitely not my best work but i really liked writing this! Enjoy! Love always- RG! x

part 1 of 2! read part two here 2,603 words - this part is mostly build-up!

MATURE CONTENT & LANGUAGE WARNING 18+

The final stretch of the last training session before a break was always the worst, ending with all the girls heaving and sweaty as they piled back into the team changing room. It was Friday, and plans for the evening were already being finalised by the time you entered the room and made your way to your usual spot. Tucked away into the corner, happy to sit down and take off your boots before you heard your name hollered from within the fuss of conversation.

"Oi! Y/L/N, drinks at 8. You get no input or choice..." The voice belonged to Mary and was followed by a hound of laughs from around the room. Drinks were never your go-to, much preferring a takeaway and crap tv in the comfort of your own home. The girls knew this, so instead of asking - they would tell. You knew better than to fight it, laughing with them and nodding before throwing the group a sarcastic double thumbs-up as you placed your boots into your kit bag.

"I'll be there, Pre-drinks at Tooney's I'm guessing?" That was always the plan, meet at Ella's and either walk or get an Uber to wherever the group had decided to spend the remainder of the night. Your question was met with a couple 'obviously's and 'you know it's from the girls, who had now dispersed around the room and started packing their belongings away. You were packed up first, as per usual, and were sat chatting as everyone finished changing. Once everyone had grabbed what they needed and conversations were stalling to a halt, everyone made their collective way through the hall and out towards the front of the building. You, Ella and Alessia led the way, arms linked and phones in hand, already discussing the 'dress code' for the evening.

By the time you had finally made it home, battling through the usual city traffic it was nearing 4pm and all plans for an unrushed evening of preparing were out the window - so after dumping your bag in the kitchen you headed straight for the shower.

_________

The next two hours were spent rushing around your bedroom and flat, drying and styling your hair before applying your usual 'going out' makeup. Next came the clothes and after 6 failed attempts at outfits you had created in your head and two stressed glasses of whatever wine you had in the fridge, you settled on wide-leg jeans and a strapless bodysuit paired with a pair of comfy heels which gave you an extra couple of inches. After packing the essentials into the ridiculously small-seeming bag you had chosen and grabbing a jacket, you were finally ready to head out the door.

The journey to Ella's house wasn't long, 10 minutes at most, and the weather was in your favour - the sun starting to set and a gentle chill creeping through your clothes just as you had arrived at her front door. Holding a bottle of cheap wine close to your side, you rang the bell and waited, soon to be greeted by Alessia and ushered inside - music was already blaring from the kitchen where a few of the girls loitered. Ella grabbed the bottle from your grasp, pouring you a generous glass and placing the remainder into her fridge. "You look fit, mate!" She exclaimed as she turned back to you and passed your drink.

"Oh stop it, look at you Tooney." You said, holding your hand out towards her and feigning a dramatic gasp, you both fell into a burst of soft laughter and moved to join the rest of the group. You said your hello's, exchanging genuine compliments and stationed yourself by the sink, bringing the glass to your lips as the doorbell chimed through the house.

"Fucking hell, Luce! Didn't want to leave the rest of us a chance to pull then?" Ella squealed exasperatedly, throwing her hands up in fake annoyance and stomping back into the kitchen. You straightened up at the mention of the older right-back, taking another sip of your drink as she emerged into the room and said her hello's.

By the time she made it to you, you were sure you could draw her from memory. Watching her closely as she worked her way across the room - you noticed how the white shirt she wore was clinging to her arms and chest in all the right places, tucked neatly into a pair of slack-like trousers which sat loosely around her ankles to reveal a pair of crisp airforce. Before you could react she was in front of you, pulling you in with a gentle hand on the back and a warm smile, giving you a friendly cheek-to-cheek kiss and hug then pulling away and moving back into the centre of the room and retrieving her own drink.

She looked good and she was well aware, which made it so much harder to look away. Having to try your hardest to remind yourself of where you are and who she was. Her glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, with her hair pulled back into her usual bun. You had always found her attractive - how could you not? She looked as if she had been carved by the Gods themselves, with smooth olive skin and muscles that put everyone else to shame.

You had always gotten along well, laughing and joking across the pitch during training. Sometimes meeting her eyes for a moment too long during conversations or humouring the lingering touches when you brushed past each other in social settings. Though nothing had ever come of it, that didn't mean you didn't enjoy the warmth of her hands on the small of your back or the way you seemed to fall into her eyes and stumble on your words when she would catch you off guard and today was no exception. You couldn't help but watch her as she worked the room, engaging in conversations.

When the last of the girls had arrived, the house was buzzing with the type of giddy excitement only alcohol could provide - everyone was a few drinks down now and it wasn't long before you were sat in a taxi heading into town.

_________

10pm rolled around and the drinks were flowing, empty glasses scattered across the table which a few of the girls sat around. Some were stood at the bar, ordering the next round and a few more occupied a section of the dancefloor. You, however, found yourself perched on a bar stool with a drink in hand, ear forward as Lucy told you a story about one of her former teammates. Trying your hardest to pay attention, but too focused on how close together you were.

You could feel her breath on your ear as she tried to speak over the music that rattled through the room. Her hand was placed just above your knee for leverage as she leaned over you and it was all you could think about. The smell of her perfume flooded your senses, disorientating the logical side of your brain which tried to scream through the cloud of subtle arousal that sat heavy behind your eyes. 'This is so unprofessional!' you were aware and you knew deep down this could ruin you - but the sweet smell of her skin was intoxicating.

Your train of thought was interrupted as your eyes refocused, grounding you back into the moment. Realising she now stood away from your ear, instead looking at you with raised eyebrows and a slight smirk across her lips. shit. caught red-handed. You stiffened when she leaned back towards your ear, "Am I boring you Y/L/N? Did you even hear what I said?" You hadn't. but she wasn't asking, she was taunting.

She watched you struggle for an answer, pure amusement plastered across her face. Putting you out of your misery she leant back in, this time pushing you further into your pit. Lips pressed cautiously against your lobe, "Strike one, darlin'." She muttered and you were sure you could feel her smirk against your ear before she departed entirely and you lost her in the crowd of bodies around you. strikes? what strikes? You wondered silently to yourself, bringing your drink to your lips as your eyes scanned the dark room but she was already gone.

_________

An hour later you found yourself on the dancefloor surrounded by your friends, who were all individually butchering an Amy Winehouse classic. As the song wrapped up to an end, you were pulled into a loose group hug - maybe it was the alcohol or maybe it was just the love you felt in that moment, but you couldn't explain the warmth that coursed through your veins as you looked at your people.

Before long a new song began, a low beat bounced off the walls and wrapped around the bodies on the floor. You didn't know the song but remained with the girls, swaying to the beat and laughing at some of their horrific dance moves. As the song hit the chorus you and Mary gravitated towards each other, dancing and laughing as you stood in front of her and attempted an awful twerk and grind move to the beat with her hands placed firmly on your hips. Both of you played into your roles, spilling your drinks as you did so and adding to the already sticky floor.

It wasn't unusual for the team to dance like this and it was very rarely serious when one of you was pressed back up against another, but today it felt different. One specific set of deep eyes stayed locked on your movements as Lucy watched from the opposite side of the group, tongue rolling along the inside of her teeth when you finally made eye contact from your compromising position. Through the darkness you could see her lips moving; she was talking - or at least mouthing something towards you. You couldn't connect the dots until she lifted her hand in front of her, showing you two fingers. "Two strikes."

What would happen at three? And why were you excited to find out?

_________

It was nearing 11 now and you stood at the bar, almost too close to a woman you had just met - sipping the fruity drink she had ordered you. Normally you would think twice about talking to someone at a bar, but tonight’s circumstances made it a thrilling game and you couldn’t wait to play. You knew she was watching, feeling her eyes bore into the back of your head but paying little attention while you focused on the task at hand. Lucy was standing a few feet behind you, between Ella and Leah who were trying to talk over the music. Lucy wasn’t interested though, her attention fixed on you and your new friend. Gripping her drink so tight she was sure it might shatter as she watched you lift a sly hand up and rest it on the stranger's shoulder. Lucy couldn’t pinpoint the feeling, internally confused at the sudden jealousy that burned deep in the pits of her stomach. Just as you were starting to think she had lost interest, a body was pressed to the side of you, pushing a wedge between yourself and the woman whose name you couldn’t even remember.

The game was no longer fun when Lucy ushered you around the room to say your goodbyes, excusing you both from the function. A few of the girls started to protest but she was quick to respond with “Y/N’s not feeling 100%, said I’d make sure she got home okay.” And that was enough for them. She held you close as you walked out into the street, whispering a small but steady “Third and final.” as she pulled you into a waiting taxi.

_________

The pair of you didn't even make it through the front door before she pounced, your key still in the lock when she had you pinned between her frame and the door. Her hands sat heavy on your hips, eyes locked on yours. "God, you've been drivin' me mental all night.." she groaned, scanning your features.

"Do something about it then," You pushed. This was new but unbelievably exciting, you had never seen her like this. Before you could speak again her lips were on yours. Rough and urgent, like she was scared someone would rip you right out of her grip. "Inside," You managed to mumble against her lips, unlocking the door and pulling her inside - not wasting any more time to attach your lips together again.

This time was different, a rage of hunger alight in the depths of your stomach. Your hands sat on the nape of her neck, lacing through the small amount of hair that had fallen from her bun throughout the night. Her hands couldn't settle, exploring your figure and fisting at the fabric that separated skin from skin. Somehow during this you had travelled through the hall and were now fighting through your bedroom door, shoes and jackets kicked off and discarded around the flat - highlighting your erratic path.

Once inside the safety of your bedroom, things seemed to slow. The initial hunger and speed now dimmed into lust. Yearning. She pressed rough but calculated kisses down your jaw, lingering below your ear for a moment before moving across your collarbones. The feeling made you shudder, holding her head in your hands.

She had you stripped in minutes, now pulled tightly against her in your underwear. "Jesus Christ Y/L/N are you trying to kill me here?" She murmured, thumb caressing the lace across your chest, tracing the shapes for a second before her eyes met yours. A moment passed and you were growing impatient, inhaling deeply when the pad of her thumb found your nipple through the thin fabric and circled gently. You could tell she was enjoying this, watching you shift your weight from side to side as she slowly broke you down.

"On the bed." You were quick to obey, laying down in front of her - on display. She made her way towards you, situating herself above you and lifting your legs to bend and sit beside her hips. She kissed you deeply, hands latched onto your thighs. The world seemed to melt away around you and all you could think about was the throbbing between your legs.

"Need you," You managed to croak out, hands pulling at the fabric of her trousers - desperate for some form of friction. She let out a cocky scoff from above you.

"I'm not sure you deserve it, love. Haven't been behaving, have you?" She spoke rhetorically, tutting and raising her hand to toy with your bottom lip. "And only good girls get rewarded.." She added lowly as her hand travelled down from your face, tugging at your bra and moving to take your nipple into her mouth. You let out a small moan when you felt the warmth of her mouth on you, legs constricting around her and your back arching into her touch.

You writhed beneath her as she moved between left and right, her hand now finding its way to your underwear. She had two fingers pressed against your clit through the fabric, letting out a soft hum against you when she felt your arousal through the barrier. "Got you all wet for me, hm?"

"Please," You whimpered, lifting your hips up towards her hand. Desperate for some relief for the ache, eyes glassed over with desire.

"Begging for it already and I'm only just getting started. What a shame.."

[divinenanny]

Feedback Fest 2024: The Nanny recs!

It's International Fanworks Day today, and @transformativeworks is asking for fic recs! (for more information check out their post!)

The Nanny is a very small fandom, I have 1872 fics (from all sites, including RUNHP via the Internet Archive) in total, and just 407 of those are on AO3 (including crossovers in which The Nanny is not the main fandom).

But despite being a small fandom we are and have been blessed with amazing writers. I have had trouble limiting my recs to just 10. My recs cover both CC/Niles and CC/Fran as ships, most are rated E/M so check the rating if you care about those things. In no particular order:

what would you do (if they never found us out) (affectionately known as wwyd) by @groovebunker - CC/Fran - In Progress - CC and Fran cannot keep their hands off each other, starting with being locked in the wine cellar. They're together and figuring this relationship out. The writing is amazing, the characterization spot on and @groovebunker introduced and convinced me of CC/Fran as a valid ship and I am forever grateful to them.

i like you (a latke) also by @groovebunker (I recommend everything by them but want to highlight these two) - CC/Fran - Fake dating and a hanukah party at Sylvia's. So sweet. So comforting. So lovely.

Christmas Special by @7billionneedles - CC/Niles - An amazing advent project, publishing a chapter a day in December 2023. They are at least 60% responsible for getting me through that month. Also fake dating, a little mystery, a little adventure and so much fluffy loveliness. And long, I love long. It was great reading this a chapter a day, and rereading it was even better.

The Hell Of It by @7billionneedles - CC/Niles (ish) - Major Character Death - MCD is not my jam. But this one. This one. It is so beautifully heartbreaking. Making me cry ugly tears in just 1259 words. If you can handle MCD, read this one. Now.

With Luck Like That by @tayryn/Tayryns_tower (restricted) - CC/Niles - Niles accompanies CC to a weekend away to woo some backers, and instead they woo each other. All kinds of shenanigans, lots of spice, but also romance and fluff. A great comfort read.

In Vino Veritas by @seariderfalcon - CC/Niles - The summary covers it: Blame it on the alcohol. Six times Niles and C.C. let liquor loosen their inhibitions and one time they didn't need it. Many lovely kisses, eventually matching up with canon (yay, Dummy Twins).

How Will I know (If She Really Loves Me)? by @enchantedslothh - CC/Fran - In Progress - CC meets Fran in Flushing the day Fran is fired from the bridal shop. Fran goes to work for the Sheffields, and the story pretty much follows canon, but it is CC and Fran starting a relationship (and CC is a lot quicker than Maxwell). It is lovely to see canon through this lens.

vignettes from the kitchen (and the couch) by @itsfantasticallyhomoerotic/iffoundreturntomissbabcock - CC/Fran - CC and Fran decide to fake date to make Maxwell jealous. Well, that never back-fired in the history of (fan-) fiction ever :D

Life As We Knew It by Aninsomniac1999 - CC/Niles - Lots angst, dating other people, not admitting that they belong together.

normal days on upper east side by uppereastsidegirl - CC/Niles - In Progress - Lots of scenes between CC and Niles, during canon. Great to see them in the spotlight. This fic is translated, so does have some grammar/spelling issues, but it is worth it.

Special mentions I couldn't fit in anymore: it's all there in black and white by @groovebunker (CC/Fran journalist AU, in progress), Enemies With Privileges by @7billionneedles (CC/Niles, during canon)

Also, if you want, you can check out my own fics on AO3 (all CC/Niles).