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ellemj · 1 month

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Breathe: Part 1

Bucky Barnes x Female Reader Two-Part Fic

Summary: Bucky hates the way you take unnecessary risks in the field, the way you're so mesmerizing and yet so hard to work with, and he especially hates the way you get on your knees for him during a dangerous mission. Finding out how pretty you look on your knees is the last thing he needs.

Warnings: profanity, enemies to lovers type vibe, Bucky being a moody yet protective little shit, teasing, prelude to smut

Word Count: 5.3k

A/N: I've been thinking on this one for weeks, working on it slowly but kept getting stuck with the dialogue. Happy to say that I was inspired tonight and finished enough of it to post for you guys 🖤

The handgun tucked into the waistband of your jeans, the black backpack with a few extra magazines and various pieces of tactical gear, and the determined look in your eyes all tell Bucky one thing. He has a very limited window of time to convince you not to do this, to get you to think rationally and not get yourself killed. He watches in silence as you zip up the backpack and drop it on the floor by the front door of the safehouse. There are so many ways he could choose to go about this, but he has no idea which method is going to get you to sit your ass down and stay out of the line of fire that you’re so set on heading into.

You’re kneeling down lacing up your boots when you feel Bucky’s stare. You dare to glance across the living area, taking in the sight of him on the couch. He sits there with his feet spread on the floor and his elbows resting on his knees. His leather-gloved hands are clasped in front of him, hiding both flesh and vibranium from your gaze. The way he’s staring at you is enough to make you question your entire poorly thought-out plan, enough to make you want to kick your boots off and follow the stand-down order you received from SHIELD less than an hour ago.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, narrowing your eyes at him, trying to use some form of telepathy to get him to stop.

“Why are you so set on doing this?” He responds with a question of his own. He leans back now, resting his back against the couch cushions. His eyes never leave you.

“We’ve worked on this for months. If we stand down, if we don’t pull this off tonight, we won’t ever get another chance.” You remind him, rising to your feet and lifting your backpack up to sling it over one shoulder. Bucky’s quick to push himself off of the couch and cross the room, coming to stand a foot in front of you. He reaches for the backpack strap on your shoulder but you dodge his outstretched arm with ease. A look of annoyance spreads over his features and he ends up planting one hand on his hip while the other moves up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“So, what’s your plan then, huh? Go out there alone and get yourself killed because you don’t know how to follow orders?” Bucky’s tone displays every bit of exasperation he’s feeling. This is why he doesn’t like being in the field with you. You’re unpredictable and dangerous, you do things your own way no matter what anyone says. He can’t stand it.

“That sounds about right, are you not okay with that?” You’re turning on your heel and gripping the door handle as the words leave your mouth. You’ve only tugged it open an inch when Bucky steps close behind you and flattens a gloved palm against the surface of the door, forcing it shut once more. He’s so close that his chest is brushing against your backpack and you can smell the faintest hint of his cologne. Your resolve crumbles more and more with every second that he stands this close to you. If he keeps this up, you’ll give in and let the target slip through right through your fingers.

“I’m not letting you leave.” His tone indicates that he’s most definitely not bluffing. He keeps his hand against the door, his chest grazing your backpack, and his vibranium fist clenched at his side. You’re still, holding your breath, as your eyes follow Bucky’s right hand. He slides it slowly down the door until the material of his glove is gliding over the back of your hand that still holds the door handle. The touch feels so intimate, so intentional, and yet, it’s pissing you off more than anything. You don’t fight against him when he pulls your hand away from the handle, letting it fall down to your side. You watch as he turns the lock with a metallic click.

Bucky thinks he’s won, he thinks he’s convinced you to put this insane plan aside. You didn’t swat his hand away when he touched yours, you didn’t even stop him when he locked the door. He’s feeling the tiniest bit of relief when you turn around in the small space that he’s given you between his body and the wooden door. He stands there looking down at you, noting the stormy look in your eyes and the palpable tension in the air.

“I’m going.” His eyes dart down to your lips as you speak in a quieter voice than before. “You can physically try to stop me, or you can go with me.” When he meets your gaze again, he imagines himself physically stopping you. He’s so much stronger, he has every advantage. He knows that you know that. But you also know that he won’t hurt you, you know that when presented with those two options, he’s going to take the latter.

That’s how you end up parking the car down the street from a bustling, overcrowded bar. As you step out of the driver’s seat and shut the door, eyeing a few people stepping out of the bar a hundred feet ahead, you come to the conclusion that you need to change up your look to fit in here. You tug your hair out of its ponytail and run your fingers through it as you step up onto the curb. Bucky’s shutting the passenger side door when he sees you mussing up your hair and putting on a bit of lip gloss. He surveys the sidewalk ahead and notices the small group of people standing outside of the bar talking and laughing, then he looks back to you. It’s almost laughable to him that you think you have to change a damn thing about the way you look right now. You could be wearing a trash bag and missing your shoes and you’d still probably end up with a roster of men to choose from by the time you leave this place. The two of you fall into step next to each other, heading for the entrance slowly.

“What’s our cover?” He asks lowly as you near a few bystanders on the sidewalk. You think for a second, knowing that whatever cover you choose is going to have to be good enough to get you to the office upstairs for at least a few minutes. All you need is the right moment to slip up the back stairs and find any piece of evidence with the target’s new alias on it. Just a name, it’s all you need here tonight. “Coworkers having a drink after work?”

You notice the way a woman in the group of bystanders ahead seems to be mesmerized by the super soldier who walks beside you. Something about the way she stares, with her mouth practically watering at the sight of him, does something to you.

“Take off your gloves.” You whisper, moving a little closer to him so your clothed arm brushes against his with each step you take.

“What?”

“Just this one.” You bump his gloved flesh hand with the side of your own, indicating that it’s the glove you want off. He shoots you a slightly confused sideways glance, but strips the glove off and shoves it in the pocket of his leather jacket. When he feels your arm push against the back of his own, and then the sensation of your warm palm meeting his softly, his fingers intertwine with yours as if it’s instinct, as if it’s second nature for him. You no longer have to answer his question about your covers.

The woman who had previously been ogling Bucky quickly averts her eyes when she notices the way he’s holding your hand. But she notices more than you do. She notices more than just his fingers intertwined with yours. She notices the way he turns his head and looks down at you with a softened gaze, with a look that would never have given away the fact that you’re merely colleagues. She looked away because she knew she couldn’t compete with you in his eyes.

When you’re past the group of people and nearing the door to the bar, you drop Bucky’s hand as you step forward and reach for the door, pressing his chest against your back, he reaches around you and grabs the handle first. He leans in close to you as he slowly tugs the door open.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” He whispers the question against your ear, letting his breath fan along the side of your face. You can almost feel his lips grazing the shell of your ear and it sends a shiver down your spine. You only nod in response, which leads to him opening the door for you fully and following you inside the bar.

Twenty minutes later, you find yourself in a dimly lit corner of the bar with your back against a brick accent wall and a glass in your right hand. More notably, Bucky finds himself caging you against that brick wall, with his still-gloved vibranium hand resting on the wall beside your head while he leans down and ghosts his nose and lips along your jawline, creating an image for you both. An image that says we’re in our own little world. The strategy has done two helpful things thus far: it’s made a good number of people avert their gaze due to the obvious public display of affection and it’s made for damn certain that no one would question the two of you making your way to the upstairs office for an activity that involves less clothing.

Bucky can’t quite wrap his head around what’s happening right now. You’re letting him press his lips against the skin of your neck, letting him trace your jawline with the tip of his nose, hell, you’re even letting him drag his teeth over your earlobe like you wouldn’t stop him if he decided to bite down on it to see what kind of noise you might make. He doesn’t know why he’s getting so lost in the meaningless actions, but he thinks it has something to do with your intoxicating scent, or maybe it’s the way your breaths come in a little quicker and your chest rises a little more, brushing against his, every time his lips graze over the newfound sweet spot beneath your ear. He’s actually grateful when you slide your free hand into the hair at the back of his head and tug him away from your neck. If you’d let him keep going, it might’ve affected the long-standing disdain he feels toward you. It might have.

“I think we can make it upstairs and search the office.” You say, slightly breathless as you try to bring yourself back down to earth. You’re peering over Bucky’s shoulder at the scene of the bar, still full and busy. No one will think anything of the two of you heading down the hall toward the restroom. No one will even notice when you waltz right past the restrooms and enter the door to the back stairwell instead. You feel Bucky’s flesh hand wrap around your fingers on your glass. He takes it from your hand just as you’re looking up into his blue eyes. “Why are you looking at me like that?” It’s the second time you’ve asked him that question tonight. You watch him closely as he takes the last sip of your drink, as if he doesn’t give a shit that your mouth has already been on the rim of the glass.

“Do you really think these lowlifes won’t shoot us on the spot if they catch us kissing upstairs? They won’t even care if we’re there for the intel or not, they won’t wait to find out.”

“I didn’t say we’d kiss.” You retort, letting your hand fall away from the back of his head. You rest your right palm against his chest and lean in close to him, putting distance between your back and the brick wall. You don’t pay attention to the way Bucky’s chest stops rising beneath your hand as your lips come unbearably close to his own. “We’ll do whatever we need to to sell it, to get out of here alive if we get caught up there.”

Bucky watches as you give him a gentle shove and start heading away from him, down the hall leading to the restrooms and stairwell door. He thinks about grabbing you by your hair and pulling you back, telling you that this is dangerous and that there’s a reason this mission was sidelined earlier in the evening. As he sets the empty glass on a nearby table and starts following after you, his mind puts its own spin on the grabbing-you-by-your-hair idea. You’re passing by the restroom doors when he envisions a few other activities that would involve your hair wrapped around his fist. He has to shake his head to clear out the untoward thoughts, mentally kicking himself for stooping so low. Where is his head at tonight?

Bucky had to use a bit of brute force to get the stairwell door open, and then he took on the role of a look-out while you carefully picked the lock to the office door. You’re on opposite sides of the room now, each of you searching through various filing cabinets and paper trails. Bucky’s starting to feel like the two of you are taking too much of a risk, spending too much time up here while being unable to find even a crumb of evidence. It isn’t until you move around to a desk against the back wall that you notice a small lockbox shoved beneath the piece of furniture.

“Over here.” You whisper, pulling the small metal box out and setting it on top of the desk. Bucky’s next to you in an instant, inspecting the box as you fiddle with the lock. “I can probably get into it, just listen for anyone on the stairs.”

The lockbox contained exactly what you needed and a little more. Instead of finding one new alias, you found two. You found two brand new passports with different fake names, but both with passport photos matching your target. Bingo. Bucky’s standing behind you, looking over your shoulder at the two passports. He reaches around you and plucks them from your hands, quickly using his phone to snap a picture of each before dropping them back in the box. You’re putting the lockbox back into place beneath the desk when you hear the sound of distant voices and the bottom stairwell door handle rattling. This would be about the time that your target’s security team is figuring out Bucky jammed the stairwell door back into place, rather than shutting it normally. He rightfully assumed it would make it harder for anyone to follow the two of you up here. Harder, but obviously not impossible. You feel adrenaline surge through your veins as you turn to face Bucky head-on, your eyes widening as he searches your expression for any indication of your next move. We’ll do whatever we need to to sell it. It’s as if your earlier words are echoing in the space between the two of you. One more second of looking into each other’s eyes seals it. Bucky’s sure he knows what you’re thinking. It’s why he tugs his shirt up a couple of inches and starts undoing his belt with nimble hands. It’s why he pushes a few items away from the surface of the desk to clear it off for you.

It’s why he looks so confused when you drop down to your knees at his feet.

“What are you doing?” He asks gruffly, his eyes darting from the still-closed door and then back to you. When his gaze settles on you, on the way you’re holding the perfect position with your knees on the floor and your ass resting on your feet, he feels something brewing inside of him. He feels something building low in his stomach when you tilt your chin up and look at him through your lashes, like getting on your knees for him is something you’d do any damn day of the week.

Fuck.

“Get up.” The words rush out of his mouth in a harsh whisper. He needs you to get up. He needs you to get up and stop looking up at him like you want something. He can’t handle seeing you like this. It’s fucking ruining him. You don’t make a single move to listen to his command, you don’t have any intention of getting up from where you sit on your knees.

Then, he groans. Bucky groans. It’s a smooth, low, rumbling sound that slips past his parted lips. It slips past his lips because the way your eyes are locked on his is giving him the most sinful thoughts, the most sinful feeling. He scrunches his eyes closed but it’s too late, he feels blood rushing to his cock, the velocity of the turbulent bloodflow aided by the super soldier serum that runs through his veins. His cock is fully erect before the bottom stairwell door has even opened yet. When Bucky opens his eyes again and dares to look down at the irresistible sight in front of him, the sound of the bottom stairwell door being forced open spurs him into action. He needs you on your feet and bent over the damn desk so you can pretend you’re using the office to fuck. It’s why he slides his flesh hand around the back of your head and grips your hair, fully intending to pull you up and push you over the edge of the desk himself.

The softest whimper escapes you as he tugs on your hair. As if it’s second-nature for you, your hands move to grip his thighs at the sensation spreading across your scalp. Bucky freezes with his fingers mixed in the soft locks of your hair and his eyes focused as he stares down at you. You fucking whimpered.

——

This is one of the rare moments where Bucky’s thankful for his vibranium arm, rather than resentful of the stark reminder of his past. His metal digits are wrapped around the top of the steering wheel as he guides the car down the highway, skillfully weaving in and out of traffic to put distance between the two of you and the bar. Normally, he’d be driving with his dominant right hand, but he knows that if he was doing that, you’d notice the way his knuckles are white with tension. So, Bucky drives with his vibranium hand on the wheel and his flesh hand resting on his thigh.

You’re, for the most part, blissfully unaware of the affect that you had on Bucky in the bar, of the affect that you continue to have on him now. As you sit in the passenger seat analyzing the pictures that Bucky snapped of the forged passports, you don’t notice his tense posture or clenched jaw, you don’t notice the tent in the front of his pants or the frustrated look on his face. Truthfully, even if you noticed any of those things, you wouldn’t question many of them. Being tense and frustrated is a normal state for the man.

“I’m glad we got his aliases, even if I’ll probably be benched for it.” You say softly, as you lock your phone and drop it in your lap. Bucky shifts in the driver’s seat in an attempt to get a bit more comfortable while still concealing the bulge in his pants the best he can. He hopes you’ll be benched. You’re always so damn reckless, going against orders no matter who they come from and risking your safety just because you have no regard for your own life. A moment of charged silence goes by before you start to wonder why Bucky hasn’t even offered an annoyed sigh in response. “This might be the first time I’ve ever gotten the silent treatment after getting on my knees for a guy.”

This time you notice the ticking muscle along the side of Bucky’s jaw. As more blood rushes to his cock, he wishes you hadn’t brought it up again. He also wishes you hadn’t made him imagine you being on your knees for anyone else, because that just pisses him off.

“Why was that your go-to move?” He asks suddenly. You’re still at least half an hour away from the safehouse you left earlier, so you’re glad he’s decided not to stick with the silent treatment.

“What? Getting on my knees?” Bucky nods in response, but keeps his eyes trained on the dark, winding road ahead.

“It seemed like the right thing to do.” You mumble, crossing your arms over your chest. It’s not like Bucky had made any move besides unbuckling his belt. What was he expecting you to do? Another moment of silence goes by before you decide to ask him. “What were you thinking?”

“Not the same thing you were thinking.”

“Clearly.” You huff. You steep in annoyance for a minute before resigning to dropping the issue entirely. If he hadn’t wanted you on your knees, he could’ve said more than the simple get up that he muttered as you were mere seconds away from being caught.

“I was going to bend you over the desk.”

“And you were pissed about me getting on my knees?” You let out a laugh and tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “Hypocrite.”

“My plan was more believable.” He mutters lowly, guiding the car into the left lane to move around a slower vehicle up ahead.

“You don’t think a girl would get on her knees for a guy in a secluded area of some bar?” He doesn’t respond. It calls his confidence into question and suddenly you find yourself studying him from the passenger seat. With every passing second that he feels your gaze coasting over him, he prays you don’t let your eyes linger on his lap for too long. He has to know that there’s probably a plethora of women that would do exactly that for him. Does he really think it’s that unrealistic? “The girl we saw outside of the bar on the way in would’ve done that for you.”

“What girl?” Bucky has no idea who you’re talking about. The only girl he was focused on outside of the bar was the one telling him to take off his glove so she could feel the skin of his hand. You scoff and roll your eyes.

“How do you even survive in the field with such shitty observational skills?” Bucky’s growing tired of hearing your voice. He pushes the gas pedal down with a little more force, speeding around the car on the right. “She was staring at you.”

As Bucky shifts his focus away from the argument that’s brewing between the two of you to getting back to the safehouse as swiftly as possible, he finds himself thinking about one single moment from tonight. When he tangled his hand in your hair and pulled on it, and instead of a reaction of pain or frustration on your end, all he got was your hands on his thighs and a sound of need, of want. You liked it. You liked it and he can’t figure out why that moment is burned into his brain. He wars within himself, telling himself to let it go, to bask in the tense silence for the rest of the drive. Bucky bites down on his bottom lip as he replays the moment, as he replays the sound in his head over and over. Refusing to let himself speak on the moment is what leads to trouble. It’s what leads to Bucky letting a deep breath pass between his lips, exhaling slowly as he decides to take a calculated risk.

Bucky’s eyes never leave the road as his right hand moves from its resting place on his thigh and reaches over toward you. Not a single word leaves his lips as his vibranium hand remains locked on the steering wheel and his flesh hand slides between your head and the headrest. You’re frozen in the passenger seat, your eyes fluttering closed as his palm presses firmly against the back of your head. It feels as if his fingers are moving in slow motion when he curls them against your scalp, grabbing a fistful of your hair. Bucky’s thumb lightly circles over the side of your head, sending tingles all the way down to your toes. You don’t have a second to ask yourself what the fuck is happening, why his hand is in your hair for the second time tonight, why your body is letting it happen. You don’t have the ability to form a single coherent thought when his grip tightens and he tugs on your hair, forcing your head to tilt upward. You don’t even have the ability to stop your lips from parting, to stop the sharp inhale that fills the silence in the car.

Bucky’s satisfied. Though his cock is hard as hell, straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans, he’s satisfied. He lets go of your hair as quickly as he first took hold of it, letting his hand move back to rest on his thigh.

“My shitty observational skills picked up on how much you enjoyed having your hair pulled earlier.” Still, you have no words. You squeeze your thighs together as Bucky moves around yet another slow car taking up the right lane. You take a moment to look over at him, but he doesn’t turn to meet your gaze. Ever the safe and efficient driver, Bucky keeps his focus on the road ahead. His face looks emotionless, stoic. His body language though tense and brooding, doesn’t give off an air of uneasiness. It isn’t until your gaze coasts down that you notice the hard-on hidden in the shadows of his lap.

“You liked pulling my hair, didn’t you?” He doesn’t respond. “You liked seeing me on my knees so much that you couldn’t stand the fact that it was fake. That’s why you wanted me to get up.” You accuse, watching him carefully. You see the way his jaw clenches again and you know you’re getting somewhere with him.

“Watch it, you’re starting to sound a little full of yourself.” He warns. He can feel your eyes on the side of his face, studying him as he maintains his composure.

“Oh, I’m sorry. You’d rather see me full of you, right?”

Bucky doesn’t give any thought to his decision to take the next exit. It’s as if a dark haze clouded his judgment when you said what you said, when you made him think about you being full of him. The air between you is silent as he makes a right turn at the end of the off-ramp and steers the car into the mostly empty parking lot of a supermarket. With tensions rising, you take a deep breath and think about how this might be your last night in the field with the grumpy super soldier who’s always been so hellbent on doing the opposite of everything you would do. You should be almost relieved that you’re going to be benched for a while, that you won’t have to deal with his attitude and authoritative tendencies. So, why do you feel a bit sad about it? Why do you feel like you’re losing something?

Bucky parks the car but stays seated, staring straight ahead at the darkened supermarket entrance.

“I hate working with you.” He says suddenly. His expression is unreadable as you study the side of his face, as he continues staring ahead.

“I—”

“Let me finish.” He cuts you off. His tone alone is effective in shutting you up, and you press your lips together. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and lets out a sigh before turning to meet your gaze. His eyes flit down to your lips briefly, so briefly that you think you might’ve imagined it. He wants them, your lips. He wants them in so many ways. On his own, on his skin, on his cock. He has to remind himself to focus. “I hate working with you. You do stupid shit, you take big risks, you don’t like to listen to anyone but yourself.”

Bucky’s eyes roam down to the exposed skin of your neck. He wants to kiss you there again, to drag his tongue along the column of your throat and make you tense up.

“After tonight, once Fury finds out you went against direct orders, you aren’t going to be in the field for a while.”

Bucky lets his gaze travel further down, coming to focus on your hands that rest in your lap. Such small hands, he thinks. He liked the way your palm felt against his when your fingers were intertwined earlier tonight. He liked it a little too much.

“I’m going to be able to breathe knowing you’re not out there doing everything you can to get yourself killed.”

His words set off a burning sensation in your chest. You feel your cheeks heating up, turning a soft shade of pink, as he looks into your eyes once again.

“I can’t fucking breathe when you do stupid shit. Do you know what that’s like? Not being able to breathe?” He questions. You swear you see his black pupils darken impossibly more, dilating to hide more of his blue irises. You swallow hard before slowly, shaking your head. “I would’ve thought you’d know what that’s like, with the way you got on your knees earlier.”

He can’t keep looking at you, not when you’re being so fucking obedient, keeping your mouth shut and listening to him say his piece. Bucky closes his eyes and leans back in his seat, pressing his head against the head rest and tilting his face up slightly. It’s quiet for a moment, but instead of the tension dissipating after he’s said what he needed to say, after he got it off of his chest, the air seems to be growing thicker, more electrically charged. He hears the soft sound of your seatbelt unbuckling and sliding away from your lap and chest. He hears the flutter of a few strands of your hair being tucked carefully behind your ear on one side.

When your right palm ghosts over his thigh, right above his knee, he doesn’t move a muscle. You tread carefully, watching his lack of a reaction as you press your palm flat against the fabric of his jeans and start dragging your hand slowly up his lower thigh. He takes a deep breath, but keeps his head tilted upward and his eyes closed. When your hand reaches his upper thigh, your fingertips brush along the bulge straining beneath his seatbelt.

Bucky’s clenching his jaw as you pull your hand away from him and press the release button on his seatbelt. You guide it away from his chest before using that same hand to trail down the front of his shirt. By hooking one finger in the belt looped through the waistband of his jeans, you’ve chosen your fate for this moment.

Bucky’s eyes snap open and he looks at you with a mix of frustration and pure lust.

“Show me what it’s like.” Your voice comes out in a tantalizing whisper as you drag the tip of your index finger along the ridge of his belt, looking up at him through your lashes.

“What what’s like?” He narrows his eyes at you. Bucky knows exactly where you’re going with this, exactly what you’re going to say next. But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t get to hear the words fall from your lips.

“Not being able to breathe.”

NEXT PART

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#bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes x you #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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dumplingsjinson · 3 months

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List of “prelude to smut” prompts

“All of that cake and I don’t even get to have one serving of it? Damn, you’re really depriving me out here, aren’t you?”

“…I’m not saying you’re a three course meal. But that’s exactly what I’m saying. And I’d finish you so fucking quick if you’d let me.”

“There is a piece of clothing I want to see you in.” “What is it?” “Your birthday suit. Please? And thanks, just for politeness’ sake.”

“Don’t worry, I’d take you out for dinner before I eat you out for dessert. It’s the polite thing to do.”

“Can I just say something? Your body will be talking to mine by tonight if you keep doing what you’re doing.”

“I don’t think we’d be leaving the bed any time soon if we did the things I imagine us doing in my head.” “Well then, sign me the fuck up. I never leave the bed anyway, unless it’s for something important.”

“You think we could like… Fuck these feelings out somehow?”

“All I could think about the whole time is how good it would feel to have you take complete control over me.”

“If you fuck me the way you fuck me up emotionally, I think you’d do a pretty damn good job at it.”

“Everyone’s getting some. I wanna be a part of that.”

“Oh God, there’s no taking it slow when it comes to you.”

“You want a taste of this?” “Darling, I would end up wanting more than just a taste.”

#otp prompts #prompts #writing prompts #dialogue prompts #suggestive prompts #smut prompts

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crucialplayer · 5 months

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Thoughts on Venus placements

!! everything is based purely on my experiences with signs, written with no other purpose than to share my observations and be unserious.

Aries Venus. View public humiliation as a flirting tactic. Will borderline call you stupid and ugly and genuinely expect people to get the hint that they’re actually very interested. Will prob ask themselves out on ur behalf. If u don't show interest immediately as they enter a room they’re done. Life is a cycle of falling in and falling out. Romance is 90 percent fucking.

Taurus venus. Like anyone who’s pretty but LOVE prob one person in a lifetime. Will have an aneurism if you try to rush them or speed up the prelude. Unbearable in their pickiness (esp with food and smells). Have deluded themselves into thinking there are people dying waiting for them to grace this earth with their love and attention. Limit freedom but act bothered when being imposed with the same limitations.

Gemini venus. What’s there to say that hasn't been already cried out loud by the casualties of their love. Wandering eye. Don't promise much and deliver even less. Fun tease flirts, will take you on Before Sunrise style date and rot ur brain with all the talk. Like to leave people wondering. Everyone wants to try this one out at least once. Word’s been going around that a non-cheating-gemini Venus has been spotted in the wild but we’re yet to confirm the evidence.

Cancer venus. Want to be treated like a baby but always end up babying other people. Want to please their loved ones at all times and if not met with instant appreciation become very irritated and sad. Never voice their needs properly. Expect the most distant emotionally constipated people they usually choose as their partners to be mind-readers. Cook-clean-snog love.

Leo venus. Promise u the moon and the stars but will be too lazy to actually get them. Love themselves first and won't let you forget that. If not received naturally - will drag those compliments out of you manually. At their best great at hyping people up. Love anyone who praises them. Also kinda get attached quite fast. Get jealous and offended easily (I feel like I say this about every Leo placement but what can u do).

Virgo venus. No one can please them and with time fewer people try. Get the ick over people simply breathing. Want the most sterile of love there is. If you’re not the best at your craft or do not aspire to be WHY the fuck not??? Legit think organizing ur desk is a good substitution for letting know they have warm feelings towards you.

Libra venus. Their partner is the star of the night month year life. Choose partners that can be bragged about and envied for. Very loving never shut up about their relationship no matter the setting always find a reason to bring them up. In a relationship make concessions until they blow up.

Scorpio venus. Insanity falsely taken for being in love. Blood contract on the first date. The ones that giggle at cannibalism=love metaphors. Might just lock you up but in a romantic wayyy... Romance is NOT a joke and ANY attempt making FUN of it WILL NOT slide. Looking around might count as cheating. Also if I may I suggest never leaving them on read..) Forever and always til death do us part.

Sagittarius venus. Often forget that they are in a relationship. Love the fun aspect of dating, but hate everything else. Need someone who constantly shakes things up and makes life interesting for them. In an ideal world, they travel around the globe and have a lot of se make meaningful connections for life. Very playful tho!

Capricorn venus. In relationships become very domestic but it takes a lot for them to actually end up in such. Love language is to cover basic necessities and feel worn out after that. Typically require to be TAUGHT on love and I know there are some people who find this an exciting quest god bless you on that journey. Prob the most rigid Venus in terms of compatibility with others imo.

Aquarius venus. So fucking random in terms of people they crush on like I can never guess who’s gonna tingle their interest braincell this time. Normally they go for the intellectuals but once they think they’ve got too predictable with it next choice is gonna be wild. Friends with people who have a crush on them and are oblivious to it. Freeze when you get mushy or clingy with them.

Pisces venus. Takes a village to pull them out of that one abusive dynamic they’ve been perpetually stuck in. Unironically think of themselves as smol beans. Dedicate their whole unprompted to the person they’ve had a crush on for like two days. Very very veryyyy lovey-dovey-sweet-corny, have no problem confessing their love. Likely to draw ur portrait if they like you.

#astro notes #astro observations #natal chart #aries venus #taurus venus #cancer venus #gemini venus #leo venus #virgo venus #libra venus #scorpio venus #sagittarius venus #capricorn venus #aquarius venus #pisces venus

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xenosagaepisodeone · 1 year

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some may raise concerns about the ethics of To Catch A Predator, but one thing that I think every reality television program should have lifted from the series is having a character whose existence can only be described as "The Omen". Chris Hansen technically adds nothing to the actual operation being conducted in the house; being a host/narrator doesnt even really necessitate a physical presence during the prelude to the arrest. His 6ft tall black suited self slinks through the door like a grim reaper and the mood just falls like a curtain at the end of a play. Even if the predator doesn't know who he is, he comes to realize what has transpired when he finds that the calm hospitality found in Hansen's confrontation is not something that can be appealed to or "reasoned" with. It's not even really for him. Hansen is eulogizing the calamity that has already come to pass for the audience, the predator was rendered a specter from the moment he was captured on film. What if there was a guy like this on 90 Day Fiancée.

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improbable-outset · 5 months

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📂 𝐄𝐧𝐯𝐲 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦

↳ 📂 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐈𝐈

Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader

𝐀𝐎3 | 𝐌𝐲 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬 | 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.3k

𝐓𝐖 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐖: Jealous!Miguel, Miguel being bricked up.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: @m4dyy @going-through-shit

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Miguel has mixed feelings towards your new boyfriend. That was until you came back with very exciting devastating news

It was another nameless evening in your shared apartment and Miguel was home alone while you were out on another date. You’d think by now that Miguel would be used to not having his feelings reciprocated and watching another man take you away but in reality, it still shattered him.

The apartment would always feel hollow without you in it. The silence was suffocating and only amplified the aching in his chest. Each object that belonged to you in the living room triggered memories that he wishes he could forget for the night. Even if it was just for a few hours to spare his turmoil.

His line of sight bore onto the chapsticks that were perched on the counter near the front door. The same one you would use every time, just so you wouldn’t have chapped lips when you left the house. It was a mundane routine but to him, it carried the weight of countless mornings you both shared. He quickly dropped his gaze and fired up his tablet before he got too lost in his thoughts.

It was a waste of energy getting pissed off over the situation. He had already accepted that it was his fault for not saying anything sooner and for not putting his pride aside for once, just to be with you. He chose silence over vulnerability, opting to preserve the friendship and trust you shared. But that still didn’t stop the longing he felt for something he could never have now.

The front door clicked before you entered through. Miguel turned to watch you take off your shoes before you plodded your way to the couch. You plopped your handbag on the floor and slumped onto one end of the couch with the cushion sinking down with you.

Even before you’ve spoken, Miguel lived with you long enough to know when something wasn’t right. He was always observant with your body language and how you would react in different situations.

You were slouching in your seat and were fidgeting with your fingers, trying to distract your troubled thoughts. The fact that you came home earlier than expected was also a big giveaway too.

It was rare that you would come home upset after going out with your boyfriend, unless there was an argument. But even then, they never left you looking like this. Something major must’ve happened between the two of you.

“Rough night?” He simply asked. He was prepared for whatever outburst you were going to have. A string of cuss words or just a whole venting session. Whatever it was, he was ready — he would willingly take anything you would throw at him.

“You could say that,” was your subdued response. Miguel could already sense that this was just the beginning, the prelude to a bigger issue, like dominos waiting to tumble. It wasn’t hard for him to get you to open up, especially considering the level of trust you had for him.

“Wanna talk about it?” He offered.

You ran your hand over your face, shaking off the weight of misery before you spoke again. “I fucked up…like really fucked up.”

“Okay? Explain,”

“We were in bed and…” For a moment, Miguel felt an instant spike of sour resentment after he heard you mention that. There were flashbacks of those memories of him alone in his room while another man was alone with you in your bed. All those nights where he could do nothing but listen from the cold confinement of his own room. “I accidentally moaned out your name.” And instantly, he felt the bitterness disappear from him and was quickly replaced with something lighter. Relief? But he didn’t want to get his hopes up. It could just be the trick of his mind that was messing with him in the heat of the moment.

“You what?” Surely you didn’t just tell him that you moaned out his name. He had to make sure he heard you right.

“Don’t make me say it again Miguel,” you hissed, he could already hear the embarrassment in your tone and you couldn’t look him in the eyes.

So he did hear you correctly.

“Alright, fine. But why the shock did you do that?” He had to know, he didn’t want to make any premature assumptions just because his name came from your mouth in the midst of you having sex with another man. The room was heavy with silence as you left his question unanswered. “Come on, you’ve already admitted something profound, so whatever your reasoning is can’t be half as bad—”

“I’m in love with you…okay? There I said it.” You blurted out, like ripping out a dark secret that had been buried inside your heart for a long time. After those words finally progressed in his mind, Miguel felt like his own heart was going to lurch out of his chest. Fortunately for Miguel, he has mastered keeping a tight lid on his feelings whenever it was necessary to keep his cool exterior. He wasn’t the type of man to wear his heart on his sleeves, where anyone could easily access it.

“Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” He kept his tone controlled so he wouldn’t sound too happy about this situation. He couldn’t let his egotistical side show.

“Well, you always seemed so…I dunno, emotionally distant. I just thought you’d never like me like that...” Your words felt life daggers that pierced his skin.

It took him this long to realise that keeping his feelings in check and hiding his raw emotions from you wasn’t going to lead him anywhere. Not only did his pride shielded him from potential opportunities, but it also rejected him from hopeful possibilities.

“You never gave any hints that you liked me back so I forced myself to move on and find another man and—”

“And yet, you still couldn’t get me out of your head?” He interjected. The pride that was swelling in his chest was inevitable now.

“Pretty much.”

“Hm, poor guy. Imagine going out on a date and your girlfriend moans out your roommates name.”

“Okay, now you’re just milking it. Stop.” You turned your head away from his view, covering the growing smirk that was forming on your lips with your hand. He felt relieved that he could put light into the situation and get a smile out of you. Even if his snarky tone wasn’t intentional.

“Look, I know this is a stupid question to ask but, have you ended things with him or—?” Miguel left the question open for you to answer. You let out a solemn sigh before you finally turned to face him and shifted a little closer.

“Yeah. He didn’t take it too well and told me to leave. It’s my fault anyways. I feel like I should’ve said something to you sooner. I didn’t want you to find out like this.” You explained while trying to force a smile out of your face.

Miguel felt guilt brewing in him now. None of this would’ve happened if he just let guard down for you and confessed his feelings. Instead you got hurt by someone else.

“It’s not your fault. I should’ve opened my eyes and seen the hints you gave from the start,” what he meant to say was, he should’ve just been more open with his feelings and honest from the start.

Even when there was silence that was shared between the two of you know, it still felt disturbed, like a boulder dropped in stagnant water and the ripples were whispers of unspoken secrets. Secrets that Miguel still couldn’t bring himself to admit to you. He wasn’t going to open up that easily, not without some pressure. Finally you spoke up again, breaking away the ice barrier in his heart.

“Do you hate me now?” Your question caught him off guard and by the way you were analysing his face, he could tell that his change in expression gave away to his slip up.

“No, I don’t. Why do you ask?”

“Because we agreed to live together without any romance and now that you know that I have feelings for you, it’ll make things awkward.” The last four words weigh heavily in his mind, making it harder for him to grapple with his emotions. His heart hammered in his chest and for the first time, he could feel his guarded demeanor slip.

“You know, knowing about your feelings now does stir things up a little. But it made me realise that I value what we have too much to let something like this change things between us.” Miguel sighed, he could feel his turmoil reaching a crescendo.

You turned and moved a little closer towards him on the couch, now being fully attentive to what he was saying. Your eyes on him felt intimidating and he felt like he was put on the spot but it was either now or never. There was no turning back.

“Look, I might have been emotionally distant and not been straightforward with my feelings but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there…” It felt like he was exposed now.

He could still recall the times he caught him lost in the thought of you, catching glances at you from time to time, all masked by his usual nonchalant facade. Admitting his feelings felt like breaking his unspoken pact but it was a sacrifice he was willing to take if it meant telling you the truth and finally getting his chance with you.

“Miguel, what are you trying to say?” You asked. He wasn’t surprised by the shock in your tone. Even if you have lived together, you’ve never seen him being so raw with his emotions like this.

“It’s just…maybe I’ve been guarding my feelings too closely. I was afraid of disrupting what we’ve already built.” With a deep sigh, Miguel dropped his gaze. There was no way he could look at you in the eyes after that. His mind was clouded with relief, anticipation and uncertainty as he mentally prepared for the various outcomes.

“Miguel, look at me…” He felt his side of the couch dip from your additional weight as you turned his head to face him. “Are you trying to tell me that you feel the same?” Your eyes scanned his face as you waited for his response. Having your face so close to his made it hard to focus and he could feel his face warming up from the close proximity.

“Wasn’t it obvious enough?” He murmured with a hint of sarcasm, subtly leaning into your touch.

“Can I kiss you? Or is that too far?”

“You can kiss me.”

He finally discovered what your lips felt like against his. Something he only dreamt of for the longest time while living with you. It was hard enough being in close proximity with you waking everyday, but watching you be with someone else felt like a restraint against him.

Now he allowed himself to unravel and break away from his stoic character. He had you in his arms now and no one can take you away from him.

He felt you pulling him from his shirt, drawing him closer until you fell back on the couch with him on top of you. He continued kissing you, your lips moving against his in a passionate sync before kissing feverishly over your face and trailing down your jaw and neck. You soft sighs fanned against the skin of his neck.

He could smell a hint of your now ex-boyfriend’s cologne that was still clinging onto your clothes. The scent alone intensified the urge to rip off your clothes. He wanted to remove any traces of your ex that still lingered on you.

But even with the scent that was pestering him, he could still feel his cock pressing painfully under his pants like clockwork.

He could tell you felt it too, the way he was pressed so close against you. Your eyes shot up in surprise before you tried to take a peak at where his crotch was. Miguel pulled himself away from you to see the predicament that was bulging under his pants.

He groaned at himself in frustration. Things were going well between the two of you and his dick had a mind of its own in the situation. Even if he did want nothing more than to be buried deep inside of you right now, he didn’t want to do anything at the expense of your comfort and his dignity.

He didn’t want to move things too fast if it meant scaring you away. What he didn’t expect, however, was to see you lean closer towards him, hands hovering over his pants.

Watching you made his cock twitch in anticipation and he could feel the sweat beads forming on his face. He didn’t know what was going through your mind right now, which didn’t help with his nerves.

“Miguel?” you looked up at him, a hint of something reflected in your eyes. He couldn’t tell if it was disgust or curiosity.

“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to.” Miguel quickly reassured you.

His eyes were still fixated to your hand that was hovering over his pants before lightly brushing over his clothed erection. The minimal touch caused an involuntary groan to erupt from his throat along with his quickened heartbeat.

“I do want this Miguel,” you confessed, taking a deep breath before you continued “…but could we not do this on the couch?”

He had to laugh at your suggestion, even though he completely agreed with you. No matter how desperate he was to feel you right at this moment, he was still conscious about making a mess on the couch.

Even if he was going to clean himself up, it was still a little unsettling fucking on a piece of furniture that a lot of your guests would sit on.

He pulled himself away from you and scooped you up in your arms. He grunted lowly from the effort but he knew he could carry you with ease. Your breathy giggles brushed against the sensitive skin of his neck as he carried you to his room.

It was going to be a heavy night.

Part 3 🔞🔞

#Miguel O’Hara #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara smut #miguel o’hara smut #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara spiderverse #spiderman atsv #spiderman 2099 x you #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 #atsv miguel #spiderman 2099 spiderverse #miguel o’hara x y/n #★— ayrus writes

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wontontrap · 5 months

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Feast for Kings | Part 1

【 Eddie plays with your pussy in front of Steve before letting him have a taste

【 18 +

【 fuckboy eddie | cuck eddie | bully eddie | steddie x reader

【 content warnings: voyeurism, exhibitionism, manhandling, cuckold behavior, mean!eddie, bully!eddie, dub-con turns into consent, reader has established relationship with Eddie

【 Part II | Prelude

The party had ended just an hour earlier, and only the three of you remained holed up in the camper belonging to Eddie's neighbors. They were "old heads" as Eddie put it - hippie types that didn't mind he and Steve hotboxing the hell out of it.

"They were probably at Woodstock!" Eddie always says with revel and a bit of jealousy.

You on the other hand lay down on the small bed in back trying to catch some semblance of a snooze. Normally by this time of night you'd be at home cuddled in your bed, or on Eddie's couch. Sweet uncle Wayne wouldn't allow you to sleep in his bed while he was present in the house. Of course, you thought, he must know you sleep together when he himself is out all night or out of town. You shudder to think how disappointed in his nephew he'd be if he found out some of the things you let Eddie do to you when you're alone.

You'd had enough of listening to them kid and laugh behind the paper thin partition. Unable to snooze, and with uncle Wayne out for the night with a lady friend of his own, you set your mind to coaxing Eddie out of the camper and into bed with you.

Slowly, you opened the partition to the bedroom, peeking your head out. Eddie was wildly talking with his hands, joint hanging from his lips, Steve doubled over in laughter. You stepped out into the small corridor and they both turned to look at you.

"Did we wake you?" Eddie asks. Beside him, Steve recovers from his fit of laughter.

"No, I couldn't sleep. I was just lying there."

"Well, sweetheart, that is one of your many talents," he says.

You give him a sheepish look. The kind of sheepish look that lets him know you need him in that way.

He passes the joint to Steve and walks over to you. He plays with the hem of your skirt as he talks to you in a hushed tone.

"You need me, huh?"

You nod your head, a faint blush creeping onto your cheeks.

"God!" he exclaims. He goes on even louder, "You are so cute when you're embarrassed!" He punctuated those last few words enough for Steve to catch onto the private conversation. He turned to look at you both.

Still playing with the hem of your skirt, Eddie started to drag it up with the tip of his finger. In your feeble attempt to swat his hand away, you accidentally flashed your pussy. Steve began coughing and stood up, quickly turning around so you could right yourself. You smoothed your skirt down compulsively. This wasn't your plan for the night.

Eddie's new found love of showing you off in the most obscene ways was something you were still getting used to. Even the bullying turns you on. The first time Eddie offered to share you with Gareth you could've died of embarrassment right there in the Hellfire room, but with Gareth pounding into you from behind and Eddie fucking your throat, you no longer cared about anything, let alone feeling embarrassed at your boyfriend's newest kink.

"God, Harrington, I love this woman. No panties!" he exclaims, before lifting your skirt all the way up to your stomach.

Eddie laughs as you struggle to cover your self once again. Steve was still turned away, but you were feeding into the game now and starting to get really turned on.

Eddie grabs you by the waist, manhandling you through the corridor and flops down onto one of the motor home's vinyl couches, taking you with him. You land on his lap with your dignity in tact for the moment.

"What's the matter, Harrington? All those nice young ladies you must've conquered as king of Hawkins High and you're scared of a little pink?"

"Well, there was only ever-"

"Turn around asshole! I can't hear you!" Eddie barks.

"Chill out, man!" he replies. He turns around and starts again, "There was only ever Nancy and it was kinda dark, you know."

Eddie laughs hard.

"You mean to tell me you've been in a pussy, but you've never seen one? Not even in a porno mag or anything?"

"You know I don't read that shit, man." Steve replies.

"They're not for reading, idiot." Eddie says, giving him the finger.

"Need to get you a girl like mine," he continues, "I mean, look at this shit."

You fight for only a second as he pries your legs apart, keeping them there with his own. With his legs caging yours in, and his left hand around your throat, he uses his right to flip your skirt up once more and spread your pussy open for Steve. He turns away quickly again.

"Ah, ah, ah! Turn around, buddy," he scolds.

Steve turns around only for a moment, meaning to tell him that this wasn't funny, but he can't help glancing at it.

"Don't do this to me, Eds, that's your girl" he says.

"This girl?" he sarcastically asks, "Nah, man, this is our girl."

You were starting to become feral for the situation. The intimate exposure. Eddie enveloping you. Steve's attempted chivalry.

"Oh? What's this?" Eddie asks you, "Is somebody enjoying this?"

He ran his fingers up your slit, gathering your growing arousal.

"You want me to dip into this little honey pot right in front of Harrington?" Eddie asks you.

A small moan escapes you. "Yes," you say softly.

"So fucking filthy," Eddie rasps before inserting a finger into you.

"Oh my god," you squeal, laying your head on Eddie's shoulder. He lets go of your throat. Steve's eyes now fully on your pussy growing wetter by the second, with Eddie's finger inside you to the hilt.

"Let's give Stevie here an anatomy lesson, sweetheart," he says, removing his finger. He takes his left hand and pulls back the hood of your clit.

"See," he says, "sometimes it's hiding from ya."

With your clit fully exposed, and with a small amount of pressure. Eddie starts to rub his first two fingers over it at punishing pace.

You start to breathe heavily, panting. He's locked you into this torturous embrace and you struggle to close your legs, the overstimulation too much. You feel your orgasm coming as your stomach begins to tighten. You love what Eddie's doing to you, you always do, but you focus on Steve now sitting across from you on the other vinyl couch, hand down his pants and eyes hungry.

"Be a good girl and show Harrington your little trick," Eddie says.

Just as you're about to cum, Eddie sticks two fingers in you, curling them, while his thumb presses down on your clit. You squirt onto Eddie's leg and the carpeted floor below.

"Gotta love the water works!" Eddie says with a smile.

His smile quickly fades noticing the pent up Steve before him.

"C'mere, Harrington," he says. Steve hesitates.

"It's not a suggestion, motherfucker, get over here and get down on your knees." he orders him.

Steve complies and looks from your eyes to Eddie's.

"I'm guessing you've never eaten pussy, huh buddy?"

"No," Steve replies.

"Chop, chop big boy, I got our girl all hot and ready for you. What are you waiting for?"

You gently stroke Steve's face with your fingers.

"C'mon, Steve," you say sweetly, "it won't bite."

Your participation earns you a low chuckle from Eddie.

Eddie reaches out, putting his hand on the back of Steve's head and guiding him toward you. You flash Eddie a mischievous look and a slow smile paints his face before shoving Steve's head right into your aching cunt. You cry out, reaching for Steve as well, you and Eddie now both holding his head - your cunt suffocating him.

You wished you could see the three of you. You on Eddie's lap, legs spread wide. Steve lapping at you like an animal, you and Eddie roughly holding his head in place.

"It's the fountain of life, Harrington. Drink up."

Steve tried his best but it was obvious he had never done this before and needed practice, even with Eddie roughly guiding him.

"That's enough." Eddie says. His right leg was free with you having squirmed to his other, and he kicked Steve square in the chest with his right foot, heavy boot almost knocking the wind out of him.

"I gotta do everything around here..." he says, trailing off.

He picks you up as he stands, and immediately throws you back down on the couch. He positions himself in between your legs, exposes your most sensitive nerve, and latches onto you. You scream. You look over at Steve who now has his cock fully out. He's jerking himself hard, staring at Eddie's face buried in your soaking wetness. The slurping sounds that Eddie's making mixed with the slapping sound of Steve abusing his cock are absolutely obscene and turn you on even more. You pull your top down to play with your own nipples, exposing your pierced tits. Eddie looks up and groans, still attacking your clit. Steve lets out a pitiful moan, having never seen a pair of pierced tits in his life. Eddie had done them for you in the trailer with ice and a hot needle and it was his new favorite thing about you.

"C'mere," you softly said to Steve.

He crouched down, still jerking his now slick cock, and wrapped his mouth around your hard nipple. You moaned and Eddie stopped his assault to give that low chuckle again.

"Alright!" Eddie suddenly exclaims, giving your pussy three quick slaps. You cry out again.

"Let's settle you up, sweetheart," he says again.

Again with his first two fingers he begins to finish you off after all those minutes of teasing you with only his tongue. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling and twisting, all while his other thumb abuses your already sensitive clit. Steve still has his mouth around your nipple and his jerks start to become erratic as his body curls inward, stomach starting to hollow out.

"I think Harrington's gonna blow, baby!" Eddie says, a wide grin on his face, "Why don't you help him out?"

While Eddie brings you to the edge you reach your hand down and start stroking Steve's aching cock. Knees spread he uses his newly free hand to squeeze your other tit, while still suckling the first. You and Steve cum together. His body shook as you used his cum to violently jerk him through his huge orgasm. Eddie was clapping and hollering as you two lay spent. After a few moments of silence, you hear the distinct sound of Eddie's cuff belt being unbuckled.

"Get the fuck up Harrington," he tells Steve, "It's my turn now."

#steddie x reader #steddie x you #steddie smut #steddie fanfic #steddie #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things

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twomindsbrokenheart · 3 months

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Save the Date || Closed RP @80s-pizza-party

With the hustle and bustle of the holidays over and done with, the new year in the Pizzaplex settled into much the same pattern as the one before it. True, some things had certainly changed in twelve months. The player wasn't coming around much anymore, not even to play Ruin, so Vanessa didn't have much in the way of glitch reports to file; she ended up enrolling in a couple of recreational classes taught by a sprite-based organization at the Gray Market, the same ones who put together things like the winter carnival and fall festival, and now she spent two evenings a week studying botany and art history. Speaking of classes, the kids still had their weekday morning lessons, though sign language was now mixed in with Reading Club and Science Club -- aka gathering together to chip away at a chapter book and doing some basic kid-friendly experiments. Meanwhile, the Glamrocks got together for jam sessions fairly often, and Monty often pounded away at his drum kit even when everyone else wasn't present.

In the midst of all this, Freddy and Bonnie sat down and began planning their wedding. Weekday mornings when the kids were in class had always been their time to get together, to listen to music, dance, or simply talk, but now they spent many of these meetings figuring out the details of the ceremony.

Pretty much all of the major characters of the game would be participating in some way, depending on their area of expertise. Chica was in charge of catering and baking the cake, Roxy would take care of hair and makeup for those who needed it, Eclipse would deal with all wardrobe-related concerns. Monty and Gregory would be the best men, while Cassie and Cassidy were the ring bearer and flower girl, respectively. DJ would provide music for the ceremony and reception. Sun was assigned to decorations, Moon was the bouncer (and also organizing a sleepover for the children on the night of the big day, so that Bonnie and Freddy could spend their first night as a couple together), and Vanessa had offered to do the flower arrangements, although Freddy had also asked her to officiate; she was the only one he could think of to do so.

Around the twentieth of January, after considering and rejecting a Valentine's Day wedding, Freddy and Bonnie finally sent out their "Save the Date" messages. The ceremony would take place on Saturday, the thirteenth of April, just two weeks after Easter. And these messages, the prelude to official invitations, made their way across the Pizzaplex as well as to their neighbors in Help Wanted, following the approximate guest list of the Christmas party.

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astralnymphh · 1 month

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๋࣭ ⭑⚝ thinking about the first night at ellie's place ever since you two began dating. girl will bust her ass off preparing to host you there— in the entertainment department of things. fluff!!

. MASTERLIST . DAILY CLICK . IMPORTANT TLOU POST . PALESTINE INFO . BIG TEXT VERSION

she heaps up a myriad of her favorite pastimes in a kaleidoscopic pile on her bed, assuming the waken hours preluding the "main event" (sleeping) will integrate every little thing pre-planned. legit jots a loose schedule of everything she wants to do in a sequestered corner of her journal, and it's surrounded by detailed doodles (that we dare not discuss how long she spent perfecting them) of shooting stars and other cartoony likenesses of paraphernalia or things that you're interested in/remind her of you. spends a fat wad of the initial hours urging you into every activity based on, quote for quote: "ellie's epic design for her first night-over with her girlfriend in hopes that she doesn't mess things up" proof is in the notebook, trust. word for word. anyways, ellie legit believes she can usher you into each thing planned, like, come rain or come shine— everything will be mentioned. bit erratically if anything, poor girl has her nerves amped up since it's her first time having you over, the unfolding of opportunities is unpredictable. shit like, "hey babe i got us a two-player video game." and then it gradually gets more jumpy, "oh, oh yeah, i wanted to sketch you, wait— c'mere, sit on the bed." and thereon it transforms out of the blue, "ughhhh i'm so tired." and she flops back onto the bed exaggeratedly like starfish position, eaglespread limbs and everything. then you clamber on afterwards and pronto you have to confront her, softly for her enervated brain to pick up, "el, did you have some bucket list of things to do in one night?" and her head creaks over like snail-speed, cartoonesque metal grating noise, and her expression is all bug-eyed and flatlined at the lip, sighing kinda guilty but in a silly way, "yeah, uh. shit, was that obvious?" god she's so CUTE. and then it ends up in a really romantic cuddle session where you two just let the conversation take its natural course without any locus of "this is what we're going to do" rather it becomes, "let's listen to what our bodies want to do" and i think that's just very sentimental!!! listening to her instincts to carress and hold you!!! "y'know, like, the first time i kissed you— i kinda wanted to do something like this right after. lay in the grass n' like.. hug eachother.. and stare up." maybe i'll expand on the nature of the cuddle session if people want it. ౨ৎ

love this girl (my photos)

#ellie williams #⤹𓍢ִ໋aestras thoughts #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams fluff #ellie tlou #lesbian #sapphic #ellie x reader #ellie williams x fem!reader #ellie williams fic #ellie williams blurb #ellie williams headcanons #ellie williams concept

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mournings-stars · 3 months

Text

doubt comes in

happy valentines day, here's my apology in advance for the angst. this is heavily based on the story of orpheus and eurydice specifically in the musical hadestown (my fav) with inspo from the lyrics so a lot of this is written with the intention to rhyme and be in a hadestown-esque song.. I probably wont write like this often, but i hope y'all like it there's one mention of pronouns (she/her) with lilith since i basically swapped the reader for orpheus and luci for eurydice but other than that i don't think there's much to indicate this is a fem!reader but this is an angel!reader if anyone would like a precursor with fluff, i'll compensate yall for the dramatic greek angst

part 2 (prelude) part 3 (prelude pt. 2) part 4 (prelude pt. 3) part 5/finale (semi-alt ending)

It was a long way down; winding, golden steps in a narrow hall that you didn’t know the depth of until you reached the bottom. Your legs ached with each step, and your wings fought not to fly the rest of the way. You could see it in the distance when you reached the ground, the red heat of the pride ring, and the home you were headed to.

It hadn’t been long since Lucifer fell, maybe a few months since he and his love were banished to the darkness he created with the worst of humankind, but you were given a blessing.

Sera, the oldest of the angels, allowed you to go down to Hell to retrieve him. There was a catch, however, one that made you wary as you now neared his home.

You could only retrieve Lucifer. He had to leave his love, and you had to trust that he would follow you. You had to lead the way back up the golden staircase she created for you, all the way to the very top where the golden gates you knew so well waited for you. Lucifer had to walk behind you without a sound; he couldn’t assure you that he was there. You just had to trust one another. To follow, and not to check.

You couldn’t turn around.

Finally, you reached his home, knocking on the door and waiting patiently before it was opened. “It’s you…” You knew his voice well, the sound of it making your heart swell as you wrapped your arms around him.

He was quick to return the embrace, the ache in your legs vanishing for a moment in his arms. “It’s me.” He sighed, hugging you tighter and shutting his eyes with his head on your chest. He could hear the drumming of your heart, and he knew if he held you long enough he’d be back in Heaven when he opened his eyes.

But he had to let go.

“How are you here?” He asked a question and it was like a melody, clear as day and symphonic as the winds that flowed beside you as you descended that steep staircase down to Hell. He stepped back, hands lingering until you stepped away.

“Sera allowed me to come down,” you said. “She said I could bring you back — that you could leave this place…” You looked around, shifting uncomfortably in the unnatural heat before you turned back to him with a gentle smile. “Come home with me.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “It’s a trick. She’s never liked me—“

“No!” You grabbed his hands, forcing him to look at you. “It’s a trial — or a second chance at one.”

It had taken you days to get down. You hadn’t seen Lucifer in months. A few days without looking back at him would be nothing if that meant an eternity back home.

He squeezed your hands, looking down at them and suddenly feeling that it might just be possible. “How?”

“It took a while,” you said quietly. “She didn’t want to listen, but I knew you had the best intentions. I convinced her, and she’s letting you come home.”

“She’s letting me try.” He looked down, dropping your hands and frowning at the ground. “What’s the catch?”

“You have to follow me—“

“I can do that,” he said quickly.

“And you can’t touch me, or speak to me. You just have to trust that I’ll get us there and that I won’t look back—“

He cut you off with a dry laugh. “Just?” He laughed harder. “We both know how this will go.”

“I trust you to follow me. Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I do!” His hands went to your face, holding gently. You moved out of his grip, feeling the coolness of the band on his left hand. “We were always close; I trust you, I just… don’t trust her—“

“You should go, Lu,” a voice came from behind him, and the woman you recognized from Eden stood there. Her hair, long and blonde, flowed behind her in non-existent winds. Her smile made you understand why he fell — why he would for her. “Go home with her.”

It was decided then. Just one encouraging push from his love and he was prepared to leave. He looked back at her, giving a smile that made you look away as you turned.

As they said their goodbyes, you waited quietly, kicking at the ground absentmindedly until Lucifer put a hand on your shoulder. “Ready?” You nodded. “Alright.”

“We can walk together until we reach the stairs… Then, from there, we’re on our own.”

“I won’t leave you alone,” he assured. “I’ll make sure you get back home.”

You frowned at his wording, taking his hand. “We’ll both go home.”

He nodded, correcting himself and squeezing your hand, “I’ll make sure we both get home.”

You nodded. “Let’s go.”

The walk was quiet before it had to be, doubt already coming in and making its way between you. What would happen when you reached the stairs? Would he follow behind you? Who were you to think he would, when his love had to stay in a place like this?

“How bad was it?” Lucifer asked you. “Are you sure you want to go now?” You nodded. “Aren’t you tired?”

“I can rest when we’re home.” You gave him a smile that made him do the same. “You want to go back, don’t you?”

He had his doubts. He doubted that he could. He doubted he could make it all that way. He hadn’t seen you in months, and all he wanted was to talk to you — all he could do was touch you — but there was silence now. Didn’t that mean it’d be easy not to speak? Not to touch you… After all this time. After he found someone to love—

“Sera said if we make it, she’ll listen to you,” you tried, hoping he’d respond. He hadn’t even realized he didn’t answer you. “Maybe we can bring Lilith up soon.”

“I’d like that.”

The smile you gave him made him reach out his hand, the look on your face forced and sorrowful as you walked ahead of him. He wanted to take your hand for comfort — to both of you — but how was he supposed to go days without it if he couldn’t fight a simple urge now?

“We’re here…” You stopped some time later, silence blanketing the two of you a long time ago.

But now it was for a different reason.

Great golden steps stood before you, spiraling high up into thick clouds that shielded the true height of the stairs.

But even from here they looked endless.

“We can’t fly, can we?” Lucifer asked, half joking.

“That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” You laughed, but it died out quickly. “Are you sure you want to do this? You can turn back now…” You swallowed your pride. “Go home to her… It’ll be days of walking, and going back up is much harder than coming down.”

He took a moment to understand what you were telling him, but surely told you, “If you were down here, I’d come to find you, too.” That brought a smile to your face. There was another pause before he asked, “would you follow me?”

You nodded. “Anywhere.” Even here.

He smiled, taking your hand like he wanted to before. “Then show the way.”

You squeezed his hand before turning to the stairs and letting go, savoring that last touch until you could do it again; back home. You took a deep breath before taking the first step.

Immediately, a marble wall surrounded the staircase, and you could only imagine that the steps were shielded, a wall blocking off the first stair as you started to go back up.

You couldn’t hear a thing, not even your own footsteps as you climbed step after step.

Lucifer, on the other hand, could hear your footsteps echoing; one after the other, each of your steps right after the other, and sounding like the dull pounding of a drum. He couldn’t tell if it was comforting or foreboding, but he listened anyway. This was how he’d make it through, he decided. To the steady sounds of drumming.

But you were struggling. Coming down and back up so soon had made you tired already, but doubt weighing you down didn't help any. You let out a breath before beginning to hum as a way to ground yourself to these hellish stairs.

It was a song both of you knew well; there were no words or swells to make you know what came next, just an endless melody that the winds would sing as they carried the seasons through the Earth. Long before Lucifer went to see the world, this was how you knew it. Through the songs nature sang.

But now he knew the world much better than you did. He didn’t need this song anymore. You doubted he even remembered it,

but no, he was humming along, hoping you could hear that he remembered your song. He remembered how beautiful it was, and how when you sang it, the entirety of Heaven could feel your warmth — your love. It was why you were given the task to change the seasons, your song persuading nature into the most beautiful summers and captivating winters. But what else could he expect from an angel of Virtue? Could he expect that the love that he felt all throughout Heaven would ever be for him? How could he expect anything from you?

Pride does not deserve Humility.

And doubt comes in; he thought about turning back, letting you go alone, but even when he stopped for just a moment you kept walking. You trusted him to follow you, and as you hummed the song of nature, he felt that same love that he used to. The same warmth that was now pushing him up the endless stairs after you. The same winds that made him want to reach out and touch you, just to remind you that he was there. Just to see you look back at him.

But he knew what you were doing, using your gift of song to bring nature into this empty place so it could push you to keep going. You hoped the winds would push you up, but they weren’t strong enough.

You weren’t strong enough for this.

The song stopped after a while, but you continued to climb, up, and up, and further up to no avail. If it hadn’t been that there was only one path, you would’ve questioned whether or not you were going the right way.

It was harder going back.

But there was hope; a faint, golden light that led you back home. A faint, golden light that told you you were so close. A faint, golden light that made you want to turn, smile at him, and say, “we’re almost home,” but you stopped yourself and kept going.

You were much further than almost, but you were getting there. And this light pulled you to keep. Going.

You didn’t care for the exhaustion, or the pain, you didn’t think about the hunger, or the thirst. You kept in mind that you would sleep, rest, eat, and drink when you made it home with him.

When he made it home with you. He would worry about how tired you must’ve been. He would worry how much pain you were in — and he would worry about his own once he made it home with you. But he saw how you faltered, hand on the wall to keep yourself going, and he knew he couldn’t make it much longer like this.

But you trusted him, he had to try.

And doubt comes in.

He doubted how much longer he could take this. He doubted how much longer he could watch you fade into exhaustion and pain without doing anything about it.

He doubted that Sera didn’t expect this to happen.

He doubted, and doubted, until you were finally there. Until you were almost sure he hadn’t followed you. Until your legs gave out on the final step and you felt him rush to keep you from falling. You felt his hands keeping you up and his wings bringing you onto the pale clouds of your home.

And you turned back.

But he was happy that you did. He gave you that same smile he gave her and his hands held your face gently. You reached up to grip his wrists as your eyes pooled. Regret; regret for doubting, regret for tiring, for failing. For turning back. “Why would you?” You asked and it was like a broken melody. Clear as summer rain with no symphony to push away the doubt that just kept coming in.

And he spoke to you. He broke every rule.

“I couldn’t let you fall,” he said, and you knew how he meant it. You knew he never trusted Sera. She knew he’d fail. So did he. But not you. You were the fool that made him put his trust in you.

And now you knew he had to go. And he knew he could never return.

He tilted your head down, wings fluttering and lifting him off the clouds. He pressed a gentle kiss to your head and said, “Visit again if you can.”

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berryless · 5 months

Text

Tav's touch is light and measured. Her short nimble fingers rake up his hair into an absolute mess of a birdnest in which he would never appear in public willingly, but the process of getting it is so infuriatingly pleasant, Astarion is stuck between tolerating the possibility of looking like Scratch struck by a lightning spell, and prying himself off Tav's lap.

Begrudgingly, he sacrifices the temporary perfection of his looks.

Tav hums above his head, face stuck in a spellbook, but her fingers never stop.

It's still bizarre to him how such act of intimacy can exist in and by itself, without being either prelude to nor an afterthought of sex. Unnerving even.

A part of him waits for the other shoe to drop, for Tav's touch to become more sensual, for her to beckon him to return the favor in only way he knows.

The shoe stays put, and that's the part Astarion finds most uncomfortable.

Thankfully, it's not like Tav never asks for anything in return. She frequently complains about how her legs weren't made for walking such great distances with rather unfriendly terrain, or whines about her headaches from overusing magic and losing too much blood (which is entirely his fault, Astarion has to admit). This 'give and take' approach to closeness puts him at ease, because he's used to treat intimacy as currency. It is an entirely safe act to exchange one form of closeness to another.

The problem with it is that the exchange is never even. The minutes spent, the effort wasted, they never seem to line up perfectly, leaving Astarion with a surplus and a debt to repay. Because he should repay it. Right? That's how it worked in all the time he remembers.

Every time he doesn't return exactly the amount he's taken, Astarion feels imaginary interest ticking up. It grows at a slow and steady pace, threatening one day to become bigger than he's ever able to return. Than he's ever willing? Will he be willing..?

Unable to do anything about it, Astarion tries to ignore it, as if when he doesn't think about it, the interest stops rising.

He never asked for this surplus, did he? And if Tav's so foolishly generous, who is he to decline? It certainly wouldn't be the first time for him to use someone's magnanimity and trust against them. He's long been numb to guilt himself about it.

And yet he keeps the tally and counts his debts, and waits, and waits, and waits until Tav will ask to round it up in a single payment. A final one, because it will be final when she'll ask for it. He'll cut his losses afterwards and will be careful to not end up indebted to her again.

Meanwhile, Tav's fingers scratch him just right, and Astarion practically melts from pleasure, his shamefully content face hidden in Tav's lap as shiver runs down his spine. Tav laughs when she notices it and playfully tugs on his ear.

The shoe stays put.

The debt grows.

Astarion ignores its existence.

#fanfiction #fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 astarion #bg3 tav #bg3 #fluff #drabble

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ellemj · 6 months

Text

Needs & Wants - Sex Pollen Trope Pt. 1

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: When you're both exposed to an unknown chemical in the field, things go from bad to worse.

Warnings: prelude to obvious smut, talk of masturbation, talk of unprotected sex, profanity, use of y/n, MINORS DNI, 18+!!!

Feel free to comment and let me know if this requires more warnings.

Word Count: 2.8k

Author's Note: Just messing around on here and seeing where I end up. I want to write an absolutely filthy part 2 but if this doesn't get anywhere I may scrap it lmao.

Every. Damn. Time. Something goes sideways every damn time. You want to blame Fury for making the two of you partners to begin with. What the hell did he see between the two of you that made him think missions would ever end in anything other than the two of you butting heads? You sigh deeply and rub your temples with the pads of your left thumb and middle finger, squeezing your eyes shut as you will yourself not to kick Bucky clear across the lab. You know what Fury saw between the two of you, and as much as you hate to admit it, when you’re in absolute life-or-death situations, you and Bucky work together better than any other partner you’ve ever had in the field. Even Nat.

Dropping your hand from your face and opening your eyes, your gaze lands on Bucky. He stands at one of the lab benchtops in the center of the room, his eyes narrowing as he examines an array of monitor screens before him. You can make out an organized table of data along with a few charts on the monitor to his left, but that’s not what draws your attention. The second monitor, the one right in front of him, displays a few words that have you on edge.

Confirmed nitric oxide stimulant capabilities. New formula contains increased quantity of aqueous extract of dried tuberous roots of C. borivilianum.

Shit. This can’t be what you think it is, but with your medical background and your old medical microbiology classes from before joining SHIELD and the Avengers, you know that there’s a very slim chance that you’re misinterpreting what you’re reading. You step forward now, gently pushing Bucky’s arm to move him away from the monitors so you can get a better look at the data. He begins snapping pictures and immediately sending them back to the team. You can feel his eyes on you as you study the graphs and tables. He’s not used to you being this quiet, he knows something’s up.

“What are we looking at?” He finally speaks up, his gaze drawn to the colorful graph displayed on one of the monitors.

“I don’t know.” You lie straight through your teeth, reaching for the keyboard that controls the monitors. You press the right-facing arrow key and the page that said something about nitric oxide disappears, quickly replaced being replaced by a row of video clips, each one titled with a trial number and date. It looks like HYDRA was running trials in this experiment for months.

“Bullshit. Why won’t you tell me what it is?” Bucky asks. His tone is sharp, impatient. He isn’t used to being the one who doesn’t know what’s going on, and it’s bothering him. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek and waits in silence for you to say something, to say anything. You hover the cursor over the first video clip, dated three months ago from today, Trial #1. Everything in you is screaming not to watch it, not to click on it and confirm your suspicions, but you’re here for a reason. You have an easy job here today: break into the HYDRA facility, collect samples and any data that goes along with what they’ve been working on for the past few months, and then destroy the facility on your way out. Sam and Torres planned it out so perfectly, making sure it would be vacant for the next 13 hours so you and Bucky could slip in and get the job done under the radar. They planned it for two months, doing recon and coming up with contingency plan after contingency plan. You need to confirm your suspicions and get as much evidence as possible before blowing the place to bits.

You glance over your shoulder at Bucky, and his blue eyes meet yours with a hint of concern. He hates when you’re quiet like this, he hates those rare moments in the field when he can’t read your mind. What the hell are you thinking? What aren’t you telling him? He knows you well enough to know that you’re nervous about whatever you’re seeing here.

You click the video link and a slightly grainy image of a padded square room fills the screen. The floor and walls are gray and there isn’t any furniture in the room, only what looks to be a set of shackles on the back wall. A shiver runs down your spine and you pull your phone out, typing up a message to Bruce Banner while you wait for something to happen on screen.

You: A chemical compound that stimulates NO and uses aqueous extract of C. borivilianum…is it going to be what I think it is?

As your message sends, Bucky reaches around you, his chest brushing against your back, and he uses the mouse to fast forward the video until people are appearing on screen. You watch as presumably a HYDRA agent shoves a woman into the room, obviously an unwilling participant in the experiment. She doesn’t fight much as she’s placed in the shackles on the wall, but it’s obvious that she’s weak and likely drugged. The HYDRA agent briefly steps out of view of the camera, before returning with a second captive, a man this time. He’s large, muscular, and has a dark look in his eye. You feel Bucky stiffen up behind you, realizing at the same time as you that this man is a super soldier. Your phone vibrates in your hand and you steal a look at the response from Banner.

Banner: Yes.

Fuck. The next two minutes of the video are pure horror, even though nothing particularly horrific happens before you slam your hand down on the spacebar, pausing the clip abruptly. You both watched on as a cloudy vapor was pumped into the room through vents, and then watched on as the super soldier became more and more restless, sweaty, and crazed. As soon as the female captive began whimpering and pulling against her shackles, with her eyes trained on the super soldier a few feet to her left, you couldn’t let the video play any longer.

“Tell me what it is.” Bucky says evenly from behind you. You swallow hard and reach into one of the pockets of your tactical pants, pulling out a device similar to a USB and plugging it into the computer before you. As all of the data and video clips begin to transmit through the device, back to Sam and Torres, you turn around and face your partner.

“HYDRA hasn’t been able to recreate the super soldier serum. They haven’t made any progress at all since Zemo killed Dr. Nagel.” You say slowly, choosing your tone and words carefully. You don’t want to say too much and leave Bucky as terrified as you are right now, but you also know you can’t keep this from him. Not when you need him to understand how fucking careful you’re both going to have to be from now until the end of this mission.

“I know that. What are we here for, y/n?” His tone is growing more and more impatient, his jaw ticking as he stares down at you. God, he can’t ever just shut up and listen. You put your hand on his chest, shoving him a few steps back and walking across the lab, to the glass refrigerator in the far corner. It’s full of vials of a clear liquid, each sealed at the top and marked with a label full of scientific terms.

“They got desperate, and turned to even more barbaric methods of creating super soldiers. They started experimenting with chemical compounds that induce a primal need in those exposed.” You explain carefully. You pause now, turning to look back at Bucky once more. You see realization spread across his face and he quickly comes to understand what you’re saying. It’s a fucking sex pollen.

Static crackles in your in-ear briefly before Sam’s voice reaches you both.

“Banner and Stark just finished reviewing some of the data you shared. This is not something that either of you want to be exposed to.” Sam advises, and you can hear Torres in the background typing away on a keyboard.

“Yeah, no shit.” You mutter, retrieving a pair of nitrile gloves from a box on the benchtop nearby and setting up the small lockbox that you brought for samples. You open it to reveal a padded interior, with enough room for three vials. The rest will have to be destroyed.

“Just grab the samples, rig the place to blow, and get the hell out of there. I don’t want you in there any longer than you have to be.” Sam’s orders spur Bucky into action, and he starts setting up explosives around the corners of the lab while you get ready to retrieve the samples from the fridge. If only you’d known that HYDRA was one step ahead.

It happened so fast that you didn’t even have time to try to protect yourself. The moment that you pulled open the small door to the fridge full of samples, that same cloudy vapor you saw in the video clip began to rush in from every air vent in the lab.

“Shit.” You mumble, reaching into the fridge and grabbing three vials. You quickly place them into the lockbox and seal it, knowing that you’ll definitely need samples to test now that you’ve both been exposed.

“Sam, we’ve got a problem.” Bucky is as calm as ever, though his voice comes out slightly annoyed. Of course he’d sound annoyed in this moment. He’s been exposed to a sex pollen alongside the partner that he can only get along with when they’re staring death right in the face. He heaves a weighty sigh before stalking over to you and snatching the lockbox from the benchtop. He quickly slides his backpack off, shoving it inside, and then heading for the exit, without checking to see if you’re on his heels or not. You strip off your gloves and bound after him. The gravity of the situation hasn’t hit either of you yet, but oh, it will soon enough.

Bucky weaves his motorcycle in and out of traffic almost recklessly, with your arms clutched around his abdomen. It’s only been fifteen minutes since you were both exposed but you swear that you’re starting to feel the effects. Your cheeks are hot and flushed under your helmet, your hands are shaking as adrenaline courses through your veins, and your heart is racing. If you hadn’t been on the back of a motorcycle with Bucky so many times in the past, you would’ve chalked your symptoms up to this experience, but it’s definitely not that.

“Loosen up, are you trying to do the Heimlich on me or something?” Bucky spits out, his voice playing in your helmet. You do as he says, loosening your hold and taking a deep breath in. You don’t say anything in response, which furthers the tension between you both. It’s been fifteen minutes of stressful silence and Bucky’s losing his damn mind. He wants you to give him shit like you usually would when a mission goes sideways. He wants you to lash out, tell him to stop driving like an ass, he wants you to say anything so he knows you’re okay. He can’t fucking stand the silence.

He guides the bike down the long dirt road to the safe house you stayed in last night, and you hop off before he’s even put the kickstand down. He watches as you rush up the steps of the small cobblestone house, yanking off your helmet in one swift movement before you key the code into the door and force it open. You’re feeling the effects of the chemical pulsing through your veins, you’re feeling it and you’re trying to keep it from him.

“It’s a very complex compound. A nitric oxide stimulant, utilizing both natural and man-made components. It’s basically a super soldier version of Viagra and ecstasy all in one.” Bruce says, addressing both you and Bucky through the video call. Concern and stress are etched into his soft features as he stands in the lab of the Avengers compound, his arms crossed and glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose. “You’re going to have to look out for the negative effects, which from the video clips of their experiments, are extremely strong. Take the side effects of ecstasy and multiply their intensity by a hundred.”

“So, sweating, hypertension and tachycardia, jaw pain…” Your voice trails off as you list off the side effects of ecstasy that you know from your previous pharmacology classes. Bruce nods slowly.

“Basically, you’ll feel like you’re having a heart attack, unless you’re able to relieve yourselves.” He summarizes.

“What do you mean relieve yourselves?” Bucky questions. He’s seated on the couch next to you, his brow is furrowed and a sheen of sweat is becoming apparent along the side of his neck. You try not to look at him for too long, already feeling yourself longing for touch and physical contact of any kind.

“If you’re able to achieve a postcoital state, you should have temporary relief of your symptoms. You might have to achieve that state more than once, until the chemical is out of your system.” You can almost hear the wheels turning in Bucky’s head as he works out what postcoital means. You have to reach an orgasm to feel any relief, but bless Banner for trying to put it in a more professional way.

“Have you tested the half-life of the chemical yet?” You ponder, wanting to know exactly how long you’ll both be suffering through this. You wipe a bead of sweat from your brow with the back of your hand.

“Yeah, it seems like it can last anywhere from eight to ten hours in a non-super soldier, but it was designed specifically to work in conjunction with the serum, so it lasts eight to twelve hours in a super soldier.” Bruce’s words are starting to jumble together in your head, adding to the slightly throbbing headache that’s forming behind your eyes. You squeeze them shut and rub your temples just like you did in the lab earlier, zoning out as Tony and Bruce both start discussing the pharmacokinetics behind the compound currently wrecking your body.

“What are our options here?” Bucky asks quietly, directing his question to you alone. You turn to look at him and see his cheeks flushed like yours now, his pupils dilated a minute amount, and his hands clasped together over his knees. There’s no hiding that it’s affecting you both now.

“I don’t know. The only thing I can think to do is lock ourselves in different rooms and try to ride it out.” You say, rubbing your aching thighs through your tactical pants with the palms of your hands. Your bones are starting to hurt in a deep, consuming way, and all you want to do is give yourself a few doses of propofol to knock yourself out for the next eight hours. It’s going to be hell trying to get through this without having sex, especially if pain is setting in only an hour after the initial exposure.

“Okay, so we do that. We each lock ourselves in a bedroom and fight it.” Bucky sounds sure and resolved, like he has total faith that your only plan available will work out fine. All it took to bring out his optimistic side was being doused with a sex pollen and stuck in a safe house.

“I want to monitor both of your vitals through the night.” Bruce calls out, gaining your attention again.

“No.” You and Bucky both speak firmly at the same time, quick to reject the idea. You don’t need a medical record showing how aroused you end up being tonight, you don’t need Bruce or any of the SHIELD lab staff watching your heart rate increase as you touch yourself, watching your blood pressure spike as you near your climax alone. Bucky is thinking the same thing, shit, his heart rate is probably already through the roof as it is, just from sitting next to you. He tries to focus on whatever else you, Bruce, and Tony are discussing but his jaw is clenched in pain and he’s fighting the urge to rip off his tactical suit right there. It feels like it’s fucking ninety degrees inside. The only thing he catches in the last bit of the conversation is from Tony.

“There’s a chance you won’t find any relief in an orgasm alone, Y/n. Bucky will, because his body won’t know the difference between finishing himself off vs. finishing inside of a fertile woman, but this compound is meant to make your reproductive system go into overdrive. You won’t feel relief until your body thinks it has a chance of reproducing, until semen is introduced into your system.”

“Fuck.” You inhale sharply, doubling over in pain both at Tony’s unfortunate conclusion and at the cramping sensation you’ve suddenly felt deep in your stomach. Fucking hell.

Next Part

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