#thoughts questions comments concerns | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

spider-stark · 4 months ago

Text

SAME SIN

pairing | frank castle x reader

summary | in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings | blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count | 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens.

Sickness hit in a crushing wave.

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip.

Then there was stillness.

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—]

{—You or them?}

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet.

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none.

No pulse. No absolution.

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain.

It was raining.

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands.

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call.

Calls.

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense.

Seven times you called the Devil.

Seven times he didn’t answer.

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence.

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done.

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered.

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again.

{In case you ever need it—}

[—I don’t trust him.]

What is trust?

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold.

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?”

You almost laughed.

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate?

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant.

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered.

Unless…

[Elektra’s just a friend—]

{—That what we are?}

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?”

“An alley.”

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.”

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought.

“Off West 51st,” you said.

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.”

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next.

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin.

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him.

Only that you had.

{You call, I come—}

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.]

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands.

So am I, you thought. So am I.

Frank said your name. Once, twice.

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?”

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw.

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante.

It was a soldier.

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.”

Time dragged.

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall.

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp.

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights.

What if someone noticed?

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night.

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin…

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable.

[To a judge? Or to God?—]

God doesn’t matter.

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?]

Why didn’t you answer?

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?”

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.”

You did.

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse.

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.”

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest.

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior.

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?”

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob.

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.”

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction.

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Another weak laugh faded into quiet.

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them.

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—]

Even secret sins are exposed in His light.

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?}

By believing in it.

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists.

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?”

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out.

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired.

Existence had become an arduous task.

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?”

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s.

You didn’t want to feel alone.

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?”

The world was ending.

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things.

[What do you see in him?—]

{—Let me take care of all this.}

You nodded.

Frank’s apartment was bleak.

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom.

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay.

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t.

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe.

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank?

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar.

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.”

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?”

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts.

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird.

He’d need a flock.

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle.

Still, the warmth lingered.

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.”

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at.

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer.

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl.

You pretended not to hear him anyway.

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began.

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend.

You knew better now.

You should’ve picked the dog.

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.”

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended.

“So you gotta make it worse?”

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is.

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?”

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.”

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair.

Frank deserved better than that.

[Have you forgotten?—]

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder]

[—Why are you so attached to this case?]

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.”

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

“Guess so.”

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his.

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions.

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined.

Not that you ever had imagined it.

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails.

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other.

Only then did you confess.

“He had a knife.”

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening.

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.”

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger.

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–”

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you.

But that had been a stupid, childish thought.

“I figured I could lose him,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–”

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe.

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–”

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?”

Your brows furrowed in answer.

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.”

“I don’t, but–”

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?”

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!”

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.]

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued.

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.”

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter.

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further.

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot.

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.”

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched.

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact.

“I did–”

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a Marine.

“No. I did.”

You blinked at him.

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.”

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.”

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?]

Do you care about her?

[Elektra’s just a friend—]

…

[—Can you say the same about Frank?]

You studied the man before you.

Frank Castle. The Punisher.

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget.

A number not saved, but remembered.

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t.

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you.

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you.

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.”

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?”

You nodded, and he chuckled.

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.”

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text.

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK?

Your thumb hovered over the message.

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected.

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path.

You cleared Matt’s message.

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?”

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank.

You shook your head. “Is it good?”

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.”

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.”

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

4K notes · View notes

navybrat817 · 2 months ago

Text

Hit to the Head

Pairing: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x Nurse!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn't think he needs medical attention after a hit to the head, but he's glad he met you.

Word Count: Over 3k

Warnings: Meet cute (of sorts?), possible concussion, mention of HYRDA, team dynamic, humor, Bucky's POV, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?) and he's smitten.

A/N: A new AU (as if I need more) inspired by this wonderful nonnie. ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @mumbles411 (and thanks for the assurance on the medical discussion), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky didn't need medical attention. That was what he told himself, and he said the same thing to the team after he took a hard hit to the head. But he made the mistake of telling Bob that he admittedly felt a little dizzy, who then told Yelena, who then demanded that he go to the hospital. Not only did she demand that he go, they all went and were currently hanging out in the lobby to make sure he was okay.

It was a sweet gesture, if not a wasted one.

He took a hit to the head. So what? He experienced much worse when it came to his head and he was a super soldier for God's sake, so he’d heal just fine. It was a bit cocky to think like that but others needed help more than he did and he wasn't in the mood for anyone to inspect him or ask questions.

At least he wasn't until he saw your face.

“Hi,” you smiled, pulling back the curtain to give him some privacy. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

He opened his mouth to say he hadn't waited long at all, but no sound came out. Thank God he wasn't hooked up to a heart monitor because it would've picked up on the accelerated rate when you smiled at him again. He almost forgot to breathe before his body reminded him that he needed oxygen. No one should look as beautiful as you in medical scrubs or under the harsh hospital lighting. He wondered if he looked okay despite the blood and dirt on his clothes.

Wait, why did it matter what he looked like? He wasn't there to flirt with or impress you. There was no reason for him to sit up straighter or flex his right arm. There sure as hell wasn't any reason to run his fingers through his hair to get the tangles out. It was a hospital visit, not a date.

You wore a name tag, but introduced yourself before taking a look at his chart. “I understand you took a pretty hard hit to the head, Mr. Barnes.”

His voice came out huskier than he anticipated when he said, “Call me Bucky.” Clearing his throat he added, “If you consider a slab of concrete to the head hard, then yeah, but at least my head didn't split open.”

He felt the need to assure you he was fine when concern crossed your beautiful features. “I’m very thankful your head didn't split open, Bucky.” He liked the way you said his name. “But a concrete slab to the head is no joke.”

“You should see the other guy,” he joked, making you giggle. Was he funny or were you only laughing for his benefit? “But seeing the other guy wouldn't matter anyway since you won't let me leave without an exam,” he guessed. Even if he didn't believe he needed one.

It wasn't just his belief that he was fine. Most didn't know it, but every now and then hospitals made him feel like he was back at HYDRA, ready to be strapped to a chair to await his next form of torture or to be experimented on. He wouldn't say he was afraid, but there was discomfort. Enough to make it feel like the walls were slowly closing in.

With a deep breath he thought instead of his wonderful treatment in Wakanda and reminded himself that he was safe, free. It helped the next breath come easier. He then looked at your face where he only saw concern and compassion. You weren't going to hurt him. You were there to help.

“Well, I wouldn't be a very good nurse if I just let you walk out, would I?” you gently smiled.

He managed a smile for you because you weren't just doing your job. You also seemed kind. “I guess not.”

He could get through a simple exam.

Bucky inhaled, detecting a hint of something sweet under the sterile surroundings as you checked his heart beat. It was so subtle that he wouldn't have been able to pick up on it if it weren't for his heightened senses. He almost leaned into you before you pulled away, and thank God for that. Would he have been able to blame it on his head if he did?

“I don't have a concussion,” he blurted out.

“Is that right?” He swore there was amusement in your tone when you shone a light in each of his eyes. “I imagine you're somewhat familiar with them in your line of work.”

“You can say that,” he said. He had his fair share of hits to the head, and helped his teammates get through injuries. “No nausea, no stiffness or imbalance.”

He didn't mention the dizziness since he didn't want to stay longer than he needed to.

“Any issues with your memory?” you asked.

He smirked a little. “That's a bit of a loaded question.”

“Can you tell me what day it is and what hospital you're at?” you asked.

He answered the questions with ease. He also spelled “world” backwards when you asked him to. “See? I’m fine,” he said.

“Your vitals are normal. Pupils reactive. But-”

“Look, I appreciate you checking me out,” he cut you off, keeping the bite out of his voice because he refused to snap at you. “But I don't want to waste your time.”

Bucky hated that he was trying to rush out when you were only trying to help, but he could hear people in the other rooms even as he tried to block it out. They were in pain, struggling. They needed you more than he did.

“And I appreciate that you're thinking of my time, but it’s my job and I wouldn't feel comfortable with you leaving without completing my exam,” you said, taking a closer look at him. It wasn't concern he saw in your eyes now, but understanding. “You're not exactly a fan of hospitals, are you?”

The question took him by surprise. How did you guess? “Not exactly,” he replied, choosing not to elaborate on that and you were thoughtful enough not to push. Just a sympathetic nod, which he appreciated. “But the work you and everyone else in the medical field does? It's incredible. Thank you.”

In his eyes, people like you were the real heroes. You didn't just face battles, you faced pandemics and life changing events. You risked your lives, saw the best and worst of people, and how many thanked you in return? And from the little time he knew you he could sense the love and dedication to your job and patients. He respected that.

“Thank you. And thank you for all that you do, too,” you said sincerely. The compliment had the corner of his lip tugging in a smile. “I know you want to get out of here, but I am here to help. If you're fine, great. If not, please, let me help you.”

He tried to look anywhere but at you. It unnerved him that you got under his skin with so few words and he wondered for a second if that hit to the head did more damage than he thought. “I feel a little dizzy, but that’s all,” he admitted, and he felt better by doing so.

You put a hand over his, little currents of electricity shooting up his arm. “Thank you for telling me,” you whispered, like it was your little secret. “Since you are feeling dizzy, I would like you to stay for observation.”

Bucky sighed. “How long do I have to stay?”

“As long as everything is stable and there are no new or worsening conditions, you’ll likely be discharged within an hour or two,” you replied. He almost argued that he healed from injuries faster thanks to the serum, but that wasn't too long. Better safe than sorry. At least it wasn't a headscan. “Would you like some water? I can get you a snack, too.”

The snack and drink were likely to make sure he could keep them down. “Sure, thanks,” he whispered.

“Sorry that you’re stuck with me checking on you for the next hour or so,” you said.

Bucky’s smile grew before he chuckled. “You won't hear me complaining,” he promised.

Hell, he'd probably fake an injury just to see you again, or at least ask for you if he ever had to come back to the hospital for any reason. He wondered if you were single. You weren't wearing a wedding band or an engagement ring. That didn't necessarily mean-

“I’m single,” you said quickly.

He glanced at you before his eyes went wide. Shit, he said some of that out loud? “Oh, well, that’s…” He wasn't sure what to say. Should he apologize? “Nice.”

He grimaced. Nice? What was wrong with him? Maybe he had a concussion after all.

You looked at him, your smile soft and easy. He either wasn't the first patient to make a fool out of himself like that or you were being nice. “I’ll be back shortly, but buzz if you need anything.”

“I will,” he said, his finger itching to push the remote the second you left him alone.

He leaned back in the bed and tried to make himself comfortable while he slowly looked around. How was it that the room seemed darker, as if you took a bit of the light and warmth with you? He shook his head slowly and carefully. It was a ridiculous thought.

“Observation for an hour or two. You okay sticking around so you can drive me back?” he messaged Yelena.

Yelena messaged back almost immediately. “Everyone is staying. Even Walker.”

He scoffed, but there was a smile behind it. “Not that you need my permission, but you can punch him if he steps out of line.” Yeah, John was still an asshole, but they did work together and he was trying. Some days.

He perked up when you came back with a cup of water and a snack. “You doing okay?” you asked.

“Since you left a minute or two ago, yeah,” he teased.

“Were you a sarcastic guy before the hit to the head, or is this a new side to you?” you teased back.

“Oh, the sass has always been there,” he said, taking a sip once you handed the drink over. “Better to be smart-ass than a dumbass, right?”

Why was he talking so much?

“So much better,” you smiled, going to the small computer to type something in. He tried not to stare as your fingers flew across the keyboard. He could always blame it on his head if you caught him. “I’ll be back in just a bit, but-”

“Buzz if I need you. I know,” he smiled.

“At least there isn't too much sass in your tone,” you joked before you left him alone once again.

If he didn't know any better he would think you were flirting with him, but you were just being a friendly nurse.

He also tried not to eavesdrop when he heard you assisting others, but your voice drew his attention and he hung on your every word. You were professional, yet personal, showing each patient expert care. You lightly scolded an older gentleman who hadn't listened to you, which brought a smile to Bucky’s face when the man apologized and didn't give you any trouble after that. It was a delicate balance to be kind and assertive and you did it well.

“You are something,” he said to himself.

For the next hour or so Bucky didn't say much when you checked on him, but you had his undivided attention, his eyes following you wherever you went. He wanted to find excuses to keep you there and possibly make small talk, but it felt wrong when there were other patients who needed your attention. He caught that sweet scent again whenever you were close to him. Alluring, captivating. He tried to figure out if it was a body wash or just you.

Something he noticed and tried not to was that your heart raced faster when you were near him. Maybe there was a slight chance that you were attracted to him? Beyond being a friendly nurse, maybe the possible attraction was why you kept smiling at him. He wanted to believe so. He wanted to feel your hand on his hand again. The brief touch had him wanting more, which was crazy.

And before Bucky knew it, it was time to leave.

“Vitals still look good. No change in symptoms,” you confirmed after he said the dizziness had subsided and he didn't feel at all nauseous after the snack. “Do you have someone to drive you home?” you asked.

“Yeah, I have some friends here,” he answered. Even if he wasn't dizzy there was no way they'd let him drive after that.

“Try to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours. If there are new symptoms or if the dizziness gets worse, you should return to the hospital,” you told him. “Other than that, I think you're good to go,” you smiled, but it didn't look as bright as before.

Were you disappointed that he had to leave? Bucky was disappointed, but what could he do? He had no excuse to stay. Ironic how he was itching to leave when he got there when he now wanted a reason to stick around.

“Thanks.” He grabbed his jacket after slowly getting to his feet, your gaze lingering on him when he slipped it on.

“Why don't I walk you back to the lobby?” you offered.

“Oh, you don't have to do that,” he said, regretting it since it sounded like a brush off and that wasn't his intention. “But if you wouldn't mind?”

Your face lit up, at least he thought it did. “I don't mind at all.”

Keeping a respectful distance, but not too much of a gap as you walked together, he stole a couple of glances at you. The quiet confidence in which you carried yourself was beautiful and you turned a few heads from nearby patients. He wondered if you noticed.

He smiled to himself when he spotted his teammates sitting in the waiting area. None of them looked particularly comfortable, but they stuck it out for him. It meant a lot.

“That group right there is my ride,” he said, not wanting you to go any closer. If they got the slightest hint that he enjoyed your company for a short time, they’d pounce. “Thanks again.”

“I’m glad I could help," you said, gazing at him. “Havd a good night. And don't forget to take it easy for the next 24-48 hours, hero.”

Hero. The nickname almost made him smile. “You have a good night, too.”

You lingered for just a moment, almost as if you expected him to say something else. When he didn't, you offered him one last smile and scanned your card to get back through the double doors. His shoulders dropped once you were out of sight. He should've said something.

“Hello?” Yelena asked, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “What are you staring at?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Oh, I think he was staring at that pretty nurse,” Ava answered.

Bucky shot the entire group a glare, his cheeks hot. “No, I wasn't,” he grumbled. Except he was. He stared at you. And by the amused looks on their faces, they all saw it.

Yelena exchanged a look with Ava before they both smirked. “Yes, you were. Do you like the nurse?”

Bucky’s fists curled. He was not having this conversation after a hit to the head. “Can we leave?”

“It’s okay to stare or have a crush. She’s a beautiful woman.” Alexei clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She would be lucky to date the Winter Soldier.”

A growl escaped before Bucky could stop it. Yes, you were beautiful. Did he need Alexei to point that out? And he didn't have a crush. How could he?

“When was the last time you went on a date?” Ava asked.

Bucky took a deep breath. He really didn't want to talk about this. “Does it matter?” he asked.

“Ask her out! I drive you for your date!” Alexei offered, rubbing his hands together. “I’ll set the mood. You see.”

Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered, “Dad, stop.”

Bucky shook his head and shut his eyes, wishing he could teleport himself out of there. “Yes, please, stop.”

“Is your head okay?” Bob asked, making him open his eyes. Of course he was concerned with his pain, and Bucky was glad for the change of topic.

“I’m fine,” Bucky assured him. There was nothing for him to worry about. “I just need to take it easy for the next day or so.”

John stretched his back once he stood up. “If you really want to see that nurse again I can make sure you get another hit to the head.”

Bucky’s eyes turned cold. “I’m not a killer anymore, but I may make an exception if you try anything.”

John held his hands up, but still had a smirk on his face before Yelena shot him a look. “A small injury could bring you back here.”

“No one is injuring me to bring me back here,” he announced. Everyone looked disappointed except for Bob. “What, you all want me to get hurt?”

Why did he decide to join this team again?

“No, we just want you to see the nurse again,” Ava said.

“Let’s go,” he ordered.

As the group left, Bucky snuck one last look over his shoulder. You were a good nurse, and you made his night better. A small part of him hoped he made your night a little better, too. And while he certainly didn't want more injuries, a part of him did if only to bring him back to you.

So, what injury is Bucky getting so he can see you again? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

2K notes · View notes

witchywithwhiskey · 21 days ago

Text

kiss me softly

pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you're distracted during movie night with your best friend, and when he convinces you to tell him what's on your mind, it leads to so much more...

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, pwp, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, cockwarming, tit play/nipple sucking, dry humping, dirty talk, some degradation, some objectification, referenced dumbification, vaguely referenced free use, praise kink, begging, teasing, kissing (so much kissing), Bucky's a lil possessive, pet names (doll, pet, baby), aftercare, friends to lovers

word count: 4.7k

a/n: how many times have i written a bucky barnes friends to lovers fic on a couch? SO many times! and will i write it again? probably!!! anyway, here's my contribution for week 2 of @buckybarnesevents's Hot Bucky Summer! i didn't use allllll the prompts but i still had a lot of fun writing this one, so i hope y'all enjoy it ♡

prompt: “Did I give you permission?” | [Cock Cage | Orgasm Delay/Denial | Master/Pet Roleplay]

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

“That’s a mean frown ya got over there, doll.”

Bucky Barnes’ comment broke you from your thoughts, and you blinked, realizing you’d been staring unseeingly at the TV in your living room. Shaking yourself lightly, you glanced over to the other side of the couch, where your best friend was lounging comfortably for your movie night.

Even with the vaguely concerned expression on his face, Bucky looked far too good in a plain black t-shirt and a simple pair of gray sweatpants. You’d always known your best friend was handsome, but there was something about seeing him sprawled out on your couch, taking up so much space in your home, it had you feeling a certain type of way…

“Do you not like the movie I chose?”

You startled slightly at Bucky’s question, and abandoned the trail your thoughts had been wandering down. They wouldn’t lead anywhere good. Bucky was your best friend, not some guy to scratch an itch that you could probably just ignore.

“No, no,” you assured him, looking back at the TV. He’d put on some 90s action movie that you normally would’ve enjoyed, but you’d seen it so many times, you hadn’t been able to stop yourself from getting distracted. “I’m just thinking,” you said on an exhale, rearranging yourself on the couch so your legs were tucked underneath you.

“Must be serious to have you frowning like that,” Bucky teased, shifting his body so he was facing you, ignoring the movie as it played on, even though it was one of his favorites. “C’mon, doll, tell your best friend what’s troubling you—it’s what I’m here for.”

Bucky flashed a charming grin your way, and you couldn’t help but melt a little. Your best friend always had that effect on you. He could convince you to do anything he wanted with just some sweet words and that dazzling smile.

Thankfully, Bucky didn’t use his superpowers for evil—just for a little bit of trouble. Like that time he’d talked you into getting some finance guy at a bar in Tribeca to buy you extra drinks so Bucky could drink for free too.

The guy hadn’t been very happy when he learned he’d been bankrolling you and your best friend for the night, but you’d ditched him and the bar before a fight could break out. You and Bucky had collapsed against each other on the subway ride home to Brooklyn, laughing together, your breaths mingling until you didn’t know where yours ended and your best friend’s began…

Wrenching yourself out of that memory, you forced yourself to focus on Bucky.

“I just…” you began and trailed off, suddenly realizing how pathetic you were going to sound when you gave voice to what you’d been thinking about. Chewing on your lip, you wondered if there was a way to phrase it so you didn’t sound quite so pitiful.

When inspiration failed to strike, your helpless gaze met Bucky’s eyes across the couch. He ducked his head and looked at you from under his lashes, giving you an encouraging nod.

“I won’t judge you, doll, you know that,” he said, his voice low and rumbly in a way that made your stomach flip and a little tingle to flutter between your thighs. His expression was so open and sincere, you squirmed, ignoring your body’s reaction.

“I know,” you said, nodding, and letting your gaze drop to your fingers in your lap. “It’s just a little silly.” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained. Your fingers picked at your nails—a nervous habit your best friend had pointed out to you years ago.

Bucky scooted across the couch, until he was close enough to place one of his warm hands over yours, stopping your nervous fidgeting.

You knew you were being ridiculous. You knew Bucky wouldn’t judge you, you didn’t know why you were so nervous about talking to him. So you told yourself to be brave. You took a deep breath and looked at your best friend, meeting his bright blue eyes.

“I was thinking about…kissing.”

Your words hung in the air for a moment, then two. Then Bucky cocked his head to the side and a little line formed between his brows, his expressions morphing into confusion. Before he could ask his question, though, you rushed on, suddenly eager to get it all out once you’d started.

“It’s been so long since I’ve been kissed,” you explained, your voice breathless from the flood of words spilling from your mouth. “And I was thinking about how nice it would be for someone to take my face in their hands and just…kiss me softly—kiss me like they mean it.”

The whisper of your words trailed off, leaving the muted sounds of the movie and the city beyond your living room to press down on your shoulders. At some point, you’d dropped your gaze again to your lap, where your hands had turned over, fingers slotting between Bucky’s. As you watched, his hand gave yours a little squeeze.

You didn’t see Bucky move, but you heard him. You heard the couch creak and the rustle of fabric as he slid across the cushions until his gray cotton-clad thigh was pressed against your bare knees.

Just like Bucky, you’d dressed comfortably for movie night, wearing a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized t-shirt that might’ve belonged to him once. But you’d commandeered it so long ago, you thought of it as yours.

“Is that what you want?” Bucky asked, his voice even lower and rumblier, sending the butterflies in your stomach spiraling.

The fingers of his other hand were gentle when they slid against your jaw, tipping your face toward him. Your best friend’s blue eyes looked practically electric in the dim light of the room, and there was something, something like hunger, wading deep in their depths. The emotion called to something deep inside you.

“Do you want me to kiss you, pet?”

That nickname—the one Bucky only used when you were half asleep, snuggled up close, your heads huddled together, your limbs entwined while you lay in bed or on the couch after a long night of watching movies or drinking at the bar—sent a warm flush through your body.

You hadn’t been thinking about Bucky when you’d been thinking about someone kissing you, but in a matter of moments, it had become all you could think about. Suddenly, you were all too aware of your best friend.

His breaths were coming a little faster, and his blue eyes had darkened, his pupils blowing wide as his gaze searched your face. You could smell the faint hint of salt and butter on his lips from the popcorn you’d eaten earlier, and you could see every grain of the dark stubble shifting on his clenching jaw.

There was a hesitance, a nervousness, you rarely, if ever, saw in your best friend, and it made your breath hitch in your throat. He wanted this. He wanted it as badly as you did, and knowing that made you brave.

“Please, Bucky,” you begged on a whisper, meeting his gaze with your own, your eyes wide and pleading. You leaned into his touch, his thumb stroking your cheek rhythmically.

For a moment that seemed to last forever, Bucky stared into your eyes, as if searching your soul for any reason to pause. When he found none, the edge of his mouth curled in a smile.

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” he rumbled in a teasing tone that had your heart fluttering in your chest.

Then Bucky leaned forward, and you did the same, until your breaths mingled and you could feel the warmth of him on your lips.

Your mouths met in a tentative brush, so soft you would’ve thought you imagined it if it wasn’t for the shock of electricity that zipped down your spine. You tilted your face, searching for more, and Bucky’s lips met yours again in another cautious kiss.

Heat bloomed in your body, unfurling in your chest and taking root low in your belly, your racing pulse thrumming between your thighs. It was a slow-building pleasure, but then, all of a sudden, you were ravenous for more. You pressed closer, fingers curling around Bucky’s shoulders, tongue flicking experimentally against his upper lip.

He groaned like he was in the greatest pain, but then his hands were wrapping around your waist, spanning your ribcage, and he was hauling you closer. His mouth covered yours and he deepened the kiss, giving you exactly what you needed without you having to ask.

Bucky devoured you, his lips moving against yours in a greedy push and pull that had you moaning wantonly into his mouth. When your lips parted, his tongue plunged inside, taking control of the kiss while his fingers tightened on your body.

Your best friend held you like you were priceless, and kissed you like you were inescapable. Bucky kissed you like he’d been waiting years—decades—to get his mouth on you, and you’d only needed to ask.

It was dizzying, overwhelming and wonderful in the best way. You kissed him back with all the pent up yearning that had been locked away in your heart, consuming him just as much as he was you.

Only when your lungs were burning for air did you wrench your lips from Bucky’s with a gasp. Over your desperate, panting breaths, you heard him growl, his hands cupping your face as he kissed the corner of your mouth.

“Did I give you permission to pull away, pet?”

The possessiveness in Bucky’s tone made you melt, and a whimper of desire slipped from your lips. You’d never seen this side of your best friend, but it made you nearly feral for more.

“Bucky,” you whined his name pitifully. Your fingers were clinging to his t-shirt and trying to tug him closer on the couch, but you were already as close as you could possibly be while you sat next to each other.

At your desperate whimpering, Bucky softened, a smile flirting around the edges of his mouth. “C’mere, pet,” he purred, his lips brushing against yours as he spoke.

Then your best friend was manhandling you into his lap, arranging you so your legs straddled his thighs. Your ass was perched over his groin, where you could feel a thick bulge pressing into the center of your body, making heat cascade down your spine as wetness dripped from your slit.

“Oh god, Bucky,” you mewled, rolling your hips instinctively and grinding against his cock through your clothes. “Did you—did you get this hard from kissing me?” you whispered, stumbling over your words but forcing them out because you needed to know the answer.

“Yeah, baby,” Bucky rumbled, affection in his tone as his hands dove beneath your oversized t-shirt to skate up and down your spine. You felt electric heat burst everywhere he touched. “My best friend’s sweet kisses made me this hard.”

He lifted his hips, digging his bulge into your soft mound, dragging a helpless moan from your lips. He pressed his grin into the underside of your jaw.

“You feel so good, pet,” he murmured into your skin, like he was confessing a secret. “Your mouth is a dream that’s haunted me for years, and now that I’ve had a taste, there’s no going back for me. You’ve wrecked me, baby, and I need so much more of you.”

With one hand cupping your jaw, Bucky dragged your mouth back to his and he kissed you like a starving man—like he’d been lost in a desert for days and you were his first sip of water.

You kissed him just as greedily, launching yourself off the ledge the two of you had been dangling from for years, neither one wanting to be the first one to jump. But now he had, and you were happy to follow him in his freefall, knowing he’d catch you and hold you safely in his arms.

When you needed air, Bucky’s mouth trailed down your jaw to your neck, his lips finding your thumping pulse and sucking on your skin until you were whining. While you gasped for breath, he found every spot on your neck that made you hotter and needier, until you were squirming your hips impatiently on his lap.

“I need more, too, Bucky,” you huffed, spreading your legs wider over his thighs so that you could press down more firmly on your best friend’s cock. You fingers sank into his soft brown hair, holding his face to your neck while you rolled your hips in a dizzying frenzy. “Are you gonna do anything about it?”

Bucky stilled beneath you, and it was only then that you realized what you’d said. You sucked in a surprised breath, not sure where that boldness had come from—though you suspected it had something to do with the fact that you felt safe and comfortable enough with your best friend to freely speak your frustrated mind.

Leaning back, you caught sight of Bucky’s face, his eyes meeting yours as humor and lust roiled in their blue depths, like he was eager to meet your challenge. He wore a dark and hungry smirk, and his hands tightened where they held you, pulling you close until your chest was pressed tight to his.

“Does my pretty little pet need my cock?” Bucky asked, his tone agonizingly condescending, and making you drip so much you began to worry you’d leave a wet spot on his gray sweatpants. But then he distracted you with more filthy words. “D’you need your best friend to fuck that achy, greedy pussy between your soft thighs, huh?”

“Jesus, Buck,” you gasped, a little surprised to find out your best friend had such a filthy mouth.

But you didn’t hate it—far from it. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you and talk you through it, so you went on, hoping that if you were vocal, he’d keep talking dirty to you.

“Y-yes, I need you, need you to fuck me, Bucky, please!”

Not needing to be asked twice, Bucky flipped you down onto your back on the couch, taking care to make sure you didn’t knock your head against anything but the pillows. Then his hands were manhandling your legs together, dragging your sleep shorts and panties over your hips and off in one swift movement.

While he reached behind his back and yanked his t-shirt off, you pulled yours over your head, discarding it and your bra as quickly as you could manage. Once free, your hands immediately went to your tits, groping your soft flesh and rolling your nipples between your fingers as you stared up at the muscular chest of your best friend.

Bucky’s big body pushed between your thighs, which you spread eagerly for him, your knees hugging his ribs while he shoved his sweatpants down. When his cock bounced free, you gasped softly at the sight of him—so thick and hard and perfect.

For a moment, the two of you paused, like you’d both just realized you were naked in front of each other for the first time. Your gaze roamed hungrily over Bucky’s body, appreciating the breadth of his shoulders, the slight taper of his waist, the soft trail of hair leading down to his hard cock.

The moment dragged on for so long, you managed to tear your eyes away from your best friend’s cock to look at his face. Bucky’s handsome face was slack with desire, his darkened blue eyes roving over your body with the same kind of awe you’d felt when looking at him.

His gaze lingered on your chest, watching your fingers idly play with your nipples. You squeezed your tits harder, making yourself gasp and arch up off the couch. Bucky’s cock gave an answering twitch and he grabbed it in one fist, pumping himself slowly while he marveled at you.

It felt good to be the object of your best friend’s lust, but you could feel your pussy leaking and pulsing, begging to be filled. You decided Bucky could watch you all he wanted—but later, after he’d fucked you.

“Buck, please, I need your cock,” you whined, your hands leaving your body to reach for him. Your fingers curled around his shoulders and you dragged him down on top of you, his knuckles brushing against your soft mound and making you moan.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, before capturing your lips in a kiss.

His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss slow and drugging, stealing your breath until your head was spinning. When he pulled away, it was only to speak more filth against your lips.

“Your tits are so pretty, pet,” he murmured, using his thumb to press his cock between your soaked folds, dragging his shaft through your lower lips to make himself slick with your juices. “Can’t wait to suck on ‘em while my dick’s buried in your cunt. Wanna hear your pretty whines while I suck your tits and you clench around my fat cock.”

“Fuck, Bucky,” you huffed, fingers carding through his hair and dragging him to your mouth for a messy kiss.

“What, ya like it when I talk dirty, baby?” Bucky asked teasingly when he pulled away. There was a ridiculously charming grin on his face, like he already knew the answer to his question. Which, of course, he did.

You couldn’t help but shake your head in amusement, your lips curving in a smile. “I love it,” you mumbled, pulling him in for another deep kiss before finishing your thought. “Love hearing all the filthy things you wanna do to your best friend.”

Bucky groaned, his cock throbbing against your pussy, and then he was pulling his hips back until the tip was notched at your hole. He paused, lifting up enough for his eyes to search yours.

In that moment, neither of you needed words. The hunger and desire and need swirling through your body was reflected in Bucky’s dark blue gaze, and though your lips parted to beg him to finally slide inside, all you had to do was nod.

Bucky thrust forward slowly, carefully, and yet you still gasped when the head of his cock pushed inside your tight hole. It had been a while since you’d had anyone or anything inside you, and even though Bucky wasn’t intimidatingly big, you still felt the stretch of your body accommodating him.

“Y’alright, pet?” he murmured against your cheek, his scruff tickling your skin, his mouth never straying far from yours.

“Yeah, just—just go slow,” you whispered back, fingers hooked around his shoulders, nails digging into his warm muscles.

“You tell me if it hurts and I’ll stop, alright?” he rumbled in a stern voice that had the butterflies fluttering in your belly again. He pulled back enough to give you a serious look. “I want you to enjoy this.”

The corner of your mouth kicked up in a half smile and you pulled him down for yet another kiss. Even though your lips were swollen from kisses, you didn’t think you’d ever get enough from Bucky, especially the ones where you were both smiling too much to brush your lips against each other’s.

He pushed forward, using your distraction to slide a little deeper. You tensed at the stretch of feeling him fill you more, waiting for the pain—but nothing came. Bucky’s hands soothed over your bare skin, using his words to distract you again.

“I want you to want to do this again, baby, because I already know that I will—I’m gonna wanna fuck you again and again and again, until you’re nothing more than a dumb, mindless pet who’s drunk on my cock, your cunt squeezing me tight every time I make you come. Wanna drain my balls in your pretty pussy until you’re overflowing with me.”

A moan slipped from your lips at Bucky’s words, you cunt clenching tight around the tip of his cock. Instinctively, you spread your thighs wider around your best friend’s body, allowing him to sink even deeper into your cunt, until he was buried halfway to the hilt.

“I want that, Bucky,” you whispered against his scruffy cheek, fingers tangling in his hair and tugging on him until you could see his face. “I want you to fuck me dumb, make me your pretty little fuck toy—want you to fuck me whenever and wherever you want. Wanna be your perfect fuck pet.”

“Fuuuck, you’re so fucking perfect, baby,” Bucky groaned, pushing the rest of his cock into your pussy as slowly as he could bear, the self-restraint evident in every tense muscle of his body. “You’re such a perfect, pretty fuck pet—fuck, you feel good.”

The words were stolen straight from your lips, because it was Bucky who felt good. It was Bucky who felt so hot and hard and perfect inside you, filling you up enough to feel the stretch without hurting you.

Unable to stop yourself, you wrapped your legs around his waist, holding him tight inside you while you buried your face in his neck and moaned. He grunted, feeling your pussy gripping and squeezing and sucking on his cock. Every slight movement sent pulses of pleasure through your body.

“You feel so good inside me, Buck,” you murmured, tilting your face until it was pressed into his scruffy jaw. “God, your cock is just—so good.”

At your words, you could feel the slight tremors wracking Bucky’s body as he held himself still, fighting against his instincts to give you the chance to adjust to the feeling of him filling you up. But that’s not what you wanted. You wanted more, you wanted him to fuck you.

“Need more now,” you whimpered, rocking your hips and urging him to move, but he remained still above you.

“Gimme a minute,” he huffed, kissing you to distract you.

Despite his best efforts, your hips kept rolling lazily beneath his heavy body, so he lowered his weight until you were pinned beneath him and all you could do was whine into his mouth. He huffed a self-deprecating laugh.

“If ya keep doing that, ‘m gonna empty my balls in your cunt sooner than I planned, pet,” he warned, though there was an edge of a smile in his warm, teasing tone.

A giggle erupted from your lips even as your inner walls clenched tight around Bucky’s cock, your body liking his words more than you probably should’ve. But seeing Bucky struggle to keep his composure while he was buried inside you made you want to be a menace to your best friend.

“You gonna turn me into your cumdump, Buck?” you teased, dragging the blunt edges of your teeth down his neck, feeling his cock twitch inside your tight channel. “You gonna fill me up until I’m leaking your come all down my thighs—you gonna fuck it back into me, huh?”

Bucky’s head dropped to your shoulder with a pained groan and he pulled his hips back, pushing against the tight hold your legs had on him before snapping forward. He started fucking you in short, punishing thrusts that had you moaning mindlessly as his cock pounded into you.

“Christ, your dirty mouth is even worse than mine, pet,” he growled, but there was an edge of exhilarated laughter in his tone that made it clear he wasn’t mad about it. Instead, he lifted his head and flashed you an impish grin, before ducking down to your chest.

When Bucky’s lips wrapped around your nipple and he sucked hard on your tightened peak, you cried out. Your back bowed off the couch, shoving your tits into your best friend’s face while your fingers clutched his head to your chest.

“Oh my god, Bucky!” you gasped, the words devolving into an obscene moan. You squirmed beneath his bigger body while he chuckled at the helpless sounds you made.

Bucky was everywhere, his mouth sucking greedily on your tits, hands groping the soft curves of your hips, his cock spearing into your cunt over and over again in hard, brutal thrusts. It was too much, and yet not enough.

Your legs tightened around Bucky, ankles hooking around the backs of his thighs to try to hold him inside you as you met his every thrust. Pleasure was winding tighter in your lower belly, and you were desperately chasing your release, your fingers tugging uselessly on your best friend’s hair as you whined.

“Please, Bucky, please, please, please,” you chanted, until he finally rose up and met your lips in a furious kiss. “I need more, I need—” Your words cut off on a gasp when Bucky drove his cock into you so hard and so deep, you felt the tip brush against the very end of you.

“I know exactly what you need, pet,” he growled, that possessiveness back in his tone that sent your heart careening in your chest. “You just be a good little slut and take your boyfriend’s cock like a perfect fuck pet.”

He picked up his pace, fucking you into the soft cushions of the couch like a man possessed. His hard body loomed over you, his muscles shifting gloriously beneath his skin everywhere you touched, and even as his chest heaved, he kissed you. His mouth devoured yours, greedily drinking down every sound of your pleasure.

It wasn’t long before you were on the edge of your release, your cries growing higher pitched and more desperate as your body fluttered around his pounding cock. Bucky murmured encouragement into your lips, his hips grinding against your soft cunt, the base of his cock rubbing your clit until you were lost to the pleasure.

You came with a shrill scream, every muscle in your body clenching so tight that you dragged Bucky over the edge right after you. Your best friend buried his face in your chest, sucking idly on your soft tits and grunting his pleasure.

His hips kept thrusting wildly, spilling rope after rope of his seed deep in your pussy as your body clenched around him. You moaned unabashedly, basking in wave after wave of pleasure as they washed over you.

For long, endless moments, your bodies writhed together, drawing out every last bit of pleasure from each other as your mouths kissed messily.

Finally, when you were both spent, Bucky collapsed on top of you, crushing you with his weight for one blissful moment before he rolled to the side. His hands were gentle on your body as he rearranged you so that one of your legs was thrown over his hip, keeping his softening cock buried in your pussy.

“Kiss me softly, baby,” Bucky murmured against your lips, echoing your earlier words with a smile curving his mouth. There was a teasing edge to his tone, but you didn’t get the sense he was making fun of you, just being playful with you the way he always was.

It made your heart clench to think that nothing truly had to change between you and Bucky even after you’d given in to the mutual desire you felt.

He was still your best friend, and now the two of you could become something more—together. You hadn’t missed the way he’d called himself your boyfriend in the heat of the moment, but that was a conversation for later.

So you huffed a little laugh at his teasing and kissed Bucky. You kissed him as softly as you could manage while you both caught your breath.

It was different, more decadent, both of you taking your time to learn the other. It was like you both knew you had plenty of time—the rest of your lives—to discover everything there was to know about each other. Everything you didn’t already know.

For the rest of your movie night, you and your best friend, Bucky Barnes, took turns kissing each other softly, and fucking each other hard. Eventually, you fell asleep together, entwined on the couch, both wearing smiles on your kiss-swollen lips.

Hot Bucky Summer 2025 masterlist

#hotbuckysummer2025 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #friends to lovers #sebastian stan #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan characters #witchywithwhiskeywork

1K notes · View notes

pleasantlycrazyworld · 1 month ago

Text

Imagine Bob not knowing you had a cat.

One morning he wakes up to a faint purring noise, he blinks the sleep out of his eyes and sees a cat sitting on his chest sleeping. "Uh--hi?" He quietly says completely confused. The cat stops their purring and meows softly back at him he watches as they stand on his chest and walk in two short circles before sitting back down and purring louder than before.

Bob decided he wouldn't move until the cat did, he thought he would be stuck there for a few minutes maybe 30 max... he was there for hours.

He didn't mind if he was being honest. The purring had a calming effect on him and the cat's fur was well taken care of with how soft it felt against his hand. He was just confused as to where the cat came from, and as you could imagine the cat wasn't answering any of his questions.

Everyone was getting concerned, no one had seen Bob all morning and it was now well past lunch when they decided to form a search party. You were concerned about Bob but also about another completely different reason. Where the hell was your cat?? When you mentioned your second, more prioritized concern John scoffed at you. "Seriously? A cat? Where the hell is Bob?? Isn't that more important?" And while yes it was important to find Bob and make sure he was okay, that cat was your stability. You needed to find the damn cat. And Bob...

Finally, after an additional hour searching Yelena realized no one had gone to Bob's bedroom to look for him. After mumbling about how she works with morons she went to his bedroom and knocked on the door using their secret code. Bob let his head perk up while keeping his body as still as possible when he heard the secret knocks. "Come in" he softly said breaking the silence he and the cat had been sitting in. When the cat gave him a slight glare he quickly apologized before smiling at Yelena when her silhouette appeared. "Hey, you need something?" He asked her, excited to help if possible.

Yelena stood in disbelief. Bob wasn't missing, neither was your damn cat. But a beautiful friendship obviously formed in the hours the team spent searching for the two. She sighed and shook her head before calling out into the hallway. "Y/N! Found your damn cat"

If you like my work please let me know! Reblogging, commenting and liking are huge and easy ways to let me know you're enjoying my work and it keeps me motivated to post way more!!! Request are open <3

1K notes · View notes

thekinslayed · 10 months ago

Text

The Way to a Man's Heart

summary | In which Aemond's new wife earns his affections through her care for his niece.

pairing | king!aemond targaryen x wife!reader

tags | fluff, KING AEMOND HEHE, slight angst, arrange marriage, allusions to trauma, aemond is the dad that stepped UP! contains some spoilers for f&b

wordcount | 3.6k

note | back with some king aemond, but something sweeter this time :) idk music terms so apologies for anything that i might get wrong!

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!

“Aren’t you hungry, Jaehaera?”

It’s become ubiquitous for Aemond to be met with silence. It was rather frowned upon to act in such a way in the face of the new king, but His Grace has found that his niece was inadvertently exempt from standard.

She had refused her meals again. Since the war’s end, Helaena’s girl had reclused into the lonely solace of her mind. It reminded him too much of his fallen sister, with their faraway gazes and cryptic whispers. Jaehaera, once bubbly and exuberant with the blissful hum of youth, grew weary, burdened by matters no young girl should ever be subject to. The shift in her behavior raised much concern from her Septa that there were no other means but to call upon her uncle in hopes of a way to get through to her. Aemond would never say it out loud, but such efforts would be futile.

Despite being the only connection left tethered by blood, the one-eyed king couldn’t be at a greater length to his niece’s reach. He used to be a prominent figure in her life, back when war hadn’t taken what they didn’t wish to give. Aemond loved being around his sister’s babes. He relished in helping them take their first steps and watch their lives take shape.

Perhaps it’s guilt that stopped him from reaching out to her. His hands were all bloodied and bruised, porcelain flesh all torn up from fighting his way to get to the throne. His ambition cost him much, and now he has seen that it cost her too. No mother to keep her close to her bosom, no father to carry her on his shoulders, no brothers to tumble around with. He had done this to her.

“Jaehaera?” he tried again.

It would take a lifetime and more to atone for how he has wronged her. He would have to weep on his knees if it meant she would grant him the undeserved forgiveness. If she ever turned her face to look at him, that is. She would stare out the window, always so deep in thought, unacknowledging of the man sat across the dinner table. Much like Helaena, in a sense.

Her plate, bountiful with colorful bites of meat and greens, grew colder with the air in the room. She hadn’t eaten in two days, the last time being only a few reluctant nibbles of cheese during her customs. It left Aemond wary with an apprehension he hadn’t so much felt even in battle. It had him frightened.

Watching his mother wither away had done something to his once stone-dry heart. They hadn’t seen eye to eye long before then, with their contest for power when Aegon lay burnt severing any warmth their bond once had. Alicent’s last years were spent in darkness, with nothing but ghosts to keep her company. The fever that took her was a mercy, Aemond would like to think. He couldn’t let the same happen to the young girl, now nine, before him. Yet, he was clueless. The king, in all his razor-sharp wit and dexterous intelligence, was at a loss. He’d never felt more helpless sitting there at the opposite end of the dinner table, separated by a distance ever-growing by the day.

Being queen was rather lonesome. You were left on your own most days, free to wander around the halls and indulge in whatever pursuit filled up time in your day. You didn’t see your husband much, and if you did it was only at court or by the occasional call of duty to his chambers. This didn’t surprise you really, it was not as if your marriage was borne out of romance after all. Rather, done so to appease the growing questions about the fragility of his position with his rise to power.

It could be worse. He could be cruel, either with his hand or his tongue, but he was none of those things. You wondered whether it was only because he hadn’t had the chance to be.

Perhaps, you could say he was kind; gracious enough to grant the wants and the needs you voiced through his staff if it meant he had one less person to worry about. The king was an enigma, a passing shadow in the halls you were only granted a glimpse of now and then.

It wasn’t for a lack of trying on your end. You had attempted in those spare moments you had with him, had dared to get through the impregnable wall of his character, all to no avail. His priorities simply lay in the crown, not in small talk and hopeful glances.

With another day left to dwell on matters out of your reach, you’d taken to establish a routine of your activities. In the mornings, an hour or two of prayer after your meals, then entertaining your ladies-in-waiting in your solar until you tire of wanting for company. The latter part of your days were spent alone, a welcome solitude after constantly being attended to. You would paint, or read, or embroider, though sitting down with your harp would be the most enjoyable of all.

You had brought your lovely carved instrument to the capital when you wed, a piece of home brought with you into a foreign court. A room at the end of the hall was bestowed upon you dedicated to your music playing, conveniently placed at the end of the hall and away from your husband’s apartments.

Your fingers never tire of strumming tune after tune. It was the greatest pleasure in your young life to be able to procure sweet melodies ever since you were a girl. Music filled you with something bright, something alive. You could close your eyes, lean on your harp and nothing else would matter. The scriptures would describe devout faith as the means to unlocking a divine state of being, an otherworldly form where one was light as air. You would argue that music served the same purpose.

It was easy to get lost in it all. The hours would effortlessly pass you by and nightfall would greet you when you floated back to the ground. You would have to be reminded of supper sometimes, or if the king required your presence in his bedchamber. However, there was less of that these days.

Thus, it came as a surprise when one day, while finishing up the tail end of the song of Alysanne, you found a pair of amethyst eyes watching you from the open door of your music room. Jaehaera stood there with a hand on the doorknob, curiosity evident in her face.

“Oh!” you exclaimed, turning to the young princess at your door with a soft smile. “Hello, princess.”

Not a word was uttered from Jaehaera’s lips, merely staring at you with those bright violet hues that shone in the late afternoon sun. You hadn’t spent much time with her, much to your regret. The king, a scholar partial to the importance of academics, had her busied with lessons from both the septa and the maester. The growing concerns about the princess’ well-being reached your ears in hushed whispers, as did the efforts of your husband to care for her fragility.

“I wasn’t too loud, was I?” you quipped lightheartedly, tilting your head in hopes of spurring a reaction from the quiet girl. Her response came in the form of a shake of the head; you figured that was a start. She seemed to be without her septa, nor her handmaiden, only the armor-clad Kingsguard standing tall behind her smaller form. Your eyes flickered to the knight, stating the princess would be under your care, and nodding to him as the door closed shut. “Come,” you beckoned.

She approached you with small, unsure steps until she stood an arm’s length away. You watched as she eyed the instrument with an inquisitive gaze, and you wondered if the Targaryens ever expressed interest in diverting affairs like music. With the look on Jaehaera’s face at the foreign object, you figured not. “Have you ever played the harp before?” you asked, earning another shake of the head, wispy silver tresses swaying with movement. “No?” She fidgeted on her feet, small hands absentmindedly playing with the gold embroidery on her skirts. Her eyes displayed the intrigue her lips would not voice, and it spurned a twinge in your chest. “Would you like to try?” you offered, which made her eyes flicker to look at you for the first.

“I do not know how,” she said unsurely, voice small and meek. You were delighted to hear her speak, ever more encouraged to become familiar with the young princess.

“Tis rather simple! Here, try this,” you suggested, tugging on one of the strings for her to follow. She approached the carved wood, pulling the thin hair with less sureness than you did. It visibly vibrated as Jaehaera let go, a low chord flittering through the room. You held onto the harp as the young princess, interest now fully piqued, tugged on another string, now a higher tone. “It sounds different, doesn’t it?”

You let her pull on the strings as she liked, merely holding the instrument steady while you watched her with a smile. You had half a mind to pull her into your lap and hold her close as if she were your own, but that would be too forward. She had gone through much, been made subject to brutalities at the hands of barbaric adults that made your heart quiver at the thought of such an innocent soul going through all of it. Though your womb remained childless, you’ve always wished for children of your own. Granted, you assumed you would not be blessed with a babe any time soon if the lessening instances you and your husband tried to procreate were anything to go by, but the maternal urges in your budding heart grew in the presence of the girl. You wished to care for her if she would let you.

“Would you like to learn how to play a song, sweetling? Your favorite one perhaps,” you suggested. Her eyes brightened at your offer, eagerly taking a place on your bench when you scooted over for her to sit. Flowers of Spring, she told you. A rather elaborate song to perform for someone having never played, though you figured you could teach her the simple way of creating the melody.

You shifted to let the harp lean between the both of you, taking the weight on your leg lest it became too heavy for her. Jaehaera looked so small beneath the large instrument, her arms not lengthy enough to reach the last few strings. You watched with vivid amusement at her instantaneous shift in focusing on following which stings you tugged on. Her silver, almost white, brows furrowed when she would make the wrong note, a huff of frustration escaping her nose.

“It’s alright, just try again,” you comforted her softly. There was no real melody yet, merely a few notes played carefully in the right order, but her dedication was quite stellar. It reminded you of yourself in your girlhood, when you would escape from your own lessons with the septa in your home just to play your harp. Suffering your father’s ire was a welcome consequence if it meant you could escape the present world for a moment.

A knock on your door interrupted your impromptu tutoring, gathering both your attention. The grand oak opened to reveal your handmaiden carrying a steaming pot of tea, followed by another young servant with a tray full of teacakes and pastries. “Your afternoon tea, my queen,” she said, greeting you with a curtsy. You caught the way Jaehaera’s bright purple hues followed the sight of fresh treats, quietly observing as the table was prepared for your enjoyment. If what you heard from the maester was anything to go by, you knew the young girl was starved.

“Shall we take a break for a moment, Jaehaera? I often find myself rather famished after a bit of playing. Don’t you feel the same?” you asked, earning another meek nod from the girl. You soon found yourselves sitting by the open balcony, preparing the young princess a plate. With every bite she took, the more she spoke. Words flowed out of her crumb-lined lips, telling of anything that came to mind— her lessons, her dragon, even the dreams she would have of her mother. It was evident how much she had longed to have a listening ear, jumping from topic to topic without finishing the last, and so, you listened.

“What do you mean no one has seen her? How could you imbeciles lose a young girl?!”

Aemond’s head was already throbbing hard enough from the tedious council meeting that took up the better part of his afternoon. What made it worse was the news that greeted him the moment he exited the small council chamber. Jaehaera was nowhere to be found, having slipped away from her afternoon customs at the library to gods know where. An instant panic settled into a chill in his spine, the memory of hearing of his sister’s peril taunting him in the back of his mind. He took slow, deep breaths, willing himself to calm.

He couldn’t think this way. He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. Aemond had promised Helaena that her girl would be protected under his care. He can’t fail her again.

Both Jaehaera’s septa and handmaiden quivered under the king’s deathly glare, heads bowed in fear of meeting his eye. “The princess was to take her lessons, Your Grace, though a matter requiring my attention with the maester had my arrival delayed, and when I arrived… s-she was not in the library.” Exasperated, Aemond pinched the bridge of his nose. The thumping in his temples only worsened at such incompetence.

“Her guard, where is he?”

The silence that greeted him made his hand itch to draw his sword to cut their heads off right then and there, but the arrival of a squire stopped him before he gave in to his violent urges. “My king,” he bowed. “The queen has offered her invitation for supper in her apartments.”

Gods, you sure had your timing. He waved his hand off in an angry dismissal, resolve now cluttered at what to do first. Your sudden invitation was rather odd. Aemond wouldn't deny he hadn’t cared for his wife much. His mother was sure to be reeling in her grave on his shameful treatment of such a refined woman, but you merely came with his duty.

However, he was still a man. The indifferent king would admit you were as comely as they came and of good upbringing. He was rather appreciative of the fact you were never too forward, only ever eager to drink up any ounce of attention he gave you. Until now, it seemed.

“The queen has expressed your presence would be greatly appreciated, my king. She hopes it would be the most pleasing for all of you to dine together for your meals.”

All?

Aemond could scarcely recall a time in the short moons you had been married when he had purposefully sought you out in your wing of the royal halls. The path to your apartments was unfamiliar, the sight that greeted him in its interior even more so. “Husband,” you greeted him from the dining table upon his entrance. Your smile welcomed him with a warmth he had refused himself to be familiar with, your eyes sparkling against the amber glow of the hearth. His apparent confusion seemed to amuse you, mirth decorating your lips as you watched him approach.

Aemond’s good eye flickered at the sight of his niece, his anxiety from her disappearance bubbling down into an aggravation that tickled his sharp tongue. “You have left the castle in shambles, Jaehaera. Escaping your lessons like that! What have I told you about wandering off unchaperoned?” he scolded, though his ire was quick to falter at the pitiful look that flashed across her cherubic face at his tone. Jaehaera dropped her eyes to her lap, fidgeting with the napkin in her hold.

A soft hold on his wrist prevented him from speaking any further, your beseeching gaze unknowingly loosening the tension he held in his shoulders as you rose from your seat. “She was with me. I dismissed her guard while she spent the afternoon with me in the music room. I thought Ser Derek could guard us just fine. I should have informed you of it, ‘tis my fault, husband,” you explained with an apologetic look on your face. Aemond could only stare as you spoke, and he thought of a time when he was able to get a look at you this close. His mind drew blank. “Come sit, let us eat,” you beckoned him. He let you guide him to his seat, right beside yours. The small, round table served to make supper a rather intimate affair.

This all felt foreign to him. A wife who poured his wine for him, a little girl to care for, and made sure was well-fed.

No book had taught him this. The one-eyed king was proficient in talks of politics, battle, and history, but not of domestic affairs. His upbringing surely wasn’t the standard to hold, he knew that much. Though it seemed you were more adept at this than he, gracefully bridging the gap around the table with a smile. “Would you like to tell your uncle what we did today, sweetling?” you asked with an urging nod.

His niece chewed on the small nibble of bread, pondering on her words. Aemond waited with bated breath to her speak. It had been far too long since he had heard her, past the small, one-worded response he would have to coax out of her, and even those were rare. “The queen showed me how to play the harp. I learned how to play some of Flowers of Spring, though it was quite hard, but I liked it,’ she said softly, punctuating her sentence with a bite of chicken. Aemond could tear up at the sound of her voice with such a simple answer. His chest started to feel lighter than it did in a long time. The smile that spread his cheeks wide couldn’t be helped, his relief palpable at the sight of her finally taking her meals.

“Wonderful, my darling. I am very pleased to hear you enjoyed yourself,” he remarked, his tone now rid of the harshness it held when he first walked into the room. His gaze met yours, already staring back at him. You shared a nod of understanding, and it was then the bridge between the king and his wife started to be crossed.

The young princess, who’d now taken her second plate of roasted potatoes, looked at his wife with an urging look. A flicker of remembrance had you turning back to him, voicing out her wishes. “Jaehaera has informed me of her wishes to learn music. She’s taken quite an interest in the harp, it seems.” Aemond turned to look at his niece’s eyes, small beads of amethyst that held glimmers of hope, and he couldn’t find it within himself to disapprove.

“Of course, we shall find you a mentor of your liking,” Aemond said, satisfied with the delighted look that overcame Jaehaera’s features. He’d scout the best tutor in all of Westeros himself it meant seeing the way her eyes lit up at his approval. It was the first time since the war that Aemond finally felt himself getting to her, a success sweeter than anything he’d felt on the battlefield.

Supper was a delight Aemond never expected to relish in as much as he did. The battle-hardened king had once resigned to the fact that he was alone in his glory, despite the many faces that swarm him daily. He was starting to realize his new life might not be as lonesome as he thought, with a niece who took his hand as they walked and a wife leading them to the room at the end of the hall. Your husband watched you with a newfound fascination as you strummed the strings on the harp, and you had never been so close to his reach. His good eye would study every furrow in your brow as you played, or the shift in your spine as you readjusted in your seat. Your eyes would close, carried away by the melodic tunes your fingers were able to create, and he thought you were utterly beautiful like this. He pondered on what other facets you had that made you whole, and how he could explore them. Perhaps he had been a fool; blind to what was before him. His lifelong strive for greatness had him believing he was cursed, destined to be struck down at his time of judgment. It was by some miracle that the gods deemed it fit to grant him a chance of a life of warmth and affection, a prize even more valuable than gold. “I must thank you, wife,” he said to you at the end of the night, bestowing a kiss on your knuckles that left you blushing.

You broke your fast together come morning. Afterwards, he found his way into the gardens to join you for tea. The first of many.

He would become acquainted with the path to your apartments for supper every night after that, as well as the sight of his niece and his wife awaiting him at the dinner table. The evenings would always be capped with an hour or two of you playing, and eventually, Jaehaera had mastered a few songs to play for you as you both looked on proudly.

It would come as no surprise when he began to seek you out, a natural urge to get closer that had him yearning for his presence despite the call of his duties. His fondness only grew with the care you had shown his niece, an instinct that left him thinking how great you would be with a babe of your own. The gods would bless you when the time was right but until then, Aemond was pleased with the little family he had, with his niece and his lovely wife.

#bella writes ✍️#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen smut #aemond fanfiction #aemond one eye #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader

6K notes · View notes

imaginedisish · 10 months ago

Text

Dare (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Hey guys. Just wanted to say thank you for all the support I got this morning. All of your comments really warmed my heart. Thank you so, so, so much. I ended up getting this done pretty fast. Went with "Dare" by Gorillaz for the title. Made me feel better to write. I like this one. Hope you do, too. Enjoy!

Summary: Logan finds out you've never been eaten out while playing a game of "Truth or Dare," and he's more than willing to change that.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI!!! SMUT!!! Oral (f!receiving), Fingering, softdom!Logan, pussydrunk!Logan (he does not let up, he is starving for you), older!Logan, implied aged gap (reader is in her 20s/old enough to teach at the institute), cocky!Logan, he is an absolute service dom in this, friends to lovers, mentions of mental health/self worth, fluff, some hurt to comfort, some angst, afab/fem!reader, cursing, def some grammatical errors, I think that's it.

Word Count: 4,235 wowza didn't expect that and oh my god this gif

You’re lying on your floor—the door to your room wide open. Everyone is out anyway. It’s Friday night at the mansion—no one will see you like this. Students’ papers are scattered around you. You stare up at the ceiling, feeling choked up. It had been a bad day—a bad week. Maybe even a bad year. You feel like you’re slipping, losing yourself.

Teaching the older students had become beyond challenging—possibly because you aren’t much older than them in the first place. Most days, it felt like everyone expected greatness from you, given the strength of your powers, which naturally comes with responsibility, and that can be incredibly overwhelming. It had all been—if you were being brutally honest—an absolutely terrible time.

So, you’re lying on your floor, feeling numb. You stopped grading papers at least an hour ago, and simply decided to stare at the ceiling, your head spinning. You wanted to calm the noise, to take a breather. Luckily, you’re alone—everyone is on a mission or out given that it’s Friday night.

Or so you thought.

“What on Earth are you doing?” A familiar voice cuts through the silence like a knife, jarring you, and forcing you to look up. And there he is, in a white t-shirt and denim jeans, arms crossed tightly against his chest, leaning in the doorway. Logan. You want to roll your eyes at how good he looks. You want to slap yourself for thinking it in the first place.

He smirks at you, his brows furrowed playfully. You let your head fall back to the floor. “Grading papers,” you mutter. You can hear his footsteps as he walks into the room, drawing closer to you.

“Doesn’t look like you’re grading papers to me,” he teases. You can hear the smile in his voice. “Why aren’t you out with Jean or Rogue?”

He stands next to you, and you look up at him. “Didn’t feel like it,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit up. You draw your knees into your chest. You decide to turn the question around on him. “Why aren’t you out?”

He sits down next to you, stretching his long legs in front of him, his shoulder bumping against yours as he settles in. He shrugs. “Somebody’s gotta keep an eye on you, right?” He jokes, nudging his elbow into your arm. You can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. It’s impossible to fight it when he’s next to you. Your eyes meet his, and his smile quickly turns into something else—concern. “You’ve been off lately.”

You swallow harshly. “Did Jean or Rogue say something?” You ask. They’d notice, maybe they told Logan. “Did they ask you to stay with me or something?”

But Logan shakes his head. “No. I could just tell,” he says, worry clear in his voice. “Thought I’d hang back with you. All my idea.” He tilts his head, his jaw working, his brows furrowing again. “Is something going on?”

You take a deep breath, turning away from him. You’re suddenly overwhelmed by his presence, by his kindness and his care. He stayed home for you. “I’m okay,” you mutter, avoiding the truth.

“Hey,” Logan whispers, tentatively reaching his hand to your knee, waiting for you to shove him away. His palm is warm against your skin, calming and stabilizing. You turn back to look at him, his brows raised incredulously. “I know that’s not true,” he says. He has always been able to read you like a book. “What’s going on?”

You swallow harshly. “I’ve just been having a tough time lately,” you say, distracted by the way his thumb brushes across your knee. “I…” You trail off, letting your eyes fall closed. “Things are hard.”

“You can talk about it if you want,” he says, his voice deep and steady. “I’m here.”

You sniffle, struggling to keep yourself in check. “I just…” you pause, looking off to the side. “Everything sucks.” You take another deep breath. “And the students are so hard.” You point to the piles of papers scattered around your floor. “And then there’s me, and all my shit. My powers. The responsibilities we have. I’m young, and I’m still learning. And fuck, Logan, this all just feels so impossible sometimes. It…it…” You trail off, finally running out of words, out of steam.

“It hurts.” He finishes your sentence, taking the words right out of your mouth. You turn back towards him, your eyes instantly meeting his. “It hurts a lot.”

You nod. “Yeah, exactly.” He squeezes your knee comfortingly. “You get it,” you murmur.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he soothes, his hand lifting off your knee, his arm wrapping around your shoulder instead. “I’ve got you.” You let yourself lean into his touch, resting your head in the crook of his neck. “Let’s take your mind off things, yeah?”

You nod against him, not wanting to move away, not wanting to separate from him. He feels so nice, so solid. “What did you have in mind?” You ask, hoping it doesn’t involve getting up.

“Wanna play a game?” He offers, turning his head to look down at you. You smile widely, almost mockingly. “What?” He chides. “You think I don’t know how to have fun?”

You laugh softly. “I just don’t see you as a game guy, Lo,” you confess. He chuckles, and you can feel his laughter reverberating through his chest. “Can you even think of one to play?”

Logan’s still laughing, shaking his head. “What about truth or dare?” He ever so slightly pulls you in closer, his lips pressed against the side of your head.

You giggle, feeling light for the first time in a long time. “Are we in seventh grade?” You ask teasingly. You felt like a teenager, honestly—being next to Logan always made you feel like a love-sick schoolgirl. But you know you and him could never be. You were younger than Logan—everyone was—but you, being in your 20s, assume that Logan doesn’t see you the way you see him.

He just shakes his head and laughs, pulling you back to reality. “Truth or dare?” He asks, ignoring your middle school comment and officially starting the game.

You don’t want to get up, don’t want to move an inch, so you answer: “Truth,” hoping it isn’t anything too crazy.

Logan thinks for a second, his head resting on yours. “Why’d you pick truth instead of dare?” He finally asks.

You roll your eyes. “Boring!” You tease. “I only picked it because I don’t feel like moving.” And then you realize…perhaps your answer is more revealing than you previously considered. Your heart thunders in your chest.

Logan hums. “And why don’t you want to move, exactly?” He’s onto you.

“You asked your question, you got an answer,” you protest, trying to shut him down. “No follow-up questions.” It’s your turn now. “Truth or dare?” You ask.

“Truth,” he says. “Because maybe I don’t feel like moving either.”

You smile, and you can feel him looking down at you. You’re too nervous to meet his gaze. You think for a moment, racking your brain for a question. “Did you really stay home for me, and was it all your own idea?” You finally ask. You regret the question almost immediately, fearful of the honest answer.

“Yes,” he responds without a beat. “Jean said you were staying in, and said she didn’t know why, so I stayed too.” He pauses, and you can hear his steady breathing amidst the silence. “I was worried, princess.” The pet name burns a hole through your heart. “Needed to know that you were okay.”

You can feel tears building behind your sinuses. “Thank you, Lo,” you whisper. “That means a lot.”

He presses the ghost of a kiss to the crown of your head—almost not quite there. But you can feel it, hesitant and tentative. “It’s nothing, no need to thank me.” You finally find the courage to look up at him and find him smiling down at you. His lips part. “Truth or dare?” He asks again.

You can feel some sort of tension brewing, building, thick and heavy. You try to ignore it, try to brush it off. Your heart hammers in your chest. “Truth,” you pick again. “But get a little more creative this time.”

He pauses, the gears in his head turning. And then finally: “Why’s your heart beating so fast? It’s loud, too.”

Your eyes widen, suddenly remembering Logan’s heightened senses. He can hear everything. “Uh…” You trail off, not sure how to get out of this. “I-It’s not…”

He laughs. “You’re a terrible liar. You know that?” His voice is deep and honeyed, smooth. “You gotta answer the question, or I get to ask another.”

“Those are not the rules!” You protest, lifting your head to look at him. He’s got that shit-eating grin on his face, the one that makes your stomach drop.

He tugs you into his chest again, his lips at the shell of your ear. “Then answer the question,” he whispers, his breath warm against your skin, sending a chill down your spine. He’s so close. Too close. Your heart is only beating faster, louder now.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. But of course, you know. It’s all because of him. “Just anxious, I guess.” It’s a half-truth—you’re certainly nervous, but you can’t bring yourself to tell him why.

“No need to be nervous, sweetheart,” Logan coos, his thumb brushing circles into your shoulder. “It’s just me.”

Yes, exactly, you want to say. It’s you. But you don’t. You try to steady your breathing, try to calm down. “My turn,” you force yourself to say. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he says darkly. “And make it good.” You can hear the cockiness in his voice—a sudden shift in his tone.

“We should just call this truth or truth,” you say, mulling over a question in your mind. It’s hard to think with him this close—hard to breathe. You want to rile him up, to find out what makes him tick—to make him itch the way he makes you. And then it hits you: the perfect question. “When was the last time you…” You stop yourself, suddenly too nervous to ask.

“When was the last time I what, darlin’?” He asks, cocking his head to the side, raising his eyebrows.

You huff. You’ve fallen into your own trap. There’s no backing out now. “When was the last time…” You pause again, biting your lip. You close your eyes. “…somebody got you off?”

“Been a while,” he says simply. Your eyes flutter open, and Logan is completely relaxed, his eyes trained on you. He isn’t annoyed. He’s unbothered, unprovoked, as if you had asked him what the weather was going to be like tomorrow. “But it depends on how you mean. So, what do you mean?” He finishes.

You’re slightly frustrated by how easy it was for him to answer. “I don’t know,” you mutter, shrugging your shoulders. “Whatever the last time was.”

“Few years back, not particularly proud of it,” he huffs. “Girl took care of me in a bar. That was it.”

You nod. “Must’ve been nice,” you whisper, suddenly feeling a bit disheartened. You catch his drift; you know it didn’t mean anything. You likely didn’t know Logan at that time, having only arrived at the Institute two years ago. You know you shouldn’t feel jealous, shouldn’t care that he was ever with someone else, even for a fleeting moment. You’ve had boyfriends. You’ve been with other people.

“It was fine. Just a blowjob.” He says it nonchalantly. “Didn’t mean a thing.” You look straight ahead, waiting for him to elaborate. But he doesn’t. “Truth or dare?” He finally asks.

“Truth.” Your fake, plastered-on smile becomes real when his eyes meet yours. It’s just what happens when you look at him. “And make it interesting.”

The corner of his mouth turns up slyly, and you know he has something up his sleeve. “When was the last time somebody did that to you?” He asks.

You cock your head to the side. “What do you mean?” But you already know exactly what he’s asking. And you desperately do not want to give him the answer.

“Got you off, like that,” he husks. “With their mouth.”

Fuck. “Uh…” You trail off. You can feel heat spreading across your chest and up your neck, your skin prickling. “Never,” you say honestly.

“What?” Logan’s voice cuts through the tension like a knife. “Never?”

You’re suddenly embarrassed. Your skin feels tight—so do your shorts and tank top. “Never,” you repeat, looking down at your knees, still pulled in tightly to your chest. Your heart beats rapidly. “Just hasn’t happened yet,” you choke out. “I’ve been with people, but…”

“Hey,” he whispers, suddenly grabbing your chin and angling you up to face him. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, princess.”

You smile shyly, reveling in his touch. “You didn’t,” you insist honestly. “Just a little embarrassed.”

Logan shakes his head, his eyes softening. “Nothing to be embarrassed about,” he assures. “You deserve to be taken care of.” His hand slides across your jaw and cups the back of your neck. “Deserve to feel good.”

Your eyes flutter closed at his touch. “Lo,” you whisper, struggling to keep your composure. Heat pools between your thighs. “Tr-truth or dare.”

His forehead presses to yours. “I think we’re done with the game, pretty girl,” he rasps, the arm around your shoulder slipping down to your waist. “Unless I get to give you a dare this time.”

“What’s the dare?” You ask, your eyes fluttering back open. His lips are so close. Your noses touch softly.

He works his jaw, licking his lips. “Let me eat you out, pretty girl,” he pants, his chest heaving against yours. “Let me take care of you like you should’ve been already.” He hates the idea that you’ve never been touched properly, the idea that those younger guys didn’t know how to treat you right. But he can fix that. He can make you feel good.

“Fuck,” you curse, his breath fanning across your lips. “A-are you sure?” You ask. “I don’t want you to do it just because you feel bad for me or—” “You think that’s what this is about?” He cuts you off, pulling you closer so that your body faces his, your thighs slotting together like puzzle pieces. “You think I want this just because I feel bad for you?”

“Well…” You search his eyes. “Yes,” you say.

Logan’s face falls, and he shakes his head. “I want you, pretty girl,” he pants, his knee rubbing against your aching core. “Wanted you this whole time.” His palm presses firmly against your back, his other hand gripping your neck tighter. He wants, no, needs you closer. “You ruined me the second I saw you. Haven’t been with anyone since then.”

“Logan,” you whisper, bringing your hands up to his neck. “I want you too. Always have,” you confess.

He smiles, his lips pressing a chaste kiss to yours. “Then let me do this for you,” he rasps, almost begging, like he needs this more than you do. “Need to make you feel good, beautiful.” “Please,” you breathe. “Want you so bad, Lo.”

He curses under his breath, his lips capturing yours, harder this time. This kiss is starving, all-consuming. His tongue swipes across your lower lip, and you open your mouth, inviting him inside. He lowers you down carefully, sure not to break the kiss, guiding your back to the wood floor below.

His thighs rest on either side of your hips as he hovers over you, bracing himself with his forearm. His free hand trails up your body, exploring your curves, hiking your shirt above your breasts. He smirks against your lips at the realization that you have no bra on.

“Look at you,” he mumbles, rolling a nipple under his thumb, palming your breast. “Fucking perfect.” His fingertips drag to the other side, massaging you gently, taking your nipple between his thumb and forefinger and pinching softly. “Can smell you, you know,” he grunts. “Know you’re soaking for me, darlin’.”

His hand slides between the valley of your breasts, trailing down your stomach, until his fingertips bump into the waistband of your panties. He hesitates, looking down at you, waiting for you to change your mind, to tell him to stop. “Please,” you beg. “Need you, Lo.”

Logan smirks, his hand slipping under the hem of your shorts and inside your panties. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart,” he groans. His fingertips flick your clit gently before finding your folds, feeling your arousal. “Barely even touched you,” he tuts. “And she’s already crying for me.”

He prods your entrance, spreading your slick, teasing you. He bites your lips, sucking so hard he might bruise—might draw blood—and you hope he does. You want proof that he was here, proof that he wants you—needs you this badly. You moan as his fingers find your clit again, drawing a few soft circles before pulling away, his hand slipping out of your shorts.

You grab his biceps needily, impatiently, your nails digging into his skin. “Don’t stop,” you cry out. “Please, Logan.”

He swallows your moans with another kiss, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then your neck—that sensitive spot just under your ear. “Don’t worry, pretty girl,” he soothes, biting down on your pulse point, licking the hollow of your throat. “Don’t think I could stop if I tried.” He nips at your collarbone, shoving your tank top further up your chest as his lips drag down the valley of your breasts.

He kisses his way to your stomach, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your legs. His palms spread across your inner thighs, yanking them apart. He settles between them, his face just inches from your heat. He presses a chaste kiss to your clit, still all too clothed, hidden behind your panties.

“Lo,” you whine. He breathes you in, pressing another kiss to your clit. He digs his fingers into the hem of your panties, slowly pulling them down your legs.

“Wanna take my time with you, sweetheart,” he grunts, finally throwing your panties to the side. He spreads your legs wider, his face settling back between your thighs. You can feel his breath against your cunt, warm and teasing. “Wanna take care of you.” His lips finally find your clit again, and he licks at you.

His tongue is soft, warm, wet. He laps at you again, harder this time, and you moan his name. “Fuck,” you curse as he licks a long stripe through your folds and back up to your clit, flicking the bud. Your legs twitch, your hips backing away involuntarily at the newfound pleasure. Logan’s hands slide under your ass, yanking you back to his face.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He mumbles teasingly against you, the vibration of his deep, bassy voice rocking your core. “Not letting you go until I’m done with you, darlin’.”

You curse under your breath as he licks another long, slow stripe through your folds before settling on your clit. His tongue draws gentle circles around the bud, and you can’t hold back the loud moan that falls from your lips.

“Yeah?” Logan husks between laps. “Feels good, pretty girl?”

“Y-yes,” you stammer, looking down at Logan, his face buried against your cunt. His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move, taking in the way you’re squirming for him. “D-didn’t know it would feel this good, Lo.”

“Gonna try something, okay?” He says, his eyes searching yours. You nod emphatically, bracing yourself. His lips wrap around your clit, his teeth lightly grazing the bud as he pulls it into his mouth. And then he sucks, hard. Your eyes roll into the back of your head, your back arching off the floor.

He releases the bud, and does it again, sucking harder this time. Tears brim at the corners of your eyes, pleasure coursing through your veins. “Logan!” You cry out, your nails digging into the floor below, searching for purchase. “Fuck!” He laps at you soothingly, drawing tighter, faster circles around your clit.

“You okay?” He coos between laps, his tongue swirling rapidly.

You swallow, meeting his gaze again. The sight of him between your legs, working your clit, his hair a disheveled mess—it’s overwhelming. “Yeah,” you heave. “More than okay.”

He smirks against you and wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking on the bud like hard candy. His right hand slides out from under your ass, trailing up your inner thigh. Your heart thunders in your chest as his fingertips find your folds, spreading your slick, your walls clenching down around nothing.

“Know you need ‘em, pretty girl,” Logan croons, two fingers nudging your entrance. “Beg for it.”

But he’s sucking on your clit again, making it impossible to say a word. You whimper, your legs trembling. “P-please,” you stutter, choking on air. “Need…” You trail off, your eyes fluttering closed. You swallow harshly. “Need your fingers, Lo,” you finally manage.

“That’s a good girl,” he praises, shoving two fingers deep inside you, down to his knuckles.

“Fuck, thank you,” you whine, moaning his name as his fingers stretch you out. You suddenly feel so full, so warm, so close. He pulls out, only to plunge back in, deeper this time. He’s lapping at you with reckless abandon—a man starved, like you’re the air he needs to breathe. Your walls flutter around him, the liquid heat in your lower belly threatening to burst.

“Tastes so good,” Logan mumbles against you, his long, thick fingers thrusting in and out. He hits that sweet spot deep inside you with every pump. “Such a sweet little pussy. Tastes better than I imagined.” You’re crumbling underneath him. His words alone might push you over the edge. “Nothing compares to you, you know that?”

Your walls flutter again, his fingers sinking deeper inside you. “You like that?” Logan husks. “Like knowing how much I want you? How much I need you?”

“Yes,” you groan, his fingers fucking into you, faster now. His teeth graze your clit as he pulls the bud back into his mouth and sucks roughly. “N-need you, too. Always.”

“I know, pretty girl,” he soothes, scissoring inside you, dragging along your walls. He laps at you, his tongue stroking your clit. “Not going anywhere. I’ve got you.”

You curse under your breath. You can feel yourself melting, your walls contracting and releasing. “Lo,” you call. “I’m so close. Wanna…” You trail off, unable to finish.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweetheart,” he breathes. “Don’t hold back. Let it happen,” he coaches, rocking into you. “Wanna taste you, wanna feel you come on my fingers.” He laps at you between sentences. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” And then everything is white-hot and blazing.

It’s earth-shattering—better than anything has ever felt before. The tension snaps, heat boiling under your skin. Everything is blurry, hazy, dizzied as you let go, and let go hard. You cry out Logan’s name, your thighs shaking as waves of pleasure drag you under. Your bones are burning, scorching. Everything is on fire—overwhelming and greedily all-consuming.

Logan’s pumps slow, and he carefully pulls out of you. He laves at you, his tongue pushing through your folds, milking you dry, savoring every last drop.

“Logan,” you whisper, your hands reaching down to his head, digging your fingers into his scalp.

He hums against you, unwavering as his tongue laps at your folds, tasting your release.

You’re still shaking, still coming down from your high. “Logan,” you call again, and he looks up this time, lifting his face from your cunt. Your release glistens on his chin, and he licks his lips clean of you. His eyes are dark, his palms squeezing your thighs possessively.

“I’m not done yet, sweetheart,” he says, demand clear in his voice.

Your heart flutters in your chest as he climbs up your body, hovering over you again. His lips find yours. “You taste that?” He mumbles, kissing you again, harder this time. “You taste how sweet you are?”

“Y-yes,” you answer, his hand sliding down your body, slipping between your legs, finding your overstimulated clit.

He pinches the bud lightly, your back arching off the ground, your breasts pressing to his all-too-clothed chest. “Need more of you,” he husks, his hand dragging back up your body. He sits up and pulls you into his chest, taking all your weight as he hoists you up and stands. You instinctually wrap your legs around his waist.

He places you in the center of your bed before striding across the room, closing and locking your bedroom door. “They’ll all be home soon,” Logan says, walking back towards you, spreading your legs and settling between your thighs. “Might have to be quiet for me, darlin’.”

“W-what do you—”

And then his face is buried deep inside your cunt, his tongue lapping desperately at your clit. “I told you,” he rasps. “I’m not finished with you yet.”

tags: @wittyjasontodd @wolverinesslut @galacticglitterglue @silversprings-mp3 @zxaera @spiderset @figsnpassionfruits @alastorssimp @alsoprettyinpink @prettyseaveins @ilysmdovie12 @evasmlp @derbygracie @rammakela @honeyfewr @ricefordays-blog1 @manipulatour

5K notes · View notes

cowboybeepboop · 10 months ago

Text

Desire

“Anything you want, baby,” he murmurs, his voice strained with desire. “I’ll give you anything you want.”

Pairing: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x fem! Reader

Genre: Friends to lovers, romantic smut

Word count: 4.9k

Summary: Your feelings for Jake resurface after you tried to push them away, leading to an extremely intimate night with your best friend.

a/n: I really hope there's still an audience for Top Gun Maverick smut because I really loved writing for Hangman and Rooster. Also, I’m currently working on the requests in my inbox but as always feel free to send any my way! I hope you enjoy <3

You're best friends with Jake, in fact you're the only one who he doesn't seem to have an attitude with. Working at The Hard Deck allows you to see him even more frequently, which you truly enjoy.

You know not to get too attached to him, you know how he is with women, you know that given the chance he would simply fuck you and leave your life forever. So of course you’ve entirely given up on the chance of ever being anything more than just his friend, his best friend.

The doors swing open with Mav and his team bounding in, he greets Penny, glancing over at you as you lean over a table obviously lost in thought.

“What are all of you doing here? I’m not even open yet,” she starts to scold but Maverick brushes her comment off.

“I thought you could make an exception for us,” he shoots her a sly grin and she rolls her eyes. Hangman gives you a gentle pat on the back as he passes you, saying a soft hello.

Phoenix chuckles as she stands in front of you, “Hey Y/N,” you groan in response.

“Hey, bagman.” Phoenix addresses the blond who's standing at the pool table, “What's up with Y/N?” Hangman turns toward Phoenix and raises an eyebrow in response to her question. He didn't seem particularly interested in the conversation, but his attention was piqued nonetheless.

"Hm? Oh, Y/N? What about her?" he said, leaning against the pool table with a nonchalant tone.

“I mean, just look at her. She looks like she's got something on her mind.” she says, nodding in your direction. Their gazes fall on you, watching as you wipe the same place over and over. He approaches you with a frown on his face, clearly noticing your distracted state.

He stands in front of you, his arms folded across his chest, and observes you silently. "You look like you're in another world, sweetheart," he finally says in a low voice, tilting his head to get a better look at your face.

You glance up at him, letting out a soft sigh. “Yeah, something like that.” you mutter.

“Well, don't just say that and not give me the details.” he raises an eyebrow, watching the way you look away. Something was definitely on your mind, he could tell by the look on your face alone. He knew you all too well, and your usual mood was certainly not this solemn.

He leaned down a bit, making sure he was in your field of vision again, his arms still crossing his chest. “Come on, you can tell me. What's going on?” he prodded, a hint of concern in his voice.

“It’s nothing,” your expression softens as you toss the rag into the red bucket under the counter.

“Oh, really now?” he says with a doubtful tone. He knew you were lying straight to his face, you were usually a pretty terrible liar. He leans against the counter a little bit, keeping his eyes on you. “I know there’s something going on in that pretty little head of yours. So spill it.” He spoke in a firm tone, trying to get you to open up to him.

“It's just,” you purse your lips as you choose your words carefully, making sure he doesnt find out you're talking about him. “Just some guy, has me distracted.”

“A guy?” he says, narrowing his eyes at you. There was something off about the way you spoke, like you were intentionally being vague. But his curiosity quickly shifted into jealousy as you mentioned you were distracted by another guy.

His arms tensed across his chest as he leaned a little closer towards you. “Who is this guy? Is he bothering you?” he asked, a hint of annoyance in his voice. He didn’t like the idea of someone else capturing your attention, let alone making you distracted.

“Don’t worry your pretty head over it.” you tease him, your mood becoming a bit more lighthearted.

He rolled his eyes at your teasing, a small hint of a smile appearing on his face. But he was still determined to figure out who this other guy was, who was taking your attention away from him.

He pushed off the counter, moving to stand in front of you so that you were now face to face. “Come on, spill it. Who is this guy?” he said, a hint of insistence in his voice.

“I don’t want to make you jealous.” There was a hint of a smirk on his face as you mentioned making him jealous. He knew you were teasing him, but his competitive nature couldn’t resist the challenge.

“Oh, you think I’d get jealous?” he said, a hint of mock arrogance in his tone. “I don’t get jealous, sweetheart.” you think for a second, realizing that maybe getting advice from the man who's bothering you so much, might actually be your best option.

“Fine,” you pull yourself up on the counter, sitting on the edge in front of him. “He’s an ass sometimes, all he cares about is getting laid so I know I need to stay away. But.. I just can’t stop thinking about him.” you sigh.

Hangman looks a bit surprised by your admission, he wasn’t expecting you to be so blunt about the situation. He wants to tell you to forget about the guy and focus your attention on him instead, but he knows he doesn’t have any claim over you.

He leans against the counter next to you, his arms resting across his chest once again. “Sounds like a player, why bother with him?” he asks, trying to sound indifferent.

“I don't know, it’s just that he's always on my mind.” you lean back on your palms, “I guess that's why I’m so distracted today.” He can see the hint of frustration and confusion in your expression, it was clearly bothering you that this guy was constantly invading your thoughts.

He’s silent for a moment, his mind racing with different thoughts and feelings. But eventually he speaks, his voice low and firm. “You can do so much better than some player,” he says with a slight scoff, “You don’t need a guy like him in your life.”

Your eyes wander across his face as you sigh, “I know..” your voice trails off. He looks down at you, noticing the way your eyes are wandering across his face. He can see the hint of disappointment in your expression, as you admit that you know you can do better.

He steps a bit closer to you, his eyes never leaving your face. “So why bother with him then? Why waste your time and energy thinking about a guy who doesn’t deserve you?"

“I should get back to work.” you smile softly at him, hiding the frustration at his admission. He didn’t want you to go, he wasn’t ready to let the conversation end just yet. The way you smiled softly at him, a hint of frustration in your eyes, made him want to keep talking to you and find out more.

But he knew you had a job to do, and he didn’t want to come off as needy or overbearing. He nods in response to your statement, forcing a small smile back.

“Y/N,” Penny smiles warmly at you, “How about you call it a day?” she presses her hand to your back.

“Are you sure?” you question her, she simply nods at you. You find your way over to the pool table watching the pilots play.

The pilots are in the middle of a game of pool, laughing and teasing each other as they take turns shooting. Hangman in particular is clearly enjoying himself, relishing in the competitive atmosphere. He knows he's good at pool, and he's not afraid to show it.

He’s the first to notice your approach, and his demeanor changes slightly. He glances at you, a hint of a cocky smile on his face. “Finished working already?” he teases, his eyes watching you intently.

“Yeah, but my ride won't be here for a couple more hours.” you bite down on your bottom lip, gazing at him.

He steps even closer to you, his gaze unwavering. “If you don't want to keep waiting, I can drive you home.” his voice lowered as he stares down at you.

“Actually that sounds like a great idea,” you smile up at him, thankful you won’t have to stay any later.

He can't help but feel satisfied that you agreed so easily to his offer, pleased that he'll have more time alone with you. He grins back at you, his arms still crossed in front of his chest.

"Alright then, let's get going." he says, jerking his head towards the exit. He places a hand on your lower back, guiding you towards the doors. You wave goodbye to Penny and Mav who are deep in a conversation.

“Do you maybe have time to watch a movie with me?” you fiddle with your fingers, “I mean, it's been a while since we've hung out just the two of us.”

He listens to your question, his mind racing with different thoughts, but he quickly shoves them down. He would do anything to spend more time with you. He pretends to act a bit indifferent, but his voice betrays him as he replies.

"Sure, we can watch a movie." he shrugs, trying not to seem too eager. "Got one in mind?" you reach for the handle of his passenger side door.

“Hm, we could watch anything. I just want to be with you,” you admit carelessly while getting into the car.

He can’t help but feel a flutter in his chest at your admission, his heart races a little bit faster as he watches you get into the car. He quickly gets into the driver’s seat, trying to act like your words don’t affect him.

“Anything, huh?” he teases, glancing over at you quickly as he starts the car. “Even a cheesy romance movie?” he smirks, knowing how much you love them.

You gasp in response, “Obviously, you *know* they're my favorite.” his mind goes back to the discussion you had earlier as you smile at him.

He lets out a soft chuckle at your response, “Of course I do, I can’t forget your obsession with them.” he teases, his eyes staying focused on the road as he drives. But his mind starts to wander again, thinking about your earlier confession.

As his mood shifts slightly, he glances over at you with a hint of a frown on his face. “So, uh, this guy you were talking about,” he says, breaking the silence in the car. “How… how serious are you about him?”

“Hm?” your eyebrows furrow softly. His grip on the steering wheel tightens ever so slightly at your reaction, his eyes staring straight ahead as he continues to drive.

He can’t help the pang of jealousy that runs through him, he glances over at you, his face trying to maintain a nonchalant expression. “I just mean, you said you didn’t want to get in trouble with a guy.” he says, his tone guarded.

“I don’t know.” you sigh looking out the window.

His heart does a backflip at your words, he tries to maintain a neutral expression, but he can’t help the small smirk that appears on his face. “So, you’re single, huh?” he teases, a hint of hope in his voice.

“Mhm, why do you ask?” you question him. He continues to drive, keeping his eyes focused on the road as he answers your question.

“Just wondering,” he replies casually, trying to feign indifference. But he can’t help the nervous energy that’s building inside of him. He glances over at you, his gaze raking over your face thoughtfully. “You know, I’ve been single for a while too,” he adds, an underlying hint in his voice.

“You’re always single,” you retort, “you prefer hook-ups over relationships, right?” you tease him.

He lets out an annoyed huff, not expecting you to tease him like that. His face flushes slightly as he remembers all the past hookups he’s bragged about to you, in an attempt to make you jealous. “Hey,” he says with false annoyance in his voice, “I can be in a relationship if I wanted to.”

“And would you want to?” you question as he pulls into the parking lot of your building.

He parks the car, his heart racing slightly at your question. He turns to look at you, hesitating for a moment. The thought of being in a relationship, with you, was something he’d fantasized about for a while. But he’s also a coward, terrified of being vulnerable and getting hurt.

He takes a deep breath, trying to maintain a casual composure. “Maybe, if it was the right person.” he finally responds, his eyes searching your face for a reaction. You nod in response, slightly disappointed with his answer.

“Who’s your right person?” your voice is quiet. He’s taken aback by your question, the subtle disappointment in your voice stabbing at his heart. He glances down, his mind racing with different thoughts and emotions.

He takes a deep breath, his eyes shifting back up to meet yours. His heart pounds even faster as he musters up the courage to answer you. “Well.. I think you already know.” your eyes widen at his implication, feeling his hand moving to cup your cheek.

He can see the surprise in your eyes as he cups your cheek gently, his thumb stroking your skin softly. His heart is racing as he looks down at you, his eyes searching your expression for a reaction.

He takes a deep breath, gathering the courage to speak. “Do you… do you feel the same way?” he asks, his voice soft and nervous.

“Jake.. I.” your heart races as your words get stuck in your throat. His chest clenches as you struggle to speak, his stomach in knots as he waits for your response. His hand is still gently caressing your cheek, his eyes never leaving your face.

He swallows hard, trying to maintain his composure. “Please, just tell me. I need to know.” he says, his voice quiet but firm. Finding yourself speechless, you respond by pressing your lips to his.

He’s taken by surprise by your action, his eyes widening for a split second before he responds to your kiss. A wave of relief and happiness washes over him as he feels your lips against his, his heart racing with excitement and disbelief as he realizes the asshole you were talking about earlier just so happens to be him.

He moans softly against your mouth, his hand moving to the back of your head, his fingers burying into your hair as he kisses you back, passionately and hungrily. You lean closer to him, your hands cupping his cheeks as he slips his tongue into your mouth.

He deepens the kiss, his tongue twirling with yours. He can’t believe this is actually happening, that you feel the same way he does.

He pulls you closer, his hands gripping your hips and guiding you onto his lap. He moans against your lips, his hands roaming down your sides, his touch both gentle and desperate at the same time.

“Jake,” you whisper against his lips, feeling his bulge pressed against your heat. He shudders hearing his name leaving your lips, his eyes darkening with desire for you. He can’t help but moan softly as he feels your body pressed against his, his hips instinctively bucking up slightly in response.

He pulls you even closer, his hands gripping your thighs, his lips trailing down your neck. “Sweetheart,” he breathes, “I want you so damn bad.” you moan quietly, leaning into his touch.

“We need to go inside,” your voice and gaze are filled with desire. His heart races at your moan, his body aching with need for you. He nods in agreement, his eyes filled with the same desire.

“You’re right, we should go.” he mutters, his hands roaming over your hips, unable to keep himself from touching you.

He lifts you off his lap, opening the car door and practically dragging you out with him. He shuts the door behind you before pulling you towards the building’s entrance, his eyes filled with impatience and lust.

He presses you against the wall of the elevator, his hands roaming over your body, exploring every inch of exposed skin. His lips trail down your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses in their wake.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” he mutters against your skin, his voice thick with desire. He kisses and nips at your neck, unable to get enough of you, your soft moans fill the cramped space.

He can’t help but smirk to himself as he hears your moans, his heart racing as he realizes he’s the one making you feel this way. He feels a surge of pride and satisfaction knowing he’s the one who has your heart racing and your body yearning.

“Jake, fuck, you’re driving me crazy.” The ding of the elevator pulls you both out of your trance as the doors open, revealing the empty hallway. He grabs your hand, practically dragging you towards your apartment.

You fumble with the doorknob as you unlock it, feeling his desperate hands around your waist.

He can't keep his hands off you, his fingers tracing the exposed skin of your waist as you fiddle with the keys. Impatience floods him, his desire growing with every second.

He presses himself against you from behind, his lips finding your neck once again. "Hurry up," he mutters against your skin, his breath hot against your ear. "I need you, right now."

You pull the door open, smirking at his impatience. He traps you between his arms, your back pressed against the closed door, his body pressed firmly against yours. He gazes down at you, his eyes filled with a mix of desire and possessiveness.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he mutters, his voice hoarse and low. He leans down and captures your lips in a fierce and passionate kiss, his body desperate to get closer to you.

You press against him, your palms against his lower abs, as you lead him to your bedroom blindly. He follows your lead through the apartment, his lips never leaving yours. His body is on fire, the feeling of your hands on his abs driving him wild.

He pushes you against the doorframe of your bedroom, his body pinning you to it as he continues to kiss you deeply and hungrily. He can't get enough of your mouth, his tongue tasting every inch of it. He slips his knee between your thighs, pressing into your sensitive pussy. You moan into his mouth, your eyebrows scrunching in pleasure.

His knee presses against your sensitive core, his tongue exploring your mouth greedily. He can hear your moans, your breath hitching as he presses into you. He feels a surge of satisfaction as he knows he’s the one who makes you feel this way.

He nips at your bottom lip, his hands roaming down your sides, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. “You like that, sweetheart?” he mutters, his voice low and hoarse. “You want more?”

“Please,” you grasp onto his sides, moaning desperately, “I need more please.”

He can hear the desperation in your voice, your fingers gripping his sides. His heart aches at your plea, his body responding instantly to your need.

He moans against your mouth in response, his hands roaming down to your thighs. In one swift motion, he lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carries you into your bedroom.

He gently but firmly presses you against the plush comforter of your bed, his eyes devouring every inch of your body. The room is bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, casting shadows across your flushed cheeks and the passionate hunger in his gaze. You can feel the heat emanating from his body, and it sends shivers down your spine.

With a low growl, he starts to peel away the layers of fabric that separate his skin from yours. His rough hands glide over your smooth flesh, sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each piece of clothing that falls away reveals more of your beauty to him, and he can't help but moan in appreciation. His eyes are locked onto yours, watching the way your pupils dilate with every touch, every kiss.

He nips at your earlobe before tracing the line of your jaw with his teeth, making you squirm under him. His hands are everywhere, exploring the curves of your body, learning every dip and peak that makes you gasp. His kisses become more fervent, his teeth grazing your neck as he sucks soft hickeys into your skin. You can feel the pressure build, the promise of bruises that will be a secret between the two of you.

Your breath comes in pants as he kisses down your chest, his tongue swirling around your hardened nipples. You arch your back, pushing your breasts closer to his eager mouth, your hands tangling into his hair. He groans, the vibration of his pleasure echoing through your body, making your core clench with need. His teeth graze the sensitive skin, and you can't help but bite down on your lip to stifle the moan that threatens to escape.

His mouth continues to travel downward, leaving a trail of hot kisses down your stomach. His eyes never leave yours, the hunger in them growing with every inch closer he gets to your wet pussy. You can feel your heart pounding against your ribs, the anticipation of his touch making your skin tingle with excitement.

With surprising gentleness, he spreads your legs apart, his gaze lingering on the wetness that's already gathered there. He groans, his own arousal evident in the tightness of his pants. He leans in, his breath hot against your sensitive skin, and you can't help but moan out his name as he kisses the inside of your thigh.

The first suck is gentle, but firm, and you feel your pussy clench in response. He starts to suck dark hickeys along the sensitive skin, each one a little harder and closer to your center. Your hands tighten in his hair as he works his way closer to your core, the pleasure building with every mark he leaves.

“More, Jake, please!” you beg him, your voice desperate and needy. He chuckles against your skin, his tongue flicking against your clit, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. Your back arches as he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking hard. You moan loudly, the sound bouncing off the walls of your small apartment.

He inserts one finger inside you, feeling the slickness of your arousal. You gasp as he starts to pump in and out, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit, teasing and taunting it. His eyes watch yours as he reads every reaction, making sure to hit all the right spots.

You're close, so close, but he knows you can take more. He adds another finger, stretching you just right, the friction making your toes curl. Your eyes roll back into your head as he starts to pump faster, his mouth never leaving your clit. He feels you tighten around his fingers, the warmth of your orgasm approaching.

He keeps his rhythm steady, not letting up even when your moans turn into whimpers of pleasure. You're so close, your body begging for release. His eyes never leave you, the intensity of the moment causing your chest to heave with every ragged breath. And then it hits you, the orgasm crashing over you like a wave.

You scream his name, your body convulsing with pleasure. He keeps his mouth on you, drinking in your release, savoring the taste of your arousal. As the waves subside, he kisses up your body, his hands still holding you in place.

"You taste so good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice filled with satisfaction. He can feel your legs shaking as his own need for you grows with every second. He strips off his own clothes, his eyes never leaving yours, and then he's on top of you, his body pressing you into the mattress.

He positions himself at your entrance, his cock aching to be inside you. He looks into your eyes, searching for permission, and you nod eagerly. He takes a deep breath, then gently pushes in, feeling your warmth envelop him. You gasp as he stretches you, his eyes never leaving yours, watching for any signs of pain or discomfort.

As he’s fully sheathed in your wetness, he holds still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being connected to you so intimately. He starts to move, his hips rolling in a slow, torturous rhythm. Each time he thrusts into you, your eyes widen and a moan escapes your lips. He loves the way you react to him, the way your body moves with his.

He keeps his movements gentle, not wanting to overwhelm you, despite his own desperate need to claim you completely. His hands are everywhere, stroking your skin, feeling your curves, as he kisses along your jawline. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your legs tightening around his waist.

Your thighs squeeze around him, your heels digging into his back as he continues to thrust into you, deeper and deeper. His movements become more urgent as he feels your body tightening around him, the walls of your pussy clenching down on his cock. You moan his name, urging him to go faster, harder, and he responds eagerly, his hips moving in a punishing rhythm.

You can feel yourself on the edge of another orgasm, your breaths coming in short gasps. Hangman’s eyes are locked on yours, watching the pleasure build in your gaze, feeling the power he has over your body. He can’t believe how beautiful you look, your face contorted in ecstasy, your eyes glazed over with lust.

Your body begins to spasm around him, your pussy clenching down hard. He groans, his hips stuttering as he feels you start to cum. The sensation is overwhelming, your muscles tightening around his cock like a vice, sending waves of pleasure through his body.

With a sudden jolt, he pulls out of you, unable to hold back any longer, his cock spurting cum onto your stomach with a loud groan. His eyes never leave your body, watching as your orgasm takes over, your pussy pulsing and gripping at nothing.

He's left breathless, his chest heaving as he looks down at you, his expression one of awe and satisfaction. He leans down, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, before his eyes drift down to the mess he's made of you.

He watches as your eyes flutter shut, your body trembling with the pleasure he’s given you. He can’t help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction at the sight of your beautiful, sated body.

“Sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire and exhaustion. His eyes rake over your form, taking in every curve and plane, every mark he’s left behind.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he mutters, his fingers tracing the lines of his bites and hickeys on your skin.

“Now let's get you cleaned up, hm?” He lifts you up, wrapping his strong arms around you, and carries you to the bathroom. He turns on the shower, letting the water run until it warms up, before placing you gently under the spray.

He steps in after you, his body pressing against yours as he begins to lather your body with soap, his hands moving over your skin gently but possessively. You exhale contentedly as you press into his chest, relaxing in his embrace.

He holds you close, his arms encircling you, as the water cascades over your bodies. His hands run over your body, washing away the sweat and evidence of your passionate encounter. Jake nuzzles his face in your hair, inhaling your scent, a sense of peace washing over him. He murmurs sweet nothings in your ear, his voice low and soothing.

“You’re not just fucking around with me are you?” your voice is uneasy as your stomach twists with anxiety. He freezes, taken aback by your vulnerable question. He can hear the anxiety in your voice, and it pierces his heart.

He pulls away slightly, turning your body to face his, cupping your face gently in his hands, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are intense but filled with understanding.

“No. No, sweetheart, I’m not just ‘fucking around with you’.” His voice is firm but tender. “What we did tonight, it meant something to me. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. You mean way too much to me.” your eyes soften as his gaze into yours with sincerity.

“Good, because I’ve never wanted anything more in my life.” you bite down on your lip. He feels a rush of tenderness and protectiveness wash over him as he hears your sincere words. He pulls you closer, your wet bodies pressed against each other, his arms encircling you in a firm embrace.

“You have no idea how much that means to me,” he mutters against your hair, his voice filled with a mixture of vulnerability and possessiveness. “You’re all I want too, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I need you.”

3K notes · View notes

callsignpxnguin · 3 months ago

Text

Price, Soap, and the Missus

Inspired by @goatgoesmbe ‘s idea…

Johnny MacTavish was a straightforward man.

He enjoyed looking at pretty things, plain and simple.

So, naturally, when a sweet, confused little thing in a sundress with a bow in her hair, for God’s sake, approached the base entrance whilst he was on lookout duty — well, you couldn’t blame him for wanting to have some fun. Turn up the charm, if you will.

Maybe he asked you a few more questions than necessary just to hear your soft voice and feed his ego, and maybe he demanded to ‘pat you down’ — just because it was all protocol, of course. He was such a good soldier, and he took that job seriously. As such, he had to ensure that he had patted down every part of you; every bit of your smooth, warm skin got bruised by his rough hands as he prodded and gripped you unapologetically.

And once he was done (which wasn’t for a while), leaving you stammering and flushing but too shy to say anything, he went straight back to charming the pants off of you. Or, at least, that’s what he thought he was going back to.

“So, what business has someone like you got here, hmm?” Johnny purred, accent rolling off of his tongue smoothly, head cocking to the side and he stared down at you with a devious smirk.

“Just… dropping off my husband’s lunch,” you replied quietly, refusing to meet his gaze. Your ears remained bright pink.

Johnny immediately froze.

He hadn’t expected that.

You were married? Dear God. Just his luck. All he could hope was that your husband was in a unit far away from him so that any comments you made about his ‘inspection’ would hopefully go unpunished.

He’d messed up, bad.

“Husband, eh?” He hedged, trying desperately to mask the waver in his voice. “And who would that lucky lad be?”

You hesitated, finally meeting his eye sheepishly, a little more confident as you took in his obvious falter. “Am I allowed to tell you his name?”

Johnny almost melted, staring at your big, blinking eyes — his previous concerns momentarily almost completely wiped out. You were so sweet. So innocent.

Someone was one lucky bastard.

“Well, considering this is our base, you should be fine,” he joked.

“O-okay. I was just checking, because he gets nervous about that kind of stuff, considering… everything.” You inhaled. “He’s… John Price. Do you know him? Or where he might be right now? The lunch is getting cold…”

Steaming bloody Jesus. Johnny felt he was about to pass out. He felt numb. “The… the captain?” He croaked. “He’s your husband?”

“Is that a problem?” You asked nervously.

“I don’t know…” a sudden, familiar voice rumbled. “Is that a problem, MacTavish?”

You turned delightedly to find your husband right there, glaring at the man in front of you but looking deliciously handsome as always, and leapt to give him a hug.

Dear God.

Johnny just about turned on his heel and fled.

He never told the rest of the squad how he got a broken nose that night. Partially out of embarrassment, but also because he felt he deserved it.

And from then on, he never dared to even utter a word to any unknown women coming into base.

#call of duty #cod fic #john price #captain john price #captain price #my husband #task force 141 #141 #fanfic #fanfiction #johnny mactavish #soap mactavish #soap x reader #soap #soap cod #john soap mactavish #price call of duty #price

2K notes · View notes

drytacomeat · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere!Femboy who would work overtime at his job to ensure he had enough money to buy you anything you even thought about wanting! Every stuffed animal, every clothing item, every snack. Literally everything!

Yandere!Femboy who began randomly taking you on dates! Of course you didn’t know they were dates, you thought you two were just hanging out, but no! These were dates for him.

He remembered every single detail about anything you ever said to articulate the perfect date.

You like some dessert you saw on Tiktok? Your yandere was finding the nearest bakery that made them!

You haven’t seen a new movie that just came out yet? Well guess what. You two are going the next day that you are free!

You were concerned about his spending habits, and when you asked him to stop because you couldn’t repay him, he glared at you as if you had insulted him.

Yandere!Femboy bought you a tight fitting shirt that you said you liked one day. He thought it looked absolutely gorgeous on you! They hugged your tits perfectly, and he would make sure his air conditioner was pumped up just so that your nipples would harden through the shirt.

When you both had class the next day, he begged you for copious amounts of hugs that day. You hadn’t realized he wanted to feel the warmth of your titties pressed against him.

Yandere!Femboy who was so sad to find you in a hoodie covering the shirt at lunch! What was wrong! You looked so sad. When you explained to him that a girl in your class made a comment about your body, he was quick to come to your aid.

“She’s just fucking jealous! Your tits look perfect in this!” he squealed as he reached out to jiggle your boobs in his hands, loving the warm heaviness of them.

He asked you nonchalantly who the girl was. He was just curious!

Little did you know, he would have a nice talk with her after lunch, and she would now be scared to so much as even look at you. Seems the girl valued herself…and her life.

Yandere!Femboy who decided to take you shopping to cheer you up after lectures. You were stood in your favorite department store, by the panties and bras.

Your yandere picked up a pair of white cotton panties.

“I bet these would make your cunt look so juicy,” he said as he held them up to you. He bit his lip playfully as he observed, as if he was imagining you in them.

His comment made your face burn. What the hell did he just say? You were starting to think he may be less and less gay as time goes on.

“Here, I’m getting you these.”

Yandere!Femboy who took you home and made you a dinner of ramen and sushi. He was quite the cook! Just for you, he had learned a plethora of recipes.

You two were sat on his couch watching some cheesy slasher and one of the jump scares caused you to flinch. This resorted in your yandere giggling. He leaned over to you, placing a sweet peck to your cheek.

“You’re cute,” he smiled before using his finger to turn your face towards him. He captured your lips into a simple kiss. It quickly turned heated, however.

Your eyes widened as he licked your lips, trying to lick into your mouth. You slipped back into the comfort of the kiss when his hands trailed up your sides soothingly.

Yandere!Femboy who gets absolutely nasty when you kiss. His tongue would lick all into your mouth, tongue flicking behind your teeth and onto your cheeks. He would suck your tongue like it was a cock even!

Eager boy seemed to never need to break away for air, you had to pry him off of you. When you did, he stared at you hungrily. He was biting his lips and licking them, staring at you.

“What has gotten into you?” you asked, stunned by this newfound behavior.

Yandere!Femboy who ignores your question and just responds with “You should let me eat your pussy!”

You sputtered and blinked rapidly, but he just sat there as though he hadn’t said something completely out of pocket.

“W-what?” your brows were raised as you sat up to get a better look at him.

“Oh, please! I’ll make it so good for you! Please, just let me lick your cunt!” he begged so prettily, chest heaving. He clasped his hands together and gave you the sweetest puppy dog eyes.

Unfortunately, you were a bit insecure when it came to your naked body.

“You probably don’t want that, I mean I haven’t shaved in months.”

That seemed to only make him more feral.

“I love your body! I love your hair! Please! Please let me eat you, please!” he squealed. You had learned him by now, and if he wanted something, he wouldn’t stop asking until he got it.

You ended up biting your lip and nodding for him to eat you out.

Yandere!Femboy who is quick to yank your panties down and have you lay back against the sofa. He had you place one of your legs on the coffee table so that you were nice and spread for him.

He quickly got onto his knees, mouth salivating. He spread your legs wider, and you looked down at him. His eyes were pitch black and overly excited.

He leaned into you, taking a large inhale of your scent. His eyes rolled back before he brought his nose to lay right against your clit.

You flinched at the sensation.

“You smell so good! I just wanna bottle it up,” he giggled and reached out to spread your lips wide, mouth salivating.

He began to place little kitten licks onto your clit sweetly. He stared up at you with his big glistening eyes before he pulled away and allowed drool to drip onto your pussy.

He fluttered his eyes prettily before dipping down to suck on your clit.

“A-ah!” you whimpered.

He allowed his eyes to flutter shut to focus on eating you out and savoring your flavor.

He quickly got greedy and ravenous with his eating and got sloppy. He messily slurped at your pussy, loud and lewd. His tongue dipped down into your hole, fucking it vigorously.

He was an impatient little thing, wanting you to cum as quickly as possible.

“Does it feel good?” he would ask you between hard suctions.

“Yes, fuck yes!” you squealed.

“Please cum! Cum on my tongue! Please!” he begged as he alternated between sucking on your clit and licking back and forth.

You did cum! And it was the best orgasm you think that you have ever had…and it was given to you by your gay? friend?

Yandere!Femboy who quickly slurps up your cum and hops up from his position, sneakily reaching over you to grab the condom he had planted in the couch cushions.

Yandere!Femboy who sneakily slid on the condom as he soothed you from your orgasm. He massaged your scalp and placed reassuring kisses to your cheek as he lined his cock up with your little pussy hole.

Yandere!Femboy who distracted you with a kiss as he slid into your pussy. Your eyes widened at the sudden intrusion.

Yandere!Femboy who quickly shushed you as he began to rut into you. Petting you like a puppy as he humped his cock into you, just trying to make himself cum!

“You’re so tight! I’m so glad yours is the first one I get to fuck! Am I your first?” he asked as he stared into your eyes.

When you went to respond, you were cut off by a moan coming out of your own mouth.

“Those dumbass fucking guys, they’d never know how to please you. How to fuck you properly hm?”

You shook your head in response before reaching up to pull him into a kiss.

Yandere!Femboy who fucks into you until he dumps into the condom, stuffing it full.

“Wish I could cum in you! Wanna fill you up and get you pregnant, b-but we can’t right now! Gotta-gotta wait,” he hiccuped into you as he came down from his high.

Yandere!Femboy who you would have to comfort and pet, just a little! Be gentle with him, he just lost his virginity to you.

Yandere!Femboy who you would fall asleep next to after that, soft snores heard from the both of you that whole night!

#yandere drabble #fem dom reader #sub male character #yandere imagine #yandere x reader #yandere!femboy #sub yandere #male yandere #yandere #plus size reader #chubby!reader #dom fem reader #plus size!reader

1K notes · View notes

gf2bellamy · 3 months ago

Note

omgg could i request bubbly reader whos always smiling and giggling but one day an officer (or whoever) says shes being unprofessional and too much and it makes her so so sad so she tones it down and spencer is so upset seeing her like this bc shes the light of his life

-🦨

light — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: sunshine!reader feels insecure abt herself, mention of officer saying she's being unprofessional a/n: hii 🦨 !! hope this is what you asked for <3

"Morning." Your voice was quieter than usual, your smile smaller, just a polite curve of your lips rather than the bright grin the team was used to. You walked into the conference room, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you took your usual seat.

Morgan and Emily immediately exchanged a glance.

Normally, your entrance was impossible to miss. An enthusiastic, cheerful “Good morning!” ringing through the air, maybe even a comment about someone’s coffee choice or how exhausted everyone looked.

“Morning, sunshine.” Morgan’s voice was gentler than usual. “You good?”

You nodded quickly, forcing another smile. “Yeah, yeah. I’m okay. Thanks, Derek.” The words felt rehearsed, like a line you had practiced just to avoid further questions. You glanced up at him for only a second before lowering your gaze to the table.

Emily’s frown deepened as she studied you, before cutting her eyes to Morgan again. Neither of them were buying it. The door opened, and Spencer walked in, carrying two coffees. He placed one in front of you like he always did. A silent little tradition between the two of you. Normally, this would earn him that smile, the one that made his heart stutter in his chest. The one that felt like warmth on the coldest days. You would’ve reached for his hand, his hand, the one no one else was allowed to touch, and squeezed it, your fingers lingering just a little too long, just like they always did.

But today?

“Thanks,” you mumbled, barely looking up. You wrapped your hands around the cup, but nothing more. No smile. No touch.

Spencer’s spine went rigid. His fingers twitched at his sides as he stood there, processing, waiting, hoping, for a second longer than necessary. When nothing else came, he hesitated before reluctantly taking his own seat. Emily and Morgan’s eyes were already on him when he looked up, their silent concern mirroring his own. He swallowed hard.

Something was wrong. But it just got worse from there.

When Garcia called, her voice bubbled through the speakerphone. "Well, well, well, if it isn’t my favorite team of crime-fighting superheroes! Tell me, my loves, who needs saving today?"

Usually, you’d fire something right back, some exaggerated response about how she was the real superhero or how you were tragically in need of her brilliance. Instead, silence stretched for a beat too long before Rossi finally spoke up, filling the gap where your usual laughter should have been.

At that moment, even Hotch, who rarely indulged in team gossip, glanced at you, his gaze lingering longer than usual. A whole five seconds in Hotchner time. That was basically a siren blaring that something was wrong.

Your usual energy, the energy that kept them all going, was gone. Every word you spoke was muted, every sentence clipped.

You kept your gaze trained on files, your hands fidgeting with the corner of the page, and when someone addressed you, your responses were polite but distant.

Spencer watched you more than he paid attention to the case briefing.His mind ran through every possibility, every variable that could explain this drastic shift. Were you sick? Had something happened? Had someone said something? His stomach twisted at the thought.

Spencer caught up to you just as you reached your hotel room that night. You glanced at him, surprised. The cool metal of your keycard was still in your hand when he spoke.

“Can I talk to you?” His voice was careful and concerned.

You hesitated. You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what this was about. The stolen glances from the team, the way Spencer had been watching you all day. It was obvious. You could still avoid the conversation if you wanted to. You could brush it off, say you were tired, say you had work to do. But a part of you knew you couldn’t do that. Not to him.

So you sighed, slipping the keycard into the slot and pushing open the door. “Yeah. Sure.”

Spencer followed you in, shutting the door behind him as you plopped down on the bed. You leaned back on your hands, crossing your legs, trying to look nonchalant, trying to make this feel like nothing.

“So,” you said, offering a weak smile, “what did you want to talk about?”

Spencer didn’t answer right away. He just stood there for a moment, watching you, hands fidgeting at his sides.

A beat of silence. “You.” The word landed between you like a grenade with the pin pulled.

Spencer took a step closer, his voice dropping. “You haven’t smiled all day. You didn’t laugh at Garcia’s joke. You didn’t even—” He cut himself off, fingers flexing at his sides. “You didn’t squeeze my hand.”

Your stomach twisted. He noticed. Of course he noticed. You looked away, suddenly unable to meet his eyes. “I’m just tired.”

“That's a lie.”

Your head snapped up. Spencer was rarely so direct.

“You think I don’t know you?” he said, voice cracking. “You think I wouldn’t notice when the best part of my day just—just disappears?”

The honesty in his words punched through you. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. Because what could you say? That some stranger’s offhand comment had unraveled you? That you’d spent the entire day replaying his words in your head like a broken record?

Unprofessional. Too much. Annoying.

Spencer took another step forward, his voice softening. “Talk to me. Please.”

Your throat tightened as you stared at him. Spencer Reid, your Spencer, was looking at you like you’d just ripped the stars from his sky. You swallowed hard, forcing out a breath that barely made it past the knot in your chest. “It’s stupid,” you whispered.

Spencer shook his head immediately. “It’s not.”

You let out a hollow laugh, rubbing your palms over your thighs. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”

His voice softened even more, barely above a breath. “And I still know it’s not stupid.”That did it. The dam cracked, then crumbled, then completely shattered.

“Someone—someone said I was too much.” You exhaled shakily, finally putting the ugly truth into the open. “That I was being unprofessional—that I need to tone it down because I laugh too much, because I smile too much, because I don’t act like—” Your voice wavered, and you clenched your fists against the overwhelming sting in your eyes. “Like I belong here.”

Spencer inhaled sharply. You finally met his gaze and all you saw as fury. Not at you, never at you, but at the words that had managed to dull your light.He took another step closer. His hands twitched at his sides, like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know if you’d let him.

“Who?” His voice was controlled, but barely.

You shook your head quickly. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It matters to me.”

God. Why did he have to care so much? Why did he have to look at you like that, like you were something precious, something irreplaceable, something he wasn’t willing to lose to someone else’s careless words? You chewed on your bottom lip, shaking your head again. “It’s not like he was wrong, Spence.” You forced a smile, but even you could feel how empty it was. “I am a lot. And maybe I do need to—”

“Don’t.” The word was firm. Gentle, but unyielding.

Spencer exhaled slowly, like he was trying to steady himself. “You are not too much,” he said, each syllable deliberate. “And whoever made you think that doesn’t understand what this team—what I—would be without you.”

Your breath hitched, tears threatening to spill over.

“You make things better.” His voice cracked, and it nearly shattered you. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to see you walk into a room and not light it up?” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “It—it hurts.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. You swiped at it quickly, but Spencer had already seen. And that was when he finally moved.Slowly, carefully, he reached for your hand. His fingers curled around yours, just like they always did. The same comforting touch you’d given him a hundred times before.

Except this time, he was the one holding you together.

“Please don’t dim yourself because of someone who doesn’t understand how lucky they are to know you,” he murmured.

Your heart clenched. Your lip quivered. Spencer slowly let go of your hand, his warmth lingering even as his fingers slipped away. He didn’t move far, though. Instead, he lowered himself in front of you.

His hand hesitated just inches from your face, his breath uneven. “Can I?” he asked softly, his fingertips ghosting near your cheek.

You swallowed hard and gave the smallest nod. Spencer wiped away the tear with a touch so gentle it made your chest ache. But his hand didn’t drop. It hovered there, close enough that you could still feel the warmth of him. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. His thumb traced just beneath your eye, barely skimming your skin, as if he could erase not just the tear but the weight of everything that had led to it.

His voice, when it came, was a whisper. “Whoever said that to you… they don’t know you. Not the way I do.”

You exhaled shakily, blinking at him.

“They don’t know the way your laugh makes even the worst days bearable.” His thumb barely moved, brushing against your cheekbone. “They don’t know how your energy—your light—makes all of us better. How it makes me better.”

A fresh tear slipped free. Spencer caught it before it could fall. His other hand lifted then, resting gently on your knee. Another silent plea for you to believe him.

“I don’t want you to change.” His voice cracked. You bit your lip, trying to keep the emotion at bay, but it was useless. His words, his kindness, were unraveling you.

Spencer inhaled sharply, like he was gathering courage, and then, so quietly you almost didn’t hear it. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Your breath hitched. A teary-eyed smile broke across your face before you could stop it. And then, without thinking, you threw yourself into his arms. Spencer barely had time to brace himself, but to your luck, he held firm, his balance steady despite the force of your embrace. His arms wrapped around you instantly, holding you close.

“Thank you,” you mumbled into the crook of his neck, your voice muffled. Spencer let out a breath. His hand moved in slow, soothing strokes along your back. When you finally pulled back, you sniffled, brushing away the last few stray tears that had slipped down your cheeks. Spencer watched you, his expression impossibly soft, his own smile small but so incredibly fond.

You inhaled deeply, gathering yourself before flashing him a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back tomorrow—back to being the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

Spencer’s ears went bright red. He opened his mouth, whether to protest or agree, you weren’t sure, but all that came out was a flustered little laugh as he ducked his head.

The next morning, Spencer was already waiting for you when you stepped into the conference room. Two coffees sat on the table, one in front of his usual seat, the other carefully placed at yours. You bit back a smile.

Spencer was flipping through a case file, his brows slightly furrowed in concentration.

“Good morning, everyone!” you greeted, voice bright and chipper, just like always.

Morgan and Emily, who had clearly been watching you like hawks since yesterday, immediately exchanged a look before turning back to you.

“There she is,” Morgan grinned, arms crossing over his chest. “I was starting to think we’d lost our sunshine.”

You smirked. “Please. You could never get rid of me that easily.”

Garcia gasped dramatically through the speakerphone. “Oh, thank God! Do you know how hard it is being the only source of light in a room full of broody FBI agents? I almost cracked under the pressure.”

A ripple of laughter spread through the team, but you weren’t really paying attention.Because across the table, Spencer was staring at you.Not in the way he had yesterday, all worried and desperate to fix something he didn’t understand, but in the way he always did.

You sank into your chair, reaching for the coffee he’d placed in front of you. The cup was still warm, and when you took a sip, it was exactly the way you liked it. You glanced at Spencer, eyes twinkling. When you reached under the table to squeeze his hand, just like you always did, Spencer let you.

And just like that, the warmth returned. And Spencer knew, without a doubt, he would do anything to keep it shining.

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x you #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #🦨 anon

2K notes · View notes