Latest Posts by axescryinwater - Page 3
two sentence horror
i was sitting in my bredroom.
freddy freakbear was outside.
what the hell is your ask button
helloooo, can you write a michael afton fic where you and him move in together after college? like they have fights and stuff and are just living together but it's messy with his trauma and stuff
here you are!
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moving into a house together after college wasn’t exactly the smooth transition you’d hoped for. the idea sounded nice in theory: both of you finally out of the chaos of dorm life and finding some semblance of normalcy in the real world. you quickly realized that your expectations had to shift. everything about this new chapter in your lives felt different from what you imagined, and not in the easy, carefree way you’d hoped. it was messy. in more ways than one.
the first sign things wouldn’t be a walk in the park was when you both arrived at the house, a modest two bedroom tucked away in a quiet neighborhood. the previous owners had left behind remnants of their lives, old furniture, strange smells, and more dust than you’d care to acknowledge. it was the kind of house that had potential, sure, but needed a lot of work. you could already see michael’s hesitation as he stood by the door, scanning the space with that distant, unreadable look he always wore. he didn’t say much, as usual, just shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. "it’ll do," was all he muttered. and that was that.
the first day of unpacking was a mix of frustration and awkward silence. you both had a lot of stuff, old books, clothes you probably should have thrown out years ago, random trinkets and mementos that didn’t make any sense. michael didn’t say much, just quietly took boxes from the car and brought them inside. you tried to talk, tried to make small conversation, but his replies were short and detached. when he did speak, it was almost like he wasn’t really speaking to you at all. the words were more of a distant observation. "this stuff’s not going to fit in here." "we’ll need to fix that." he wasn’t unhelpful, but he wasn’t exactly engaged either. it was like there was this invisible wall between the two of you, and every time you tried to climb over it, you realized it was sturdier than you thought.
and then came the furniture. or, rather, the lack of furniture. michael had picked out the couch, a ragged, secondhand thing that seemed like it had been through at least two decades of college parties. but the rest of the house was bare. you went to the store together to pick out a few pieces. it should’ve been a fun experience, but it turned into a disaster. michael was overly picky about everything. he didn’t want anything too “fancy” or “flashy,” and while you understood that, you started to get frustrated by his refusal to even consider anything that might bring a little color into the space. every time you found something you liked, he would shoot it down with a single look, a soft grunt of disapproval, or, worse, silence.
"what about this one?" you’d ask, holding up a throw pillow that was soft and vibrant, the exact opposite of everything he usually gravitated toward.
"it’s fine," he’d respond, barely glancing at it, like it didn’t matter at all.
"you don’t even like it, do you?" you would press, your voice a little sharper than intended.
"it’s a pillow," he’d shrug.
you knew better than to push too hard. michael wasn’t someone who took kindly to being told what to do. so, you tried to pick your battles. but the mess kept piling up, and the tension never quite dissipated. on days when the house seemed especially chaotic, when the boxes were still scattered across the floor, when the furniture still hadn’t found a permanent place, when it felt like nothing was in order, he’d retreat into his own space. it was like he couldn’t deal with the noise, the mess, or the feeling of being trapped in this house that wasn’t quite "home" yet.
the first real argument came on the third night, when the kitchen was a disaster and you were tired of cleaning up after him. you hadn’t even meant for it to escalate, but something in the way he carelessly left his things all over the counter, again, broke something in you.
“michael, seriously?” you asked, your voice low but edged with frustration. “you can’t just leave your stuff everywhere.”
he turned to face you, his expression unreadable, a mix of annoyance and something deeper. "i’m not the one who’s making a big deal out of nothing," he said, his voice quieter but sharp.
"it’s not nothing! it’s about respect!" you snapped, your hands gesturing wildly toward the mess. "this house is a mess, and we can’t even get anything done because you won’t help with anything!"
the silence that followed was thick, suffocating. michael’s eyes darkened, like he was suddenly somewhere else, his thoughts miles away from the moment. "i’m doing the best i can," he muttered under his breath, but it was almost like he wasn’t talking to you at all.
you didn’t know what to say after that, and you both just stood there in the kitchen, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air. you knew he wasn’t the type to open up, to tell you what was going on in his mind.
after that fight, things were quieter for a while. you both settled into a routine, kind of. the dishes still piled up, the boxes still went unpacked, but somehow, the house started to feel a little more like home. there were still awkward silences, still moments where michael would disappear into his own head for hours, but there were also moments of calm. times when he would sit next to you on the couch without saying anything, but you knew he was there.
ask
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you and clark were sitting on the couch, the evening creeping in with its soft, quiet light. it had been a long day, but still, he was here, as he always seemed to be when the world slowed down. the two of you were talking, nothing too important. just the usual random banter that filled the space between moments. your cat had found her way into clark’s lap, curling up there like it was the most natural place in the world, and clark, the ever gentle soul, let her stay. it wasn’t until you noticed how still he was that you realized maybe the conversation had started to fade around him.
he blinked slowly, like he was fighting something, a yawn, maybe, or the weight of exhaustion that always seemed to find him when he wasn’t being superman. you caught the little tremble of his shoulders as he tried to keep his attention, but it was a losing battle. his voice dropped, becoming quieter, slower. you raised an eyebrow. “clark, you good?”
he mumbled something that didn’t quite form into words, a quiet hum of agreement or maybe just an attempt to stay awake. but his eyes were slipping closed now, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his grip on your cat loosened just enough to make the little furball shift, curling tighter against his chest.
you didn’t say anything else, just watched as his head slowly tilted to the side, his glasses slightly askew, and his breathing evening out in the softest rhythm. it wasn’t long before the words in his mouth stopped altogether, his body sinking deeper into the couch, his hand gently cradling your cat like she was a newborn. it was ridiculous and sweet all at once, and you couldn’t help the smile that pulled at your lips.
you stood up quietly, careful not to make any noise that might disturb him. the blanket on the back of the couch was soft, a faded blue color that had seen better days. you grabbed it, draping it over him gently, smoothing it down around his shoulders, making sure he was comfortable. your cat barely stirred in his arms, happy enough to let clark hold her like this.
it was funny, you thought, how different he was when he wasn’t in a cape or suit, when he wasn’t saving people or rushing off to the next disaster. here, in your living room, he was just clark. tired, quiet, messy haired clark who didn’t have to be perfect all the time.
you pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it around him with one last touch, just to make sure he stayed warm through the night. the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath the blanket was steady, peaceful. the only sounds in the room were the occasional soft snore from clark and the gentle purring of your cat.
you sat back down on the couch, curling up next to them both, your gaze drifting from clark’s peaceful face to the way the blanket gently shifted with each breath he took.
fave exes lol
(just 2 exes turned pseudo siblings rizzing everyone up)
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FINALLY. AFTER 2 WEEKS OF PROCRASTINATION LOL
Bucky who’s really good at calming u from bad dreams cause he gets them all the time himself🙂↕️🙂↕️ he knows all the tricks
aerial u literally sent this in yesterday and I already wrote it .. um I may have gotten a lil excited oops
bucky barnes x fem!reader, 1.1k words
Bucky has had his fair share of nightmares. For years he suffered through them alone — every night without fail, he’d wake trembling and sweating, swallowed up in the pitch black, his heart thudding so loud it was all he could hear. He’d either stay awake until morning or force himself back to sleep only to relive it all over again.
These days he has you, and it’s better. The nightmares haven’t ceased, though they’ve lessened significantly. And on the nights when he does wake up with his heart in his throat, you’re always there, either peacefully asleep next to him or half awake, reaching for him in the dark like you can read his mind. Sometimes you’re awake enough to rub his back or give him a half asleep hug. It helps more than Bucky would ever admit to you.
Tonight’s different. Bucky wakes up not to his own trembling, but to yours instead. You’re sitting up in bed, stiff as a board but shaking like a leaf. Bucky, a light sleeper at the best of times, is on you like a hawk.
He says your name and rushes to sit up, giving himself a wave of vertigo for a few seconds. He blinks it away, eyelids heavy and body heavier. His hand finds your back in the dark. “Honey, are you okay?”
It’s a dumb question. You’re shaking all over and he thinks he can hear you crying, though he can’t properly see your face. He feels you turn towards him and manages to find your arm, wrapping his hand around it.
“Sorry,” you whisper. Your voice trembles, too. It splits Bucky’s heart clean in half.
“What’re you sorry for?” He murmurs, not expecting an answer. He rubs your arm, not harsh but rough enough to help with your shakes. He gives your bicep a squeeze. “Bad dream?”
Your silhouette nods. “Yeah,” you say thickly.
Bucky hums. “Okay,” he says softly. The quiet fear in your voice panics him, but he keeps his head for your sake. “You’re okay, I’m here. Do you want to talk about it?”
He’s pretty sure talking about it helps, or at least it has for him, though he knows the feeling of wanting to forget the dream ever happened, rather than having to relive it by talking about it. He lets you decide.
“Um,” you swallow hard and scrub at your cheeks with the back of your hand. “Not right now?”
Bucky wants badly to take your face in both hands and wipe your tears for you, but his other arm is on the dresser across the room, the dim moonlight reflecting on the smooth metal. He doesn’t feel like getting up, not when you’re this upset. Instead he pushes his good hand over the hill of your shoulder and finds your jaw.
His thumb slips over the apple of your cheek where he pushes away a few rogue tears. “Okay, that’s alright, doll. Do you want a hug?”
You nod viciously. “Yeah, please.”
Bucky gets his hand on your shoulder and tugs you towards him, pulling you into his chest. You push your arms around his waist, screwing your hands into his shirt like he’s your lifeline. He sure tries to be.
You press your cheek to his collar and mumble something that sounds like, “Thanks.” Bucky would ask what on earth you’re thanking him for, but you’re still trembling and he’d rather deal with that first.
He rubs your back diligently. Up, down, and up again, over and over until you’re not shaking anymore. It doesn’t take long — by now he knows exactly how to calm you down, knows exactly what works best. He slots his chin over the top of your head and holds you tight to his chest.
He’s completely willing to stay like this all night, until dawn slips through the gap in the curtains if that’s what you want, but it’s only a few minutes before you’ve stopped trembling. He’s about to ask if you want some water when you speak up.
“It was the same as always,” you say, so quiet he barely hears you.
Bucky guessed as much. Your nightmares nearly always consist of the same thing and they all revolve around him — he gets hurt, he dies, somebody comes to take him away, he disappears and you can’t find him anywhere. He hates that your brain is cruel enough to conjure up such scenarios, hates that it scares you so much, and hates that there’s nothing he can do about it.
He rubs your back some more.
“Yeah? M’sorry, honey.” He untangles himself from you and gets his hand on your jaw again, cupping your cheek. He studies your face though it’s partly obscured in shadows. You’re still beautiful even half swallowed up by the dark.
“Nothing’s happened to me,” he tells you firmly. “Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’m safe.”
You nod like you’re trying to convince yourself. “I know,” you say feebly.
The fear still lingering in your voice makes Bucky’s chest ache. He strokes your cheek, still damp with tears. “I promise, okay?”
He doesn’t know how many times he’s promised the same thing, more than he can count, but he intends to keep his promise. Nothing’s going to happen to him (or you for that matter), he intends to stick around as long as he can.
You nod around his hand, “Okay.”
Bucky pushes his fingers up into the space behind your ear and tugs you forward, palm to your pulse point. He ducks his head to press his mouth to your forehead and holds you there for a moment, breathing you in. He can smell your apple shampoo and the soapy laundry detergent scent that clings to your pillows. You take a deep, shuddering breath under him and then your shoulders go lax.
“Do you want some water?” Bucky asks after a long beat of silence, still half-kissing your hairline.
You shake your head no. “Just wanna go back to sleep. Will you keep hugging me?”
Bucky’s heart gives a tug, not unfamiliar but it aches anyway.
“Of course, doll.” He encourages you back into bed with him, laying down with your head on his shoulder and your arm draped over his stomach.
You curl into him, so close he can feel your heartbeat where your chest is pressed to his arm.
“Sorry for waking you,” you whisper, tilting your face up towards his neck.
“Don’t,” he murmurs. Sleep is overrated. Plus, he wants to be woken up when you need him. He’d rather lose sleep than know you’re suffering alone. “Nothing to be sorry for, doll.”
He pulls his arm round your waist and dips his head to kiss your hair again. You fall silent, and not long after, your breathing turns steady. Bucky stays up for a little longer, watching you in case you have another nightmare, though he won’t tell you that in the morning.
-
thank you for reading! please consider reblogging if you enjoyed 🤍
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the tower isn’t what it used to be. no more clean metal shine. no more stark’s weird robot jazz echoing off the walls. now there’s throw blankets that don’t match, mismatched mugs in the kitchen sink, and half a pizza box abandoned on the coffee table under a forgotten tablet glowing faint blue. the new avengers are spread across the sectional like dropped laundry. yelena belova was upside down with her legs hanging off the top, scrolling on her phone like the fate of the universe depends on it. john walker's asleep with one arm tossed over his eyes, pretending not to be listening. and you, you’re tucked in next to bucky barnes cause it’s always been that way.
his arm’s around your waist, the metal one, heavy and cool through the thin fabric of your sleep shirt. your legs are half across his lap. there’s a blanket barely clinging to both of you. you lean in slowly, kissing the corner of his mouth first, he hums something. so you do it again, softer. your lips trail across the edge of his jaw, warm and lazy. and he finally looks at you, real slow, real tired.
“you tryin’ to distract me?” he says, voice rough with sleep or maybe something else.
“from what?” you whisper. “yelena's tiktok rabbit hole? pretty sure the world’ll keep turning.”
he chuckles, breath fogging warm against your temple. “you’re gonna get us kicked off the couch.”
“then we’ll take the beanbag. better view of the stars anyway.”
there’s a long pause, no one talking, just the low thrum of the tower’s power system and distant sirens down in the city, muffled by double pane glass and altitude. bucky doesn’t say much when he’s tired. doesn’t need to. his hand settles over yours, thumb dragging lazy circles over your skin.
your powers flicker under your skin when you’re this close. heat like static behind your ribs. reality bends easier around you when he touches you. he doesn’t flinch anymore when it happens. the way light bends a little around your fingertips. how your shadow twitches half a second slower than your body.
“you’re glowing again,” he mumbles.
“can’t help it.” you grin against his throat. “you make me all… photonic.”
“that a scientific term?”
“yup. real cutting edge. avengers approved.”
he turns toward you fully then, presses a slow kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then your lips. it’s nothing hurried. like sunday mornings. like breath.
near you, yelena mutters, “jesus. get a room.”
you don’t look away. neither does bucky. just smirks against your mouth.
a/n: i actually hate this so much! but forgive me for i was puking my brains out yesterday when i wrote this.
The implications that if Oscar had got pole he would have been in his drivers room practicing the griddy
the russos have committed so many sins but i might just forgive them if they have bucky in this wig for doomsday
From Batman #9, Feb-Mar 1942. Fred Ray pencils, Jerry Robinson inks.
Info from Grand Comics Database.
Hunter Schafer makeup by Sandy Ganzer – getting ready for the Met Gala after party
Would you do comfort shower sex with re2 leon omg I'll give you my soul please🙏🏻
let’s pretend the whole aeon romance didn’t happen during raccoon city😛 also fuckkk i LOVED writing this
warnings; smut obvi, p in v, unprotected sex, cursing, subby leon, kind of angsty and kind of fluffy too, handjob, implied cunnilingus at the end
leon hadn’t been the same since raccoon city.
you were both gonna move there once leon got his new job as a cop, but he went a day earlier than you for his first day, and you needed more time to pack.
thank god you stayed behind, but you constantly blame yourself for letting him go. he assures you it’s not your fault, how you couldn’t have ever known, but it all fell on deaf ears.
its been about three months now, and he still seems pretty traumatised by the whole ordeal. you’ve tried to be there for him, always letting him vent to you on the rare occasion that he needs to let his feelings out, offering him comfort in your arms.
you made sure to work two jobs to pay rent, leon wasn’t ready to work anytime soon (or so you thought) and you cooked for him, cleaned up after him, and sometimes on his bad days, you had to help him shower. 
it was no surprise that you were stressed, feeling overstimulated with everything. but you couldn’t say anything, leon had it way worse, and you understood that. despite the constant dark circles under your eyes, the soreness in your muscles, you stayed strong. stayed strong for him.
but it was getting difficult to keep up with everything. it was hard to sleep because of leon’s insomnia, or when he did sleep, he had nightmares. you would comfort him through the night, try to ease him back to sleep. you would take shit from customers and bosses all day everyday, putting effort into cooking just for most of it to go to waste. but that was all okay, because it was leon. you loved him so much, that none of this other stuff mattered.
you’d probably be able to decompress by getting some release, and of course, you wouldn’t push leon to do anything like that now. you were fine with going solo… except, you had no time to yourself really, so you’d gone practically three months without touching yourself.
but it was okay. you could deal with all of it, for leon.
you’d just finished washing the dishes, strolling back over to the dining table that leon was still sat at, staring at nothing.
your heart ached for him constantly, and you found that you had to hold back tears everytime you saw him like this. he was like a shell of the man you fell in love with.
you slowly moved closer to him, and put a gentle hand on his shoulder. he startled, blue eyes snapping up to yours as he tensed. he quickly eased once he realised what’d happened, and mumbled an apology under his breath as he slowly turned to look down at the table.
you stroked his shoulder delicately, pinching your brows together. you stood in silence there for a minute, seeing how he seemed to just be out of it.
“honey,” you whispered. his head barely moved in your direction to show that he was listening. “you wanna get in the shower?”
saying nothing, he nodded slightly. he stood, but didn’t make any move to the bathroom. you bit the inside of your lip, knowing that you’d have to help him. you muttered a “cmon” to him, moving your hand to his back, leading him to the hallway slowly and into the bathroom.
you moved away from him and started the shower, keeping one hand beneath it to check the temperature, and the other was reaching to get a clean towel from the basket, and you put it on the rack.
once the water was warm enough, you turned. leon was leaning against the door, staring at you. well, more like staring through you, like he wasn’t all there. you’d gotten used to that stare by now.
you take a step toward him, and reached up to cup his cheek. his eyes, that seem a lot duller lately, shift to look at you. you smiled at him sadly, your thumb rubbing his cheekbone. he reached up to hold your wrist, hardly managing to give you a weak smile back. more like a twitch of the lips.
you take your hand away, and began to unbutton his shirt. he stepped away from the door, moving his arms to help you pull it off of him. you both were used to this routine by now.
you remove his belt next, dropping it to the floor atop of his discarded shirt. you unbutton his jeans, pull down his zip, and take both the waistband of them and his boxers, pulling them down.
normally, this act would be turning you on incredibly, but it’s hard to be when he’s so distant.
you take his socks off, then stand to your height and take his hand, smiling at him again. you carefully walk him over to the shower, letting him get inside and stand beneath the water for a moment. then you undress quickly, pulling of your work shirt and plain bra, then pulling down your pants and panties.
after pulling up your hair into a half-assed bun, you climb in after him.
you reach up to run your hands through his hair as usual, to spread the water and get it wet, but he suddenly turns around and presses his forehead against your shoulder.
you try to not let the shock show on your face, even if he can’t see it. your hands remain up for a second, before moving to hold him. one settles on the back of his neck, the other at the top of his spine.
you stand like that for a few minutes beneath the water, just close to each other. after a little while, you start to hear him sniffling, and something warm drip onto your shoulder, definitely not shower water.
“oh, baby..” you whisper, feeling your own tears well up in your eyes. “don’t cry, shh… it’s okay.” you wrap your arms around him tighter, your hand on his neck moving up to his hair.
he’s silent for a little while, just crying into your shoulder. his arms wrap around your waist, and he nuzzles his nose into your neck. you think this is the most he’s touched you in months.
“i..” he gasps, voice shaky. your heart breaks. “i just can’t stop thinking about it.”
you close your eyes, trying your best not to sob. “i know, i know… it’s gonna be okay, honey… i’m here for you, i’m not going anywhere.”
he lifts his head up, glossy eyes staring at you. you take his face in your hands, smiling tearfully at him. “you are so strong. i love you so much.”
his face twitches as more tears spill from his eyes, he takes your wrist and puts your hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. “i love you too.”
god, you’ve not heard that in a long time. you pull him back into your arms, standing in a sorta hug with him.
you both stand like that for what seems like hours, him silently crying into your neck as you stroke his back, kissing his hair softly.
after a while, you feel his lips brush your neck. then he begins to kiss it delicately, pressing little kisses up to your jawline.
“leon?” you ask, moving your head back to question him, but all he does is shush you, continuing to kiss up to your cheek. he places his hands on your hips, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips.
he brushes his lips against yours, sad eyes staring right into yours. you swallow nervously. “honey, i don’t want you to rush into anything. it’s okay, we can take it one step at a—”
he cuts you off with a gentle kiss, his plump lips pressing against yours. it doesn’t last long, he pulls away after a few seconds. he moves his hands from your hips to your waist, eyes flickering between your lips and eyes. “‘m ready.. ‘n i want you..” he whispers, desperation laced in his tone.
he leans closer again, but you shift your head back. “baby, are you sure?”
leon lets out a quiet whine, eyes locked onto your lips as he places his forehead against yours. “mhm.”
even though you were surprised by his sudden clinginess, you couldn’t deny that even the feeling of his touch and longing look in his gaze was already making your stomach churn.
“‘js need you..” he brushed his lips against yours again. “need to forget.”
you understand. you nod at him, arms reaching up to wrap around his neck. you kiss him softly, then again, then again, and again. he pulls you closer, your soft chest smushed against his hard one, and he deepens the kiss.
you immediately allow his tongue entrance to your mouth, sighing happily against him. he whimpers quietly, hands gripping you tighter as his lips move against yours more fervently.
“baby..” he whispers, pulling away for air. he leans down to suck at your neck, nipping and kissing.
“i know..” you murmur back, already feeling the wetness between your legs grow.
he kisses down to your chest, leaving hickeys in his wake. “‘s been so long…”
you nodded, eyes closing at the feeling. already, you felt as if all the stress of the past few months was melting away.
he leans back up, smashing his lips back against yours with a moan, his hands groping your tits. you shuddered, clenching around nothing already.
you pull away. he chases your mouth, but you lean down to kiss at his neck.
you suck harshly, kissing the spot afterward. you paid extra attention to the sensitive spot between his moles, his little whines making your clit throb.
“fuck..” he sighs. you look up to see his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, staring at you.
you almost cum untouched at the way his eyes are so blown.
you glance down, and actually moan out loud at the sight. he’s just as turned on as you, his cock standing at full attention, pale pink tip practically staring right at you.
you look back up at him, pressing your lips against his, tongue tangling languidly with his.
one of your hands moves from the back of his neck to his chest, gliding down. you gently take his dick into your hand. he gasps and lets out a choked moan against you at the contact.
fuck, he’s already leaking. you swipe your thumb against his slit, and he shudders. you spread the precum over his cock, running your hand up and down slowly.
he has to pull away to gasp. his head falls back against your shoulder. you smile, hand moving faster.
he’s already fucking dripping all over your hand, which isn’t all that surprising, it has been three months. hell, you think you can feel your wetness on your inner thighs.
his hips are twitching already, and he’s whimpering into your neck, and.. is he drooling?
“fuck.. oh fuck, baby… that’s it, that’s..” he’s cut off by his own gasp as you speed up, and it’s so wet that you can hear the squelching over the sound of the shower.
“oh my fuhhhck… ‘m gonna cum, gonnacum gonna..” he cries, hips bucking into your grip. his whines are growing more frequent and loud.
he’s whispering something, and you listen closely, “make me cum, make me cum… i need it, needitneed…”
you go even faster, kissing his hair. “cum ‘fr me, baby..”
his breath seems to be lost, he’s gasping and hiccuping. then, with one final moan, he’s releasing white ropes onto your stomach and hand.
you stroke him through it, whispering sweet praises into his ear. you take your hand off of him once he whines out of overstimulation, and his spend easily washes off since you’re in the shower.
you kiss him delicately on his cheek when he pulls away from your neck, staring at you lovingly. “you did so well, you’re so good..”
you think that’s the end of it. you’ll wash his hair, help him change, and cuddle him to sleep. then it’ll go back to how it’s been for months in the morning.
you move to reach behind you for the shampoo, but he takes your wrist and holds it between his hands.
he’s looking at you so intensely that you almost want to shy away from his gaze. but you don’t.
he licks his lips, and you resist the urge to stare.
“what, you think we’re done?”
god, it’s just all so slippery.
the way your back is sliding against the tile wall, the wet sound of leon’s hips slapping against your ass, your legs gliding along his waist, the feeling of both of your saliva-coated lips moving against each other.
leon is fucking dumb, non-stop whining and whimpering against you as he desperately ruts up into you. the feeling of your soaked pussy clenching around him made him feel like he was on cloud nine.
you both had already came twice together, his cum was still oozing out of your pussy.
leon pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. your foreheads press together, and he’s practically slobbering all over you. his speech is slurring together. “baby.. oh my god, fuck… this feels so.. so..”
you let out a moan, your head leaning back against the wall, “fuckk, i know.” you already feel your third peak rapidly approaching.
his tip is repeatedly nudging that spot over and over and over and it’s almost too much, your breathing is uneven and heavy.
he drops his head back into your neck, and if you weren’t so cockdrunk, you’d probably laugh at how it’s practically his new home.
his hot breath is hitting your shoulder, needy moans spilling repeatedly from his mouth.
“leon,” you gasped out, needing to look into those pretty eyes when you cum. “leon, honey, look at me.”
he shakes his head frantically, his thrusts becoming sloppier and his pace growing faster.
“look at me, please.” you repeat, your climax is right there, you need this.
“can’t,” he panted, his hands that are on the back of your thighs grip harder, bruises surely forming. “can’t or i’ll cum. wan’ this to last…”
“baby, ‘s okay, we can— fuck, we can go again.”
he whimpers at your words, licking sloppily at your neck. “ohhh my fuck.. ‘m gonna cum againn.. gonna— gonna fill you up.”
“please,” you whined, desperation to be filled rolling over you like a tidal wave. “cum, baby, ‘s alright.”
he’s muttering something incoherent, completely pussydrunk. your words are making his cock twitch relentlessly inside you.
your hand reaches into his hair and you pull it, smashing your lips against his.
he lets out the fucking sluttiest moan you’ve heard from him yet, and his hips still and you feel that familiar, welcome warmth fill you. his tongue is rolling with yours lewdly.
his hips weakly buck up, fucking his cum into you. after a few moments of catching your breaths, he reluctantly pulls out. you shakily put your legs back onto the shower floor, holding tightly onto his shoulders for support.
he watches his cum droop from your pussy with fascination, and uses two fingers to push it back inside. he swallows harshly.
your head rolls back, exhaustion taking hold of your limbs.
leon gets the hint, and this time, it’s him helping you out of the shower and change.
once you’re all settled in bed, you’re more than ready to go straight to sleep. until you feel a brush against your spent cunt.
your eyes flicker to leon, who’s just watching his hand that’s cupping your pussy through your pyjama shorts.
you furrow your brows at him in confusion, and he just lifts the blanket and gets eye-level with your clothed core.
“what’re you doing?” you ask tiredly, despite already growing horny again.
“well, you didn’t cum that last time, hm?” he murmured, taking the waistband of your shorts and fresh panties, beginning to pull them down. his tongue darts out to lick his lips.
you smile, letting your head roll back onto the pillow and closing your eyes, letting your legs spread wider.
Do you know how fucked up your team has to be for Bucky Barnes to be the most stable member
ready for this to get zero likes!!! yayyb!!¡¡!!¡!!!
nathan mackinnon actually isn't real he's apart of your imagination
new video from today… IT CAST REUNION WHEN💔💔
read pt.1 here
uh warning for blood again and again it's not that descriptive lol
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it was late when bucky finally came home. you heard him before you saw him, the soft shuffle of boots by the door, the quiet clink of keys landing in the dish you’d both agreed was “aesthetic” even though neither of you actually cared.
he let out a long, tired breath, the kind that said today had been a lot. maybe it was training. maybe it was meetings. maybe someone said something stupid and he had to keep himself from punching them through a wall. again. you were curled up on the couch, wearing one of his old shirts, frayed at the collar, soft from years of washes, still smelling faintly like him. you’d gotten home an hour or so earlier, dropped your things, kicked off your boots, and started to decompress. or at least, you tried. but you were hungry.
not food hungry. not in the usual sense. not in the way normal people were after a long day. no—this was the kind of hunger that settled behind your ribs and tugged at your spine. it stirred quietly at first, but by the time bucky walked in, it was loud. gnawing. electric. he stepped into the living room, face softening the second he saw you.
“hey, baby,” he said, dropping his bag near the table.
“hi,” you murmured, eyes locked on him.
he paused. tilted his head, a little amused. a little curious.
“you eat?”
you shook your head. “not yet.”
he gave a low, knowing laugh and moved toward the bookshelf. “figured. you’ve got that look in your eye.”
you watched him as he pulled out a dog eared paperback, one you’d seen him reread a dozen times. his vibranium arm caught the lamplight as he settled into the armchair across from you, thumbing open the book.
you didn’t move for a second. just watched him. the curve of his throat, the line of his jaw, the way the muscles in his forearm flexed slightly as he turned the page. the gold and brown light painted across his skin like something holy. you rose without a sound. padded across the room, slow and careful, but there was nothing predatory about it. not really. this wasn’t about taking. this was about wanting. needing. he didn’t flinch when you slid into his lap. didn’t say a word when you nuzzled your nose against his neck, breathing him in.
“rough day?” you asked, voice soft.
“mm,” he hummed, eyes scanning the page. “long. annoying. too many people talking and not enough doing.”
your lips brushed the edge of his jaw.
“you gonna fix that for me?” he asked, teasing now, the corner of his mouth twitching.
“maybe,” you said, letting your lips trail down the column of his throat. “depends if you let me.”
he tilted his head back slightly, exposing more skin, still pretending to read. “i always let you.”
your fangs pressed gently to his pulse point. he didn’t flinch. didn’t tense. just sighed, low and content.
“you smell good,” you murmured.
“you always say that,” he muttered, flipping the page.
“it’s always true.”
you licked a slow stripe across the side of his neck, tasting the salt there, the warmth, the faintest trace of iron beneath his skin. his heart beat steady and strong.
“go ahead,” he whispered.
you didn’t need to be told twice.
your mouth opened over his neck, your fangs sinking in with practiced ease. he inhaled sharply through his nose, his hand tightening on the armrest. the blood hit your tongue warm and rich, heady like dark wine and something deeper underneath. like rain on hot pavement. like warmth in winter.
he kept reading. barely even twitched.
you fed slowly, taking your time, mouth sealed to his skin, one hand on his chest to steady yourself. he was warm, solid beneath you. grounding. he murmured something you couldn’t hear, probably reacting to something in the book. your hunger quieted, replaced by that soft hum of connection, the bond between you thick in the air. this was trust. this was something holy.
when you finally pulled back, lips still tingling, you licked the punctures clean. they were already closing, healing faster than they should. his eyes met yours, still half lidded, still calm.
“better?” he asked.
“mmhm.”
you shifted in his lap, curling against his chest. he closed the book and wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
“good,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “hate seeing my girl all hungry.”
you smiled.
you fell asleep like that, tangled up in him, warm and full, the city beyond your windows fading into a hush. let them call him a hero. let the world watch him save it over and over again. you had him first. and he was home with you.
DETECTIVE COMICS
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
SUPERMAN/CLARK KENT
the hero that needs rest. – one shot. fluff.
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
BATFAMILY MASTERLIST
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
THE QUESTION/VIC SAGE
｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──
the apartment is quiet except for the soft sound of the stove and the distant rhythm of traffic outside. your daughter is at the table, her little legs swinging from the chair, tongue poking out in concentration as she draws. crayon in one hand, juice box in the other. there's a mess of purple scribbles that sort of look like a shield. or maybe a cat. you’re chopping vegetables one handed, phone balanced on your shoulder, listening to a voicemail from your sister you’ve already heard twice today. the mundane feels good. normal. still. the front door doesn’t creak anymore—bucky fixed the hinge last week—but you still hear him before you see him. boots scuffing the hallway floor. the rustle of that jacket he won’t get rid of. you glance up and he’s there, like he always is lately. a little tired around the eyes, jaw set, still half lost in whatever mission they just pulled him from.
he drops his duffel at the door and steps out of his boots before he even says hi. you know what that means. it was a rough one.
“hey,” you say, not turning around yet.
“hey.” his voice is low, rasped at the edges. he moves into the kitchen slowly, like he’s not sure how to belong in the quiet after everything loud.
“daddy!” lily shouts, twisting in her seat. she scrambles down and runs to him.
his face softens the second she touches him. “hey,” he says, crouching low to catch her. “what’d i miss?”
“i drew you!" she announces proudly, pulling him by the hand toward the table.
he gives you a quick glance, something grateful in it, like he’s thanking you just for being here, for holding it all together.
you dry your hands and join them. lily is explaining the drawing: him in a suit, you with a bow and arrow (which you definitely don’t use anymore), and some kind of flying car in the sky. bucky listens like it’s the most important briefing he’s ever received.
“that me?” he asks, pointing at the stick figure with messy scribbles for hair and something that might be a star on his chest.
“yeah,” she grins. “you’re an avenger now.”
bucky huffs a laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “guess i am, huh.”
he doesn’t sound proud. not exactly. more like he’s still trying to believe it. still doesn’t know what it means to be one of the good guys. still doesn’t feel like he belongs in the lineup. but you see it. in the way he kneels on the kitchen floor to listen to his daughter’s stories. in the way he checks every window and door before bed. in how he wakes up in the middle of the night just to look at the two of you and make sure it’s real. he’s not the winter soldier anymore. he’s something new. something softer. something harder to define.
after dinner, he helps clean up without being asked. washes dishes with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, that vibranium arm gleaming under the kitchen light. you lean against the counter, watching him in the quiet.
“you okay?” you ask.
he nods slowly. “just… tired.”
you reach for him without thinking, resting a hand on his back. “i can’t tell if you mean physically or existentially.”
he gives a small, tired smile. “both.”
there’s a pause. then, quieter: “they’re calling us something new now,” he says. “not 'thunderbolts' anymore. it’s more official. more public.”
“new avengers?”
“something like that.”
you nod. you expected this. since val’s people started cleaning house and putting the new lineup together. since they sent him back into the field with an actual team and something that looked like purpose.
“you good with that?” you ask.
he shrugs. “i don’t know. i keep waiting for someone to realize i’m not supposed to be there.”
“bucky,” you say, serious now. “you’ve earned this.”
“have i?”
“you show up. every day. for us. for them. for yourself. what more do you want?”
he leans in then, forehead to yours, just breathing you in.
later, after lily’s asleep and the apartment is dark except for the low lamp by the bed, he crawls in beside you and wraps an arm around your waist.
“i don’t know how to be the guy she thinks i am,” he murmurs.
you press a kiss to his collarbone. “you don’t have to be. just... be here for her.”
he exhales against your neck. “that, i can do.”
you two couldn't sleep. the blankets in the bed are pulled up to your waists, your legs tangled without thinking. the lamp casts a warm gold over the room. he’s lying on his side, head propped on his hand, his hair’s still damp from the shower, curling just a little at the ends, and his skin smells like your body wash.
“you're pretty.” he praises lowly, voice rough and tired.
you smile, eyes closed. “mm. pretty sure you said that yesterday.”
he leans in, nose brushing your jaw, lips finding the edge of your neck. slow, unhurried. “yeah, well. still true.”
you hum, tilting your chin up for him without even thinking. he kisses the spot just beneath your ear, where your pulse flutters, and you feel him smile against your skin. his hand slides over your hip under the blanket, fingertips tracing the shape of you like he’s grounding himself there. he tugs gently at the edge of his old henley you’d stolen months ago. his hand doesn’t stop moving. just slow passes over the curve of your waist, your thigh, your back. it’s not rushed. not needy.
he mouths at your jaw, your neck, just a press of lips. not quite kisses. you think maybe he’s too tired for anything more. you’re so caught up in the press of his body, the feel of him in your space, that you almost don’t notice when his hand presses into the small of your back and tugs. he pushes you gently until you’re on your back, flat against the bed. he shifts, moving to hover over you like always. he leans in for a proper kiss then, slow and warm. something like coming home. you meet him with a hand in his hair, keeping him there, and feel his answering smile against your lips. it’s not long before it edges deeper, rougher. he bites at your lip, tugging softly, and you arch up against him with a sharp inhale. "lily's right there—" you breathe out.
he doesn’t pull away. just hums against your mouth. he noses at your neck again, the rough edge of his stubble dragging over your skin. "she’s the heaviest sleeper on the planet. we’ll be fine.”
you kiss him, warm breath mingling in the hush between heartbeats. he smiles into the kiss, hand sliding up to cup your jaw, thumb sweeping over your cheek. steadying you as your mouth moves in a quiet rhythm, tasting the moment. it’s soft but deliberate, each kiss deepening just enough to make you both lean in more, wanting, needing, sighing into eachother. the world narrows to skin, and lips. his tongue swipes at your bottom lip. it’s so gentle, so careful.
just as he’s pulled back a fraction, the bedroom door creaks open. he’s off you in a second, dropping to his elbows at your side. you’re both breathing heavy, heart going wild. lily stands in the doorway, looking tiny in her little white nightgown. “can’t sleep?” bucky asks, running a hand through his hair. you notice in the low light that the tips of his ears are flushed pink. your shirt collar is askew, his henley twisted around your waist. she shakes her head and pads over. she’s rubbing one eye with a tiny fist and dragging her blanket on the floor behind her. bucky props himself up, shifting to make room for her on the bed.
“alright. come here,” he murmurs, lifting her up. she slots herself in between you easily, shoving her face in your shoulder like she always does. she’s warm from sleep, the side of her little body pushing flush against yours. bucky’s hand is splayed across her back, his thumb rubbing idle circles.
“how are you doing?” you ask, smoothing her messy hair down. usually, once she’s down for the night, she’s out for the count.
she looks up at you, blinking sleepily, then at him. his cheek is resting on top of her head. “i had a nightmare,” she mumbles into your shirt.
his face softens instantly. you can feel his hand on her back pause for a second. “what about?” he asks.
“you an’ momma were gone,” she mumbles, voice going soft. “for a long time.” her little fist grips your shirt tighter.
“not going anywhere, kid,” he says, voice low. he presses a kiss to her head, eyes still on you. “promise.”
