｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

clark’s 6’3 soooo yk 🙂‍↕️

“Been waiting all night for you, you know that?” As you pulled your shirt over your head, Clark's hands were already working at the buttons of his own shirt. He settled between your legs, the heat of his bare skin pressing against yours. He positioned himself at your entrance, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to maintain control. With a single, powerful thrust, he sheathed himself inside you, stretching and filling you completely.

A guttural moan escaped his lips at the sensation of your tight cunt enveloping him. He paused for a moment, allowing you both to adjust to the intensity of the connection. Then he began to move, setting a relentless pace as he drove into you again and again. Clark's hands gripped your hips, holding you in place as he claimed you with a ferocity that bordered on desperation. His lips found yours once more, kissing you deeply, hungrily, as if trying to devour you whole.

Clark leaned back, pulling you with him as he shifted positions. He brought your hips up, angling your body so that he could drive deeper, hitting that sweet spot inside you with each powerful thrust. The new position allowed him to watch your face, to see the pleasure etched on your features as he claimed you. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you wider as he pounded into you with increasing intensity.

“You're so pretty like this, so perfect.” He could feel your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. Clark's hips slowed slightly as he felt your body strain beneath him. “Are you okay?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “Do you need me to stop?”

You shook your head, your breath coming in short gasps. “No, don't stop,” you managed to say. “It's just...so much.” A slow, satisfied smile spread across Clark's face.

“Takin’ me so well,” he panted, his hips picking up the pace once more. “Look at how deep I am.” His eyes ogled down to the bulge his cock was creating in your belly. With a low groan, he pressed his hand against it, feeling the hard length of himself moving within you.

His thrusts became more deliberate, more focused, as he chased his release. His hand remained on your belly, feeling the way your body yielded to his, taking every inch of him. “Give it to me baby, I wanna feel you cum.”

Clark felt your body clench around him, your inner walls pulsing and contracting as you reached your orgasm. Your cry of his name echoed in the room, a sound of pure ecstasy that made his dick twitch inside of you. Your release triggered his own, and with a final, powerful thrust, Clark buried himself deep inside you. His body tensed, his muscles coiling tight as he spilled thick ropes of cum deep within your aching cunt.

Clark rolled off of you, his body still humming with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He couldn't help the slick smile that spread across his face as he lay beside you, his eyes stared up at the ceiling.

His mind reeled back to the bulge he created in your tummy and the way his hand had pressed against your skin, feeling himself inside you. The affirmation wrapped around him like a warm coat, feeding a part of him he rarely acknowledged. He wasn’t one to dwell on vanity, but in that moment, he couldn’t help himself.

For once, he let his ego revel, if only for a little while.

no literally because the whole point of the show is that it doesn’t ask you to forgive them! it’s not about justifying any of it, it’s about what people become when survival isn’t clean. let things be awful.

why are people in the tags obsessed with justifying/defending the characters in Yellowjackets. Can't things just be terrible?

what if instead of tumblr.com it was called tumblr.freak and we all got freaky with eachother

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 🤍

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!

good try. but not even a chicago pope can save connor bedard.

MASTERLIST

READER INSERTS

𐂂 detective comics (dcu)

𐂂 five night's at freddy's

𐂂 heroes of olympus

𐂂 marvel

𐂂 miscellaneous

𐂂 resident evil

𐂂 the last of us

𐂂 percy jackson

𐂂 uncharted

𐂂 wonka

CHARACTER SHIPS

𐂂 dune

𐂂 marauders

𐂂 the walking dead

𐂂 uncharted

𐂂 resident evil

𐂂 marvel

𐂂 yellowjackets

𐂂 detective comics (dcu)

anyone ever think about the fact that this is canon now

WOOHOOO THATS THE SPARK WE NEED!!!! NO TIME TO WASTE!