Latest Posts by axescryinwater - Page 10
NSFW CONTENT BELOW
you hear the soft whir of the vibranium arm before you see him. "kitchen’s closed,” bucky says behind you, voice quiet but firm.
you turn, caught halfway through raiding the fridge. “didn’t think you’d still be here.” he leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. that arm glints under the low light, metal fingers tapping lightly against his bicep. "didn’t feel like sleeping.”
you nod slowly. “yeah… same.” his eyes hold yours for a little too long. there’s something unreadable in them, like he’s working something out. then he pushes off the wall, steps closer.
“you always make this much noise sneaking around?” he murmurs, eyes flicking down to the open fridge, “or just when I’m here to catch you?”
you close the fridge door slowly, the soft thunk of it echoing louder than it should. bucky’s still watching you, that unreadable expression etched into his face like it’s been there for years. "i wasn’t sneaking,” you say, trying for nonchalant. “i was hungry.”
“mm.” he doesn’t sound convinced. “middle of the night kind of hungry?”
you shrug. “the insomnia kind.”
recognition flickers across his face at that. understanding. he steps closer, not quite invading your space, but close enough that the air shifts. that vibranium arm brushes the counter as he leans just slightly. “you’re not the only one.”
for a second, silence stretches out between you, thick, a little charged. you notice the way his jaw ticks, like he’s holding something back. maybe a thought. maybe something else. you nod toward the cabinets behind him. “you guarding the tea now, or am i allowed to pass?” he doesn’t move. just looks at you for a second like he’s trying to read something in your face.
“you always come down here when you can’t sleep?”
“only when I’m trying to avoid people.”
his mouth twitches, more a shift than a smile. “guess i’m not people now?”
you raise a brow. “didn’t say that.”
his eyes flick away, then back. “i can move.”
“you could,” you say, stepping closer. he doesn’t back off. the air between you tightens. “but you’re not going to,” you finish, voice quieter now.
he shakes his head once. “didn’t really feel like being alone tonight.”
his mouth found yours like he'd been thinking about it for longer than he'd admit-slow at first, careful, but that didn't last. now, you're backed against the wall of the kitchen. one of his hands braced beside your head, the metal one gripping your thigh. his metal arm was warm from contact and strong-so strong. his touch both calculated and desperate, like he didn't know where to put his hands because he wanted to be everywhere at once. he’s holding you so tight it almost hurts, the line between rough and tender blurring and disappearing. the warm metal of his fingers slips under your shirt, against the bare skin of your stomach, and you realize your back is arched against the wall to keep him against you.
his mouth moves against yours desperately. his stubble scrapes lightly against your chin, a sharp contrast to the soft, warm feel of his lips. he moves again, the hand on your thigh shifting, sliding to your hip, his thumb brushing over the bone there. his breath stutters against your mouth at the same time you gasp softly, your fingers grasping at his shirt. his hand covers your left breast, the metal sending shivers through you, and you try to hold back another gasp.
he pulls back just a fraction, watching you as his thumb brushes over your nipple—once, twice, slow. he does it again, this time pressing harder, grinding his hips against you at the same time, and you whimper against his mouth. he kisses down to your jaw, his teeth scraping against your skin. “shh."
the sound of your breathing fills the room as he teases you, moving his hand in slow, maddening circles. one moment he’s kissing your jaw, the next, he’s sucking a path down your throat, his touch everywhere. the metal of the vibranium was almost burning against your skin. he drags his thumb over you again, making you buck your hips against his. bucky leans against you, the tension in your hips pressing his hardness into you. his mouth is against your neck, his breath and beard sending tingles of pleasure through you with each movement. his hips find a slow, steady rhythm, he presses a trail of kisses down your neck, stopping against your collarbone. your head drops back, hitting the wall behind you with a soft thunk. he presses a kiss to your jawline before leaning up to look at you. his eyes are darker than you’ve ever seen, his expression a little uncertain. “is this-” he pauses, breath hitching as you rock into him. “--is this okay?”
your hips roll against him, your chest rising and falling hard as you try to catch your breath. you find his eyes, and your breath hitches when you see those pretty blue eyes staring back at you like a puppy, his eyes dilated. “this is okay,” you say, voice low, “god, it’s more than okay. please-” he presses his hips to you in a slow drag, his movements languid but calculated. your eyes fall away from his, and a soft whine escapes you as his metal hand trails lazily down your side. he kisses you, deep and hard, his left hand coming up to brace against your throat. he doesn’t press to restrict your air–he wouldn’t do that, and especially not here–he just holds it there, savoring the feel of your pulse moving against his fingers.
his right hand is still sliding across your skin, his thumb brushing against your hip bone. he presses closer, his hips against yours as he guides you up, then down, then up again in a lazy rhythm. he’s still holding your throat with something that almost feels like reverence, the feel of your skin under the pads of his metal fingers is almost hypnotizing. it feels overwhelming and so, so good. bucky’s eyes find yours, his lips parted, his breath coming in little pants. his right hand moves over the lace-adorned fabric, “god,” he whispers, tracing over the hem of your night wear. his hand is still on your neck, the metal so warm from contact.
his metal hand flexes against your neck before trailing down to your lower waist, his hand moves to your warm inner thighs, his middle finger rubbing slowly against the wetness of your panties. he lifts you onto the countertop and his hands go immediately to your thighs, gripping them and spreading them to make room for him. he’s between your legs, his hips rocking against yours as he pulls you to the edge of the counter. his metal hand brushes over the elastic of your panties before gently pulling it off, discarding them somewhere on the counter.
he moves his vibranium fingertip over your entrance before slowly slipping a finger in. his head falls into your neck at how warm you were. his finger dips further in rubbing against your g-spot before slowly pressing in another metal finger. he makes a sound against your skin, a strangled moan that’s muffled by his mouth against your neck. you arch up, but you’re pressed against the counter so all you can do is lean into him, and his hips jerk against yours reflexively. he’s moving slowly, taking his time, the pad of his finger moving in slow circles against your swollen clit that draws a cry from you. he’s watching your face, his flesh hand pressed to your thigh to keep you still. he lets out another sound, and this time it’s a curse that you’re just able to make out between the noises you’re panting out. he hits that sweet spot every. single. time. his forehead pressed against your glistening neck, you can see how hard he is, his hips rocking in time with his big fingers, and he's letting out these mouthwatering whimpers. gently sucking and biting little marks into your collarbone area, his right hand gripping your thigh so hard you know that you'll see some light bruises tomorrow.
you can feel the tension building and building in your lower belly, and when his hips buck particularly harshly one time it presses his thumb into a perfect angle against your clit, making you see white for a second, your eyes fluttering shut as they roll back with a whine, clenching around his fingers, your head lolled back against the wall, you hear him finally say something against your skin, "cum for me– please–" his voice is barely louder than a whisper but you hear him loud and clear. your hips jerk forward before you cum, his name a ragged chant as pleasure washes over you. he works you through it. letting out choked moans, his breath harsh against your skin. he slowly withdrawls his messy metal hand, pressing soft kisses against your neck, you're both a mess, skin slick with sweat, your muscles trembling. he pulls his head away, looking down at his glistening hand before looking back up at you and kissing you.
UNCHARTED
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
NATHAN DRAKE
toast kisses — fluff, drabble.
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
CHLOE FRAZER
don't get attached. — fluff? kinda? one shot.
the house was quiet, the kind of stillness that only existed in early mornings, when the world hadn't quite woken up yet, but your brain was already humming with the simple rhythm of eggs sizzling in a pan and toast ticking in the toaster.
sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in long, honey colored beams, softening the edges of everything. you stood barefoot at the stove, wearing one of nate’s old t-shirts that hit you mid thigh, sleeves too long, fabric worn thin from years of washes and adventure dust. the only sound was the faint hiss of breakfast cooking… until you heard the floorboards creak behind you. you glanced over your shoulder and smiled. nathan drake, world famous treasure hunter, was standing at the bottom of the stairs looking like he’d been hit by a truck made of sleep. his hair was a mess, shirt rumpled from twisting in the sheets, pajama pants hanging low on his hips. but the thing that caught your eye, the thing that made you pause, was the fact that he was wearing his glasses. you rarely saw them. he usually only pulled them out when he was reading something fine print, or up late sorting through notes. he hated wearing them. said they made him feel old. vulnerable. but this morning? he’d clearly just grabbed them without thinking. they were a little crooked on his nose, still fogged from the heat of upstairs. you turned back to the stove, biting your lip around a grin. “morning, professor.”
he let out a gravelly huff that was somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “that obvious?”
you slid the eggs off the heat and looked back again, your eyes soft now. “you look good.”
he squinted at you through the lenses, already reaching up to pull them off. “nah, i look like my dad.”
you crossed the kitchen before he could take them off, catching his wrist gently mid-movement. “i said— you look good. keep ’em on. it’s kinda hot.”
his eyebrow arched, the beginnings of a smirk curling on his lips. “hot?”
you leaned in close, your hand brushing against his chest as you reached up and straightened the glasses on his nose with a featherlight touch. “mmhmm. the whole retired adventurer turned domestic husband with glasses look? big win.”
he chuckled, hands finding your waist like they always did. “you keep talking like that, and i'll forget about breakfast.”
“you say that like it’s a threat.”
he kissed you, soft and slow, tasting like sleep and warmth and everything safe. when he pulled back, he was still close enough for his glasses to bump lightly against your forehead.
“seriously, though,” he murmured, “you always this perfect in the morning?”
you wrinkled your nose. “i’m literally in my pajamas.”
“exactly.” he pressed another kiss to your cheek, then your jaw. “perfect.”
you rolled your eyes and laughed, dragging him toward the kitchen island with one hand while the other gestured toward the food. “sit down, professor. eat before the eggs get cold.”
he obeyed, dropping into the chair with a groan and rubbing his face, glasses askew. “married life’s rough.”
you set a plate in front of him and ruffled his already wild hair. “yeah. poor you.”
THIS ACTION WILL HAVE CONSEQUENCES
request literally anything you want fanfiction wise. i'll attempt to write for any fandom, ships, and characters.
masterlist ⤸
dms + asks are ALWAYS open. PLEASE ask anything you want. i crave human interaction.
life is like... strange.. or something...
THE LAST OF US
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
JOEL MILLER
lap's still yours. — fluff, one shot.
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
ELLIE WILLIAMS
lines in the snow. – fluff, one shot.
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
ABBY ANDERSON
WONKA
𓂃 ࣪˖༉‧₊˚.
WILLY WONKA
chocolate maker — NSFW one shot.
early relationship — drabble, fluff.
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)
put your clothes back on were going to talk about how musicals are the best media to adapt books in cause its the only one that allows the characters to express their feelings and internal monologue as they do on page
Captain America: The Winter Soldier (2014) The Falcon and The Winter Soldier (2021) Thunderbolts* (2025)
ʚoɞ
NSFW CONTENT BELOW
he’s such a hard worker. he’s got to get this flavor just right, has to keep making adjustments so you’ll absolutely love it. he’s so focused, and there’s a certain determination to him. his hands were sticky and sugary when he wrapped them around your waist. it’s cute to see him try to be so careful about touching you, trying his best not to get sugar everywhere. he’s got some of it on his apron. it got on your skin too, but you don’t mind.
he pulls away just for a moment, and you’re able to watch his face this time. his face is flushed, sugar and white chocolate staining his lips and face. his lips look so pretty, his cheeks are soft pink, and his eyes are hazy. “gotta get it just right.” he manages to say before he’s diving back in again to get another taste.
your soft thighs jerk against his cheeks, and it doesn’t help that he’s also being so sloppy. the way he’s licking and kissing is rough, like he has no idea the effect he’s having on you. he’s so focused and desperate to get the taste right.
he grips your thighs just slightly tighter, his fingers sinking into the skin hard enough to leave little indents, he seems to be getting into a rhythm, his face pressing between your thighs, his mouth so eager and messy. like he doesn’t know how hard you’re clenching, how you can barely keep your thighs open, or how you’re trying to stop all those pretty sounds from leaving your mouth. a long, shaky exhale drags out of your throat, soft and breathy as you cum. your thighs jerking and your fingers curling into the mess of his hair, gripping the tangled curls without thinking. he pulls away, his cheeks flushed and his face a mess with the sweet combination of sugar and you.
his voice is a soft whine when he speaks. and he’s still gently massaging your legs, just wanting to touch you but also trying not to leave a trail of sugar and chocolate all over you. “good?” was all he asked. the softest little syllable, and he already made it sound so pleading.
a shaky sound came out, "uh-huh", barely more than a breath. he smiles at that, his expression turning sweet and soft the moment you show any signs of approval. he loves you, just so much, and he can’t ever get enough of hearing you say you’re satisfied. he pushes himself up just a little more to rest his head on your stomach, letting the top of his head just barely touch your chest, before he lets out a content sigh.
“yeah?” he asks, but you can hear that it isn’t really a question, he also starts writing down some things in his notebook, writing down certain flavors, how you tasted, to get this chocolate perfect.
ʚoɞ
a/n: this is my first ever time writing x reader smut lmao neverrr thought it would be willy wonka but timothee..... mhm mhm mhm
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the fire was low, but the glow of it painted the walls with a soft orange flicker. the house was quiet, save for the soft scrape of metal on wood and the occasional pop from the fireplace. joel sat at the table, glasses halfway down his nose, sleeves pushed up, and a small block of wood cradled in his calloused hands. his knife scraped slow, methodical strokes along the curve of what looked like the beginnings of a fox, delicate ears just forming, the snout notched into shape. he looked like he belonged there. not just in the room, but in the moment. hands busy, mouth set, the steady rhythm of his work filling the silence like he needed it more than rest.
you hovered in the doorway for a moment. there was something magnetic about watching him when he didn’t know you were, how quiet he became, how precise. you couldn’t explain it, but something in you twisted a little when you saw him like this. it didn’t help that your brain was already a little fried from the day. you’d been restless all afternoon, bouncing between tasks around town, trying to distract yourself with anything that wasn't the thought of his hands. now you were back. and the ache was worse. he didn’t look up when you stepped in, but you could tell by the subtle shift in his shoulders that he knew you were there.
“you’ve been out there awhile,” he said, voice low and even, not pausing in his carving.
“wasn’t that long,” you murmured, stepping closer. “you eat anything?”
joel snorted softly. “ate somethin’ earlier. left some stew if you’re hungry.”
you walked around him, slow and quiet, letting your fingertips brush the edge of the table. you watched him work a little longer, the careful drag of his knife, the tension in his forearm, the way his brow furrowed when he focused. his glasses slid further down, and he huffed, pushing them back with the side of his wrist.
“i’m not really hungry,” you said, voice lower now.
he hummed in acknowledgment, not looking up.
you stepped between him and the table, gently nudging one of his knees open with yours. that finally earned you a glance. a small, knowing one.
“what’re you doin’?” he asked, not irritated, just suspicious.
you didn’t answer. you just moved closer and lowered yourself into his lap, straddling his thigh like it was muscle memory.
joel made a small sound in his throat. “jesus,” he muttered, setting the carving knife down with care but not taking his hands off you. “you’re gonna make me slice my damn thumb open one of these days, sneakin’ up on me like that.”
“you looked busy,” you said softly, your arms sliding around his shoulders. “didn’t wanna interrupt the great artist at work.”
he shook his head, his hands found your hips, grounding you, holding you still, but not pushing you away.
he muttered something you couldn't make out, setting the knife down with more care than necessary. “that what we’re doin’ now?”
“you’re not gonna make me beg, are you?” you said, your voice low as you slid your hands up the front of his shirt, thumbs brushing the space just under his collarbones. “been wound up all day.”
joel leaned back slightly to look at you over the top of his glasses. his eyes dragged over your face, then lower—assessing. thinking. his hands landed heavy on your hips, grounding.
he exhaled, slow and controlled, like he was weighing his options. like he was pretending you didn’t already have him wrapped around your finger.
“you’re actin’ real needy tonight,” he said, voice dropping a little lower. his hands were still on your hips, thumbs idly brushing the hem of your shirt like he was debating whether to tug you closer or keep you there and burn slow.
“been thinking about you all day,” you admitted, quiet against his skin. “you didn’t even notice how pretty you looked this morning. all frown and flannel and your fuckin hands…”
“mm,” he rumbled, mouth twitching. “that what’s got you worked up?”
you didn’t answer. you just shifted slightly in his lap, pressing down a little harder on his thigh, watching the way his jaw tightened when you did.
joel’s hands flexed, gripping your waist a little firmer now. “you come in here sittin’ on my leg like that,” he said lowly, eyes flicking to your mouth, “and you expect me to finish my carvin’?”
“i expected you to tell me how bad you missed me while i was gone,” you teased.
his brows lifted. “i see you every day.”
you leaned in closer. “doesn’t mean you don’t miss me.”
joel leaned back, gave you that quiet, unreadable look.
his hands slid down to the backs of your thighs, squeezing once before he pulled you closer, flush against him. the fox on the table forgotten, the knife untouched. his mouth brushed your cheek, soft and rough.
but you had him here, grounded. his hands, his warmth, the slow way he let himself have you.
“you done carving?” you whispered.
joel nodded slowly, almost like he didn’t trust himself to speak.
“good,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “’cause i need you worse than that fox does.” his glasses were crooked. you reached up and pulled them off, setting them aside. his eyes were darker now, heavier.
ᝰ
a/n: i wrote this at like 1am after watching the s2 premiere so it's ass but seeing him in those glasses... meow...
my resident evil oc
𝄞
selina was born in 1976 through a experiment orchestrated by mother miranda. using alcina dimitrescu as a vessel, miranda sought to create a hybrid, a perfect blend of dimitrescu’s vampiric abilities and the mold. however, selina was born more human than expected, her monstrous traits dormant. believing the experiment to be a failure, miranda allowed alcina to dispose of the child.
but alcina, still having some humanity, couldn’t bring herself to kill selina. instead, she left the child in a romanian village, where selina was eventually taken by umbrella researchers working under miranda’s orders. she was named selina there. for years, selina was subjected to experimental exposure to the mold in an attempt to “awaken” her latent abilities. however, a sympathetic umbrella scientist, dr. emilia kravchenko, smuggled her out of the facility and fled to raccoon city, where selina was raised under a false identity of lisa kravchenko.
lisa's early years was a patchwork of strange occurrences:
gnawing sensations, scents too sharp, sounds too loud, a hunger she couldn’t name. there were nights she woke in a cold sweat, the image of a tall, spectral woman burned behind her eyelids. her adoptive mother, dr. kravchenko, kept her sedated, dulled the edges with little white pills, and told her it was all in her head.
but lisa wasn’t stupid. as she grew older, she grew more suspicious. the gaps in her past felt deliberate, her mother’s reassurances too practiced. then came the night she snapped— tore into a classmate’s flesh like an animal, left them barely breathing. the fear in kravchenko’s eyes told lisa everything.
kravchenko sent her off to an orphanage and she got adopted by another family after a couple months. starting under a new name of lana falkner. her adoptive father, dr. isaac falkner, was a senior umbrella researcher, and her mother, sophia, was a whistleblower who attempted to expose umbrella’s crimes. after sophia’s mysterious disappearance, lana was left under Isaac’s care. though not directly experimented on, she was exposed to umbrella’s t-virus research and its bioweapon development, leading to deep emotional scars and heightened survival instincts. after another incident of biting off one of her friends fingers, she ran again.
she went from town to town, looking to find peace. she thought maybe the badge would do it, that being on the right side of the law would keep her from slipping into whatever she really was. so she joined the raccoon city police department, hoping it would make her feel human.
it didn’t.
