#Spread over four different projects | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

toxicanonymity · 1 year

Text

red dress (pregnant)

1.8k / horny!Joel x pregnant!reader / joel fics

Warnings: P in V sex, pregnancy, mild body insecurity, use of "daddy," Joel is really horny but it's bc you're so beautiful and he loves you. Pre/non-outbreak, I8+. thank you @xdaddysprincessxx for your pregnancy help.

Happy mother's day, y'all 💐 | it's this couple.

Pregnant with twins. It was an offhand comment, an empty promise Joel made in the heat of the moment. But here you are with four months to go. You put on a flowy dress for dinner and you’re looking at yourself in the mirror, turning to the side, cradling your belly and trying to wrap your head around how big you feel already when Joel comes out of the closet with a different dress. He’s only fastened one button of his shirt so far, and he’s not wearing an undershirt. The open bottom of his shirt exposes his little belly, the product of your own cravings, which turns you on in its own way. Khakis, no belt, no shoes. The dress he's holding is fire truck red, low-cut, soft and stretchy. Pre-pregnancy.

"Babe, that's gonna be way too tight," you frown. He puts both his hands in it and pulls them apart to show how stretchy it is.

“You said it yourself when we were trying,” you call over your shoulder. “You said I’d be waddling.”

"Never gonna live that down, am I , sugar?” He smiles. “Can ya try it on just for me?"

He lays it on the bed, then comes up behind you, sliding his hand along the underside of your belly with one hand and groping an engorged tit with the other. He kisses your neck lightly and his cock hardens against you as he rubs your swollen belly and massages your aching tits which aren’t quite as dwarfed by his massive hand these days.

You were already wet, but now you’re dripping. It doesn’t take much these days to make you horny as hell. Your baseline is horny to begin with, and Joel can hardly keep his hands off you long enough to go out in public.

“Ugh,” you groan. “Just for you, daddy.” His cock presses against you as he inhales and his hands make their way to your hips.

He begins to gather the skirt of the dress with his fingers, the hem rising higher and higher as the fabric accumulates in his hands at hip-level.

When he has all of the skirt in his hand, he lifts the dress over your head and you help him take it off. His fingers spread and his palms snake around you again, feeling every curve of your naked body. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmurs over your ear. “So damn sexy. . .you’re gonna look so hot in that dress”

“I'm gonna cry if we can’t get it on.”

“You’re not as big as you think babe.”

“But I will be soon. . . then what?”

“Then I’ll love every inch of you,” he kisses your jaw. “as much as you love every inch of me,” he grinds his arousal into you for effect and a bolt of desire weakens your knees.

He gets the dress from the bed and you’re still a little hesitant, but you’re persuaded by the bulge in his khakis as he brings it back.

He holds it over your head and helps you put it on. He’s right, it’ll fit. He pulls it down over your tits and belly almost effortlessly. It’s form fitting, but not at all restrictive.

He backs up to look at you and his eyes go wide. “Jesus, fuck,” he whispers.

You swallow thickly, projecting that he must be remarking on how huge you look.

“You’ve never looked sexier,” he says, his chest rising as he gets closer again and clarifies, “In clothes, I mean.”

Your breasts swell over the edges of the plunging neckline. The form-hugging fabric leaves nothing to the imagination, emphasizing the perfect silhouette of your belly. Not the best choice for dinner with his parents. He's thinking with the wrong head.

Joel gets behind you again and turns you toward the mirror so you can both see your sexy curves.

His hungry mouth latches onto your neck, his eyes straining sideways to stay on the mirror as he palms your breast where it overflows. He slips his hand inside the neckline and massages your breast as his other hand slides down over your belly and he moans at the sight of you so swollen with him. His hand reaches your mound, then you spread your feet slightly. His large fingers press the fabric of your dress between your legs as he ghosts your clit and puffy lips. He's hard as a rock, slowly pressing himself against you as he stares at you in the mirror, entranced.

“Gonna have to have you right now, sugar” he murmurs in your ear.

“Dinner’s at-”

“Don’t care if I ever eat again.”

“Your parent-”

“Don’t care if I ever see ‘em again.”

“I-” You cut yourself off with a sigh as his tongue drags against your neck and his teeth bear down gently while he maps your curves with his hands.

He’s feral, and you’re gushing wet. Your eyelids feel weak. Your body hums for him. His fingertips on your hips gently turn you around. He grabs your ass as he ushers you to the bed and sits down on the edge. You stand between his knees as he pulls your panties down to your ankles, then hikes your dress up just enough to cup your swollen, dripping pussy.

Then he gently hovers his hands under yours, grazing your fingertips, and says "c'mere," begging you into his lap. You hesitate, not wanting your belly between you. He senses your hesitation and scoots back on the bed, moving all the way to the pillows, not taking his eyes off you. He stacks two pillows under his head and unbuttons his pants, chest heaving under his half-buttoned shirt as he unzips his pants and slides them off, along with his boxers.

“C’mere, sugar.” He looks tormented with his cock in his hand, thumbing a bead of precum. “Don’t make me beg.”

The dampness of your panties is cool against one foot as you step out of them and leave them on the floor. You kneel on the bed, your dress still hiked up. You walk on your knees toward Joel and he looks at you though half-lidded eyes, wetting his lips.

“You’re so beautiful, baby.” His deep voice breaks with arousal.

You keep making your way toward him. When you’re hovering over his feet, he can’t help but gently slide one up your inner thigh, but you stop his foot before it hits your dripping seam. You’re always so wet these days, and he can never get enough of it. Your combined horniness makes for some late mornings in bed and unplanned nights in. But you’re especially wet right now.

He sharply inhales, then can’t wait anymore. He sits up and takes your hands in his. You come a little further, hovering over his knees, and he embraces you, nestling his head between your ample breasts, inhaling, licking, sucking, kissing your beautiful ripples and lines. He removes a breast from your neckline and groans at the sight. He takes your nipple into his mouth. You’ve told him how sensitive they are, and he’s careful as he circles his tongue, then plants wet kisses. He groans, unable to wait another minute to be inside you. His hands slide around and down to your ass and he grunts as he squeezes, beckoning you forward.

He lays his head back down on the pillows as you position yourself over his stiff, aching manhood. You take his cock from his hand into your own and tease him, dragging the tip through your wet folds and rubbing your clit with it several times. His eyes follow the swell of your belly as your hips tilt up and down, using the weeping head of his cock as a toy, then you nestle his tip at your entrance.

“You look like a dream, baby. Feel like one, too.”

It’s been a while since you’ve ridden him, but the look on his face and the softness of his voice leaves no room for you to feel self conscious.

“Need you, daddy," you whine.

You sink onto his stiff member, and he groans as you slide down to the hilt, your swollen lips meeting his soft public hair. You tilt your head back with a long sigh as he lifts his hips and bottoms out, groaning “ugghhh.”

You don’t think he’ll mind if you keep the dress on. He interlaces his fingers with yours, and you begin to rock your hips, his big cock nudging your g-spot. He’s already breathing heavily. The chain around his neck slides on his chest, calling your eyes to the smooth cleavage of his perfect pecs, exposed by a sliver of his half-buttoned shirt. His cock fills you up so perfectly, and the way his eyes rove your body make you feel beautiful as you roll your hips into him and he gently lifts his back in a perfect rhythm that fills you to the brim each time and rapidly builds your climax.

You ride him at a slow rhythm. His cheeks flush pink and his neck blotches red as he moans. You lean forward and your belly meets the soft flesh of his, the softness of his happy trail making your insides swell closer to climax.

“I love you, baby,” he whispers. “So damn much.”

“Love you too, daddy,” you say as you sit up a little and ride him a harder.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he breathes. “Gonna be a pretty mama.” His eyes dart back and forth at your tits, looking almost confused at how perfect you are. His brow furrows. He clenches his jaw, then takes a deep breath, which tells you he’s close. “Come on, sugar.”

“Yeah,” you pant. “Fill me up, daddy.”

You’re close, too. He moans as you plant your palms firmly on his belly and slowly lift yourself up and down on his cock, the dress hiked up enough for him to watch as your insides pull on his cock. Then a buzz rushes through your body, tightening your overflowing breasts with goosebumps, puckering your sensitive nipples, Making your thighs clench down on him. You moan as it seizes your core and your walls clench around him.

Joel’s hips lift into you and he shudders as he erupts inside you, each massive pulse of his cock intensifying your pleasure. He continues to gently move his hips as his balls empty and you gush around his cock.

When he’s empty, he sits up and lightly caresses your belly through the red dress. You carefully get off him, more of your juices falling out with his cock,then he kisses you long and deep. He spreads his legs around you and coaxes you into lying back against him, getting your combined spend all over the dress.

Then he calls his parents to cancel dinner. Another unplanned night in.

Thank you guys so much for all your support, reblogs, and comments. I love you all!!!

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #joel miller x you #joel miler fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #toxicanonymity ☠️#tw pregnancy

2K notes · View notes

minimoxha · 8 months

Text

The actress (Bruce Wayne x Celebrity reader)

Summary: You’re in Gotham for interviews, and you end up saying something on tv that interests the billionaire.

warnings: idk yet

“We’ve all been dying to know, Who’s your celebrity crush?” The talk show host, Jackson Evans asked you while you sat on the couch waving at some of your fans in the live crowd. The question came out of nowhere really, the past questions were about your new and upcoming music and even the TV show you were starring in. A busy woman at her finest.

After thinking for a second, your mind immediately jumped to a man who had been in the media since before he coule remember. He wasn’t that much older than you but old enough to where you and a lot of the other girls in your class when you were younger had a crush on the young man— Bruce Wayne. “Actually Jackson, I did.” The crowd leaned in closer, eager to find out what you might say to the talk show host. “It was when I was younger but I liked Bruce Wayne a lot!” Unbeknownst to you, four boys and one girl watched the TV with wide gaping eyes. Every single one of them knew who you were— who didn’t? You had been in the media since you graduated college and came out with a single that took the world by storm when you were 22. Ever since, it has been you singing and acting on the occasion that has kept you famous as THE S.N. (Stage name or actor name, it could just be your name also it doesn’t matter find your own happiness <3).

“Holy shit,” Jason muttered, it was no reason why he was at the manor in the middle of the day as if Dick and he weren’t both adults but they both sat on the couch with their mouths gaped. Beside them, the three younger siblings who still lived in the house were also surprised at what was said on the TV. Sure it was a crush from probably years ago which she didn’t have anymore but it was still surprising nonetheless. “I can’t believe Bruce actually pulls attractive women.” Jason retorted, everyone laughing along with his joke. Everyone but Bruce who had walked in only enough to hear the Joke, had no context behind it.

“I attract all types of women, Jason.” Bruce retorts, making his way over to the couch. “And why am I the center of this conversation?” Instead of an answer, Dick rewinds the tv to show the most important bit of your interview. After seeing it, his eyebrow raised in wonder. You WERE pretty, and he wasn’t surprised another woman liked him he had pretty women like him all the time. But something was different about you…

After the interview, you sat in your Hotel room with your headphones in and listened to the nearest crime watches. Bring a celebrity with no Current projects for annoying really fast so you had to do something to sustain your hunger for action. That something was being a vigilante, only sometimes and only for fun. And yes, it might’ve been a bit morbid to sage people for fun but you were already rich and successful, you needed something bad to REALLY make you fit into your crowd.

Especially since you came into contact with some new superpowers a few years ago. Usually, you used your powers for your own personal things but a couple of months back, something completely snapped in you to jump to action. Quickly, you made a suit, name, and other things you needed to become a vigilante. This gave you enough time to be on the radars of a few heroes/vigilantes as your name spread throughout your city.

Tonight though, you weren’t in YOUR city. You were in Gotham for this interview, one of the most dangerous places in America and you were excited for the change of scenery. “When will we go- I’m tired of waiting.” Cece spoke in your mind. (Cece is somewhat of an alter ego? She takes over and you develop her powers but you are usually still conscious with her!)

“When something interesting decides to happen. Of course, nothing happens when I’m in Gotham but something else happens every other day of the year here.” You let out an exasperated sigh, spinning in your chair and waiting for something to come up. Your waiting goes from minutes, to an hour until

you’re about to shut your eyes and call it a night when something rings on the speaker. “Calling all units to Blue St! We have someone In all black- a woman in all black sucking things into a black hole!” The cop yelled.

A smile formed on your face as you allowed Rocky to take over and lead the both of you to blue street. However, when you got there she realized that she wasn’t alone.

501 notes · View notes

m00nt4r0t · 1 year

Text

✮ what type of beauty do you have? ✮

pile one, two, or three?

topic suggested by yurdreamgirlfriend! thank youuuu!

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile one

song on shuffle: weston road flows by drake greetings, pile one! before i turn over your cards, i'd just like to say that you have the type of beauty that makes people assume that you're rude, for some reason. maybe you have a "mean girl" look to you, kinda like a resting bitch face, but i think that you walk and act a certain way that makes people assume this about you. they may get the feeling that you think you're better than them just because you hold yourself to a high standard. idk maybe this is true, or maybe people are just projecting onto you. either way, people see you as someone who looks like they run shit, like you should be in charge, or that you're very assertive. some may even think you're conceited lol. let's get into the cards now. the first card for you is the ten of cups! okay so you have the type of beauty that makes people think you're content no matter what happens in your life, which is a pretty shallow assumption, in my opinion. if you were to complain about something, i feel like people would think that you're too good looking to actually be sad or feel insecure. but i'm also getting that some could see you as wish fulfillment, and that they'd want to marry you and have kids with you because they want to mix dna with you. since the second card in your spread is the page of wands reversed, you have the type of beauty that confuses people. some people assume one thing about you while another group of people assume something completely different and i feel like almost everyone is wrong, which confuses them even more. ohhhh.... three of cups. okay so people in relationships could feel tempted by you, even if you're not even entertaining them, pile one. but i'm also getting a message that your beauty makes other people feel good??? people like being around you because they feel more beautiful with you, not in a malicious way. this is probably because they know you're very beautiful and you hype them up which makes them feel even more beautiful than before. yup, now we have the star. you have the type of beauty that makes people believe in a higher power, because there's no way you are that beautiful by chance. someone with a higher power had to craft you. your type of beauty gives people a mystical and magical feeling. you may have very unique/eccentric features and this draws people's attention to you like crazy. you have the type of beauty that tends to make people forget that there's a depth to you, as weird as that sounds. like, people start off liking you because of your beauty but then once they get to know you, they're amazed that you have your own personality???? idk this is a very weird message but that's what i'm getting. i'm seeing that you may have cat-like features such as almond eyes or a certain facial structure that could look similar to a lion. your hair could be a dark red color, or you may like to wear dark red a lot. this color really adds to your beauty, it's like a poisonous mixture, but in an extremely good way.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile two

song on shuffle: glow in the dark by tru heru heyyy, pile two! before i turn over the cards, i get the feeling that your type of beauty is the type that makes people... wonder. lol. you may have a dark aesthetic, dark eyes, black hair, and/or very sharp features that makes people think of occult-like things. you could have the type of beauty that makes people think of witches/warlocks, or you have the type of beauty that people want to manifest???? okay, lets get into the cards. the first card we have is the four of wands reversed. you have the type of beauty that people think you achieved by working out, or going on a certain diet, or cutting something out like smoking. even if your looks are 100% natural and un-altered by outside forces, people could possibly think you've had cosmetic surgery. you have the type of beauty that screams luxury. it doesn't matter if you're wealthy or unwealthy, people assume you have money. this could also indicate that your beauty attracts people who want to give you money. because of your beauty, people may think that you have high expectations and that you won't be impressed by them, which may or may not be true, i don't know. either way, a lot of people don't approach you because they feel like you won't even give them the time of day, let alone your number. you and pile one got the page of wands reversed, so if you were called to pile one then i'd suggest checking it out! but due to this card, you emerge new feelings for people because of your beauty. you could be a muse for artists, a new passion for those whom are interested in you, or even insecurity in some people. your type of beauty is the type that causes people to think new. if someone thinks you have high expectations but they really want to come forward, they're going to think of new ways to impress you. now, we have the wheel of fortune in reverse. your type of beauty invokes change in people in ways that inspires them to do their makeup a certain way, dress differently, act differently, get a haircut, start working out, change what they consume, etc. you have plutonian influence on people, meaning you cause them to look at themselves and change what they're not content with. you may keep up with your looks by frequently trimming and/or dying your hair, getting manicures/pedicures, doing your eyebrows, shaving, doing your makeup often, getting tattoos/piercings, and all of that gives people the essence of wealth. i know i've already said this, but it came up again so this energy is very prominent. your type of beauty makes people think of money, pile two. people also think you pay attention to the small details of yourself and that you're very creative when it comes to your style and/or makeup.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ pile three

song on shuffle: feelings aside by bamsavage (i don't remember adding this song lol) what's going on, pile three? before i look at your cards, i feel like you have the type of beauty in which causes people from your past to be stuck on you, or check up on you often. even in situations where they see you as the bad guy, they can't stop looking at you because your beauty is intoxicating. i'm also getting that your beauty is so intense and unsettling, that people who feel rejected by you may attempt to humble you in order to make themselves feel better lol. i'm going to look at your cards now. wow, all of these piles got the page of wands, but you got it upright and the other two got it in reverse. well, your beauty is the type of beauty that inspires people, much like pile two. people think that your beauty gives you unlimited potential and that you could pretty much do anything you want because of it. you may have more of a "messy" type of beauty, in which you may not brush your hair everyday, you wear baggier/cheaper clothes, but you still look really good to people and this is very admirable to them. since the magician is your second card, people see you as very powerful because of your beauty. for example, if someone is going up against you in a race, they may already feel like they lost because of your beauty. your beauty makes people feel like you can literally do anything. i'm also getting that people want you to dominate them???? okay moving on, we have the three of pentacles. you have the type of beauty that makes people want to work with you and learn from you. if you're into fitness, people want you to train them so they can look like you. people could also talk about how beautiful you are in groups, could be a group of friends, maybe even family. you definitely have the type of beauty that causes lots of attention to be on you in public. you could be very tall, or there's just something about you that sticks in people's minds. people that you e never met before may know of you or possibly even be a fan of yours because they’ve seen you in public or on social media. this unlimited-potential energy is coming back again, so you have the type of beauty that opens up opportunities for you, pile three. for example, people in higher positions could pick you over others just because of your looks, or maybe modeling agencies could scout you in public without you even trying to impress them because of the type of beauty you have. you have the type of beauty that makes people think you have a lot of self-love and inner confidence. you could naturally be toned, or you could be physically active! your beauty is extremely powerful, pile three. use it to your advantage, but do so wisely.

thank you for reading and interacting! <3

masterlist ⭑ personal readings ⭑ patreon

#tarot #tarot reading #pac #pac reading #pick a card #pick a pile #tarot readings #m00nt4r0t #what type of beauty do you have?#pac suggestion

2K notes · View notes

souperbloom · 6 months

Text

sweet tooth. [A.I.]

had this one floating around in the noggin for a bit. shoutout to @ipreferthedrummer for making it happen. ;)

🍫 fwb!ash

a night in with Ashton never tasted so sweet.

a/n: just wanted to get a little somethin’ out before my next project :3 keeping ash lanes fed is my only job.

CONTENT WARNINGS: !smut (kinda just drops ya right in, whoops.), fingering (f!receiving), insinuates unprotected sex, dirty talk, praise, the use of food in an unholy scenario (lolz).

WORDCOUNT: 2k

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

"Can we try something?"

Ashton pops his head up from the crook of your neck, his hands still feeling you up as he hovered over you, your bodies splayed haphazardly across his living room couch.

You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been thinking about this something since the moment you stepped through Ashton’s front door.

Originally, the plan for the evening was to make ice cream sundaes, watch a movie, and leave before the clock struck midnight.

You stopped at the grocery store on your way over, grabbing any and every ice cream related thing on the shelves, per Ashton’s request. Whipped cream, hot fudge, toasted peanuts, sprinkles; and about four different flavors of ice cream.

When you brought up the idea, Ashton didn’t hesitate. An impromptu hangout to make ice cream sundaes? Who could say no to that?

But now, your mind was clouded— and after an unsuccessful 15 minutes of trying to assemble these monstrous sundae creations, you and Ashton had gotten a bit distracted. The only thing left of your clothes now were a pair of lacy panties and the oversized t-shirt on your back.

"What is it?" Ashton asks breathlessly, a rogue black curl falling over his forehead. He was already half-naked, which you found amusing, speaking on the fact that you had only been at his house for an hour.

"Here," You start to lift yourself from beneath him, bringing him to flop backwards on the couch as you rise to your feet, "I’ll just… show you."

You weren’t exactly sure how to bring up what you wanted. Would it have been weird to ask for such a thing? God, you hoped not. You knew Ashton was down for just about anything you asked for— you guys worked well in that way.

Across the living room were the contents of an unmade ice cream sundae, sitting out on the counter and taunting you with their presence. The whipped cream can on its side, the chocolate syrup, a plastic container of sprinkles; untouched. It was like a sweet crime scene.

You walk to them with your hands on your hips, as Ashton just sits there quietly.

"You hungry? I know we didn’t really get to the sundaes but— you could’ve just said somethin’."

"No, no— I’m not hungry…" Covering up your newfound nervousness with a chuckle, you reach for the bottle of chocolate syrup.

"Oh."

You glance over your shoulder at Ashton, who was clearly trying to get a read on what you were doing.

"Can we try something with this?"

Ashton’s eyes widen at the bottle in your hand, a sneaky smile spreading across his face that made you just want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

"You want me to lick it off of you, don’t you?"

The condescension in his voice was more prominent than ever.

"You don’t have to—"

"Y/N, you know I’ll do anything once…" The way he responds so calmly makes your stomach turn.

"…Just tell me whatcha’ need."

You bite back a smile, walking back over to the couch with more confidence than before. Ashton shifts in his seat, spreading his legs comfortably and inviting you to straddle his lap.

All of your actions are unspoken, the only thing occupying the room around you were the sounds of a jazzy, blues guitar. You return to him, and he holds out his hand to you.

"M’lady," he jokes, reinstating that charm of his as you use his hand as leverage to straddle him.

"You’re so dumb."

He scrunches his nose. "You love it."

With the bottle in one hand, and his hand in the other, you get comfortable on his lap. His hands find your waist again instantly, index fingers toying at the hemline of your t-shirt.

Well, his t-shirt.

Unsure of how to resume what you had started, you crash your lips into his, and drop the syrup bottle at your side, in hopes he’d get the memo.

And, of course, he did. He knew you a lot better than you thought.

"Let’s get you out of this, hm?" He mumbles into your lips, not long before pulling the shirt over your head. You lift your arms to aid him in undressing you.

"I’ve been looking everywhere for that shirt, by the way," He chuckles, but doesn’t waste any time finding his blistered hands on your waist.

You just smile at him, running your tongue across your bottom lip. "Found it."

As your lips reconnect, you can already feel the wetness pooling in your panties, grinding down into the hardened length held captive by his briefs. His tongue explores your mouth, while your hands wrap around the nape of his neck.

You start a rhythm of swiveling your hips; his hands traveling down your waist to cup your ass, taking it in a handful.

"Fuck this grinding shit… ‘Need to fuckin’ feel you…" He speaks sloppily through bated breaths, but you nod in agreement. An hour spent teasing was an hour too long.

Your hand moves to his hair, pulling back his head so you could leave a trail of sultry kisses down his exposed neck and chest. He whines at the contact of your lips on his skin.

"Wanna ride me, baby?"

Your head pops up, taking your bottom lip between your teeth with a nod. "Yes please."

He wastes no time lifting your hips off of his to free his cock from the button on his briefs. You do the same, taking your hand between your bodies and pushing your panties to the side.

Moving with such haste was typical for you and Ashton; since half of the times you’ve fucked have either been rushed, or at a place where you really shouldn’t have been so needy for each other.

"Fuck yes, baby— always so ready f’me…" He palms his cock, brushing the tip against your wet folds. All you could do was whine, already fuck-drunk by the slightest feeling of him.

But before you were able to lower yourself onto him, he stops you in your tracks with a grab at your sides.

"Eager now, are we? Aren’t we missing something here?"

You were already so dazed by the thought of riding him that you had completely forgotten what you had asked for.

"Mmm, shit, you’re right." You nod, closing your eyes and settling yourself onto his thighs.

He reaches beside you for the chocolate syrup bottle, holding it between your bodies. A wave of excitement rolls down your spine, watching eagerly as he pops the lid.

"Where do you want me?" He asks, his eyes flicking between the bottle and your chest.

"Everywhere."

With a shake of his head and a bite of his lip, he tips the bottle. You take in a deep breath, watching the chocolatey mixture pour out and trickle down your bare chest.

You weren’t sure how much he’d let drip down the front of your body, how far he’d actually go with your request. But the only thing you could do was watch with a slack jaw as he continued to pour it onto you.

His eyes flicker with lust as he watches the gooey trail lead down towards your bellybutton, practically salivating at the sight of you covered in something edible. Something so sweet.

"Y’look fuckin’ delicious, Y/N. Wonder how good you taste—" he mumbles, satisfied with his artwork as he pops the lid closed.

"’Guess there’s only one way to find out."

Your head was reeling. Spinning at a mile per minute. You didn’t think you’d enjoy this as much as you were about to, and you’d only realized it the moment his tongue licked a slow stripe up your chest.

"Shit—"

You whine and writhe, arching your back to allow better access to the chocolate that had gone too low to reach.

Ashton hums in delight at the taste of you on his tongue, those bright green eyes popping up only upon hearing your voice.

He seemed to enjoy watching how he ruined you, almost as much as you enjoyed letting him.

Expletives and more moans croak out of you as he starts another pass up to your chest, this time starting just above your belly button.

You wanted to scream in ecstasy, but couldn’t find it in you to make a sound louder than the satisfied groans coming from him. His tongue moved intricately across your body, collecting every last bit of that sweet nectar on his tongue.

Ashton then swallows, and gives one last pass of his tongue between the valley of your tits before stopping up to your eye level.

"Wanna taste?" He asks, licking at the left over chocolate on the corner of his mouth.

"Thought you’d never ask."

In a second, his lips are hungrily slotting against yours. Your tongues swirl together; the rich, earthy flavor meshing into something even sweeter than before.

Just as you thought you couldn’t get enough of him, he reaches down between your bodies, attaching his index finger to your clit.

"That’s it, baby—" says Ashton, messily attempting to keep your lips interlocked as his motions cause you to jump out of your skin, "— bein’ so good. So sweet. Gonna’ cum for me, sweet girl?"

"Yes, Ash— Please—" You beg, an empty plea, as his fingers continue to chip away at your decorum and any part of you that was left on this Earth.

His middle finger was now brushing against your slit, but you were feeling far too greedy.

"Please, Ash— Need t’feel you, oh—"

Your forehead knocks against his, hips gyrating with force and practically begging for release. He listens to the signs, as always, now with one finger inside of you and the other still playing with your clit.

"That’s it, darlin’. Just like that—"

He coaches you through every single fleeting moan that rips through your throat, nodding at you. Giving you all of the conformation you needed to completely let go.

"Give it to me, Y/N. Fuckin’ give it t’ me."

"Fuck, Ash!"

Your heart rate doubles, triples; it’s climbing and climbing with each curl of his fingers. You watch his face contort as he takes his time pleasuring you, noticing his teeth sunk into his bottom lip so deeply that he was close to drawing blood.

"Ash, I’m close—"

You gasp for air, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you begin to hurdle towards the brink of your orgasm. But all he does is peer at you with that familiar, sultry smile.

"Kiss me."

Following his eager instruction, you slam your lips onto his. The both of you let out a collective sigh as your tongues entwine once again, singing sweet nothings into each other’s mouths while his fingers fuck up into you.

You could still taste the remnants of chocolate, the syrupy flavor ghosting around in your mind right before stars are fogging your vision. You completely let go, releasing yourself onto his fingertips with a loud cry.

"Yes, fuck— give it t’ me."

Ashton coaches you one last time as your orgasm rips through your limbs, rendering every single organ of yours absolutely useless. The butterflies once encaged in your stomach had set finally set free, and fluttered along your insides.

As your orgasm fades out into a shaky pair of legs and a heightened heart rate, you think about what Ashton had said right before he was spilling chocolate sauce onto your bare chest. How willing, how eager he was to try this with you.

To taste you.

You pinch your eyes closed, before collapsing onto the front of his chest with a long sigh.

"Fuckin’ hell, Ashton," You mean to sound stern, but it comes out as more of a giggle as your thoughts bounce around in your brain, "And to think I thought you were gonna say no…"

As his hand reaches up to comb through your hair, his head leans down to whisper in your ear. You could tell he was smiling.

It was always so obvious.

"Well, Y/N— when it comes to you, I’ve got a fuckin’ sweet tooth."

⋆⭒˚｡⋆

#ashton irwin #5sos #5sos fanfic #ashton irwin smut #ashton irwin fanfic #ashton 5sos

110 notes · View notes

rustingcat · 7 months

Text

Breakfast

It was a few months later over breakfast with Nia when the request first came out.

Kara and Lena had been working with Brainy on the biological formula for his data-clone they could merge with the big brain in the future. They managed to create something they hoped would work and started the creation process. If along those months Lena noticed the extra familiar PF in the preservation container, she said nothing.

Brainy and Nia spent the first two weeks of their honeymoon visiting different planets before coming back to earth and spending the second part of the month on different cruises. Cat only agreed to the long vacation if Nia were to write at least four detailed articles about her experience on another planet, the possibility and progress of planetary travel for the average person in the near future, reviews of different cruise ships and the difference between cruises on earth compared to other planets.

The first two weeks after they returned were crazy, there was an all out attack from a conquering army of aliens trying to take over the earth. That ended up being the first combined attack of all of earth's superheroes. A combination they later named the Justice League, utilising the space they created for themselves to plan their next counter attack. Kara later had to update her contract with the DEO, with Lucy's help of course, to legalise all future activities she had with the Justice League and would not contradict anything in her contract with the DEO.

So with everything they've been dealing with recently, she was very glad to share a normal breakfast with her friend.

Nia was telling her in detail the story of her current article, study of the new fashion trends in National City and the correlation to the alien immigrants in the area. Kara was very excited to read it.

In return, she updated her on the Big Brain project, noting that they believed they would finish the first trial in the next 5 months or so.

"I know the Big Brain project is a little different, but do you think you are ready to start testing… you know, actual babies?" Nia asked carefully.

"Yeah, I mean we made sure it's a possibility before starting the project. Although we have yet to test a complete process, obviously." Kara chuckled nervously as she remembered her near click.

"Can you start the tests?" Nia bit her lip, nervously.

"Well, technically yes, but in the– wait!" Kara stopped mid sentence to study her friend. Nia's smile was spreading wider on her lips despite her attempts to contain it. Her excitement was clear.

"You want to–"

"Yes." Nia nodded quickly before Kara could finish her sentence.

Kara put a hand on her mouth in shock. They're gonna start the process. They're gonna start the attempts to create a baby for their friends! They're gonna have a baby in the group!

"Ahhh!" Kara could no longer contain her excitement, jumping off to her feet to engulf Nia in a big hug. Nia chuckled as she tried to stand up within Kara's embrace, somehow failing to do so and ending up in a somewhat awkward position.

"You're gonna be a mum!" Kara exclaimed once she pulled away, letting Nia to stand up properly.

"Yes?" She exhaled. It came up as more of a question.

"You're going to be an amazing mother Nia!" Kara pulled her again for another excited hug. "And your baby would be the cutest baby in the world!"

"Thanks Kara," Nia managed to say, muffled slightly through Kara’s sleeve.

"We'll start right away." She promised and shot Lena a quick text.

"Wait, as in right now?"

"Of course!" Kara was so excited.

#to new beginnings #supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorptober #supercorptober2023 #my art #my fic

118 notes · View notes

clusterbuck · 1 year

Note

oooh fake fic titles? “you and me and the lemon tree”

whoops this is no longer a fake fic

you and me and the lemon tree

1.6k | future fic | buckley-diaz family shenanigans

The lemon tree is Christopher’s idea.

“We’re not moving again,” he says. “That’s what you said, right? So we could plant it now and take a picture, and then in like ten years we could take the same picture only the tree would be big. It would be cool.”

“It’s gonna take a long time to get there, buddy,” Eddie says, and Christopher sighs and rolls his eyes. He’s fifteen, now, and the eye-rolling happens a lot, but most of the time it’s still tinged with fondness.

“I know that,” Christopher says. “But it could be like—a tracker. Of how long we’ve lived here. It would be cool, right?”

“Of how long we’ve lived here,” Buck corrects, nudging him gently. “You’re off to college soon. Just a couple of years, and it’s just going to be me and your dad.” He looks over and winks at Eddie, who hurries to put his hand on Christopher’s shoulder and reassure him he’ll always have a home to come back to.

“Of course you will,” Buck says, and reaches out to ruffle Christopher’s hair. Christopher ducks away and tries to fix the curls that fall into his face. “We’re always here for you. But when you’re not home…”

“Gross,” Christopher groans, and Eddie leans over to shove his shoulder. The cold metal of his wedding ring brushes against Buck’s skin, and he grins.

“I just meant we’d have space to spread out the big puzzles on the dining table if it’s not covered in your homework,” Buck says, projecting innocence.

“Sure you did,” Eddie grins, and hooks a finger into the belt loop of Buck’s jeans to pull him in for a kiss.

“So are we planting a tree or not?” Christopher asks, and Buck laughs into his husband’s mouth.

—

They plant the tree exactly one month after they move into the new house, and exactly one year after Buck had gotten on one knee in the middle of the loft and Eddie had said fuck, I have a ring stashed in my sock drawer. Buck and Christopher spend several days doing the research, and they determine that their best bet is a grafted sapling, a tree that’s already done a little bit of growing.

“They’re harder to fuck up,” Christopher says, and Eddie says hey, then admits it’s probably for the best.

“You told me you have a black thumb,” Christopher says.

“And you told me I can’t cook,” Eddie says. “I learned that, hm?”

“I guess,” Christopher says, and Buck snorts a laugh then kisses Eddie in apology.

The sapling is barely a foot tall, and looks more like a twig than anything else when they get it planted. “It’ll grow,” Christopher says, sounding like he’s trying to convince himself just as much. “It’ll look more like a tree eventually.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “You almost look like a person now.”

“More than you do,” Christopher shoots back, and Eddie makes a mock-offended noise.

“Sorry, kid, I don’t agree with you on that one,” Buck says, slipping a dirt-streaked hand into the back pocket of Eddie’s jeans.

They take the picture, the little sapling with their house in the background. The house they bought together, that they moved into together, the house that neither of them is ever going to live in alone.

They take the picture, and then discover that it’s surprisingly hard to get photos printed anymore. But finally, after several trips to several different drugstores and Walmarts, they have a shiny four-by-six inch photo to put up on the refrigerator with the magnet they’d bought at the aquarium the day after Eddie kissed Buck for the first time.

The front of the fridge fills up quickly, with shopping lists and receipts, ticket stubs and shift schedules and permission slips and the general detritus of three lives intertwined, but the photo is always there at the centre of it all.

—

The day Christopher leaves for college the tree is twice as tall as it had been, if not more. It looks like a tree now, if in miniature, still too small to bear fruit but tree-shaped nonetheless.

Eddie insists on getting a picture of Christopher next to the tree, and walks into the backyard to find Buck already lining up a shot.

Christopher grumbles, and Eddie stands behind Buck to rest his head on Buck’s shoulder and peer at the phone screen. “This was your idea,” he reminds their son. “You said it would be a good tracker.”

“We didn’t take a picture of me with it when we planted it,” Christopher points out. “It’s only tracking the house.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and hooks his thumbs through his husband’s belt loops. “But it’ll be cute anyway.”

Christopher rolls his eyes, but he lets Buck take the picture.

The college Christopher had chosen isn’t far, so Buck and Eddie drive him to his dorm and fuss over his room and take him out for dinner, and still make it home by the end of the night. Eddie drops their bag by the door and Buck slips into the kitchen, and they meet out on the porch swing.

Buck hands Eddie one of the open bottles of beer he’s holding, and offers his own up to clink against. “So,” he says, taking a sip, then tips his head back to look at the sky. They can’t see many stars in the middle of LA, but it never stops them from trying. “Empty nest, huh?”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, tapping the neck of his bottle against his chin. “Just you and me.”

Buck smiles, resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he says, and Eddie’s hand splays across his thigh. “You and me and the lemon tree.”

—

The first time they fight—really fight, the kind with voices raised and doors slammed and words so sharp they draw blood on the way out—Buck goes out to the lemon tree. Years later, when he no longer remembers what the fight was about, he’ll remember this: the tree, four feet tall with a trunk that just barely holds him up when he leans against it.

He changes his mind almost instantly, though, and lies under the tree instead. He doesn’t want to damage the tree, risk pushing it off course before it ever flowers.

Buck lies under the tree and stares up at the sky through the leaves, searching for patterns in the gaps and trying not to think about the things he’d just said. It’s all—

It all seems so stupid now, five minutes and twenty-five steps removed. This is what they’d promised each other, after all. The good times and the bad. This fight doesn’t matter, not really, not in the long run.

He doesn’t know if it’s five minutes later or fifty, but eventually he hears the sound of the porch door and the footsteps he’d recognise in any crowd. Eddie sits down next to him and Buck extends his arm, waiting for Eddie to lie next to him and settle his head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie murmurs.

“I know,” Buck says, pressing his lips to the bit of Eddie’s forehead he can reach. “I’m sorry, too. We’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I know we will.”

—

Christopher brings home his first serious girlfriend, and the lemon tree bears fruit.

“This better not be a sign,” Eddie says, holding up a finger in warning. “We don’t need to have the talk, do we?”

“Dad,” Christopher groans, every bit a child complaining about his father despite his twenty-two years. “Ew.”

“I’m just saying—”

“It’s okay,” Buck interrupts him, swooping into the living room with a kiss to Eddie’s cheek and bumping Christopher’s fist. “I gave Chris the talk long before I gave you any kind of talk.”

“You did what?” Eddie squawks.

“The kid had questions,” Buck shrugs. “I was there.”

“It’s not a magic tree,” Christopher says. “It’s just lemons.”

“Just lemons,” Eddie says. “No metaphors?”

“I promise,” Christopher says. “No metaphors.”

—

Things don’t work out with the girlfriend, in the end, as often is the case with first loves. But some years later, Christopher marries Matilda in his fathers’ backyard, and the tree is tall and beautiful, full of vibrant yellow fruit. Christopher promises to love her forever, in good times and bad, standing under the tree he planted when it was barely a twig, and Buck surreptitiously swipes a tear from the corner of his eye.

Beside him, silent tears run down Eddie’s face.

“Remember the day we planted the tree?” Buck asks, and Eddie sways against him.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “It barely came up to his knee.”

“You said he almost looked like a person,” Buck says.

Eddie laughs. “Look at him now.”

“Yeah,” Buck says. “You did that. And before you say it—I helped, I know. But you did most of the work.”

“I guess I did,” Eddie murmurs, leaning his head on Buck’s shoulder. “And now he’s married.”

“It’s just you and me now,” Buck says. “It’s always gonna be you and me.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, and Buck hears the smile in his voice. “You and me and the lemon tree.”

—

They take a picture, later that night, of the tree with the house in the background. They compare it to the original, and of course Christopher had been right all those years ago. It’s cool.

“Did take a while to get here, though,” Eddie says, when they’re finding a place for the new photo on the fridge.

“Yeah,” Buck says, and bumps his hip against Eddie’s. “But it was worth every step.”

#hi annie sorry and thank you jghdgh #911fic #buddie #buddie fic #ask emma #emma writes #dearestdiaz

267 notes · View notes

halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

Text

BANSHEE BLUETHROAT (III)

|| COV MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER IV ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

WORDCOUNT: 9.3k

WARNINGS: Angst, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, talks of death & violence, blood, guns, mass death, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Your mind was a loop of indecisiveness. A circle of revolving moments that carried over to the next. At the center was your only saving grace—the routine. And, so, by eight AM for the last four days you had gone back to the café with Gaz trailing silently behind.

He’d learned on the second day you weren't going to speak beyond harsh insults, and you had only smirked and walked on with a sense of victory. You may not have been able to stab him or poison him, but this was a game best played slyly.

Breaking him first was the prize.

But today it was different. You’d finished a project for one of your more interactive courses in college. Nothing extravagant, but something that would give you a good enough grade to pass and would satisfy your jerk of a professor. All of this involved going to campus to turn it in, seeing as it was quite the sizable binder that had to be given physically over unless you wanted to flunk out.

Going into the city.

Backpack full, Gaz hands back over your gate key with his forefinger and thumb, which you snatch and shove into the back pocket of your jeans. You hated to admit it, but the man's silence was a blessing. Not having to hear his voice was just another illusion you could place over your eyes to say Kyle wasn’t here in the first place. Besides the Sergeant’s morning and night routine of walking the mansion in check of oddities, you’d all but forgotten he was there once he’d stopped trying to talk to you.

You begrudgingly supposed that he had been right in saying he’d be out of your hair most of the time.

The penknife still stayed in your jacket pocket. Next to the coin on the right side with which you fiddle with currently, rolling the thin metal over and under fingers with practiced dexterity. Not only had you gone out of your way to avoid interactions with the Sergeant, but you’d also been avoiding anything to do with your father and his charges pertaining to Kate Laswell’s deal.

Not once had you gone into your old man’s office, and you had little plans to.

I owe Laswell nothing, you stand in the café as Hector hands over only one cup of coffee today, the man sending violent glances to the awkward form of Gaz in the doorway. Certainly not my own right to privacy.

“Not staying?” Hector asks, and you toss down more crushed bills on the counter with a hum.

“Gotta go into campus.” Kyle shifts from his position, brown eyes snapping to the back of your neck with a confused blink. “Project.”

“Ah, see that’s why I never bothered—won’t find me doing all that shit.” You huff, looking around at the sparse customers and rolling your shoulders. Dread was perhaps the only word you could use to describe the feeling in your chest. Apprehension. Fear.

Moving your hand farther in the air, you motion a goodbye with the drink, “See you tomorrow, Hec. Keep the place standing until I make it back.”

“You know it!” Striding away, your form slips out the open door—courtesy of the Sergeant—and the sudden pressure in the back of your consciousness increases.

“Campus, Ma’am?”

“Problem?” His tone was a dead giveaway of what he thought of the trip. You send a glance to his taller form, watching the dog tags on his chest bounce above the open lip of his black bomber jacket. The morning was spreading its misty grip over the streets.

You threaten to spark the lingering electricity between the two of you from previous clashes over the few days.

“Negative.” Kyle clears his throat, arms swinging. “No problem.”

“Thought so.” Your eyes shift as you take a swig of caffeine, swallowing and licking your lips to taste the liquid. Forcing down a shiver, you add with a frown and stiff neck, “Don’t slow me down.”

Your body takes a right at the next street, looking into store windows and giving strangers a wide berth as you shimmy around them. Kyle stays ever present at your side, never letting your steadily increasing pace make him lose sight of you for more than a moment of bobbing heads.

A mostly fake scoff meets air. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You’d probably skin me.”

Not bothering to respond, your vision slashes to the cars on the street, taking the time to watch the slick metal as the sun streaks over it. A white Sedan is slowly coasting past you, and the moving shadows on the inside make your hackles rise for no apparent reason. Shuffling bodies and phantom smiles; multiple, but no more than four.

Kyle’s form cuts your view off in a quick step.

Head snapping up, you snarl out a comment to move. Gaz looks down at you, and your vision slashes to his stubble to avoid a clashing of eyes.

“Can’t have you walking near the road,” he says, and you continue on with clenched hands. “Safety measure. I also should know how you expect to get to your University, yeah?”

“You mean without driving?” Your body knows the route to your destination. Sparse days throughout the month when it became inevitable that you would have to go to class and the limited ways you could get there. Sighing, you lick your lips and bring your drink to your mouth.

“Well,” You can hear the teasing nature in Kyle’s tone, “I can always call in a pickup.”

“Keep dreaming, Garrick.” Over the past four days, you’d hear the Brit in the large foyer of the mansion sending reports to Laswell—whether by word of mouth or by spying him typing away on a laptop as you slunk around.

You didn’t know why he did it there of all places, but when he looked up at you going to the kitchen, you had a good idea. His eyes were always watching. Assessing. Even now as you look over at him, Gaz’s gaze was flying over the multiple heads of the crowd; hand held close to the concealed carry. And he was still trying to speak to you—it was infuriating.

Can’t he just do his job and leave me alone? Christ.

“I wouldn’t call this a good idea.” Rolling eyes make lids pull back as you shake your head.

Kyle glances down at you, stirring in his gut as he tries to guide you farther into the safety of the sidewalk. But your feet are like iron, and his disapproval worsens. There were too many people out—too many unknowns. So bloody stubborn.

“Do you expect me to just give up my life because of some so-called threat?” You huff, finishing off your coffee and tossing the empty cup away in a passing garbage can, hearing the thunk as it hits the bottom of the bin. “I actually have plans to graduate, y’know.”

“Can’t you email your professors?” He asks, frowning, “Kate’ll make sure you’re believed at the very least. I’d think keeping your blood in your body was more important than a grade.”

“You been to college?” You look twice before crossing the street, jogging across. It wasn’t like you cared, but a point needed to be proven, and, of course, you already knew the answer. The Sergeant had enlisted at eighteen—it had said so in his file.

Gaz blinks in surprise, staring at the side of your face for a brief moment. “Thought about joining University, but the Army sucked me in before I figured out what I wanted to go into. Been there ever since.”

You stop outside of the train station, feet stalling so abruptly that the Brit grunts in the back of his throat. Twisting on fast heels you raise a brow and narrow your stare on the broad build of Kyle’s chest, watching the fabric move as his hands twitch at his sides.

“Imagine knowing what you were going to do for your entire life,” voice serious, you extend a brief moment of realness to get the Sergeant off your back for the foreseeable future. “And then imagine someone saying to just email your professor about a project that’ll take up a good forty percent of your grade. Idiot.” Your branch shrinks and dies. “You sound so stupid you’re making me lose brain cells just by speaking to you.”

“Well…I never said it would have to be a short email.” Groaning loudly, your jaw grinds into itself; body snapping away to the large red-brick building with a pointed roof. “Two paragraphs, at least, yeah?” Kyle stifles a laugh, watching you walk away with a sense of victory. His lips peel back as his heart jumps.

You were incredibly fun to mess with when you got frustrated.

“Do shut up.” The roaring engine of a car behind you only makes it slightly above the sound of your ears steaming.

“Copy and check, Ma’am. Won’t even know I’m here.”

“If only.” Grumbling, you push open the large front door and shuffle over the tile floor, neck burrowing deeper into the bunched fabric of the hoodie around your neck, hand trailing to your back pocket to pull out your school ID.

You hold it out to the woman at the front desk and say you need a ticket for the next outbound train as Kyle stands like a sentry behind you, arms going to cross languidly. The woman glances at you and then at the Sergeant; with a grimace of disgust, you see when her eyebrows go slightly upwards in badly concealed interest.

She has wide eyes and you don’t even have to look to notice them.

You’ve got to be joking.

“O-Of course,” the red sheen on her cheeks greets you as the attention is quickly re-routed back. A clearing of a throat and the fidgeting of hands as they grab papers and rip tabs.

Gaz doesn’t seem to notice or care about the blatant attraction from the woman, and he turns slightly on his heel to look back outside through the front windows. His orbs brush the exterior of a white Sedan as you grab your ticket, tossing bills on the counter. Dark brows pull close before the machine disappears from view.

“Hm.”

“Is that all?” The lady asks, and when you nod the smile you’d been staring at goes from forced to genuine in a blink.

“How can I help you today, Sir? Isn’t the weather lovely this morning?” You deadpan at the ticket in your hand and force down a scoff.

This is torture.

“Christ.” Sticking the small piece of paper into your pocket, you begin walking away on slow feet to the waiting station next to the tracks.

Kyle blinks forward, taking in the sight of the worker and automatically smiling politely. He nods, hat over his head moving.

“Oh, apologies, Miss—I’m with her.”

“No, he’s not.” Your bland voice echoes, “Feel free to call the police. Tell them I’m being stalked.”

Gaz lets loose a cautious laugh, side-eying you sharply, “She’s joking. Does that all the time,” brown optics tickle your neck with a hard stare, “even when it’s a jab below the belt.”

You shrug, not glancing back with a grumble, “Show you a jab below the belt, Brit.” To be honest you could have made a scene, yelled, screamed—but what would that achieve?

Maybe I would get to see him arrested, at least. A temptation leaves you raising a brow in genuine thought; a small smirk contagious.

“...Okay?” The lady slowly utters, and you have no doubt her face is the epitome of confusion. You feel her watching you before you shove open the side door to the platform. “So you want a ticket too? For the same train?”

“Affirmative.” Kyle's voice cuts out as you force your way outside, passing a few others in the process to take the farthest bench available.

Gaz frowns at the closed barrier, fingers twitching at his sides with the scents of Creosote and metal firm in his nose. Reaching for his wallet, he hands over a nicely pressed twenty and starts to wonder if this job will get any easier.

Now that’s funny.

“Keep the change,” He says in an absent tone. To be fair though, it seemed like the last few days you’d slowly gotten used to his face being the first you saw in the morning…even if a sneer on your lips followed soon after.

“Here you are, Sir.” Kyle quickly grabs the paper ticket and swiftly exits the side door, not catching the attempt from the lady behind him, “I-I was wondering if—”

The fresh air is crisp, and it’s not long before your familiar form is found at the very far back; seated with your back pressed against the wall behind you. Arms crossed and head tilted to the sky. Brown eyes lock onto feet that bounce nervously like a string was attached to them.

A slow sigh builds in his chest as he walks over, taking check of other individuals who would be sitting in the same area.

All of this would be so much simpler if she could just listen to me. Know that I only want the best. Leaving the familiarity of town and heading straight into the center of the city was about as bad of an idea as you could come up with.

“Try telling her that,” Kyle whispers under his breath, “Like speaking to a bloody brick wall.” But when you talked about University, it was like you shoved every sense of purpose you had into it—Gaz had seen you walk down to grab food from his position in the foyer of the mansion on the third day; spare laptop with you and typing on a singular hand.

Making lunch and barely taking your eyes off the screen when the man had peaked around the corner. It was like nothing else mattered. Like…obsession, nearly. It was obvious that your studies meant a great deal to you, and Kyle wasn’t surprised by that at all.

But this was still just a plain stupid idea. And yet, his job was to keep you safe, not police your every move. He could adapt. He could deal with it.

He’d gone through far worse.

The Sergeant’s jaw clenches as he saunters nearer, taking a standing position next to your bench and studying along the tracks before his arms cross.

You glance to your side with a half-lidded eye, gazing at the strong build of the Brit’s neck and peaking along the various healed scars and scratches. Along his darker complexion, you spied the tiny ones over his left cheek especially—two straight, parallel, lines reminiscent of those you’d get if you got scratched by nails.

Blinking, you turn your head away and squash the curiosity in your lungs. You hadn’t noticed those before, but stuck in this trap of insults and heated looks, you had no quick tongue to ask.

Thankfully, the scream of metal wheels on tracks stops your untamed comments from trying to escape. Fighting in private was one thing, but in public was another.

Keep your manners, my Dear, your mother had instilled in you, our family name is steeped in history. When in public, keep personal grievances, personal. Never make a scene.

It was always about image with her. Maybe that was why you were always closer to your father.

“C’mon,” you stiffly speak, pushing off the bench as the great pile of machinery comes to a halt and the horn sounds off. Your ears ring.

Quickly walking up to the train, you grab the rail and hoist yourself up, slipping into one of the carriages before it could get filled up. Gaz follows obediently; hands loose.

He walks with you until you’re at the very back, seeing you slip into a booth, and decides it would be better to not make you angrier than you already are. Gaz takes the seat across the aisle and slides into it silently before looking at the watch on his wrist and settling in as you place your hands on your table.

It wasn’t long before the gears started rotating again, sending the train forward with a screech of old metal. And still, there is a suffocating silence. At first, you enjoyed it—not speaking to Kyle—but now it was breaking your mind to just have him look at you the way he did. With a false sense of duty and blatant authority; like you were only a charge and nothing more. The peaking over corners at home to check in on you before disappearing just as quickly made you writhe with anger. You weren't a damn live wire.

Your room was a refuge back at the estate, but with the clatter of Gaz walking about it felt more like a glass box. Infuriating was the first emotion to come to mind.

Studying him now, you even wonder if anything you do will make a difference to him. Sure, you can push him around and insult him, but Gaz was a soldier. SAS. That didn’t make your grudge any less of the boulder that it was, yet the implications were also there that you refuse to look into.

Your father was a good man.

Numbly sliding over the way that the Brit’s nose tenses in concentration as he looks at his watch, you shuffle out of your backpack and place it beside you. One of his long fingers goes to lightly caress the dark leather strap, polishing out natural wear that doesn’t disappear.

Tilting your head as the floor moves below you, you don’t notice his face has already turned your way. Blinking.

“You look confused,” Gaz turns his body to face you more and your hands quickly delve into your pockets as your lids widen. Skin immediately feels hot, and you hate the feeling wildly. “Care to share, then? I’m guessing it’s a long ride, have time for it.”

Intrigue wins over the disgust you feel talking aloud. You attempt to look as uninterested as possible.

“Why take care of it,” you nod to the watch and his wrist raises slightly from the table so you could get a better look. Kyle’s lips twitch, and he thinks for a moment that he may have just figured out a way to get you to speak without starting fights. Spike her curiosity. “It’ll break eventually. All the illegal stuff you get up to, at least.”

Your fingers play with your hidden coin.

The Brit nods once. “‘Course, I’ve no doubt about that.” Amusement enters his tone, “Things already older than me by a long shot. But, hey, all the good stuff is illegal.”

The comment about the object’s age really got your attention. Your head slightly perks up, body rotating somewhat so your shoulders tip forward. Kyle thinks it’s the first time you’ve actually gotten close to looking into his eyes—your sparkling gaze stopping along the slope of his nose bridge.

His pulse pauses.

Darting back down, your vision looks at the make of the watch, internal database of knowledge finding the gold detail and backing that had once been white now a dull yellow. Gaz sighs under his breath.

At least thirty years old based on the fading and the leather alone, you think.

“It was my father's.” Your brain short circuits. Kyle huffs, not noticing your sudden shift. “A good deal into its golden years, eh? But I’ll wear it until it breaks off.” A shug later and he’s blinking at your body as it numbly turns forward. “Sort of a luck thing, I suppose—If you believe in that sort of thing. And, hell, haven’t gotten my head blown off yet so I’d say it’s working.”

An easy chuckle enters the carriage.

“When’s my mother going to get here?” Your voice was cold once more.

“Erm,” Kyle’s foot twitches, lungs ceasing to move for a second. Deep confusion lines his face. What had he said? “I’d…have to get into contact with Laswell. Dates can be tricky to nail down in this kind of situation. Easier to react when you get the news upfront.”

A feeling squeezes his heart. You were so damn hard to read; it was like treading a red thread over a lava pool.

The hand in your pocket moves to your backpack, peeling back the side pouch and grabbing your phone. Staring at your reflection for a brief moment of tired eyes and the sheen of nervousness at going to class, you quickly hold it up without looking at the man across the aisle.

Outside the carriage, the sun beams in; making golden light shine over your cheeks like Midas himself was touching your skin and leaving behind strokes of godhood.

“Her number.” The train jerks and you have to slam your free hand to the table to help steady you, grimacing, before tossing the device carelessly in the Sergeant’s general direction.

Kyle catches it easily and looks at the black screen with wide eyes, blinking back up at you. “That’s incredibly against policy, Ma’am. Not to mention just plain illegal for me.”

“Does it look like I care? And I thought you just said everything good was illegal?”

“I can’t give you her number.” Gaz puts his foot down, shaking his head. “It would put more people in danger if you lost it. Sorry, Love, but you’ll have to wait for Laswell’s intel like the rest of us.” Annoyance sparks in your heart, lips pulling back. Kyle stands and walks over, placing your phone on the table heavily. Like a door closing firmly shut as the lock clicks in place.

On this, you supposed, he won’t be swayed.

“I’ll be tellin’ you when I get the news myself, I give my word.”

Your word means nothing. So eager to protect a bunch of killers. You say no more—mind too preoccupied with the walk you’d have to take through campus to get to where you needed to go and with how spent you felt. A few days ago you’d have gotten into his face and screamed at him; you still wanted to, but just didn’t have the energy right now.

After getting back home, maybe.

The rest of the ride you are acutely aware of the man sitting parallel to you, feeling the glances his brown eyes would slide your way and the shifting of his legs. It seemed he could never stay still—always having to move at least a single part of his body to keep momentum. A held-back spring waiting to be released in any direction. Kyle would remain utterly focused on the other inhabitants of the carriage, placing the tidbits of information he learned about you far back into his mind.

Loyal to your family. Curious. Stubborn, but only when you knew you could win.

Every piece of the puzzle that you gave over was more obscure than the last, creating a scene of black and gray and telling him to pick out the sections that didn’t belong.

The Sergeant’s eyes slid over the two men near the front of the seating area, heads tilted down and donning caps similar to his own just without the embroidered British flag. His body stills.

They were dressed casually, nothing standing out or drawing attention to them; but they leaned in to speak, whispering lowly. Gaz’s spine straightens, alarms going off in the back of his skull. Heart stoic, the Sergeant slips his hand behind his back and takes out his pistol.

Setting the object in his hidden lap with a firm grip, his finger stays pointedly off the trigger with a large amount of discipline. It wasn’t a promise to use it, just a suggestion.

Leaning back, the cushions of the seat he was in conformed to the muscles of his lithe back as a bed of soft earth would, but there was no satisfaction to be brought from it. Eyes slid to you from the side of his lid, and the still-visible clench of your jaw said much.

He resigns not to tell you his concerns.

Looking back to the pair near the front, Gaz asks softly, “How long until we get to the location?”

The men shift far ahead and his muscles tense, seeing them mumbling to themselves once more, nose shoved in. Under the table, his fingers twitch over the safety of that smooth metal, lips slightly parted and tiny scars pulling tight. Kyle’s gut weighs heavy.

You huff, stuffing your phone back into your backpack with clenched hands. The both of you had been on the train for only thirty minutes.

“Hour.”

Under his breath, Gaz holds back an aggressive sigh, “Lovely.” He doesn’t really process what you say, but he wants to look occupied.

“You wanna take it up with the train, be my guest.” Slouching, your hands fold over the table, placing your forehead directory on the junction and letting your lashes flutter over your cheeks. Angling your neck, you mutter, “I’m sure if you stand in front of it, it’ll really get your point across.”

“Ever realize your jokes only loop around to my death?” Kyle’s eyes don’t stray from the twin figures, who now place their hands on the seats to get ready to stand. The Sergeant gets a flash of green eyes from the one facing him. His thighs tighten; feet splaying with readiness. “Anything original comin’ soon, Love? Gettin’ a bit predictable. ”

“They’re not jokes…but I could always start insulting your intelligence—I know how that’ll piss you off.”

“Well, it’d get us on another level of resentment for sure.”

“Well, that’s all you had to say.” One step out into the aisle from the strangers and the flick of a gun’s safety makes your ear twitch from your cocoon.

Your body stills to a near-death-like form. Marble carved and glued to the woodgrain below your form as the train leans to the side to take a turn. Blood immediately begins to thum with the drums of a long-lost band, violins in your head sliding their horse-hair bows to create the sounds of a dying tornado siren.

“Hey!” Your father yells, voice fracturing; arms twisting and feet splaying. The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors. “Hey, no, no, no. That’s not—She…She has nothing to do with this!”

It’s as if your bones are made of stone, and your neck of iron, because everything is slow as you raise your head and look to the side; eyes so wide you feel they might break. Glass and insect wings. Air doesn’t come as easily as you’d like it to.

The two men are standing now, and Gaz blinks nonchalantly. Acting as though he was simply gazing around the carriage without a clue. There was no fear in him—no apprehension—just a sense of duty and readiness. Adrenaline was coursing, but it only served as a tool to sharpen his reaction time; the aware gleam of his amber optics.

He’d say he had become a little addicted to it, this feeling. Soap had called him an adrenaline junkie on several occasions, but the Scot didn’t have the right to say anything in Kyle’s opinion. Mate was a fucking demolitions expert.

A phone rings and dark ears twitch as one of the suspicious pair reaches inside his pants pocket. Gaz tilts the X12 to face forward, a long finger caressing the barrel and the slide catch as the digit slowly descends down to the trigger. His other hand tenses on the table.

You would be the first target, and the bunching of a hand inside blue jeans causes a steadying inhalation of oxygen to be sucked down. They’d have to get through him first.

And Kyle Garrick knew he was a quicker draw than a hired gun.

The stranger peels his limb out of the fabric, the stretch of skin, the rubbing of cloth. A flash of silver metal. The Sergeant steels himself, leaning forward.

“Hey!” A phone is placed to a ready ear, “Yeah, man, I’m with Jace right now—where the hell are you? We’ve been in the back carriage this whole time lookin’ for ya…”

Gaz’s shoulders lessen, and the middle-aged men shuffle out of the dividing door with a comment about a baseball game. Eyebrows slowly get rid of their furrow with a steady sigh.

The Brit’s free hand goes to itch at his neck, scratching away the coursing blood under the epidermis. A hum reverberates in his throat.

Christ, Mate. We shouldn’t be out of the house.

“How long did you say again, Ma’am? I was…” Terrified eyes are locked on the gun under the table.

There’s imaginary blood on your face, leaking down over your eyes and dripping off your chin, melting off your face; wax-like. Fear shows in the whites of your orbs as your hands shake inside your jacket. Everything has blacked out beside the figure of the Sergeant and the pistol stuck in his grip.

You had known the gun was there—had seen it—but the clicking of the safety…

The hammer of the revolver is clicked back and your pulse mirrors.

“I–I swear! I promise, let my little girl go and I won’t—!”

Slack-jawed, you look over the crater that was left of his face numbly; lips and teeth ripped apart and a caved-in skull. His hair was strewn about, and without a cohesive thought, your fingers itched to smooth it down.

You want your mother. You want your room. You want another damn coffee.

Skin clammy, the penknife in your bloodless grasp threatens to flip open, a stone thumb only letting off faint tickles as to where your grip was even at. Without meaning to, your pressure falls on the small bit of metal that acts as an opening mechanism.

Flesh gives way to unyielding velocity, yet you don’t even feel it. All that matters is the pistol. The man. The amber eyes.

Why can’t those eyes ever leave your head?

“Ma’am?” The pistol is shifted out of view quickly without another hurried word, the object going behind Gaz’s back with a gaze concernedly stuck to your face.

Shit.

Kyle clears his throat, legs moving to bring him closer to you while glancing over your glazed-over expression. His heart burst with hesitation.

“I…” The Brit trails, hand raising up just to go to his hat and rearrange it after a twitch of fingers. What did he do to fix this? Better yet, could he?

But his mind told him if you were reduced to a mute and frozen state just by his person holding a valuable weapon to his station, you wouldn’t survive a full week. Was that why you were locking yourself in your room? It was to avoid him, obviously. A way to cut out any amicable relations. Were you…not afraid of the situation because you were too occupied being afraid of him?

A spike hits his chest.

Although it was a difficult course of action—the man couldn’t fault you. At least, not entirely. The only thing that made him mad was the fact that you couldn’t see how horrible your father really was, the necessity of not the outcome of that fateful day but the words said during it. Memories or not. But…was there a chance you didn’t know…? No, you had to. There was no way that…

Fuck, there was just too much going on.

Kyle utters your name lowly, trying to call back your focus as his face tightens, “...Hey, you alright over there?” He sees you swallow shallowly, eyes snapping back to the tabletop, and a clipped flinch from your right hand. The Brit mistakes it for his own doing and crinkles his eyes, awkwardly putting his hands on his knees. “Easy through it—it’s all in order. Gun’s gone, Love, won’t be coming back out.” I hope.

But you say nothing, and perhaps that’s worse than you insulting him. Skin goes thin.

You always look scared; even if you don’t realize it, you carry a large amount of fear in your eyes at all times. Kyle knew it was his fault—One-Four-One's fault—but he’d never had to face it quite like this. Head-on. The downside of the job he took because he believed he’d be protecting people from harm, not always inflicting it at every corner.

But the gloves came off a long time ago, and as he twists back into his seat with a respectful nod and concentrated eyes, Gaz asks himself if corruption of the mind is worse than corruption of the soul.

At the very least your soul is completely hidden from others.

He was going to have to ask you what your father really meant to you—if only to stop the constant guilt in his chest when you wouldn’t look into his eyes and defended the man so violently. What had he meant to you? How could he have impacted you so much? Did…you even know what he had done, and, if you did, would it change your mind?

Was it his pace to tell you?

When Gaz fell asleep at night on moth-eaten sheets he heard crying from halfway across the house. Screams of night terrors that the Sergeant knew well because he was plagued with the same, though the only thing he awoke with was vile sweat and a gasp. You never mentioned them, just like you never mentioned the bags under your eyes or blatant caffeine addiction. The inability to see the truth.

The PTSD. The anxiety. The paranoia.

You were a ticking time bomb. With a clenching of his jaw, the Brit realized keeping you safe from outside forces was going to be easier than protecting you from yourself. A trigger he could pull; a knife he could send deep into a throat…but he can’t stop you from doing anything to jeopardize your own health.

He couldn't stop you from hating him without letting you speak in your own time. But the worry was that you’d only speak right before you were dead.

—

The University of Chicago is a prestigious place. Large courtyards of humongous trees remind you of the hanging gardens of Babylon if only more subdued in splendor; the sun hitting the red roofs of medieval-like buildings. Steeples that reach to heaven and touch their sharp spires to clouds.

You walk on the paved sidewalk unperturbed, ignoring the glances and whispers from other students as you cut directly through the center of campus.

Kyle’s eyes are wide, making a noise under his breath as his vision slides past the scores of students studying outside, fixing his cap.

“Feels against the law for me to even be here.” He mumbles under his breath, “Bloody looks about as old as Vicars' Close.”

You frown at the mention of the oldest street in England, but just speed up and stuff down the comment about dates in your throat. You don’t want to talk to him.

Just hand in the project and leave.

Since the train ride you’d felt as though your voice won't come back to you—and the pain in your hand was beginning to throb. Your penknife as well as the entire inside of your right pocket was covered in blood; precious coin included. Even now you twirled the tiny metal disc as viscous liquid pooled into the fabric, making your hand slick and shaky. The blade had slashed right through the skin.

“Vicars’s Close is over six-hundred years old, Garrick,” you can’t stop the comment from slipping as you take a right and ascend the steps to a large open pair of double doors. Kyle blinks, startled you’d heard him. “This has only been around a little earlier than eighteen-ninety.”

Keep her talking about things she likes.

“You know about Vicars’ Close?” He asks, tilting his head down to you as the large vaulted ceiling almost makes him whistle in shock. “How’s that?”

You side-eye his shoulder and slip past others in the stone and wood-beamed hallway. Stinging pain erupts when someone brushes your right shoulder, traveling down like needles. Gritting your teeth, you grind out, “How do you know about it?”

“Took a trip as a kid—my Mum likes all that stuff.” Kyle smiles, pearly whites showing off as your stare is drawn to it. The canines are like little fangs; sharp looking. You blink at them mutely before shaking your head. “Fact, I’d say she proper would have enjoyed aiming for a History degree.” He pauses, nodding his head, “‘Fore she decided to become a florist, that is.”

“Hm,” turning back, your lids narrow in pain.

You should tell Gaz about the cut—the man specialized in first aid—but bleeding out was a better option in your opinion. He’d only take away the penknife anyway. Wouldn’t let you keep it with how you’d been acting. Plus, asking for his help made you want to hurl.

“Well?” Taking a corner, your brows furrow at the Brit’s prompt. Jaw tightening in a slow loss of patience.

“What, Gaz?”

“How do you know about it? You study a lot of English history here? More pegged you for focusing on Natural, least from what I’d heard.”

You pass through a doorway that leads into a large auditorium.

“Garrick, I’m not going to waste my breath on the likes of you and—” Your name is called loudly, interrupting you before you can finish your sentence. The intention of slinking to the professor's desk and getting the hell out of there quickly freezes like ice.

It can never be simple. Especially not in this specific class.

I thought he didn’t start for another five minutes?

“Look who finally decided to show up!” Face vanishing of any emotion, dread leaks into your stuttering chest. “Can I finally mark you down for what…the sixth time you’ve attended my lectures,” a pause, “and who’s this? A new addition? How quaint.”

“Mr. Ramsey.” The snickers of seated women and men leave your shoulders bunching, but you continue onward, taking off your backpack with one hand and placing it into an empty front-row seat.

You don’t bother looking at the young professor as you grab the zipper and peel it down the sides. The prick didn’t deserve your attention.

It’s the last year, just get through it.

Kyle watches, confused. The smaller man was dressed in a nice suit, tailored by the looks of it as focused brown eyes study the stitching. Now that he really looked around, everyone here was clothed in expensive attire. Taking a quick glance at you, the difference is immediately spotted.

Hunched over, run to the end of her rope, compared to bright and jeering faces. A professor with a smirk and a raised chin that immediately sets Kyle off.

His lips pull to a deep frown, shoulders pulling back, already eager to leave.

“Kyle Garrick.” But his feet don’t move to greet the man as you quickly shuffle through papers and folders with a burning face. If anything, Gaz moves closer to you instead; instincts taking over. “A friend.”

Get it over with, you think, fingers brushing the large project binder that you snag. You don’t have the energy to correct the Sergeant on his statement. Just hand him it and go.

Mr. Ramsey huffs, “You sure about that, Son?”

Gaz blanks. After a moment his head tilts and eyelids crease.

“...Say again, Sir?” You’re forcing the binder out of your backpack and closing the zipper at the speed of light, swinging it back over your shoulder before making it to the front desk. The sentence is slow.

A scoff echoes over giggles as if it was obvious. You drop the binder to the tabletop and bee-line to the doors.

“Let it go, Kyle” you hiss to the Brit as you slip past, only for an incredulous pair of eyes to gawk at you. “This isn’t your business.”

Let it go? He doesn’t know why that statement makes him angry, but it does.

The professor's voice is pompous, bouncing off the full auditorium and hitting the Brit’s ears. Dark eyes crease in disgust at a laugh, grimacing. “She’s a recluse, Son. The entire city knows it.” A questioning tone, “Are you new here?”

The insult is in bad taste. Very bad. An utter stillness overcomes the room, seeping into Gaz’s bones. His lungs inflate.

“Mate, I think you better bugger off, yeah?” His comment is out before there’s time to think it over, but that doesn’t spark regret—nothing of the sort. “Seems like this class is a load of bollocks as long as you’re teaching it, yeah? How’d you manage to get a job acting like that?” What in the bloody hell is this prick on? A Brown gaze flares with amber fire, teeth tight in honesty. “Have a little respect, eh.”

Where was this sudden chivalry coming from? The need to back you up? Was it the guilt, or just a common practice that his mother had instilled in him since boyhood?

Never stand for someone being insulted while you’re there Kyle, yeah? No one deserves that. Not even a tiny bit. Make a scene if you have to, but be the bigger person.

Air heats to life and you halt in the doorway. Eyes widen in shock, face loose.

Had the man that had put a gun to your head just…

You turn back in an instant, hearing the uproar from the professor and the silenced shock from the students. This wasn’t a place where you spoke back to the teachers. Grabbing the sleeve of Gaz’s jacket, you drag him out. The black-haired man goes willingly, glaring up a storm of dark brows and peeled lips. You both disappear behind the wall.

Heart racing, you stare heavily at the floor, speeding down the hallway; releasing the man stiffly. The only thanks you would give him was getting him out of the room before it imploded.

“You’re an idiot,” you say at last, getting back out into the courtyard with a shake of your head. But you hated the slight jump in your lungs when Kyle had snapped back in the auditorium; voice flying like a dagger. A bloodied hand twitches. “I should have left you there.”

Gaz breaks his neck to narrow down at you, mouth open and still annoyed, “Parden?”

“You heard me!” Stomping over the sidewalk, you dig your nails into the slash in your palm, eliciting a hiss from your teeth.

“Yes, Ma’am, I did,” he grunts, glairing, “It’d be damn hard not to. What I’m asking is why?”

“You had no right.” People watch from study groups, large eyes taking in the sight of your fast-paced stride and the exasperated expression of the man beside you as he rubs a hand over his stubble and scratches, hands coming up to enunciate words.

“No right to stand up to a prick?! What in the hell are you on about, Bird?”

“Let me fight my own battles, I don’t need your help!” The parking lot gets closer, two fuming forms stalking past the grand statue out front, a man of oxidized copper surrounded by trees along the circumference of a paved road. “Certainly not with Ramsey.”

Kyle brushes off the comment, letting the fresh air go over his face and bring his emotions back into focus. He sends sharp glances down at you with muted irritation. But he knows better than to engage in a full-blown argument in public.

Doesn’t stop the heat on his neck, though.

“Christ, and what’s his deal, then, yeah? Fucker acts like he’s the greatest person to exist and I only spent five minutes with ‘em.” You dig your non-injured hand into your nose bridge, pressing with the nails until you’ve regained some semblance of calmness.

But even if you want to be pissed at Gaz, the thought remains that he was the one who just stood up for you. Your father taught you to honor debts, even when you disliked the person.

You’re only as good as your word. Whether you liked it or not, Kyle deserved honesty, at least right now. And only for as long as you deemed it.

“One of Father’s old classmate’s sons. They had bad blood. Carried over apparently.” Licking your lips, you sigh harshly. Kyle mirrors, but the professor's comments are still heavy in his brain.

“That’s bullshit. Doesn’t give him the right to bloody insult people.” Frowning, you look over to the clenched jaw and twitching nose, seeing his hands at his side clenched like yours were but for entirely different reasons.

Brows slowly slide to make lines on your face. What was his problem?

“You’re awfully worked up—trust me, ‘recluse’ isn’t the worst thing out there. Ease out of it, Garrick.”

“You’re used to that?” Stepping onto the asphalt, you make your way with the man back to the train station. Kyle’s muscles rove in shock. How could he take your silence as anything else than an admission? What the hell had gone on these last three years? Something comes more into focus, a picture beginning to form. What had Ramsey meant when he said the whole city knew you were a recluse? Every answered question only leads to more, and Gaz breathes in, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“Let’s just get to the train station, Sergeant.” Rolling your eyes, you peel out slightly ahead of him with a mumble. “I need a nap.” A pause. “And you need to stop watching me like I’m about to explode.”

“Wouldn’t put it past you, Ma’am.” Kyle brushes off the agitation, beginning to catch up with a smirk and a raised lip. “‘Specially if it meant I’d be out of a job because of it.”

“Tempting.”

“Sod off.” A twitch of a cheek is all that happens, but the sinking in your gut stomps any other display of amusement.

Stop that.

The walk down the street is quiet besides the chatter of other people, and you take the time to regain your senses. A steady inhalation of air later as you grind teeth at the pain that now extends up your afflicted arm, a slash of white slips past your view. Blinking, you don’t think much of it, the other hand going to grip your right limb in a throb of blood and massage it.

A heavy grip is placed on your back.

“Hey!” You snap, trying to fight away from Gaz’s unyielding press. He’s shoving you farther down the street, and as you look up at him you find the sudden seriousness has left his scars pulled tight over his cheek. You blink, intrigued but still disgruntled. “Mind explaining, Garrick?”

“Keep your head down.” Kyle hurries you along, taking off the cap from his head and shoving it atop yours with a press of his palm, jerking down the brim. You hiss, batting away his hands with a sharp smack of skin. “They haven’t seen us yet.”

“Who hasn’t—?!” Turning your gaze to the side, Gaz’s fingertips are warm as they press deeply through the fabric of your jacket and sweatshirt, strength bleeding out of them.

You blink out over the crowd, and like a wave going back to the ocean, you find it.

To anyone, it would have seemed like just a plain white Sedan parked a little while down the street—there were thousands on the road every day; tens of thousands—but there were marks that couldn’t belong to any other vehicle than the same car you had seen this morning. A scratch along the back of the trunk; a dirty plate. Moving shadows in the interior.

A hand on the back of your neck swiftly turns your head back forwards, and you can’t find it in yourself to tell Kyle to buzz off.

Gaz’s jaw is tight, looking over his shoulder every other second to make sure no one was exiting the vehicle to follow after. His free hand goes to his earpiece. Like a switch had been flipped, this person was now the perfect example of professionalism.

“Bravo 2-6 to Actual,” the Sergeant moves you faster, clipping his shoulder off of someone else’s. A curse sounds off moments later. “Be advised, VIP is being targeted by a white Sedan. Plate number BA32997, Illinois. Been on us since 0800 this morning. Could be longer.”

Brown eyes glance down, seeing your tight lips and snapping vision. He frowns.

“Get in front of me, Love.” You confusedly look up, flinching when you nearly look into Gaz’s gaze before you stop at his ear. Kyle licks his teeth and shoves you forward, walking right behind you so his larger form can keep you hidden.

His earpiece fizzles as he feels a hard look on the back of his neck. Shit. He pulls closer to you, nearly pressing his chest to your back. You fight off an order to move as your mouth goes dry. The long fingers feel like lightning as they press into your shoulder.

“Bravo 2-6 this is a go from Actual. What’s your status?” The commander of this mission was still officially Laswell, but seeing as she couldn’t be on the line at all times, there was a secondary officer-in-charge that could take point. Gaz forgot to ask, but he believed the man was called Kit.

Kyle continues on, fast feet hitting the ground as he lists off the name of the street and directs you into a more densely populated sidewalk. You both make your way into a dense park. Black metal fences and large trees.

The sound of raised voices and the slamming of car doors make Gaz curse.

“Actual,” looking behind him, the Sergeant runs up beside you and presses you onward as your heart pounds wildly. Eyes like fire blazing a trail over the open space of the park and the multiple other people present as your legs pump. “Cutting through the park. I need Evac here ASAP. I’m counting at least four trailing.”

What was going on? Things like this don’t happen in public, do they? You imagined a knife in the dark—a sniper scope. Not full mayhem! There were innocent people around. Your brows furrow painfully; blood flooding. But did hired killers care about a body count?

Your eyes widen, “Kyle, what the fu—!”

“Get down!” Pressure on the back of your neck forces you to duck, a whizz of air slicing past your head. Your feet stumble before a shoulder is corralling you to the immediate side, your mouth opening in a sharp gasp. “Contact, Actual, contact!”

There’s a pistol in Gaz’s hands before you can really understand what’s going on. Screams in the air that cut off as another begins seconds later like clockwork and the automatic fire of an assault weapon. Manhandled behind a trash can, you clamber into a huddled position with bent knees and scrambling feet as the Sergeant's shadow sits over you, body shielding your own. Sharp pings of bullets hitting metal make your hairs stand on end, flinching and shaking with every one.

At sectioned intervals, Kyle would lean out from the cover as your hands go to cover your ears, fingertips digging into the material of Gaz’s hat and clenching your eyes shut. Blood transfers over from your cut to the fabric in streaks of crimson.

The pulling of a trigger, the recoil, that loud boom.

“No, no, no,” you mumble as the Sergeant continues to yell into his earpiece. Hypersensitivity sheds you down to your last atom. “‘If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not pointed at you, it can’t hurt you…If it’s not—’”

Your name is firmly screamed, British accent snapping you back to leave you looking into eyes of amber in a daze. Dark. Flecks of gold and green like a meadow. Sepia. The ones that haunt your nightmares as the blood speckles your face and the walls close in. “We need to make a move to denser cover! Make for the trees when I give the order, copy? We’ll push through into the city.”

Kyle’s hand is shaking your shoulder, and his lips move quickly. You can barely make words out above the panic.

Eyes. His eyes.

Dark and expressive brows draw the familiar sight to a junction of horror and memory. Why can’t you look away? His heat is merging into yours, the other hand brandishing that same pistol as more bullets ping off the bin where your back is shoved into uncomfortably. Gaz smells like gunpowder, and it leaves you wanting to scrub your skin until it bleeds as your hand does; take a cheese grater and level the flesh down to the bone.

You’re looking him in the eyes. Him.

And they look exactly the same as they did three years ago.

Before you can flail out or shove him away from you, bolt with vile tears and vomit under your tongue, shadows from over his shoulder capture you like the flies that dance over your vision. Be it adrenaline or shock, you recognize three more hired guns before they can even raise their own weapons. A planned ambush.

Did…they know you were going to be here? How?

They’re running, shoving through a fleeing crowd. Until they decide to just start clearing the way. Bodies drop in droves, pools of blood like rivers. So much death. Your words break.

“Gaz!” His head whips around, but there’s little he can do. Too many civilians are in the way. There’s no clean shot. Like a Barn Swallow picking off insects.

“Fuck!” The word is drawn out near the middle, growled under his breath. Looking back and forth, the Sergeant leans out from the cover of your sub-par shelter and immediately moves back as a twin pair of bullets zip past.

He looks enraged. At himself. At you. At the bodies.

But this wasn’t the time for that.

He could shoot, yes, but the primary objective was to get you to cover first. In the meantime, he’d use himself as a shield and lay cover fire. He’d known that leaving the mansion was a bad idea. He’d tried to tell you…all of this death…

“We move in three!” Kyle yells, pulling your shaking body close and wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Keep behind me!” Footsteps get closer, deep-voiced orders hitting his ears.

Where the fuck are the police?!

Your form is ravaged with racing blood—veins gushing into one another. Sweat drips down your nose and all you smell is poison.

“One.” Gaz brings up the pistol. He’d drag you if he had to.

You stare at the corpses on the ground, eyes of all colors jeering at you with mocking laughs as Gaz’s clothes press into yours, strong form unyielding as iron. Warm. Some bodies were still twitching; leading you to wonder whether they were still alive or just going through death spasms. It felt like your heart was being ripped apart to even have to question that.

“Two.” A man comes around the side of the bin, and like a breeze on the wind, Kyle moves, shoving you back mercilessly to the ground as a bullet hits right where your head would have been. You gasp out a scream.

In line of view, the Sergeant grabs the barrel of the enemy rifle and jerks it to the side, rapid-fire leaving a line of dust exploding from the concrete as metal bounces off. Grunting, the end of Kyle’s pistol is set right to the man’s chest. Two quick rounds later, a body is dropping with a spray of crimson into Garrick’s face.

He made it look easy. Like it was nothing. But it was always like nothing to him, wasn’t it?

“Move!” He snaps his stained head down to you, and you stare back as the world rages all around; quivering. Brown eyes. Amber. Meadow. Kyle motions, points with desperation to the trees when you shake like a wet cat. “Now!”

You take off as gunfire and screams make your ears ring, but you don’t know if you’re running from the attackers or from him. Not once do you look back.

TAGS:

@fatunn, @mh073099, @littlegaypng, @untitled69555, @babybooday, @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster, @jupiterredolent, @idocarealot, @karnellius, @latteisaqueen, @petrat97, @jade-jax, @roosterr, @escapefromrealitysm, @renaich, @kysa32, @human-turtle, @aurora-basin, @terumisworld, @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx, @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan, @20forty9, @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen, @homicidal-slvt, @emerald-valkyrie, @raissadoesthingslmao, @misfne, @hollyhopesworld, @wasteland-babe, @330bpm-whiplash, @anna-banana27, @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar, @doggydale, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328, @blueoorchid, @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls, @vamqyr3, @lavalleon, @nebula67, @urfavsunkissedleo

383 notes · View notes

no-name-publishing · 1 year

Text

Manacled by SenLinYu

My 8-month marathon on this project has finally come to a close, and I have a ton of pictures to share!

We’ve got a split-board binding with made-endpapers and a built-in tab for extra support. Hand-sewn endbands with silk-finish cotton sewing thread. Done in a millimeter binding style with black leather, and a hand-drawn and -painted floral motif across the middle. Final page count is just under 1.4k. I figure altogether this was around ~50 hours worth of work for the whole binding, from beginning to the typeset to pulling the final book out of the press.

More pictures of the binding and typeset under the cut! If you have any questions or want more info about the process don’t hesitate to ask!

In truth I over measured/estimated the needed length of my leather; this and my poor pare job is definitely visible through the cloth lol, but I’m still jazzed with the result since I’d never touched leather before this. I designed the spread digitally in Procreate, printed it, transferred it to my cloth using carbon transfer paper, then painted using Jacquard Lumiere Metallic gold paint and a refillable .75mm paint pen.

Printed:

Transferred:

Mid-painting:

From starting the drawing to finishing the painting I’d say this part took ~15 hours. Close up of the spine:

Each endband measures around 3 3/4″ (9.5cm) in length and took around 5 hours to complete. The core is 4-ply hemp cord that I coated with PVA glue. Wrapped with a single strand of red silk-finish cotton thread, and one strand of polyester yellow thread, since it’s kinda shiny. Last I counted it was something like 300+ wraps of thread for each band. The uh, cat hair here is just an added bonus I suppose. Like when you buy a new pair of jeans and get that free sticker.

Some progress shots:

The tie downs. I usually will try to tie down every other signature. With 68 signatures you can understand this ate up a metric shitton of thread.

Different angle. Also a good few of the top of the textblock, which was trimmed painstakingly by hand with a wood chisel.

Smooth as a shark etc.

And some shots of the innards!

Each chapter page when through four rounds of printing: 1st through an inkjet, for the floral; 2nd through a laser printer for the number; 3rd through a laminator for the gold toner-reactive foil; and 4thly for the rest of the text.

Half-title page:

One of the attempts to foil a crane. The toner may have been too thin a line for it to work, or perhaps not dense enough tonerly. I don’t have control over that setting on our Xerox unfortunately.

A second shot of a golden crane. This was slightly more successful but lord knows why. Luck.

Fun fact is that this Daily Prophet page ALONE was about 8 hours worth of typesetting. I do all my typesetting in Word, and this page was recreated line-by-line individually. A few of these elements I also had to redraw by hand since there were just no good alternatives online. Anywho though, good payoff.

Nextly, some in-progess shots I don’t have a good segway into lol. A detail you can’t see on the book but I know is there, is hand-dyed scarlet linen thread, drip drying on my shower curtain rod:

Freshly sewn. 68 signatures, no waiting:

Rounded and backed:

And a close up of the special tab/made-endpaper construction. Stupidly I didn’t take any shots of gluing the split boards on, but I think the idea is pretty easy to imagine. Just picture this tab getting glued in between the cover boards.

You can kind of see it here:

And finally, the behemoth on the shelf. This bad boy tips the scales at just over 4 pounds (about 1.8 grams). Glad to have it; more glad to move on with my life.

Thank you for reading!!

#manacled #senlinyu #harry potter #fanficbookbinding #fanbinding #book binding #nonamepublishing #long post #dramione

489 notes · View notes

veroniquesboutique · 6 months

Text

Kinkvember Day 24 - Double Penetration / / Public

For Kinkvember day 24!

Sukuna Ryomen x AFAB!Reader

Content warnings: AFAB!reader, female reader, dubcon, very rough, painful, degradation, dacryphilia, enemies to lovers kinda?, public sex, exhibitionism, fingering f-receiving, PV sex, doggy style, unprotected, creampie, hair pulling, double penetration, true form Sukuna, degrading names/pet names (like good whore, doll, etc.), dumbification

** This is a continuation of Day 3's Allegiance. While it's not necessary to read that chapter first, I would highly recommend it for context to their relationship and the background at the beginning

18+ Minors DNI

More under the cut!

It’s been months since you slept with Sukuna, and he hasn’t been back since, despite you touching yourself to the memory of him fucking you late at night once your boyfriend Yuuji goes to bed next to you. You’re not proud of it, but you can’t help but admit that it was some of the best sex you’ve ever had. The passion between you and Yuuji has cooled as he’s tried to move past the betrayal of seeing your pleasure at the hand of the curse inside him, but neither of you want to call the relationship quits. You deeply love Yuuji, and you know that he loves you and doesn’t really blame you for what happened. Unfortunately, you’re not sure if he’d feel the same if he saw the thoughts that ran through your brain as you tried to fall asleep every night.

“I��m taking you out,” He says, sneaking up behind you on the couch, making you jump at the sudden noise of his voice. You sigh in relief when you see his plain, Yuuji face and reach up to pat his cheek.

“Taking me out? It’s not even my birthday,” You laugh softly, and he glows at your touch.

“I’m not allowed to want to do something special just because?” He asks, but you raise your eyebrows, coaxing the deeper truth out of him. “Okay, fine, I’m afraid we’ve been a little distant recently, and I want to give us a chance to reconnect.” His voice sounds solemn, sounds scared, and you can’t help but smile sadly at him.

“That sounds nice, Yuuji. Thank you.”

And so you get ready with all the primping and prepping and preening, and it scares you to put on the face of makeup and the slinky dress because you don’t want Sukuna to take back over like he did last time, but you also paint your lips that perfect shade of red and pick the extra tight dress with the slit up your thigh because maybe a part of you wants him to take back over and give you an excuse to get ravished within an inch of your life again.

Yuuji drives you two to the restaurant, tells the hostess the name the reservation is under, has a swanky bottle of wine waiting at the table, and pulls your chair out for you when you two sit down.

“You’re too sweet,” You purr across the table at him, and he smiles back at you, a gleam in his eye that says the spark is coming back for him between the two of you. He pours you a glass of wine and that glass becomes a handful, and as the wine pours, the inhibitions disappear, and eventually, late into the night, over dessert, you finally see the shift happen.

It’s always subtle at first when Sukuna wants to be subtle. Yuuji’s eyes change just in a blink, and then his face changes shape, and his hair lays a little different, and he seems bigger and stronger than he did just a second ago. Most people can’t see the markings, the extra eyes, the additional mouths that come last as he fully transforms, but you can. You’ve always been able to see it, so when Yuuji is looking back at you with four eyes and muscles bulging and barely contained in the button up shirt that he’d picked out, you know that you’re looking at Sukuna and not your boyfriend.

You two lock eyes across the table, and Sukuna lets a cocky smile spread wide across his face.

Continued on AO3...

107 notes · View notes

softevnstan · 1 year

Note

From the NSFW genarator

reader handing Bucky Barnes a bowl of cream/chocolate/honey and telling them to spread them on their own body where they want it eaten by reader. Bucky Barnes eagerly complies, and everything starts (or ends) with a sloppy smear on person Bucky Barnes's lips.

pairing. bucky barnes x gender neutral!reader

summary. for valentine's day, bucky brings you a bowl of whipped cream and strawberries. with a game proposition, you very quickly come to learn you're hungry for a different type of cream.

warnings. bucky loves you with all his heart but he's also a hard dom at heart. misuse of strawberries and whipped cream, dom/sub undertones, spitting/spit, oral sex (m receiving), dirty talk, food play - whipped cream, facefucking, petnames (specifically 'doll' and 'sugar', but these are intended to be for any partner, not just f), fluff, pre-established relationship SMUT - minors DNI. reader's bits are not mentioned in depth here so gender is ambiguous, i like all of my stories to be as inclusive as i can make them :)

a.n. hi, nonny, i wanted this to be out on valentine's day but some things in my personal life held that up. additionally: kinda interpreted this a little bit of the way i wanted to and the way i thought i'd best enjoy writing it, so bucky is the one with the game in mind (bonus: listen to this song as your background music like i did to add to the experience) -- reader is nerdy and likes things like books and candles and reading (reader is me projecting lbr)

also winterdevil friendship briefly mentioned bc i can

w.c. 7.3k

You were only a few pages into your new book - ‘Good Omens’; You’d heard good things about the story in its witty writing and amusing tale.

Bucky had been paying attention when you’d both gone on a bookshop date and scoured the shelves hopefully for the novel. Even when asking about the bookstore’s directory, the worker reluctantly let you know the book wasn’t in stock. You’d shrugged the loss off with a warm smile; ‘Better luck next time, right?’

Imagine your delight when Bucky brought you a red gift bag with four golden arrows decoratively laid horizontally and stacked upon one another with the words ‘Happy Valentine’s Day’. Inside the bag had even more delightful contents; Peeling past the elegant golden tissue paper, you were excited to find your very own copy of the novel you’d been unable to find in stores. Additionally was a box of chocolates and a candle scented ‘Rose & Apple’.

“Aw, Bucky,” you swooned, “I thought we said no gifts…?” “I know,” Bucky admitted, moving around the kitchen island to come to stand behind you; Arms of flesh and vibranium slowly winding around your waist to hug your body to his own, settling into a comfortable hold so naturally. “But I like seeing you smile.”

You looked fondly at the cover of the book, thumb gently brushing over the paperback cover before setting it down on the counter. You bit your lips together in an appreciative smile, and you felt Bucky’s grin against the side of your neck where he tucked away. Nose rubbing affectionately against your pulse before pressing a chaste kiss.

“...At least now you won’t feel surprised when I tell you I got you a few gifts of your own,” you reveal as you turn your head to usher Bucky’s chin up. “Oh, of course, you got me something anyways!” Bucky huffed on an amused laugh, eyes crinkled in the corners with his smile, and your heart was left to melt.

He nosed into you lovingly, nuzzling and then pressing foreheads together. You took the opportunity to drape your arms around Bucky’s shoulders in a warm embrace; the rest of your quiet valentine’s day was spent peacefully with expensive sushi ordered to your shared apartment, moving the furniture and putting his records on to sway together playfully with giggles and kisses, then wrapped up with movies in the living room and popcorn kernels in between the couch cushions from the way you’d been pelting pieces at one another. You needed no fancy dinners or dates. You both were capable of making a night-in a remarkable memory all on its own.

Though the favor you called in from Zemo wound up with gifting Bucky a signed copy of ‘The Hobbit’ signed by J.R.R. Tolkien himself, and that was pretty good at also making an evening remarkable. The absolute awe in Bucky’s eyes and the way he’d gone slack-jawed when unwrapping the book was worth the six digits that were poured into the cost. Zemo had more than enough to spend and was happily willing to pay off his debt. A book was child’s play for Baron - simple.

You'd only been a few pages into your new book; Having been eager to begin drinking in the story as soon as possible. Bucky knew you were a bookworm; it's part of what you two had so in common - Bucky knew how to appreciate a good story, too. Eagerly diving into the paperback and excitedly tearing through pages was what you did best; On Multiple occasions where Bucky and you had surprised one another with blind-book dates and annotated novels for one another, reading was perhaps a love language between the both of you.

So you’d think Bucky would’ve expected that from you as soon as that book was between your nimble fingers. Good luck with any attempts that may sway your attention or distract you as a whole; everyone should know it’s useless to try. But Bucky wasn’t everyone else. Bucky knew you and knew how to wriggle his way in between you and a good book.

And his key tool for that this evening seemed to be a wooden food tray with a bowl of hulled strawberries and a tub of whipped cream, and then an additional can that made you raise a brow. Any skepticism was dropped in moments given the natural delight you felt with Bucky in a room. When it was just the two of you, he was the sweetest man you’d ever met. “Surprise,” Bucky beamed softly, earning an amused smile from you in the process. He moved from the archway of the kitchen to step into the living room, rounding the coffee table to take his seat beside you on the couch.

“Strawberries? You shouldn’t have,” you hum appreciatively, picking up your bookmark to hold your page; You didn’t dog-ear your pages like some savage.

“Strawberries and Valentine’s Day go hand in hand last I checked. Whipped cream just makes it even better.” the soldier defends, earning a playful roll of your eyes.

“You’re makin’ me feel like a chump here, Bucky, we said no gifts and surprises,” you softly protest albeit with little sternness to your voice. Book abandoned on the side table of the couch, you leaned to reach for a piece of fruit.

“Ah ah ah,” Bucky stops you, vibranium hand coming to cover the mouth of the bowl. “This isn’t for nothin’, I wanna play a game, sweetheart…” The sultry purr to Bucky’s voice insinuates he’s up to no good. “Huh?” You pause, confused as you look between Bucky’s hand and the bowl. A game? “I should’ve known there’d be a catch. You’re a menace, James.” The words are light and teasing; No real harm behind them.

“Oh quit bein’ so dramatic,” Bucky playfully chides with a teasing pinch to your outer thigh - it makes you squeak in delight and burst into soft laughs before shooing his hand away. Bucky absolutely thrives on your smile and laugh; It drives him crazy. “I’m not dramatic, I’m melodramatic!” you titter happily. “Well, if by ‘melodramatic’ you mean ‘theatrical’,” Bucky commented with a mischievous grin as he safely set the tray on the coffee table. You took the liberty of pulling the throw pillow you’d been laying on and help it live up to its name; Hitting Bucky in the shoulder with the cushion for his ‘theatrical’ comment.

“You love me and my melodrama theatrics all the same, don’t act like you don’t.” “Alas, it’s true.” he sighs sweetly, nothing but love in his gray eyes as he says it; Smitten. The softness of it helps melt some of the banter that had been building. “...And what was this ‘game’ you were talking about, exactly, Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes light up with arousal, wetting his lips and treating the question as though he couldn’t wait to answer. “Have you ever plaid chicken before, sunshine?” Bucky inquires, and your head shakes side to side. “Alright, I brought out whipped cream. Wherever one person smears whipped cream, the other has to lick it off. The first one to refuse - or chicken out - loses.”

Your own gaze widens with delight at the sound of the provocative game. At least a game was something you could get behind, and it definitely had a means of spicing things up with Bucky; Not that your sex life was boring, but something new every now and again was exciting for the both of you.

“Aw,” Bucky tuts sympathetically, “I can see it on your face, poor thing. The way your eyes lit up… Sheesh, people are gonna think m’not takin’ care of my babydoll.” The heat that rises to your face is familiar and leaves your chest feeling fluttery. “You do take care of me, Bucky,” you softly utter, squeezing your thighs together. “I wanna play.” the words are airy when they leave your lips, and the voice in which you speak makes Bucky stifle a soft groan in reply.

“Knew you would, baby. Such a perfect little thing, always onboard for whatever I want to try.” Bucky hums his approval and something inside of you swoons for the praise. He even takes a moment to use his fingers and tenderly brush the stray hairs from your face; touching you nothing but gently.

“Uh huh,” you confirm with a jerky nod and a doe-eyed look as Bucky smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead. He reaches for the container of whipped cream, popping the lid off. “Wait.” The thought creeps up on you.

Bucky stills briefly, eyes flickering to your face in a brief haze of concern. Pausing the act he’s been putting on for a moment to assure you’re not being genuine when you ask him to ‘wait’. You swallow around the tightness in your throat, attention solely on Bucky as you watch his studying face. Leave it to Bucky to be ready to fret over you at the drop of a dime.

“What if I win?” Bucky’s expression falls for a brief moment before twisting into disbelief and amusement. He laughs, entertained but relieved that’s where your concerns lie rather than somewhere more concerning.

“If you win, huh? Hmm,” Bucky takes a deliberate moment to hum and you shift with eager anticipation. Curious for whatever delicious thoughts may be brewing in that beautiful head of his. “Why don’t you choose — What would my babydoll want as a prize…?” the drawl of his voice nearly makes you squirm where you sit on the couch.

Your mind runs wild with ideas for half a moment before settling on something simple; “You have to go down on me, mouth only. No hands to help.” A swell of pride in your chest at the thought, you could already imagine Bucky looming over you and the warmth of his breath on your core before delving in without the aid of his hands.

Bucky seems to like the idea as well if the devilish way he watches you is anything to go off of.

“Sounds like a deal, and if you lose, you go down on me, sunshine.” You would hardly consider that a losing game.

“Sounds like a fair match - may the best player win,” you chuckle, the words a meager attempt to take back the reigns on your confidence and not become complete mush for this man by default. Bucky had this charming way of entrancing you. He did it to everyone that got to know him, half the time Bucky didn’t even need to think about it.

“I’ll get us started,” the sergeant takes lead - setting the lid of the whipped cream container on the coffee table and using a spoon he’d brought along with him to scoop up a dollop from the container. Messily, Bucky smears a dab across his bottom lip - all too aware of what he’s doing. Bucky may look innocent, but there are devil horns holding up that halo. You wonder if that’s a reflection of his friendship with Matt.

The grin Bucky wears is devilish when he looks at you; Eyes piercing and somehow even seductive with a swipe of whipped cream on his bottom lip. A soft giggle emits from your being before leaning to pluck up a strawberry. You use the piece of fruit to swipe along Bucky’s bottom lip, successfully scooping up traces of the whipped cream before taking a bite of the strawberry. The taste is ripe and sweet, no wonder they’re occasionally considered a form of natural aphrodisiac.

Bucky’s flesh hand finds your wrist tenderly after the first bite, causing you to arch a brow.

“Licking, sunshine.” Bucky corrects. “Pick at strawberries all you want, but the rules of the game required you to use your mouth. Otherwise, that’s not nearly as fun, is it?”

It’s moments like those that made you feel all light and fuzzy. When Bucky talks to you as though you were a helpless and useless thing; It makes your brain fog up with cotton with the way he speaks down to you.

“No, Bucky,” You exhale sweetly. “Good baby,” Bucky’s hand releases your wrist to lift and cup your cheek, giggling when you’re faced with the whipped cream on his lip again. Not as easy to take him so seriously. Bucky gives an amused huff at the response. “Now c’mon, before this melts and you have to lick that up, too.”

Popping the rest of your strawberry into your mouth, you finished chewing and swallowing before cupping Bucky’s jaw to steady him. Holding him in place when you lean forward into his space; being able to smell the traces of sandalwood and cinnamon on his skin made you shiver. It didn’t matter how many times you were like this with Bucky, your belly filled with butterflies every time in the best way. Tentatively you drag your tongue across his bottom lip, whipped cream sweet on your tongue.

There’s no chance to pull away when Bucky catches your lips in an immediate kiss following. Mouth slotting to yours in the opportunity that the man has, grinning against your lips like the cat that got the cream. His large palm lifted to come and cradle your cheek, the tips of his fingers brushing into your hair where it cups under your eat. Palm cooler than the average person due to the way his body ran cold, but your own warmth helped balance out the temperature difference from time to time. Your cheek felt like fire beneath this hand.

Bucky kisses you hungrily, a searing claim when he licks hot into your mouth and makes you whimper and shiver. Your fingers still hold his bearded cheeks as Bucky takes his time tasting you; Enjoying it far more than any whipped cream he could ever buy. Bucky parts only after he’s left you breathless, wiping a thumb at his bottom lip with a low chuckle. Your head is left to spin with your heart hammering in your ears.

“Been achin’ to kiss you like that all day,” Bucky confesses. Your lips tingle, mourning the loss of Bucky pressed against your like that. “You’ve had countless chances, Bucky - we’ve been here alone all day.” You defend while lacking a legitimate malice to your tone.

“It’s different,” you almost wave him off at the defense and make yourself busy with the whipped cream when Bucky elaborates. “I wanted to be soft with you today; I think we both deserve a little tenderness every once in a while. But sexy games give me a reason to kiss you like that.”

“Sometimes I struggle to believe that you’re the same stoic sergeant everyone quakes in front of.”

“I’m not; Not with you.” The words are raw, and it would make your heart turn to mush if you weren’t turned on by his kindness.

“You’re sexy when you’re sweet,” you coo, fingers brushing up his jaw to draw Bucky in for another quick kiss.

“And you’re sexy all the time, sunshine.” Bucky hums right back before meeting you partway for a small exchange of pecks. You both linger there for a moment, the kisses stolen not nearly as heady or heavy. Then you’re taking your turn. Parting lips and Bucky nearly chases your touch for more when you tut your tongue. A mock of his earlier tutting. “Aww,” you echo back to him, half condescending and half frisky. “I see it on your face, people are gonna think m’not taking care of my Buckybear.” though with your delivery, the words are far less menacing and end with you breaking the character to laugh, especially when Bucky is already crumbling into chuckles in front of you.

“‘Buckybear’?” Bucky parrots incredulously and entertained. “Trying out new nicknames,” you say with an innocent shrug, plucking up the spoon to get more cream on the utensil. “I think it’s cute.” “I like it,” Bucky agrees, shifting to get comfortable on the couch while his predatory gaze follows your hand. “It’s a nickname you gave me, just… Maybe let’s not let Sam hear this one.” “Does he still call you ‘Buckaboo’ sometimes?” You ask, momentarily distracted and appreciative that you and Bucky are able to break up seductive moments with cute ones. You’re convinced it’s proof you’re both truly in love to be able to be this casual and open with one another.

“Unfortunately. Torres heard Sam over the commlinks last week, both of them were dying of laughter.” Bucky deadpans, clearly not finding the situation as humorous as the boys did. You snicker with a shake of your head, assessing the spoon in your hand for a moment before setting it down in the container and abandoning it as a whole.

Instead, you pull your shirt up and over your head – stripping away the layer. The response it earns from Bucky fuels your confidence, the way he straightens up on the couch and wolf-whistles at each inch of skin you show off for him. Bucky always has a way of making you feel perfect; All your insecurities blanch when you were able to feel his comforting presence, always leaving you feeling loved and unequaled in your skin.

“Givin’ me a show, doll?” Bucky muses, a small tilt of his head while he studies you. “Why, enjoying the view?” You coo in turn, meeting Bucky with that same playful banter - this was a game after all, and games are meant to be fun. You discard the top haphazardly to the floor, no doubt to be gathered tomorrow morning.

“Oh absolutely. Got the prettiest baby in all of New York… I’m a very lucky man.” When Bucky speaks, his voice is thick and warms your face. Bucky is very much the flatterer.

“I know you like it when I say things like that,” doesn’t even hesitate to single you out on the thought. “When I remind you of how precious you are to me, sugar… Just how much I fucking adore you.” Bucky’s voice drips with lust and devotion. Utterly in love. It almost tempts you to drop the game before it gets too far in and have him now; Peel away the remaining layers separating you two and open your legs in an invitation for Bucky to fuck you so roughly into the couch that the legs break and the neighbors know Bucky’s name loud and clear.

God, you’re fucking whipped for this man.

Sometimes you’re still not prepared for the outpour of loving words; Still, you’re trying to remember that Bucky means the things he says and isn’t merely humoring you as exes have in the past. Bucky is nothing if not genuine.

“Keep sweet talking me, Sarge, and this game might end sooner than you want it to,” You warn with a coy smile before picking up the formerly abandoned spoon. “I’m bein’ honest,” Bucky defends, lifting his hands in a feigned and mischievous. “You know you love when I talk sweet to you, anyways, sugar.”

“You also know it makes me freeze up; I never know what to say things like that, Bucky.” a gentle reminder and your cheeks hurt from smiling - do you look stupid? Bucky would love you anyways, truth be told.

“Oh, but that’s the best part,” Bucky replies, leaning forward on the couch and closer into your bubble of space. Taking his time letting his eyes drink in the pretty sight you make for him without your top. “It turns you into putty, baby. You start floatin’ so easy, ‘s cute - it’s worth it gettin’ you cock-drunk in the end.”

You stutter - jaw clenching and you feel the tips of your ears burn. Bucky takes more sadistic amusement in the responses he pulls out of you. Plays you like a fiddle. It embarrasses you as much as it makes your thighs tighten and a wetness forms in your underwear. He works you up for fun. It’s maddening and exhilarating and perfect.

“Buckyyy,” you whine, pitiful and with a harmless scowl. Bucky’s laugh is rich and makes your face soften almost immediately. “Well, on with it, sunshine.” Bucky nods towards the spoon clutched between your fingers.

You take the moment to regain your composure. A deep breath - Attempting to shake out Bucky’s influence and his attempts to deduce you to a ditz so soon. Then, with the cold metal of the spoon, you smear a generous streak of whipped cream from your left clavicle to the top of your left breast.

When you lift your attention from your careful work, you find Bucky’s hungry eyes on you. Looking like a wolf preparing to strike his prey; Oh, to be littered with bites from Bucky’s mouth sounds like a dream.

“You’re bold tonight. I can already tell this is gonna be fun,” Bucky husks, voice low before moving into your space.

Right hand coming flush against your hip before smoothing up to frame your chest. He wedges himself between your legs, bringing your back flush with the arm of the couch as he looms over you; The semi that the soldier has been packing pressing prominently against your ass through his jeans. His vibranium hand brushes your hair out of your face, eyes studying you.

“You’re always so small under me...” Bucky hums, metal fingers brushing down your cheek as you lick some of the remaining whipped cream off the spoon; Putting on a show with the slow and deliberate lave it was the tip of his cock.

Bucky groans, his touch hardening where he holds your chest before lowering himself to let his hot mouth lick over your collarbone. Trailing down, his tongue glides across creamy sugar while littering open-mouth kisses to your flushed skin. His beard scratches against tender flesh and you keen underneath him - Bucky subtly presses tighter against your ass so his cock can make itself well acquainted and he growls low in his chest. Hot breath fanning over your flesh.

The soldier’s hot mouth threatens to go further, tempted to explore every inch of your delicate skin and leave you covered in hickeys. Bucky practices self-restraint, but not before licking up the swipe of whipped cream and suckling a deep hickey into your skin. The purpling skin is beautiful under his skillful tongue and you moan into the air of the living room.

May the best man win.

You’d both gone back and forth. After Bucky licked the mess from your chest and tasted the sugar on his tongue from a shared kiss, he had fun spraying whipped cream on his fingers.

Watching you have to take each digit between plump lips to suckle and lick the cream off. Beyond the sweetness of the cream, you could taste the roughness of his skin while he played with your tongue. Bucky even took the liberty of pressing his fingers to the flat of your tongue and holding your mouth open until you were drooling when there was no more cream left. When his fingers slip too far, you gag around the intrusion and Bucky grins.

He spits in your mouth to compensate for your time. You moan, thankful.

When it’s your turn again, you take the chance to shimmy your pants off next. Bucky licked his lips - watching you get undressed and not having to do a bit of the work but also being tempted with the inability to touch. Eager hands wanting nothing more to grip supple flesh and lay his claim while he takes you. With him. All good things come to those who wait.

You smeared whipped cream on your inner right thigh - dangerously close to your center and trailing towards your v-line. Bucky took his time settling between your legs. Kissed stamped to the inside of your calves, calloused hands smoothing out the outer of your thighs. Trailing upward, Bucky’s breath ever hot and the whipped cream threatens to drip.

Bucky catches the drop with his tongue before it can find the couch, licking up the inside of your thigh. His tongue makes you tingle and your brain stops working for a moment; shuddering under his touch and your toes curl. Bucky presses a kiss over the wet patch in your tight briefs and you hide your face. Your core quivers with want.

Bucky refuses to let you hide for long, working his way back up and gently prying your hands from your face. You share a heated kiss and sigh shakily against Bucky’s figure; Melting between him and the couch.

When it’s Bucky’s turn again, he takes a page out of your book and uses the opportunity to shed away layers. The jeans hugging his deliciously thick thighs are discarded, Bucky hiking up the plain black tee that left little to the imagination of the definition of his abdomen. It’s no mystery that Bucky was packed with muscle; Even in thick coats, you could still somehow always make out his distinct shape with rippling arms, a thick chest, and somehow a narrower waist. You’ve joked about him being a Disney princess once or twice.

The scoundrel smears the chilled spoon over his chiseled abs and for half a moment you’re in one of those steamy romance novels your mom would read and you’d giggle at.

You lap up the trail from over the concrete muscle down to Bucky’s groin - and he sighs out shaky and delighted. Hooded and heated eyes always watching you, you, you. Nothing else exists in the world to him other than your game. You feel a swell of pride knowing you have such a catch as Bucky; his thick fingers tangled in your hair and carding through as you innocently lick up the cream with a sinful tongue.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous, sunshine.” the words are drawled out lazily and hushed from Bucky’s swollen lips; He’s been chewing them and biting like crazy.

The tent in his briefs doesn’t surprise you at all - you’d be insulted if he wasn’t aroused.

Still, you’ve taken every task he’s given you like a champ. Bucky is running out of safe skin to present, and you’re in for the long haul. Winning or losing makes no difference to you. By the end of the night, it’ll be Bucky’s hands that have touched you and brought you to your climax. No one else. You’ve already won.

But that doesn’t stop you from sitting back and shivering when the cold metal touches your bare nipples. Smearing a generous amount of cream to both bare and pebbling buds. Bucky is simply excited to get his mouth on you in a way that isn’t so safe anymore. His lips close around your nipple and leave you gasping - sucking and rolling the bud against his skilled and velvety tongue.

You’re wet; fingers holding Bucky’s head, merely along for the ride as he circles the areola with the tip of his tongue before pinching the delicate skin between his teeth and making you cry out. So sensitive. He kisses your ache better before subjecting the other nipple to the same torment; Bucky’s hot and wet mouth is heaven and your body speaks louder than your wanton moans or words ever will. You want him so unapologetically, and Bucky knows it. Prides himself on it, even.

It’s only a matter of time before you’re out of whipped cream and both of your teeth have rotted from your skull from the sugar; Something has to give otherwise the both of you could be at this all night - would that be so awful, though?

Bucky could wait you out easily. Run you out of choices until all that's left to cover with cream are the places he wants to get his tongue on the most. That's too easy; the back and forth between you two is what helps sparks fly.

Your fun is interrupted on Bucky's turn. He's trying to swipe whipped cream on his chest when he fumbles the spoon; the dollop slides right off the flimsy metal and falls to Bucky's bare shin, trailing down to his foot.

Both of your noses scrunch. Bucky's look of disgust is quickly replaced though by a mischievous glint, the soldier raising his leg up to balance his heel on the couch cushion.

"Better hop to it, honey." Bucky singsongs.

You playfully swat at his thick thigh, hand wanting to linger just to feel the muscle under your palm. How easy it would be to glide up and cup his cock.

"I'm not licking your foot, Bucky." You stifle the words only because you can't contain the giggles.

"Rules are rules - unless that means I win…?" Bucky perks up, and ah, no wonder why he got all delighted. He sees this as his golden ticket win.

No way he's serious. Your relationship and dynamic is very experimentational, but feet aren't on the table - sorry, Bucky. Licking one of his boots is a different story, but that's for another day where you have more time and the sweet words are replaced with filthy titles and the soldier joins you in the bedroom rather than your loving and chaste boyfriend.

“I’m not licking your foot.” You reiterate, “Pick somewhere else, for real?” “Ah ah ah, Sunshine. When we started playing we agreed.” Bucky protests and you are tempted to steal that spoon away from Bucky and swat another spoonful of whip cream at him. Instead, you pout; trying to wiggle your way. “Oh c’mon.” Bucky knows you won’t do it, the pain in the ass that he is (and you adore).

“Then I win,” Bucky declares matter-of-factly, and really, has defeat ever been such a pleasure? You shrug your shoulders to acknowledge your defeat, flashing the man across from you a bashful smile. At least you don't have whipped cream sticky on your foot - you're the real winner in that case.

“That means you, sunshine, gotta get that sweet mouth of yours on my cock.”

“Yes, Bucky,” you agree with an airy giggle. “I know what going down on someone means.”

When you go down on Bucky, he’s kind enough to give you a pillow to kneel on between his thighs. It helps recompense for the iron-grip in your hair as he guides your head up and down the steady length of his cock.

You’ve long started to adapt to the girth by now. The first time you’d attempted to go down on Bucky, the thickness of his cock had overwhelmed you. You could only take so much before nearly sputtering - and vomiting during sex isn’t sexy. It left you to have to make up for what your mouth couldn’t reach with skilled hands pumping the base of his dick and playing with his balls.

Now you can take Bucky without gagging, and it’s worth it to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head when you suck his cock. You’re his pretty cock-sleeve and Bucky has no problem letting you know it:

“Yeah, that’s it… Such a slutty fuckin’ mouth, droolin’ all over me, baby.” His fingers fist your hair at the root, every pull a delicious sting as he guides your head up and down his cock. The corners of your lips stretching around the intrusion, eyes watering and everytime you moan at the way he fucks your mouth, it sends a vibration through Bucky’s cock that just has him reeling for more. “Oh, oh God… I’ve got the prettiest fuckin’ cocksucker - a work of art."

The words are filthy yet flattering; your chest fluttering while your hands brace on Bucky’s thighs. You keep your jaw slack, making the slide as easy for him as possible as the tip of his cock abuses the back of your throat. There's a certain fulfilment that comes with being used so filthily; Solely existing for Bucky's pleasure in that moment as he shifts from guiding you to thrusting.

Your nose buries in the neatly trimmed pubic hair, flush with his pubic bone every time he cants his hips up into your willing mouth. This is how all blowjobs tend to go. With you taking the lead before Bucky can't handle it anymore and pummels your poor mouth.

It leaves a delicious ache.

Drool slips down your chin, doe-eyes fixed on Bucky despite the bleary picture he makes with tears dripping down your cheeks. Your sounds are muffled yet still whorish; your skin prickled with heat and the knot in your stomach slowly building. You grind your hips into the air looking for something to hump. You whine when you find nothing; more drool pooling past your red mouth as Bucky tilts his head back into the cushions with a low moan.

"That's it, take it, take all of my cock, baby. Like you were fuckin' made for it, mm, my precious little fuckhole. God, I love you, love my messy whore."

Your head is swimming, all you can focus on is the feel of the cock thrusting in and out of your slack mouth while Bucky uses your hole to his delight. Even when your head feels light from the lack of air, you float happily and trust Bucky. Bucky always takes care of you.

He tugs your head up by your hair, pulling you off his cock, and only then are you able to swallow lungfuls of air; gasping with spit-slick lips and a gossamer connects you to the tip of Bucky’s flushed cock.

“Cock-drunk. Like I said.” Bucky playfully chides and you whimper pitifully in response. Bucky laughs condescendingly at how pathetic you are and your chest blossoms. His hand cups your face tenderly, vibranium fingers wrapped around his dick while he smears his cockhead against your cheek. You turn your head instinctively towards the cock, mouthing wet kisses up the length and Bucky barks out a laugh at how hungry you are.

“Fuck, when did you get so desperate? You’d think I never touch you.” He traces your lips with the flushed tip; your tongue darts out to lap up the pre-come.

“As if I don’t have you bent over the nearest surface every other day; Pumping you full of my seed and leaving you fuckdumb.” Bucky slaps the length against your cheek wetly. You tongue down his shaft, as much as Bucky’s clutch in your hair will allow, and mouth at his balls hungrily. Bucky groans low and primal in his throat.

“Dirty, dirty…” His hand comes to hold your jaw, tongue sliding past your loose and parting lips. Playing with your tongue, Bucky shakes your head like a dog and you mewl. Fingers curling into the flaps of his jeans from where you’d pulled them open. “Shh, you’re alright, honey. M’just playin’ is all, yeah, you’re so cute like this. So airheaded n’ dumb.”

You suckle on Bucky’s thumb, your reply coming in a pleased purr to have your mouth full again. It’s not his dick, but you’re more than happy to bob your head. Bucky bites his lips and grins wickedly.

“I love how stupid you get for me, baby. It’s absolutely adorable, knowin’ you’d let me do anythin’ I wanted to you,” Bucky coos all too lovingly for it to be merely lust and heat.

He slips his thumb from your lips and you chase the digit with a whimper; Mourning the loss. Bucky just grips your hair again and pulls you back to his balls.

“C’mon, sunshine, suck on my balls.” The weight in your mouth nearly has you salivating, sucking on Bucky’s balls and right where you’re meant to be; Worshipping this man.

His cock is heavy against your face as Bucky jerks off to the gorgeous and whorish sight you make for him. The bruent groans, stroking his cock as Bucky watches you intently mouth as his heavy sac; Saliva dripping all over his skin and making a mess. His cock jerks infront of you, pulsing and veins bulging.

“That’s it, good pet… So fuckin’ good, yeah, you’re so perfect — Fuck, what am I gonna do with you..?” Bucky guides your mouth back to his cock. Up the length and taking the head between your lips before swallowing him down entirely. Back to the steady bob as you moan around the intrusion and Bucky groans roughly into the thick and heavy air.

“I wanna fuck your face, sunshine,” Bucky rasps out, and you stutter your ministrations for half a moment to peer up at him in the helpless daze that consumes you. “Yeah, you like that idea? Don’ gotta do nothin’, honey, just let me use that pretty fuckhole of yours.” The words purred out so sweetly, you profusely nod. Eager to be of use. Pulling off his cock, you utter the word: “O-Okay…” “Good fuckin’ pet…” Bucky’s fingers thread delicately through your hair until he’s tightening the grip. Sinking you down onto his length yet again and forcing you to take every inch he gives you. It doens’t stop there. Instead the soldier braces his feet on the carpet alongside where you’re sat between his open thighs. He pistons his hips up - hitting your gag reflex and causing you to sputter around his cock.

There is no mercy. Bucky fucks up into your face, setting a progressive pace to allow you to slowly adjust but not for long. It’s only a few moments later that he’s fucking up into you like his own personal hole. Piercing steely eyes burning through you as he watches you choke and sputter on his impressive girth. It’s a mess of spit and tears that stream down your cheeks from the brutality of the face-fucking.

Heavy balls slap against your jaw and Bucky moans. You tingle between your legs, wet from being able to be a tool for Bucky. An object of pleasure; Something about it has always turned you on in being able to please your partner. There’s no better pleasure than Bucky using you like the fuckhole you’re made to be, and he lets you know that.

“God, baby, you were made for this. Should just keep you for this one day; Make you my pretty little fuckdoll and the only thing you gotta worry about is fuckin’ yourself stupid on my cock. You make such a pretty sight, fuck, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you…” The litany is breathless as Bucky continues to thrust his dick in and out of your welcoming mouth.

You choke and sputter; Face hot and eyes burning with tears that drip off your chin in fat droplets. Cries die in your throat, high off the euphoria of the moment and burning on the adrenaline of being used as a fleshlight. Your lips ache; His pelvis smacks into you every time he ruts his hips up. Bucky slides down your throat easily. He’s right. You’re made for it.

You don’t know how long it goes on for. Instead you ogle in heaven, seeing and feeling nothing but Bucky. Even through the wet and slick squelches of your mouth being used, you couldn’t be happier. You roll your hips to find nothing - you suppose that’s the punishment of losing the game. Only one of you get off.

He fucks your face until you’re dizzy and can’t breathe. When you fear you might sputter for air is when Bucky unravels; Your throat flexing around his cock and fingers feeling every now and again in your throat for the tell-tale bulge.

It’s when Bucky’s hips stutter and the dirty talk bleeds more into primal noises rather than words. Grunts through his teeth, low growls while he abuses your throat up until the moment Bucky’s hips jerk harshly. The movements stutter, and Bucky punches out a harsh gasp. Then you feel it.

The hot pump of his come down your throat; Filling you up.

You threaten to choke and Bucky hushes you, rubbing sympathetically over your windpipe. “Shh shh, that’s it, swallow every last drop, baby. Take it all…” He rolls his hips impossibly deeper into your sore jaw. You feel drunk and you weren’t even the one that got to ride out their orgasm. With a few last grunts and rolls of his hips, Bucky withdraws from your sensitive mouth. Half-soft cock falling and you greedily swallow for air.

Bucky pets you through it all - whispering out your praise. How good you did for him. How much he loves you.

You take a moment to recover, head pillowed on Bucky’s inner thigh as he pets your hair lovingly. You drool onto the denim of his jeans, and if Bucky minds, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you with loving eyes and a soft hum; As if this wasn’t the same man who just deduced you to his filthy fuckhole. If you didn't know any better, sometimes you'd think the man who fucks you and the man who bought you a book you'd been dying trying to find for Valentine's day were two separate people.

Bucky does it because he knows you love it. You could tap out any time with the special little word you both selected months ago when your sex life began to spicen up past vanilla rocking. But you don’t. No, you take it all and then some because it feels good and sometimes you’re convinced it’s what you were made to do.

You take your time recouping. Bucky rubs through your hair lovingly and affectionately, soft hums to add noise to the space. You smile, delighted, as if you’re the one who’s won and come. Calloused fingers trace the shape of your smile and you nearly preen. Slotting open your droopy eyes, you find Bufcky still there. Still sweet.

“You did so good, honey. M’so proud of you.” He praises, knowing now that he has your attention. Your grin splits and give him a toothy smile. “My sweet sunshine,” Bucky’s voice is soft and inviting, a lopsided grin on his chiseled features. You feel like the only thing in the world for a moment.

Although you want to talk, words don’t come easily and instead, you drag Bucky down into a languid kiss. Bucky groans at the taste of himself on you, but other than that, he’s chaste and gentle. Knowing when to play rough and when not to. It’s heaven when his lips move against yours so tenderly. Your heart still flutters like a teenager in love.

The both of you remain that way for a few minutes. Slow kissing even if you imagine Bucky’s back burns from the lean and your neck is starting to ache from how you crane it. Still, there’s nowhere you’d rather be than with Bucky.

“How about we head on to our room, sunshine, and I’ll take care of the rest?” Bucky purrs against your throat when he trails kisses down. The brush of his beard tickles and the feeling of his warm breath on your skin makes you happy to be alive.

“Actually,” you say after a beat, swallowing hard and clearing your throat. You pull yourself together as much as you can before leaning back and away from Bucky.

He eyes you with a mild look of concern as you prop back against the coffee table, reaching for the untouched can that Bucky had brought in with his game proposal. You pop the red cap off and it scatters to the floor below, lost. Then, pulling yourself up to sit on the edge of the coffee table, you shake the can. You lift your hips, shimmying out of the underwear you’d been left in - both of you are half naked at this point and you’ve seen one another countless times, you have nothing to hide.

The pair pools around your ankles and you use your foot to toss them, discarded like everything else that’s met the floor this evening - save for you. Bare legs spread, an open invitation and show. Bucky’s eyes light up, and you adore how he seems to treat everytime like the first time again, too.

“I was thinking about a round two,” you purr with newfound confidence and second wind; Spraying a strip of whipped cream down from your navel and disappearing between your legs. “What do you say, Barnes?”

“Oh, you’re on.”

362 notes · View notes