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‿︵‿୨✿♡Intro & Masterlist♡✿୧‿︵‿
Hi, I'm Hayley!
I have previously written for Josh Hutcherson characters, the fics for which are linked below along with my AO3. I go by katykat235 on all other platforms besides Tumblr. My fics are all GN!Reader with one or two being specifically AFAB!Reader.
Don't hesitate to reach out to me if you just want to talk too!
AO3
˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥
╰┈┈➤ ♥ Navigation ♥
❤️ - Smut (18+, MDNI), 💙 - Suggestive (no smut, 18+, MDNI), 💜 - Fluff/Comfort, 🖤 - Angst
Billy (Burn, 2019, Directed by Mike Gan, Film)
Headcanons (Post-Film Alive AU) 💙💜 + Bonus Prompt
Imagine ("Tear In My Heart") 💜
One-Shot ("Getaway Car") 🖤
Imagine ("Dessert For Breakfast") ❤️
Headcanons (Dad!Billy AU) 💜
Josh Futturman (Future Man, 2017, TV Show)
Imagine ("One Love, One House") 💜
Headcanons (Post-Show Reader Insert AU) ❤️💜
Mike Schmidt (Five Nights At Freddy's, 2023, Film)
Imagine ("Valentine") 💜
Derek Danforth (The Beekeeper, 2024, Film)
Imagine ("Two Sugars") 💙💜 + Part 2 ❤️
Divider: saradika and saradika-graphics on tumblr
Artwork: katykat235 on Instagram
Shout out to fanfic writers that don’t get put on rec lists.
Shout out to fanfic writers who write short fanfics.
Shout out to fanfic writers who don’t write often.
Your fics are just as much a labor of love.
You Make Me Happy
Pairing: Cameron Cassmore x female reader
Summary: He may be not good with words but he needs to tell you how much you mean to him.
Warnings: love confession. first kiss. yearning big time. no use of y/n.
______________
The rain starts just after closing time. Of course it does.
For some reason, every important thing in Cameron’s life seems to happen in the rain. Cameron has been walking for almost an hour. No destination and no real reason.
Just wandering through damp streets with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket while his thoughts circle the same thing they’ve been circling for weeks now:
You.
The way you laugh softly like you’re surprised by your own happiness. The way you understand silence without trying to fill it. The way being around you makes the loneliness in him quiet down for a little while.
And God ... he likes you so much it almost hurts. Which is a problem. Because Cameron has become very good at wanting things quietly.
From a distance.
The café glows warm against the rainy street when he passes it. Soft yellow light spilling onto wet pavement. Cameron almost keeps walking. Then he sees you through the window. And suddenly he stops.
You’re alone inside.
Hair tied up in a messy bun. Sweater sleeves pushed up. A broom moving lazily across the floor while some song Cameron can’t hear clearly crackles through the café speakers.
And you’re dancing. Not performatively. Just little sleepy movements while you clean up for the night, mouthing lyrics to yourself with this tiny smile on your face.
It’s so painfully human that Cameron’s chest physically aches. Because you look so happy. Not pretending-to-be-okay happy.
Actually happy. And suddenly all he can think is: I would do anything to keep that look on your face.
Rainwater drips steadily from his hair while he stands there staring like an idiot through the window.
Then you spin slightly with the broom and finally notice him. You jump hard. Cameron immediately lifts both hands in apology, horrified.
“Oh my God, I'm so sorry!”
Your eyes widen. Then brighten instantly. And there it is again. That smile, the one that is so special to him.
You hurry toward the door. The little bell above it jingles softly as you pull it open. “You scared me!”
“I know, I’m sorry,” Cameron says immediately, already laughing nervously. “I wasn’t trying to be creepy, I swear.”
“You were being just a little bit creepy.”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “That’s fair.”
You grin, stepping aside to let him in. Warmth wraps around him immediately after the cold rain outside. And somehow that feels dangerous. Because lately, you feel dangerous to him too.
Not in a bad way. In a I could really fall for you if I’m not careful kind of way. Too late, probably.
“What are you doing out there?” you ask, tucking one strand of loose hair behind you ear.
Cameron shrugs awkwardly. “Walking.”
“In the rain?”
“Feels thematic.”
That earns a soft laugh from you. God. He loves that sound.
You lean the broom against the counter. “Well, now you’re wet and weird in my café.”
“Your hospitality is incredible.”
“I try.” The teasing settles warmly between you. Easy and familiar.
But tonight there’s something else underneath it too. Something tighter. Cameron feels it every time your eyes meet his for more than a second.
You tilt your head slightly after a moment. “You okay?”
And there it is. That terrifying gentleness you always have with him.
Cameron exhales shakily through his nose. “Yeah,” he lies automatically.
Your expression says you don’t believe him for a second. “Cameron.”
The way you say his name... Soft. Careful. Like it matters. It completely ruins him. He looks down briefly, rainwater still dripping from the sleeves of his jacket.
Then laughs quietly to himself. “I had this whole speech in my head earlier.”
Your brows lift slightly. “…That sounds ominous.”
“Yeah,” he says weakly. “It kinda is.”
Your smile fades into concern. And suddenly Cameron realizes something horrifying:
He’s actually going to say it. Oh no.
He rubs nervously at the back of his neck. “I think about you all the time.”
Well. There it is. Your breath catches slightly. Cameron keeps going before he loses courage completely.
“I try not to,” he admits with a shaky laugh. “But then I see something funny and wanna tell you about it, or hear a song and wonder if you’d like it, or…” He swallows hard. “Or I just miss you for no reason.”
The café feels very quiet suddenly. Rain taps softly against the windows. Your eyes stay fixed on him like you’re afraid to interrupt.
“I know we’re both kinda…” Cameron gestures vaguely. “Sad people.”
That pulls the tiniest smile from you.
“But when you’re happy?” he says softly. “Like just now, dancing around with your broom like a dork…”
You laugh through a surprised breath.
Cameron’s chest tightens at the sound. “When you’re happy,” he repeats more quietly, “it makes me feel like maybe things can be okay.”
Your eyes start shining immediately. Oh no. Oh God.
Cameron panics instantly. “No, hey...don’t cry, I didn’t mean -”
You cover your mouth suddenly, tears spilling over anyway.
“I’m sorry,” Cameron says quickly, horrified now. “I swear I wasn’t trying to upset you -”
“You didn’t.” Your voice breaks around the words.
Cameron stops. You shake your head quickly, laughing shakily through tears. “You didn’t upset me.”
“Then why are you crying?” The question comes out so genuinely concerned that you almost cry harder.
Because there he is again. That sweet aching boy who cares so much.
You wipe at your eyes helplessly. “It’s just…” You laugh weakly. “Nobody’s ever said something like that to me before.”
Cameron’s heart cracks clean open. “What? Seriously?”
You nod once. And something fierce and tender blooms in his chest all at once. Because how could nobody have told you? How could nobody have looked at you and thought: there you are.
He steps closer carefully. Slow enough to stop if you want him to. “I really really like you,” he says softly.
Your eyes close briefly like the words physically hit you. “I like you too,” you whisper.
Cameron lets out the breath he’s been holding for what feels like centuries.
Then you laugh shakily again. “You already make me happy, you know.”
God. The look on his face at that ... Like someone just handed him something sacred.
“Yeah?” he asks quietly.
You nod. “Yeah.”
The silence that follows feels enormous. Tender and fragile. Cameron glances at your mouth before he can stop himself.
Then immediately looks away again. But you noticed. Of course you noticed.
Your voice comes softer now. “Cameron?”
“Yeah?”
“You can kiss me if you want to.”
His entire brain short-circuits. “Oh.”
You laugh wetly. “That was not smooth at all.”
“No, I just -” Cameron shakes his head, smiling helplessly now. “I’ve wanted to do that for, like… an embarrassing amount of time.”
Your smile turns shy. “Good.”
And then finally ... Finally -
He kisses you.
Careful at first. Like he’s still half-convinced he imagined this whole moment. But the second you kiss him back, soft and warm and real, Cameron melts.
His hand comes up gently against your cheek while yours grips the front of his rain-damp jacket.
And the kiss feels exactly like the two of you always have:
Quiet. Tender. A little sad. But hopeful.
When you pull apart, both of you are smiling so hard it almost hurts. Outside, rain continues falling softly against the dark streets.
But inside the little café? Warm light wraps around both of you. And for once neither of you feels lonely at all.
______________________________
Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated 💙
Happy pride month from Erica Jones
Opening Commisions Officially!! 😁 Feel free to DM me for any questions ⭐️
(more than) seven minutes in heaven
bob reynolds x reader
summary: bob isn't used to the pressure of high end events, so he gets you inside a closet to ease his nerves – whichever way will work.
cw: smut, mutual masturbation, semi-public intercourse ig? they're in a closet, established relationship, half secret relationship, mentions of anxiety, reader wears lipstick a dress and heels, bob is a horny freak
word count: 4k
masterlist | taglist | ao3 | @eyelessupdates
buy me a coffee ♡
You closely heel Bob’s rushed steps, heels sharply hitting the marble floor in clicking sounds as he keeps looking back and forth between where he’s leading you and back at you to make sure you’re following him – you’ve never seen him so hasty, acting so enigmatic.
You rush through corridors you’re pretty sure you’re not supposed to cross, see luxurious things that make you remember it’s such a strange life you’re living to be attending parties like this.
“Bob, I’m pretty sure we’re not supposed to roam around these areas” you note, looking back around to make sure no one is suspecting you of doing anything shady. “Where are we going?” you ask once again, growing impatient from the lack of response, but from the way Bob looks around at every turn there is to take, he doesn’t seem quite sure where you’re going either – until his face lights up when he glances at one piece of the paneling on the wall.
“C’mon,” he urges you, motioning for you to come forward when he somehow gets the wall to open – the panel quite effectively hiding and opening to an old service closet, but as it turns out not hiding it well enough for Bob to not notice it. “Get inside” he tilts his head after quickly evaluating the space. “Quick”
You do so without a word, a confused frown etched over your face, and he slips in the cramped space behind you, letting out a heavy sigh once you’re both in there, hidden from anyone. It’s tight in here, forcing you to stand close to each other, shelves restraining space for movement.
“What's up with you?” you ask, arms crossing once making sure he’s not stepping over your dress.
The faint security light above your heads grants you vision of his figure, and your face hardens when you notice him swallowing with difficulty before his head shakes slightly.
“The public doesn’t know we’re together and not being able to let alone hold your hand for comfort drives me insane” he explains, emphasizing on the last word, teeth clenched. He reaches and slides his hands into yours, lightly fidgeting with them. “You know I get anxious in public settings.”
There’s a vulnerable edge to his voice, an helpless look in his eyes as he explains himself, and you nod and squeeze his hands in reassurance, letting your thumb gently rub back and forth over them.
You give him a compassionate smile, one that doesn’t quite reach your ears. “Well I know it’d be easier if Valentina let us get the word out, but you know she’s obsessed about you being the people’s golden boy in every sense of the word” you shrug lightly, giving him a small smile. “People like you. You would break a few hearts if we went public” you hear him scoff a laugh before you press yourself close to him, head resting against his chest. His arm instinctively wraps around you, and he lets out a small sigh of relief now that there isn’t so much noise anymore.
“And I would probably become public enemy number one” you say, voice slightly muffled from your cheek being squished against him.
“You know I don’t mean to be rude to those people but,” he pauses and you can hear the beating of his heart when his voice quietens. “I don’t want us to hide forever” he shrugs, brows gently furrowing.
“I know,” a soft sigh escapes you. “I’ll talk to her. These PR things are so irritating” you murmur.
He hums in agreement, his hand trailing up your back to rest at your shoulder and bring you closer to him. Your eyes close when Bob kisses the top of your head, and you lean further into him.
“I think you’re wrong, about the public enemy number one thing,” he mutters, voice low as his mouth is pressed against you. “Yelena says she thinks people would be rooting for us”
You snort an honest laugh, kind of digging the idea. Of not being demonized for the things that you do for once.
You would have to get Valentina to the idea that a couple within the team of New Avengers might actually be a good thing for your global image, as shallow and scoop-driven as the idea seems to be.
It is so hard to convince people that you would take anything that would brighten your image as a group just a little and make you seem legitimate.
You remain quiet as you hug him close, staying pressed to him until his breathing evens out, until you notice the lines of his face are more relaxed, his jaw not clenched in tenseness anymore when you look back to him.
And it’s only then that you come to reevaluate the whole situation, stepping back.
You’re inside a closet, dressed in expensive clothes, in a fancy building that is currently hosting a charity gala, trying to ease your boyfriend’s anxiety.
Nothing about this life makes sense.
“Why’d you have to get us inside a closet,” you chuckle, making Bob smile when you brush back a strand of his hair. He’d tried making it look less messy than usual, but that failed attempt was more endearing than anything. You would have to admit there’s something in the way he looks so proper in those clothes, so unusual and out of place yet so strangely right. “We could have just hung outside in a corner of the building or something, even in an empty corridor” you add.
“I don’t know, I kinda just… panicked” he shrugs. “Seemed like the best option at the moment” he says, pinching his lips into an awkward, sweet smile.
You reciprocate his smile before you lean in and kiss him, deep and unhurried. You know you won’t be able to do it again once you step out of that closet, so you take your time with it, fingers clutching the collar of his shirt, gently pulling him down to you as his hands tentatively settle at your waist.
Everything feels slower than the whole other world outside of this closet, rushed and superficial, and for the first time tonight, you take the time to truly breathe, not needing to overthink each and every of your actions and movements, knowing each of those could say something about you, could have people say things about you.
But at that very moment, you can’t seem to care anymore.
And it seems like Bob doesn’t either – he chases after your lips and kisses you back when you break away, pulling you closer when his hands rest at your hips, quietly humming into your mouth.
You can feel his chest lifting under your palm, can see his breathing has hardened after his lips leave yours, and you can, most of all, feel the very insistent, very obvious bulge of his hard on in his tailored pants when you shift just slightly against him.
“Bob…” you murmur, still feeling the warmth of his breath against your mouth. “Really?” your voice is laced with a light playfulness and genuine stupefaction. His face grows warm, but it’s unrelated to the temperature of the cramped space, and the faint tint of his flush is just a few shades lighter than the smudged lipstick marks you’ve left on his lips from kissing.
He lightly clears his throat, looking down between the both of you, forehead pressed to yours. “Sorry” he smiles, voice choking on itself a bit. “The room is tight and you look so hot in that goddamn dress” he admits. “Can’t help it.” When he looks back up at you, the grin over his face might be slight but is far from innocent, and you’re suddenly more aware of his hands against your body, your face warm and flushed from his compliment, and your frown shifts to something else.
“That was your plan all along, huh” you scoff plainly as your face twists into a grimace that Bob can’t quite decipher, your hands sliding from his chest to rest at the sides of his neck.
His mouth gapes before a chuckle escapes, his eyes closing when he stammers slightly. “No, oh no I swear– it wasn’t.” his head shakes, voice slightly wavering in haste.
His expression shifts to an earnest raise of his eyebrows as his hands progressively slide up along the sides of your body. “...But I can’t say I didn’t think about it those last few minutes”
“Oh, alright” you nod, biting your lip thoughtfully before you exhale softly. “Well… I would give you head but my knees hurt so bad because of the heels somehow.” you say, giving him an apologetic pinch of your lips.
“God, don’t say stuff like this so casually” he accuses with a shake of his head like it physically pains him. “It makes me want you so bad”
He’s onto you after not much afterthought, his mouth against yours, his tall frame pressed up against you, hand cupping the back of your head so it doesn’t hit the wall when he backs you up against it. It doesn’t do much considering how narrow the room is – if you can even call it a room – making the action impossible to be that rough anyways. But it remains gentle in its own way, hungry in its own way.
The room feels stifling with every brush of his lips against yours, with the low sounds he lets slip when he can taste the faint long lost savor of cocktail on your tongue as he kisses you.
He licks his lips when he pulls apart, the back of his knuckles lightly brushing along the side of your face before his cheek gets there. “I can be the one to get on my knees” he murmurs into your ear teasingly, voice so low and warm it makes your breath hitch.
“What about–”
“It’s not about me,” Bob counters, the press of his lower body against yours saying otherwise. He groans when you let it be known, when your thigh conveniently happens to ever so slightly brush against the bulge of his pants.
“I’ll fuck you afterwards. I can hold you up” he nods. He halts and his mouth gapes slightly as his expression softens, and you press the tip of your fingers against his mouth before he can talk and inevitably add something along the lines of “if that’s alright with you”, which it is, always is when he talks like this, when he confidently uses such words to describe what he wants to do to you.
“You’re nasty. It kinda is about you”
Bob gives you a derisive look, eyebrows lifting. “Well, y’know, if you’d rather go back there and hang out with those snobs I’m not holding you back,” he says in a sarcastic whisper as he points his thumb back.
You shake your head and your arms wrap around his neck when you press your mouth to his again, and you feel his lips quirk into a smile against your own before you’re distracted by the way his hand pushes against your lower back to bring you closer to him, pressing you back against the wall.
You feel the sneaky graze of his fingers against your thigh when his hand pinches your dress, hiking it up and lifting the fabric enough so he can slip his hand underneath, the tip of his fingers lightly brushing against the skin of your stomach before they dip under the thin material of your underwear.
“God,” he groans, nuzzling along your face. “Please, please let me do this” he begs like you’re not already clutching onto his shoulder when his fingers slide through the mess he’s made of you just from a little kissing and grinding.
“Do it like this,” you command. “Don't get on your knees, you'll get your pants dirty”
He hums in agreement, low into your ear as his fingers rub through the wetness that pools between your legs. “How long do you think we have before someone notices we’re missing?” he breathes into your neck, warm and needy before kissing there.
“I don’t really care about anyone noticing we’re not part of their pretentious gathering” you huff out, only half joking. “Certainly not when your hand is in my panties, Bob”
He snorts a small laugh and nods, clutching harder where his other hand rests at the side of your body. “I guess that’s fair” he mutters, leaving a kiss at your temple, smiling when your breath catches in a choked sound when his fingers slowly slide through the slick of your folds again, savoring the way your chest heaves and your breathing gets harder as he goes on and lets his fingers linger at your clit.
The cramped closet suddenly feels even smaller, the temperature higher, the concept of time completely discarded, strangely rushed and frozen at the same time.
Bob’s heart rate is even higher than it had been when anxiety induced, particularly spiking when you pull him closer by letting your fingers hook in the belt loops of his slacks. His gaze drops where you hurriedly unfasten his belt, fingers messily working at the buttons like you're running out of time.
“You really thought I’d leave you hanging?” you ask, a grin tugging at your lips when his eyes meet yours again, one that he chases away when his tongue slips into your mouth again, hungrily tasting you.
When your fingers close around his cock, his hand halts where it rubs at your pussy, a groan muffled by your mouth against his, breath scattered, his other hand that was gripping your side moving to anchor against the wall behind you.
“Ah fuck, your–” his words die in his throat when he tries to buck into your fist as you start to stroke him slowly, languidly, setting a maddening gentle pace.
His forehead rests against the rough surface of the wall, gaze absorbed down to where your hands mutually work, his own hand twisting to gently work a finger inside you using the same pace you're using on him despite the ache that is slowly starting to grow on his wrist. His breath is increasingly getting more thick and ragged, face growing warmer when your face nestles into his neck to kiss along the length of his throat, your hand working his cock in long, deliberate pulls, slightly twisting on each upward stroke.
You can feel your legs getting weaker as he pumps his finger in and out of you, reaching the spot that makes the pain in your knees into a soft ache – your free hand grabs onto his bicep and you bite back any sound when he briefly pulls out and adds another finger, fucking inside you in a rhythm that makes you slowly start to crumble under his touch – it's messier than it could be in any other steadier circumstances, maybe more desperate; it's harder to tell when he's more or less always desperate, his ragged pants into your ear only driving you closer, only making the strokes of your own hand around his cock more hurried.
“I can’t believe we’re doing this” Bob breathes out, muscles of his arm tensing under your fingers, hips desperately jerking into the enclosure of your hand, chasing your movements.
“It’s all you” you blame, nose nudging the straining, flushed skin of his neck. “You love it”
A huffed laugh vibrates from his throat. “Yeah, I do” he admits with a tilt of his head, his eyelids fluttering shut, squeezing when he eventually starts to feel it, starts to feel that warmth spreading and pooling low in his stomach – his own free hand grips back at you, unsure where to settle for good before he decides on letting it rest at your waist again, squeezing at your flesh when your thumb maddeningly brushes against the throbbing tip of his cock. “I can’t– I won’t be able to hold it too long” he warns, voice low and wrecked into the shell of your ear, biting back a moan.
“That’s okay” you murmur where your mouth is still warm against his neck, pressing a kiss under his ear. “I’m not asking you to. We can’t draw this out”
Despite pretending not to care about how much time you spend in there, you both know you can't be gone too long, that it can't be noticed that you have both mysteriously disappeared from the crowd, nowhere to be found. Someone will eventually draw conclusions if you remain absent – conclusions that will undeniably be true – but you can't risk letting it happen.
So the soft touches grow more impatient, sweat gathering at your brows from the stifling air of the room, hands frustratingly tiring from being stuck under layers of clothes, wrists held in uncomfortable angles. Bob hangs onto you like he will crumble if he doesn’t, fingers frantically pumping into you, maintaining that same eager rhythm when the back of your head hits the wall behind you in a hollow sound, chest heaving as a quiet keen escapes from your mouth when he reaches deep inside of you.
The smug grin he bites onto his bottom lip quickly fades when his brows furrow in focus, his restraint faltering as he begins to shatter under your touch, the strokes of your hand fully intent on making him come now.
“Please tell me you’re close, I can’t–” he blurts almost unintelligibly, a muttered curse word interrupting his own sentence, all speech coherence lost somewhere outside of this room.
You nod frenetically, trying to keep up with the same rhythm despite feeling your heartbeat catch, blood overwhelmingly pumping into your brain and down south. His thumb seeks out your clit, drawing messy circles, using his last bit of clarity to do it right by you.
He still breaks before you do. You get the reflex of pressing your hand over his mouth – you have no idea how soundproof this closet is, and while that corridor didn’t seem that busy, it would be really, really fucking embarrassing for either of you to be found in that position.
The sound he lets out is reduced to a muffled whimper, the heavy breathing through his nose loud into your ear when you work him through it, his jaw hanging open in ragged breaths when your hand leaves his mouth. The weight of his body presses against your own as his hips sloppily rock as close to you as they can as he spills into your hand, warm and messy, a slight tremble coursing through him as he comes, brokenly thanking you in quiet exhales, a few times over again.
He’s nowhere near letting up once his orgasm subsides, the movement of his fingers inside you still unwavering, and you don't need much left before it comes for you either, even less when he tells you how pretty you look pressed against that wall.
His teeth lightly graze at the skin under your ear as he desperately begs you to come too, and he knows he's hit it as your thighs begin to tremble, your hand clutching the back of his head so hard he whimpers into your mouth as he kisses you.
His fingers dig hard into your waist as your walls tighten around those buried inside your pussy, softly gasping into his mouth when you break and come over his fingers, hand tightly clutching his hair and pulling at the roots.
His forehead falls against yours, hand traveling up your side to brush your hair back as you go limp under his touch, gently guiding you down the slope of your climax, fingers easing out of you once he’s sure it has fully washed off. Your eyes fall shut, head tilting back against the wall, gently for the first time since you entered that closet. Heavy pants guide the rising and falling of your chest, hand finally easing your grip onto Bob’s hair when he leaves one last kiss at your cheek. “Sorry if I pulled too hard”
“You know I don’t mind” he grins, softly grimacing at your apology, implying more.
You snort an honest laugh, one that gradually fades as you eventually come back to your senses and realize your other hand is still pretty much buried in Bob’s underwear, coated in his release, and that you’re inside a closet when you should both be with the rest of your team playing pretend because you can’t hide in here forever. “Fuck, we have to clean up and get out of here”
Bob’s eyes light up with a renewed sense of urgency, hastily fishing into the pocket of his pants. “Oh, you’re so lucky I picked up some napkins with the appetizers,” he nods, handing you one.
You both make quick work of thoroughly cleaning your hands, though a quick visit to the bathroom will be much needed anyway – Bob wraps your used napkins into a clean one, a look of mixed disgust and amusement over his face when he shoves it in his pocket.
You smooth over the ruffles of your dress, watching as he buttons his pants and buckles his belt, and it's only when he glances back up at you and the security light hits his face that you realize the mess of smudged lipstick marks you’ve left on him, his eyebrows lifting in an innocent look of confusion when you repress a small laugh.
“What?”
“You look like you lost a fight” you say, snorting a laugh. “Let me just,” his eyes flutter shut as you rub the worst of the lipstick stains off his face and neck with careful strokes. The smudge at his mouth is trickier, heat rising to your face again when his lips part slightly under your fingers, his gaze closely following your movements.
He stays still when you put his collar back into place, chuckling when your fingers run through his hair to try to make it look presentable again. “All good.”
“Thanks,” he grins, hand reaching for yours to hold it. “I do feel better”
A small laugh slips out of you, and you quickly lovingly rub your thumb against his cheek. “After all that, I hope so.”
Just like your bubble just burst, you suddenly become aware of the reality you will have to settle back in once you leave that closet – you lightly clear your throat, bracing yourself for the moment you will have to step foot into false pretenses again. Your free hand reaches to push the panel to the closet open with an exhale, but Bob softly squeezes your hand before you can.
“Hey.” he calls softly. His chest presses to your back as he steps in, arms wrapping around you, chin coming to rest over your shoulder like he needs to settle a moment longer before you leave the cramped space, just one more minute of borrowed time. “I know we have to go back, but I meant what I said earlier”
“About what?”
His face nestles into the crook of your neck, and you feel a smirk drawing against your skin before he even speaks. “...About not being done with you yet” he murmurs, arms squeezing tighter around you. “I mean– Later” he corrects, tone more serious. “When we have a whole room to ourselves. And time to do it properly”
Your eyes close when you repress a chuckle, turning your head just enough so that your temple grazes his, your voice barely more than breath. “Then you’d better behave out there.”
A faint huff warms your neck. “I’ll try” he declares, everything in his tone indicating that he means it. He frees you from his hold and reluctantly lets you step forward, knowing you unfortunately can’t stay like this forever. And it’s a good thing somehow, because the heat of the tiny room is slowly starting to get to him.
His fingers linger over yours when they brush at your side before he lets go, a wave of fresh air hitting your faces when you step outside the closet into the empty corridor – your demeanor may have changed now that you walk back into the crowd, but the challenged expression over Bob’s face doesn’t disappear in the slightest when your gazes meet from far away for the rest of the night.
—
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VIBE CHECK
18+ | MDNI
pairing: best friend!bucky barnes x female!reader
summary: your best friend has been in love with you since you were kids. he makes sure you don't skip meals, shows up at your dorm during late-night study sessions, scowls at campus idiots trying to get your attention... and apparently now he even offers to fuck you to give your brain a break.
warnings: she/her pronouns for reader; set in college; best friends to lovers; best friend!bucky; whipped!bucky; protective!bucky; reader has hair; size difference; light angst; unrequited love (according to bucky); mutual pining; jealousy & slight possessiveness; swearing; fluff; he uses A LOT of pet names & basically behaves like a boyfriend?; smut; (soft)dom!bucky & sub!reader; praise kink; sex toys; guided masturbation; slight degradation; crying (bc reader feels too good 👅); pussy slapping; orgasm delay/control; edging; oral (f receiving); fingering; nipple play; unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it pls); multiple orgasms; overstimulation; messy & rough sex; squirting; creampie.
word count: 15.8k
a/n: helloo! today it's my birthday 🎈that's why this story is extremely self-indulgent, sorry 🥲 I think this is porn without plot? well, there’s a bit of plot I guess, lmao. I apologize but the smut part might be a little all over the place because l wrote it while studying for an exam and getting ready for a little trip (I’m not going to be very active for a while). I was too exhausted to write/edit something more plot-driven, so I hope you’ll enjoy this anyway 💛
Bucky is halfway through a problem set in the library, equations spread out in messy sheets all over the desk and coffee going cold at his elbow, when he checks the time on his phone and feels that familiar tug in his chest. He’s not even close to being tired, could easily grind through another two chapters, but his focus has thinned to a thread. So he closes his notebook a little too decisively and mutters something about calling it a night, about being exhausted.
Steve looks up slowly, deeply unimpressed. His eyes scream do you think I was born yesterday? but Bucky refuses to meet them. He shrugs, trying to appear casual, and shoves his laptop into his backpack like he’s annoyed at the implication.
Steve’s mouth twitches knowingly. His friend's body has been betraying him for a while— knee bouncing incessantly, jaw tight, eyes landing back to his phone every few minutes.
Bucky has been pulling this move for years and usually Steve would drag it out by raising a brow, asking if he should send flowers already. Sometimes he’d start humming a wedding march under his breath until Bucky’s ears burn red and he threatens to blacklist him from future study sessions. But tonight, his friend just watches him for a second longer than necessary, taking in the barely concealed anticipation in the way Bucky adjusts his puffer jacket, then checks his phone twice in the span of two minutes, clearly hoping for a text.
Steve just nods once and Bucky perceives the mercy like a gift.
The walk back to the dorm is automatic at this point; his feet know the path too well, from the shortcut through the nearby park— technically closed at night but still accessible thanks to the worn patch in the bushes— to the way the lights flicker near the humanities building every fifteen seconds. And the exact amount of steps it takes to reach your floor.
The rhythm of his footsteps carries just enough weight that they draw a satisfying echo from the tile. Although Bucky thought about surprising you after not seeing each other for almost a week, he wants you to notice the noise. You hate unexpected knocks, always have. He remembers you mentioning it to him once, shrugging like it was no big deal, but he is too observant when it comes to you. Something simple like a knock rattling the silence never fails to make your shoulders tense up and your heartbeat accelerate, eyes widening just slightly. That’s why he ensures each footfall is firm, deliberate, loud enough for you to acknowledge a presence in the hallway but soft enough not to hurl your brain into panic.
When he finally reaches your door, Bucky lets his hand linger on the frame. He knows you’re inside from the quiet tapping of a keyboard and the occasional muttered curse over some paper you’re clearly taking too seriously.
The knock is gentle, barely there. “Open up, doll. Campus security’s doing a wellness check.”
“Bucky?” Your voice comes soft, but cautious. Once the door is opened, he takes a step forward and tugs you into a hug, your arms wrapping around him without thought.
“Hi, sweetheart. Hi, angel. Hi, my little overachiever.” He murmurs into your hair, pressing a kiss there, then another to your temple.
Your surprised laugh is half-muffled by his chest. “What are you doing here?”
“Rescue mission.” He promptly exclaims, pulling back just enough to study your tired features. With his hands cupping your cheeks, he looks into your eyes with a feigned frown. “I could feel you stressing from the library, baby. It was like a disturbance in the stratosphere."
You roll your eyes. “I’m not—”
He narrows his eyes, and you hesitate just for a second.
“... That stressed.” Your voice fades into a whisper.
“Hm-hm.” He leans down and presses a long kiss on your forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, doll.”
Bucky nudges the door shut behind him with his foot while guiding you backward into the room, as if he’s lived here with you his whole life. His backpack drops to the floor, forgotten, only for him to engulf you back in his arms.
“You’re freezing, doll.” He murmurs. “Why is your dorm always a sauna in the summer and an arctic tundra in winter?”
You giggle quietly, pulling back just enough to brush a little bit of snow off his shoulders. “It’s just particularly cold these days.”
“Just these days?” He scoffs. “It’s inhumane. I’m having a very serious conversation with your RA about this.”
You grab his sleeve reflexively. “Please don’t.”
He blinks down at you, an eyebrow suspiciously raised. “Why not?”
“Because she already scowls at me every time we pass in the hallway after you cornered her about the radiator in the bathroom.” You mumble. “I told you it wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“It clanked in the middle of the night, and then you would jolt awake and never fall back asleep.” Bucky defends instantly.
“Still... She looks at me like I personally filed a lawsuit against her.” You argue weakly.
“Good. Maybe she’ll think twice before ignoring the pipe orchestra in your bathroom at three in the morning.”
“Bucky.” You reprimand him jokingly, squeezing his torso once.
“Shh.” He whispers, his gaze alert as it scans the room. He immediately spots your laptop and a pile of books and binders stacked like some kind of intellectual barricade on your bed. “You’re really going to bury yourself in all this tonight?”
“I have a paper due next week.” You admit, sitting on the edge of the mattress. Bucky doesn't miss the way your shoulders suddenly slump, as if resigned. “I… Just wanted to get a head start.”
He crouches in front of you after carelessly throwing his jacket on your desk chair, his hands blanketing yours perfectly. “Sweetheart, look at me.”
You peer at him through your eyelashes, noticing the exact moment his expression melts into something softer, something only you are allowed to witness. Cupping your face gently, his thumbs brush your cheeks with such tenderness you almost tear up. “When was the last time you took a break?”
You sigh. “Buck—”
“Not a ‘I-scrolled-on-my-phone-for-five-minutes’ break. I’m talking about a real one.”
You look away, suddenly feeling a scorching heat taking over your neck. You know how much he hates when you overwork yourself to the bone, and the thought of disappointing him of all people makes your stomach churn with shame.
Bucky exhales dramatically, pulling you back into his chest with a swift move that makes you yelp. “You’re working too hard, baby. Way too hard. You’re gonna burn yourself out if I don’t intervene.”
You are always three steps ahead, always prepared for some invisible emergency no one else has even considered yet. And not just on an academic level. He’s watched you fix things for others for years. You dig through your bag without looking and somehow produce exactly what is needed. Band-aids in three different sizes– yes, three. A little pouch of medicine: painkillers, allergy tablets, something for stomach aches because “campus food is unpredictable”. Extra pads tucked into the side pocket; two packs of tissues; hand sanitizer clipped to the zipper. A tiny sewing kit because one time someone’s button popped off and you decided that would never happen again. Mints. Lip gloss. Hair ties. Bobby pins. A small comb. A portable charger that’s always somehow fully charged. A granola bar “in case someone forgets to eat”. Bucky literally recoiled when some tomato sauce fell on Kate’s jeans last month and you were handing her a stain remover pen before she could even acknowledge the stain.
He’s seen you pull each of those things out at least once, along the relief on people’s faces when you quietly fix their problem before it becomes embarrassing. You never make a big deal out of it, always ready to reassure them with a smile.
You also remember everything, from birthdays to when your friends have their exams.
Natasha gets migraines when she’s stressed, so you make sure to always carry that specific brand of painkillers that works for her. You keep peppermint gum too, because you once read online it helps, and you don’t even like peppermint.
Steve forgets to eat when he’s buried in his art projects, so you text him reminders and shove protein bars into his hands without ceremony. You’ve memorized his deadlines better than he has, and you once stayed up proofreading his paper even though you had your own due the next morning.
Sam swears he never gets sick, yet you still bring extra throat lozenges when he starts losing his voice– the consequence of him being president of several clubs and giving one motivational speech after another.
Kate is very confident in herself, but she panics before every presentation. You sit in the front row each time, smiling and nodding at her like a proud mom. You never dwell on the mistakes or the stumbles; instead, you point out the strongest parts of her speech– the clever phrasing, the insights she came up with on the spot when the professor started asking questions, the arguments that actually landed. You always highlight the good things, the moments that matter, and she leaves the room feeling lighter, even when she doubts the quality of her work.
Wanda pretends she doesn’t get cold, but you pack an extra scarf in your bag anyway. You walk slower when she’s overwhelmed, checking in quietly, never pushing, just hovering gently in case she needs you.
Yelena acts all fearless, but you always suggest ordering something sweet at the end of a meal, because you know she won’t unless someone tags along.
Every preference. Every weakness. Every tiny crack people try to hide… You smooth them over without them even noticing. And you do it without expecting anything in return, like it’s nothing.
Your brain is constantly scanning, ready to cushion the fall before it happens. You’ve somehow made yourself responsible for the comfort of everyone around you, and Bucky loves how capable you are, how steady your presence is to the point everyone gravitates toward you without even realizing. You’re the calm center, the one people trust, the one who fixes things.
But sometimes… Sometimes it makes his chest hurt, because he sees the cost. You don’t sit down until everyone else has, nor you relax unless someone forces you to. You’re always the one refilling glasses before your own is empty, the one staying behind to stack chairs or wipe down tables even when it isn’t your responsibility. In study groups, you’re the last to pack up, double-checking that everyone understands the material before you even glance at your own notes. You answer texts at two in the morning because someone’s panicking about something, and somehow their anxiety becomes yours, sitting heavy in your chest until you’re sure they’re okay. If a friend is upset, you carry it with you for the rest of the day, replaying their words, wondering what else you could’ve said, what more you could’ve done. You have this way of absorbing other people’s burdens and slipping them into your own pockets as if they belong there.
And Bucky wants— selfishly, desperately— to be the one place where you don’t have to take care of anything.
With him, you don’t need your emergency kit.
With him, you don’t need to think ahead.
He carries the snacks; he argues with the professor; he deals with the guys who don’t stop staring. He drives, fixes, calls, confronts, handles. You are free to flop dramatically across his lap, and steal his fries. You can let your eyes squeeze in frustration and complain about your professors without trying to solve anything, or fall asleep mid-movie, because you know he’ll carry you to bed.
You trust him to handle the world so you don’t have to. He wants to take the weight off your shoulders so permanently that you forget it was ever there, because his affection does not sit politely in his chest. It bleeds. It calls for you. It moves through him like something alive and restless that needs to breath.
Bucky has loved you for so long that he can’t remember what it felt like before. He tries, sometimes, to pinpoint the exact moment it shifted from childhood attachment to a blade pressed under his ribs, not deep enough to kill him, but the wound pulses every time he breathes, as a reminder.
Maybe it was the day you grabbed his hand on the playground and refused to let go when another kid tried to tease him for the scar on his left arm, the one he got trying to prove he wasn’t scared of the ramp behind the old basketball court. Maybe it was during your first ever movie night in middle school, when he sat completely still for three hours after you fell asleep on his shoulder to not wake you up.
Or maybe it was gradual. Like erosion. Like water carving into stone until there’s no version of the rock that ever existed without the river running through it.
He only knows there’s never been an end.
Bucky often reflects on the fact that he’s the safest place you’ve ever known. You trust him in a way that is almost sacred. You curl into him without hesitation. You change in front of him without thinking twice. You press your cold hands under his shirt because you know he’ll yelp and then immediately tug you into his chest to warm you. Bucky finds himself more often than not lying in his own bed and thinking about this, about the way you trust him with your entire body, with your happiness, your quiet and your sadness. But not with your heart. At least, not in the way he wants.
You look at him like he’s home, like he’s already yours. Like there’s no risk of losing him– and he would never give you a reason to think otherwise. That’s the cruelest part. Bucky would stay even if you never loved him back. He’s been staying since he was fourteen and realized that the reason he wanted to punch that boy at the school dance wasn’t because the kid stepped on your shoes, but because he made you laugh too hard. He’s been staying since you cried over your first breakup and let him hold you as he tried to ignore the way his jaw clenched every time you said your ex’s name.
Taking care of you comes so easy to him, maybe too easy. Sam once told him it borders on ridiculousness. But you have no idea what it costs him. You sit in his lap and kiss the corner of his mouth by accident, giggling, looking away too fast to notice how he freezes for a second too long.
You have never kissed him on the lips, though.
Bucky thinks about that more than he should.
He’s prepared for everything: skipped meals that make you dizzy in the middle of a lecture; all-nighters where your eyes get glassy and you insist you’re “fine” as your fingers tremble around a pen; the way you grind yourself down for grades like your worth depends on them. He’s prepared to sit at the kitchen table while you bake and pretend not to want to smooth the wrinkle between your brows when you frown in concentration; or to kiss your lips after you feed him a dollop of custard, because you trust him enough to tell you if it sucks.
He’s also prepared for every guy who thinks your softness means easy access. For every hand that lingers too long and every flirtatious grin thrown your way.
He is not prepared for the possibility that one day, you might actually want one of them.
Bucky watched it happen more often than not. Smiling politely while some guy leans a little too close, and pretending he’s not tracking every movement, cataloging whether the guy’s hand drifts lower than it should.
He never interrupts. He simply waits. Because if you step back even half an inch, he’s already beside you. If your smile falters, he’s glaring at the idiot. If you look even slightly uncomfortable, he’s casually sliding an arm around your waist.
Possessive enough to send a message, but not enough to claim you.
And sometimes... It’s just unbearable.
You call him dramatic when he scowls, laughing as you remind him that you can handle yourself just fine. And he knows you can. He was the one who taught you self-defense in high school, for fuck’s sake. It's just that Bucky wants to be the only one who gets to see that soft little smile of yours when you’re on the brink of sleep, to hear your muttered curses when your fingers fumble through a tangle of yarn. Or watch you get genuinely angry over a dumb misunderstanding while reading one of those romance novels of yours that leave you sighing dreamily at the end.
The territorial edge of these thoughts leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, but the shame dissipates as soon as one of those guys smiles at you, making room for something ugly and hot that crawls through his chest and makes his jaw ache.
Bucky has imagined telling you.
It never gets far.
In his head, the words sound steady, confident.
But you’d blink, go quiet… Look guilty. And he would rather cut his own heart out than see you blame yourself for his own feelings.
So he keeps quiet, and pours his love into other things, like gently drying your hair after you shower, and giving you little forehead kisses– Bucky knows you adore those because you unconsciously shiver each time. But also calling you sweetheart and angel and doll, and all those other pet names Natasha deems ‘corny’ with a grimace. Like they don’t mean anything deeper. He touches you, constantly. Not because he’s careless, but because he’s greedy. The contact reassures him that you’re still here, that you’re still choosing to be by his side, even if it’s not in the way he yearns for.
From time to time, when you fall asleep in the crook of his neck, Bucky presses his mouth to your hair and breathes you in like it’s something he could survive on, his arms tightening around you just how you like. It’s become his favorite thing to do ever since you told him how safe and cocooned you feel in his embrace.
Because when you’re awake, you might see the way his breathing changes when your fingers trace absentminded patterns on his chest, or the way he shivers when you call him Jamie– you are the only one allowed to do that.
You might finally understand that every innocent kiss is just him restraining himself.
So Bucky lets himself slip only in the dark, when no one can see the awe twinkling in his eyes whenever you are around. He’s balancing on a thin line as it is; one wrong move and the entire “best friends” foundation cracks. And he swallows it all. The jealousy, the hunger, those three treacherous words that rise too close to the surface every time you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours.
But loving you is perpetual. It hums under his skin when you let yourself melt into his hugs; it sits heavy in his stomach when your lips brush his forehead with a quick kiss before you run to class; it blooms sharp and hot every time someone asks for your number.
He wonders if he ruined himself by loving you that young, because no one else has ever fit right by his side. Yet, he would rather have you like this than risk losing you by asking for more. Even if sometimes it feels like his heart is stretched too tight in his chest. Even if when you look at him, tired and soft and wrapped in his comforter, he has to glance away and breathe through the urge to kiss you until you're both left wheezing. With Bucky, you just get to exist. And if this is the only role he ever gets to play in your life, he’ll take it.
He has always thought of himself as the equivalent of an oversized hoodie that’s been worn too long.
Comfortable, warm, easy to grab when you’re cold.
But not the thing you pick when you want to feel special.
Bucky presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. When he reaches the side of your neck, his lips linger just enough to receive a squirm in return and a giggle that softens his smile impossibly more, the most tender thing you’ve ever seen.
“Bucky.” You whisper, half-scolding, half-laughing.
“What?” He asks innocently. “I’m just appreciating my favorite person.”
“You’re distracting me.”
“Good.” He hums, preening inside. “That’s the point, baby.”
Moving onto your bed, his hands tug you gently until you stumble back. “C’mere. Sit with me.” Lying down, he looks at you expectantly, blue eyes prettily begging you to follow him.
“James seriously, I have to finish—”
“Nope.” He grabs your wrists and pulls you forward so you’re kneeling right between his thighs. His hands settle on your hips like they’ve always belonged there, and you shiver, hoping he’ll blame it on the heating not working properly in the middle of winter. “You need to breathe, angel. And you breathe better when you’re not spiraling over footnotes. Look at you, you chewed on that pen like a stressed little squirrel.” He teases, guiding you until you’re reluctantly lying on your front. “You’re too precious to suffer like this. Not on my watch.”
You huff softly, but you don’t dare move away. The knowledge that you trust him to this extent, that you allow yourself to bend your strict study routines for him, floods him with a quiet, overwhelming happiness that makes his heart ache in the best way.
“You know,” Bucky starts softly, brushing his nose against your temple. “You don’t have to be in charge with me.”
Your shoulders drop just a fraction, and he takes that in with a hint of a satisfied smile.
“I’ve got it, okay? I’ve got you.” He continues with a lower voice. You finally go completely slack in his hold, the curve of your body molding against his chest as your ear presses on his left pec.
And God, he would stay like this forever if you’d let him.
Bucky kisses the top of your head again, tracing a path with his lips that ends on the apple of your cheek. “See? There’s my girl.” He murmurs. “You’re adorable, angel. Did you know that? Ridiculously, impossibly adorable.”
“And you’re impossible.” You mumble, eyelids threatening to close under his soft attention.
“I know. I know, bunny.” He murmurs, pretending to pout. “I can’t help it. It’s a curse, really. You’re just… Irresistible when you let yourself go.”
“But you adore me.” He quickly adds.
You don’t answer that, yet he pretends to ignore the way his heart skips when you squeeze your arms once around his torso. A hand comes up to run up and down your back slowly. Protective. Possessive in the quietest way.
“If anyone bothered you today,” he mentions casually, jaw tightening just slightly. “I’d like names.”
You burst out laughing and Bucky tightens his hold just a little at that, a fuzzy feeling tingling in the back of his head as his ears are blessed with his favorite melody. “Calm down, stud. No one bothered me today.”
“Good.” His thumb brushes absent circles on your lower back. “Because I don’t feel like scowling at freshmen tonight.”
“You always scowl at freshmen.” You peek up at him, impossibly cute with your cheek smushed against his chest. The urge to kiss you is so strong he almost shortens the distance between you.
“They look at you.”
“They look at everyone.”
“Not like they look at you, baby.”
There’s a small silence after that, but Bucky fills it quickly.
“Anyway,” He glides over the topic, his voice suddenly too high to sound nonchalant, so he clears his throat. “You’re done for the next hour. Doctor’s orders.”
“You’re not a doctor.”
“I’m a concerned citizen.”
You lift your head just enough to squint at him.
“Chronic overworking, severe lack of cuddling, and acute stubbornness are very serious conditions.” His fingers walk up your spine as he lists your “symptoms”.
You snort, letting your head fall back to its previous resting place. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Mm. Tragic, really.” Bucky shifts, scooting back against the headboard to settle against the myriad of pillows you accumulated throughout the years, tugging you with him. “Prescription says: cuddles, a movie, and you,” he pats his chest, wiggling his eyebrows. “Right here.”
You laugh again, softer now that you have given up. “Alright, alright, Dr. Barnes.” You know he hates when you roll your eyes, but you do it anyway, sighing.
“Ha! Victory!” He whispers triumphantly.
You shake your head, the corners of your mouth betraying you as they lift just slightly when you reach for your laptop. Once you settle back down, you automatically curl into his side, like it’s muscle memory. It’s always been that simple between the two of you.
He shifts immediately to accommodate you, one arm sliding around your waist as the other tucks behind his head.
“You know I’m proud of you, right?” Bucky mentions casually, low like a secret you are only meant to know. “You always work so hard. You’re so good– too good.”
Your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt, but you only nod, pressing closer. You’ve never known what to do with praise. It slides off you most of the time, makes you fidget, causes your eyes to drop to the floor like you’re being accused of something you don’t quite believe. And it’s not as if Bucky’s new at this— he’s been telling you how brilliant you are, how capable, how kind, and pretty since you were small enough to swing your legs off a playground bench. He’s never once missed a chance to compliment you.
Still, every time he does that, your shoulders go tight for a second before you remember it’s just him. Just Bucky. Not judging, not measuring, not expecting you to live up to the compliment. You never thank him with words, just burrow closer, like you’re doing now, hiding your face against his chest as if you can tuck the warmth of his words somewhere safe. They feel so fragile, so precious, and you are still learning how to hold them properly.
“What are we in the mood for, sweetheart, hm?” His words are gentle near your ear. “Something brainless? Something with explosions so I can complain about the physics and you can pretend to be impressed?”
You shift slightly, tucking your leg over his thigh. He adjusts immediately, never failing to make space for you, hand tightening just a little at your waist to keep you steady.
“Blanket?” A small shiver and a nod are enough for Bucky to lean sideways awkwardly, reaching for the fluffy lilac fabric lying on your second desk chair, nearly falling over in the process.
“Careful.” You snicker.
“I’m graceful.” Bucky insists, dragging the blanket back triumphantly. “Military precision.”
“You almost tripped over the air.”
“Well, the air started it.”
He drapes it over the both of you, smoothing it at your hip, before pressing a kiss to the crown of your head like it’s part of the ritual.
“There,” he hums. “Contained.”
His chin settles then on the top of your head. “So? If you don’t choose in the next minute, I’m putting on Interstellar again.”
You go rigid at that. “James.”
“What?” He quips, entirely unapologetic.
“You made me watch that at two in the morning.”
“It’s a masterpiece.”
“It’s almost three hours long.”
“It’s cinema.”
“You paused it every five minutes,” you accuse, lifting your head to glare back at him. “You had diagrams, Bucky. You pulled out a fucking notebook.”
He grins, completely unashamed. “You said you wanted something educational.”
“I did not say I wanted a physics lecture in my pajamas.”
“You loved it.”
You raise an eyebrow. “I fell asleep during the wormhole explanation.”
He gasps softly. “How dare you!”
You burst out in an incredulous laugh. “You started calculating stuff on the back of a takeout receipt!”
At that point Bucky chuckles under his breath, the sound vibrating against your cheek when you drop your head back on his chest.
“You’re impossible.” You mutter, going back to scroll through movies you've already watched, and rated with your best friend. “I need something easy. My brain’s fried.”
“Easy,” he repeats thoughtfully. “So no space, no time paradoxes–”
“No academic lectures.” You add firmly.
“Fine, bunny.” He sighs. “But one day you’re going to sit through the docking scene without complaining.”
“You cried during the docking scene.”
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
With a clear of his throat, he squirms awkwardly under you. “It’s an incredible scene.”
After finally picking a mindless sitcom you’ve both seen a hundred times, he sets the laptop on his thigh, adjusting the angle so it doesn’t dig into you, then shifts again so you’re draped more comfortably over him, leaving his free hand to lie on his chest. You reach forward absently and lace your fingers with his, causing Bucky to go still for half a second, before his fingers squeeze yours back. He presses another kiss into your hair, hoping you won’t hear his heart do something embarrassing in his ribcage.
“Comfy, pretty girl?” He asks softly.
“Hm.” You sigh. “You’re warm.”
“Good. Means I’m doing my job.”
Huffing a quiet laugh at that, you just curl closer.
Bucky pretends to focus on the show, but really he’s more aware of the slow sound of your breathing. His thumb keeps stroking your side, tracing slow, absent circles that leave goosebumps behind, even with the soft fabric of your sweater separating him from your skin. Every so often he presses a kiss into your hairline, or your temple... Just wherever he can reach without jostling you too much.
When you shiver again, Bucky perks up.
“Still cold?”
“No.”
He narrows his eyes playfully. “Liar.”
“I’m not cold.”
“You shivered.”
“I just—” You stop, realizing you have no explanation that you can give him.
You can feel his grin into his next words. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
You smack his chest lightly, and he laughs— soft and low— then catches your hand to press a quick peck on your knuckles.
“Careful,” he murmurs. “This is violence against your concerned citizen.”
Though the small crease in your eyebrows has finally smoothed out, your fingers keep twitching in his shirt, and your jaw ticks every few seconds like you’re biting back thoughts. The tightness in your shoulders is very much alive and burning under your skin, your breathing shaky at the edge each time you exhale. Bucky can't help but glance down at your leg shifting under the blanket every few seconds.
He lets it go on longer than he should.
His thumb traces the same slow path over your side, patient, grounding. Pressing his lips briefly to your forehead, he waits for you to melt into him the way you usually do. But instead, you sigh. It’s a little, quiet sound, but it carries too much weight.
“What is it?”
“Oh? Nothing, sorry.” Your reply is quick and rehearsed, and Bucky doesn’t like that one bit.
“Hey,” his arm squeezes your torso once. “None of that, sweetheart. You know you can tell me anything.”
At that point you shift onto your back with a slow exhale, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s just…” You hesitate for what seems like an endless amount of time to Bucky, like you’re deciding whether it’s worth saying out loud. “I keep thinking about that paper. I should finish it by tomorrow, because we haven’t made any progress with that group project I told you about last week. I’ve sent four messages on the group chat to ask when we should meet and no one has read them.” A small, frustrated laugh bursts out of your chest. “I feel so dumb for chasing them, but at this point I’ll have to finish it by myself.”
His jaw tightens.
“You know that’s what they want you to do, right? They’re gonna take all the credits while you try to finish the entire presentation by yourself on top of your own assignments. You’re not supposed to carry all of that, baby. It’s not fair.” He frowns. “You've already got enough on your plate and you need to rest.”
“I know.” You groan, momentarily closing your eyes. “But I hate not having any control over it.” Words pick up speed as your eyes flit over the surface of your white ceiling turned orange by the warm lamp on your nightstand. “Everything’s half-finished and sitting there waiting for me, and I can’t stop thinking about it long enough to breathe.”
Bucky lets you vent at your own pace, because he knows better than to rush you. You try to sound calm, reasonable, like this is just another thing to manage, but he can feel the pressure running through your veins, the strain that causes your voice to shake at the end.
“I can help you.”
The words leave him before he can fully consider them.
You immediately turn your head to give him a reproachful look. “James.”
“What?”
“No.”
“Why–”
“You have your own stuff to do–”
Bucky shakes his head, pushing himself up on one elbow so he can look at you properly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“It sounded like it.”
“You know I’d write all your papers if you’d let me, but you’re such a little spitfire, angel. You’ve got this ridiculous way of holding yourself to every rule, every detail... I love it, but damn, you’re stubborn as hell about doing things your own way.” A faint exhale of a laugh slips out the both of you despite the tension. “But I meant I can help you not think about it.”
You study him carefully, brows furrowed. “What do you mean? Aren’t we already taking a break?”
That question sits between you, innocent, and Bucky swears the room is starting to spin.
His mind betrays him with an image so vivid it nearly steals the air from his lungs: you beneath him, pliant and hot, your fingers tangled in his shirt, and your mouth soft against his, muffling your sweet little pants and moans. Just that morning Bucky woke up from the most wicked of dreams. It was of you, of your mouth, of your skin. He was touching and kissing you everywhere. His sheets were drenched in sweat and his underwear embarrassingly sticky when the sunrays split through the curtains to hit him with a brutal dose of reality. He tried jerking off in the shower, but the ache is always there, challenging him.
His eyes close briefly.
This is not the time.
But the truth is sitting at the back of his tongue, heavy and impatient.
“Maybe,” he starts slowly, choosing each word like the world might explode. “You just need something that forces your brain to focus on one thing.”
“Like what?”
His heart is pounding so loudly he’s certain you can hear it. He can't believe he's really going to say it.
“I just–” He swallows. “Have you ever thought about… I don’t know… Sex?”
It feels as if someone snatched the word from his throat and let it fall between the two of you, like a sturdy stone being violently thrown into a still lake.
You don’t react immediately, but you recoil a little, taken aback.
“I didn’t mean it like–” Bucky winces, suddenly aware of the very small distance between your bodies. So he stands up, cheeks flushed as your eyes follow him. “I mean, I did mean it, but not in a–” He exhales sharply. “God. That sounded worse.”
You blink at him, and Bucky runs a hand through his hair, pacing at the edge of the bed like he’s trying to outrun his own suggestion.
“I just meant,” he tries again, slower now. “Sometimes when your brain won’t shut up, you need something… Physical. Something that makes you focus on anything but your thoughts.” He gestures vaguely between you, not quite daring to point. “We’re– We’ve always been– I mean, there’s nothing we haven’t shared, so it doesn’t have to be weird. It could just be...”
You tilt your head. “What?”
“I…” His mouth opens and closes pathetically twice, the words dying in his throat as you adjust yourself, now sitting upright with your legs crossed. “It’d just be… Us.”
The room is plunged into a religious silence, broken solely by the low hum of the old fridge near the kitchenette and the faint sound of your labored breaths. It makes Bucky want to bury himself alive.
Your fingers keep fidgeting with the blanket.
“It’s been a long time.” You admit suddenly.
He stops abruptly in his quest of digging his own grave by walking up and down your room.
“What?”
You stubbornly stare at your hands, chin tucked down.
“Since... The last time I had sex.”
His stomach drops.
“How long?” Bucky croaks out, trying to sound nonchalant but he fails miserably as he almost chokes on his own saliva.
You hesitate for half a second, then mumble. “Since Chris.”
The name lands awkwardly between you, like a relic from another lifetime. Those five letters drag up memories Bucky thought he’d pushed down beneath the careful armor he’d worn around you for all these years. You wailing against his chest in his bedroom, the smug grin on Chris’ face every time he crossed you in the school hallways, and Bucky pretending he didn’t want to hunt that asshole down.
His throat suddenly goes very dry. “High school Chris?”
You nod, still too embarrassed to look him in the eye.
Bucky lets out a disbelieving breath. “That was... Years ago.”
You swallow. “I know.”
“You haven’t–” He can’t finish the sentence, but you understand.
You shake your head once, biting your bottom lip.
His brain struggles to process that. Bucky had convinced himself there had to be someone. Some random fling at one of the frat parties he couldn’t attend because of some last-minute visit to his family, or an assignment started too late. He spent nights lying awake waiting for your text reassuring him that you were home, safe and sound, telling himself he was being ridiculous, that of course you had allowed someone to touch you the way he wanted to.
But now this revelation feels like being shoved off a cliff, blindfolded in darkness.
“So,” you start softly, like you’re testing the word. “You believe… Sex would help.”
He swallows, nodding once. “It might.”
You glance at your best friend, then away again. “You’ve thought about it.”
It’s not a question.
Bucky huffs nervously. “I mean, I’m not blind.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
His right hand reaches up to rub the back of his neck. “Yeah. I’ve thought about it.”
There’s a moment of silence that makes Bucky wonder if being completely honest was the right choice.
“Recently?” You perk up.
He almost laughs at that. “Define recently.”
You try not to smile, and Bucky steps closer again, slower this time, like approaching a skittish wild animal.
“I’m not trying to make this weird.” He clarifies quickly. “I can go away, or– or we can pretend I never said anything and I’ll go back to being your emotional support distraction machine.”
Your head snaps up at that, a spark of hurt flashing in your eyes. “It’s not weird, and you’re not my emotional support distraction machine.” A frown settles on your features, and Bucky’s heart thuds at the adorable sight.
“I was joking, sweetheart.” He reassures you gently.
“I know, but I don’t like you calling yourself that. You know you are everything to me.”
“Yeah?” He strangles out, and you nod, chewing on your bottom lip.
“You are everything to me too.”
The air feels different now. Thicker. You glance at his mouth, just for a fleeting moment, yet his blue eyes– too bright, too earnest, like they’d strip you bare if you let yourself crack the slightest bit– catch that instantly.
“Are you suggesting we try?” You ask, almost daring him.
Bucky hesitates— not because he doesn’t want to, but because he wants it so much he wouldn’t know what to do with himself if you were to accept his absurd offer.
“Only if you want to.” His voice cracks. “I don’t– I don’t want you to think I’m taking advantage of you, or something. We’re just–” He gestures between you helplessly. “We’re us.”
Your silence stretches just long enough for his chest to start caving in. Bucky examines your face carefully, searching for any sign of discomfort, annoyance… Anything he can work with. But you give him nothing.
Just a clean slate of neutrality.
The shift inside himself is dreadful, hope morphing into humiliation. Of course he pushed too far. You’re stressed, allowing yourself to be vulnerable around him and what does he decide to do? He suggests to have fucking sex with you.
Bucky takes a step back without meaning to, already bracing for the fallout. What would you do if he confessed right now? Telling you he’s loved you since scraped knees and shared headphones and walking you home because “it’s on my way anyway”. That every girl who approached him felt like a placeholder. That he’s swallowed the ache years ago, and locked the longing somewhere unreachable, so it would never hurt you.
“Forget I said anything,” he mutters, already stepping back from your bed. “That was out of line. You’re overwhelmed and I just made it worse. I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”
Even the pet name that has been lightning your eyes up since high school tastes bitter now.
She’s trying to figure out how to let you down gently. She’s figuring out if this will change things between you two. She’s wondering if she’s been leading you on without realizing it. She’s suspecting you’ve been trying to get in her pants all along.
Bucky moves another step back, running a hand over his face. “I–”
“James.”
He looks up immediately, and you’re suddenly watching him like you’re going to cry.
“I haven’t done this in years.” You repeat softly. “So if I’m bad at it–”
His stomach drops. “You won’t be.” He rushes out.
You observe him with a rueful smile, shoulders dropping as if suddenly freed from an unbearable weight. “You don’t know that.”
“I do.” He frowns, blushing violently at how certain he sounds.
Your sigh sounds like it's been living in your chest for years, and after you clear your throat, attempting to pull yourself together. “What happens now?”
His heart is pounding so hard it almost drowns out the show still playing in the background.
“Now,” he says carefully, stepping closer. “I ask if I can kiss you.”
You hold his gaze. “And then?”
“And then, if you say yes,” he continues, fighting to keep his voice steady. “I’m going to do it. Just once. And if you hate it, we pretend it never happened.”
You don’t hesitate, your body unconsciously leaning forward as he kneels in front of you.
“I won’t hate it.”
That confidence nearly unravels him.
“So… Can I?” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper, rough around the edges, his hunger leaking out after holding it back for years.
At your tiny, shy nod, that carries more weight than anything he’s ever felt, his chest tightens, almost forgetting how to breathe. His hand lifts slowly, almost reverently, and cups the side of your face, his gaze focusing on the action. His thumb brushes along your jaw, gentle, before his eyes flutter close for a fraction of a second, enough to carve this moment in his soul. When he opens them, his breath hitches at what he sees: your pretty, trusting eyes fixed on him, openly giving him permission.
You don’t pull back. Instead, you tilt your head just slightly, leaning into the touch, and that tiny motion nearly stops his heart.
Bucky exhales softly and bravely leans in, lips brushing yours in a featherlike, tentative contact– a question posed in motion. It's the gentlest of kisses that is meant to taste the waters, to ask if you want this as much as he does. You respond immediately, pressing against him, and in that moment, a spark ignites in his chest.
Every sensation is magnified. The softness of your lips against his, your eyelashes brushing his cheek as you close your eyes, your quiet, pleased sigh… Each one sends shockwaves through him.
His other hand reaches your waist, tentative at first, just enough to anchor you against him. He doesn’t pull, allowing your body to find his to its own volition. The pressure is grounding, careful, and each subtle shift of your weight beneath his palm leaves him more certain, more addicted to the feeling of you.
Your hands slide to his chest, light at first, then press more firmly as if to claim the space that’s always been yours to take. His fingers twitch instinctively, tracing lines along your sides, feeling the curve of your ribcage, memorizing the rhythm of you in his arms. That’s when he deepens the kiss, careful not to overwhelm. Your lips part just a bit, yielding, allowing him to savor the sweetness, the trust, the closeness. And your hair is caught under his fingers as he tilts your head slightly to explore without breaking the fragile balance. The clean, floral scent of the body lotion you recently bought mixes with something inherently yours, filling his senses, grounding him while simultaneously setting his nerves ablaze. You make a high, almost imperceptible mewl that sends heat straight to his crotch, prompting Buck to lean into you just a little more, confirming that this– this closeness, this softness, this moment– is real.
Time stretches, the show hums unnoticed, the bed creaks faintly beneath the weight of you both, and your breathing mingles with his, shallow and intoxicating. Every tremor of yours is loaded with anticipation, your heart racing in tandem with his.
Finally, Bucky pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, the tips of your noses brushing.
“You’re incredible.” He whispers, voice raw and breathy, as if saying it louder would shatter this dream he never wants to wake up from. “Just… Gorgeous.”
Your smile is just short of shy as you press once more into him. He tilts his head, capturing the soft warmth of your lips again. Your sternums touch, and one of your hands grasps the hair on his nape, eliciting a low groan out of him. This time, Bucky kisses you as if he wants it to bruise, his mouth heavy against yours like he is trying so desperately to burn himself into you. You’re trembling in his tight hold, yes, but Bucky is barely holding together the pieces of a lifetime spent loving you in secret. His teeth graze your bottom lip in the middle of it all, leaving behind a surprisingly nice sting that makes you shiver. He wants to kiss you forever, even against the merciless ache in his lungs.
His hands finally gather the courage to move, like you belong to each other. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips, slipping under the cotton of your oversized sweater to graze your bare skin, a moan shamelessly falling into your mouth.
“Bucky.” You whimper as his lips trace an unmapped path along your jaw.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” He gently nibbles a sensitive spot just under your ear that you didn’t even know existed. You shiver again, feeling the curve of his grin against your bare throat. “What is it, doll? Talk to me.” He presses an open-mouthed, heated kiss on the crook of your collarbone, suckling until you squeak.
“I’m–” You gasp. “It’s hard.” You blurt out. “To... To come these days.” Your voice fades into a whisper. “Too much stress. I can’t focus.”
Bucky stills at your timid confession. He presses your foreheads together to quietly stare at you, all blown pupils and this dazed, adoring expression that makes your heartbeat jump. “That’s okay, angel.” He stops your anxious blabbering. “What do you usually do?”
“What?” You gape at him, not expecting that question.
“What do you do when you’re alone, baby girl?”
“I have… Toys.” Your cheeks feel so hot you start sweating.
“Show me.”
“You–You want to watch me while I… ?” You squeak, eyebrows shooting up.
His jaw clenches at the thought, cock already half-hard since your lips touched for the first time, before he nods. “Will you let me, darling?”
“But–”
Bucky calls your name, steady and serious. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course!” The way those words fall from your lips, offended that he would even hint you don’t trust him, elicits a boyish laugh out of him.
“Then let me help you.”
There’s a beat. A long, awful, charged beat.
“Okay.” You whisper.
“Yeah?” He perks up a little too enthusiastically.
“Yes, yes Bucky.” You bite your bottom lip, trying to hide your amusement.
“Where are they?”
“Uhm, second drawer of the nightstand.”
Once the box is opened, Bucky's mouth goes completely dry, so much that it almost hurts to swallow.
His brain stops. Just… Fully refuses to work.
It’s ridiculous how fast heat climbs up his neck, spreads across his chest and then drops straight into his stomach.
A shockingly realistic dildo, a bullet vibrator, a suction vibrator connected to the curled end of a dildo, another dildo, and it vibrates too...
Pull yourself together, it’s just silicone for fuck’s sake.
But it’s yours.
And suddenly his mind, traitorous and vivid, supplies images he has spent years trying not to picture too clearly. You, laughing. You, stretching in one of his large hoodies. You, soft and sleepy in his arms. You, riding one of these fucking toys. You, spread on his bed with that thing stretching your pussy just enough to burn deliciously. You, moaning and whining and calling his name, begging to make it better with his–
And under the mortification, something else coils low in his crotch. Crude, shameful… Disrespectful.
“They’re just toys.” You mumble, promptly looking away. “Right?”
“Yes!” Bucky rushes out, hating the way you seem to make yourself a little smaller, as if ashamed. “Yes, sweetheart. I'm sorry. It’s just… I never knew you…” He trails off absentmindedly, exhaling harshly as his blue eyes trace your curves. His hands slide slowly to your waist, thumbs brushing small strokes over your hipbones as if he’s reacquainting himself with something he’s known forever but is allowed to touch differently now.
“Let me make you feel good. Can I?” Bucky murmurs, momentarily forgetting about the protagonists of his future dreams. He guides you back until he has you propped against your plush pillows by the headboard, their fuzziness and the soft plaid comforter under you easing your nerves.
You nod, certain but coyly.
Bucky then leans in carefully, planting a kiss on the corner of your mouth first, gently.
“Does this feel good? Here?” Half-lidded eyes burn into yours, your breath catching in your throat at the tenderness, and you nod again, quickly.
He smiles against your skin and shifts slightly, lips brushing along your jaw. Slower, lingering.
“What about here, hm?”
You bite down on your lower lip, the smallest sound trying to escape your throat before you swallow it back. Another nod.
His hand slides up to cradle the side of your neck, thumb warm beneath your ear as he presses a kiss just under it. He feels the way your pulse jumps, feels the way your shoulders tense before melting again.
“Oh,” Bucky hums quietly. “Definitely here.”
Your fingers curl into his shirt as a reflex, grounding yourself and him both.
Moving lower, his lips set over the spot where your neck meets your shoulder, charting your skin like an astronomer tracing a constellation he’s spent a lifetime hoping to find.
“Here?”
You nod too fast this time, and Bucky pulls back just enough to look at you, all twinkling eyes and clenched jaw.
“You don’t have to be so quiet,” he murmurs, thumb pressing against your lip to free it from your teeth. “I wanna hear you.”
That only makes it worse.
You shake your head slightly, embarrassed, and he chuckles under his breath, so terribly fond.
“No?” He whispers, leaning back in. “You don’t want to let me hear your sweet sounds?”
He kisses your mouth this time, taking your chin between his fingers and making sure your tongues touch in a slow dance. And you don’t disappoint, rewarding him with the most precious of moans.
“Good job, sweetheart.” Your next breath is shaky, gaze avoiding his as Bucky reaches lower to brush his mouth on the sliver of belly exposed by the raised hem of your sweater.
Another nod, and Bucky smiles against your skin, teasing.
“Hm, still nodding at me?” There’s no bite to it. “Cute, but I know you can give me more.” Your hand slides then into his hair as a response, tugging lightly, yet Bucky almost breaks his composure. He exhales sharply, forehead dropping briefly to your stomach like he is the one being unraveled.
“You like that, huh?” He sighs, voice low. “Making me lose my mind over you?” The corners of your mouth lift mischievously, and Bucky has to grit his teeth to not smile at the adorable sight.
“Careful, sweetheart.” His thumbs slide along your hips, adjusting himself so he can go even lower. “I might just return the favor… In a way you won’t forget.”
Your breath hitches, and his lips return patient, learning you like a sacred treasure.
“Here?” His mouth lands on your hipbone, and you nod, pressing your lips together.
“And here?”
A kiss on your thigh that again gives him a nod in return.
“And what about here, angel?”
Your breath stutters, and this time you can’t stop the high whimper that slips free.
His lips... Kissing your clothed pussy.
Bucky stills for half a second to make sure he heard right, before a smug grin brightens his features.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Thought so.”
Once he’s climbed back up, hands back at the curve of your waist, he squeezes the flesh, relishing in your startled squeak. “How often do you use them?” He glances between your cloudy eyes and your tantalizing lips as you cling to his broad shoulders.
“What?” You mumble dizzily, blinking as if waking up from a soft dream.
“The toys.”
“It–It depends if–” A gasp interrupts you as he starts mouthing down your jaw and neck. “If I’m in the mood– Bucky.” You sigh, tossing your head back when his fingers dig into your sides.
“Hm?” He barely acknowledges you.
“Tickles.” Your fingers tighten in the fabric of his shirt. His grip eases a little, stroking the skin as if to apologize. He goes back to your lips just in time to swallow your wanton whine. Meanwhile, his right hand grabs the box.
“What’s your favorite, sweetheart?” He asks, planting a kiss on your cheek that feels too pure compared to what you are about to do. Gulping, you sit more upright to examine your secret stash as he holds it between you two. Your lips purse in contemplation, and Bucky can’t resist leaning forward for another quick peck, his left hand gently splaying over your thigh to comfort you.
Your hand snatches the purple dildo that vibrates, your cheeks heating up as Bucky leans back over you with a satisfied smile lingering on his lips to kiss you with more love than hunger. His tongue runs along your lower lip, and when granted permission, he meets your tongue in an eager tangle.
“This okay?” He pants in your mouth, his fingers having traveled to the waistband of your sweats without you even noticing it. His lips have you so dizzy your brain has been turned to complete mush, so you can only nod, already tugging him back to you as he lowers your bottoms, tossing them somewhere on the floor. You whimper in protest when Bucky doesn’t move, taking a moment to examine your panties, something that you were entirely unprepared for.
“You’ve been this wet the whole time, baby?”
Oh.
You feel your eyes widen, jaw going sack as you notice exactly what he was referring to. Glancing away in embarrassment, your hands shoot up to cover your face. You knew you were aroused, but hearing your best friend declaring it so crudely just makes you want to hide under your sheets. Your core throbs just a little, hot and aching under the uncomfortable fabric and his intense attention. Your fingers part shyly just in time to see Bucky reach for your centre, flinching as two fingers start a slow rubbing motion with just enough pressure, and an occasional pinch of your bundle of nerves. Your slick seeps through and turns the cotton to a darker color, and Bucky groans as his digits get sticky with your arousal, his other hand undoing the belt and then unbuttoning his jeans for some room for his erection.
Your stomach churns as you bravely tuck your palms under your chin, finding him still staring at that stain. It’s really happening, you realize at once, particularly vulnerable now that your best friend looms between your spread thighs.
“Your shirt, can you…?” You croak out softly, and that’s when Bucky shoots his head up, clumsily going for the hem of his sweater. You wrap one hand around his neck to bring him back into a kiss as you let the other wrap around the dildo, slipping it between your legs. Still devouring your lips, his fingers focus now on your panties, holding them from both sides until an abrupt rip echoes in the silent bedroom.
You gasp, eyes snapping wide open just in time to see his hand carelessly toss your ruined underwear over his shoulders. Unbothered by the fact that he literally just tore the fabric in two, his whole body tenses at a faint click, followed by a low buzzing noise. The toy comes to life in your hand, tingling your palm, and you give the sensation a short moment of consideration before pressing the button again.
“Fuck.” He exhales harshly, his forehead falling on your shoulder to brace himself as he feels your body tense beneath his, a soft whimper getting caught in your throat when you press the tip of the toy firmly against your clit. “Can I–” He clears his throat, voice so rough you can hear restrain bleed through. “Can I look, princess?” He could bust right now, completely untouched, but your comfort comes first. Always.
“Ah– yes, yes please!” You shiver, eyes falling shut.
“So fucking pretty.” Swallowing back a growl, his hips shift impatiently. His palms land on your thighs, thumbs stroking the skin at a calming pace. “The prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” He murmurs, dark eyes glancing up at your scrunched-up features.
“Open your eyes, baby. C’mon.”
The reminder is gentle but you obey instantly, eager to show Bucky just how good you can be for him.
“That's it. Good girl.” That proud look takes over his face again, the praise eliciting a whimper out of you before you can stop it. Your urge to please him definitely goes beyond eating reminders and proper breaks between your study sessions.
It just feels so right.
Your hips jolt up unconsciously when you start grinding the toy against your clit after pressing the small button once to let it vibrate faster. Your free hand scrambles to grasp Bucky’s wrist to find some sort of comfort while you let yourself fall blindfolded into the pleasure.
“Bet that feels so good, right?”
Your eyes drift over him, half-lidded, drinking in the stubble darkening his jaw, the line of his nose, the sweep of his shoulders, each contour and shadow marking him as impossibly real. Scorching heat hums between you, and you feel it not just in your skin but deep in your chest, pressing against your ribs like it could tear you open. The subtle tension in his hands as they hold you, claim you, memorize you, are a wordless testament of the raw intensity that runs through his veins, leaving your body taut and starving for more. Every brush of his lips, every press of his palm, every quiet sigh that slips from him drives you closer to breaking, like stepping through your front door after the world has worn you down, and the pull in your chest finally bursts, and you can only surrender to its force.
“Bucky.” You call out to him absently, panting at the sensations traveling from your core and spreading through your veins like electricity.
“Say it again. My name.” His voice is commanding though you can see his throat bobbing shakily.
“Bucky.” You moan, raw and clear this time, even if your face feels like it just bursted in flames.
“Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He notices the exact moment you register the words, a shiver shaking your body as your eyes close again in pure bliss.
You want to be his good girl. You want him to be proud of you. You want him.
Your pussy clenches and aches for release, the vibrations are cruel, causing your mind to go rogue and indulging in fantasies of Bucky ordering you to come rather than just watch it happen passively.
“Why don’t you take it off your clit for me and fuck that sweet pussy now?”
You twitch, aching desperately with the need to put the toy back, to force yourself over the edge against his order, yet your body complies without hesitation, sliding the dildo inside your soaking core.
This is what you need. To be full, to be fucked. The stretch feels perfect, almost as though it belongs inside you.
“Shit, look at you taking it so good.”
You draw the dildo back out again, relishing the drag, setting a slow and steady pace with your wrist as a wanton moan falls from your parted lips. “Oh Bucky.”
“Love when you say my name like that.” He grits out almost to himself, exhaling harshly. “Faster, baby, c’mon.”
You follow his order, thrusting harder, faster, your eyes rolling back as your pussy clenches tightly around the toy in its desperation.
“Good girl.”
You are a good girl. His good girl.
Just as you’re in the midst of exploring and pleasuring your own body, you experience the added sensation of Bucky’s hands– vast, warm, so familiar yet new as they explore your sides. They glide under your sweater, up and up, until your chest is exposed to the chilly air of your bedroom.
“That’s it, baby. Keep that pretty hole stretched for me.” He encourages, his tongue licking his bottom lip as his gaze locks with your hazy eyes, before slowly leaning down.
His breath is hot on your skin, that’s the first thing your brain registers. You close your eyes in anticipation as he tenderly kisses you, teasing his way down your body, leaving soft pecks that send shivers down your spine. His thumbs expertly brush your nipples, taking his time, indulging in every little moan and restrained gasp. Bucky plants two kisses on the swell of your breasts, then focuses on your already hard peaks. Both nipples receive the softest of nibbles and sweet suckles, the tip of his tongue playfully flicking them only to suck harder.
“Such pretty tits. Why were you hiding them from me, doll hm?” His eyes glance up, slyly grinning when his teeth bite down a little harder and your back jerks up.
“You’re drooling, baby. Can’t imagine what’ll happen when I split you on my fat cock.” The needy, desperate whine is out of your mouth the second the thought enters your mind. He licks his way up, from the side of your breast to your damp cheek, before firmly grabbing your jaw to spit on your tongue. “Swallow.”
Gasping, you quickly follow his instruction, a hint of humiliation swirling chaotically in your belly. “Beautiful.”
“Bucky please.”
His answers is instant, attentive. “Please what? Talk to me baby, what do you want?”
It takes you a few tries to let the words out, arousal and embarrassment making it difficult to string a proper sentence together. “I want– fuck– I want you.” You eventually stammer.
The deep groan rumbling in his ribcage goes straight to your core. “Good girl, sweetheart. I’m proud of you. Fuck that pretty pussy nice and hard for me and you’ll have me.”
You nod eagerly, whimpering as you pick up the pace, pushing the dildo as deep as you can, and it’s not long before you’re floating again, light like a fuzzy cloud of pink cotton candy. This is the best torture you’ve ever experienced, bare to his whims and exposed to his adoring eyes, but you really need more. You need him to fuck you like an animal, to have his strong hands that until now have only handled you with care to ruin you to tears and hold you down as his cock carves its shape inside you.
Bucky coos, observing your reaction meticulously, your legs spreading impossibly wider as you let your head hit the headboard. “That's it. Does it feel good to fill that pussy for me?”
For him. He has such a filthy mouth and it spurs you on even more. Covered in a sheen of sweat, you manage to answer him through the fog in your brain. “So good.”
His grin is something dirtily mocking. “It's been a long time since anyone has fucked you like you deserve, and now my baby needs my cock to take care of her, isn’t that right sweet girl?”
Overwhelmed, something breaks inside of you and you’re unable to hold anything back. With a raw moan you almost sob in frustration. “Please. Bucky please fuck me, need it so bad!”
His shaky exhale gives his anticipation away. “I will, baby. I will.” His eyes lock on your trembling form, steady and safe, as you clench and ache and yearn. “Fucking hell, doll, you’re perfect.” His lips are again all over your face, your lust-glazed eyes unable to do anything but flutter shut with desire. “My pretty girl, all mine.”
It’s all too much and not enough at the same time.
“You ready to come for me, sweetheart?”
Yes, yes! That’s what you need!
Nodding enthusiastically, you chase the climax that you’ve been greedily anticipating, only to realize it’s not going to happen like this. You love being stuffed and pounded, but having an orgasm just from it? It’s not something that comes easy to you. All at once, the pleasurable torture feels more like a cruel punishment, and you can’t help the dejected whimper that escapes your throat. You need more, but pleasing Bucky is necessary, something stronger than the urge to rub your clit.
“Bucky.” You wail, his voice is not enough anymore.
He gently soothes his palms along your thighs and the effect is immediate. You melt into the mattress, the warmth of his skin on yours settling your rapidly unravelling nerves. “What is it? I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me”
“I need– can I touch it, please?”
Bucky sits back on his heels with a playful smirk. “You can’t come if you don’t touch your pretty little clit, can you?”
“No.” You shake your head, a thrill of excitement racing under your hot skin. “I–I hit it sometimes too.” You reveal quietly, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
His eyes widen, Adam's apple bobbing, and his whole body goes still, stripped of every shred of cockiness. “What?”
You quickly swat your hand against yourself, glancing up at him to find him frozen, staring at your bare pussy, wet and shiny. You repeat the action, squeaking. “Like this.”
His nostrils flare, tongue licking his lips like a wolf ready to sink his fangs into his coveted prey. “Sweet girl, you like getting your little pussy slapped?”
At your eager nod, your best friend swears every ounce of oxygen has vanished from the room.
“Then slap it for me, princess.”
Fiercely determined to show him and thankful for finally getting some stimulation on your clit, you swiftly pull the toy out just enough to bring your hand down with a sharp slap. The shock of the impact makes your body lurch, the sensation recoiling through your core as the wet sound resounds lewdly in his ears.
“Fuck!” Your pussy is so hot and tender with the amount of attention it has been receiving from both you and Bucky, but the slap is a welcome change in sensation, spurring you closer to that final edge. Sliding the dildo back inside, you feel delirious with lust.
“Again.”
You strike your flesh harder this time, gasping at the delicious sting. The friction on your clit brings you dangerously close to your climax as you keep alternating a few thrusts of the dildo to the little spanks. You’re not so sure you’d be able to wait for his permission to come if Bucky keeps ordering you to do it.
Humming thoughtfully, his cock hot and throbbing, still trapped in the confines of his wet underwear, Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to regain at least a fraction of self-control before coming untouched just by witnessing the girl he yearned so long for losing herself to this debauchery.
“Maybe one day I’ll make you come just by slapping your pretty pussy.” Your reaction is immediate, hips twitching up and mouth forming a lovely circle around a loud whine. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? My dirty, little girl.” His hand squish your cheeks together with a cocky smirk. “You want another one, doll?”
“Please.” Maybe if he let you, you could come from slapping your pussy now. The thought of orgasming from something so depraved renews that spark of embarrassment, only serving to drive you deeper into this maddening lust.
“So fucking polite.” He growls. “Again.”
Your body jerks violently as the pain ricochets through your whole being. It feels so overwhelmingly good, every nerve alive and sore, tortured by this endless, pulsing arousal.
Tears start running down your cheeks unprompted. “Bucky please! ’M so close.”
Nuzzling your jaw, he cups your face with such tenderness, appealing directly to that part of you that would do anything for him. “I know, princess. I know. One more thing and then I’ll let you come, okay?” You nod weakly, sniffling. “You’re doing so well for me, sweetheart.”
You sob then, so broken and sensitive you aren’t sure how much more you can take.
His velvety voice rumbles against your neck. “Take the dildo out and turn it off for me.”
“But–” Bucky wants to punch himself in the nose at the look of pure misery on your face.
“Do you trust me, darling?” Humming dejected, your hand trembles as you whine at the loss, your hole clenching around nothing.
“Good girl. Breathe with me.”
You pull in some deep breaths, his hand flattening yours against his chest to follow his lead. Of course he wouldn’t leave you like this, and trying to fight off the fog clouding your brain, you wonder if he’s going to fuck you finally.
“Show me the toy.”
You balk at his request, somehow more self-conscious about this than the fact that you’ve been masturbating in front of your best friend for God knows how long.
Hesitant, you lift the damp dildo, and Bucky leans forward to inspect it.
“It’s soaked with your sweet pussy juice, doll.”
A surge of arousal boils in your veins at his words, prompting you to cover your face with your free hand, but Bucky promptly catches your wrist, gently bringing it back to its previous place.
“No need to be embarrassed, sweetheart. Take a look, you did so good for me.”
It’s not much of a surprise to you to find the dildo glistening, yet you bite your bottom lip out of mortification. The thing is, seeing the proof of your raging arousal standing proudly between you two shouldn’t make you leak so much.
Bucky smiles, before guiding you into an open-mouth kiss with a hand on your nape. “Look at you. You're so fucking gone, aren’t you?” He blabbers against your lips. “Beautiful… So, so beautiful. Wanna come for me, baby?”
As you nod enthusiastically, still completely spaced out, he nods along with you. “Yeah, I know you do. C’mon then, put that stupid toy to use.”
Turning the dildo back on, you notice that your wrist is a little sore, but you’ll be damned if you’re going to stop now.
“Oh my God.” Your eyes roll in the back of your head as you start rubbing the toy around your nub, the sensation taking you higher and higher as the room is soon being filled with your lewd sounds. At this point you’re far too close to what you’ve been craving to care about your neighbors.
Bucky diverts your attention before you can get carried away, still cupping your cheeks and hovering over your lips. “Don’t you dare come without my permission, baby girl. I want to know when you’re close, alright?”
While your initial thought is to complain about having to wait a little longer, you bite your tongue and decide to not challenge his patience. The thought of being so obedient for him is too tantalizing to resist, so you do your best to hold back as each vibration hurls you towards your imminent climax.
“Fuck! I’m so close– Bucky please make me come. I can't– fuck.”
“Let go, doll. C’mon, you have been such a good girl for me. Soak it for me, make me proud, and I’ll reward you by licking your pussy clean after, okay?”
The tight knot in your lower belly finally snaps, his words forcing you over the edge and into pure oblivion. Electricity courses through your veins and your poor, abused pussy throbs and clenches, your whole body shuddering uncontrollably. You are on your knees, at your pleasure’s mercy, from your trembling thighs to the noises shamelessly falling from your parted lips. You’re barely able to register Bucky talking you through it, with you every step of the way.
“There you go. You’re so fucking perfect. Fuck, I want to keep you. Please let me keep you, angel. Love you so damn much.”
You have never had such an intense orgasm in your entire life, its power taking the breath from your lungs and leaving you floundering for some kind of stability.
“Deep breaths, honey, c’mon.”
Feeling entirely too sensitive now, you quickly yank the vibrator away, throwing it somewhere on the bed. You try to focus on your breathing as your head flops back to look at the ceiling, utterly exhausted and still quivering from the leftover pleasure.
“That’s it, good girl.”
Without wasting a minute, Bucky is already kissing his way down your body, gently and attentively, as if trying to leave little pieces of himself along your skin. Until he stops between your legs, resting his head against your inner thigh, two fingers run from your clit down to your entrance. You flinch, body lighting up.
“Bucky–”
He softly parts your glistening folds with his thumbs, inviting your pussy to his hungry gaze.
“Haven’t finished with you yet, sweetheart. Look at this pretty mess.” He whispers directly into your pussy, his words sending shivers down your spine, his hot breath tickling your most intimate area. He lightly flicks your clit with the tip of his tongue, teasing you with delicate and precise touches that burn so deliciously.
You feel like your body is going to implode as his fingers slide back and forth between your lower lips, and without warning, he slips one inside, eliciting a strangled moan out of you. Almost immediately, he finds that spongy spot as he leans in to tease around your puffy lips with his teeth, grazing the meat until your hips twitch up with need. He thoroughly licks up the slickness from your inner thighs, savoring every drop of arousal from your previous release. Your body is slowly melting under his unhurried actions, until Bucky decides to attack your clit with his mouth and you flinch, feet digging into the bed as a yelp leaves your throat.
“Ah! Bucky!” You choke out, a hand coming to grasp his wrist while the other fists a handful of your bed sheets.
He knows you are especially sensitive, after all that relentless teasing and prolonged edging, but it only makes it better. “‘S okay, I've got you, sweet girl. Just let it happen.” With a mumble, he leaves a sweet kiss on your inner thigh, then slips another finger alongside the first one, making you cry out as he overstimulates your sweet spot.
“Fuck fuck fuck!” You almost scream, thighs snapping close around his head.
Bucky growls at the pressure, hungrily licking a long, slow strip from your clenching entrance all the way up to your pulsating clit, your natural scent making him dizzy as he literally buries his face in your core. His saliva drips down his chin when his lips eagerly suckle on your sensitive nub, coaxing out desperate moans from your quivering lips. His need to please you is insatiable, and you can feel its intensity from the way his starved tongue laps at you, every flick sending jolts of pleasure through your spine. You are completely lost in this wild lust, so feverishly intense, that you are left trembling with pleasure, on the verge of transcending into another state of being. His actions are an overwhelming assault on your senses, your mind and body both spiraling out of control, thoroughly consumed by the exquisite sensation of his fingers thrusting so precisely inside your poor walls.
Bucky cannot escape the pleasure, his addiction to your unique flavor driving him to new heights of bliss. His eyes stay fixed on your crumpled features, his hand imprinting its shape on the soft flesh of your thigh to stop himself from humping your bed like an animal, so close to his own release that he could come right there with a single touch of his cock.
At some point, he pulls away with a wet pop, groaning in delight at the intoxicating taste. “C’mon, make a stupid mess on my face, beautiful.” He growls, voice husky with urgent arousal. His mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking on it with a steady rhythm, producing such humiliating, sloppy sounds as he eagerly consumes you, his soft groans adding to the melody of pleasure filling the bedroom.
His fingers curl up, massaging that sweet, sweet spot of yours, so lost in the euphoria of it all that his arms shake with pent-up desire, his actions leaving you both teetering on the edge of sublime release.
“I’m gonna– fuck , please don’t stop!” You cry out, fisting his hair and he grunts. He’s a fucking beast as he devours you whole.
“That’s it, doll, give it to me. Grind on my tongue, just use my mouth.”
You obey, literally humping his face, convulsing under a thin layer of sweat. “‘M gonna come.” You sob. “Jamie– fuck!” His tongue abuses the poor bundle of nerves while quickly pumping his fingers even as your walls clamp, your slick pouring into his eager mouth and down his chin, soaking his stubble. He loves when you go limp in his hold, your whole body quivering under his palms.
“Shh-shh, you're okay, pretty.” He slowly retracts his fingers while keeping his eyes locked on your face, still dragging his lower face between your puffy folds, rubbing you raw with his facial hair to gather every bit of your orgasm. He brings his fingers to his mouth once he sits back on his heels, making a show of licking them clean before he crawls forward to hover over you again, his bulge now impatiently pressing against the fabric for your attention.
“Holy shit.” You huff, on the brink of passing out.
“One more.” Bucky kisses you, like an apology for being so needy.
“What?” You squeak, still dazed yet blinking at him, more awake than ever.
“One more, baby.” He pleads, his hand soothing along your hips and waist as you faintly catch the rustling of fabric. “You were crying so prettily for my cock before, don’t you want it anymore?”
Before you can beg to give it to you, a weight settles on your soppy core, hot and solid, sliding between your folds. Your eyes shoot down as Bucky thrusts forward, the underside of his length grinding along your heat, coating him in your slick.
“Shit.” He grits out.
Gaping, your hand slowly reaches down to grasp him. He’s so thick and heavy in your palm, throbbing with desire as precum dribbles from the bulbous tip and over your knuckles.
“Yeah, touch me like that, baby.” He rasps out, panting. “You’re so sweet to me. Letting me play with your pussy until you’re dumb and drooling and all pretty and relaxed for me.” He wraps his fingers around yours on his girth, tightening and squeezing the base. “There we go.” He grunts, bending down until there isn’t a sliver of air between you both.
You mewl pathetically, garbling nonsense. He’s deliciously mean as he lovingly bullies your clit with his cock. Your raw nerves burn with every thrust, your juices spilling down your ass. “Oh, you like that, don’t you, sweet girl? Wanna be my pretty slut, baby? Spend every day being stuffed full of my cock? You won’t have to think about anything, just be nice and wet for me. I’ll put it in your mouth, and then get you on your hands and knees just to spank your pretty ass until you’re begging for me to fuck you.” He chuckles darkly as your eyes glaze over and your breaths go thin and shaky, every cell in your body buzzing as you cling to his forearms.
“You feel me on your pretty button, baby?” He grinds again. “Poor little clit must feel so sensitive. Is that why you’re crying?”
Above you, Bucky curses, mouth watering at the sight of the creamy mess you made on his cock, soaking the bed and his thighs as well.
“Are you going to let me inside, baby girl? Fill you up with my seed, and watch it leak out because it’s too much for you to keep inside?”
“Please, please, Bucky.” You beg, nails digging into his skin. “‘M ready, so ready for you.” A pulse of agony beats through you.
He shushes your blabbering softly, cupping your cheek. “Alright, pretty girl. I'm here, just a little more patience.” The reverence in his blue eyes pours into your heart, unraveling in a delicious storm. “Thank you for letting me have you like this. Thank you for giving me the honor.”
You’ve been yearning for his touch for what seemed like a never-ending lifetime. Every fiber of your being has ached for him, and now that you have him like this, warm and gentle and incredibly gorgeous, staring down at you with his blue eyes so full of fondness, you can’t ignore it anymore.
“I love you, Bucky.” You blurt out, tremblingly grabbing his face with both of your hands, bringing him down into another kiss– hard, and desperate, and filthy, your heart beating so fast you’re convinced it’s going to escape your chest anytime now.
With flushed cheeks, Bucky pants, tip of the nose brushing yours. “Sweetheart,” he soothes dotingly, an ache to his voice that creeps through the tenderness as he buries his face into the crook of your neck. He breathes you in reverently, brought to his knees by three simple words. “You don’t know how many times I’ve dreamed about this. Of you. And now I’ve got you in my arms, and you’re mine– you are mine, right?”
“Wanna be yours, always have.” You whine, and with a broken groan, he caresses your hips, mapping out every inch of your body with his strong hands, kissing any part he can reach like this. He trails from your neck to your collarbones and then your breasts, capturing a nipple between his lips. Your arms hook over his shoulders to keep him close, softly moaning as he switches between your tits, his warm tongue taking care of both nubs thoroughly.
“You’re so beautiful, you know that?” He murmurs, forcing himself to stay still as you adjust to his length teasing your entrance. “You’re gonna take it for me like a good girl, right?”
“Your good girl.”
That earns you a feral kiss that you break with a sharp cry when your hole starts stretching wide, welcoming the leaking tip with some resistance. Bucky initially distracts you with sweet pecks, but as he sinks into your warmth maintaining a clear head becomes tricky, his forehead dropping to your shoulder as a choked groan leaves his throat.
“So deep.” You squeal, thighs trembling around his hips as his base finally meets your core.
“I know.” Bucky kisses your cheek, shuddering. “I know, but you’re taking it so good. Jesus, look at you.” He swallows as his hips ease back slowly, until you can feel only the head inside. You squeak out a pathetic whimper, hands coming to cling onto his shoulders. Then he bottoms out again, quicker this time. You gasp, back arching.
“Fuck!” You almost scream, your insides feeling more sensitive than before.
Bucky finds a temporary steady pace, letting you melt beneath him, then shifts your legs back, until they almost touch your chest, and thrusts harder as soon as you respond with a sob of pleasure, the new angle sending your eyes back in your head.
“Oh shit! Bucky!” You reach around and dig your nails into his shoulders, toes curling.
He can’t take his eyes off you, drinking carefully in your little details as he fights the urge to squeeze his eyes shut every time your pussy pulses with a new sensation. At some point his wet mouth is on your breasts again, flicking your nipple some more just to listen to your pathetic whimpers and feel you arch back into him. His hips are picking up their pace, slamming against that deep spot at an almost desperate speed. When his fingers momentarily leave your hip to pinch and rub your sensitive clit, your lips open in a silent scream as you clamp involuntarily around him.
“That’s it, baby, there you go.” He coos, bullying your nub some more before he traps you completely under him on the rocking bed. His pecs press against your bouncing breasts, your sensitive nipples rubbed raw.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” His tongue drags up your cheek, your bitter tears fueling his primal side as he stifles your wanton noises with his tongue, your lips and teeth clashing in a filthy kiss.
“Can feel you clench so hard, are you gonna squirt and make a stupid mess all over my cock?” His arms slide under your back, keeping you firmly against him with every rough thrust. “I’m gonna make a mess on your pussy and fill you up with all my love.”
The shameless sound of your flesh slapping against his is so loud but you can’t hear it, too dizzy and lost in the feeling of his dick hitting your sweet spot with a new kind of precision and his muscled arms keeping you safe and still for him to play with you.
“Fuck, wish you could see yourself right now.” He growls, pounding into you earnestly, panting like a feral beast. “This is my pussy now. Gotta keep you marked up, show everyone that you're my girl– shit.” His voice breaks when you clench, choking him. “Wanna be mine forever, sweetheart?”
It’s too much– his fierce, insistent thrusts, his pubic hair stimulating your clit, the way he talks to you as if he’s losing his mind, just blabbering whatever pops into his head.
And you? You just take it. You take it and you scream his name, eyes rolling back and mouth unable to close. You whine and your toes curl with each thrust, your hips trying to rock back onto his, unsuccessfully. Until your climax unravels violently and you ascend to heaven. Your body erupts in flames, and you squirt as Bucky marvels with gritted teeth at the broken fountain making a mess of his lower abdomen and cock, still fucking you through it to prolong your pleasure as much as he can. He needs to ruin you for anyone else, the only thought in your mind each time your fingers plunge into your pussy being him and only him.
You shake uncontrollably in his hold, but he keeps you firmly locked on his cock, balls deep against your quivering, gushing hole.
He growls against your tear-stained cheek, every muscle contracting. “Gonna come, baby. Gonna come so fucking hard for you.” He repeats, his voice bordering on a snarl. “You are my girl now.” He pants, digging his fingers in the flesh of your ass. “Love fucking you, love watching you come, love you–”
Your vision is blurry, yet you don’t need it to know Bucky is completely surrounding you, from the heavy panting of his chest against yours to his damp skin sticking to your body. You decide to not acknowledge the creamy mess where you’re connected though, too embarrassed by what you have done. It’s intense, the way you’re so wet, warm and tight around him.
Bucky groans gutturally, harshly pressing his lips to yours, his face scrunched up tightly as he pins you down, not a sliver of space between you. “Fucking take it, fuck– take it, please–” His hot cum floods your ruined hole, spurting along your stretched walls to claim you fully. There’s so much that it spills out and down his pulsating length to his tense balls, joining your mess everywhere.
Bucky ends up collapsing against you, forearms firmly planted on the mattress to keep himself from completely crushing you, mindful of your well-being even as he feels like he is going to pass out after this powerful release, fueled by having restrained himself for who knows how long.
You’re still shaking in his hold, exhausted and sated, but definitely more alert now that you have both freed yourselves of years of longing and pent-up sexual frustration. He’s reluctant to let you go just yet– and you couldn’t be more grateful for that, your body feeling like it’s going to crumble after your last climax– so he opts to pepper the slope of your neck in lazy kisses, indulging in your soft mewl when he finally reaches your mouth. Bucky shifts just enough to brush a thumb over your cheek, watching your eyes flutter close and then back open, as though checking if he’s still there.
“Hey,” He clears his throat, voice still hoarse. “Are you okay?”
Your lips part, words sticking somewhere between your throat and the tips of your tongue. You try, but only a breathless hum escapes, and it’s enough. Bucky leans closer, resting his nose against yours, inhaling, grounding himself in the reality of you.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he whispers more to himself, worry threading through his awe. “I just… I just want to know if you’re okay.”
You manage a weak nod, letting your fingers curl around his wrists. His eyes, wide and unguarded, observe you like you’re the only thing he’s ever wanted to understand.
“You’re perfect,” he says finally, the words spilling urgently, reverently. “Every damn bit of you. You’re—” He swallows, shaking his head slightly, as if even language feels too clumsy for this. “You’re everything I’ve ever needed.”
A small, exhausted laugh catches in your throat, and you bury your face into the crook of his neck, letting him feel your trembling, the last threads of overstimulated energy slowly unraveling. He holds you tighter, hums a low, almost inaudible note against your hair, and for a long while, neither of you speaks.
When he cradles your face in his hands, Bucky looks more lucid. “We can talk after. But you need to know, doll, you are my whole world.” His forehead presses to yours, like he needs the contact to stay upright, as if pulling away means the gravity of the moment would swallow him whole.
“You have no idea,” he murmurs, voice breaking at the edges. “How long I tried to hold this in. But I can’t anymore, not after tonight, not after having a taste of what it feels like to be completely and utterly yours.” His thumb traces the curve of your jaw.
“I think I’ve loved you,” his breath hitches, because he can’t believe he’s finally saying it out loud for you to hear. No moans, no bed creaking to drown the words. Just the quiet stillness of the night, as if the moon itself is holding its breath with him. “Since I was too young to even understand what that meant.”
Your hand flattens against the rapid drum of his chest, perceiving every thrum, every irregular skip, every fierce, insistent beat that has somehow always belonged to you. For a moment it feels as if the rest of the world has fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, trembling bubble. Your eyes glisten with tears you haven’t let fall, tiny, fragile sparks that catch the dim light like stars reflected in dark water, and your chest tightens with the ache of everything you’ve held in silence for so long. All the unspoken words between you, the years of stolen glances, quiet worry, and secret yearning suddenly all converge in this single moment. His shoulders shift, leaning ever so slightly toward you, and your fingers press more firmly, almost desperate, into the heat of his chest.
“Jamie,” your voice quivers. “It’s always been you.”
And when you glance up at him, so radiant and so inevitably his, Bucky finally looks at you without any restraint, staying like he always has, and always will.
ending notes: I don’t do taglists anymore, sorry. thank you for reading!
Cure me of this void, I said. (The light loved itself in this darkness of mine. I knew that there was absence when I found myself saying, It is I.) Cure me, I said. — Alejandra Pizarnik: Continuity
Rhett telling you to stop holding the headboard in a commanding voice. 😭🛐
A/N: thank you for the request anon!! I wrote this on my train ride to a concert I’m going to tonight! It’s not edited and it’s a bit rushed but I hope you enjoy it nevertheless
Semi-explicit content below the cut.
“Baby…I told you I want you to sit. Not hover.”
Rhett’s voice came out low and rough, each word thickened by the warm press of your thighs framing his face like a living crown. The sound vibrated straight through you, a lazy drawl that somehow managed to be both teasing and feral at once. His breath ghosted hot against your slick folds, close enough that the barest shift would have sealed the contact, yet you stayed just out of reach, knuckles white around the headboard slats as if they were the only thing tethering you to the earth.
His fingers–those strong, sun-browned fingers that had roped calves and gripped reins for years–dug deeper into the soft give of your hips, the callouses catching on your skin with a delicious rasp. He tugged insistently, trying to coax you down onto the flat of his tongue where he ached to drown.
“I don’t want to suffocate you,” You whispered, voice trembling on the edge of a plea. “I’m already up here…Isn’t that good enough?” He tilted his head just enough to meet your gaze, and the look that flashed up at you from between your legs stole the air from your lungs. Those blue eyes–storm-cloud blue, the color of deep prairie skies right before a summer downpour–were dark with something raw and bottomless. Hunger, yes, but threaded through with a desperation you’d never seen on him before, a primal need that made the muscles in his jaw flex beneath the faint shadow of stubble.
Beneath the pleading look in his eyes laid power, coiled and patient, like a wolf deciding exactly how he was going to take what was already his.
“Sweetheart,” He murmured, the endearment sliding out like warm whiskey, “When I said sit on my face…I meant sit on my face. Not hover.”His grip tightened, thumbs sweeping slow, possessive circles over the curve of your hipbones, testing, promising. You could feel the restrained strength in him, the way his shoulders tensed beneath you, ready to haul you down the moment you gave even an inch.
Heat flooded your cheeks, not from shame–Rhett had mapped every secret inch of you with that clever mouth more times than you could count–but from the sheer vulnerability of this new position. No one had ever asked you to surrender like this, to trust your weight, your wetness, your everything, right against his face. The what-ifs flickered through your mind like heat lightning: the crush of your thighs, the possibility of being too much, the fear of stealing his breath when all he wanted was to give you his.
“Rhett…” You shifted, the silky slide of your inner thighs against the rough stubble on his cheeks sending sparks skittering up your spine. “Just…Let me do it like this.” He squinted up at you, that half-lidded stare sharpening into something darker, more commanding. You saw the exact moment he accepted that his normal sweet talking wouldn’t work tonight and his chest rose on a slow inhale, the faint scent of leather and sun-warmed skin and something unmistakably masculine puffing up towards you. He didn’t want to be mean, nor did he want to force you into this, but you were so close–so close that he could practically feel your heat coating his lips–the he just needed to have you, and he’d do anything to get you into it.
“Y/N.” Your name left him on a lower register, velvet over gravel, a tone that curled straight into the pit of your belly and tugged. “Take your hands off the headboard…And put them in my hair.” A pause, deliberate, devastating. “Now.”
The command landed like a spark on dry grass. Your core clenched hard around nothing, a fresh rush of slick heat slipping over your folds begging to drip onto him. Your heart stuttered, then slammed against your ribs as if he’d reached up and stolen the oxygen from the room and thrown you into a zero gravity weightlessness that only you could feel. The world narrowed to the heat of his stare, the slow, deliberate way his tongue swept across his lower lip like he could already taste you.
Hesitation cracked, then shattered instantly.
One hand peeled away from the wood, trembling, and sank into the thick, tousled waves of his hair–soft as worn velvet, still carrying the faint outdoors scent of hay and open sky. Your fingers curled, gripping the locks tightly. The other hand followed, sliding through the longer strands at his nape, like you were preparing yourself to somehow be bucked off of him.
The second your weight shifted, Rhett moved.
With a low, satisfied growl that rolled straight through your bones, he yanked you down–hard, sure, relentless–until there was no more hovering, no more space, no more mercy. His mouth sealed over you like a man finally allowed to feast, nose buried against your mound, tongue sweeping broad and greedy through your folds. The sudden, perfect pressure dragged a broken moan from your throat as his stubble scraped deliciously against your sensitive skin and his blue eyes fluttered half-shut in pure, filthy bliss. You whined, arching your back slightly, already lost in the feeling of his tongue, and he couldn’t help but smile…
Because he was home. And he was never letting you leave.
Fluffuary Day 5: Sweetheart - Bob Reynolds x Reader
True love is patient, kind, and humble. Creeps up, slow and steady. Right there when you need it. Doesn't hold record of past wrongs. Unending. When it comes that way, how is one not supposed to embrace it?
Bob sat at the counter, cheek cupped in palm, feet propped on the rail of his stool. Sunlight spilled in from the windows, a golden backdrop against cherubic features.
His robe draped behind him on the floor, deep in blues, a sea of fabric barely tied at the waist. A loose shirt drooped underneath, smooth collarbones sloping down into those depths. Wide, linen pants hung at his ankles, brushing against bare feet.
It was a nice color. Subtle and calming, rich in meaning. Still and comforting. Exists, yet fades wordlessly into the background. Much like him. A suiting array of shades he already found himself gravitating towards much in the past. He liked it.
And you also said it looked best on him than any other color.
You, standing there not so far away in the kitchen, dressed in a long, blue robe to pair his own. Humming softly a song he didn’t know but lulled him anyway, moving slightly towards whatever dance went along with it. Eyes focused on the pan sizzling on the stove. His on the gold band wrapped around your finger. The same gold hugging his own.
He wasn't sure how it got there.
Well, of course, he knows how he did it. But how was it accepted? How did it become the thing that kept you two together? How did you agree to this outward profession of love?
He always feared he'd wake up and it'd suddenly disappear. Not that you would lose it, he'd lost his own plenty of times over the seven years of having it.
Would hold your hand at night, brushing the precious metal promise, searching for signs of impermanence. And was instead reminded every day of its firm placement. In the same name shared on bills, the same room you shared your bed, the same lips that called him beloved, and, yes, in that same band you never took off your finger.
It amazed him. And those ones inside him. He always tried to keep their visits minimal, the dark and light. But some days he still couldn't keep enough control, mind overwhelmed by so many things, and they came to filled his absence. Watching you, following behind, a shadow and a spotlight. He feared your reaction, what they'd do.
And you just smiled. Smiled and dragged them around the house, treating them the same way you would him. Talked about them just as happily when Bob could be back, assured him his leaving was alright. That you understood.
You understood so much. Reassured him so much. Loved him so much. Some days he found himself guilty over making you do all that for him, feel all that, even after all these years. He wasn't sure those types of thoughts and feelings in him would ever stop. And still you comforted him when he voiced his musings.
Let him curl up against you, stroked his curls, whispered all the things you loved about him and how it'd never change. He was yours. Him and all those with him.
His heart ached.
He's not sure how you did it. Why you did it. If he could invoke those same feelings you put in him, in you.
But your smile was proof, right? Those eyes that softened every time they spotted him hiding in his corners. Giggles that bubbled up for no reason other than sitting with him for too long. The onslaught of kisses that warmed his mornings and nights. Whiny complaints that accompanied hugs meant to keep him home with you, even when he wasn't going anywhere far.
It filled his heart with glee, having you so cozy with him. Churned his gut in a butterfly swarm. Warmed his flesh when you passed him by. Fuzzed his brain when you grazed him lightly.
He was happy. Overwhelmingly so. It could consume him as much as his stress and fears do. It was a weird feeling. Especially when they clashed, heart and brain screaming different things at him.
And still you were always there. Before and after. Forever and forever. Just like you'd both promised.
His thumb rubbed absently over his ring.
He meant when he said it. Every word written into his vows. Almost couldn't get through it when he was up there. Looking at you. You, so gorgeous in your splendor, dressed in clothes meant just for him, squeezing his heart as if there weren't enough reminders you had control over every part of him.
He cried a lot that day. You too. And cried even more when he laid awake at night over the years, realization always hitting him hard that this was real. He was married. Married to you. Someone wanted him. You wanted him. You kept him. And there wasn't day where you seemed to change your mind on him. Like you didn't regret it.
Did he deserve someone as sweet and earnest as you?
"Order up." You smiled, pulling him back to the sun washed room, setting in front of him a steaming plate cooked by your loving hands.
He looked down. Eggs, bacon, French toast, potatoes. Simple. Standard. Made just the way you knew he liked them.
And he cried again.
"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" You asked softly, immediately setting things down to circle to his side.
And hugged him tenderly, massaging his side, grounding him with your touch.
"I love you, so much." He warbled, shifting to wrap his arms around your waist.
His hold was tight. Didn't want to let go. You wouldn't fade through his fingers, never had, and he knew it. But even imagining that it could happen was the worst thing in the world.
He squeezed you, forearms wrapped to feel every bit of you, forehead pressed into the curves of your shoulders, tears soaking the blue robe a shade even deeper.
"I love you so much." It was all he could repeat.
There wasn't much you could say to that. He knew. But still you just whispered the same sentiments back, cooed into his skin, massaged your loving into his body. A body so undeserving of yours but consistently loved by you in and out of moments like this.
It took a moment for him to calm again, eventually you ending up in his lap, making holding you much easier for him, your contact calming him more than anything else ever had.
The food had cooled, the both of you just staring at it on the counter, curled into each other. Things that shouldn't fit, but did so perfectly, snug and tight, exactly where you were meant to be. Cause you were his. And he ... he was yours. Yours. The only thing he ever wanted to be.
Somehow, he'd become a sweetheart. To you. And it was looking like he'd keep being that for so much longer.
Taglist: @iristheplanet16
The MBAV Zine is officially done!
OMG GUYS ITS FINALLY REAL! thank you so much to everybody who participated in creating this awesome zine!! the google drive link is of the pdf is above, and if anyone's interested in possibly buying a copy 👀 or contributing to a volume 2 even, then feel free to message me! again thank you all, this wouldn't have happened if it wasn't for all the talented and creative people who made all of the beautiful content put forth <3
also peep the hand embroidery cross stitching done by me :3
But this time, I feel like there's...
I don't know. Something bad happened. Or I did something bad?
moon knight | 2022 // thunderbolts* | 2025
Secret santa gift for @g0ry0re0!! Missed you old friend!!
You have a lot of survived Billy fics so I thought id draw him escaping the fire at the end of the movie (I couldn't not pass up the chance to draw angst lolll) + tøp lyrics that are so him coded (center mass!!)
More variations under the cut because I worked hard on this :)
aaaaaaaaa!!!!! i love this so so much!!!!!! thank you!! i love angst, i love billy, and i love tøp
this is so awesome :,) and I missed you too <3
to: @g0ry0re0 from: @bamboozledcorvid
title: Gotta beat them all | word count: 2,318 | summary: The gang are teleported into Bennys ds. | AO3 Link
Ethan wasn't sure how he always got roped into helping Benny, but here he was 8:00am on a Sunday morning clearing out Benny's granny's basement. Of course, he hadn't come just because Benny asked him to, it also had something to do with the fact Sarah had offered to help. So here he was dusting cobwebs and moving boxes.
Sarah and Erica were pawing around old jewellery boxes and chests of clothes, Roxy had found a box with a dead rat in it to entertain himself, Benny who was supposed to be moving boxes was fascinated by an old purple ds he had found, Ethan remembered when him and Benny had gotten matching ones, blue and purple.
"Will you stop messing around with that thing and help me? I doubt it even works!" Ethan complained waving his arms around as he usually does when he's annoyed. Benny completely ignored him in favour of digging dirt out the game slot to figure out which game was stuck in it, which gained a huff from Ethan.
"Come onnn" Ethan groaned grabbing a hold of Benny's shoulder. "It might not be working right now, but…" Benny smiled, stretching his fingers. He pointed at the ds whispering something in Latin, or maybe backwards? Ethan was sure he heard him mumble "get fixed". All five teenagers stopped to watch as the handheld console lay on the floor…
"Nothing happened, genius" Erica remarked, using an unsuspecting Rory as support she pulled herself off the ground and turned to leave, a neck full of pearls and silver. Rory stumbled back, grabbing Ethan for support as he toppled into Sarah.
"Wha! Watch it!" Sarah warned as she struggled to get out from under Rory and Ethan. Benny, still laughing from the sight of it all, offered a hand to Ethan and with a sigh Erica walked forward to offer the same to Sarah.
Right as her hand closed around Sarah's a crunch under her foot sounded and before she knew it a purple glowing light shot up her leg and through her arm. Benny watched as within a second the light spread across all there limbs, connecting them, before it got to bright and he had to close his eyes. When he opened his eyes he was still gripping Ethan's hand, however they were stood in a bedroom that didn't belong to him, or Ethan, or anyone they knew.
"Benny?… Benny?!? What… what!" Ethan looked around the room, chest heaving slightly. "Hey, hey! It's fine, this is fine… my spell must have… gone wrong? And now we, well we're… somewhere" Benny gave a reassuring smile and if it weren't for the worry in his eyes Ethan might have felt better.
"We have to find the others! Or.. okay we have to figure out where we are, then find the others" Ethan was talking to Benny but his friend had already wandered off to more interesting things. "Look at this! I use to have one of these!" Benny smiled holding up a toy pokeball. He tossed it from hand to hand smiling.
"Benny please, focus!" Benny's head snapped up to look at his friend as he shouted, however as a mixture of poor coordination and lack of concentration, the toy fell out of his hand clattering against the floor. 'Oh' he mouthed as he flinched away from the ball breaking open, however unlike the plastic toys they had as kids, this one didn't crack when he dropped it. Instead it popped open with a small white light bursting from it, and then…
"Pika! Pika!" A small yellow animal sat in front of them. Staring at Benny with adoration."Benny that's…" "Ethan? Ethan that's!" The two boys stuttered and stumbled over their words before finally both realised with had happened "WE'RE IN POKÉMON!" The two exclaimed in unison.
After celebrating how cool this was Ethan reminded himself and Benny that they had to focus on finding their friends. "Okay so, this is your ds… that means this is your Pokemon game!" Ethan rushed to the nightstand that a backpack sat in, he pulled out a map of town, a finished Pokédex that 12 year old Benny had spent months trying to complete, Benny's trainer id with all but one gym badge completed, and a bunch of pokeballs and potions.
"Okay we have to… well first we have to find the others, then figure out how to leave" the two rushed outside hoping to find someone to help however a lot of the npcs didn't have anything useful to say "have you tried talking to the professor?" "A fun challenge is completing your Pokédex!" "Woah, you're certainly in a rush".
"This is pointless! Wheres our guide?!" Benny sighed and almost like magic a dark haired girl came running across the road, Benny had hoped for a best friend character that helps along the adventure but…
"There you are! What have you dorks done?!? An old man just gave me a dog and told me I should 'find my friend and provide help'? What's going on!" Sarah stood with her hand on her hip and her 'dog' eevee sat next to her.
"Listen don't freak out. Okay?" Ethan asked his hands raised, Sarah glared at them both for a minute before sighing. Ethan took that as a sign they were in the clear "we're inside Bennys old pokemon game, I believe the only way out is to finish the game but first, we've gotta find the others".
So the three of them set off into the woods heading to the next town, they encountered a hoard of wild pokemon, a bunch of npcs freaking out about team rocket and a handful of annoying trainers but considering how highly levelled bennys team was it really wasn't taking them long to win. They made I through four more towns searching every road for their friends.
Ethan and Sarah were going door to door looking for the pair of blonde vampires whilst Benny stopped at nurse joy to heal his team. As he walked out however he walked right into an npc, triggering their response "watch out for team rocket, they're around here" the man said before hurrying away, it was weird Benny didn't remember the npcs seeming sooo… life like. He thought more on it as he made his way to Ethan and Sarah.
"Hey E, have you noticed the npcs are talking a lot about team rocket yet… we haven't had any run ins?" Ethan frowned at his friends words, confusion written across his face as he tried to come up with an answer, an answer that Benny might have gotten out of him if it weren't for the explosion that sounded off in the distance.
"What was that?!?" Sarah asked looking at the two boys who looked just as confused.
"Something that wasn't supposed to happen" Ethan answered as he took of running towards the route, the sprinted to the next town, ignoring trainers that called on them for a fight and wild Pokemon that jumped out in front of them.
As they reached the next town ash covered the paths, fire covered the rooftops and npcs screamed "its team rockets charizard!" "My house! My house!"
"This isn't how the game goes! Team rocket shouldn't do this and the npcs aren't saying their coded lines!" Ethan panicked. "We're inside a magical ds who cares?!?" Sarah responded but the twos arguement was cut short when…
"OH MY… OH MY GOD TEAM ROCKET ATE MY FRIEND!?!?" An old man npc collapsed to the floor. All three heads shot round at this, in the middle of the flames stood to blonde, fanged, team rocket members. Erica's face was covered in blood whilst Rory's wore a wicked smile as he sent forth his Pokemon to terrorise the town.
Sarah, using her supernatural speed, dragged the two out of the flames, pushing them in front of Benny and Ethan. "What were you's thinking?!?" Ethan asked and the two shrugged.
"Burn the game down so we can get out!" Rory smiled. "Get breakfast?" Erica answered. This led the a full blown fight between the group with Sarah telling erica its inhumane, erica arguing that these things aren't human, Benny telling Rory how stupid he is and how he could have killed them, Rory arguing that the game card is plastic so his fire would melt it and free them.
Ethan however was more worried about the fact the characters weren't following their coding, it wasn't right, how could they break code? He looked around watching as npcs put out fires, screamed, catered to wounds, and… and stared right back at him. A man in a black hood watched him from behind a burning bush. He went to approach the man when Sarah called on him.
"Ethan? Ethan?!" She shouted, grabbing his shoulder and suddenly the hooded man was gone. Ethan looked around frantically but all he saw was the concerned faces of his friends. "You alright man?" Benny asked patting his back.
Ethan wasn't sure who that man was or what he wanted, all he knew is that he didn't want to stay to find out. "We need to finish the game and get out of here" the others stared at him blankly, waiting for more.
"Now!" He demanded dragging them towards the routes whilst still looking over his shoulder.
"You three can fly us to the end!" He said to his undead friends who all gave a quiet nod before grabbing him and Benny and taking off.
They stood in the final town, right in front of the one gym Benny couldn't complete. He smiled cockily to his friends and walked in… then five minutes later he walked out of the poke centre next to it and walked in again, and again, and again. Each time looking less enthusiastic and more annoyed.
"Ethan? What's wrong with you?" Sarah asked as the boy scanned around them. "We have to leave"he said and right as he did Benny done the walk of shame from the poke centre once more.
Ethan groaned "maybe someone else should try!" Benny huffed at this "be my guest! It's impossible!" Ethan snatched Bennys bag off his shoulder and the pokeball out his hand and as he did his eyes went white and he collapsed.
“You don’t belong here. You must leave. You don’t belong here, they know you don’t belong here. Everything’s wrong because you’re here, seer!”
When Ethan came through he was leaning against Benny whilst Sarah tried to give him water. “What did you see?” Sarah asked but she didn’t get an answer instead Ethan jumped to his feet grabbing Erica’s arm and marched into the gym. He blew through trainer after trainer, not caring how injured or exhausted his pokemon were instead filling them with revived and potions and putting them back to work. He reached the top floor of the gym and knew exactly who was there.
“You don’t want us here, just give me the badge and we can leave” he stated, a laugh sounded from underneath the black hood. “That’s not how gyms work, seer” Erica looked a little taken back by the character knowing what he was, Ethan didn’t seemed phased at all which confused her more. “I’m going to fight you, I’m going to win, and if I don’t win, my friend from team rocket here is going to really ruin your day” Ethan stated as he walked forward.
The battle begun.
Everytime Ethan would beat one of his pokemon, he’d beat one of his in return. They went back and forth healing, fighting, losing, winning until eventually they were both down to one pokemon.
The trainers level 80 Lapras against Ethan’s level 70 charizard.
The trainer was stronger, had a Pokemon type that combated Ethan’s, more powerful so, Ethan had to do whatever he could.
“Erica, bite it” his face unchanging. she looked at him, then the sea monster, then its trainer, then she sunk her teeth into it. Blood ran down its neck, it swayed side to side, injured then Ethan took his turn and incinerated the creature. By the time charizard stoped the gym leaders Lapras was coal black covered in ash, lying unconscious.
The gym leader wore a look that Ethan couldn’t figure out as he called back his Lapras, feeding it a number of potions and antidotes before tossing a gym badge towards him.
“Go.” He stated and the two were more than happy to listen as they went to join their friends. As they came out and placed the gym badge with the others the route door at the end of the path began to glow.
“Our way home” Benny laughed nudging Ethan who smiled, uneasy, “let’s go fast” he said as he hurried off towards the door right before they went in the black hooded trainer walked out in front of them. “Your adventure doesn’t end here, Ethan Morgan. The worlds got more in store for you” he smirked before walking out the glowing door into the real world. Sarah was the first to move, charging after the man, grabbing his cloak as they both vanished through the door, the rest of them rushed in behind her.
When they came out they were stood alone in Benny’s grandmothers basement, surrounded by cobwebs and boxes. “There’s no one else here… he must have just… been part of the game, right?” Benny asked, looking at Ethan whose face was chalk white. Sarah opened her mouth, but when her eyes met Ethan’s, full of confusion and fear, she smiled. “It was just a stupid game, that Benny messed up with his stupid magic”.
Ethan gave a weak smile, feeling vaguely reassured by his friend’s words. Only Erica, who had rushed in straight after Sarah knew that Sarah was hiding a torn piece of black fabric behind her back.
to: @rabidvampdude from: @g0ry0re0
I don't know what to title this. Mike hits it from the back. (18+)
Mike Schmidt x fem reader
1.6k words Tags: 18+, fem reader, brat reader, brat tamer mike, creampie, mike is an ass man, head (reader receiving), fingering, brief plug use (pussy), just pure filth, porn with no plot
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Since the events at Freddy's a year ago, things were finally starting to look up for Mike. His new job as a contractor and the subsequent new house he was able to afford after took a huge weight off his shoulders.
For once in his life since his dad left him at eighteen, he didn't have to scrape and claw his way through the month to pay rent and put food on the table. Who would have guessed poverty could be so stressful?
Still, there was one more little addition to his life that easily topped the other two: you.
Mike still couldn't believe he was dating you after all this time, that you were really his. Some days, he swore you were an angel sent from heaven, helping him with the house and Abby when things got overwhelming.
Other days, like today, he was sure you had to have been a test from Satan, a temptation of the highest degree, luring him to sin.
Mike stepped out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from you tonight, but it certainly wasn't something this calculated and seductive.
His eyes went to your ass first, a sight that made him groan as he sat down on the edge of the bed, trying not to let you see his obvious arousal under the towel.
You were laying tummy-down on his bed in an obnoxiously tiny skirt that showed your bare ass and thighs beautifully. Mike's eyes trailed further up your body as his hand reached to squeeze your thigh, and saw you were also wearing his sweatshirt.
"Really?" he asked, giving you a playful smack on the ass as you pretended to read a book, your disinterested façade slipping away the more he touched you. "Is that my book, too?"
"Dream theory," you smile, making eye contact with him through the mirror on the wall in front of you. "Interesting stuff."
Mike's face flushes with a twinge of pink as he coughs out a reply. "I- that's old. I bought that when I was in high school."
This gets a giggle out of you, thumbing through the pages of his "old" purchase. "Mmm, well I'm on chapter three. Really enjoying your annotations."
Mike heard enough. He couldn't let you read any further. He snatched the book up with one hand and lifted your skirt with the other, fully exposing you to him.
You try to roll over in protest, but Mike is already holding you in place with strong hands.
"Nuh-uh," he starts, dropping his towel and positioning himself behind you, cock already herd and twitching. "In my bed, wearing my clothes, reading my book. 'Sgonna cost you."
"Oh, I didn't realize this was your skirt, Mike." You turn your head to look back at him with mock-innocence as he cages your body in with his own.
"Smartass." He smacks you again on the rear, this time with enough force to sting for a second.
With a yelp, you try to squirm out of his grasp, but it's too late. He wraps an arm around your neck, laying halfway on top of you with his hard dick pressing against the curve of your ass. His bicep puts a delicious pressure on the sides of your neck, and you have to bite back a moan.
"Safe word," he growls, breath hot and heavy against your ear. "Or I'm taking you right now. Just like this."
You just moan in response, eyes fluttering shut as you melt under the pressure and warmth of Mike's body.
He doesn't take well to this, reaching up under your his sweatshirt and tweaking your nipple in a way that always makes you squeal. "Words."
"Ah- just- ah! Fuck me!"
Mike doesn't stop to ask twice, he simply grabs his cock and begins to guide it in with one hand. That is, until, he feels his tip hit something hard and foreign.
Startled, he backs up off the bed as you giggle, reaching out for his hand and guiding it to your cunt. "Just keeping it warm for you!"
Mike groans as he pulls something out; a plug. It's burning hot to the touch, and he has to fight the urge to pop it straight in his mouth.
If he gets a taste for you, he'll easily spend an hour licking and sucking at your perfect pussy. Which, he'd be willing to do on a normal night, but right now? His dick is protesting the thought of anything but fucking you here and now. He feels a jolt, a painful throb shooting up from the base to tip, and quickly gets back into position.
He wants to put it in slowly, tease you inch by inch, but your greedy cunt sucks up his length so easily he sinks balls deep in one quick thrust. You moan beautifully in response, a pornagraphic sound that Mike can barely hear over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears. He's unsure how there's even enough blood left for that with how much must have rushed to his dick when he felt just how perfect and wet you are.
"You're so hot," Mike whispers reverently, taking deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "M'gonna cum too fast if we do it like this. So tight this way."
Your cunt clenches around him at the words, and he buries his face in your neck in a pathetic attempt to cover the whine that draws out of him. You'd picked this position for a reason, laying flat on your stomach with your legs closed.
Prone bone. His favorite. You'd already known he wouldn't last long, but that's half of why it was so hot. The other half was the guilty apology head he'd undoubtedly give you after, making you cum over and over with expert fingers until your legs shake.
"Then come." You clench around him again, intentionally this time, daring him to spill right now.
Mike groans and finally begins to move, growling out a couple words between each quick thrust. "So... damn... tight..." he marvels at how good your pussy milks his cock.
Its hard to keep your legs closed, as part of you wants to spread them open as far as they'll go, give him easy access. You hold back, though, knowing closed legs makes it even tighter for him. It'll all be worth it when he comes in a minute flat.
Each thrust has you arching into it, trying to wiggle your hips to his rhythm in hopes he'll go deeper than he's ever been. At this angle, it already feels that way, and you try to let him know with an incoherent fucked-out stream of babbles and curses.
As predicted, Mike can't keep up the pace for long. His thrusts grow more shallow, and as you look over your shoulder you can see him holding the base of his cock, face contorted in a desperate attempt to focus and keep from coming. The sight is too much, nearly drawing out your own orgasm despite the sloppier rhythm.
"Mike, come." You command him, tone switching from playful to stern in an instant.
His doesn't protest. His weight shifts as he let's go of his cock, planting both hands into the bed for better leverage. In just a few deep thrusts, he's coming, hot spurts that fill you to the brim and then some. He pulls out far too late, painting your ass and lower back with the last few ropes of pearly white cum.
Its an obscene amount, and Mike almost feels bad for the mess. Almost. Instead, he simply wipes you off with his discarded towel, planting a few quick kisses to your back as he does.
"Fuck, you didn't... did you...?" He can barely make eye contact, staring at your ass instead as he kneads at your thighs in an apologetic manner.
"Nope." Slowly, you lift your hips, pulling yourself up onto your knees and elbows, back arched so he can get a good view of the mess he made. His spend dribbles out of your cunt and down your thighs, and you can see all the shame leave his face in an instant as he's faced with your lewd display.
Mike shoves two fingers in your cunt with a groan, trying to keep his cum plugged up inside you. Where it belongs.
You moan a response, wiggling your hips in an attempt to get some friction going. You were sooo close when he was fucking you, just needed a liiiitle more from him...
That's when he adds a third finger, and though not as long as his cock, it's definitely thicker. A heat spreads through your abdomen and you can tell what's coming next before it happens.
Mike latches onto your clit, sucking hard as you ride his fingers. When he feels the fluttering of your orgasm, he sucks harder, squeezing your hip with his free hand.
Its not on his cock, but it may be the hardest you've ever come in your life. All the time spent teasing yourself on that plug while he showered had riled you up, and Mike practically edged you with how short he lasted inside you. His fingers are deliciously thick, and he guides your movements with his free hand on your hip as you ride them.
"Fuck, Mike..." You collapse on his bed, all but panting from the stimulation.
He isn't finished with you, though, and you squeal with a mixture of fear and delight as his body cages you in again once more. His dick is hard again, pressing into you as he yanks your hips back up to meet his own.
"M'not done here."
From the intense look in his eyes, you can tell he means it. This won't be your last orgasm tonight.
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Reminder that you should follow me on @stop-talking-vtwo if you only want to be updated for new fic drops and not my shitposts <3
A/N:
I went off my depression meds that were KILLING my libido like 3 days ago and now I'm horny and inspired again. God bless America god bless vibrators and god bless the FNAF 2 movie 🔥
Also its my birthday today :3
