The problem with drinking? You have a thirst you can’t quench, one you can’t satisfy no matter how much you take down. It’ll numb you kid, but only for a little bit. Just enough to trick yourself into thinking you’re not in pain, so that you can sleep just for a night.
Warnings: Smut - NSFW – Sexual themes, inappropriate language, nudity, handjob,
fingering, squirting, unprotected sex - please guys if you’re going to be intimate with someone, please use protection. Also if you’re underage, please don’t read this.
Author’s Note: Hi guys, I don’t even know what to say about this. I think this
is the most smuty thing I’ve ever wrote ahah so all I can say is I hope you
enjoy it. This is also for @marvelous-fvcks writing
challenge. I hope you like it! I did my best. And please guys, tell me what you think of it. I’m so nervous for some reason ahaha.
Prompt Word: Hickey
Dean surprises everyone when he hands Cas the iPhone, brand new in its pristine white box. The angel is overwhelmed; he knew his flip phone was outdated but this…
“And wait,” Dean smiles, grabbing another package from the bag. “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.”
They’re headphones, large ones in a big box and a little plastic container of smaller ear buds. They both have the label Shure on the side, a fact that has Sam’s hazel eyes wide and Castiel blushing under the lavishness of the gifts. “Dean, I don’t need–”
“I know,” Dean says. His smile, though hesitant and shy, is beautiful. “I, uh, I wanted to. ‘Sides, can’t have you listening to shitty tunes on shitty headphones, y'know?”
The phone has already been set up, a fact Castiel is eternally grateful for. The angel watches as Dean explains how the device works, tapping at the screen and plugging in the huge headphones and carefully placing them over Cas’s ears. Castiel flinches in response: “Sorry.”
“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies. His smile is brave and fake, and Cas hates it. He wishes he could relax. He wishes he could stop being anxious and sad. But ever since he expelled Lucifer and killed Amara, things have been—different. Loud noises make him jump, unexpected touches make him cringe and flinch, and he often loses himself in his own thoughts.
“Hey, here, I wanna show you something.” This time, Dean warns him before touching him, his calloused fingers smoothing over his arm as his other hand hovers over the phone. “I’m gonna press play, okay? You’ll like it, I promise.”
With the knowledge that the song will be a surprise, Castiel tenses up, his shoulders almost touching his ears. He nods and bites his lip, almost to the point of blood.
Dean’s green eyes become dull and worried in response, and the hunter gives a little nod of his own. He presses play. Cas flinches pre-emptively.
And then it’s just… alright. Good, even.
In the place of music, the sound of rain filters through his headphones. It’s a little bit of a shock at first, he has to turn the volume down because the bouts of thunder make him jump, but after a while, it becomes—relaxing. The sound is repetitive, soft, the thunder is low and grumbly, and it soothes Cas until he’s comfortable enough to slump in his seat. Dean, who at some point has sat down beside him, easily takes Castiel’s weight against his shoulder. When he wraps an arm around the angel, Cas doesn’t even flinch.
Soon after, the rain changes to the hum of a washing machine, but instead of another ten minutes of blissful white noise, the sound is soon interrupted by something sharper. It’s still a low sound, though, and with how relaxed Castiel is, the angel doesn’t startle.
So, uh, hey Cas, it’s me. Ah… Dean.
A smile begins to creep across Cas’s lips.
Shit. Fuck, of course it’s me—um, yep. So, it’s Dean. And I just. I just wanted to talk, I guess. I know it’s been kinda, uh, tough since you got back, and I know we don’t talk about it, but I’m… I’m worried, Cas. And I know I’m a coward. And I know I’m probably bein’ selfish right now, but it’s killin’ me to watch you waste away to nothing, man. I, ah, I love you too much for that. Like, I love you a lot, a-and—fuck. I’m not… doin’ this right.
Look, what I, I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that… I don’t care why you did it. I don’t. I care about you, Cas. And if you don’t love me back, that’s cool, and if you do, well… A shaky breath. Well, then, we move at your pace. But you’re all I care about. You gotta believe that.
Kay, um, well, I love you.
Cas doesn’t know he’s crying until Dean is wiping at his cheeks, freckled skin drowning in ruby red warmth as the hunter coos and hushes him. Castiel grasps Dean’s wrists tightly and carefully leans in, his breath shaky and laboured and nervous before he presses the sweetest of chaste kisses upon the other’s lips. Immediately after, Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck and hugs his hunter tightly. “Thank you,” he breathes.
Dean’s small, relieved smile presses against the top of Castiel’s head. “Yeah, god, anytime, Cas,” he breathes. “L-love you.”
It takes a handful of seconds before Cas can gather up the air to answer—before he’s absolutely certain this is real. Fingers twisting in the material of Dean’s shirt, the angel nods, throat clicking with his swallow. His lips part.
Warnings: SMUT, masturbation, reader performing uh, manual sex (I don’t know how to describe a hand job), swear words (cuz I’m a potty mouth)
Summary: Bucky constantly talks about ‘me time’ and Reader is dying to find out what exactly he does.
ANI really wanted to make this as filthy as possible as homage to @emilyevanston but it’s not nearly at her level. I tried! This fic is written as a one shot for @emilyevanston ‘s 1 year / 2k blogiversary. I hope you enjoy it my dear! xo
GIF not mine
Bucky was always touting the importance of “me time” to anyone and everyone was getting sick of hearing him explain, always with that shit-eating smirk on his face, just how necessary it was for one to take some time for themselves. You did have to admit that whenever he returned from his “me time’ there was a noticeable improvement in his mood.
You point blank asked him about it one day during training.
“Bucky, what exactly does ‘me time’ entail?”
You swore a slight flush crawl up his neck and dust his cheeks. “Well, it’s really anything that you do that makes you … makes you feel good, ya know?”
You shook your head, “No. Like… painting?” You had a hard time picturing the Winter Soldier sketching in a notebook.
He nodded, “For some people, yeah. Like Steve. His ‘me time’ involves drawing. Nat likes running.”
“So what do you do?”
“My time is a little more… physical.” He smirked.
“Like what?” you persisted.
“Never you mind,” was his response.
A few days after that conversation happened, the air conditioner in the tower was on the fritz. Tony swore he had no idea how it happened, but you knew he had been tinkering with it, trying to make it strong enough to actually make snow.
Because it was so hot, everyone was super cranky and irritable. People were snapping at each other for the most ridiculous things so you tried to avoid everyone, choosing to remain in your room in the dark, wearing as little as possible. After a while though, you realized that you weren’t feeling any cooler so you ventured out to the kitchen to grab a cold drink (at least the fridge and freezers were working).
You walked into Sam and Bucky bickering over a game of cards (why they thought a competitive game would be a good idea on a day when they were unusually cranky was beyond you).
Without interrupting them, you trudged to the fridge and pulled out your bottle of water, shivering slightly at the cool air coming from the inside.
“Y/N, would you tell Bucky here that you need to call last card before you have the last damn card?” Sam huffed at you.
Holding up a finger, you took a long swallow of your drink. “You only have to call it if you decide upon it I the start of the game. Sorry, Sam.”
He frowned at you and threw down his cards, “Ugh, of course you’d take his side.” He rolled his eyes.
You smiled and flipped him the bird.
Bucky was unusually quiet during this exchange. Abruptly, he stood up and excused himself, muttering something about ‘me time’.
You scolded Sam, “See what you did? You upset him.” You were about to go after him but Sam stopped you.
“Want some ice cream?” he offered and you gladly accepted.
Later that day, you walked by Steve and Bucky in the game room playing pool. You were on your way to the library to do some quiet reading but you had forgotten to ask Steve if he had returned some books that you lent him.
“Hey guys…Steve, do you still have those books I lent you?” you interrupted.
Steve looked up from the pool table and almost dropped his pool cue. “Y/N!” he scolded. “Where are your clothes?”
You shrugged, looking down at what you were wearing. Since it was so hot, you had been walking around in a tank top and shorts. “Steve, it’s hot. What do you want me to wear?”
He flushed, “Sorry. I guess I’m just used to seeing you a lot more covered up.”
You felt your face turn warm, “You’re embarrassing me, you ass. It’s too hot to wear too many clothes. Besides, it’s not much different than what you’ve got on.” You crossed your arms, “So… my books?”
“They’re in my room, come by later and get them.”
“Should I wear more clothes? Would that make you more comfortable?” you teased him.
He blushed, “Sorry!” he apologized again.
You shrugged at him, “Whatever. I’m going to get a drink. Want anything?”
Bucky just shook his head at you, lips pursed. Steve asked for an iced tea.
When you returned with his drink, Bucky was gone and Steve was playing a video game.
“Where’d Buck go?” you asked, handing him his drink.
“Thanks. Uh, to his room. Said he needed some ‘me time’,” he rolled his eyes.
You stomped your foot down. “Dammit! That’s the second time today he’s left me for his damned ‘me time’! I’m starting to get the feeling that something’s up.”
“Nah,” Steve replied. “You’re being paranoid.”
“Maybe,” you mused, “but I’m going to investigate.”
“Y/N,” he warned, “Don’t go sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
You batted your lashes at him, “Lil ol me?” you asked.
He laughed as you walked away.
You made your way to Bucky’s room but stopped before walking in. What if Steve was right? Maybe you should be minding your own business. But you heard noises coming from behind the door and curiosity got the best of you so you quietly pushed his door open.
You froze at the sight before you. Bucky was splayed across his bed, head back, eyes closed in concentration. His shorts were pushed down and his metal hand gripped the sheets around him as his flesh hand stroked up and down, choking his thick cock. His pace was fast, almost furious, and the sounds coming from him immediately made your pussy wet.
You watched him for a moment, frozen in spot when suddenly, he moaned out your name.
You took a sharp breath in and his eyes flew open, making eye contact with yours.
He cocked an eyebrow at you and kept going, slowing down his movements.
You watched as he swiped his thumb over his dripping head and used his precum to lubricate his hand.
Silently, your eyes followed the motion and without realizing it, you licked your lips.
Bucky let out a low moan and you made eye contact again.
“You’re fuckin’ killing me,” he ground out, between clenched teeth.
You shook your head in disbelief not sure what was going on.
He continued in his actions, moving his hand agonizingly slow. “All day long, you’ve been killin’ me. Every time you walked into the room… your fuckin’ tits bouncing in my face. Watching you walk away, your ass in those shorts…” he threw his head back, groaning obscenely and heat flooded your body.
“What?” you choked out, still not understanding what exactly was going on. “Is this really happening?”
He chuckled drily, “Sweetheart, this is about you. The things you do to me… the things I wanna do to you.”
You swallowed hard, “Fuck Bucky, why didn’t you ever say anything?”
He hand halted in his movements, “Seriously? Can we table this conversation for later, maybe?”
You laughed, walking towards him. “Need a hand there?” You stopped in your tracks. “Wait…this is what you do during ‘me time’?!”
He had the decency to look embarrassed, “Uh, yeah?” he offered.
You just laughed at him, “Of all the ridiculous things I’ve ever heard…” you leaned in and kissed him, hard. “Is it still ‘me time’ if two of us are doing it?” You winked at him, reaching down and replacing his hand with yours. You stroked him, hesitantly at first then increasing your speed.
Bucky moaned at your touch, “God, that feels so good.”
You kept up with your pace and kissed him, using your other hand to run your fingers through his hair.
He cupped your face with his hands, pulling you to him. Instinctively, his hips lifted of their own accord. “Shit, baby, I’m close…”
“Shh, come for me then,” you coaxed him.
You could feel his cock throbbing in your hand and with a groan, he came, ribbons of hot cum spurting out, coating his abdomen and chest.
You slowed down your movements and stilled, kissing him softly. You got up to get a towel so he could clean himself.
Bucky heard you giggling to yourself in the bathroom and he called out to you, “Y/N? What’s so funny?”
You returned and tossed him the towel, “You are. I can’t believe this is what you’ve been doing this whole time!”
He rolled his eyes at you and you continued.
“Can I ask an… awkward question?”
He looked at you, “At this point, I think we’re beyond awkwardness.”
Author’s Note: So, I wrote this the other night because I saw a picture of scruffy Dylan and I melted. Here it is! I hope you enjoy! Thanks again to my lovely babe @lovelydob for proofreading this for me!!
so i’ll thank erica (@startofamoment) one more time for this absolutely amazing list of prompts, and anonymous, who requested that i do this one. (title from marry you, by bruno mars)
25. It’s only half an hour into this stakeout, but to Jake it feels like it’s been an eternity. There’s a ring box burning a hole in his pocket, and a jumbled mess of ideas in his head. He knows Amy wouldn’t want him turning to anyone for approval, but the longer they sit in this car, the more inclined he is to ask Holt for advice.
Something is bothering Detective Jake Peralta. Raymond Holt isn’t sure what quite yet, but Peralta has only spoken three times since they parked the car half an hour ago, and, perhaps even more concerning, Peralta let Holt choose the music. Brahm dances through the still air of the car, but Raymond can’t even bring himself to enjoy it.
That’s a lie. He’s enjoying it a little.
At minute thirty eight of what is possibly the least interesting stakeout in history, Peralta, who has been eerily still, begins to fidget. By minute forty seven, he has maintained 247 consecutive seconds of movement, and Raymond is beginning to wonder if he should say something to the boy, who is now sitting cross-legged and drumming along to the beat of the classical music he claims to hate.
At minute forty eight, Ray Holt has convinced himself that he should break the silence. For all his talk of hating conversation, he secretly enjoys the constant stream of consciousness that flows out of Peralta’s mouth - an excellent source of white noise (at the thought, his lips twitch into what he considers a broad grin as he remembers his first stakeout at the Nine Nine, years earlier, when Santiago told him he should view Peralta’s constant monologue as just that. She was right - she almost always is.)
He decides he should be careful in how he inquires about Detective Peralta’s mental wellbeing - after all, he has no desire to make him uncomfortable or step over the line of appropriate workplace small talk. Currently, his two top ideas for ways to broach the silence are commenting on the weather and inquiring about the store at which Peralta purchased his leather jacket. Before he can settle on the appropriate course of action, however, Peralta has cleared his throat and (finally) settled again in his seat, his twitchy hands stilling and his legs unfolding and moving back to the floor of the car.