Trying To Convince Arcane Characters To Stay In Bed A Little Longer In The Morning *cough* Vander Please.

Trying to convince arcane characters to stay in bed a little longer in the morning *cough* Vander please.

YES WE STAN VANDER

Masterlist

includes Vi, Viktor, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jinx, Vander

warnings: suggestive content (kinda nsfw?)

gn!reader, let me know if I messed up somewhere

Vi

“Vi,” you whined as she threw back the blanket, allowing a gush of cold air to hit your skin.

“Rise and shine, cupcake,” she said, laughing at the dirty glance you threw her.

“Come back.”

“Can't, I need to do my workout. Those muscles don't come from nowhere.” She winked at you and you suddenly had to clench your thighs together.

“You're denying me my cuddle time.”

“I'll give you all the cuddles when I come back. Promise.”

“I can't properly wake up without cuddles.”

“Have you tried coffee?”

You sat up, frustrated by her stubbornness. But Vi wasn't the only one with a set mind. “You know, I'm sure there's plenty of workouts you can do in bed.”

Vi, who had just been about to step into her shoes, froze. You leaned against the headboard, eyebrow cocked. The blanket had wrapped itself around your legs, revealing a generous amount of skin which you knew Vi was noticing.

“You play dirty,” she said lowly, blue eyes flashing.

You grinned. “That way we could work out together. You always said you wanted me to come with you.”

Vi's lips set in a smirk as she approached the bed in sure steps and you yelped when she suddenly grabbed your legs and pulled you down. The next moment, she was looming over you, her face so close you could count her freckles.

“I warn you,” she breathed and you shivered as her hot breath ghosted your lips. “My workouts kill.”

You grinned, heart pounding in your chest. “Kill me, then.”

Viktor

It was close to a miracle that you even woke up before he'd left. Viktor usually got up so early that you had developed the habit of sleeping through his alarm clock and by the time you woke up for your work, he was long gone, his place on the mattress empty and cold. But this morning you felt his warm body next to you and before you had even fully woken you wrapped your legs around his, tangling your limbs and snuggling closer to his chest.

“(Y/N),” Viktor muttered, voice heavy from sleep, his accent stronger. Your heart fluttered at the way your name rolled off his tongue. “I need to get up.”

“Denied.”

Viktor chuckled, a deep, raspy sound. “I'm afraid it does not work like that.”

“Then make it work like that,” you replied. “You're a scientist.”

Admittedly, in your sleepy state, your words didn't make much sense, but they seemed to amuse Viktor all the same.

“And as a scientist, I need to do science.” He tried to rise from the bed, but your grip on his legs tightened (though you were of course careful to not put too much pressure on his bad one) and he fell back into the pillows. “My love.”

“How about an experiment?” you said.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your proposition. Of course science could peek his interest, not the half-naked, willing person next to him.

“An experiment needs a theory, right?” Your fingers found the buttons of his pyjama shirt and innocently played with them, which didn't escape Viktor's notice.

“Correct.”

“So here's my theory,” you said, propping yourself up. Viktor's amber eyes widened as you loomed over him. “I can get you to stay in bed with me.”

Viktor's gaze trailed along your figure before settling back on your face. “And how do you intend to prove your theory?” He did not sound as certain as he had a moment before.

A wicked grin flashed over your face. “I have a few ideas.”

“Would you mind sharing them?”

“You'll see,” you said innocently, slowly popping open the top button of his shirt. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “But you'll have to stay. For science.”

Caitlyn

That alarm clock was the most cursed thing in the world. Every morning, took a great deal of willpower from you to not take it and shatter it against the next wall.

Thankfully, Caitlyn quickly shut it off and sweet silence filled the room once more. You snuggled back into the satin pillows, humming in content, but your rest was disturbed when you noticed shuffling next to you.

“No,” you protested, grabbing Caitlyn's arm to hold her back. It was one of the world's biggest mysteries how she managed to be up bright and early every morning. You'd never even heard her complain, even though an Enforcer's working hours were murderous.

“I have to get to work,” she said softly.

“Ten more minutes.”

“I can't.”

“Five.”

“Darling …”

You pushed her back into the soft pillows, enjoying her widening eyes as you hovered over her. “Five minutes,” you whispered, letting your breath ghost over her lips, relishing in the shiver that went down Caitlyn's spine.

“I … I really have to go to work-” But the rest of her words got stuck in her throat when you pressed a feather-light kiss to her pulse point.

“And you're sure there's nothing I can to do to get you to give me these five minutes?”

She swallowed hard. “I suppose I could be … convinced.”

Grinning mischievously, you lowered yourself and pressed a kiss to her throat. “Careful, Cat. I'll have you stay in bed with me the whole day.”

Ekko

Ekko usually got up before you. He wasn't necessarily a natural early riser, but he had people to lead and take care of and he took his duties very seriously. So he got up early every single morning and while you admired that about him, you didn't love it.

So this morning, when Ekko stretched his long limbs and pressed a kiss to your hair, you shifted to lie on top of him, face buried in the crook of his neck.

He chuckled into your ear. “Pookie.”

You hummed but made no move to … move.

“C'mon.”

“No.”

“Baby.”

“No.”

He wrapped his arms around your middle and in a split second he'd flipped you so that he was now hovering above you, stealing your breath with the twinkle in his dark eyes. A smirk spread on your face as your eyes trailed across his toned torso, his muscled arms with which he was holding you in place.

“Good morning, pretty boy” you grinned.

A smile tugged at his lips. “Good morning.”

You wrapped your legs around his body, drawing him closer to your own. Ekko's breath hitched in his throat when your groins slid against each other.

“(Y/N) …”

“You know what would make this a really good morning?”

He sighed, a muscle in his jaw twitching as his eyes roamed your face, caught between the duty to get up and the desire to close the distance between you two.

You took the decision from him by bucking your hips against his. He groaned, eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck it.” He pressed his lips to yours, capturing you in a heated kiss that left you breathless. “I'm gonna show you a good morning.”

Jinx

When Jinx woke up, you woke up. With her loud yawns, giant stretches that had you finding a fist in your face, and cheerful good mornings, it was impossible not to. But you didn't mind, not when the first thing you saw every morning was her bright grin, the cheerful twinkle in her eyes and the firm kiss she pressed to your lips. But Jinx never stayed, she was always quick to jump up and start her day. So you had to be even quicker to hold her down before she could leave the bed, arms and legs wrapped around her small figure.

“I've gotcha.”

She giggled, wiggling in your grap. “Sprinkles!”

You grinned into her shoulder, kissing the soft, exposed skin there. “I've gotcha,” you repeated, lowly this time and Jinx stilled.

“What are you going to do to me?”

You trailed your lips up her neck, relishing in her shivers. “Well, now that I've got you at my mercy …” Your tongue darted out to lick her neck and Jinx let out a quiet moan. “I don't think I'll let you leave until the day's over.”

“You can do a lot of things in that time.”

You hummed in agreement, nuzzling your face in her neck. “You know that thing we wanted to try?”

Jinx's eyebrows shot up and you grinned when you saw the excitement flash in her eyes.

“You won't be able to run away as quick when I'm through with you.”

Vander

“Don't,” you grumble when movement next to you pulls you from your slumber.

Vander chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that has your heart fluttering even after all this time. “I'm afraid I have to. I've got a bar to run.”

A bar, you huff in your thoughts, knowing the first thing Vander would have to deal with had nothing to do with giving out liquor. Instead, you rest your hand on his naked chest, playing with the curly brown hairs. You hear him sigh and a big warm hand engulfs your own. “Just a few more minutes.”

“I know what you're doing.”

You grin, eyes still closed. “Mhm?”

Vander was much bigger and heavier than you, so if you needed to convince him, physical force was not something you could count on. Thankfully, you were more than well-versed in other methods.

Vander shivered beneath you as your fingers traced a light path across his chest. You smiled against his warm skin and let your hand wander to his stomach and then lower until he suddenly sucked in a sharp breath.

“You little minx.”

“Fifteen minutes,” you mumbled.

He raised his eyebrows. “Fifteen? That's quite generous.”

Slowly, you rose up, pressing soft kisses to his chest while your hand began stroking him. Vander's mouth opened in a silent moan and his head fell back into the pillows. “Fuck.”

“Five for you,” you said, “and ten for me.”

After all, he was a gentleman.

while we untangle

Pairing: Steven Grant x F!Reader (implied Marc Spector x F!Reader) Wordcount: 2.9K Warnings: Explicit AF. SMUT. DID. Wounds. Oral. CUM eating. Sry. Summary: Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever. A/N: wow i wrote this instead of working on wys because i hate myself. title from Rufus Du Sol's No Place. i know vague shiz about moon knight but this is my current headcanon of marc being aware of steven and steven just doing his best (lmao). idk if this is really spoilery.

Steven doesn’t quite recall when he started dating you. He does not remember how it happened. You just appear and he simply goes with it because you’re soft and warm and you call him by his name.

It’s a little like magic. He falls asleep and wakes up and you’re there.

“Hi,” you murmur by the side of his bed. His body is aching. His shoulder is screaming. He feels his bones bunching up against the thin shell of his skin.

“What?” He shakes his head. “Who-?”

Their first conversation (that he remembers) is just fragments of words. It is a series of cut-off questions.

Who? What? Where?

You lean forward so quickly he nearly misses it. A flash of your hair and your eyes glittering like fish scales in the blue dawn light. You touch his jaw and use your other hand to comb his sweat-damp curls back from his brow. He wants to say something because he feels naked in front of you - this stranger in his sweats and one of his t-shirts.

Who are you? Who are you?

Instead, he says: “I’m sorry…I didn’t expect guests. I would have cleaned…”

He would have. He would have made an effort. You smile at him and that’s when he notices the gash at your hairline. The strange bruising along your collarbone.

“Did we…?” he finally asks because why else would a girl be in his apartment - at his bedside. Your lips quirk and you shake your head.

“I’m - do we know each other?”

He really shouldn’t press his luck. Things happen to Steven. He ends up with dates he doesn’t remember making. He finds his fridge full and fishes with two fins. There is an attractive woman inches from him and he should just shut up and take it as a sign from God or Gods. Whatever.

“In a way,” you hum as you stretch your arms above your head. Your joints crack and that cut on your forehead beads with blood. A few hours later, he will notice that it’s gone. He will notice that marks on you never last longer than a day.

“In a way?” he echoes. He is lost in this conversation just as he is lost in most conversations. Everyone seems about five feet ahead of him at all times.

“Yes - in a way, but,” You shoot your hand out and grasp his own tightly. He notices his palm is covered in raven-black grease and you don’t seem to mind. “I suppose we should meet formally.”

You tell him your name and he repeats it - rolls it around over his tongue like a smooth marble. His accent is thick and often too chewy in his mouth. He doesn’t know why he even uses the term “accent” because shouldn’t it just be his voice? His tone. His.

He feels like he’s trying to shove himself through a narrow hole. Nothing fits.

***

He starts waking up with you - coming to with you - in weird places. One time, he’s restocking mugs etched with incorrect hieroglyphics and the next thing he knows he’s coughing up blood on a rain-soaked street. It’s thundering. The clouds spiderweb with lightning. There’s the smell of wet leaves and garbage and a neon Exit sign is blinking above him.

“Marc! Help me out here.” You’re a few feet away punching the hell out of a man in back. There’s a splash of blood. It splatters over your nose and chin. You’re in this tight suit that shimmers grey-blue in the rain. Weird. When your eyes meet his, you suddenly grimace. Your expression flits between seemingly concerned and incredibly irritated.

“Who’s Marc?” He rubs his forehead. His teeth feel loose in his mouth. “Wait - where are we?”

Wait. Wait. Wait. He’s always colliding into a disaster or conflict before he can confirm what it is. Where - when - what -

“Fuck,” you growl and then the man you’re fighting socks you right in the temple. You stumble to your knees. Steven doesn’t really think - he doesn’t have to - he rushes forward in some hopeless attempt at protecting you and - well - everything goes black again.

***

He wakes to the tinkling music of a Carnival. He’s got his hands wrapped around a pole with chipped gold paint. There’s a thousand colors blurring into a mosaic of blues and pinks and purples and reds. Yellow as buttered popcorn. Green and copper as scarab beetles. He can taste sugar on his tongue. Cotton candy. His stomach aches.

He looks down and sees the white mane of a wood worse. It’s uncomfortable between his legs. He blinks. He shakes his head.

“You okay?”

He turns to find you sitting - riding - next to him. You’re straddling a unicorn, which oddly seems fitting since he’s about 67% certain you don’t exist. There’s an unreadable expression on your face. A strange transformation. You go from cheerful to anxious and he feels as if he has interrupted something. You bite your lip and reach for his hand. You thread your fingers together as the carousel picks up speed - as it circles and whirs like a cyclone.

That terrifying, obnoxious jingle of music.

“Hi Steven,” you tell him, which he doesn’t understand. Why are you greeting him when you’ve obviously been with him for a while. Are they on a date? This must be a date. Did he drink? He swears it was 4 PM last he checked, but the sky is black-navy. Violet and midnight.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters as he clings to the pole with one hand as you hold onto the other. He leans his too-hot temple against the wet-cold surface of it. “I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t know what else to say.

***

His eyes flutter open and it’s day again. The midafternoon sun peeks through his heavy blinds. You’re sitting next to him - hunched over like a curled C. One of his heavy mythology books in your lap. You’re reading about Isis and Osiris and he wonders if all his pieces are scattered over the Earth. It would make sense. It would honestly be a relief. An explanation.

There’s a white bandage around your arm with old blood staining half of it. It’s practically brown. He sniffs a metallic tang in the air along with the harsh scent of antiseptic.

He lifts himself up gingerly. More soreness. More agony in his back and the constant headache that thumps at the center of his forehead. He leans into you out of reflex, his chest brushing your shoulder. He touches your arm - drags his finger down the bandage.

“I didn’t do that did I?” He can’t trust himself. He doesn’t know anything. He loses days and nights and you are the only constant in his life. The one unmoved variable.

You twist around to look at him. You’re visibly exhausted. He wonders when you sleep because he’s never seen you do it.

“No,” you assure him. They’re so close that your breath fans over his lower lip. They’re dating and they aren’t. “Dating” is the only word he has for it because he wakes up and you’re in his room or literally in his bed. Sometimes you haul him to a restaurant or coffee shop.

Eat, Steven. You’re very pale.

They’ve never kissed though. They’ve never done anything beyond you looping your arm through his as you take him around London. He hadn’t realized it until now, but every errand they go on has been for his benefit.

You need more shampoo. You need another jacket. You need to get your haircut. Do you want another fish so he has a friend?

You let him talk to you. You let him vomit his words all over you because he has no one else. His mum’s voicemail. His mirror. His mind. One minute, he’s spilling his guts to a living statue and the next he’s spilling his guts to you.

And you respond. You nod and agree or disagree or drop your chin into your hand and listen intently. You laugh when he says something he actually meant to be funny.

“You’re such a weirdo,” you tease in between sips of coffee. It makes his lungs expand to the point he can finally get a full breath in. He is wide awake.

He shifts on the bed. The springs squeak. His sheets are scratchy and he notices there are granules of sand in the folds of linen. Bloody hell and all that.

There’s a wrinkle between your brows as you watch him watch you. You don’t avert your gaze like so many others do when he makes them uncomfortable. He can’t help it. He forgets himself sometimes. You’re different. You meet his stare straight-on.

His voice is low and urgent when he finally asks: “Why do you take care of me?”

You suck your lower lip between your teeth. It turns a color and he has to stop himself from swiping it with his tongue - from digging his thumb into the flesh. “I promised someone I would.”

He should question that. Who?

You know who.

The voices have returned. Swelling and shivering at the back of his head. They distract him. Solid. Tempting.

You know her mouth. You’ve tasted it before just not as you. You’ve had her. You’ve felt her. She’s ours.

He doesn't know what to do. He’s aware of his own awkwardness. He’s aware that he often misses social cues even though a large part of him seems to understand them. He just can’t get there.

“Steven,” you whisper like a secret - like their secret - every fucking letter deliberate and compassionate.

He wants to feel this.

He surges forward and kisses you. His body does it before his brain even catches up. He grips the hinge of your jaw and crushes his mouth to yours. You squeak in surprise before relaxing - before allowing him to cradle your cheeks between his hands and continue.

It feels familiar.

His lips move against your lips. His tongue traces your tongue - teasing and caressing and it subtly changes from sweet and careful to frantic and dirty. Your hand is on his chest - right where his heart thumps. He scrapes his teeth over your lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. He makes a demanding sound and pulls you closer.

He senses that he’s been at this threshold a thousand times previously. He has to move forward. He knows the steps. He needs to take you - plant himself inside you where he’d be safe. He’s been safe.

His hand palms the crown of your skull. He tilts your head to deepen the kiss. You respond gracefully - your own fingers now locked in his t-shirt. They trade kisses in his dusty room with all of his old books and white-noise sound machines and cheap cutlery. You sigh into his mouth - your breasts crushed against his chest. Your heart. His heart. Pound for pound. Sharing a rhythm. How much would they weigh? The bandage on your arm chafes the inside of his bicep.

You shiver and it surprises him - the fact that he’s capable of arousing such a sensation out of you. He wants to go further.

He wedges himself between your legs. He doesn’t know entirely what he’s doing and yet he does. He’s had to have done something like this before. Maybe, at school. His twenties? He should know though no distinctive memories come to mind. No images of teenage lust in a backseat or fumblings in a dark theater.

Still - he appears to be getting it. Gestures before thoughts. It’s like the act itself is already written on his bones - taped somewhere in his mind with instruction.

At some point, they get naked.

You are spread out on his pillows and he uses his hands to open your thighs. He watches your cunt - shiny and pretty in the afternoon light. There are bruises on your hips - along your ribs. He wants to ask, but doesn’t.

You already know, Steven. You saw her get them last night. Fighting. You have some too.

That voice that’s like his voice, but not.

He slips his fingers against the seam of your folds - nudging between them and watching the effect it has on you. He thrusts to the knuckle before twisting his hand so he can press his thumb to the peak of your sex. You’re so wet and hot and each jerk of his fingers makes you tighter. The repetitive clench of your walls as he eases you through it. The push of slick more erotic than anything he’s ever even dreamt of.

“Oh,” you moan softly. “Oh - shit.”

“I-I think - is that alright?” he stammers - his chest tight - his cock so hard that it juts against his stomach.

You nod furiously. You open your arms to him - come come come - be with me. He goes - capturing your mouth - tongue warm as it slides over yours in a desperate, messy tangle. Your hand circles his cock, grasping him tenderly. You stroke him slow as he fucks into your palm. He kisses you. He kisses your throat - your breasts - your cheeks. You lead him - let him in - and then the head of his cock is rubbing right up against your pussy. It’s furiously hot - making slick sounds as it slips through the seam of swollen flesh.

You stare up at him, lips twitching and kiss-bruised. He keeps his eyes fastened to your face as he sinks in too quickly. You stretch around him - nails digging into his shoulders. Your mouth parting. Oh - it’s like this.

You feel like home. You feel like him. He knows this. He knows the wet clutch of your sex around him. Vice-like. Murderous. He rocks down and you glide with him. He draws back until he’s nearly out of you before snapping forward - punching a moan from your lungs. A push and pull. He tilts his hips and you follow - knowing the ebb and flow of his movements like you’ve done this before. You fist a hand into his curls as you nip his jaw. There is the loud liquid suck of your body greedily accepting his cock again and again. It’s so crude that he can’t quite believe it.

“Steven - fuck,” and now he is acting without thought. He is allowing the insides of himself to take over. It’s like a dance that he is watching from a step away, but oh he feels every second of it. He savors the soaked clasp of your cunt. The smell of your sweat and your hair and your lush skin as it slaps against his.

You shove him away and he groans as he rears back on his heels. His pleasure is dismantled. It is interrupted. You rise up on your knees and kiss him hungrily - nearly swallowing his tongue before you turn around. You get on all fours - your grip taut around the bed frame. His gaze traces the lines of your body - the curve of your ass that hitches into his hip bones and fitting snug.

You know what to do. You’ve done it before. Our girl likes it like this.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

That voice unbearably deep and vibrating with power. It’s like heartburn in his chest - bubbling up his throat.

This is for you, Steven. Trust us. Trust us.

He takes himself in hand and guides it back into your spread, dripping cunt. He bottoms out and you respond beautifully - a fragile wisp of a sob as you blossom around the length of him. You bury your forehead into his pillow. You bite the blanket.

Steven has never been able to keep quiet, but now he is out of words. He grunts low, rumbling noises and sometimes: oh god - fuck - so good -

He hopes that it’s enough for you to realize that this is everything he’s ever wanted. This true connection when he’s always felt like he’s living behind glass. He’s grateful.

He reaches around to pluck at your clit - something he wouldn’t have known to do or hadn’t done before and yet he does. It’s imprinted. The second he touches the swollen nub of it, you seize up like you’ve been electrocuted - pleasure ringing through your veins and limbs and he meets it by grinding deeper into you and there are filthy words flying from your lips in heaving, breathless whimpers and Steven blushes bright red because he can’t quite believe he’s done this with you - even as his cock spits inside you - even as he fills you to the brim without wasting a drop. When he eases himself out, there is his own pearly seed sliding down the backs of your thighs. It seeps between your swollen folds, dripping onto his comforter, which he will never wash again -

He touches it with his fingers - mesmerized. The voice in his head is throaty and smug: do it, Steven. I know you want to. She’ll love it.

He listens. He flips you onto your back - mouthing at your throat and tits before he travels downward. He forces your knees apart and buries his face between your legs - lapping and sucking and devouring what he has done to you. You arch up - hips jerking against his face. His nose hooked enough to deliberately scrape against your clit as he licks from your fucked-open pussy.

You cry out, yanking at his curls until it stings and he’s sure he’s missing patches of hair. He won’t let up. He latches and remains there - his hands now under your ass as he lifts the bowl of your pelvis up - like a platter - like an offering to the Gods - overflowing with nectar - a ritual -

He’ll repeat it. Day in and day out. He will perform this.

His skin burns with arousal. A fever. You know it’s him doing what he’s doing as he feasts - as he suckles his own come from your sex. He does not know this and yet he does. Another lifetime perhaps. Another yesterday. All of his memories are wrapped in plastic and yellowed with age. Opaque. Potentially not his. But this is clear. This he is sure to remember.

He knows. He knows. He knows this and there aren’t any lost hours between them. It is one long day and one long night of this tryst where he doesn’t wake up with a broken jaw or bleeding gums. He does not question your presence or why his fish die or why you care enough to keep him alive when no one else seems to notice him. He’s Steven and you call him by that name.

venom!bucky drabble <<3

notes: monsterfucking, unprotected sex, praise kink — 18+ only. i cannot stress this enough; minors, fuck. off.

“you’re so sweet.” he purred, dragging his nose down your jaw before gently nipping at your collarbone. it sent a shiver down your spine as you found yourself pinned under the hundreds of pounds that was bucky.

bucky and venom.

sweeter than any chocolate. he mused, the low and gruff voice echoing in your head as you gasped when bucky sunk his teeth into the flesh right above your breast.

somehow connected. somehow intertwined. but forever theirs.

“i can’t wait to feel you, baby.” bucky’s breathing was ragged as his fingers worked you open.

you’d been ready since before dinner, but they were making you wait. and it annoyed you to all hell.

but then when bucky slipped in, the first soft “fuck,” falling past your lips; you forgave them instantaneously.

look at how pretty our pet is. his voice made your walls flutter around his cock. slick drenching you both as he rocked harder and harder against you.

so pretty. the praises didn’t stop. so pretty i think i want a taste.

your back arched, gripping the bedsheets like they were your fucking lifeline when you felt him growing larger and warmer.

and then it was just him. bucky was there, you could feel him—hear him. but venom was in charge and everyone knew it.

when you opened your eyes, meeting the large dark figure, something snapped inside of you as he engulfed you.

you’re ours now, i’m inside you and yet, you own us.

bestie pls write a bff/roomate!bucky + mutual masterbating blurb🫣 i love him so much😭

Caramel Kisses || B.B

Pairing: roommate!bucky x reader

Content warning: fluff, little angst, SMUT (mutual masturbation)

Word count: 2.9k

A/n: are you trying to kill me?… I kind of gave up at the end bc I was tired:( anyways, enjoy!!! masterlist

It happened one, two— far too many times. It started with small butterflies, shared glances, then it transitioned to small touches, shared kisses; those kisses somehow always ended in both our pants off, sweating and moaning, praising each other with curses.

Every time it happened, we swore it wouldn't happen again. Our friendship was too valuable. But someone always broke. It was either him or me, sneaking out of each other's rooms just to go about the day like we hadn't committed something sinful.

I sulked with a champagne glass between my fingers, ignoring the countdown in the background. People shouted along until it finally ended at zero, and everyone cheered. Couples kissed, friends hugged— all I could think about was Bucky in that small ass apartment, spending New Years alone.

“Babe!” My friend yelled from across the room, approaching me with wobbly steps. “What’s your New Year’s resolution?” She slurred, wiggling a finger in front of my face.

“The realistic one or the unrealistic one?” I smiled.

Her lips pinched to the side, contemplating. “Surprise me!” She replied bubbly.

“To stop sleeping with my roommate,”

“And which one was that?”

I snorted, “we’ll never know.” I chugged down my champagne before getting dragged onto the living room floor to dance.

Truth was, I was determined to stop. Because all those nights keeping each other warm made me feel something else for him; it made me fall for him. Hard. Like I was on the tallest building and his soft voice calling my name was what tipped me over.

My heart cracked a tiny beat to hear him leave every night before the morning, acting normally throughout the day; until the night, then repeating the same thing all over again.

I didn’t know if he felt me the same way, and I wasn’t planning to risk our friendship over a feeling that I would forget in two to three years (if I was lucky).

One hangover and a flight from home to New York later, I found myself pushing my keys into the lock of our front door and opening it.

The familiar smell brought me comfort. It was unique. Bath & body works holiday candle unique, but the scent would always be engraved into my mind. It was our scent.

A cat meowed behind me, followed by another pair of keys jingling. I froze, already feeling the heat rush to my face and my hands growing clammy.

“You’re back.” He said breathlessly. The door shut.

A cat circled my legs, meowing for attention. I crouched down and set aside my luggage.

“Hi, Alpine, I missed you.” I cooed, scratching the back of his ear. He purred.

“Hoping you missed someone else too.” Bucky chuckled awkwardly. I straightened myself and forced a smile for him.

“A little.” I admitted, finally coming face to face with him. His eyes captured mine.

“Alpine missed you too.”

“I’m glad to hear.” I said.

It was hard not to stare. His hair grew a couple inches since I was gone, and I wasn’t gone for long. It fit him well, he looked handsome.

“I’m gonna-“—my back crashed into the island, I scurried around it and avoided his stare—“gonna get some sleep, I’m jet lagged.” I laughed, hoping it would hide the tremble in my voice.

“Sure, I’ll be out here-“

The door shut behind me. I was quick to lock it and flop face-first onto the bed to muffle a groan.

It was harder than I thought, and I thought it would be really hard. Sweat trickled his forehead and the neck of his shirt— I didn’t miss it. I was cursed to somehow notice every attractive detail about Bucky Barnes. His lips, his chest, his hair.

I’d eventually have to face him again, have long conversations with him, say good morning and night.

He was the only thing that racked my brain that whole week away— despite ignoring his messages; selfies with him and Alpine, followed with “alpine misses you” or “how’s it going?”

It was never I miss you.

It was the littlest thing that upset me and drove me to ignore him.

Yet he wasn’t at all ignored in conversations. I mentioned him to my family. They snapped their fingers, asking what was wrong. Instead of giving them a straight answer, I told them about Bucky.

Stories about how he does this annoying thing where he eats with his mouth open just to catch my attention, or how when we walk around the city, he always stops at a comic store, telling stories of when he was younger.

I would retell those stories to them, they would listen with wide smiles and stupid grins. The rest of the holiday, they teased me about my boyfriend.

But he wasn’t my boyfriend…

He took complete and utter control of my mind, and I hated it.

The door knob rattled. I sat up to watch it turn side to side slowly as a shadow lingered. His shadow.

After a few seconds, he disappeared.

With a thrashing heart, I shut the front door just as he was exiting his bedroom. I stared at my phone throughout the day, wondering if he would send a message, or call. He didn’t.

But that’s what I wanted, right? This was easier for me.

By the time I was back from work, it was pouring outside. I was drenched, standing in front of our door again, trembling in damp clothes. I knew he was in there, for some reason, he always was when I came home.

Alpine’s meowing spilled through the door. He was never too fond of the rain— especially thunder.

I opened the door and Alpine hissed, cornering himself under a cabinet in the kitchen.

“Alpine, get over here please.” Bucky groaned from the living room. He got up in sweats and a Henley, his broad chest perfectly outlined through the shirt.

“Oh you’re home.” His eyes went from my feet to my head. “And soaked.” His voice raised, “Shit, how many times have I told you to pack an umbrella just in case? Did you leave it in your room? You’re gonna get sick.” He trailed off to the restroom. The faucet ran, then he came out with towel on his shoulder.

His hand took mine, leading me into the single bathroom. “Strip.” He said. I stared at him.

He wanted me to strip? In front of him?

“I’ll turn around if you want me to.” He huffed. He turned to the mirror with shut eyes.

It wasn’t like he’s never seen me naked— he’s probably licked every inch of my body…

I discarded every article of clothing, watching as Bucky kept his eyes closed. He was growing impatient, I could tell. His hands rested on his waist while his head tilted towards the ceiling. His breaths got heavier, slower, and he looked so fucking go—

“I don’t want you getting sick.” His voice softened. He peeked an eye open to look at the tub. He shut the faucet off quickly and turned back to me, not daring to look below my shoulders. He motioned to the tub and I stepped in, sliding down until the warm water stopped my shivering.

He left the bathroom and I let out the breath caught in my throat. But my heart still beat rapidly.

He came back with a stack of clothes in his hands, setting it on top of the toilet lid. “Dry clothes.” He attempted to leave the room, but I held him back by the hand.

“Thank you.”

“Alpine will be waiting for you.” Alpine “I made caramel popcorn,” my favorite “your favorite.”

He left, shutting the door behind him.

A dick, that’s what I was. Ignoring my best friend the last couple of days just to not end up in the same bed as him. Because I was afraid to get hurt— but I was just hurting us both.

I wrapped myself with the towel and creaked the door open, catching him cuddle next to Alpine with an arm stretched against the couch. A red bowl, filled to the brim with popcorn, sat on the coffee table. The whole apartment smelt like caramel, I missed it on my way in.

He made caramel popcorn. For me.

I rushed my pajamas on and strode into the living room. He stared straight into the television, not even sparing me a glance; not when I took the seat next to him, and not when Alpine crawled onto my lap from his side.

“Buck—“

“You had your door locked last night.” He cut me off, voice monotone.

“I was—“

“And you ignored my texts during the holidays,” Then he looked at me. “Did I do something?”

“No,”

“Then why are you avoiding me?” His voice raised. Alpine let out a small meow.

“I—” his eyes scanned my face, wandering a little longer on my lips. “Because of that!” He looked back at my eyes, brows creased. “You’re driving me insane with the looks, the touches, t-the kisses, I’m just so confused, Bucky.”

“Then let me help you understand.” he shook his head.

God, I felt like I was in marriage counseling. Alpine being the therapist with all the judgmental looks, bouncing his head from one to the other.

“Bucky…” I inhaled deeply, pleading my heart to slow down. “I love you— and not the friend love, the I-don’t-want-to-be-friends kind.” His brows furrowed, but he quickly caught on.

He nodded, letting the room fall quiet. Only the rain splatters and television noises leaked through. My heart finally steadied, but I feared the longer he stayed quiet, the tighter the knot in my stomach would grow.

He kept his stare on me, smile threatening to break on his face. “Jesus, that’s what you’ve been holing up?” He smirked. “You had me thinking you had cancer or something.” He laughed.

He laughed until a tear slipped down his cheek. I couldn’t help but crack a smile.

But my brows stayed furrowed. I still had a shit-ton of anxiety curling up inside me. His laugh let me loose only the tiniest bit.

He caught my tense shoulders and grabbed my hand. “I love you too,” he laid a kiss on the back of my palm, “and more than just a friend, more like I-want-to-spend-the-rest-of-my-life-with-you kind of way.”

Then that anxiety came crumbling down.

He reached for my chin and hovered his lips over mine, kissing me and slowly kneading his tongue through.

We’ve kissed so many times, but this felt different. Butterflies burned in my stomach and my heart felt whole again.

I pulled back. “Be my boyfriend?”

His eyes widened. “I’m used to me asking—“

I groaned, “Be my boyfriend, James.”

“Ok, ok, yes, I’ll be your boyfriend.” He laughed, taking my lips into his with a smile. The same butterflies flourished in my stomach. He teased his tongue on my bottom lips and I couldn’t help my grin from widening. He kissed my tooth.

“But I want to go slow.”

“I know slow.” He nodded.

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” Alpine jumped from my lap to the coffee table. Bucky took the red bowl onto his lap before something inconvenient took place. He pushed it towards me. “Caramel popcorn?”

My mouth watered with just the smell of it. “Mhm,” I hummed gleefully, falling back into the warmth of his chest and taking a handful of popcorn into my mouth. We watched another episode of whatever show he had on.

But if I were asked what took place during those 30 minutes, I wouldn’t be able to answer. I was filled with euphoria; thinking of all the kisses he would give me and being able to call him mine, how those luscious lips now belonged to me, and how now, I wouldn’t need to worry about waking up to a cold bed.

The sounds of his breathing was like white noise, it eased me, reassured me that we were okay now. Established.

Eventually, we put the popcorn aside. His fingers drew figures on my waist, sneaking his cold thumb up and under my shirt. My fingers tugged at the hairs on his nape.

His mouth nearly devoured my face, taking my lips hungrily and forcing his tongue with mine. He mounted over me, but I nudged his chest back. My lower lip dragged between his teeth, slowly, before allowing it to fall.

His lips tasted like caramel.

“Slow,” I panted. He nodded, falling back to where he sat before. His chest heaved rapidly, slowly easing with the time.

Our attention drew back to the tv until he said, “hand stuff is slow.”

My mind was saying no, but the way my heart and core throbbed screamed yes.

I took another look at him and the grin he had gloriously displayed. He gazed at the tv, stealing tiny glances.

He laughed. “Are you going to keep staring at me, or are you going to give me an answer?”

“There was no question.” I retorted, leaning over to him to kiss the edge of his lips. He took this opportunity to wrap his arm around my waist, letting the other slide the side of my thigh. He didn’t let me fall onto his lap, he laid me flat on the cushion, forcing his lips onto mine.

His groan muffled into the kiss. One of his fingers teased over the fabric of my shorts, drawing a moan out of me. He smirked, not hesitating to slip my panties to the side and slide a finger down my folds. He groaned again, retracting his sleek fingers to get a better view.

“You’re so wet.” He looked up at me, fingers directing themselves to his mouth, licking between them and over. “Fuck.”

His finger teased its way in slowly, thumb rubbing against my clit. He curled his finger inside me, reaching just the right spot and causing me to whimper.

He slid out his finger and added another, curling them both inside of me.

“Fuck, Bucky—“ I kept my eyes shut, feeling as they lunge into me, following a slow rhythm that gradually fastened.

He rammed his fingers into me over and over, building tension in my lower stomach. His lips worshipped the skin just below my ear, having the opportunity to hear every breathy moan that escaped my lips.

I cupped his bulge, pulling a curse from him. He placed his arm over my head, giving me more access.

My hand palmed over his crotch. He inhaled sharply. His fingers froze inside me. “Doll,” he laughed breathlessly, “don’t tease me.”

“No fun.” I groaned, making him smile and take his my back into his.

I reached into his pants, wrapping my hands around his hard cock. He smirked against my lips, once again, continuing to plunge his fingers into me. A low moan muffled into his mouth.

My hand tugged the skin of his cock, slowly leading my thumb to his tip to spread pre-cum down his shaft. I swallowed every groan he let out while jerking him off.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Doll.” He rasped against my lips.

The pressure in my lower stomach intensified, I could feel my pulls on Bucky’s cock getting slower and slower as the muscles in my thighs spasmed. I clenched around his fingers, enduring a white streak to blind me.

“Fuck, Bucky!” I cried. My eyes rolled to the back of my head, feeling Bucky’s fingers spread my release to my clit, rubbing it slowly, adding to my pleasure.

“Good girl.” He praised, placing a kiss to my jaw.

Slowly, I started caressing his dick again. His glistening fingers traveled to my mouth, as he fucked my hand, slipping them between my lips. I licked every inch of his two fingers, watching his mouth open in amusement.

My strokes got faster, Bucky helped himself with small thrusts. He bit back his lip and let his head fall. His hands plunged to my waist and shoulders for leverage, grunting as my hands ran from the base to the tip rapidly.

“Fuck,” he groaned, spurts of his cum, shooting onto my stomach. His arms shook, he fell on top of me for just a second before recollecting his weight again.

I pushed small strands of hairs from his face. He had is eyes shut, breathing deeply before spilling out a laugh.

“You’re something else,” he huffed, finally opening his eyes to look at me. “I love you.” He kissed me sloppily.

Alpine meowed from afar. I peeked an eye open, breaking from Bucky to look at the bathroom door, where alpine sat with his head tilted.

“Please tell me he didn’t just witness us having sex.” Bucky hid his dick back into his pants.

“Alpine!” He shouted. The cat cowered further away into the restroom, followed by Bucky. I heard whispered shouting as I waited patiently for Bucky to return.

He shut the door behind him with a huff. “Made quite a mess on you.” He sighed, lifting the towel he had in his hand for me to see.

He spread my legs delicately to slide my shorts down and wipe me clean. From between my legs to my lower abdomen, where his cum lied.

Once he was done, he sat back and took me into his arms, peppering kisses on my neck. “I’m glad you’re my girlfriend now.”

i’ve read the first 3 chapters before but i dont think i have reblogged it lol

Tastes a Little Like Freedom, a Little Like Fear Master List

Summary: [Name] has finally got her life on track. She’s been clean a year, has a full time job, and recently moved into an apartment that is actually fit to live in. To prove something to herself, she visits the Smithsonian exhibit on Captain America…only to run into someone a little familiar. Adopting a fellow addict is one thing. Accidentally adopting a recovering brainwashed Nazi super soldier is another. [Name]’s life is about to run off track worse than ever before, but there could be a reward at the end if she can just hang on for the bumpy ride.

Challenge:  “100 Drabbles Adventure” challenge by SubtleQuirk on Lunaescence Archives.

Ratings/Warnings: M (foul language; sexual references; references to previous drug addiction and continued struggles with drug addiction; torture; mind control; dehumanization; threatening behavior of a man towards a woman; not canon compliant past Winter Soldier; set post-Winter Soldier and pre-Civil War)

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader

Posting Status: Incomplete & Discontinued

Notes: I have no intention of continuing this story past the 17 chapters that have previously been written. I don’t think it’s a bad story; in fact, I still think that it’s a story worth telling. I started it on the very day I saw Winter Soldier, but unfortunately I was so passionate about it that I didn’t do my research, I didn’t do any planning, and I burned myself out. It was also the very height of foolishness for me to believe that I could think of 100 chapters worth of things to do with this premise.

So, my current hope is to reboot the whole thing once I’ve wrapped up Brightest and Adventures in a Realm Without Divorce Court. I’ll do some actual research on drug addition and recovery; I’ll outline it; and I’ll keep the whole thing to 25 chapters or less. It’ll still be the same story I intended to tell, just not stretched out unnecessarily.

Please forgive me for the bad idea of making the reader Jim Morita’s daughter. I realize now that it doesn’t make sense within the timeline. I had only recently wrapped up writing Oh My Dear when I started this, and I did not want to write another story so quickly where the reader was partially brought up by her grandparents. I plan to do something different with the reader’s family when I reboot the story as well.

As always with stories I am reposting from my old blog, I will not be tagging people in the reposted chapters. If you want to be tagged for the repost and/or the reboot, all you need to do is send me an ask or a message, and I will add you to the list.

Chapter 1: Mending

Chapter 2: Misunderstanding

Chapter 3: Collapse

Chapter 4: Truth

chained to the rhythm

summary: sebastian accidentally wears that little heart necklace home with him after his photoshoot, much to your surprise… and pleasure.

a/n: i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself this was meant to be barely a drabble but it is 2.5k words :) title is that song by katy perry <3

warnings: smut (18+ only!!! fingering, orgasm denial, unprotected p in v, slightly rough sex, necklace pulling/sucking is a thing) teeny praise kink if you squint? cocky sebastian, swearing

no beta/loosely proofread so please excuse errors!

my main masterlist

When Sebastian brought you along to his latest photoshoot, you weren’t prepared to witness him in all his glory once again, and you definitely were not expecting to come back to the hotel with ruined panties. 

After the many risky projects he’s been a part of lately, Sebastian’s self esteem has really been knocked down a few pegs. He’s received plenty of backlash; some of it is justified, but plenty is not. From picking apart projects he’s worked so hard on, to the outpouring of negative comments about his body, to those stupid critics claiming he only has ‘limited talent’ on the screen, Sebastian’s been feeling down on himself, that’s for sure.

So to see him so confident in front of a camera again, to see the proud way he presents himself, it makes you so happy. And in more ways than one. 

Obviously, some of the outfits he was styled in would not have been your first choice of apparel. Apparently obnoxiously mixed patterns and unnecessary layering is considered high-fashion nowadays. 

But no matter what Sebastian wears (or doesn’t wear), he always looks incredible to you. And just the way he acts when he’s comfortable in his own skin is enough to get you worked up. 

And just his presence wasn’t enough to get you going, the close proximity would have done it. 

You got to watch him change into each new outfit, and you knew he knew you were watching. Each time he changed into a different set of clothes, he made sure to catch your eye and practically gave you a strip tease, before his manager told him to hurry up. 

As he’d pose, the flirty, sultry stares he gave the camera went straight to your core, and before you know it, you were completely soaked and completely mortified to let Sebastian find out, although you suppose it would boost his self esteem a little.

But the thing that got you going the most, other than the perfect little view of his happy trail headed south from his delicious abs, or his juicy thighs, or his sexy stares… it was that necklace. That stupid piece of silver dangling from around his neck. That adorable, pure, inherently wholesome little heart necklace. 

One moment, you’re watching him sprawl across a table. The next, you’re lost in the filth of your own mind…

You imagine tugging on it as he’s railing you back at the hotel room… sucking on it as he pounds into you mercilessly… using it to stifle back your moans so you don’t get a noise complaint from your hotel neighbors down the hall, or upstairs, or downstairs… 

“You ready to go, Sweetheart?” Sebastian’s voice breaks you from the sinful thoughts you’re having. 

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