tricksh0t

[tricksh0t]

Ok um well I'm using ostriches as a reference ok guys?

Anyone into Mass Effect? If so, what do you think Turians have under their armor?

[tricksh0t]

alright we're going to have to use our imagination because birds don't have pps, only cloacas (most) and while that wouldn't be a problem, Garrus did describe fucking a fellow soldier and I can't imagine there'd be much fun to pressing cloacas together as birds do (no offense to ✂️ city)

Anyone into Mass Effect? If so, what do you think Turians have under their armor?

[tricksh0t]

Boys I've finished Mass Effect 3 after playing the whole trilogy I am heartbroken 💔 😭

...send requests so I can cope.

[tricksh0t]

I do not wish to ask anything simply to tell you that your work is ark.

You are deeply gifted and I wish that you care for yourself above all else. Good day and eat. It's good for the soul.

Thank youuu

[tricksh0t]

Anyone into Mass Effect? If so, what do you think Turians have under their armor?

[tricksh0t]

★ really good girl

☾ matthew murdock x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ papi's home and he brought takeout 😎 poured like 6 hours into this hope you like it <3 (title is a reference to "I'm a really good lawyer")

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 3.10k

cw: this shit long, catholic boy swears, a little bit of talk about catholicism (why swearing bad) but not as dialogue, feminizing Matt (mostly nicknames, a thong, pretending his hole is a cunt), soft Matty as well as humor, daddy kink, missionary, creampie, lotta teasing, dacryphilia

"Oh, God, look at you, sweetheart. You're beautiful."

Matt blushes under your praise. You're talking like he's in this beautiful gown, head to toe in mother of pearl or tule, as if that imaginary gown hugs all his curves–the bounding hills of his biceps, the muscled thickness of his thighs, the fat of his pecs–or is revealing enough to leave just enough to the imagination...but no, Matt's just wearing a thong.

A women's thong, practically bursting at how hard he is, it leaves nothing covered in the front, and it does the same for the back. That's what you're looking at.

It's in a pretty pink, like ballet shoes you'd said, the pinnacle of grace. On him, it feels like the opposite, it's making him stiff. He never thought about how clenching your ass is visible from the outside until you'd pointed it out.

"Ease up, sweetheart. You look great."

"You said that already."

"Please?"

Matt arches his back some more, just for you. He tries to relax his glutes, and he's not sure if it works, but you're not complaining.

At a certain angle, you can see more than how the singular one-inch-wide fabric disappears between the perky globes of his cheeks. At a certain angle, if you sit up a bit straighter, you can see his hole.

You can see the way it gapes, how wet it looks... it's lube, but, "You're so wet for me, Matty."

Matt audibly gulps.

"Yeah, you heard me right," God, he just looks like a delicacy. "come here."

Matt remains on his hands and knees as he crawls towards you, slowly, inch by steady inch.

He knows just when to stop, right in front of you without even touching your lap. He looks up at you. His signature red glasses are gone, letting you gaze into those puppy brown eyes that despite being dysfunctional still find yours. "Good girl." You praise, cupping his cheek.

Matt doesn't often swear. It goes with his little Catholic boy thing, to put it lightly. To expand on it, however, it's ingrained in him. Maybe he does swear when he's out there being Daredevil, but according to the sparse things about Christianity you've learned, any swear is slander; and he'd never dare to slight you.

Yet, a shiver goes down his spine, shakes his body, and makes him say, "Fuck, Daddy."

"Why's a pretty girl like you using curses, hm?" You hum, and the worst thing of all (for Matt) is that it's a genuine question.

"I'm-I'm sorry, Daddy–" His voice is on the verge of a whine, it's pathetic.

"Oh, sweetie, don't be." Your voice is soft, genuine. He can hear the smile in it. "Daddy was just asking you a question. Go ahead, try again for me, okay?"

Matt nods his head just slightly. "It's you, Daddy." He catches himself, catches his tongue, quickly. "I don't mean to blame you, D-Daddy, sir. It's just, you make me feel so good."

"Do I, baby?" Matt hums a yes. You continue, "I haven't even touched you yet, sweetheart...apart from your cheek, that is, but I haven't kissed you neither."

"It's what you say to me." Matt says in a little whisper, in a lack of confidence. He's afraid. It's adorable.

"Can you say that again?" You ask, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. "Couldn't quite hear you."

"Daddy, please." He breathes out, knowing you did.

"Didn't hear you." You repeat, relentless, ungiving, stern. You haven't even called him anything: darling, sweetheart, baby, good girl. Oh, he is getting absolutely railed tonight.

"It's what you say to me." Matt repeats. In fact, he doubles down, pushing past your hand to lay his head on your thigh. "When you call me "baby girl" or "good girl", Daddy, it drives me nuts."

"Good girl." You praise, it drives a shiver through his spine, and you follow it with a finger. "Would you look at that. It really is what I say."

The tracing of his spine, the trail your finger leaves, makes him arch his back just that bit more. You can reach just far enough to cup one of his asscheeks. It lacks precision, but makes Matty moan all the same. You dare to dig a finger below the waistband of the thong, watching it go entirely taut around the rest of him, squeeze his hips just that tiny bit more. You don't even have to pull the fabric away, just slip your finger out of its confines, to hear it snap against his skin. That makes Matty moan too.

He moans so nicely you just want to hear more. "Can you get on your back, sweetheart?"

"I wanna...blow you, Daddy." Matt admits shyly instead, head inching closer and breaths hitting the shape of your clothed cock. He wants it, and you know it.

"Another time." You promise, pulling back, "Now, go on."

Matt does as you wish, because he's yours; and you're his Daddy, and he really really loves being a good girl.

He lays down on his back and he spreads his legs wide open, you don't even have to tell him to. He's obedient like that, always a pleaser. You could never ask for more.

"Hips up, please? Thank you, sweetheart." You prop a pillow under his ass to prepare.

Just the thought of it, of how considerate you are, has Matt leaking. You don't address his hard cock, your eyes don't even glaze over it. It has a certain shame burning through his chest, but at the same time, in the pit of his stomach, there's excitement.

"Thank you." Matt mutters.

"Thank you, who?"

He blushes, "Thank you, Daddy."

"Hands on–" You watch as Matt holds the underside of his knees and pushes his legs up for you, before you can even ask. "Good girl."

He's all trained for you. "Mm, thank you, Daddy."

"Let's get this thing off you, shall we, sweetheart?" Matt nods his head subtly, though the question was rhetorical. You begin to pull off the thong. You'll mourn its pretty pink loss, but first you'll watch the way it presses against the fat of his thighs and makes it spill over like a garter. By the end of it, you take it off one of his ankles but leave it on the other, and watch it slide down.

It's crude; like you've picked him up off the side of the road for a quick fuck.

Nevermind that. "Look at you, all wet and leaking for me." Matt's asshole clenches and unclenches around nothing in anticipation. It's pretty and pink, not quite ballerina but more sultry mauve, and puckered. The only displeasing part about it is that it can still close fully.

You press your thumb against one edge and watch it open, awaiting. "God, if you could only see yourself, baby girl."

"Ple-Please, Daddy."

You look at him. You look at the way his eyes aren't quite focused, but still on you, glassy. Glassy. Pleading, begging, you don't even know if he's doing it intentionally.

Matt Murdock wants you. His body wants you. Daredevil is all trained instincts, Matthew is too.

"I know. I'm getting there." You promise, hovering over him, holding his cheek, staring. Gosh. "Just...you're beautiful."

You press your thumb into him eventually. Your eyes are preoccupied, but you can still feel the way his hole sucks your finger right in. He clenches around it, and you can feel that too.

It's no cunt, but it'll still take you all the way. You shudder at the thought of it.

Matty does too. His toes are already curling. The pretty ballerina pink thong still hangs around his knee, wet at the very little fabric in front. Wet and drying, you can smell it, and you're sure he can too. He's probably ashamed—but to you, it's all the same: evidence of his arousal, the anticipation.

"Pl-Please." He stutters. He really can't wait, can he?

"Puh-lease." You taunt almost immediately. It was instinct, your insatiable, quick wit—you swear.

"Daddy..."

"Sorry, baby." You chuckle, and despite the apology, you continue. Driving your thumb in and out of him is consolation enough. "You know, I really think you'd look rather pretty in a skirt, or lingerie. A bath robe, too, the frilly ones...maybe I just want to see something wrapped around your pretty little waist. You know, it's a fight every day not to pick you up by it and prance you around like a prize: the new, hot commodity."

...

"Am I making you blush?"

Matty is about to snap back with a little something when suddenly your breaths ghost over his hole. It makes him jump. His senses are already going haywire, with the cold air around him and the bursting anticipation. You're probably one of the only people that can startle him.

Your thumb is out, but he won't complain, not when you press a kiss to his hole.

"Such a pretty pink." You hum before diving in, pressing increasingly open-mouthed kisses before beginning to lick and suckle. You don't speak the abcs into it, you haven't the luxury of surface area for that, but it still has his toes–and ignored cock–twitching.

Matt moans. He melts further into the mattress, arches his back a certain way that makes his rear press into you.

You laugh into it, and Matty can feel the reverberations of it in his body, in the air, in his ear drums. It's a pleasant sound, has his heart beating fast...or maybe it's your tongue.

"Oh, Daddy..." He moans richly. Rich like a perfect steak sauce, a good, long taste; a good long moan. Fucking exquisite.

But it's no scream.

You might just know a remedy for that though. "You want Daddy's cock, baby girl?"

You don't have to tell him twice. "Yes–" He's breathless already, and yet he cannot leave you unanswered, even though he'll have to chase his breaths, "Yes, please, Daddy. I really need it."

"How badly?" You part from his pretty cunt with a kiss to prepare, lube up and all, leaving him to answer.

He does so without any complaints at all, fingers twitching in their hold on his knees with excitement, "Really badly, sir, Daddy."

"Can you be a bit more descriptive, sweetie?"

He can hear you lubing up your cock for sure, the schlk schlk of it. It has his cock twitching too. "I've been waiting so long, Daddy. It's been too long since you last fucked me, already so long since you even prepped me. I...I miss it. Please."

"Good girl. Wrap those legs around me?" Not even a second later, "Good girl."

Matt's breath hitches when you drag your length against his hole, let its tapered edge catch along his rim. He's holding his breath, and it's adorable.

You pause, suddenly, "What was it you said about missing my cock?"

"Please." Matty breathes out, exasperated.

"Okay, okay, alright." You chuckle, "I'm sorry."

He doesn't even realize that his nails are digging into your bag when you begin pushing in. It's a slow process, but it does nothing against the fact that you're stretching him out. Your fingers just cannot compare. It's just so...so goddamn wet; and for a moment, he can imagine that it's his.

Matt can imagine that he's all wet for you, pussy just sooo excited and warmed up in anticipation. He moans at both things, that thought and that delicious stretch, and the way your pelvis feels pressed up against his ass.

You wince once you've all bottomed out and only then does Matt realize that he's dug his nails so far down your back.

"I'm sorry, Daddy." He's quick to apologize, pads of his fingers replacing his nails, soothing over the trail they've left.

"It's okay, baby." You breathe out, slow, "Can hardly feel it, actually. The feeling of you? So much more powerful."

Matt gasps when your hand finds his happy trail and your fingers play with the hairs. It's almost like you're playing with his clit...and then moving? Fucking into him?

Like a koala, Matt clings to you: arms around your neck and legs around your waist. He wants—no, needs to feel you. Every single inch of you.

Sweaty and hot as it is, he needs to hold you, because he loves you, loves this. Loves to feel your tender skin below his palms, the flesh of you between his legs, your muscles at work, and your cock driving into him, stretching him, keeping him full. It's the gentleness in it, the absolute love he feels radiating from you.

It's not a sixth sense. It's the fact that your breaths are calm and that your grip on him is soft and yet your heart is beating so terribly fast. Matt doesn't sense emotions, but he can sense this.

So again, he fucking loves it, and it's no slander.

"Want it a little harder, baby?"

"Yes." He answers immediately, through a choked gasp, "Yes, please."

"Sure thing." A kiss to the top of his head, and Matt smiles.

He starts to hold on a little harder when you speed up. The bed rocks underneath your movements, and Matt is struggling to keep up. His palm cups the side of your neck, thumb ghosting over the front, looking for a pulse, looking for something grounding. It doesn't help, even when he finds it.

But it's just instinct. Matt doesn't mind getting lost in a sea of senses, not with you.

"Aw, fu–" The curse is on the cusp of his tongue. He doesn't give it the time of day, though only because he moans again. "Ah!"

And again, "Ouhh."

Normally, Matt has no trouble keeping quiet, but he cannot keep up with your thrusts. Harsh once, then prolonged and awfully loving, as if an apology.

He cannot think.

And then your voice penetrates through it all. "Good girl. Taking me so well, aren't you?"

Oh, you really are driving him nuts.

"Huh, sweetheart? Think you can answer that for me?" Someway, somehow, you break from his strong just enough to look at his face. His eyebrows are screwed up and his eyes are closed, it's adorable.

"Yeah! Yes, yes, yes, sir." He spews uncontrollably. It only takes the smallest display of disappointment, the click of his tongue, for him to correct his mistake. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl. You look so pretty, you know?" You fiddle with the thong, pulling it back and letting it slap against his thigh. "Just for me?"

"Just foryou." Matt slurs. He slurs, because it's all too much. It's all you, you, you, you and that cock of yours. "'S so good, Daddy."

Oh, he's lost his mind. It's all too much—he can hear the creaking of the bed, smell the lube and all that he's leaking, feel a wetness glass over his eyes, and taste the growing amount of mucus in the back of his throat...

Not long after, there's a hiccup.

"Oh, you're crying, baby, am I that good?"

"Y-Yeah!" Matt cries.

Isn't he a sweetheart? So overwhelmed by all that you're giving him, and so thankful for it too...though not explicitly, not for a little while. "Matty, baby, where are your manners?"

"Thank you!" He gasps, thighs squeezing tighter around you. Aside from sharp gasps, he can't even speak. "Th...shi–shoot! Th-Thank you, Daddy."

It's adorable just how much he's avoiding swearing.

"No, thank you, sweetheart." The kiss you place to his throat has his next moan come out choked; and then you're kissing up his skin, past his pulse point, and up to his ear. "You're so damn fuckable, baby girl. Cunt open, just so wide for me. Bet you won't even be able to close after this."

Let alone walk. You chuckle into his ear, baritone and deep and so attractive somehow that it has Matt's eyes rolling back on pure instinct.

"Please."

"Please what?" You pull back suddenly and Matt's hold around your neck breaks. His hands fall onto the mattress, where they immediately grip. His knuckles go white. "Hm?"

"Go–shi..." Matt sucks in a breath through gritted teeth, it comes in as a wince. "C-Can't, Daddy."

"Can't what? Can't speak?" He nods, frantically. You decide to take pity on him. "Alright, I'll play your little guessing game. You want me to fuck you?"

No, too easy. Though he nods anyway. "Want me to kiss you?"

He nods, and you peck him on the lips, but both gestures are tiny. He's still unsatisfied. There's no skirting around what he wants. "You want me to leave you gaping, don't you, sweet girl?"

"Yes!" Matt cries out.

Well...who are you to deny your baby girl?

You redouble your efforts; faster, harder, more precise, even, right where he wants it: right into his prostate.

His tears begin streaming down your face, even jerking around with each harsh thrust that has him being drilled into the mattress. The pretty pink thong around his leg jumps up and down his calf too.

Even his legs fall from your waist, unable to do anything except jolt around and take you. Instinctively, they close around you; but you take Matt's knee and push it against the mattress, keeping him open. It makes Matt yelp.

"Please!" Matt moans. For what, he's not even sure. "Fuck, Daddy!"

He has all he wants right here.

A steady "uh, uh, uh" falls from his lips, head tilted up to the sky. Between the crying and the chanting, he almost looks as if in prayer, angelical.

He looks so fucking beautiful. Oh, you love ruining him, love to see the way those tears slide down his cheek, and the slobber and spit leaking from the corner of his lips, and his weeping, hard, red dick.

Maybe that's what he's begging for.

You hook one of his knees around your hip, leave it there, and then wrap a hand around his cock.

"Oh, Daddy! Yes!" Matt screams. His hands are on you again, gripping hard at your shoulders. He spews more words, gratitude, nonsensical things.

He keeps spewing, keeps sobbing and crying, as you fuck him harder and harder, and "Oh!"

He screams again, when he finally cums. Not not "yes", not an obscenity, but Daddy; and then softer as you fill him up with your own spend, in a pant: your name.

When you pull out, he's not just gaping. He's leaking too. "Try clenching for me, baby?" You ask, soothing your palms over his thighs just one last time.

Matty does as you ask, and he clenches around air. Air. His hole cannot fully close.

"Good girl."

[tricksh0t]

ME MEOOOOO KHE ES ESOOOO JAJAJJSJAJAJ😭😭😭😭 bro mejor decansa un ratito para refrescar la mente y luego sigues escribiendo😔🙏🏼

JAJAJAJAA noo nooo perate mira te doy mas contexto

Mejor, no?

Btw quiero hacer algo con daddy kink pero en español porq por alguna razon algunas veces me gusta más papi que daddy

[tricksh0t]

Christ guys I don't know what I'm doing

[tricksh0t]

Oh it's not 50/50 but it's damn near close, alright the people have spoken 🫡

what Matty will call reader insert ofc

[tricksh0t]

leaving y'all with a treat as I finish up writing for the night 😝

what Matty will call reader insert ofc

[tricksh0t]

Without the writer's or reader's mindset, this looks really really cringe

[tricksh0t]

what Matty will call reader insert ofc

[tricksh0t]

★ new year's

☾ jesse x male reader (tlou)

𝘱𝘳𝘦-𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ guess who watched TLOU s2 ep1 today :) by the way I've watched the gameplay as well

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 547

cw: dry humping ish, no s*x just making out, hard-ons, a church

Desperate hands curl around the side of your face and grasp at your hair, pulling. Pulling at your strands, pulling you far back. That initial strength pulls you off, but you fight it, push through, back to his lips.

He doesn't resist. He kicks himself further up the wall, inching up to his full height so you might kiss him easier; but his knees are weak. You notice it.

It's like you're grappling, when you take the underside of his knee, pull him up to height and push him back against the wall.

It's Jesse's choice, after, to wrap it around your hip and press his body closer.

Your pelvises meet, and fuck, that is not a gun.

In a sudden sprout of awareness, Jesse turns his head. He says in a gasp for air, "We're at a church."

"We're outside a church." You correct, and you won't let his self-restraint stop you. It's his self-restraint, after all.

When you press kisses around his neck, Jesse groans. "Wait. Wait, seriously." He tugs at your hair, but you're like a fucking animal, like a dog stealing food that's not his. "Maria's gonna fucking kill me."

"Not if we don't get caught."

"Seriously, you rabid dog." His hand comes down to your cheek, and his thumb pushed against your top lip, and only then do you pull off.

"What is it?" You press a kiss to his thumb, even after it has slighted you, and Jesse almost melts. "Do you not like it..? I mean, you're into guys aren't you?"

"I wouldn't say I'm into guys, I'm more into you—nevermind, that's not the point." Jesse shakes his head. "It's New Year's."

"That's exactly why we should be kissing." You argue.

"And we're at a party and–"

"–you're not helping your case here–"

"and I'm looked up to. I'm a patrol commander, I've gotta get up early tomorrow, and...and it's a goddamn church.."

"Get up early tomorrow is suggesting a lot—and why are you so hooked up on it being a damn church?" Before Jesse can even reply, you kiss him.

He fights for a second or two, nails digging into your cheek and his other hand pushing into your shoulder, before he finally, finally melts.

All his restraint, all his refusal, is thrown right out the window. He grinds his pelvis up against yours, and that moan he lets out at it is quiet, but only because your mouth muffles it.

You swallow the sound right up. God, he's a fucking treat.

Your hands wander, riding up his shirt. A shiver runs through his body–it's winter and there's wind–but your warm hands are there to make up for it. It has a whimper pulling out of his throat.

You've stared before, at the peak of summer, when he lifts up his shirt and he's all sweaty. Of course, you couldn't touch, then.

"Dina's finally let you go," You chuckle, nipping at his bottom lip before kissing his jaw. "and I finally get to have you."

"Oh shut the fuck up." Jesse breathes out, but it's as much of a threat as a snow bunny is.

You don't know how much farther you'll go. You're both hard, that much is clear, and you're not passing up this chance.

𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵-𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ okay let's talk about casting:

bella ramsey was sooo good first season right? but this deeper voice they've got for season 2 (at least i think they're making their voice deeper) is NOT selling an older Ellie; so I think they should've recasted Ellie

ABBY DESERVES TO BE BUFF! that's almost her whole thing in the game, like, "blonde? arms like mine?" or how she's always described as jacked, that's her identifier but fine if at least the actress built some muscle, i think it's alright; her acting during her introduction scene was good

Jesse's casting was great, Dina should've had her hair up more often than not but that casting is okay, she really sold the Dina voice when she yelled "Ellie!" when Ellie fell through the floor

Rapidfire for the fireflies: Owen and Abby's height difference SHOULD NOT have been that big, and the rest of them are way too hot. Like, Manny should've been chubbier, rounder cheeks and all, it's part of his charm. Also where's the rest of them? The dude with the bitch scar across his face?

[tricksh0t]

Oh what the hell man

[tricksh0t]

𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 / 𝔦𝔡𝔢𝔞𝔰 / 𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰

★NOR THE LINES ON YOUR FACE★ 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔬𝔤

🪩 gen/male reader, mostly 🔞 stuff

🪩 mostly top insert fics

🪩 please look at my rules!!

★NOR THE CLOUDS IN THE CEILING★ 𝔯𝔢𝔠𝔢𝔫𝔱

📀 new year's / jesse (tlou)

★NOR THE CLOUDS IN SPACE★ 𝔞𝔟𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔞𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯

🌑 Jean | 18 | any pronouns preferably he/him

🌑 Chinese and Latino

🌑 MatSci&Eng major this fall!!

lyrics - not by big thief

𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔰

#tricksh0t (all posts) #backsh0t (fics)

#r1cochet (asks) #r3load (reblogs)

[tricksh0t]

@tricksh0t / Jean ★

★ Nor the bed in the earth ☾ 𝔯𝔲𝔩𝔢𝔰

Do not interact

Minors (anyone under 18)

People who identify as fem, whether masc-presenting or fem-presenting

What I will not be writing

Fem reader inserts

Stepcest or incest

Lolicon or shotacon

Characters under 18

Snuff

Scat

[tricksh0t]

★ exes on good terms

☾ sam wilson & james barnes x top m reader

𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ finishing the brunt of something and then leaving it for a long time just to come back and finish the last little bit is my curse

𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 2.40k

cw: pre-TFATWS, face-sitting, riding, bj (reader receiving), insert is kind of secondary character, little corruption kink, jealousy, voyeurism, threesome

You don't know why James still comes to your apartment without warning. You don't know why you still let him, or why you invite him inside, or why you let him eat your food or shower with your water or sleep on your couch.

You don't know why he looks the way he does, hair greasy and wet, almost drowned, eyes down, lips frowning, you don't know anything except that he looks like a kicked puppy.

That just may be why you let him in.

It must also be why you let him wrap his arms around your midriff as you cook for him, for the both of you, as if you're still his.

"You smell good." You hum, stirring a pot of something.

Frankly, he smells like you. He smells like your shampoo and like your conditioner and like your soap. It almost tricks your brain into thinking he's still yours.

"Don't say things like that." Buck grumbles, like he usually does. "That's weird."

You didn't say that when we dated, is what you would say, but you don't want to turn things sour.

You know that in his little head he's pretending that everything's fine and that you're still together; and that saying something, reminding him you're not or even anything about the past, will urge him to run away, like he usually does.

So you remain here, laughing and smiling, "Sure."

Mac and cheese. Not Kraft Dinner, for once, however good the processed and preserved cheese and thin noodles might taste.

No, James deserved something better.

"What did you do today?"

"That's classified."

Between the metal arm and occasional blood smell Bucky gives off (nevermind the fact he was America's number 1 threat a couple years ago), "Yeah, I know. Was worth a try, anyway."

Bucky picks at his dinner. "You've got better small talk."

You roll your eyes, "If not what you did, how did you feel?"

"Hmm." Bucky hums, his eyebrows raised. He's a little surprised at the question, despite it being 'how are you' but like in the past tense. "Lonely, but you knew that."

"Did I?" He stares up at you when you say that, expression full deadpan. "Alright. Yeah, I did."

He huffs a small laugh through his nose and you relish in the fact you at least brought that out from him.

You insist on him sleeping in your bed tonight (with you) but even after all that begging, you're surprised to find him there, body half under the blanket, when you slip out of the shower.

He looks yours.

He's wearing your pajamas he borrowed, he's on your bed, under your covers, cleaned in your shower, filled with your food. He's reading a book, even, which isn't yours, but it is domestic.

"Hey." You whisper almost breathlessly, before you're crawling into bed and into his arms. He always liked being big spoon.

"Hey, you." Bucky puts the book down without a fight. He scoots down to laying, bringing you down with him.

You're leaning your body over his, half on the bed, half on him. Your head lays on his chest, hearing his heartbeat. He's superhuman you think, from all the hints he's given, and yet his heart beats just like yours, soothingly. His hand is in your hair, calloused as it is, it feels great when he runs his fingers through your strands and touches your scalp. You won't get to feel the other hand. It's too cold, he used to say, but at least he's considerate.

He switches off the light.

What is it that makes superheroes attracted to you?

In the morning, someone rings your doorbell while you were making breakfast.

It's Sam—you know, the Falcon? He's got his usual bright smile that never fails to incite a matching one on yours, that morning run sheen over his forehead, and...groceries?

"Hey, sweetheart." He greets, as if he's not knocking on your door unwarned, with groceries you're sure aren't his because he lives far from here.

You don't know why you let Sam show up at your door like this, or why you invite him inside, or why you let him eat your food or shower with your water or sleep on your couch; except today it seems he's paying you back for the food bit.

"Hey yourself–" You greet quickly, before turning to the matter at hand, "what are you doing here?"

"I was in town." Sam puts a foot into your apartment, and you let him. You let him step inside and leave the groceries on the counter and prop his feet up on the table—not that he does that last thing. "Thought I'd pay you a visit. You still like Kit Kats?"

When you check the groceries, lo and behold, there's the Kit Kats that you like. It seems he remembers a lot more than that, like your favorite cheese, favorite chips, favorite brand of instant coffee, and more.

"Yep, I do." You let out a small laugh. "Thank you. Hey, let me repay you."

"Oh, nuh-uh." Sam raises his arms, rounds the breakfast bar and leans against it so he can put some distance between you and your wallet. "I'm not taking any of your money, y'understand? You can pay me back with those pancakes you've got piled up."

When he actually really looks at them, he realizes that's not a serving for one. His eyebrows furrow before his face lights up again, "Shit, you got a boo around or something? I didn't mean to intrude."

"No!" You're quick to interject, "No, just a friend. No worries, I'll make you some pancakes."

"Thanks." Sam seems to deflate–physically and emotionally–with relief. "Where is he–or she, sorry, they?"

"Sleeping in."

"Alright." He accepts easily. He must've lost the knowledge that you don't have a guest bed.

"How've you been?" You ask, turning your back to him to prepare more breakfast.

You don't have to see him anyway to imagine all of the emotions and expressions on his face. "Peachy. You know, saving the world. Getting called out or stopped on the street for an autograph or a picture. The usual."

"Make sure the world knows you don't live here." You chuckle, "Lord knows the amount of fan mail I got when you were around frequently."

Sam laughs too. "Imagine me now."

Mm, there goes your streak of luck. Just as Bucky struts in, in all his bed hair, sleepy head, pretty face glory, Sam's face turns sour. Bucky, too, sobers up.

"Is that who you're calling your friend?" Sam raises a brow, leaning back in his chair.

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Bucky crosses his arms.

You immediately turn off the heat on the stove, knowing that this is going to be a long ride.

See...you never really told them you dated the other? It never really came up, or rather, you shouldn't take to your partner about your exes.

James came first, so of course there was no telling that you'd date Sam later on. He broke up with you because of his whole Winter Soldier you're-in-danger-if-you-stay-with-me thing, which, though heartbreaking, was understandable coming from a superhero dating a civie.

Sam came after, but he had whisked you so entirely into his world and his charm that you'd forgotten the soft relationship you had with Bucky. He broke up with you because he had to be around the world doing this and that; he was always busy, and he didn't want you to deal with that.

Also, the beef between the Winter Soldier and the Falcon isn't exactly well-known.

Jealous, that's what they are. It's clear in their eyes, in the way they bore holes into the others' faces.

"I should...say something," before the two of you blow lasers through my ceiling, with how hard you stare at each other, "you guys are my exes."

"Exes." Sam mirrors. "Plural."

"You dated this guy?" Bucky asks, like the mere thought of it is repulsive.

"Who you calling "this guy"? We have history, Buck. You talk about history with names, Sergeant Barnes." Sam stands tall and proud in front of Bucky, very nearly chest to chest, demanding respect.

"Sergeant? So should I call you what you will be, in history?" Bucky doesn't back down. "The man who gave up his shield?"

"Don't bring that up, man. This is not about that. This is about you dating my–" Sam cuts himself off. What are you, now?

"Your what?" Bucky hisses back. "Because he sure as hell isn't your boyfriend."

Sam regains his courage, "Well he sure as hell ain't yours, either."

Bucky turns his head towards you, slowly. In a snap, Sam does the same. You can't possibly discern the thoughts of the two men before you, except that they're angry. You're just not sure if they're angry at you too.

"This is where we're supposed to call you a lying, cheating bastard." Sam says.

Despite being angry at each other right now, and generally inamicable at all times, Sam and Bucky have synergy. Right now, they're realizing that you're the common factor in this equation.

You're not a liar, not a cheater, and not a bastard. Just an omitter, a bad communicator.

A man worthy of insulting, by all means.

Or a man worthy of worship, someway, somehow.

Sam's tongue licks hot into your mouth, against your tongue, on your lips. He kisses with a fervor, like today is the last day of his life. He's a man of passion, and he makes sure to show that he is passionate for you.

Bucky's tongue, by contrast, is licking up the side of your length, shoved deep into his throat. He takes it slow, despite the filth of it; the filth of how easy it is to slide right down his throat. His lack of gag reflex means he can take you any time, any day, and his love for you makes it hard not to.

Sam's holding your jaw, forcing your head to turn for him. Standing behind you and the couch, he almost seems to be taking your sight away from the other man on his knees at your feet.

Because if there's something Sam is, it isn't the other man.

James knows, unlike Sam, that you don't need the sight of him to feel the pleasure he brings. How does he know this?

Well, the only way Sam can have his way with you is with your mouth open, and Bucky can hear what keeps it open.

On your part, well, there's only so much yearning a man can take. Cuddling with your ex is one thing, receiving gifts from your ex is another. Both give you the hots for them—a cozy, warm feeling, initially, but it feels like your blood is boiling now, in a good way.

Sam's kisses give you an outlet for your passion and lust. It allows you to kiss back, show some fervor of your own, do something with the adrenaline that burns through your veins from Bucky's...

"Shit, Buck."

He feels so good around you. His throat is tight and wet and hot and so goddamn like the first time that it reminds you that you taught him, trained him; and God, that means his throat is practically made for you.

He doesn't bob his head. It doesn't feel like that. It feels like a glide, something elegant, even. You can't appreciate that at the front of your mind, but your subconscious is glad that, though you're being stimulated top and bottom, Buck's going easy.

He's going easy on you. God...

If this is easy—no, you know how it is when he goes down hard. It's good too, but you can't complain about the pleasure and how you can thrust (lightly) right into his mouth and he won't complain.

And Sam's having none of it.

That's why he takes charge, this time. He takes your cock. Nevermind the fact Bucky's saliva is all over it, it's his now, and he's not going to let Bucky have any of it.

...nevermind the fact Bucky's saliva is in him now. No, nevermind that.

Sam doesn't make up for a lack of anything. He's a plus, a surplus, rolling his hips nice and rough and down into you. He doesn't let it be consistent. He shocks you, bouncing sometimes, lifting up and lets his weight do the work for him.

He's good at it, and it's a fact he knows.

And it's all about focus, isn't it?

James knows it. He knows it so well. So what better way to steal the show than to sit on your face?

It's killing two birds with one stone—steal his man's attention, get pleasure out of it.

Bucky rocks his hips too. Except it's gentle, his way, and Sam's pace gets more and more angry. He's rougher with it, faster with it, less controlled. You feel it thoroughly, his efforts around your dick, and you moan out your approval of it; but it gets swallowed straight into Bucky's hole.

He tastes so sweet, damn near sweeter than he used to be. It's missing him, you think. Something about build up. He probably hasn't had anyone since you.

At least, not in this way. No, you're probably the only man he's ever had. You can only moan about that little fact in your head.

Sam grits his teeth, doubles his efforts till his body positively shakes, but no name will come from your lips. Not with Bucky keeping your tongue preoccupied.

That damn bastard.

He can't even see your face right now. He can only see Bucky's backside, his broad shoulders, the evidence of his strong, heaving chest.

...he can only see his thick thighs, covered in hairs, and his hole's probably hairy too. He can't take a peak of it, but he doesn't even need to peak to see his cheeks. Round, full...

There's more to this, isn't there?

It's kind of...it's arousing to look at. Sam won't admit it in voice, but he'll admit it in his head.

James is a good looking man, and he sounds just as good. He's sat on that face before, used that tongue before, he knows how good you give. The soft moans James lets out are tame in comparison.

Fuck James Bucky Barnes, but fuck him good. Sam could get used to this sight.