#& there was like a story behind it with the person at the shop as well | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

witchywithwhiskey · 4 months ago

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when in hell, do as the demons do

pairing: demon posing as a tattoo artist!steve rogers x tattooed!female reader (number and type of tattoos aren't specified but it's more than two)

summary: new york city tattoo parlors have a tradition of offering special deals on friday the 13th, but when you decide to try out a new shop in brooklyn, you get much more than you paid for—and end up selling your soul to a charming demon.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, piv sex, unprotected sex, creampie, monsterfucking, dubcon because magic, sex pollen elements, nonconsensual bonding, soul bonds, demon tricks, bdsm (no safe word but with check-ins), choking, sadism/masochism, pain play, very brief blood play, nipple torture, pussy spanking, face slapping, rough body play, finger sucking, dacryphilia, fingering (f receiving), degradation kink, master kink, praise kink, pet names (baby, sweetheart, plaything), begging, teasing, dirty talk, dry humping, biting, marking, cockwarming, aftercare, happy ending

word count: 14.5k

a/n: here's my first halloween fic for 2024! i came up with the idea on friday the 13th last month and liked it for a halloween idea so here we are! this is the fic i was talking about in my poll here, which helped me decide to make steve a demon, but i'm not great at world-building/magic-building so if the magic doesn't make sense, i'm sorry! i just wanted to write some sex pollen-y tattoo artist smut and it turned into a whole thing. this fic really got away from me 😬 whoops. anyway, i hope y'all enjoy!! ♡♡

halloween fics masterlist

The first time you heard the story—the urban legend whispered around New York City tattoo parlors—you were getting your second tattoo. You were young, but not so naive, and yet, when the woman named Wanda Maximoff told you the tale in her vaguely Eastern European accent, a chill raced down your spine.

It went like this: There was a young person who wanted to get a tattoo, and they were lured into an unfamiliar shop on Friday the 13th by the special deals they were offering. (Where the shop was located in the city varied based on who was telling the story, but Wanda had said it was a small parlor tucked into an alley in the Bowery.)

The person in the story didn’t know the shop or the artist, but they were so enthralled by the artist’s beauty and work that they made the hasty decision to get a tattoo of a symbol they didn’t understand. It was the last decision they’d ever make, because by the time the tattoo was done, they’d been unknowingly enslaved to a dark force—having sold their soul to a demon.

When Wanda had finished the story, her piercing green eyes stared at you long and hard, her mouth twisted to the side as if she was stopping herself from saying more than she should. There was a warning in her expression you didn’t understand, and you hadn’t been able to stop the fear that burrowed into your heart. For a second—just a second—you’d believed the strange, witchy woman.

Then you’d scoffed, laughing away your fear, and insisted the story must’ve been started by a grumpy old tattoo artist who was tired of the influx of customers on Friday the 13th. It was well known that most New York City tattoo shops had special deals every Friday the 13th, and you asserted the story was just supposed to frighten away naive tattoo novices who’d get something impulsively and regret it later.

Wanda had pressed her lips together, an inscrutable look on her face, but only nodded once before returning her focus to your tattoo. In the silence that had followed, you’d been left alone with your thoughts, and you mulled over the story, repeating your rationalizations to yourself until you believed them.

But a sliver of fear and intrigue remained for the rest of your session and when you were done, you were relieved to leave Wanda and her creepy story behind. Something like that—accidentally selling your soul to a demon when getting a tattoo—didn’t happen in real life, and it certainly wouldn’t happen to you.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until, of course, it did happen to you.

Over the years, you heard the story repeated time and time again in countless tattoo shops across the city, and the fear you’d felt listening to Wanda recount her version of the tall tale transformed into curiosity, then a dark kind of delight. It wasn’t something you wanted to push away, but to hold close to your heart, to cherish.

As you got older, you found yourself telling the story to younger folks when you crossed paths with someone who hadn’t heard it. And every time you told the story, you found yourself unconsciously replicating Wanda’s Eastern European accent, making the story as scary as you could.

Each time you saw apprehension in the eyes of those you told the tale to, something inside you unfurled and grew stronger. You’d smirk when the tattoo novices scurried away, some leaving whatever shop you were in entirely, and a shiver would race down your spine, so much like the fear you’d felt when you first heard the story, but it was no longer that. It was a quiver of devilish mirth.

You told yourself it was normal, how much fun you had scaring off the younger folks in the tattoo shops you frequented, laughing along with the artists you knew so well. You told yourself you were just taking part in tradition by repeating the story. You told yourself there wasn’t a darkness in your heart that was wakened by the story, and craved something you didn’t quite understand.

That’s what you told yourself, and you believed it. Until you walked into Hell and your entire life changed.

Hell was the new tattoo shop that had opened in Brooklyn at the start of October, though you’d been hearing talk of it for months before then. You’d been curious about it, and the fact that none of your friends or any of the artists you frequented knew much about it made it all the more intriguing. They didn’t know who owned the shop or who was working there, and you were desperate to find out.

It wasn’t a conscious decision you remembered making, but late in the afternoon on Friday the 13th, you took the subway to Brooklyn, getting off at the stop closest to Hell.

The day was brisk, the chill of autumn clinging to the air even as the sun shone brightly above the city. You wore a thick sweater, a skirt and some tights with your most comfortable boots to make the trek deep into Brooklyn, and you were glad for it. It was a longer walk than you’d been expecting, but pleasant enough while the sun was high.

By the time you made it to the shop, though, the sun was dipping low behind the brownstones of the nearby neighborhood and your cheeks were chilled from the crisp autumn breeze. It was a relief to see the red neon sign for Hell, and you skipped quickly down the last block to push through the door of the nondescript exterior.

You were met by a rush of artificial heat that made you smile, pleased by the respite from the frigid autumn air, which swirled around your ankles as the door closed behind you. The warmth of the parlor kissed your cheeks and thawed through your icy fingertips while you looked around.

You were surprised to find that Hell was unexpectedly inviting.

Inside, the tattoo shop was decorated in dark colors that fit the theme: inky blacks, vivid reds, luminous yellows and burnt oranges. But, though it could’ve been dreary, Hell looked alive and lived-in, with cozy black leather sofas in the waiting area, and artwork decorating much of the wall space. When you looked closer, you saw that many of the pieces depicted creatures of the dark.

As you studied the artwork, you noticed a theme: Demons cavorting with human women, specifically fucking human women. You felt a tingle of something bloom between your thighs. The art was salacious and wicked, and yet, you didn’t feel disturbed by any of the imagery, only intrigued. Even a little bit aroused.

A clearing throat pulled your attention away from the art and to the redheaded woman standing behind the counter. She asked if you needed help.

As you approached, you noticed she was beautiful, and had a cold smile on her face, her green eyes watching you in a way that unsettled you. It took you a long moment to realize her gaze reminded you of Wanda, even though the women looked nothing alike. But you felt uneasy as you walked up to the counter.

Your smile was tentative as you inquired if the shop had any Friday the 13th deals, adding that it was tradition, just in case the woman was new to the city.

Her green eyes raked over your face in an obviously assessing look, and you felt like your heart and soul were being judged. You nearly huffed a laugh at the thought, because it was so ludicrous, but managed to keep still and remain expressionless while the woman stared at you.

After a moment, she smiled again and the expression was friendlier, like she was greeting an old friend. She introduced herself as Natasha Romanoff and apologized because all but one of the artists had gone home for the day since their appointments were done and they didn’t get too many walk-ins, being a new shop and all.

Just then, a man stepped behind the counter as if appearing out of nowhere—though, at the time, you rationalized that you’d simply been staring so intently at Natasha, you hadn’t noticed his approach. Without missing a beat, Natasha introduced the man as Steve Rogers, the owner of Hell and the only artist still around on that Friday the 13th.

“What willing sacrifice do we have here, Nat?” Steve asked, sidling up to the counter and pressing his hands on top to lean toward you.

The first thing you noticed where his eyes—such a pure, beautiful blue that they looked like the perfect, endless sky. But as your gaze wandered over his face, you realized his eyes weren’t his only gorgeous feature. He had a strong brow that gave way to silky blond hair; a straight, sloping nose that led down to a pair of plump, pink lips with just enough of a cupid’s bow, that you wanted to lick it.

A rush of warmth filled your cheeks at the thought and you dropped your eyes to Steve’s broad shoulders, pausing to admire the way they filled out his simple black t-shirt. His thick biceps were covered in stunningly intricate tattoos, all done in dark ink that contrasted with his pale skin. They extended down to his hands, still planted flat on the counter.

As far as you could see, there was only a small space of bare, unadorned skin at the base of Steve’s throat—all the rest of him seemed to be covered in tattoos that snaked beneath his t-shirt. You wondered idly if his tattoos covered his whole body, eyes trailing down to the black jeans he wore, and quickly shoved the thought aside.

Raising your gaze back to Steve’s face, you hoped your expression wasn’t giving away your thoughts, but the charming grin that spread across the hot tattoo artist’s face made you think he had an idea you were checking him out. And he liked it.

“Or should I say,” Steve went on in a slightly lower, more rumbly voice, leaning further across the counter with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. He was close enough that you got a hint of his cologne—leather and firewood—and you couldn’t help the way your body reacted, warming and tingling and yearning for him. “What sweet thing do we have coming to barter their soul for some new ink?” He winked at you, all charm, and you nearly swooned.

“I-I was just asking if you had any Friday the 13th deals,” you stammered, unsure how to act under the blinding light of Steve’s charm. You’d known and talked to your fair share of attractive tattoo artists in your life, but Steve was on another level. He was hot and alluring in a way you couldn’t put into words, which was how you found yourself blurting, “It’s tradition.”

Steve’s grin hitched higher, and he stared at you a second longer before ducking down behind the counter to rifle through the shelves.

“Well, I’m not one to turn my back on the old ways,” he said, lifting his head to catch your eye. He gave you a look that made your knees weak, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief like he knew exactly what kind of effect he was having on you, before returning to his task.

Finally, he seemed to find what he’d been looking for and stood up, brandishing a piece of paper on which some simple tattoo designs were sketched. It looked like any other sheet of designs you’d see in any other tattoo shop, and you didn’t think anything of it, turning your attention back to Steve’s handsome face.

“We didn’t have anything planned,” he explained, crossing his arms and leaning down on the counter.

The position made him slightly shorter than you, while emphasizing the expanse of his shoulders and the thick mucles of his biceps and the veins of his forearms. It was only because his hand pointed to the paper, pulling your attention away from his big body, that you remembered he was telling you something.

“But if you pick from these, I’ll charge you $113—how’s that sound?” He raised his eyes to yours, and you noticed how long his eyelashes were.

For a long moment, you just stared at Steve, your mouth slightly parted while you admired his beautiful face. You had the urge again to lick his cupid’s bow, and your body warmed pleasantly as you imagined doing exactly that. Sitting in Steve’s lap and licking him all over…

With effort, you managed to pull yourself from the tattoo artist’s spell, shaking your head to clear it while you processed what he’d said. The price he’d named was a typical deal for New York City, even with the Friday the 13th discount, so you nodded absently.

“That sounds good,” you muttered, bending over the counter to look at the sheet of paper he was still pointing to. Even his hands were attractive, with skulls tattooed on the backs and other symbols you didn’t recognize decorating his knuckles. You couldn’t help but think his hands would make a pretty necklace if they were wrapped around your throat…

Shaking your head again, you furrowed your brow and forced yourself to focus on the paper with all the designs. There was some cute Halloween-themed stuff, like black cats, witch hats, ghosts and the like. There were also some stylized numbers, like 666, and a couple pentagram designs along with other symbols you recognized.

But the one that caught your attention was something you’d never seen before. It was made up of exquisitely delicate curving lines that formed what loosely looked like an infinity symbol. There were some twists to the design that made it look harsher, more archaic.

“What’s this?” you asked, pointing to the design that called to you and looking up at Steve. Your breath caught in your throat when you met his gaze, and your voice sounded awed as you went on. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

A secretive, conspiratorial smirk tugged at the corners of Steve’s lips and he leaned in a little closer, his scent invading your senses and his breath ghosting over your cheek.

“It’s a design of my own making,” he said, his voice pitched low and intimate as he looked at you in a way that made warmth curl around your heart and trickle down to settle low in your belly. “It’s special—why, do you like it?”

It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull your gaze away from Steve’s, but you forced yourself to look back down at the paper, your finger tracing the sweeping curves and the sharp points of the design.

“I do,” you said slowly, thinking about where on your body it might look nice. There was a spot on your ankle where you felt it would look good, like an anklet. But before you could get too attached to the design, you lifted your gaze, giving Steve a serious look. “It’s not a tribal symbol, or any kind of cultural appropriation, right?”

Steve placed a hand over his heart, like he was making a vow, and said, “I promise it’s not from any culture of man.”

His strange answer piqued your curiosity, but you brushed your questions aside. Later, you’d understand his odd turn of phrase, but in the moment, you chalked it up to Steve playing into the theme of his shop. You figured anyone who named their tattoo parlor Hell would be a little peculiar, and you didn’t think it was a bad thing. Especially when he was so hot.

Looking back down at the paper, you let your eyes trail over the looping design a few times, feeling yourself sinking into…something. A thrilling shiver raced down your spine, a mix of delight and terror that you found intoxicating and you had to shake yourself to remember where you were and what you were doing.

Raising your eyes to Steve, you told him you wanted the design, and once the words were past your lips, you felt a sense of rightness. You weren’t the type of person to get tattoos impulsively, but this one was calling to you, and you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity to get a tattoo from the hot shop owner.

Besides, when in Hell…

Steve slid the paper off the counter and stood up straight, his eyes going sharp as he looked between you and the design. You got the same sense you had with Natasha, that Steve was judging your heart and soul and determining whether you were deserving of the design you’d chosen. You found yourself hoping desperately that he decided you were.

After a moment, an impish smirk pulled at Steve’s mouth before his expression shifted fluidly into one of theatrical uncertainty.

“I don’t know,” he said slowly, drawing out the tension of the moment and stroking his jaw like he was thinking. “I was hoping to save this design for someone special.” His blue eyes pinned you with a searching look, a charming smirk on his lips. “Are you special, sweetheart?”

Steve’s charm was turned all the way up, and you felt flustered under the weight of it. Not to mention that the way the pet name rolled off his tongue made you want to do anything he asked. Twisting your fingers self-consciously, you ducked your head a little.

“Well, I—I don’t know,” you admitted, but for some reason, your thoughts strayed to the dark pleasure you sometimes felt when you frightened others with scary stories. Did that make you special, or just a little bit depraved? You didn’t know, but you hoped it was both, and that both were equally appealing to Steve.

The tattoo artist leaned back down on the counter, the veins of his forearms bulging from his skin as he crossed his arms. Since he’d ducked down, he could easily catch your lowered gaze.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he purred softly, his tone inviting you to lean in. So you did.

A soft smile curled your lips when you smelled his cologne, and you relaxed a little while he kept talking in that alluringly deep voice of his.

“Where would you like my design on your body?”

A shiver of desire thrummed beneath your skin at the implication of Steve’s words. There was something so enticing about the way he’d phrased his question—his design on your body. It called to the darkness buried deep in your heart, and you began to suspect he somehow knew you were a little depraved. Like him.

Steve held your gaze for a long moment, and you thought you saw something shift in the depths of his blue eyes, like a shadow passing in front of the sun. But it was gone just as quickly, and you questioned whether your eyes were playing tricks on you.

Shaking yourself free of your strange thoughts, you finally managed an answer. “My ankle.” But it seemed your mouth had a mind of its own, because you found yourself flirting with the hot tattoo shop owner, a smirk curving your lips as you went on. “Do you think my ankle would be worthy of your design, sir?” you asked with feigned innocence.

As you watched for Steve’s reaction, you were rewarded with the sight of his eyes darkening, his pupils blowing wide like he greatly enjoyed the fact that you were flirting with him. His mouth spread into a hungry grin and he rubbed his jaw thoughtfully while he considered you, finally coming to a decision.

“Mm, I think your ankle is the perfect place for my design, sweet girl,” he rumbled, smiling to himself like he’d made a joke only he understood. Then his fingers were trailing lightly along the line of your jaw, distracting you with the tingling warmth they left in their wake as he stood up. “I’m going to enjoy this very much,” he murmured enigmatically before pulling away.

Your mind was too frazzled by his touch and how bereft you felt without it to wonder over his words. Besides, he was already calling for Natasha, who emerged from the back of the shop to help you through the rest of the intake process. It was only then that you realized she’d left you and Steve alone at the counter a while ago.

She slid smoothly in front of you with that friendly smile of hers while Steve retreated into the back to begin setting up. Natasha walked you through all the paperwork, none of which was new to you. That was why you felt comfortable not fully reading the fine print.

You should’ve read the fine print.

Once everything was signed, Natasha led you into the back and showed you where to stow your purse. She pointed to the privacy screen where you could take off your tights and boots, then helped you into the tattoo chair at Steve’s station.

When you were settled, Natasha bid you and Steve a good night and grabbed her own things before leaving out the back door. It was a little abrupt and you were left feeling confused.

You asked Steve if the shop was closing for the night—it seemed a little early, especially for a Friday. And he explained that he’d decided to close the shop early since they had no more appointments and were unlikely to get any other walk-ins.

For a moment, you fretted over keeping him late, but he waved away your concerns.

“There’s no where I’d rather be than tattooing my design on you, pretty thing,” Steve murmured charmingly while he pulled on some black latex gloves.

The earnestness in his voice soothed your anxiety and you relaxed back into the black leather chair, your legs propped on the footrest while Steve created a stencil of his design. Soon, the two of you were so engaged in a discussion about where exactly on your ankle to place the tattoo that you forgot you were alone with the handsome owner of Hell.

After trying a few things, you decided to have the beautiful design lay across the front of your ankle, the sides wrapping around to the back so it’d look like a permanent adornment. You smiled when Steve complimented the placement you’d chosen and felt heat suffuse your cheeks at his praise.

It all felt mostly familiar to you, someone who’d gotten a fair amount of tattoos in your life. But what you hadn’t been prepared for was the way Steve’s hands would feel on your body, the smoothness of the latex belying the warmth of his skin as he curled his fingers around the back of your leg to pull your foot onto his lap.

Warmth cascaded from the top of your head down through the rest of your body in a gentle, tingling shower, settling heavily between your legs. You pressed your thighs tight together, both to stave off the ache that was building there and to make sure you didn’t accidentally flash the hot tattoo artist.

You weren’t looking at Steve’s face, your gaze tracing the dark black ink decorating his skin and curling beneath the cotton of his shirt, but you thought you saw something flicker over his expression as he took in your reaction to his touch. You almost thought you saw dark shadows creeping into his gaze, blotting out his blue irises and making him look…demonic.

But when you flicked your gaze up to his, his eyes were a normal, glittering blue. You gave him a small smile and internally shook yourself, chalking up the moment to a trick of the light.

It was dim in the back room, with only a few warm lights positioned in Steve’s corner of the space. Natasha had closed up the rest of the shop, leaving you and Steve alone in the space, which was separated from the front by a wall and a doorway covered in a thick, maroon curtain.

The walls of the shop were painted black and covered in more of the same artwork you’d seen in the waiting area. The main difference was all the tattoo equipment and the floor that was a bare dark wood, instead of the burnt orange carpet that covered much of the front room.

Hell was dark, eerie and intimate, and you suspected the atmosphere must be getting to you, that was the only thing that explained what you’d seen in Steve’s eyes. Yes, that must be it, you told yourself, settling into the chair and letting Steve get to work.

The buzzing of his tattoo needle filled the silence and you prepared yourself for the pain that you knew was coming. Little did you know just how much pleasure you’d feel that night as well.

Nothing about the tattoo process seemed amiss until more than halfway through, when you began to feel a strange kind of tingling in your ankle where Steve worked, the sensation slowly creeping up your leg. It settled heavily between your thighs, making your core ache with a yearning emptiness as your slit leaked wetness into your panties.

It wasn’t painful, the tingling feeling, but it was unnerving, like it didn’t belong to you, and you couldn’t understand where it was coming from.

“Uh-uhm, Steve?” you started, a hint of a whine in your voice, though it was mostly drowned out by the concern you felt. You sat up straight, forcing yourself to ignore the urge to rock your hips and grind yourself against the leather seat of the chair. “Can we take a break? I feel…weird.”

“Of course, sweetheart,” Steve purred, instantly pulling the needle away from your skin and wiping away blood and excess ink with a small towel. After he’d deposited the tattoo gun and cloth on his station, he turned back to you, blue eyes filled with concern as he removed his gloves. “You ok?” he asked, his warm hands massaging the back of your leg that was still draped in his lap.

The urge to moan at the feel of his bare hands on your skin was almost undeniable. It felt so good to have his strong fingers kneading your muscle and you flopped back into the chair, pressing your lips together to stifle the sound of pleasure that wanted to slip free. But you couldn’t stop the way your hips squirmed, your body aching for something…

“I think so,” you said, finally answering Steve’s question with a tremulous smile. You still felt the odd sensation pulsing up your leg and slipping between your thighs, prompting a delicious throbbing in your core, but forced yourself to ask, “There’s nothing strange in the ink, right? Something I could be allergic to?”

An allergy was the only explanation you could come up with, even though it didn’t really make sense. You’d gotten plenty of tattoos, surely you would’ve had an allergic reaction years ago if that had been a possibility. And the way you felt wasn’t like any allergic reaction you’d ever heard of.

You looked at Steve with wide, imploring eyes, hoping he could make sense of what you were feeling.

He shook his head, his fingers working higher to knead the muscle of your calf, nearly pulling a moan from your lips that would’ve drowned out his answer.

“I promise the ingredients are all-natural,” he said, his tone earnest and reassuring. “There’s nothing that would cause an allergic reaction.”

Your head fell back against the leather chair, missing the way Steve’s mouth curved into a devious smirk, and tried to gather your thoughts. The strange tingling sensation had calmed, you thought, having been replaced by the feeling of warmth that Steve’s touch inspired.

Shaking yourself lightly, you told yourself it must’ve just been the tattoo needle hitting a nerve or something. You’d never had that feeling before with any of your other tattoos, but it must’ve been something to do with Steve’s method. It hadn’t been painful, so it didn’t mean something was wrong. It was fine. You told yourself you would be fine.

“Ok,” you said softly on a sigh, letting yourself sink into the comforting massage of Steve’s fingers. Your body felt a little heavy, a throbbing desire pulsing in your core, but suspected it had more to do with the hot tattoo artist’s fingers than anything else.

Blinking your eyes open, you met Steve’s steady, patient gaze.

“We can keep going,” you said, giving him a smile that you hoped looked brave.

You must’ve succeeded, because Steve’s mouth curved into a pleased grin and his hand slid higher up your leg and settled on your thigh just above your knee, giving it an affectionate squeeze. His big palm on your bare skin sent a riot of sensation through your body, and when he squeezed you, you felt a mirroring clench of your inner muscles, your body aching to be filled.

“That’s my girl,” Steve murmured affectionately, his blue eyes glimmering with so much proud satisfaction that you felt your face heat and you ducked your head to hide a giddy grin.

Steve gave your thigh one last squeeze before pulling away to put on a new pair of gloves and refill his tattoo needle. While he worked, you couldn’t help but close your eyes and sigh silently, your skin feeling much too cold without him touching you.

For the rest of the tattoo, you tried to sit still while the tingling warmth rolled through your body, settling deliciously between your thighs and teasing your throbbing core until you were dripping into your panties. You had the absurd urge to spread your legs, to beg Steve to fill you—with his fingers, his cock, anything, so long as it put an end to the ache pulsing insistently in your body.

You tried to be good, to be still and quiet so Steve could finish your tattoo. But apparently you weren’t doing as good of a job as you hoped.

“If you keep squirming, ‘m gonna have to tie you down, pretty girl,” Steve rumbled, his head bent low over your ankle while he worked diligently.

His voice was so low and deep, you swore you could feel it in your belly, the delicious rumbling tenor teasing your clit, and your hips shifted again, your thighs clenching tight against your needy slit.

“Sweetheart,” he growled in warning, his hand gripping your foot firmly and tugging on it hard enough that you slid a few inches down in the chair.

It took every ounce of your self-control not to whimper with desire at the evidence of Steve’s strength. Your imagination flooded with visions of him tossing you around in his tattoo chair, bending you over while he pressed his bulge into your ass or flipping you onto your back and folding you in half so he could pound into your pussy.

A whine clawed up your throat, desperation flooding your body and making you want to writhe and beg and plead, but you bit it all back. Forcing yourself to be still, you asked, “Are you almost done?” in a tight, tense voice.

“Almost done,” he confirmed, his voice soothing. He looked up briefly, giving you a rakish grin. “You can be good for me, can’t you, sweet girl?”

Your heart lurched in your chest. It was all you wanted, to be good for Steve. So you nodded eagerly and tried to relax back into the chair. Your fingers were digging into the padded leather of the armrests and you pushed yourself deeper into the reclined seat, doing your best to ignore the heat and desperate, aching, insistent need pounding through your body.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” you said on a small huff, your eyes shut tight so you couldn’t see Steve’s reaction. Your voice was little more than a whine as you went on, “I’ve never felt like this.”

You heard Steve chuckle, the sound rolling over you like a deep, delicious wave. Then, just barely over the buzzing of the tattoo needled pressed to your skin, you thought you heard him say, “Just wait, sweet thing,” in a dark, ominous voice you hardly recognized.

But you didn’t have a chance to try to parse out what he meant, because suddenly, you felt the sensation of a cold, hard shackle closing around your ankle.

It felt so real, and so at odds with the sensation of Steve pulling the needle away from your skin, that your whole body jerked. Quickly, you sat up and stared down at your leg, but there was no metal cuff. Only the tattoo. Finished.

Fresh black ink shimmered from your skin, and you had a brief moment to appreciate the artistry of Steve’s work, the beautiful, intricate design of the symbol. The phantom feeling of a manacle wrapped around your ankle remained, and you looked up at Steve, finding him wearing a smug, devious smirk.

You couldn’t make sense of his expression, and in the next breath, it didn’t matter, because the fire that had been simmering in your blood suddenly blazed into an inferno. You couldn’t help the pained cry that fled your lips as you fell back into the chair, desire burning a demanding path through your body and tearing through your mind.

Your legs fell open on the leather seat, a pornographic moan slipping from your lips when the cool air of the tattoo shop brushed against your inner thighs. Your fingers tugged fussily at your sweater, trying to claw off the once-cozy garment that suddenly felt too heavy and constricting against your scorching skin.

Your eyes swiveled in your head, seeking and finding Steve, who was standing beside the chair and staring down at you. His gaze was lit with a depraved fire and his mouth was curled into a delighted grin.

“Aw, poor little plaything, are you feeling hot and bothered?” he cooed at you in a mean, patronizing tone that was so at odds with the charming affability you’d come to expect from the tattoo artist that you felt like you’d been slapped.

A pathetic whimper slipped from your lips, and Steve’s eyes seemed to glow brighter, his smile hitching wider, growing more hungry and more eager at the same time. Leaning over your squirming body, Steve stroked the tips of his fingers down your cheek.

Your body’s reaction to his touch was instantaneous. The burning, blistering pain of need calmed enough that it no longer hurt, and you chased Steve’s fingertips instinctively, associating his contact with relief. He let you nuzzle into the palm of his hand, chuckling darkly when you sighed happily, your mind moving too slow to process what was happening.

“Should we get this cumbersome sweater off you, sweet thing?” Steve murmured, his hands curving around your shoulders before stroking down your sides. His thumbs brushed over the tips of your breasts and your spine arched off the chair, pushing into his touch, needing more.

You were so hot, so achy, so needy, and you somehow knew Steve was the only one who could help you feel better. Distantly, you knew it was highly inappropriate to let your tattoo artist undress you, even one as hot as Steve, but in that moment, you didn’t care. His touch through your sweater wasn’t enough—you needed him to touch your bare skin.

So you nodded frantically, whimpering, “Yes, please, Steve, help.”

The man laughed, a dark, evil chuckle rumbling from his chest.

You didn’t understand what was funny, but you didn’t protest because his big hands slipped under the hem of your sweater and he touched you properly. His palms were warm, his fingers calloused and rough against your belly.

You sucked in a surprised breath when his touch sent sizzling tingles of pleasure through your body, gathering in your throbbing slit and making more wetness gush into your panties.

If you’d been in your right mind, you might’ve felt embarrassed over how wet you were from Steve sliding his hands up your stomach, but all you could do was revel in the pleasure his touch brought you. Your mouth curved into a delirious smile as you stared dazedly up at the supernaturally handsome man like he was the center of your universe.

Slowly, almost torturously, Steve slid your sweater up until it bunched above your breasts and he paused. His hands wrapped around your ribs, thumbs stroking over your skin beneath the band of your bra. He stared down at you, his blue eyes nearly glowing with hungry desire as his gaze raked over the lace containing your breasts.

Your chest heaved with your gasping breaths, and you took the moment to try to settle. The fire in your blood didn’t burn painfully with Steve touching you, but you still wanted—no, needed—more. Your hips squirmed in the leather seat and a whine clawed up your throat until it spilled free.

“Steeeve, please,” you begged, staring up at the tattoo artist with wide, imploring eyes. At the same time, you lifted your arms above your head and sat up a little in an effort to get him to pull your sweater the rest of the way off. Instead of spurring him to move, though, it had the opposite effect.

Steve went still, closing his eyes like he was savoring the sound of your whining voice and begging words. When he opened them a moment later, they appeared darker—the soft, sky blue of his irises darkened to an almost midnight black, with inky swirls of darkness creeping in from the edges.

Then he blinked, and his eyes went back to normal.

You were too distracted by your body’s need to think much about the fact that his eyes had gone nearly pitch black—that he’d looked, for a moment, like one of the monstrous demons from the art adorning the walls of Hell.

Your delirious, desirous mind let the moment slip by unquestioned, instead focusing on your lust—and on Steve.

“Lift up for me, pretty thing,” he cooed, his tone almost gentle despite the grit and gravel in his voice.

You did as he said, lifting your back away from the chair so he could pull your sweater off, leaving you in just your bra, skirt and panties on his tattoo chair.

In the short moment when Steve’s hands deserted your body, the blazing inferno of need returned. You groaned in pain, reaching for Steve and latching on to his wrist. The burning sensation abated the second you touched him, but you didn’t stop there, dragging his hand back to your body and sighing in further relief when you pressed his palm to your breast.

You didn’t know if Steve pushed you back into the chair or if you fell back and he followed, but he leaned over you, his big hands kneading your tits through your bra. A moan tumbled from you as you sank into the feeling, melting beneath his touch. It just felt so good—and the rougher he got, the harder he groped your tits, pulling and pinching on your nipples through the lace of your bra, the better it felt.

“That’s it, plaything, moan for me—let me hear how much you love it when I abuse your tits,” Steve growled, leaning so far over you that his head blocked out the light above the chair. His face was contorted into a greedy expression, his eyes sharp and hungry as he watched pleasure dance across your features. “You’re such a dumb little doll, you have no idea what’s heppening to you, do you?”

His tone was mean and mocking, but your body responded to the deep tenor of it all the same, wetness gushing between your thighs while your hips writhed on the leather seat, seeking something to grind against.

Your mind was hazy with lust and pleasure and confusion. It took you a long few moments to understand what he’d asked and when you did, it sparked a bit of fear. But even that dissolved into pleasure and you moaned, your hands clinging to Steve’s wrists—not trying to pull him away, just anchoring yourself to him.

“Wha-what’s happening to me?” you whined breathlessly, blinking your eyes up at Steve with an equal amount of uncertainty and trust. You still didn’t realize he was the reason for what was happening, but you’d come to learn that soon enough. Not that it would matter.

“Oh, baby, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that,” Steve cooed, his tone changing so quickly back to gentle and reassuring, it nearly gave you whiplash.

Still, pleasure swirled in your chest at the sweet praise in his words, even if they were more than a little condescending. A smile curled the corners of your lips, but you forced yourself to focus. There was something you wanted to know—something Steve knew, and you were determined to get the answer from him. You knew it was important, even if you couldn’t remember why.

“Steve, pleeease,” you whimpered, your words dissolving into a moan when he shoved the lace cups of your bra down and pinched your nipples harder, pulling and twisting them until your spine was arching up off the leather seat. It took you a long moment to remember your train of thought and continue on. “Tell me, Steve, please, I can handle it—what’s happening to me?”

A wide smirk spread across Steve’s face and his eyes flickered with shadows that seemed to want to consume his gaze the same way he looked like he wanted to consume you. Bending over your squirming, twitching body, Steve’s face hovered just above yours, an evil kind of mischief in his expression.

“If I tell you, do you promise you’ll take it like a good girl?”

Images assailed your imagination—Steve shoving his cock deep in your cunt, growling at you to take it like a good girl while he fucked you like a bat out of hell. Steve pounding into your mouth, grunting his pleasure as he spilled down your throat and ordered you to take it like a good girl. Steve stretching your ass around his cock, smoothing a hand down your spine as he cooed at you in that meanly patronizing tone to take it like a good girl.

A loud, debauched moan slipped from your lips as bliss pulsed through your body. It took you a long moment to push the images from your mind and gather your scattered thoughts enough to blink your eyes open and nod up at Steve.

“I’ll be good, I promise,” you said fiercely, knowing somewhere deep down that if you were a good girl for him, the visions you’d had would become a reality. And you wanted so badly for them to become a reality—at any cost.

A devious, delighted grin spread across Steve’s face at your answer, satisfaction shimmering in his eyes. Then one of his hands let go of your breast and skimmed down your body, over your hip and down your leg until his fingers circled your ankle, just above the tattoo he’d given you.

“This design you chose, it’s not just something I designed—it’s my mark,” he purred, putting emphasis on the last two words as if you’d know what that meant. But you still didn’t understand what your tattoo had to do with what was happening to you. His explanation just made you more confused.

“What does that mean?” you whimpered, your voice desperate and pleading. You wanted to understand, you wanted to be good for Steve and grasp whatever it was he was trying to tell you, but the meaning of his words was still out of reach.

“Think hard, sweetheart,” Steve cooed, his voice turning sweet in a way that had your belly swooping deliciously.

When you still didn’t seem to understand, Steve’s hand slid down, his palm covering your fresh tattoo and you gasped. His touch against the mark felt like he was yanking on a thread that had been tied behind your belly button. It felt like you were tethered to something…to him, you realized.

You were tethered to Steve by some sort of magic. The mark he’d tattooed on your skin had bound you to him…

All the air fled your lungs as comprehension sank into your mind. Your face twisted in shock and understanding, though the expression didn’t last long.

“There it is, that’s my girl,” Steve praised, squeezing your ankle and pressing his palm more firmly down on the mark.

The touch dragged a reluctant moan from you as pleasure swirled through your body, and you weren’t certain if it was your own or the result of the bond between the two of you. When you got control of yourself, you glared up at the devious tattoo artist, letting him see the betrayal written plainly across your face.

“Oh don’t look at me like that, baby,” Steve rumbled, his other hand wrapping around the front of your throat and tipping your chin up while he bent down until there were mere inches between you. “You heard the story, and you ignored its warning.” He tsked at you, shaking his head when you only narrowed your eyes in anger. “You weren’t careful about getting tattooed on Friday the 13th and now you’re enslaved to a dark force—you’re enslaved to me.”

He didn’t give you a chance to react to that declaration, only closed the distance between your lips, covering your mouth with his own to steal a kiss. And, god help you, what a kiss it was.

Steve’s mouth slanted perfectly to yours, his lips soft and seeking as they brushed against yours. His tongue flicked out, licking along the seam of your lips as if asking for entry, and you were helpless to the pleasure he offered.

Your lips parted with a soft gasp, an invitation if ever there was one, and he wasted no time slipping in. Steve took possession of your mouth, plundering your body while his hands held you firmly pinned beneath him.

It wasn’t long before you were moaning into his mouth and kissing him back, your fingers plunging into his soft, blond hair and nails digging into the skin at the nape of his neck until he was growling into your mouth.

His hand around your neck squeezed harder, choking you lightly in retaliation for the bite of your nails and you pulsed with so much heat, you cried out sharply, the sound transforming into a whine of need.

Steve nipped your bottom lip, hard enough to draw blood, and the coppery taste mixed with the heat of his tongue as he licked it from your mouth. When he pulled away a moment later, you could see the traces of red staining his lips—though that wasn’t nearly as disturbing as the sight of his eyes.

Writhing shadows had blotted out the blue irises of his gaze, leaving only two fathomless pools of darkness shimmering in the warm lights of Hell. A shiver raced down your spine, unease and curiosity filling your chest as you stared at the suddenly inhuman visage of the handsome tattoo artist.

Steve Rogers was still attractive, even with the unnatural eyes of a demon, but the shadows in his gaze changed the terrain of his face. His teeth looked sharper in his mouth, and the curve of his smirk looked more cruel. His jaw looked more angular and his body seemed bigger, broader, more intimidating as he loomed above you.

And yet…

You liked how Steve looked when he’d shed the pretense of humanity. He was somehow, impossibly, hotter. More dangerous, sure, but also freer in a way that you found enticing.

It took you a moment, your mind swimming with pleasure and the tingling remnants of his kiss, to pinpoint exactly what you liked about seeing Steve without the guise he must’ve been wearing. He was more himself. And this version of him, this demonic visage, called to the darkness inside of you in a way that made you feel like he belonged to you just as much as you belonged to him.

Pressing a palm to your forehead like you could push that thought straight out of your head, you forced yourself to focus on the present. “Nooo,” you moaned in a small voice, mostly to yourself because you were already thinking it wouldn’t be so bad to belong to Steve, especially if he belonged to you, too.

But, for all you could feel the bond between you and the demon strengthening and solidifying as your tattoo healed supernaturally fast, his desire and lust mixing with your own, he still couldn’t read your mind. And he must’ve thought you were protesting the newfound connection between the two of you.

“Ohh yes, sweetheart,” Steve growled, his fingers digging into the sides of your throat and tipping your face up so he could see your eyes.

The two shimmering pools of darkness were writhing with agitation, and you stared at them in wonder, your mouth falling open with awe. They were just as beautiful as his human eyes, looking like the surface of the deep ocean at night.

“You’re mine, pretty little plaything,” Steve rasped, his voice low and dark and vehement, like he was determined to make you understand your new reality. “Your heart, your body, your soul—it’s all mine,” he went on, pausing only to capture your lips in a brief, but searing kiss, like he was marking you all over again. “You’re bound to me for eternity, baby, enslaved to all my whims, and I bet you know what I want rigt now.”

You did know. You could feel Steve’s lust slinking through the bond, flooding your body and creating the burning need that was so painful when he wasn’t touching you. But beneath it, you could feel your own desire, too. The yearning you’d felt for the tattoo artist that had only grown since you’d discovered his true nature as the demon from the Friday the 13th legend.

Watching your face keenly, Steve let go of your ankle, grabbing one of your wrists and bringing your hand to the bulge in his pants. It was so big and hot and hard, even through the stiff denim of his jeans, that you whimpered. But you didn’t pull away, letting Steve use his grip to make you stroke his cock. And when he groaned his pleasure, your fingers tightened, giving his thick length a curious squeeze.

“This is what you do to me, pretty girl, this is why you’re the one I chose,” he growled, his voice so deep, it sounded animalistic. “I knew from the moment you walked into my shop with your sweet little skirt and your dark little heart that you were going to be mine—and now I’ve got you.”

It occurred to you to ask what he meant about your heart, but you suspected you knew. He’d looked deep into your heart and soul saw the darkness there—and it was exactly what he wanted.

The knowledge that you were what he wanted filled you with a sense of pride, and you took over from Steve. You stroked his cock through his jeans without his guidance, squeezing him while you stared up at him, devotion written across your face while you pressed your throat into his hand, knowing the tattoos on his fingers were making a pretty necklace.

“You’re my precious little plaything, aren’t you, baby?” Steve cooed at you, sweeping his thumb over your jaw and swiping it across your lower lip. “Don’t worry, you’ll enjoy being mine.”

You ducked your head, taking his thumb into your mouth and sucking on him, your eyes going heavy lidded as you nodded your agreement. Steve grunted a pleased sound.

“That’s it, that’s my good girl,” he purred, pressing his thumb onto your tongue and pushing deeper into your mouth. “You’re gonna be such a good fucktoy for your demon master, aren’t you?”

You could feel Steve’s cock twitch beneath your fingertips and you squeezed him harder, moaning when you felt an answering pulse deep in your cunt. The burning desire that had been held at bay by the realization of what exactly he was and what he’d done to you returned with a fury that would not be ignored.

“Yes, master,” you murmured obligingly after tipping your head back to slide him from your mouth. You pressed a kiss to the pad of his thumb and smiled up at Steve, your eyes hungry and eager.

The demon’s gaze darkened further somehow, filling with greed and lust and just about every sin you could imagine—all promising to do dirty, filthy things to your body in the name of slaking the desire that burned brightly in both of you.

“I knew you were perfect,” he growled, grabbing your throat and pulling you in for another kiss. His mouth was hot and demanding, his kiss inciting the fire in your body to burn hotter, making the throbbing between your legs impossible to ignore.

While he kissed you breathless, your fingers kept stroking his cock through his jeans, your other hand sliding beneath the hem of his t-shirt to rake your nails through the thin trail of hair dusting his abs. Both of you groaned at the contact, Steve’s tongue plunging into your mouth as his hips thrust against your palm.

Just as quickly as he’d dragged you into the kiss, Steve pulled away, shoving you roughly back into the chair. Your back hit the padded leather, a light, “oomph,” of surprise tumbling from your lips. One of his hands gripped your thigh possessively, fingers digging into your soft flesh while he leaned down and pulled a lever somewhere on the chair.

The footrest dropped away, allowing Steve to step between your legs, his hands groping roughly at your thighs, your hips, your tits. A low rumbling growl sounded in his chest every time his hand touched a piece of your clothing, as if they offended him personally. You squirmed in your seat, trying to find the words to beg him to take off the rest of your clothes, but all you could manage was a desperate whine.

“Are you still feeling hot, baby?” Steve asked, his tone playfully condescending as he skimmed his hands up your bare legs and tugged on the hem of your skirt—which, at that point, was barely covering anything with the way your legs were splayed open around his hips. “Should we get rid of the rest of these tiresome clothes?”

You were nodding your head before he even finished his question, his hands making quick work of unzipping your skirt and tugging on it until you lifted your hips so he could drag it down along with your panties. He stepped back so he could pull them off your legs, raking his gaze up your body and pointedly looking at your bra.

“Take it off, fucktoy,” he growled, his tone going mean again.

The quick change of his mood had you gasping with surprise, even as his rough voice made you gush more wetness between your thighs. You didn’t know if you’d ever get used to the demon’s mercurial moods, but you liked the unpredictability—it meant you’d never grow bored.

Scrambling to do as Steve said, you pushed forward from the chair to unclip your bra and ripped it off, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor. When that was done, the demon shoved your legs open and stepped back between them, pushing your legs up to drape over the armrests of the chair.

“Good girl,” Steve rumbled, stroking his hands down your thighs, digging his fingers in suddenly, hard enough to make you squeal and squirm. He chuckled, looking like he enjoyed your reaction, and pushed your legs wider, spreading you so fully, you felt a twinge of discomfort in your hip. But the pain was soothed away a moment later by the pleasure throbbing through your body.

A sharp exhale gusted from Steve the moment he laid his eyes on your bare pussy. He was staring down at you like you were everything to him, like you were the center of his universe. He looked like he was a mere second away from getting down on his knees and worshipping at the altar of your body.

More surprising than the way he was looking at you was what you could feel through the bond tethering you to the demon. You could feel his devotion in your soul, the sensation curling round your heart and filling you with a sense of adoration that was both yours and Steve’s.

As much as you were his, you knew, with absolutely certainty, that he was yours, too. For better or for worse.

But the longer Steve stared down at your body, his hands unable to stop touching you—exploring every inch of your skin, his palms cupping your breasts, thumbs stroking over you nipples before he curved his fingers around your ribs and skimmed down to your hips, feeling you, learning you—the more you began to believe it wasn’t so bad being bonded to a demon.

You hadn’t noticed your gaze had drifted away from the demon, staring unseeingly over his shoulder while you reveled in the feel of him touching you, until his hand came down sharply on your slit, slapping your pussy so sharply, you cried out in surprise, tears springing to your eyes. Pleasure and pain burned through you, writhing and fighting for dominance, and you were helpless to the sensation.

“Eyes on me, fucktoy,” Steve growled, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look up at him. His fingers dug into your cheeks, his face looming over yours while his hand came down again, spanking your cunt and making your whole body jerk in the leather chair from the sharp, stinging pleasure. “You’re my dumb little cock slave, and you’ll look at me like a good girl when I’m playing with you like you’re my own personal fuck doll—got it?”

The demon punctuated his seething question with another spank to your pussy, and it was the hardest of all, but though you expected pain, you felt only pleasure. A loud, pornographic moan, spilled from your lips while your mind swirled, your whole body throbbing like you were one big nerve ending.

Forcing your eyes open, you found Steve watching you expectantly. You gasped for air and scrambled for words “Yes, master,” you cried, surprising even yourself when you shouted, “I’m your good little fucktoy!”

Steve seemed appeased, a satisfied smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth while his fingers rubbed through your drenched folds. “You are, baby,” he assured you. “You’re such a good little plaything for your master.”

His words were an alluring purr, soothing you. Then, he surprised you by shoving three of his fingers into your cunt, making your whole body shudder from the unrelenting and sudden fullness.

“Oh god,” you moaned, pleasure ricocheting violently through your body. You squirmed in the chair, feeling your pussy spasm with delight, your wetness gushing out of you and dripping down between your ass cheeks, making a mess on the chair.

“God’s not going to help you now, sweet thing,” Steve rumbled with a smirk, pulling his fingers out of you before pushing them deep into your sopping wet hole again. “You sold your soul to me, He has no dominion over you anymore—you’re mine for eternity.”

His thumb rubbed your clit and you cried out helplessly, barely hearing his words as your body focused on the pleasure he was giving you. He pushed deeper, his fingers stroking a spot inside you that had your spine arching and your hips bearing down on his delicious intrusion. You were so wet, he fucked you easily with his three fingers, spreading them wide to stretch you open.

“Oh fuck,” you whined, your whole body shaking with need while the demon fucked you slowly with his fingers. You watched them slide into you, your folds swollen and puffy from his rough spanking. He was moving with a torturous laziness and you squirmed, mewling for more, “Faster, Steve, please.”

Suddenly, Steve’s fingers pulled free from your obscenely wet pussy, and a second later they were being shoved into your mouth. Your sweet, musky taste exploded on your tongue as the demon pushed them deep, making you gag on his slick fingers while he loomed above you.

“What did you call me?” he seethed through gritted teeth, the dark shadows of his eyes roiling like a churning sea.

“M’m sowwy,” you mumbled around his fingers, drool dripping down your chin and tears spilling onto your cheeks.

Steve’s mood immediately calmed at the sight of your tears and he made a soft shushing sound as he pulled his fingers from your mouth. “There, there, my sweet little plaything,” he cooed, leaning down to kiss and lick the salty tears from your skin. “I like it better when you call me master—can you be a good girl and call me master?”

The way Steve was bent over you, the bulge in his jeans pressed into your leaking cunt and you rubbed against him like a cat in heat, your hole aching to be filled, but you knew you had to answer his question first.

“Yes, master,” you whimpered, “I’mma be a good girl, I swear.”

“That’s my girl,” Steve purred, swiping the drool from your chin and pressing a kiss to your mouth. It was sweet and slow, his mouth praising you without words and making your head spin with the feeling of affection slipping through the bond.

When he pulled away, Steve gave you a stern look, his brow lowered over his black eyes and his mouth pressed into a firm line.

“Now, I can feel you rubbing your cute little cunt on my cock, baby,” he rumbled, his hands groping your thighs, but not pinning you down to make you stop. So you kept humping against him, your body shameless in its need for him. “But I want you to use your words—what do you want from your master?”

“Fuck me, master—please, oh g-fuck, I need your cock, master, please, please, please give it to me,” you babbled, blinking away the last of your tears to stare up into the handsome face of your demon.

You could still feel his lust and desire and fondness thrumming through the bond he’d created, but beneath that, deep in your own heart, you felt your own affection swell. You’d had a crush on Steve before he’d sealed the bond, and—god help you—those feelings didn’t waver in light of his trickery. If anything, every touch, no matter how rough or soft, only strengthened them.

Steve’s fingers dug into the plush flesh of your thighs, his grip possessive as he stared down at you with a satisfied smirk.

“Y’know, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you beg for me, baby—not for a millennia, at least,” he murmured, ducking down to capture your swollen lips in a kiss.

At the same time, he rubbed his bulge against your sensitive pussy, making you cry out so that he could swallow the sound down.

Kissing him back, you whimpered into his lips, need burning through your body and making you impatient. Your fingernails raked down the front of Steve’s chest, reveling in the way his firm muscles contracted, and the sharp little breaths he took.

You hooked your fingers under the lower hem and tugged the shirt up with a desperate whine until Steve yanked it off over his head, breaking your kiss for only a second.

Your fingers explored the smooth planes of Steve’s chest, brushing over his beautiful tattoos as you traced his hard muscles. All the while, he kissed you, devoured you, his own hands kneading your thighs and your tits and plucking at your nipples until you were writhing mindlessly beneath him.

“Please, master,” you keened, arching your spine and pushing your tits into his palms. “Fuck me, pleeease!” You tugged demandingly on the waist of his jeans, your fingers fumbling to undo the buckle of his belt.

Steve only chuckled maddeningly, rubbing his clothed cock into your sopping wet pussy while he pressed kisses to your jaw.

“C’mon, baby, you can beg better than that, can’t you?” he rumbled, his tone playful and warm, but it quickly turned dark and demanding. “Beg me to split you open on my dick, to fucking ruin your pretty little pussy with my fat demon cock—use your filthy mouth, sweetheart, tell me all the dirty things you want your evil master to do to you.”

“Oh fuck, yes,” you groaned, squirming beneath him and humping shamelessly against his bulge. “Please, master—please ruin me, hurt me, abuse me,” you cried, not knowing where the words were coming from, but you suspected they were being ripped right from that dark place deep in your heart, your soul. “Fill my holes with your demon cock and pump me full of cum, wanna be bulging with your seed, master—wanna be your dumb little fucktoy for all eternity. Make me yours, please!”

You cut off on a broken, desperate sob, and Steve’s mouth covered yours with an animalistic roar, kissing you hard—like he was branding you all over again. It made you moan louder, kissing him back just as fervently.

Your head spun from Steve’s kiss, but you could feel his hands fumbling between your legs. Then, the hot, hard length of him smacked against your swollen, smarting pussy, making you cry out into his mouth.

Steve drank down your sounds greedily, like they were the nectar of the gods. His tongue pushed into your mouth, licking into you as if trying to lap up your pleasured noises straight from their source.

“You’re fucking perfect, baby,” Steve praised when he pulled away, his voice silky and earnest in a way that made your heart warm in your chest.

His mood had switched again, and you didn’t think you’d ever get tired of the way it could shift like the wind. It was exciting and thrilling—like riding your own personal roller coaster. But no matter how his mood seemed to shift, you always felt his affection through the bond. Your demon was just fickle about how he liked to show that affection.

“Such a good fucking girl for me, ‘m gonna give you exactly what you want, sweet thing,” Steve went on, rubbing his hot, hard length through your drenched folds, coating himself in your wetness. “Gonna bury my cock in your holes for an aeon, keep you dumb and drunk on my cock, gonna make you my precious little plaything.”

“Yes, master, please,” you whimpered, your hands finding Steve’s waist and pulling your bodies closer, your ass sliding to the edge of the chair. “Fuck my tight little hole, please—please!”

Something in Steve seemed to snap, and with a snarl, he folded you in half in his leather tattoo chair, pushing your knees to your chest and lining up the head of his cock with your weeping entrance. In the next breath, he shoved his cock deep into your cunt, splitting you open with such a delicious mixture of pain and pleasure that your screams filled the whole of Hell.

Steve gave you only a moment to adjust to the sheer girth of his thick, massive cock before he pulled back and snapped his hips forward, the sound of his thighs hitting your ass making a loud clapping sound.

Your mouth fell open, the most obscene, pornographic moans coming from your lips. Against your will, your eyes slid closed.

Grabbing the back of your head to hold it still, Steve slapped your cheek—hard—making your eyes fly back open. The stinging pain blurred into a deep, aching pleasure, and your cry of surprise devolved into a lewd moan.

“What did I tell you, fucktoy?” Steve growled, slapping you again, harder. The pools of his eyes churned dangerously, his mouth twisted with determination as he reminded you of his earlier command. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Though you knew his strikes were meant to be punishing, he was keeping a tight leash on his strength. His hand smarted but he never truly hurt you.

It was more degrading, feeling Steve slap your face, and you enjoyed it much more than you would’ve expected. The sounds of your desperate, depraved pleasure spilling freely from your lips.

When you managed to focus your gaze on your demon, you found Steve watching you with a smug smirk on his face.

“Do you like it when I slap you, sweet thing?” he cooed, his hips driving into yours, fucking you deep and hard with his thick cock while he held the back of your head. He didn’t wait for an answer, slapping you again, letting your face twist to the side before forcing you back to look at him. “Do you want me to hurt you more, pretty girl?”

“Yes, master!” you cried, surprising even yourself. But you were greedy for the mixture of pain and pleasure Steve offered, finding you were quickly growing addicted to the wicked way he made you feel. “Play rough with your fucktoy—please, master, I want it!”

“Good girl,” Steve purred, grinning wider and using his free hand to slap your tits, your thighs, anywhere he could reach. The sharp smacking sounds joined with the clapping of his hips against your ass and the obscene wet noises of your pussy being fucked. “You’re such a perfect little plaything, baby, taking it like such a good girl for your master.”

Steve leaned more heavily on top of you, his hips pressing his cock so deep, you sobbed with pleasure, feeling like he was pushing into your cervix. Pain and pleasure made your mind spin, and your hands clung to Steve’s thick biceps, your nails digging sharply into his skin.

Your demon hissed out a breath at the bite of your nails, his hips stuttering and fucking more powerfully into you. He slammed against a spot deep inside your cunt that had you thrashing beneath him in the leather chair, clawing at him even more.

“Fuck yeah, sweetheart, hurt me back,” he growled, his tone taunting you meanly as he went on. “Show me what ya got, I can take it.”

Darkness rose inside of you, and though it was tempting to believe it was solely the effect of the demon’s mark on your body, you knew it wasn’t. This was the darkness that had grown within you over the years, the one that had called out to the demon and had been so pleased when he answered your call by binding you to him for an eternity of sinful servitude.

Skimming your hands up to Steve’s shoulders, you didn’t miss the way he looked a little disappointed at your light touch. You curled your lips in an impish grin—the only warning you gave him before you dug your nails deep into his skin, dragging them down over his inked shoulders and biceps as hard as you could.

Though you didn’t break skin, dark red lines appeared on his pale skin where it shone through and Steve groaned loudly, his hips twitching before he picked up his pace. He fucked you faster, with punishingly violent strokes that had you babbling an endless stream of pleasured noises.

“That’s it, plaything, let it out—take it out on me,” he growled encouragingly.

You didn’t know what exactly he was prompting you to let out, but you suspected it had something to do with the darkness churning in your chest. And his reaction, his pleasure in response to the pain you’d given him, lit something inside you. The darkness unfurled further as you finally let it free, and you felt Steve’s encouragement through the bond you shared.

Tilting your hips up so that Steve could pound harder and deeper into your pussy, you reached around to his lower back, raking your nails up the long length of his muscles. You pressed so deep, you would’ve gouged into a human’s skin. But your demon was made of sturdier stuff, and he simply grunted in pleasure, fucking you harder—so hard, it nearly hurt.

Steve was glorious above you, his demented coal-black eyes staring down at you with a fathomless greed you could feel thrumming in your own heart. It made you want to hurt him. It made you want to love him.

Frightened by both impulses, you grabbed Steve by the back of his neck, digging your nails into his skin as you pulled him down. Instead of kissing him, though, your face buried into the crook of his neck and you sank your teeth into the spot at the base of his throat, the one free of ink, biting him hard enough you thought you might actually pierce the demon’s skin.

He tasted like fire and smoke and salt.

Steve’s growling groan rumbled in his throat and you felt it against your cheek, moaning in answer while you licked his warm, golden skin. You sucked on him hard, wanting to leave your own mark on your demon, sinking your teeth in further while his cock pressed deep inside you.

Your demon allowed it for a moment, then his hand wrapped around the front of your throat and he pushed you away, pinning you hard against the back of the tattoo chair while he climbed on top of you. The back gave way until you were laying flat and Steve’s big body was covering yours.

The chair rocked dangerously, but stayed upright and Steve caged you in beneath him, fucking you in slow, lazy strokes.

“You bite me like that again, sweetheart, and ‘m gonna blow my load way too soon,” he grumbled, glaring at you, though there wasn’t any heat to it. Especially since you could feel his pleasure through the bond.

“Oops,” you said, unable to hold back your giggle. Steve didn’t look nearly as amused as you felt, so you forced yourself to look a little contrite as you pouted and simpered, “Sorry, master.”

Shaking his head and huffing a laugh, you felt his humor slip through the bond and saw his mouth flicker in a smile.

“Baby, baby, baby, what am I gonna do with you, huh?” he purred. Tilting his head to the side, he considered you with smirk. “You’ve only been bound to me for an hour and I’ve already corrupted you, sweetheart.”

He ducked down, dragging his nose from the base of your throat up to your jaw, nipping at the spot just below your ear that had you moaning softly. Your legs clung to his sides, holding him close in the cradle of your body while he kissed your neck.

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement, even though you both knew it was the darkness in your heart that had drawn him to you in the first place, not that he’d corrupted you. “I guess you’ll just have to keep me, master,” you said sweetly, lifting your hips to meet Steve’s languid strokes, gasping when the tip of his cock hit that spot deep inside you that had you seeing stars.

At your words, Steve huffed a laugh, burying his face in your neck and mumbling against your skin, “As if I’d ever be able to let you go.” He rocked into your body, wringing another moan from you as he grunted his own pleasure. “Fuck, your cunt feels so good, ‘m not gonna last much longer.”

“Master, please, ‘m so close,” you whimpered into his ear. You wrapped one of your arms around his broad shoulders while your other hand dove into his soft, blond hair. You clung to your demon while he dug his arms beneath your back, holding you pinned beneath his body so he could rut ferociously into you.

“Bite me, baby,” Steve growled, pounding into you with short, hard thrusts, grinding the base of his cock against your clit with each one. “Mark me—show me I’m yours.” His voice was a desperate, greedy rasp, his need thrumming through your body through the bond, and you couldn’t think of doing anything but indulging him.

Your teeth sank deep into Steve’s neck, in the one spot that wasn’t covered in ink, and sucked hard on his skin, licking his throbbing pulse point at the same time. He growled wildly, his thrusts turning harder and meaner, his fingers slipping between your bodies to find your clit and rub ruthlessly.

You didn’t know which of you came first because it seemed like you both pushed each other over the edge in the same instant.

The coil of pleasure deep in your belly snapped suddenly, and pleasure exploded through your body, leaving devastation in its wake as you screamed your release. At the same time, Steve groaned, long and loud, his cock throbbing deep inside your cunt while he spilled his seed into your fluttering channel.

Your demon kept fucking you as you both rode out the waves of pleasure, your body clinging to his and milking his cock while he held you crushed to his chest.

Your gasps for air turned to deeper breaths as you slowly came down from your peak, and you were distantly aware of Steve hauling you up from the chair and spinning around to sit while you sprawled in his lap.

As you recovered together, Steve’s fingertips danced up and down your spine while your head lay on his inked shoulder and you watched the red indents of your teeth slowly fade from his neck. A frown pulled at the edges of your mouth, and you wondered how on earth he’d managed to get tattooed if it was so difficult to leave a mark on his skin.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked in a deep, gruff voice, like he’d been on the brink of sleep.

It took you a moment of being confused about how he could’ve possibly seen your frown before you remembered the bond. You still felt the tether to him, like a string tied behind your belly button, but you didn’t feel a tug on it until his palm skimmed down to your ankle and his hand closed over the tattoo he’d given you, which was healed somehow.

“How did that heal so fast?” you asked, sitting up twisting around to look at your ankle. The sweeping, delicate curves peaked out from behind Steve’s hand, and you brushed your fingertips over the inked lines with wonder.

“There was a drop of my blood in the ink,” Steve answered, and when you looked at him, he wore a mischievous smirk. “I told you the ingredients were all-natural, didn’t I?” he asked charmingly and shot you a wink, making you laugh and shake your head.

But then your eyes fell on the spot on his neck where you’d bitten him. He’d healed so fast, you couldn’t see any trace of your teeth anymore, and you brushed your fingers over it sadly. Steve caught your hand and brought it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to each of your fingertips.

“There’s a special method to tattooing a demon,” Steve answered your unasked question, skimming his free hand down his chest and over all the other ink on his skin. “I can teach you how,” he offered.

Your eyes had drifted down to his chest, tracing the lines of the tattoos that had been hidden by his shirt, but at his words, you glanced up—and were surprised to see the darkness had receded from his eyes, leaving them a bright, sky blue. The look he was giving you was earnest, and you felt it reflected in the bond that hummed in your body.

“I’d like that,” you said softly, ducking your head into the crook of his neck and licking the spot you wanted to mark.

He still tasted like fire and salt and smoke and you wanted to savor him for an eon. With a sigh, you gave into the urge, licking and kissing him idly while you cuddled into his chest. Steve held you securely, your body still impaled on his half-hard cock while his cum dripped out of you, and you thought you could stay like that forever.

Instead, after a few moments, you asked, “So what happens now? Do you take me back to hell or the underworld or whatever?”

A chuckle rumbled in Steve’s chest. The sound reverberated through your sternum where you were pressed together and you smiled into his neck.

“I figured we’d stick around Brooklyn for a couple decades, then we can head down below,” he murmured, tracing patterns on your lower back with one hand while the other gripped your ass possessively. “I think you’ll like it there—I’ve got all kinds of fun toys to play with.”

You could hear the depraved excitement in his tone and snorted a laugh. But then something occurred to you and you pushed up from his chest to sit back so you could see Steve’s face. He looked confused by your suddenly serious expression.

“When you say toys, you don’t mean other people you’ve bound to you, do you?” you asked him with your eyes narrowed. Your focus was almost entirely on the bond, waiting for his reaction. You knew you’d be able to tell if he was lying, or hiding something.

But you felt only amusement from him, and watched as a grin spread across his face. “Nah,” he said, his hand wrapping loosely around the front of your throat to pull you in for a kiss. “I’m not actually the demon from the urban legend,” he confessed. “It’s just one of the ways we trick pretty little humans like you to sell your souls to us—you really should’ve read the fine print of that contract you signed.”

You huffed an exasperated laugh, because what else could you do, and kissed your demon again. He chuckled into your kiss before deepening it, his mouth sliding possessively against yours. When he pulled away, he nipped your lower lip, soothing the sting away with his tongue as he growled into your mouth.

“You’re the only soul for me, sweet girl.”

Your heart beat harder in your chest, and you felt his deep affection swirling with your own in your belly, twining together around your heart to create something real and deep. It was something that would grow and strengthen over the millennia you spent together.

You knew in that moment that there would be no running from the demon you’d unknowingly bound yourself to, and that you wouldn’t want to escape him anyway. Steve may have tricked you—and you’d make him grovel for your forgiveness for at least a century for that—but he was yours now, just as surely as you were his.

“You’re the only demon for me, Steve Rogers.”

You moaned for your demon when his hands grabbed your hips and began bouncing you on his hardened cock. His cum was still leaking out of your cunt, making a mess of both of you, but neither of you cared. Your kisses turned messy with your grunts and groans of pleasure, your bodies pushing each other toward the edge of another release as you gave in to the insatiable need you both felt for the other.

It would be a long time before that need was finally sated—so long that it was no longer Friday the 13th by the time you stumbled out of Hell, Steve’s heavy arm draped around your waist. His strong body kept you upright on unsteady knees while he walked you to his brownstone around the corner.

For years after that fateful Friday the 13th, you helped Steve keep up appearances as a tattoo artist, playing his devoted girlfriend during the day. Then at night, he took you home and made you his personal plaything, bending you over and fucking your ass with his fat demon cock or unloading his cum down your throat.

In the rare moments when you weren’t fucking, Steve taught you how to tattoo, and the method of how to tattoo a demon specifically, all so you could leave your mark on his skin. You tattooed an outline of your teeth marks on his neck, in the spot he’d left open for you since the night you’d met.

You’d even included a drop of your blood in the ink, even though Steve said it wouldn’t strengthen the bond. But afterward, you did feel like you were close to him, and he admitted he felt it, too.

Years later, Steve surprised you by asking you to marry him, and though you thought it was a little unnecessary, you said yes. It just seemed a bit like overkill to have a whole wedding ceremony when your souls were already bonded for eternity, but you had to admit it was a good time. Plus, all your friends and family cried happy tears—even the demons.

Finally, when it began to get suspicious that you and Steve weren’t aging while the humans around you were, Steve passed on ownership of Hell to one of the other artists and he took you down below to the real thing. He carried you across the threshold of his house and welcomed you home, where you’d live happily together until you decided to go topside again.

There in hell, Steve spent centuries shattering you apart with his cock before rebuilding you, only to break you down into his dumb little fucktoy all over again. Together, you used every toy Steve owned. You were your master’s good little plaything while he delivered pain and pleasure that sent you to new planes of existence.

Then, of course, Steve taught you how to use them all on him, too, because your demon master liked a little bit of pain, too.

You’d loved your time in Brooklyn with Steve Rogers, the tattoo artist and owner of Hell, but you loved your time in hell with your demon master even more. Together, you allowed yourselves to be truly free and give in to your darkness together. You allowed yourself to love him, and let him love you in return.

It was everything you could have dreamed of, living a happy life for the rest of eternity with your demon in hell.

And all you had to do was follow one rule: When in hell, do as the demons do.

#steve rogers #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers smut #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers fanfic #demon steve rogers #steve rogers au #steve rogers one shot #steve rogers imagine #chris evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans characters #chris evans smut #halloween fic #witchywithwhiskeywork

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navybrat817 · 6 months ago

Text

Give Me One More

Pairing: Soft!Dark Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: You don't need Bucky. He's going to prove you wrong. Over and over and over...

Word Count: Over 3.7k

Warnings: DUBCON to be safe, explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (f. receiving), overstimulation, masturbation, established and slightly toxic relationship, pet names, possessive behavior, family drama, betrayal, threats (not against reader), loose backstory, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning and a bit mean, okay?).

A/N: I spoke about prisoner!Bucky ages back and I couldn't let this go. Especially not when I'm looking at that beautiful edit by the more beautiful @nixakimbo! ❤️Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own (but thanks to @whisperlullaby for discussing this man with me!). Divider by the talented @saradika. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You pushed the curtain aside to look out the bedroom window, the clouds dark and thick in the sky. Your home used to be your safe haven, a place of comfort, and all you wanted to do now was escape from your prison of sorts. Not the kind of place your boyfriend, Bucky, spent time in. The bars that kept you in couldn't be seen by the naked eye.

“Can't stay in there all day,” Bucky said from the hall, his deep voice reminding you that you weren't alone.

You’d never be alone again.

“Yes, I can,” you called back. You had been in your bedroom for well over an hour since you snapped at him and left him alone in the living room. If staying in there meant avoiding him, you were fine with that.

You half expected him to stomp down the hall, but he only said, “You’re being a fucking brat.”

Blood rushed to your cheeks as anger flowed through you. “Leave me alone, asshole!” You shouted, feeling every bit like the brat he said you were.

You weren’t sure what set you off today. It could've been because you were still angry that Bucky used you. How long did it take for an empire to fall? In your case, six months.

Half a year ago, Bucky Barnes bumped into you at your favorite coffee shop. Literally. He was large, built like a powerhouse, but his grip that kept you from falling was so gentle. One look in his cerulean eyes and you were a goner. He easily charmed his way into your life and bed. He treated you like a princess, better than any boyfriend before, and you naively believed it was fate that brought you together.

You should’ve known it wasn't the beginning of a happy new chapter in your story. It was a clock winding down to your doom. More specifically, your father’s doom. Because Bucky wanted to destroy the man who helped land him in jail.

The White Wolf, a nickname for Bucky you recently learned about, wasn't a good man. Far from it and far from being a reformed criminal. He took it personally that your dad got him put behind bars for a short time. So he tore his life apart. Took his job away. Urged his friends to abandon or turn on him. Got him put in jail. Bucky even rubbed it in his face that he fucked his daughter. All in six months.

It would almost be impressive if you weren't the one living with the aftermath.

Had your dad known exactly who you were seeing, he may have tried to stop you.

“Asshole,” you muttered.

What Bucky didn't plan on was falling for you or so he said. You were, apparently, his chance at happiness. Because of that, he wouldn't let you go. And he expected you to just forgive him and move forward.

How could you forgive him?

He promised he’d hunt you down if you tried to leave him. You naturally tried and didn't get very far. The sick part was how much you enjoyed him chasing after you and bringing you back. After he fucked you where he found you.

As if he read your mind, he called out, “I know you're frustrated. Bet if you sit on my cock you'll feel better.”

Your cheeks flamed, your panties damp. Damn him for still arousing you with so little words. “Go fuck yourself.”

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He was right. You were frustrated and itching to get out of your own skin. Maybe if you got yourself off, you’d feel a little better. Not happy, but better.

“I don't need him,” you said.

That was what you told yourself as you stripped down and got on the bed. But as you ran your hands along your breasts, gasping as you moved one hand lower, it didn't feel right. The normal fire within you didn't burn. Didn't even a flicker. A raw ache instead outweighed the pleasure you tried to give yourself.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

You heard Bucky’s dark chuckle from the doorway and made the mistake of looking his way. You weren't sure how long he'd been standing there, but his cock was free from the confines of his pants and he lost his shirt at some point, too. He didn't attempt to hide the array of scars and tattoos that littered his torso. Ones you traced with your fingers and tongue more times than you could count. Back when you weren't a pawn in his game.

But if you really were a pawn, why did he have your name tattooed over his chest?

“Looks like you need a hand,” he said, brushing back his long hair as his eyes moved along your body from head to toe.

You ignored your racing heart as you said through your teeth, “Go away.”

He tore your life apart like a tornado, leaving destruction where there was once calm and beauty. Instead of letting you pick up the pieces, he continued to wreck everything around you. He broke you, too, but you were also the only thing he put back together.

The smirk he gave you was one you used to adore. “What’s wrong, princess? Still mad at me?”

You scoffed. Was he serious? “Yes, I’m fucking mad at you.”

“Still mad about the past? Or is it because you can't get out of your own head long enough to make yourself come?” He taunted, slowly stroking his thick cock. “Did you ever actually get yourself off before me? Or did you not know what an orgasm was until I gave you one?”

You watched with a lustful gaze as his hand moved up and down, your eyes not leaving the sight as you desperately tried to get some sort of relief. “I had plenty before you showed up,” you hissed, sliding a finger into your tight hole.

“You know, all you have to do is admit that I'm right: That I've ruined you and all you can think about is how good it feels when I'm fucking you. Admit it and I’ll get you off.”

Pushing another finger inside yourself, you refused to admit that he was telling the truth. Nothing felt as good as he did. And that was the problem, wasn't it? You shouldn't want or need him. Not after everything he had done to your family.

He groaned as he watched your fingers sink in. “You're so pathetic laying there. My pretty little slut wants to prove the impossible. Just wants to prove that she doesn't need me when we both know that's a fucking lie,” he grunted as his cock twitched, making you clench in want despite your anger at his words. “Better hurry up and say it. Otherwise I'm going to come all over you and you're going to be left begging to come and not get off at all.”

You whined as a tear fell from your eye. “You're an asshole. The lowest of the low.”

He chuckled as he brushed his thumb along the tip, watching as your eyes followed the motion. “Now you're just trying to hurt my feelings and that's mean, princess. That isn't you. I'm the mean one in this relationship.”

Your fingers froze as you narrowed your eyes. “Relationship? Don't you mean your prisoner?”

Your breath caught in your throat when he smirked, something darker than before. “You think you're a prisoner? You have no fucking idea. I’ve been to prison. This is a fucking walk in the park,” he said, pouring more salt in the open wound when he added, “And your dad knows all about prison now, doesn't he?”

You choked on your next breath. “How dare-”

“Relationship, prisoner, my girl. You're still fucking mine,” he snarled, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. “And I'm still right. So just say it. Tell me you need my cock and I'll get you off. Fuck that pretty pussy so good you cry for me. Won't even make you apologize for repeatedly calling me an asshole.”

“I wish I never met you,” you blurted out.

Guilt churned in your stomach at the hurt in his eyes. Why did you still care after what he did? Why did he matter to you? “You don't mean that,” he whispered before he blinked, ice in his gaze. “You’re just being a fucking brat.”

You let out a small scream of frustration when you removed your fingers and reached for your side drawer where you kept your vibrator. If Bucky was going to keep being an asshole who wouldn't get you off, your toy would. But he didn't let you get very far. Not when he was on you in a flash, throwing the toy far behind him and pinning your wrists above your head.

His breathing was almost as heavy as yours.

“Oh no, princess. You're so confident you can come without me then that must mean you don't need any help at all coming,” he smirked, gripping your wrists tighter as you squirmed beneath him. You didn't dare look down when his cock brushed against your skin. “It's cute that you think you're stronger than I am. That sexual frustration must really be fucking with your head. I can fix that.”

“You're fucking sick. I don't… I… I don't need you,” you said, not having to see your eyes to know your pupils were blown with lust. Your tongue darted out to lick bottom lip before your gaze settled on his, challenging. “You need me more than I need you. What was it you said? That I was the best pussy you ever had? And you’d be happy to keep your cock in me all day every day?”

“Just like my cock is the best you ever had.”

You opened your legs a bit more when he clenched his jaw. “And you don't want to finish on me. You want to be in me. If it were any other guy, he'd-”

He growled when he grabbed your chin. It was a reminder of just how strong he was and how he could hurt you if he wanted to. “There are no other guys. Do you fucking hear me?”

It was your turn to smirk. Bucky was a lot of things, but he never strayed. Not once. He would forever be faithful. “You sure about that? Maybe I can't relax right now, but if you won't fuck me I’m sure I can find someone who-”

He flipped you on your stomach and gripped the back of your neck before you could finish that statement. “If you think I wouldn’t kill any guy who touches you, you’re out of your fucking mind. Keep pushing me, sweetheart. See what happens.”

You bit back a moan at the gravel in his voice as you turned your head to the side, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. It was dangerous to poke the bear, but you were past the point of caring. Especially when fury looked beautiful on him. “What's wrong, Bucky? Don't like the taste of your own medicine?”

He leaned down, his breath harsh against your ear. “I prefer the taste of your pussy. Always so good for me. You wanna hear that I need you? Fine. I fucking need you,” he rasped, biting at your earlobe. “Happy?”

“And that you’re sorry?”

“For hurting you? Yes,” he whispered, nosing along your neck. “Never meant to hurt you.”

You shuddered, almost delirious from needing to come. And the fact that he admitted that he needed you. That he was sorry for hurting you. But you weren't ready to play nice. “I'll be happier when you finally decide to fuck me, but you're just a fucking asshole, aren't you?”

He let out a slow breath. “Yeah, I'm a fucking asshole.” He nipped your earlobe roughly again in retaliation before settling between your legs and teasingly brushing the tip of his cock along your folds. “And I'll fuck you when you say you need me, too.”

You tried to push back to take him in, but he kept a firm hold on your hips. You tried to wiggle out of it, but it only brought you frustration as you groaned. “If you're really going to make me say it, don't hold your breath. You can't threaten me, Bucky. You're all talk. And guess what?” You said, smiling sweetly. “I can find another guy to fuck me better than you can.”

You couldn’t see the thunderous look in his eyes, but you heard the low and menacing chuckle in his throat. It sent chills down your spine. Maybe you pushed too far this time, but you didn’t care. He deserved it and worse.

“You're trying to piss me off and I want you to remember that you pushed me to this,” he said more to himself than you before sheathing you in one hard thrust, your mouth falling open in a cry at his sudden intrusion. “Hope you enjoy the bed since you won't even be able to walk out of this room.”

You stared at the wall, your eyes unseeing as Bucky tore you apart. Seconds passed. Minutes. Hours. The sound of his grunts from behind you filled your ears, along with the brutal slap of skin-on-skin. Your body burned, the overwhelming stretch from his cock making you lose sense of yourself. You told yourself he’d finish fucking you soon, but that felt like ages ago.

You also told yourself there was no way you’d have another orgasm, but he proved you wrong. Climax after climax, your release practically flooded around him. At this rate, you really wouldn't be able to get out of bed.

“Bucky,” you gasped, trying to grip the sheets for purchase as he pulled out and slammed back into you. “Please…”

You were boneless, exhausted, and he just kept going. “Oh, no, princess. You wanted to get off.”

Tears of ecstasy streamed down your cheeks, whimpering when you felt yourself on the cusp of another orgasm. How was that possible? How many had he given you? “Bucky, I…” you moaned as you clenched around his cock again.

He cooed, a taunting sound when you choked on a sob. “So good, but I want another.”

“I don't… ” Your eyes rolled back, your head spinning. “I can't.”

You’d seriously lost count at that point how many times you’d come. And your whimper didn't stop Bucky from mockingly cooing again. “Aww, you don't think you can? My poor little fuck doll can still talk which means she hasn't had enough yet. This pussy is so fucking wet for me, so swollen,” he taunted, reaching underneath you and flicking your overstimulated clit as a choked moan escaped you, your walls tightening around him once again. “See? Your greedy little cunt can't get enough of me.”

Why did your body need him so badly? “I can't…” you whined as he licked one of your tears away, seemingly unbothered by the sheen of sweat on your face.

“You think anyone else can do this? Work your body up like this over and over again?” He grunted against your cheek. Your eyes squeezed shut at his harsh panting, his pace not slowing. “All you had to do was say that you need me. But no. You just had to be a fucking brat.”

You practically wailed as you teetered on the edge of another orgasm. “I-I need you. Just you, Bucky,” you said. At least, you thought you said it. You had a tough time stringing any thoughts together with his cock splitting you open.

But his thrusts don’t slow. They were just as relentless as before. “Oh, no. You had your chance to say it,” he snarled, leaning up to pull your hips back against his. “And my pussy is telling me all I need to know. So just lay there and give me another.”

The pleasure bordered on the edge of pain as a sob escaped. There was no possible way you could come again. As much as you thought you couldn’t take it, your body tensed. You still craved him and wanted to give him one more. So you did. You shattered. It was almost too easy that he managed to pull another orgasm from your pliable body.

Or maybe you were just easy for him.

Bucky smacked your ass hard enough to make you cry out, his hand kneading the flesh with a delighted groan. “Fuck, each one is better than the last, princess. You want me to fill you up huh? You wanna feel me dripping from you?” He chuckled darkly, finally slowing down as you let out another sob. He shushed you before he put a hand on the back of your neck and kept you down. “I’m gonna fill you up and you’re gonna take it. Then, I'm gonna lick you clean until I'm satisfied.”

“No…”

He gave you one more smack for good measure when you made a sound of protest. “C'mon, princess. Beg for me to fill you up. If you can talk.”

You didn’t know if you could. You were practically a drooling mess as he drove in as deep as he can go. “Pl… Pl… Bu…” you tried to moan, another tear falling as he shushed you again.

“Got you cockdrunk, didn't I? Need to be pumped full? Then let me give you every. Fucking. Drop.”

A tired moan came out when he filled you up, giving a few slow thrusts as he finished. Your body trembled beneath him, a whiplash of chills and heat. You barely registered him pulling out before he flipped you onto your back. Glassy and unfocused eyes. Makeup smeared all your face. Tears stains on your cheeks. You must’ve looked quite the sight.

He relished in ruining you.

And the beautiful bastard didn’t even look like he broke a sweat.

“Should I call you a dog? You’re drooling, princess,” he smirked. You didn’t have it in you to argue as his eyes drifted down to your pussy. It was still twitching and leaking with your mixed release. He licked his lips as he slid down your body more to fully take in the sight. “And you look good enough to eat, so I think that's just what I'll do.”

“What…” you gasped. He couldn't. Not after all that.

You whimpered as you tried to push him away with a tired hand, but he grabbed your wrists with a tsk. “No, no, no, sweetheart. You keep your hands to yourself. I told you I wasn't done with you and it's rude to keep a man from his meal.”

You were still floating from the multiple orgasms he gave you when he took his first lick. Your shivers picked up again and he groaned at your taste before diving in. Any strength you had to try to push him away depleted immediately, even with how sensitive your walls felt. You couldn't stop him.

You’d never be able to stop him.

After a minute, your eyes widened when you felt him build you up again. “No,” you moaned, but the sight of him between your legs, eating you like he was starving, was too much.

He just hummed against you. "Give. Me. One. More.”

Your back arched when his lips latched onto your clit, forcing the orgasm from your worn out body. You weren’t sure if you made a sound, but you trembled as your release went on for what seemed like forever. Bucky’s tongue lapped it all up, humming before he sat back and looked at your wrecked form again. He made a show of licking the shine from his lips and looked just as proud as ruining you with his tongue the way he did with his cock.

“If you ever try to threaten me with another man or refuse to admit you want me again, I'll make sure to tie you to this bed for a week and refuse to let you come even if you beg for it. And I shouldn’t have to mention what else I can do. Do you understand?”

You trembled, knowing exactly what Bucky was capable of. While he never laid a hand on you to inflict pain, you knew the damage he did to others. Like the bodies buried and cold in the ground because of him. Not to mention the connections he still had at the prison. All he had to do was say the word and that would be the true end of your dad.

With unfocused and teary eyes, you gave him a nod. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered.

“Now tell me you love me and that you’re sorry,” he ordered.

A tear slid from the corner of your eye. “…Love you. I’m sorry.”

His smile was tender and for a second you forgot about everything else. “That’s my good girl,” he praised, your heart betraying you like your body did when he kissed your lips. “And I love you, too.”

You whined as he left your line of sight, but he came back almost right away to sit beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. “Drink it, princess,” he urged, his voice gentler than before he helped you take a sip of water. He even smiled again when he wiped another tear of yours away. “We can go back to the way it was before, you know. When you were blissfully unaware and we just quickly fell in love.”

The pain in your heart came and went as your breathing evened. You wished you could go back to innocent movie nights and meals. To waking up beside him with a smile on your face. To making love so passionate that you believed you were made for each other. There was no changing anything or going back. You could only move forward with him by your side.

Bucky sighed when you didn't say anything. “I know I’m a piece of shit, but I won't stop loving you. And I think you learned your lesson.”

You blinked a little as you took another sip, on the verge of passing out.

“You’re mine and I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, brushing the gentlest of kisses against the top of your head. “Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

So... I know he isn't all good, but I had fun writing this and I hope you lovelies enjoyed it! Would love to hear your thoughts and maybe I'll expand on this? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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in-the-words-of-the-hellaverse · 15 days ago

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PLEASE SPREAD GIVE ATTENTION: I never thought I would come on here and say this, but I need some help. Help me out of College and Medical Debt

A reason for lack of posting is a few real life issues, one of them, I'm now in debt, I feel wrong asking but I work 3 jobs to stay afloat plus I'm in college and I still struggle paying off things. I hate asking for help it feels weird to me but, I am out of options, so I have created a GoFundMe. I hope you can hear my story. I am an animator, animation industry is not doing great right now recently, due to a messup and miscommunication, I now owe quite a bit. I will explain. This is both medical and college debit. I switched colleges as I went back years ago. Before switching, at my previous one, I was a bit behind, and had underlining medical issues I was unaware of that lead me in the hospital by how sick I got. But, they said I owed money, and I at the time, had the money to pay, but when I called up they informed me, I didn't have to pay it was all good. But I questioned it because it had a thing on my account, then another person said I had to pay, then yet another said when I tried to pay off what I owe, I didn't and the balance on my account was gone, so I thought nothing of it, but over a year later, I am not only at my new college, I got a call, my old college screwed up and I need to pay a certain amount. UNFORTUNATELY, as of now, I am in no position to pay off this amount, vs a few years ago. And I am currently paying off medical bills to treat my conditions and all the times I ended up in the hospital due to a condition I never knew I had, plus spending around an extra $1,000 a month to pay off my new college plus I am on more medications too some I already struggle to afford. I can't take a loan, they don't do me well. Even if I took one, no way to pay it back, I won't make enough. I already can't even afford to move out. I still live with my parents, they can't help me with this ether they don't make enough. I already paid off MOST of my medical[some is still left], but now I need to worry about college. I hate to ask, because I feel weird asking for money, but please any donation helps. Or please spread this post around, give this post attention please, and don't feel compelled to donate. I can't even post in the proper reddit places for something like this because my account doesn't have enough karma. I feel funny asking because I'd rather earn the money myself, I am also accepting Ko-Fi donations, and if you want to buy something from my teepublic store, honestly what I would love is to get enough subscribers on TikTok or youtube and do lives and maybe art requests. I also do commissions! Any little bit counts. I am also opening up a gumroad shop. Also if people buy something on Teepublic or do Ko-Fi instead of the GoFundMe, I will take and lower the GoFundMe goal. This GoFundMe will also be removed when I have the funds. Thank you for hearing me out. Ko-Fi GoFundMe https://www.teepublic.com/user/nitrowolfarts/

#gofundme #not helluvaboss #help #struggling #struggling artist #mod #urgent #debt relief #debt #blaze it #blaze #promote #assistance #student debt #college #education #long post #artists #community aid

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wandasaura · 5 months ago

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BENT RIGHT TO YOUR WINDS

summary — visiting your wife at work has become a normal part of your routine, but when she gets particularly handsy one afternoon, you find yourself christening her office whether you like it or not

warning(s) — established relationship, dom/sub dynamics, consensual free use, established safeword (it’s not used), public play, office sex, groping, nipple stimulation, choking, teasing, semi brat!reader, oral fixation, fingers as a gag, thigh riding, spanking, fingering, praise kink, slight degradation, making out, nearly getting caught, alludes to aftercare, wanda in a lab coat deserves a warning, men/minors dni

authors note — happy happy happy birthday to @godhatesgoodgirls !!

kinktober

The day had felt askew since you’d rolled out of bed, something amiss in the routine you’d settled yourself into since moving to the small beach town Wanda had secured a promotion in just seven months prior; when the weather had been warmer and the leaves had been vibrant with hues of green. You bristled at the breeze that swept off the shore the closer you got to central town, able to see the rippling high tides if you craned your neck just slightly to the left and peered through the shrubbery that framed an old ice cream parlor named ‘Sprinkles’, but your gaze was fixed on the large brownstone building that you’d initially sought out, your thoughts spiraling as you considered the misleading appearance. The work that was done inside was prestigious, innovative, a true slice of the future right at the fingertips of those that had access to the futuristic laboratories inside, but the outside fit the quaint white picket fence aesthetic of Westview seamlessly. Had you never been inside before, had you not been married to Wanda who left each morning in a wrinkleless white coat, you’d have thought it was just another Mom and Pop shop for tourists to ogle at, but you weren’t blinded by ignorance – for once you were liberated with knowledge and effortless love.

You smiled softly at Darcy as you stepped inside, finally away from the chill that October had brought with it. The warm nights and blisteringly hot days of September were long behind you, replaced by the unforgiving assault that fall brought upon you and the other residents of Westview. The thick burnt orange and brown flannel around your shoulders did little to keep you warm, but at the very least it provided a sanctuary for your hands to hide away in as you walked the short mile from your two story house to the identifiable brownstone with ‘Romanoff Industries’ pinned to the front. There was a styrofoam jack-o-lantern on the front desk, and a string of harvest leaves behind the counter as well. The touches of decor were soft, delicate, but enough to revive the spirits of those that trekked into work each day; a thoughtful addition that didn’t make the routine of life feel so mindless.

“Wanda’s in her office.” Darcy’s smile was sweet as she nodded her head toward the elevator despite knowing that you preferred to take the stairs. You wouldn’t call her a friend, but she was always a comfortable face to see when you made the journey into town to visit Wanda during her lunch break. Since April when you’d come to help set up the office space despite Wanda keeping her decor minimal and devoid of heavy personal connection, she’d picked up on your habits, and it had become something of a running bet to see how long it would take for you to give into her quiet pestering. You’d yet to take the elevator, and Darcy huffed quietly from behind the desk as you pointedly avoided the silver plaque with glimmering white buttons to instead enter the stairwell, which was decorated with a wooden pumpkin sign hanging from a single clear command strip.

Natasha was definitely the one who had decorated, that much was obvious as you glanced at the decorations hung up within the interior of the stairwell. She was a very business oriented woman, that much you’d come to know since getting acquainted with Wanda’s coworkers and all of their unique relationships, and every story she retold of Natasha’s behavior throughout the day led you to believe that while she maintained a no bullshit attitude, there were soft, fleeting moments of tender care hidden beneath her stoic actions and expressions. She always pushed for Wanda to take a full hour lunch break, even though she preferred to eat as quickly as possible before returning to the lab, and on her birthday, which she hadn’t told anyone about, there had been a present sitting on her desk that was admittedly not very personal, but still touching because it meant that Natasha had remembered reading it on her transfer application. The touches of halloween decor was minimal, and honestly, somewhat laughable, but there was a softer message beneath the taped up scarecrow and the wonkily hung jack-o-lanterns. Even if the holidays were of no relevance to Natasha, who you knew worked every holiday that she could because Wanda was always prattling on about her data being changed during the few days off they received for things like Christmas and Easter, she knew that it mattered to her staff, and she tried her best to put some effort into boosting moral around the office.

When you entered Wanda’s office, the meticulously clean room being just beside the stairwell door, you noticed her lack of presence, which was odd. Wanda was always around when she knew you were coming, not wanting any of her other co-workers to get the chance to report back to Natasha claiming you were snooping through classified files. It had never happened, but the people at her old placement had started that rumor anyways, and Yelena, her boss that had become something of a close friend to you even if you rarely spoke with her grueling work schedule and your lack of genuinely trying, had merely rolled her eyes, but had still been required to scold Wanda for her negligence. Natasha’s hand would be forced the same way if anyone began those rumors again, so Wanda, bless her, had tried to nip them in the butt before they could even truly begin, which brought you right back to your confusion as you looked around the office. The salad she’d made before leaving was sat on her desk, picked through and beginning to wilt, signaling that she’d either forgotten to put the ice pack in her lunch box again despite the pink sticky note you left on the freezer door, or she’d taken lunch early by Natasha’s forcing. You hoped you weren’t interrupting anything important, not aware of your plans being subject to change, but before you could dwell on what she could possibly be doing somewhere misplaced in the large office building, you felt hands wrapping around your body and pulling you backward.

A soft gasp fell off of your lips when the door was kicked closed, and then you realized what was happening. A breathy whine fell off your lips when fingers pinched at your nipples through the thick material of your shirt, the unbuttoned flannel thrown over your shoulders allowing your attacker to feel the way they pebbled without a bra to conceal them. The flash of white as one hand reached up to hold onto your neck had you melting against her chest, somewhat out of breath from the shock that had rattled you initially.

“Wanda.” You sighed softly, head lulling to the side when teeth nipped at your neck before passionate kisses were pressed into your skin and trialed downward toward the collar of your shirt. “Wanda, you’re at work.” You tried again, face growing flush as you stared ahead at the open blinds. If anyone was standing across the street, if they craned their head just the slightest bit upward, they’d undoubtedly be able to make out the silhouette of your body being groped. A whine fell off of your lips when a curious hand pinched at your nipples once more, relishing in the way they hardened beneath harsh pressure.

“Shh, baby. Just let me touch you, I’ll be quick.” She’d have stopped if you really wanted her to. All that you had to do was say a single word, and her hands would be off of you faster than they’d grabbed you to begin with, but the rush of excitement that had your clit pulsating against the seam of your leggings deterred you from making that choice. Wanda clearly knew that her office was safe enough to touch you in this way, and not so secretly, you yearned for the thrill of somebody knocking on the door, forcing the both of you to spring apart and attempt to collect yourself in time for them to not grow concerned beyond the threshold. Another added bonus was the dominance in which she touched you with, leaving nothing up for your consideration, merely taking what she wanted and giving what she wanted you to have. There was something so tantalizing about being at her disposal whenever and however she pleased, and you’d both gone to great lengths to ensure that this element of your sexual relationship was both consensual and comfortable for the both of you, not just her. She wasn’t doing anything that you hadn’t previously agreed to, in fact, you wish she’d do more. You wished her hands would stop toying with the collar of your shirt and wrap around your neck the way that you adored, that her hands would stop fiddling with your nipples overtop of your shirt and seek the price you hid beneath the thick cotton. You wished she’d travel lower, exploit that sensitive nerve between your legs that she knew how to manipulate until you were merely putty in her hands begging for release that she had every right to deny you. You wished she’d stop handling you so softly.

“If we’re going to do this, you need to at least make it worth my while, Maximoff.” You rushed out, eyes closed as pleasure seized your thoughts, pinning you in place as she twisted your nipple sadistically, enjoying the way every muscle in your body tightened before it melted away into bliss that you couldn’t fight. She chuckled darkly against your neck, her hot breath fanning across the shell of your ear.

“Trying to tell me what to do, pretty girl?” She quizzed, pulling you back against her chest with a firm grip around your midsection, her fingers that weren’t taunting your sensitive nipples fiddling with the waistband of your leggings that begged to be slipped down lower until your cunt was exposed to the heat circulating through the spacious office. “When has that ever worked out well for you?”

“Never.” You gritted through clenched teeth, taking in a large breath when the first instance of getting what you wanted from her presented itself, but you were foolish to think she’d cave to your bratting so easily, and just as easily as her fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your leggings to pull at the hem of your delicate panties, they were gone and trailed back up your body until they found a comfortable home against your neck. Her fingers squeezed tightly, and the sudden change in air going to your lungs had your eyes fluttering closed as you slumped against her chest, writhing in pleasurable pain as she again pulled at your taut nipples and chuckled whimsically.

“I applaud your efforts, detka, but you’re not here to make demands.” You gasped when teeth sank into your neck, right above where her thumb rested along the column of your skin, practically burning you with its possessive grip. A deep sense of pleasure rolled through your body when her knee pushed between your legs, her toned thigh sitting around against your clit, further driving the seam of your pants into your intimacy, giving you just an ounce of friction, which you took eagerly, rocking against her clothed thigh as you felt the impression of her pens in the breast pocket of her lab coat digging into you shoulder blade. “So easy, malyshka. Would you let anyone touch you like this? Have you wherever they wanted?” She knows that answer is a firm no, but still she likes to taunt your desperation for her touch, and it only adds to the humiliation that's beginning to pile up on you as you become desperate enough to rock against the thigh between your legs, desperate sounds falling off your lips as you attempt to silence your need. “So noisy, we’re gonna have to do something about that.”

You’re shoved away from her body like merely touching your skin is enough to burn her, and you can’t help but meekly whimper at the loss of contant. It lasts for merely a handful of seconds, her hungry eyes undressing you as you found your footing and steadied yourself. “Pants around your ankles. I don’t have time for you to look at me like a deer in headlights.” She grumbles, already beginning to move around the office and ensure that the blinds are properly drawn as you push down your leggings and fold yourself over the desk in the way that you know she wants. Your ass sticks out just enough for your glistening cunt to be visible, and a sadistic chuckle warms your skin as she sets her eyes on you already dripping for her. “You like when I take advantage of you, baby? When I tell you to come meet me for lunch just so I can play with your cunt?” It all makes sense now, and you can’t help but cry out in surprise when her palm comes down on the globe of your ass and leaves a stinging sensation in its wake. Another hit follows, this time harder and directed at your lower thighs, but there’s not time for you to respond before she’s pushing two fingers into your folds and setting a brutal pace as she works to have you coming undone.

She’d nearly been late to work that morning, too focused on obsessing over you to a degree that should’ve made her plans for the afternoon obvious. She’d asked you a few hundred questions, about how you were doing mentally, how you felt being in Westview now that it wasn’t so new, if you were still getting caught between feelings of sadness and longing in moments that you couldn’t have predicted such a strong overcoming of emotion. You hadn’t thought anything about it until now, but as you gathered the full picture, you can see that she was checking in, ensuring that none of this would affect you in any way other than positively. If her hand wasn’t holding your back firmly against her desk, you would’ve spun around to kiss her, but all that you could do now was whine as her fingers hammered into you, curling upward if only to graze that sensitive spot within your walls minimally. She was toying with you, teasing you, seeing how long she could prolong your pleasure until you begged for her to give you more.

It came quickly, because the overwhelming assault of your love for her only multiplied the pleasure that her fingers were provoking within your core, and the small movements of your hips pushing back against her fingers only gained you so much. “Please! Please! I need more!” You begged, tears blurring in your vision as your moans and whines became too loud, and were quickly silenced by her fingers forcing themselves into your mouth. She pressed down on your tongue cynically, chuckling to herself as you gagged and moaned around her now sodden digits.

She didn’t try to deny you though, working faster, pressing against that sweet spot within you with purpose now, dragging out every ounce of pleasure you allowed her to take, her thumb falling onto your clit as she guided you towards an orgasm that had to be silent, the sounds of footsteps just beyond the office door reminding you of where you are.

“Cum for me, detka. It’s okay, you can let go.” She cooed as she felt your walls begin to squeeze her fingers, fluttering and pulsating with each ounce of pleasure she drew out of you. That was all it took for you to fall apart, her fingers in your mouth silencing the whines and moans that attempted to fall into the air, but became muffled and soft sounding as her digits prevented them from fully forming on your tongue. Your thighs trembled as she withdrew her fingers, your brain a jumbled mess of pleasure and submission as you reached for your pants and worked them up your legs.

You smiled softly as she turned you around in her arms, laying a kiss to your lips that was soft and tender like she always was. “Did you eat?” She checked in, no longer radiating dominance that had your mind whirling with pleasurable incoherence, and just barely did you manage to nod your head before the door swung upon and one of her colleges that you’d heard about stood in the doorway with a beam of pride on her lips, entirely unaware of what she’d almost barged in on.

“We made a development! Like, a big development!” Kate rambled with excitement, taking off down the hallway and back toward the lab before Wanda even had a chance to reply.

You batted at the woman's chest, your hand landing right against her breast pocket where three black pens were meticulously pinned, your cheeks flush in mortification. “You didn’t lock the door?!”

“Whoops?” She grinned bashfully, stealing one last kiss before she was racing out of the office and in the direction that Kate had fled to. “I’ll see you at home, baby! Love you!”

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #dom!wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff smut #wanda maximoff fluff #wanda maximoff fic #[ kinktober ] — ⟡

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vifilms · 2 months ago

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tattoo artist!vi who takes notice of just how beautiful you are the moment you step foot in her shop. it’d be the most difficult task in the world to not notice just how insanely breathtaking you are. it’s clear by the smirk on your glossy lips. you know just how good you look. caitlyn, being the woman she is, tries to jump in first. you’re just her type. violet would know, cait’s dated the anti-thesis of her since the moment you broke up. caitlyn kiramman loves pretty girls. anything she can do to be underneath them, she’ll find a way. you fit her bill. violet tried not to take offense of the ways your eyes light up taking to her ex-girlfriend. maybe you’re just nice. that’s it, right? two minutes, someone who is almost as gorgeous as you walks in and then violet forgets about you as her next client walks in. she tries to at least.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t stop thinking about you. it’s new york. there’s plenty of pretty girls she can drown herself in. well, if she could figure out how to ask someone out without her crippling anxiety suffocating her. she knows she’s somewhat attractive but her lack of knowing how to efficiently communicate it without sound like the weirdest fuck who has ever lived gets lost in translation. she doesn’t like how sure cait is of herself when she talks about you though. violet doesn’t even know you but seeing the glint in those aquatic-blue eyes make her want to punch something. it’s hard to even tell if it due to her budding crush or that it’s her ex. probably both but she ignores it.

tattoo artist!vi who likes to frequent bars on her days off. it’s when she doesn’t feel alone. it’s fun to bug her sister, powder. she’s always been more of a free spirit out of the two of them. an artist, a wanderer, someone who choses to bartend a couple nights out of the week just because she liked meeting new people, learning their story, what makes them tick. are they a mean drunk, happy, or will they burst into tears when you ask them how they’re doing? vi isn’t either really. she’s quiet, calm even, but tonight part of her wants to cry. she feels lonely, lost, and even a little bit upset caitlyn is your first choice. she only knows your name because of the clientele list and that just feels pathetic. violet’s never been the smoothest of talkers, she knows that more than she feels the blood coursing through her veins. she isn’t the girl and she’s perfectly fine with it. perfectly. fine.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t even enjoy work anymore. three months in and you’ve been cait’s girlfriend and the feeling only gets worse. it’s cliché. a little fucked, but being in love with her ex’s girlfriend? it doesn’t get any lower than this. she let it slip days ago, only to powder, thank fucking god. if violet knew one thing, she didn’t wanna deal with caitlyn’s wrath. according to maddie, she’d been a dog with a bone when it came to you. so protective it nearly turned into possession. she wanted everyone to know that you were hers and not anyone else’s. it wasn’t new to violet, cait didn’t like being runner up to anyone. it’s why their relationship ended in the first place, especially when the girlfriend feels inferior to the sister. when powder comes around to the shop, cait can’t help but wear her disgust all over her face like a poorly concealed mask. vi thinks it’s silly. the both of them are nearly the same it’s almost sickening. if only the other took the time to know the object of their disdain, they would see two peas sitting in a pod.

tattoo artist!vi who hates a messy shop. when personal items are left behind or someone’s station isn’t properly sanitized and clean. it’s why she’s here, alone on the sunday, the only day the shop is closed. it’s been too long since she did a deep clean, just a week or too, but that’s long enough for her. she’s always been proud of what she’s been able to accomplish her. even if she didn’t have much, a girlfriend to love on, or if her father was on the other side of the country, she had this. violet ink. it was her name out on the sign over seeing the street, the luminous violet led lights kissing the downtown street. she made it this far and she couldn’t let anyone run her off from something she fought so hard to build from the ground up. it’s why she was surprised when she saw you. your face free of makeup, your hair in it’s natural state, and you appeared more laid back than you ever were — in her shop. it feels like a fever dream she never wishes to wake up from. cait must have given you a spare key to the shop which she would have a discussion with her about that later because what the fuck? but it’s hard for her to stay mad when you’re standing there looking like a million bucks in the most casual pair of sweats she’s ever seen. it feels different to who you usually are. shredded of the image you maintain, stripped back, there’s just a softer version of yourself and vi can’t help but contemplate if this is the side you’re so reluctant to show.

tattoo artist!vi who stutter how some stupid joke, trying to break the ice and it should have made things more awkward than they already were but your laugh full of symphonies just makes violet smile. in her best efforts, she craves to conceal it from you but it’s impossible when you’re looking at her. she can’t help but smile — so she does. desperately, violet tries not to act nervous when you’re looking at her designs on the wall, not saying a word, just inspecting. there’s a chill in her bones she feels, a need for her work to be loved because if it isn’t? it eats her up from the inside out. maybe it’s embarrassing but she needs her work to be loved. what’s the point if it isn’t? it’s always been an extension of her soul, her life, and if someone doesn’t like it? all they say is they don’t like her. it may be the silliest thing in the world, but she needs to be adored. from a complete stranger, from the people who she’s permanently tattooing, and especially from the beautiful women violet can’t stop daydreaming about.

tattoo artist!vi who blushes when you tell her how much you love her designs. there’s a soft touch to her shoulder, your thumb lightly tracing circles in her sturdy bicep. it feel innocent enough but vi doesn’t give herself much time to think about it. painfully, she takes note in how your eyes soar when they make contact with her designs. even if it makes her cocky, violet knows she’s good at her job. clients flying in from all over the country, just to get tattooed by her. with your undeniable charm, you’ve convinced her to do a custom design for you but you wanna discuss it on sunday’s, alone. if anything, she should know this isn’t a good idea. you’re charming, gorgeous and the prettiest thing she’s ever seen. she should be afraid of caitlyn’s wrath, of what would happen if she found out, but it’s innocent…right? she’s a professional. no matter how much she’s attracted to a client, it’s never been an issues and she certainly won’t make it one now. vi nods and the second she does, you’re leaping in her arms, into her space. you smell of lavender and lilies, like spring in the beginning of march. a sun-kissed marvel aching for the shine of summer, for one breath of fresh air. it’s really all she wants, a moment to be in the sunshine with you, if only for a moment at least she could tell the moon about it. her best kept secret and she would cherish every bit of it.

tattoo artist!vi who tries to keep her head down low as the weeks carry on. even when you try to make more of an effort to speak with her, the last thing she needs is caitlyn to take one final look at her and realize just how much she likes the attention. maddie already made one comment, even if it was light-hearted — it’s enough to keep her on edge. with the design being complete, all she needs is to tattoo but violet’s been avoiding you and what’s worse? you knew it too. in her true avoidant style, violet failed to go to the shop the last two weeks on sunday. the tidiness and damn right organization of her shop was suffering but she still had plans of avoiding it. rather avoiding you, but in her forest fire of a mind, it comes all the same. all of this is so trivial, so stupid, so tragic. it’s kiramman’s day off and violet and sevika are the only artists on hand today which means she’s overworked. the both of them are tired and violet just completed her last session of the day. she sneaks to the back enjoying the cigarette she’d been itching to have. violet’s on her second one when you corner her into the brick wall she’s leaning on. you’re too close. dangerously close, almost as if the fire you’ve created in violet’s lungs might cause her to burn from the inside out. it’s chilling how silent you are until you aren’t. you’re loud about the way you caress her exposed biceps, tracing the lines of her intricate tattoo as it crawls up shoulders and so do your hands. with a sharp graze, you scrap your nails across her skin as if you want to leave a reminder that she was in fact here. should she even even be here? letting you touch her in the way you are? but it’s not like vi has much of a choice when you push the hem of her tank top up to her ribcage, showcasing the flexing abs on her abdomen. it may be faint but there’s a happy trail, one violet wants to see your lips on but she’s scared to say anything, to move, to breathe. “caitlyn said you were ripped underneath. i wanted to see for myself.” then your touch is gone and you are with it.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t show up on sunday…for the first couple of hours. violet thinks of that night, the way you touched her, like you knew exactly what to do before she even could think of what she wanted next. how on earth did you manage to paralyze her with a mere flick of your wrist? when your nails clawed at her toned abdomen, violet felt the stickiness in her boxers and you’d done all of nothing. she had to put an end to things, the private session, violet couldn’t do it. she didn’t want to be caught in some weird and perversed love triangle with her ex. in the back of her throat, violet feels the lump she constantly has to swallow. the only reasonable explanation is that this, you, is all some weird fantasy of caitlyn to get the last laugh. to fully degrade her in a way she couldn’t, not when you’re the person who gets broken up with. it’s not a secret caitlyn’s ego had taken a hit. to anyone, not being the first choice stings but to cait? it might as well be a death sentence and certainly it wouldn’t stand.

tattoo artist!vi who isn’t one for confrontation but in the need to savor some of her salvation in her dignity, she walks in the shop. you’re still waiting for her. two hours later, you’d hoped she’d show. ”violet, you came.” it’s endearing but violet also sees herself the night before tangled in her black sheets, vibrator on its highest setting as she applies pressure to her clit, fingers nestled so deep inside her cunt as she hears your voice, thinks about your irresistible lips. violet wonders what you sound like when you come and suddenly the thought sends her hurling towards the edge. the smile you offer is almost like you can see right through her, like you know vi came to the idea of you just the night before.

with a slender smile, you make your way over to her and suddenly the internal dialogue she created to put an end to this arrangement died on your tongue when she shrugs vi’s leather jacket off. she’s only wearing her wrap to cover her chest, not intending on staying for a long time. definitely not enough to finish the beautiful design she created for you. she’d get cait to do it. their styles were similar to it. your girlfriend has to do this. but you’re touching her bare skin. vi is losing focus as she feels the control slip into your greedy fingers.

“i know what you’re gonna say.”

“and what’s that?”

“you wanna stop this, meeting me here, you feel like you’re betraying someone you love and you have too much integrity to keep seeing someone you so obviously want to fuck.”

“i can’t—” but the words die on violet’s tongue.

“sense won’t get to you, that’s something caitlyn didn’t understand. you think with your heart of gold. when it drips for someone, you’d let it bleed out if it meant you were saving someone.” you take a pause, slipping off your shirt as your pierced nipples are exposed. violet nearly begins to drool, her eyes unable to look away from your perfect nipples, the swell of your breast how perfectly they fall on your chest, she’s nearly salivating to be offered a taste. “my girlfriend doesn’t understand you’ve found someone else to be loyal to.”

“this is not, um, i didn’t—”

sweetly, you kiss her cheek. “it’s such a bitch isn’t it? your heart wants whatever the fuck it yearns for, no damn mercy on who it hurts.”

violet can only think of how much she wants to be suffocated by your tits, forever trapped in this venus fly trap you’ve caused her to succumb to. with her best foot forward, she wants to tell you to go to hell, that you’re wrong about her — she would never do something like this — until she does. it’s all tongue and teeth, vitriol and lust spills into her mouth as violet pushes you on the bench, ripping your skirt to shreds with her bare hands. only to find nothing underneath.

bent over the table, ass up in the air, violet wastes not a single moment and stuffs her face in your fat ass. with a gratifying need, she splits your folds on her tongue as she slaps your ass making you whimper and cry out for her name. it’s beautiful, violet thinks. someone needing her to bring them to the edge, and god, you aren’t shy about it either. never has she heard anyone be so loud and proud about sex. so goddamn confident in each moan you let fall from pornogrpahic lips, it’s damn invigorating. the first one comes easily, you spill over vi’s tongue as she moans back into your weeping pussy, liquid gushing over her face violet never wants it to end. the second time violet fucks you with her fingers, stuffing and fucking until there isn’t any part of you that isn’t undeniably shaking. the third time, you’re on top of her, the two of you finding comfortablity on the cot in the break room as violet lets you fuck her.

exactly what she expects it to be; hot, rough, fast. slippery pussy rubbing against hers until you collapse on top of her, breast pressed against her binded ones. you have a feeling they are there for a reason and you don’t push, for once in your life, you let yourself succumb to sleep as you fall asleep in her arms.

tattoo artist!vi who doesn’t see you for three months after she had the best sex of her life. even if it does sting, vi knows it’s for the best. six months in and you’re still with caitlyn despite your best efforts. surprising everyone, but violet for different reasons, you admit your slip up to cait but she forgives you. maddie and sevika make a game of it, trying to guess who make you cheat and when violet’s name comes up jokingly, caitlyn’s words leave an unsettling pit in her stomach.

c’mon, what is violet going to do? look at her. she’s as loyal as a trained dog and i have you trained. don’t i, cupcake?

tattoo artist!vi who focuses on her work, like a trained dog, she falls back into her routine. sunday’s aren’t as pleasurable as they were with you, or one sunday she should say, but she dismisses the thought altogether. pushing it to the deepest parts of her mind becomes the only viable option. she uses other forms of entertainment to get her mind off of you. powder thinks it’s a good idea to be here but she refuses to step foot in here with her. this is where my path ends, sis. i’ll be just up the hill when you’re ready. a not so subtle wink has her cringing and flipping her off blue-haired braided sister off in the process. this is such a good stupid idea but violet doesn’t manage to convince herself out of this situation she’s conducted for herself. anyways, it’s one night? no one ever has to know. from the moment she steps into the strip club, she knows she never should have been here. she keeps to the bar as she changes songs from the jukebox a few times. this has never been her scene nor will it ever. as she finishes off her class of neat whiskey, the familiar voice whispers into her ear, never thought you’d be here but i guess we’re both full of surprises.

#need to make a vi masterlist atp #the brainrot has severly taken over #oops?#yeah i'm posting this raw can't be bothered to reread it hehe #vi arcane #vi #violet x reader #vi arcane x reader #vi smut #vi x reader #vi x you #vi x y/n #league of legends #(ᝰ.ᐟ) arcane works.

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faebled-stories · 5 months ago

Text

Max Level: Pleasure Unlocked

Le Sserafim's Miyawaki Sakura x Male reader

AN: So... I may have been a tiny bit late to class today 😅. Why, you ask? Well... I was up all night re-watching Marry My Husband (totally worth it, btw). Anyway, fast forward to class, and I casually checked my phone, and—wait for it—WHAT?! Almost 300 likes for Ms. Kim Chaewon?! You guys are seriously amazing! 💖 This story was supposed to drop tomorrow, but because I love you all so much... here’s a little treat! 😘✨

P.S. Why is this lecture soooo long? Send help! 😂

Miyawaki Sakura, the eldest member of Le Sserafim, had found a new thrill—one that didn’t involve the stage lights or concert crowds. Live streaming had pulled her into its vibrant, fast-paced world of colorful pixels and instant connection. It wasn’t just a hobby anymore; it became her escape—a digital realm where she could unwind and be herself. Streaming offered her a space where she could share her love for video games in the most authentic way possible. Her laughter would echo through the headset, filling the room with the joy she found in navigating complex game worlds and strategizing with her audience. It was a welcome reprieve from the pressures of K-pop stardom, a place where she could exist without expectation.

But as Sakura’s love for streaming grew, so did the distance between her and Y/N. Y/N cherished their quiet evenings together—the ones filled with soft conversations, playful glances, and the warmth of shared intimacy. Now, those moments seemed to slip away, replaced by the blue glow of Sakura's monitor and the sounds of gaming filling the room. He found himself feeling increasingly sidelined, the comforting presence of his girlfriend diluted by the endless stream of fan interactions and in-game distractions. Every evening, as he sat in their apartment watching her stream, Y/N felt like a shadow in her life, forgotten behind the glow of her screen.

The silence after Sakura's gaming sessions hung in the air, heavy and unfamiliar, a stark contrast to the laughter that used to fill their nights. He would lie in bed, staring at the empty space beside him, wondering when their quiet, intimate nights had been swapped for late-night streams. The late-night absence became more palpable, the connection they once shared now buried beneath layers of bright pixels and fan interactions.

Frustrated and unsure of how to bridge the growing gap between them, Y/N turned to the one person who knew both of them best—Kwon Eunbi, Sakura's former leader and the matchmaker who had brought them together in the first place. Eunbi, always the voice of reason and support, listened with a thoughtful expression as Y/N poured out his concerns.

"I just don't know how to get her attention anymore," Y/N confessed, his voice tinged with frustration. "She used to light up when we were together, but now it feels like I'm competing with a screen."

Eunbi, ever the sage, leaned in with a twinkle in her eye, her lips curving into a knowing smile. "Well, my dear, sometimes you just need to remind her of what she's missing," she said, her tone playful yet reassuring. "There's this little shop downtown. They have... items that might help reignite that spark you're worried about. A little mystery, a little surprise—that's the key."

Y/N blushed at the suggestion, but the idea intrigued him. Maybe Eunbi was right—maybe a little spontaneity was exactly what their relationship needed. "Okay noona," Y/N said with newfound determination. "Take me there. I'll do whatever it takes."

Eunbi grinned. "That's the spirit. Trust me, after this, she'll be more than eager to spend some time away from that screen, and if it doesn't work out... you have my number" the older girl winked before giving a slightly playful slap to Y/N’s behind

As soon as Eunbi led him into the little adult shop tucked away in a quiet side street downtown, Y/N’s nerves melted into curiosity. The shop was intimate, lined with rows of items that promised to stoke passion and bring lovers closer. Eunbi was more than willing to offer her guidance, clearly enjoying herself as she pointed out various products.

"Trust me," Eunbi had said with a wink, picking up a small bullet vibrator from one of the shelves. "This one is discreet but packs a punch, It's perfect for getting things started. She won’t see it coming." Y/N’s cheeks had flushed at the thought, but the image of Sakura’s surprised reaction made her smile. It was perfect for catching his girlfriend off guard.

As they continued browsing, Y/N’s eyes landed on a sleek, curved G-spot vibrating dildo that promised deeper, more intense sensations. He couldn’t help but imagine how Sakura might respond to its use—what that extra thrill might do to rekindle the heat between them. Eunbi happily skips over to Y/N with a box that he hasn't seen before, a rabbit ear vibrator "Y/N you have to get this, I’m telling you Sakura will melt and turn to putty in your hands, I have one myself and it's pretty amazing." Y/N looked at his noona with a skeptical look. Why is she so into this, is his precious noona actually not as innocent as she portrayed to the public?

Thinking about her words he can't deny that the idea of being the one to control Sakura’s pleasure sent a surge of excitement through him. He added it to his growing selection of items.

The final addition was a delicate set of pastel pink lingerie. His girlfriend's favorite color. lace-lined and revealing, something that he knew she would love, he remembered her saying she wanted something similar to this but was always ashamed and embarrassed to buy it

Y/N picked up the set knowing how much it would make his lover feel even sexier. He could already imagine the fabric clinging to his girlfriend's skin, the look in Sakura’s eyes when she sees it. There was no doubt that tonight, he would make sure all of Sakura’s attention was focused on him.

As the duo went to the counter the current cashier was about to take a break and out comes his replacement, someone who Y/N would not have expected to work here.

"Oh Eunbi unnie welcome back Oh! and Y/N oppa, what are you doing here?" the duck looking girl squealed. To say Y/N was shocked is an understatement. His girlfriend's former members, his friends, were all so familiar with this place.

"I was showing Y/N around the store, he needed my help" Responded the eldest. "Oppa is Sakura unnie giving you a hard time?" Yena responded, causing Y/N to shrink into himself in embarrassment.

The girl started scanning the products one by one, her curious eyes glanced back and forth from y/n and each product he bought. "I didn't think Sakura unnie would be into this, I guess she's less of a prude than I thought" At this point Y/N just wanted to leave, he slightly hid behind his noona as she started placing her own products she wanted to buy.

"I’ll pay for it Y/N I get a discount here, just pay me back after" Y/N nodded before Eunbi tapped her card and they both left with Yena waving to them, saying that they should visit her again.

With his purchases in hand, Y/N left the shop feeling embarrassed about the whole situation but he thought about the end goal and it made him feel more confident than ever. This was his chance to break through the monotony that had settled between them.

Later that evening, back in their shared apartment, Sakura was already in the midst of her nightly streaming routine. Her set up was in the living room, per Y/N's request after waking him up way too many times. It was bathed in the soft glow of the monitor, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across her face as she engaged with her audience. Y/N, his heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and excitement, watched from the shadows, clutching the items he had bought earlier.

He knew exactly what to do.

Grabbing a piece of paper, Y/N quickly scribbled a note and held it up just out of view of the camera, flashing it at Sakura with a grin. The note read: "Since you're so into games, let's play one right now, this will be level one, don't make anything obvious, good luck."

Sakura blinked in confusion at first, her head tilting as she tried to make sense of the message. But when she looked up at Y/N’s playful expression a delicate smile spread across his lips, a knowing look in his eyes. Sakura then glanced down at her stream, her posture adjusting as if nothing had changed, she quickly muted her mic. “ Not now Y/N, I'm busy.” before turning it back on and saying her mic was glitching. But Y/N had spent too long planning this out, spent too much money to turn back now.

Satisfied with the confusion, Y/N smiled back. The game was on.

Without another word, Y/N crouched and began crawling under the desk. Since her desk was longer than any normal person would normally have, It made the access to the prize easy for him as he just needed to go from the side, his movements smooth and deliberate, hidden from the camera’s view. Sakura’s attention was still on the screen, her voice cheerful as she interacted with her viewers, but Y/N knew it wouldn’t be long before his girlfriend’s focus would shift entirely. Beneath the desk, Y/N felt a rush of excitement as he prepared to introduce a new level of spontaneity into Sakura’s night.

The note had been the first step—a secret shared between them, a playful challenge that only the two of them would understand. What happened next was up to Y/N, and he was ready to make it unforgettable.

Y/N smirked as he slowly slid the small bullet vibrator out of its box, he wiped it with a wet wipe before lifting up the pink short skirt in front of him, He brought the toy up and pressed it against Sakura's panty-covered mound, watching with delight as the Japanese girl jolted slightly in her seat. Sakura tried her best to maintain focus on the video game, determinedly gripping her mouse and keyboard as she attempted to hide her reactions to the subtle vibrations. But Y/N could see right through her act - the way Sakura's thighs clenched together, the slight flush creeping across her cheeks, the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her breathing quickened.

To save face Sakura quickly slapped Y/N’s hand away from her wet pussy but Y/n quickly placed it back to its home.

The little vibrator buzzed away, its vibrations transmitted through the thin fabric barrier. Y/N could feel the heat radiating off of Sakura's core, could sense her wetness growing with each passing second. Sakura squirmed almost imperceptibly, fighting the urge to spread her legs further.

Sakura's game character died with a pitiful electronic squeal, breaking the spell. She blinked hard a few times, trying to regain her composure as she struggled to stay focused on the screen. Y/N chuckled quietly, pulling the vibrator away.

Rising up from his spot on the floor under the desk, Y/N made sure that he was holding eye contact with Sakura the whole way. Sakura's eyes widened as Y/N made a show of slowly swiping his fingers on the toy before rubbing them together and slowly pulling them apart a slick line of the idols juices were connecting Y/Ns fingers showing her that even though she's against it, her body doesn't lie. Y/N’s fingers were brought to his lips, eye contact still not breaking and in an exaggerated motion he licked her fingers clean. Sakura quickly glanced away, her face burning crimson now, but she couldn't keep her eyes from peeking back at Y/N. A shaky exhale escaped her lips.

Y/N just winked before reaching for a piece of paper that read Level 2 commencing before crawling back to her side of the desk, leaving Sakura even more flustered and distracted, though trying her best to play it cool. Y/N made a mental note - Sakura was even more responsive than expected. This was going to be fun indeed...

The next level involved the G-spot vibrating dildo, escalating the intensity. There was only one small thing blocking his way, deciding to deal with it he wrapped his fingers around her panties before giving it a quick and powerful tug completely ripping them. The sound loud enough to catch Sakura off guard. Shocked, the idol’s hand instinctively reached down, her fingertips brushing her now bare, wet pussy. She inhaled sharply, her body reacting to the sudden exposure, but she didn’t dare glance away from the screen.

Y/N teased her relentlessly, his fingers circling her entrance before finally pushing the toy into her slick cunt. He moved it slowly at first, letting her adjust to the sensation, feeling her muscles tighten around the intrusion. Sakura’s hand gripped her mouse tighter, her knuckles whitening as she fought to keep her composure. She nearly missed a key on her keyboard, her body betraying her as Y/N expertly played with her, pulling the toy out just as she neared the edge of release.

Her breath came in shallow, uneven pants. The subtle strain in her voice didn’t go unnoticed by Y/N, who watched with a smirk, knowing just how close she was to losing control. Yet, he denied her the satisfaction of climax, bringing her to the edge again and again only to retreat, leaving her desperate and aching.

“Fuck,” Sakura muttered under her breath, her voice barely audible as she tried to focus on her stream. Her viewers, blissfully unaware of the torment unfolding beneath her desk, cheered her on in the game, oblivious to the real game being played just out of sight.

Y/N pulled the toy away once more, but this time, Sakura couldn't hold back her frustration. "Ahh, what the fuck" she whispered harshly, trying to control her reaction. She couldn’t look down to see what he was doing, not without giving herself away on camera. She tried to push through the absence, hoping Y/N would relent, but the moment stretched on.

And then, without warning, Y/N switched the vibrations onto its highest setting and plunged it back into her, the thick dildo buried deep inside her clenching cunt, the toy felt around and lived up to its name, pressing on that spot she loved.

"AHHHH!" Sakura’s cry pierced the quiet of the room, her pussy convulsing around the toy as an intense orgasm overtook her. She barely had time to mute her mic, her thighs trembling and squeezing together, her stomach contracting as wave after wave of electric pleasure crashed over her. Her body felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending alight with sensation

Her game character spun wildly on screen, her mouse jerking out of control as her body seized up. Her viewers, concerned but unsuspecting, quickly flooded the chat with messages.

"Are you okay? What happened?" one asked.

"You just screamed like you saw a ghost, lol," commented another, oblivious to the real reason behind her outburst.

Sakura’s cheeks burned with humiliation. They had heard her, but thankfully they couldn’t know the truth—how their sweet, innocent idol was secretly being driven to the brink of madness by her boyfriend under the desk. With a shaky breath, she forced a laugh. "Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! I thought I saw a bug under the desk," she lied, her voice higher than usual, the embarrassment clear. "You know how I get when it comes to bugs!"

Her viewers, still clueless, accepted the explanation, laughing along with her as they playfully scolded her for getting so worked up over something so trivial. But Sakura’s mind was far from the stream now. The aftershocks of her orgasm still rippled through her, and she bit her lip hard, willing her body to calm down. The irony wasn’t lost on her—here she was, playing the role of their wholesome crush while secretly being ravaged by Y/N just out of sight.

Satisfied for the moment, Y/N leaned in and gave her sensitive pussy a slow, teasing lick, sending another shiver through her body. Her thighs trembled, clenching around his head as his tongue worked its magic. She didn’t want to admit how much she missed this—missed him—but the pleasure coursing through her veins made it impossible to deny. He left a final lingering kiss against her soaked lips before pulling away, leaving her panting and desperate for more.

As Y/N stood, he reached for the final toy in his collection, pulling the rabbit-ear vibrator from his bag. His fingers traced the packaging—Rabbit Ear Toy: Maximum Clitoral Stimulation—and a grin spread across his face. The playful sparkle in his eyes revealed his mischievous intent, recalling how Eunbi had enthusiastically recommended this particular device. With a small chuckle, he knew this would be the perfect grand finale to their secret, unspoken game.

Y/N scribbled a quick note—Level three, good luck—and slid it over to Sakura. Her gaze flicked to him, and their eyes met briefly. A silent exchange of both anticipation and trepidation passed between them. The tension hung thick in the air, a blend of excitement and nerves that only heightened the moment. Sakura’s cheeks flushed as her fingers hovered over the keyboard, pretending to remain focused on the game, but her attention was split, knowing what was coming next.

As Y/N shifted back into his familiar spot under the desk, his breath hitched in anticipation. It had become his little domain, a place where he could send Sakura into oblivion without her viewers being any the wiser. He carefully unwrapped the vibrator—an egg-shaped toy, compact but powerful. The soft, flexible rabbit ears promised an intensity that could tip her over the edge with just the right pressure. His hands, steady and deliberate, moved between her legs, teasing her for a moment. The toy slipped between her folds, refusing to cooperate at first, but Y/N’s persistence paid off. He finally nestled it perfectly in place, the rabbit ears snugly embracing her clit.

For a second, he paused. The anticipation in the room grew thick as Sakura shifted in her chair, her breaths shallow. The tension between them felt electric. Y/N knew what this small delay would do to her—he was prolonging the inevitable, letting her body crave the release that was just out of reach. Then, with a press of the button, the vibrator buzzed to life.

The effect was immediate. A surge of pleasure ripped through Sakura’s body, her muscles tensing as the toy began its relentless rhythm. She bit down hard on her lower lip, trying desperately not to give herself away. The overwhelming sensation sent waves of heat cascading from her core, and her hands trembled as they hovered over her mouse and keyboard, trying to maintain some semblance of control. Her breath came in short, shallow bursts, her body writhing ever so slightly, desperate to remain still for the camera.

Her chat lit up with messages of encouragement. Her viewers had no clue the real battle she was fighting—the one between maintaining her composure and succumbing to the pleasure that was quickly unraveling her. The boss fight on screen grew more intense, each phase of the battle requiring her utmost focus, but her concentration wavered with every flick of the vibrator against her clit. It was nearly impossible to think, let alone execute precise game mechanics, as the rabbit ears worked her over with merciless efficiency.

Sakura whispered to herself, “Y-You’ve got this, Sakura!” Her voice was strained, too high-pitched to mask her struggle, but she plastered on a wide smile for her audience. Her hands shook violently now as they moved across the keyboard, trying to keep up with the rapid pace of the game. Her pulse raced in sync with the toy, the pleasure mounting to unbearable levels.

The boss’s health bar ticked down in sync with her endurance, her every keystroke becoming sloppier, more frantic. As the final blow landed and the boss collapsed in defeat, Sakura could no longer hold back. Her body convulsed as the climax hit her like a tidal wave. A guttural shout escaped her lips as she slammed her hands down on the desk, her voice cracking with a blend of triumph and carnal release.

“YESSSS!!” she screamed, her eyes squeezed shut, chest heaving with the force of the orgasm that ripped through her. Her muscles clenched, and her toes curled as the vibrator continued its assault, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure until she was utterly spent.

Her viewers erupted into cheers, congratulating her on the hard-earned victory. Oblivious to the real reason behind her breathlessness and the flush on her face, they celebrated her skill and persistence. The screen flashed with messages of admiration, and Sakura forced herself to sit up, her body trembling with the aftershocks.

“Whew… that was intense!” she gasped, wiping away the sheen of sweat on her forehead. Her hand reached for her water glass, her fingers still trembling slightly as she took a long, much-needed drink. “Thanks for cheering me on, guys,” she added with a weak laugh, masking the exhaustion coursing through her.

As Sakura leaned back in her chair, Scrolling through other games to hopefully find a good one to end the night, Y/N, who had been patiently watching her recovery, wasn’t quite done yet. A devilish grin played on his lips as he leaned forward, his finger hovering over the vibrator’s controls. Without warning, he cranked the toy up to its highest setting.

The sudden jolt of the vibrator sent Sakura reeling. Her body stiffened, eyes widening in shock as the intensity of the stimulation threatened to unravel her all over again. Her breath hitched in her throat as her muscles tensed, gripping the arms of her chair to ground herself. Y/N’s laughter echoed softly from beneath the desk, watching her fight the new wave of pleasure with a mixture of amusement and satisfaction.

Sakura, the ever-composed streamer, found herself on the precipice of a new kind of experience. The powerful vibrations of the new toy sent shivers through her body, a primal force that ignited a wildfire of anticipation within her. Her body responded with a raw, undeniable intensity, the moisture building until it seeped through her folds, dripping off the chair and leaving a glistening trail on the floor. The sweet scent of candles that once permeated the room was quickly overtaken by the pungent aroma of her arousal, a testament to the burgeoning passion that consumed her.

As the pleasure reached its crescendo, a surge of instinct took over. With lightning-fast reflexes, Sakura muted her microphone and switched off her camera, craving the sanctuary of privacy for the intimate storm that was about to break. The online world faded away, and she surrendered completely to the throes of ecstasy.

The timing was impeccable. As Sakura neared her peak, Y/N, her boyfriend, seized the moment. He seamlessly combined the pleasure of the vibrator with the intimacy of his mouth, diving forward with a ravenous hunger. His tongue explored the depths of her, savoring her taste and fueling the fire that burned within her. Each flick and swirl of his tongue sent shockwaves of ecstasy coursing through her body, pushing her closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

The combined sensations were too much for her to bear, and with an animalistic moan escaped Sakura's lips, a guttural sound intertwined with a scream that seemed to rise from the very core of her being. "UGH FUCK YEEESSSS Y/N!" Her voice was a raw expression of unrestrained pleasure. She grasped his hair, her body convulsing in a wave of ecstasy. Her legs lifted and wrapped around him pulling his face impossibly close to her core, her muscles contracting and relaxing with each tremor, the old gaming chair squeaking in protest with every movement. Her cheeks flushed a vibrant hue, a visible marker of her heightened state as she rode the wave of her orgasm with unbridled abandon, her breasts heaving with each ragged breath. Sakura climaxed with a force that left her breathless and trembling. Y/N continued his ministrations, prolonging her orgasm until she felt every ounce of pleasure.

For Y/N, the experience was both exhilarating and intensely intimate. He couldn't see anything; his vision was blocked by Sakura's body. Each subtle movement sent shivers down his spine—her soft skin felt warm and alive against him, her thighs encasing his head in a passionate vice that was as constricting as it was pleasurable. it was just the two of them, enveloped in a cocoon of heat and desire.

This was a Sakura he rarely saw, one that lay hidden behind the carefully curated persona of her online streams. In those moments, she had shed the facade of the cheerful, bubbly entertainer and revealed a side of herself that was raw and unfiltered. It was the Sakura from before her streaming career, the girl who had always been playful and spontaneous, exuding an authentic vulnerability that left him breathless. Her laughter echoed in the confines of his mind as he realized how seldom he’d had the chance to witness this intimate version of her.

The chaos of streaming and the demands of her audience faded into the background, replaced by a potent chemistry that crackled between them. His own heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drum echoing the urgency of the moment, while his breath hitched at the raw display of passion and surrender before him. Every heartbeat was a reminder of how deeply and irrevocably he craved this connection.

This moment carved a permanent mark on him, etching itself into his memory like a secret tattoo. It was a reminder of the beautiful, complex dynamics that fueled their relationship—beyond the streaming lights and scripted interactions lay a blend of affection, longing, and a hint of danger. Their souls intertwined in this rare instance, revealing as much about their hearts as it did about their desires. The very essence of their bond lay anchored in these fleeting but fervent exchanges, making each encounter a treasure and a risk he was willing to embrace.

Sakura's breath came in ragged gasps as she slowly released her hold on Y/N, her legs trembling, weak from the intense stimulation. The room seemed to amplify all her senses, the cooling sensation of sweat mingling with her skin a stark contrast to the recent heat. Her legs, barely able to support her, struggled to find their footing as she fought to regain her composure. The assistant to her pleasure, the formidable toy that had helped push her to the edge of chaotic bliss, lay on the floor, a glistening reminder of the storm that had just passed. Its surface, coated in her essence, served as a tangible testament to her unleashed passion.

Realizing that her momentary loss of control had severed her connection with her viewers, Sakura quickly attempted to regain her composure. Her cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and vulnerability. But before she could complete the act of resuming, Y/N’s steady hand came to rest against her thigh, gently halting her fidgeting. Kneeling between her legs, his tall frame allowing him to almost come face to face with her, their eyes meeting in a moment that felt both electric and profoundly intimate.

Sakura's mind swirled with a haze of emotions, a flicker of melancholy washing over her like a soft tide. She missed these moments—the brief interludes where they could shed their roles and embrace a deeper connection, where laughter and genuine emotion melded seamlessly into something more. Each stolen glance, every shared laugh had been a thread weaving them closer, and yet, amidst the chaos of their lives, she felt those threads fraying, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

In that heavy silence, Y/N reached for her, his fingers warm as they gently cupped the back of her head. There was no need for words; his eyes spoke volumes, conveying understanding and longing in a single gaze. Then, with a tenderness that sent shivers down her spine, he leaned in and sealed their lips together in a passionate kiss. The flavors of her arousal mingled with saliva—a delicious, intoxicating symphony that danced on their tongues, each movement igniting a fire deep within her core.

Sakura was momentarily consumed by the warmth of his embrace, every worry dissolving into the sweet elixir of their connection. But as the kiss lingered, her heart raced at the thought of what lay beyond this moment. Still lost in the afterglow, Sakura whimpered softly when Y/N finally pulled away, his lips brushing against hers gently as they parted. His gaze held her captive, a silent promise lingering in the space between them, but it only deepened her desire, leaving her craving more.

This was the testament to their bond—a connection that blossomed amidst the chaos of her storm, a lingering whisper of hope amid uncertainty. She knew she couldn’t let this slip through her fingers again, not when they had ventured into a territory that felt so beautifully raw and undeniably real.

But as the seasoned entertainer she was, she corrected her streaming gadget, turning her webcam back on and adjusting her microphone. Her face, still flushed from her recent exertion and her lips swollen, was now contorted into an apologetic smile as she addressed her audience, hiding the true reason behind her sudden departure by blaming it on unpredictable internet issues.

"Sorry about that, guys," she panted, her voice slightly uneven with the remnants of her peak. "We had a little technical glitch," she continued, her eyes sparkling with a mischievous hint that was not quite caught by her virtual audience.

The chat, a flurry of messages, was filled with questions and mild irritation. Her viewers were curious, their previous excitement now shifted to suspicion and a growing sense of doubt . They wondered what had caused such a sudden disruption. Yet, despite their curiosity, they respected her privacy, unwilling to push for explanations that she was not willing to give until she was ready. In their minds, the truth of her interruptions could often be their most decadent fantasies, creating an air of mystique and allure around her that kept them coming back for more. Sakura, a master of her craft, knew how to keep her audience hooked, turning even a glitch into a potential performance enhancement, as her viewers' imaginations filled in the blanks left by their sudden disconnection.

Y/N, with an air of mystery swirling about him, gracefully emerged from under the desk, his presence suddenly filling the room with an electric energy. As if appearing from the shadows, he moved with a fluidity that captivated Sakura, drawing her gaze irresistibly. From his vantage point behind the monitor, Y/N's eyes met Sakura's, a hint of mischief dancing in their depths.

His movements were deliberate, with a rhythm that matched the beating of Sakura's heart, as if he were conducting an intimate dance where only the two of them could hear the music. The fact that he planned this whole thing gave Sakura a warm feeling. The remnants of their shared passion became a declaration of love, a promise of intimacy, and a reaffirmation of their bond.

Satisfied with his thorough work, Y/N offered Sakura a look, his eyes darting back and forth from Sakura and a bag that was placed just to the side. A secretive smile playing upon his lips. It was a silent challenge, an invitation for Sakura to join him in their next adventure. Turning away, he walked calmly towards the bedroom.

As he cleaned the toys and meticulously arranged them in their new resting place, the nightstand, Y/N took the time to appreciate the small details of their shared space. The nightstand, once merely a piece of furniture with no purpose, now held a whole new meaning, a symbol of their intimate connection.

Sakura remained seated, her breath catching in her throat as Y/N disappeared into the shadows of the bedroom. The atmosphere lingered with a charged energy, the room still humming from the intensity of their shared moment. Sakura’s mind raced, replaying the image of Y/N’s mischievous smile, his teasing, deliberate movements, and the unspoken promise that hung in the air like a secret waiting to be unraveled.

For a moment, Sakura sat frozen, the temptation pulling her forward. She felt a surge of warmth radiate through her, a tug towards the bedroom where Y/N awaited, his presence as enticing as ever. The weight of their connection, unspoken but deeply understood, anchored her as she ended the stream and rose from her seat.

Sakura’s eyes fell to the bag on the floor, under the coffee table, its presence both familiar and intriguing. She had seen Y/n walk in with it earlier but hadn’t given it much thought in the midst of her stream. Now, as the evening light dimmed into twilight and the apartment grew quieter, curiosity took over. Slowly, she bent down, her fingers brushing against the soft fabric of the bag as she picked it up. It was a simple gesture, yet it sent a ripple of anticipation through her.

Peeling back the wrapping, her breath caught when her eyes landed on the contents. A stunning set of lingerie lay folded neatly inside, the color immediately striking her—her favorite color. The rich, silky fabric shimmered slightly in the low light, delicate lace tracing intricate patterns along its edges. She lifted it out of the bag, feeling the cool smoothness of the material slip between her fingers. The fabric felt luxurious, softer than she imagined, and as she held it up, a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Y/N had remembered.

In the whirlwind of their lives, it wasn’t often that someone paid attention to the small details, but Y/N always had a way of doing just that. Not just any lingerie, but a set that spoke to her tastes, a color that made her feel powerful, beautiful, sexy. The care and thoughtfulness behind it warmed her from the inside, the kind of warmth that settled deep, in the quiet places of the heart.

Sakura didn't waste time, a surge of excitement bubbling up inside her. Without even heading to the bathroom, she began to undress right there in the middle of the living room. Her body was sore, every muscle aching from the games “levels”, but the thrill of the moment outweighed the discomfort. She moved slowly, peeling away the layers of her clothing, and as each piece fell to the floor, she felt lighter. Her breath hitched when the cool air of the room brushed against her bare skin.

Pulling the lingerie up over her legs, she marveled at how perfectly it fit, as if it had been crafted just for her. The lace clung to her curves in all the right places, accentuating her figure in a way that made her feel both strong and undeniably feminine. She caught a glimpse of herself in the nearby mirror and paused for a moment. The reflection staring back at her was striking—she looked lovely and powerful. The fatigue that had settled into her bones seemed to dissipate, replaced by an invigorating energy, one that thrummed beneath her skin like a quiet storm ready to break.

Her gaze shifted from the mirror to the slightly ajar bedroom door, and that’s when she felt it. The pull. It was almost magnetic, an invisible force drawing her toward Y/N. There had always been something between them ever since they met, something more than words or physical attraction. It was an unspoken connection, a shared intimacy that went beyond the surface of things. Y/N had a way of turning even the smallest gestures into something profound. A simple gift of lingerie wasn’t just a gift; it was a conversation, an invitation, a reminder of the bond they shared.

Sakura’s heart raced as she stood at the threshold of the bedroom, her hand resting lightly on the doorframe. From where she stood, she could see Y/N’s silhouette bathed in the soft, golden glow of the bedside lamp. The room itself was dim, quiet, filled with the gentle hum of the night outside. Y/N sat on the edge of the bed, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp, focused. There was a look in his gaze—one that she knew well. Mischief, affection, desire, all wrapped into one.

Her breath caught again, but this time it wasn’t the cold air or the tightness of the lingerie. It was the way Y/N looked at her. As if she were the only thing in the world that mattered in that moment. As if the night was theirs and theirs alone.

Without breaking eye contact, Sakura stepped inside the room, her bare feet soundless against the wooden floor. The door clicked shut behind her, the soft sound echoing in the quiet. It was as if the outside world ceased to exist, leaving only the two of them in the cocoon of their own making. The air between them was thick with anticipation, with the unspoken promise of what was to come.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t say a word. His gaze traveled over her slowly, taking in the sight of her standing before him in the delicate lace and silk he had chosen. The corner of his mouth lifted in a small, appreciative smile, but there was something deeper in his eyes—a smoldering intensity that made her heart skip a beat.

She moved closer, the space between them shrinking with every step. Her own breathing had become shallow, her pulse quickening in response to the heat building between them. It wasn’t just about the physical desire; it was the emotional weight of everything they had shared, everything they had been through together, all condensed into this one, intimate moment.

Sakura reached the edge of the bed, standing just before him, her body illuminated by the soft, golden light. Y/N reached out, his hand gently grazing her thigh, his fingers brushing over the delicate lace. His touch was light, teasing, sending a shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the sensation, the feeling of his skin against hers.

He had given her so much today, endless pleasures each one more intense than the last. But now, as she stood before him, she knew the time had come, it was his turn. She smiled, slow and teasing, as her fingers toyed with the straps of the lingerie. She leaned in, her lips brushing against his ear, her voice a soft whisper filled with promise.

"You’ve given me so many gifts today baby. Now it’s your turn to unwrap your present."

She gave him multiple kisses from his neck to his cheek, ending with a needy one on his lips.

“Since you're so into games, let's play one right now,” her words mimicking those that started this whole thing.

The night had just begun, filled with endless possibilities Sakura's situation mirrored her favorite games. She had failed multiple times but knew that this was a fresh start, an extra life, With a smile she positioned herself face to face with his crotch and pulled down Y/N's pants exposing his member, she gave the tip a quick kiss and lick, before reminding him that singing was not the only thing her mouth was used for.

Miyawaki Sakura was back on level one.

#le sserafim #le sserafim smut #male reader #girl group smut #sakura x reader #Miyawaki sakura x reader #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #sakura smut #kpop smut #reader insert #miyawaki sakura #miyawaki sakura smut

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going-to-ikea-for-the-fries · 1 year ago

Text

It's a Match! || 141 x Reader

[ Chapter 14 ] || [ Chapter 16 ]

Pairing: 141 x gn!Reader Words: 1.9K~ Summary: While overcoming recent heartbreak, you decide to join Tinder in search of a rebound. Your friends advise to just Swipe Right indiscriminately... What happens when 4 soldiers from the same squad match with you? a/n: white-knighting johnny.

Chapter 15: Mo leannan

Johnny isn’t stupid.

Or blind, for that matter.

Since the first time that Ghost went on that ‘date’, he’s noticed how different he’s been acting.

And weeks ago, he caught him and Gaz leaving base together in civvies. Civvies that neither of them would wear to go out for just a pint.

And either way, if they were going out for a pint, they’d have invited him and Price to go with.

No, this was different.

Personal.

And when they came back, and for the days after, he caught them sneaking glances at one another.

They’d exchange this sort of… look, that he couldn’t quite decipher.

But he could swear Ghost was smirking behind that balaclava of his…

And Gaz would bite his tongue before looking away.

It kept happening… The two of them disappearing for the night over the course of a few weeks, and coming back just in time for morning training.

Both of them way too glued to their phones…

His brain filled in the blanks as best as it could…

And it decided that they were in love, Ghost and Gaz.

That they were sneaking off base to get together in secret…

That they would text each other sweet nothings…

That they would exchanges glances to signify ‘I love you’s they couldn’t say aloud.

And, well, it was none of his business…

But it kind of stung a bit that he wasn’t trusted with it.

So, he tried probing.

Just a little.

Going up to Gaz during training and sort of nudging at him, poking him to see if he could get a reaction.

He made up some lie about having a date and asking Gaz if he needed help finding one too. The other lad said no with a decisive head shake.

Then, another day, he told him a story he heard of some sergeant, their age, who was caught in a relationship with a superior in their direct chain of command. And he didn’t miss the way Gaz’s eyes darted away before he muttered how stupid those soldiers were.

But Gaz didn’t fess up to anything…

And Soap wasn’t about to go up to Ghost and try the same…

So he froze his investigation for a moment.

And he picked it up right. now.

As he stands on the next aisle at the corner shop, getting a few snacks to stock up on, he hears Simon’s distinct voice… it seems to be coming from a phone.

Peeking over what does he see if not you, listening to a voice memo with the butt of your phone against your ear, thinking the volume is low enough not to bother anyone else.

And it is low, but Johnny has good hearing, and could recognize his L.T.’s voice anywhere.

The audio is long and you’ve been listening to it for a while and giggling at it occasionally as you put things into your basket that hung from the crook of your elbow.

He’s sure you’ve been listening to the audio for like 4 minutes now, just a constant flow of Simon’s voice into your ear, probably telling you some sort of story.

Now there was something Soap hadn’t considered.

An extra piece of the puzzle…

He recognizes your face from a couple months ago on Tinder, when all four of them matched with you and, jokingly, Johnny said to Price, Gaz and Ghost that he did all the work in getting you with Price…

There was no way Ghost and Gaz were meeting up with you, was there?

Could they just have a new friend? Or… could you be more?

Thinking of approaching you and asking you directly, Johnny only catches on too late that someone is beelining right for you.

A tall, lanky bloke, maybe 6ft1 or 6ft2, with a look like he’s ready to kill someone stops grabs you by the shoulder and spins you around.

Your eyes double in size and recognition. “Who do you think you are?” He asks you.

“What the fuck do you want, Ethan?” You complain as you tap around on your phone, probably pausing the voice memo and sticking your phone in your pocket.

“What do I want?” He asks you with a humorless laugh. “I want to find out why the fuck you’re suddenly having multiple other blokes over at the flat for the whole night.” He replies.

Johnny’s eyebrows raise as he watches the scene from around the corner into the aisle.

“Since when is that any of your business? And how do you even know? Have you been spying on me?” You ask him, taking a step back.

“Spying? No. But multiple times now I’ve gone to your flat to get the rest of my things and when I was in the elevator got surprised by seeing a bloke going in or out of there.” Ethan reveals.

“Oh, piss off, Ethan!” You retort.

“You’re not denying it.” He replies. “That’s it, innit? You decide to break up with me, saying how you “deserve better” and you’re “not happy” and now you’re going around with a bunch of other blokes?” He says and chuckles dryly again.

“Oh, you’re such a knobhead!” You insult him, your feelings slightly bruised. “How dare you, honestly?! I’m not-” You add.

“You selling yourself now, ‘s that it?” He asks mockingly. “There was an old one leaving in the morning a couple months ago… now there’s black one too… And I’m pretty sure I saw one with a mask the other day. Your clients’ too embarrassed to show their faces around you, huh?” He taunts you.

“I’m sure if I went back tomorrow I’d find another bloke slipping out the door, wouldn’t I?” He continues, his words venomous. “I saw three so far, but I’m sure there’s been more. How many, hm?”

“Oh, my, God… You’re disgusting!” You tell him as you take a step back again, your fingers tightening around the handle of your basket. “I’m not selling myself, not that I need to justify anything to you! Now get away from me!”

“What’s wrong, lovie? You’re embarrassed to say that the break-up was all just an excuse for you to go around and be a whore?” He continues taunting you.

Johnny ses the panic in your eyes and before he can think about it, he’s standing behind this ‘Ethan’, who seems to be your ex.

“They said ‘Get away from me’, I think that’s your cue, mate.” Johnny remarks with disdain dripping from his voice. Ethan turns and looks down to find Johnny.

Johnny’s a palm shorter than him, at only 5ft10, but he’s built like a brick shithouse. Big, beefy arms, broad shoulders, strong pecs… Not to mention he’s in full military garb, minus the vest and pistols.

His appearance is more than enough to strike a bit of fear in men taller than him… And Ethan is definitely intimidated.

“This doesn’t concern you. I’m talking to my partner.” Ethan tries defending himself.

“I don’t think so.” Johnny replies and stalks around him to your side. “Way I see it, they’re my partner.” He bluffs easily while snaking his arm around the small of your back.

He prays that you play along, silently hoping that you remember him, if nothing else, from Tinder.

“Yours?” Ethan sputters and glares at the two of you. You look up at Johnny like he’s your saving grace and lean closer to him, as a sign you recognize him and appreciate the help.

“Aye, mine.” Johnny replies with a curt nod. “This is that Ethan you’ve been telling me about, mo leannan?” [my love] Johnny asks you as his hand gently rubs your back.

Looking up at Johnny, you end up nodding in agreement. “Yeah…” You say softly, knowing that you can’t quite lie, because Ethan knows you well enough to pick up on it.

“I figured.” Johnny says as he looks at Ethan again, playing the part of the overprotective boyfriend pretty well.

“All these blokes ye’ve been ‘seeing’ out of their flat are my mates.” He explains and forces a crooked, not-quite-nice smile on his lips. “They were making sure they were alright, safe and sound, while I was overseas.” Johnny gestures to his outfit.

The realization that you are ‘dating’ a serviceman seems to extinguish whatever revolt was inside Ethan’s body immediately, like a candle that has been blown out.

Johnny lies like it’s second nature to him. His pulse and his breath are not wavering… And you can tell, because the way he has you pressed against him, you can hear both.

You finally realize what Simon told you months ago about “lying enough” while on the job and striving for honesty when he’s out of it… These soldiers are trained to lie like it’s nothing.

“And frankly, now that I saw ye accostin’em like this in a public place, I’m glad I didn’t skimp out on asking my mates to keep an eye on m’eudail.” [my darling] Johnny continues.

“Now, if you don’t mind. We have shopping to do before we go home. So how about ye piss off?” He concludes and smiles politely. “Or else this is gon’ get very ugly.” He adds and his eyebrows shoot up in a silent lunge of a challenge.

Ethan doesn’t seem to quite believe the lies, but at the same time he’s intimidated enough to not try and argue. So he grumbles under his breath, throws his hands up in an exasperated groan and turns on his heel to walk back out of the store.

Only when he’s fully out of sight and Johnny’s sure the coast is clear, does he unwrap his arm from around you. “Ye alright?” He asks you. “Sorry for the sudden manhandling, could tell ye needed a hand… and had to get ‘im away from ye somehow.” He adds, apologetically.

You nod and look away a bit sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” You say softly as you fix your grip on your shopping basket. “Just never thought something like this would happen.”

Johnny nods as he looks at you, noticing your face seems extremely stressed, set into a grimace that he does not like. You’re clearly shaken up.

“Hey, it’s alright. He’s gone.” He tells you calmly and taps you lightly on the shoulder. “Do ye need me to walk ye home?” He suggests.

Nodding softly, you force yourself to smile. “I think… I think that’s a good idea.” You end up saying.

Johnny nods as well. “Want me to call Simon and Kyle to meet ye there?” He asks.

Your head snaps up to look at him and your eyes widen. “You… you know?” You ask him in surprise, your breath catching in his throat.

“They’re not as discreet as they wish they were.” Johnny says, once more lying through his teeth.

He would never admit it took him the better part of two months to realize Simon and Kyle were ‘together’, and that it only clicked they’re together with you right now… the confirmation having come from your stalker-y ex.

“Oh…” You say sheepishly and clear your throat awkwardly.

“It’s alright, I promise.” He assures you. “I’m not judgin in any way. They’re my mates, ye ken?” He adds in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Just tryin’ to help.”

From the stories you’ve heard out of Kyle and Simon, and even Johnny’s own bio on Tinder, you’d never have guessed he was so tender… They always described him as an anger-prone, grown-up class clown… And yet here he is.

Gulping down a breath, you nod. “Yeah… Please.. And I can… I can tell them what happened when we’re home.”

“Alright.” Johnny replies. “Ye wanna finish yer shopping first or d’ye wanna just go?” He asks you carefully.

“I… I’ll just get what I’ve already got in the basket… I want to get out of here…” You add as you shuffle toward the one register counter of the small corner shop.

“Right behind ye.” Johnny remarks as he follows after you.

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taglist (CLOSED! not adding anyone else, sorry!): @daisychainsinknots , @bunnysdaydreams , @iite-cool , @lahniu , @pagesfalling , @tapioca-milktea1978 , @live-love-be-unique , @thelaisydazy , @littleghosthunter , @bossva , @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago , @chamomiletealeaf , @ghosts-hoe , @kariiiel , @ltbarnes , @irregulardongyoung , @spacelia , @hayleybarnesx , @infpt-zylith , @xxshadowbabexx , @frescoisnotinthemilitary , @leeeenistop , @lucienbarkbark , @zombie-freak

@severenswife , @enarien, @agoodmoviekiss , @l0lziez , @whos-fran , @greatstormcat , @openup-yourmind , @neoarchipelago , @sodavrr , @cutiecusp , @lilliumrorum , @c-nstantine , @kneelforloki , @comeonatmebruh , @codsunshine , @waiting-so-long , @captainquake42 , @gazspookiebear , @mynameismisty , @reap3erslov3 , @reaper-chan666 , @poohkie90 , @kitwithnokat , @stick-the-dumbass , @mothsdrabbles , @justanerd1 , @thesinsoflust , @thriving-n-jiving , @blckbrrybasket

#ikea writes 💚#it's a match! fic #cod modern warfare #cod fanfic #captain john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #text story #cod x reader #call of duty x reader

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rafesbabygirlx · 4 months ago

Text

A Lot of Time has Passed | Part 2

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Season 4 Rafe x Maybank reader

Summary: Beginning at the time jump, the Pogues seemingly succeeded at something, Rafe is struggling with making amends and being a better person. JJs sister left the island after returning from South America. Returning after 18 months with a secret.

A/N: I can never tell time length in this show. Not sure how many days truly passed for the first part of this season so this will be my own timeline.

Im on a roll I wasn’t expecting P2 to come out the same day. The story will get much better- just trying to get the set up for the story done. :)

Not proofread

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: nothing really just some story building. Maybe a slightly mean Rafe for like 2 seconds though. :)

A few days had passed and you and Kie decide to go shopping. You hadn’t spoken to Rafe since the day of the race. As you and Kie exited a store, engrossed in conversation, you collided with a couple of people. You immediately apologized and looked up, only to find Rafe and Sofia standing before you, her arm hooked around his once again.

“Hey! You look amazing! How have you been?” Sofia exclaimed, her eyes lighting up as she recognized you. Rafe stood beside her with a smug smirk, saying nothing.

“Great! You look amazing too,” you replied, forcing a cheerful smile. The tension in the air was palpable, especially knowing that Sofia likely knew about your history with Rafe, and you both were acutely aware of what had happened just days before, right under her nose.

Kie stood behind you, visibly disgusted by Rafe. Hoping he wouldn’t notice the shopping bag in your hand, you discreetly slid it behind you and nudged Kie toward the Twinkie.

Before you could catch your breath, Sofia chimed in again, “So, whose baby are you shopping for?” Panic surged through you for a brief moment, but you quickly replied, “My cousin. I reconnected with my mom, and my cousin’s daughter’s birthday is coming up. We’ve gotten really close, and I wanted to get her something special.” You surprised yourself with how smoothly that lie rolled off your tongue.

“Is that who the ‘V’ on your necklace—” Rafe’s eyebrow arched at your answer, but he cut Sofia off. “You’re talking to your mom again? Since when? You never told me.”

“I don’t think I need to tell you that,” you shot back defensively.

“Well, where does she live? Where have you been?” Rafe pressed, and frustration bubbled inside you. “Stop.” You turn back to Sofia. “I really need to go. It was good to see you, Sofia.” You lightly touched her arm, shot Rafe a warning look, and hurried back to Kie.

“He’s such an asshole! How could he do that to you and then act so smug?” Kie exclaimed, her anger evident.

“I don’t know, Kie. It’s fine. Let’s just go.”

The next day, you were helping Sarah at the shop, stocking shelves and sharing laughter over silly jokes. Just as you were in the middle of a story, Rafe unexpectedly burst through the front door, startling you. He grabbed your arm, pulling you away from Sarah, who protested loudly, “What the hell, Rafe? Get off of her!”

“Sarah, you’re really not in a position to tell me what to do since this is all your fault,” Rafe shot back, his tone icy. You looked at him, confusion washing over you.

“You might want to watch who’s around when you’re parading around talking about how cute your niece is,” he added, his gaze piercing.

You turned back to Sarah, shock and dread settling in. Your blood ran cold, and a wave of numbness enveloped you. “Just go outside, Rafe. I’ll be right out,” you said quietly, trying to regain your composure.

You needed a moment to process everything happening around you. Your heart raced as you spoke softly to Sarah, “I am so, so sorry. It must’ve been when I was talking to Cleo, and you sent me that video of her with your mom. I didn’t think anyone close to Rafe was around. I didn’t realize; I'm really sorry.” You could see the guilt etched on her face, knowing she never intended any harm.

“It’s okay. It was bound to happen, I guess,” you replied, pulling her into a comforting hug. You took a deep breath and headed outside to face Rafe.

He stood on the porch, rubbing his buzz cut, and turned to you as you stepped out. “What the fuck? Are you kidding me right now? Your cousin’s baby? I knew you were lying—I can tell when you’re lying.”

“This isn’t how I wanted you to find out,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Well, I know now, so you better explain everything to me.” Just as you prepared to respond, the sound of bikes pulling up caught your attention. JJ and John B quickly hopped off and approached, with JJ stepping in front of you, his eyes narrowing at Rafe. “What the hell are you doing here, Rafe?”

“Your sister has a lot of explaining to do to me—back off,” Rafe retorted.JJ turned back to you, a puzzled look on his face, and you assured him, “It’s fine,” as you directed him and John B inside.

Pushing Rafe away, you led him down to the docks, searching for the right words to start. He took the initiative, his voice steady yet filled with tension. “So it’s true? This isn’t just something misheard?”

You nodded, feeling the weight of his anger and confusion. “I’m sorry, Rafe. I really don’t have any words to describe how sorry I am.” Tears began to well up in your eyes.

“Don’t cry. You don’t get to cry after what you did to me.” His words stung, and the tears fell harder now.

“Okay, okay, calm down. Please just tell me what’s going on,” he urged, his voice softening slightly. You both settled onto a bench facing the water, the calmness of the waves contrasting the turmoil inside you.

“I—um—I,” you stammered, taking a deep breath. “She’s a year and two months. Her name is Vivienne Rae Cameron-Maybank. She has my tan skin and lips but your hair color and your eyes. She’s really beautiful—so bubbly and full of life. She’s innocent, blissfully unaware of how cruel the world can be. I envy her.”

Rafe ran his palm over his face, the weight of the revelation settling heavily between you. “A year and two months. That means—”

“I knew before I left,” you interrupted, your voice trembling slightly. “That’s what I was doing in the bathroom. JJ called me saying he needed me, and then you said you needed to handle something. I just threw everything in my bag and raced out the door. I didn’t expect all of this to happen afterward.”

Rafe looked at you, his expression a mix of hurt and frustration. “You should’ve just told me. It would’ve changed everything.”

“Maybe, but when I came back, you wanted nothing to do with me. All these thoughts raced through my mind, and I told myself you wouldn’t want her either.” You had always known that Rafe dreamed of being a dad—someone who would show unconditional love while teaching his child to navigate life’s challenges. He longed to be the complete opposite of Ward, striving to give his children what he never had.

He never expected to find himself in this situation, especially not in his early twenties. He thought he’d have more time to prepare, but now he stood heartbroken, grappling with the reality that he had missed so much. Anger simmered within him as he wrestled with feelings of inadequacy, thoughts of not being a good father creeping in.

“How could you do this to me?” Rafe stood up, gripping the dock railing as if it were his lifeline. “FUCK!”

“Rafe, please calm down,” you pleaded, your heart racing.

“No! You think you can hide this from me and then tell me to calm down?! I’m her father, and you kept her from me. Where is she?”

“She’s with my mom back on the mainland.” You stood up as he moved closer, towering over you. “You go get her and bring her here. I want to meet her. You need to make up for all the time you stole from me.” His finger pointing in your face as her gets words out through his teeth gritting together. “Okay, I can go get her tonight. You can come by tomorrow at 2 to meet her.” He scoffed. “Come by? You’re bringing my child into the cut? No way.”

“Sorry that your daughter is half Pogue, Rafe, but if you want to meet her, you’re coming to where I’m comfortable. This isn’t a negotiation.” You could see the regret in his eyes for implying anything about your background—it wasn’t about you; it was about him already being in protective father mode. He knew the cut wasn’t the safest place.

“Fine, 2:00 to meet her. I’ll be there. See ya.” He then turned and drove off, leaving you standing there, heart racing.

As you made your way back inside, everyone rushed to meet you. “What’s going on?” “Is he seriously mad at you after everything he’s done?” “You’re not going to trust him with her, right?!” The questions bombarded you at a hundred miles a minute.

You walked past them in silence, but JJ ran after you. “Where are you going?”

“It’s five hours back to the mainland where my mom is. I gotta get going now if I want to be back at a good time.” You grabbed your bag and headed to the car.

“You’ve got to be joking! After everything he did, you’re giving in this easy?” You couldn’t help but roll your eyes and smile at your brother. Partly because you loved how protective he was over you. Especially being 3 years younger.

“You don’t understand, JJ. He’s still her father.” Ignoring the rest of his protests, you drove off.

In the back of your mind, you felt the weight of your secrets. You couldn’t bring yourself to tell JJ that it was all your fault. He already despised Rafe, and you had convinced yourself that is Rafe wanted nothing to do with you he would want Vivienne either. You made him promise never to bring it up to Rafe, and shockingly, he hadn’t. Only Sarah knew the full truth. Hiding this from Rafe had eaten away at you every day, but you were too cowardly to face it.

You returned home around 11:00 PM, a full 11 hours after the morning’s events. Thanking god for your easygoing daughter, you knew she would be asleep in her car seat, having fallen asleep at her usual time of 8:00 PM. You’d have no trouble carrying her inside.

As you entered, everyone greeted you with soft whispers, crowding around you and Vivienne. JJ had made a makeshift crib in the room that used to be Luke’s and had saved you some dinner after your long day. You gently placed Vivienne in her crib, then joined the group outside.

You never tried to defend Rafe to them; they saw him as the bad guy. So when they started hounding you with questions again, you simply said you were giving him a shot. You knew they didn’t like him, but he deserved that much as her father. Nothing more. You finished eating and retreated inside, exhaustion weighing heavily on you from the day’s events.

Taglist-

@maybankslover @eringaitskill @luissa266 @lolll505 @dayyzlol @livie4lifestarkeyblyth @calaryssia @leilanizcals @eg-dr3amer3

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe smut #rafe x reader #rafe outer banks #rafe imagine #rafe fic #rafe x pogue #rafe x you #rafe fanfiction #outerbanks rafe #rafe x maybank #rafe x y/n

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sugarlywhispers · 4 months ago

Text

b.katsuki x reader (fem) | prohero!bakugou x ex!reader (civilian)

a.n; HEAVY ANGST. PREPARE YOUSELVES TO CRY LIKE BABIES (like i did while writing this😭). Also, heavily inspired by this scene of a k-drama (LINK), but it doesn't follow the story of it or anything. I only used a little bit of the dialogue cuz 💔💔💔💔

02:01 a.m.

It's very late at night and Katsuki knows he shouldn’t be here. The moon is up in the night sky, shining bright, and the cold, winter wind would chill any other person’s bones. Yet he runs hot, so his level of cold is minimal; still, he wears his puff jacket, zipped up, and hands inside his pockets. The hoody over his head conceals his person a bit, yet it’s not necessary considering how cold it is no soul is wandering the streets. No sane person would willingly take a night walk in this weather.

Thanks to the old hag and dad for the quirk they give him, he literally is a walking human heater.

That’s what you used to call him.

Katsuki sighs, the air he breathes out creating a mist that evaporates quickly due to the weather. He knows for sure you’d be cold right now. He would never admit it out loud, but even though the cold made it a tiny bit hard for him to use his quirk to its full potential, he liked the cold thanks to you. Or well, he liked the fact that you would stick to his side and be all over him thanks to how warm he was.

Your own personal human heater, it’s what you mockingly called him, smiling as you hide your face in his neck, arms hugging his torso inside his opened jacket –the same one he’s currently wearing, that you gifted him for one of his birthdays. Your body would stick so close to his, like trying to become one with him. Bakugou Katsuki would never admit it out loud, but he loved that you did that. He loved that you were so small compared to him that you would practically disappear from view whenever his body shielded yours. He loved that your cold nose over the skin of his neck made him want to purr like some stupid cat, spreading tingles all over his body.

He loved that you used him for warmth when you were cold.

He loved you. He still fucking does. He loves you so fucking much it hurts.

And he knows you’re probably cold now.

And he’s not your human heater anymore. That hurts even more.

Katsuki sighs again, the vapor of his breath colliding with his face once again, as he stops in his tracks looking down at his shoes. He doesn’t need to look to know where he is. He has been taking this route on purpose for the last month.

He doesn’t know why he is doing this to himself. Maybe he is a fucking masochist who loves getting his heart beaten bloody and in pain. Yeah, maybe that’s it. Or maybe is because he still loves you and he couldn’t get you out of his head since Izuku shot him with the news.

You’re back. You're back in Japan. You even made your dream come true and opened a cozy coffee shop in the center of Tokyo, like you always wanted.

Katsuki had stayed. He stayed in Japan. He even made his own dream come true and became a successful pro hero, ranking number 2 –right behind Deku, but always competing with him for the first spot that goes up and down between the two. Like he always wanted.

You both got what you wanted. Except not all.

He doesn’t understand why he is here, in front of your little coffee shop crossing the street. Maybe he just wants a peek at you, a short glance at who you’ve become. Yet he knows. He knows you’re the freaking best. He knows you’re successful, you have always been fucking number one at everything you did. And your little business isn’t the exception. It is the talk of the city. He even saw a publicity of it on the TV yesterday. He had smiled proudly, thinking, “That’s my girl”. He had slapped his face in correction. You weren’t his anymore. He was not yours anymore. You two weren't together any-fucking-more.

Yet, here he is, yearning for a little glimpse of you like the air he needs to live.

It’s very late at night, it shouldn’t be even possible for you to be at the little shop at this hour. But if he knows you better, which he fucking does, he knows you’re there. Staying after hours to clean and let everything be prepped for the next day, like the overachiever little thing you are and always have been.

When Katsuki finally raises his head and looks, his eyes find you with ease. Your shop has glass walls, so it isn’t very difficult to distinguish where you are inside and what you’re doing. Your little form comes and goes around the empty shop, putting the last little Christmas decorations around. He chuckles, he was right, you’re still there. Figures.

He watches from a distance like he has been doing for the last month. He hadn’t run into you yet, considering his apartment is on the other side of the city –and fuck, yes, he has been avoiding patrols on this side where your coffee shop is. Call him a coward, he doesn’t fucking care. However, Izuku had bumped into you. He said you hugged him tightly, almost cried even, saying how much you have missed everyone. It made Katsuki wonder if he was included.

He snorts. Wouldn’t his wretched heart love that. Fucking masochist.

Katsuki watches you struggle a bit with an old ladder that you set right at the open door of the shop, clearly intending to climb it, decorations on your hands to put right over the frame. He frowns when you climb two steps and the ladder trembles. Fuck, you're fucking serious?? It’s pretty clear the thing is old enough to already be made barbecue fire. Why the hell do you have that thing?? After you’ve climbed almost half of it and still don’t reach the frame, the stupid ladder shaking like is about to fucking break under you, his worry said enough. His legs move fast, almost without will, but fully knowing you’re about to kiss the fucking floor thanks to that old ladder if he doesn’t move quickly.

When he gets closer, he hears the distinctive crack of wood and your small worried gasp as you fall. You never get to touch the floor, because Bakugou Katsuki is already there, catching you on time.

Your eyes find his, opened wide in surprise. The warmth you used to hold in them is still there, capturing him like a moth stuck in honey, and he feels like he can breathe again.

“Kat– Bakugou…” The almost slip of his name doesn’t go unnoticed by either of you, tinting your cheeks in a cute shade of pink. Ah, yes, the little sparks inside his being you produced every time you even looked at him are still there too. He thought he had already extinguished them. But no, they’re still there.

“H-hi,” he wanted his voice to sound more sure, more firm. Yet it sounded like his throat was dry and constricted. Like he was holding back a fucking cry –which is true.

His eyes are glued to yours, his arms hold you tight against his body as both your breathing go back to normal. He doesn’t want to be the first one to break with any contact, so he waits. He enjoys this little bubble that’s been created between you two after years of not knowing anything about each other. Of being so far away from each other that Katsuki felt for the first time the piercing cold everyone talks about in winter. It literally felt like years of winter for him. A cold and merciless winter that made his heartache burn. And now, a simple touch, a closeness of your body to his, and he feels like spring just bloomed again.

How fucking pathetic of him.

“Hi,” you finally answer back, your breath colliding with his face. He breathes it in, feeling like that is just all he needs to survive –at least for one more second. The shy smile that adorns your face makes him want to smother you in kisses all over your face like he used to do. But he can’t. He fucking can’t now.

“I… Thanks,” your beautiful smiling eyes make him want to punch his stomach so the damn butterflies stop fluttering.

“Your ladder was fucking old,” he complains, putting your feet back on the ground.

Your giggles sound like the symphony of heaven in Katsuki’s ears.

“I know, I shouldn’t have trusted it would help me at all.”

“You could have had a stupid accident, dumbass,” he squats to pick up the broken pieces of the ladder and what was left of it under your watch.

He doesn’t see the way you smile at him, but he hears you say, “Some things never change, huh?”

You’re right. His feelings for you would never change. And, fucking hell, he tried. He tried so hard not to feel anything for you all these years. Yet every mention of your name made him melt like a weak ass marshmallow in a hot chocolate drink. He even found himself daydreaming about seeing you, talking to you, touching you in any way you would let him.

Again, how fucking pathetic.

Bakugou Katsuki hasn’t stopped loving you since the day you parted ways.

It had been a mutual decision. He was very focused on his training and work to be a pro hero; lots of agencies wanted him to join. You were surrounded by options too, yet you decided to quit any hero dream you once had and chose to live a mundane, quiet life. That’s when Thirteen offered to speak of you to a colleague in the USA for a scholarship to join a cooking course. Katsuki saw your eyes shine lively, happy when you told him.

He knew then and there that you were going away from him. And he was not going to stop you. You had your dream, he had his. He was never going to make you choose between him and your dream. Because if he had to pick between you and his own, he would have picked his dream. Don’t misunderstand, he loved you, and still does, to death. But both of you were young, kids trying to find a path in the new world left after the war. Healing, failing, succeeding. Sometimes tripping down and getting back up. You were simply kids trying to understand life. Not that it has been any easier as adults, on the contrary. But now the circumstances are different. All of you have matured, gotten wise even. And it’s that same wisdom that made Katsuki not reach out to you again, despite his all-consuming feelings for you.

Bakugou Katsuki is now pro hero Dynamight, one of the most successful heroes of this generation. Which also means, he is a target most of the time. Villains hate him as much as he hates them.

Katsuki would cut his own hands himself if something ever happened to you, especially if it was because of him.

“Where do you want this trash?” He asks standing up and looking back at you. Your eyes shine, glassy and watering looking under the night lights. His chest tightens when he realizes you’re holding back tears. Fuck, he can’t look at you, or he’ll start fucking crying too.

“T-there’s… umm…” you clear your throat, trying to find your normal voice. “There’s a small closet at the back of the shop, on the left side. Just throw it there.”

Katsuki nods, entering the nice coffee shop and following your directions. This whole interaction is more than he expected, more than he hoped for. He has been watching you from afar, like a pathetic stalker. Avoiding to breathe in the same direction you did. Because of this.

The tears. The yearning. The fucking love that clouded every sense in him. All for you.

When he walks back to the front of the shop, he finds you sitting at one of the small tables for two. You’re holding a cup of something, and another waits for him in the seat in front of you.

Katsuki takes one deep breath in before walking towards where you are. He sits but you don’t look at him, you’re looking down at the cup between your small hands. He slightly smiles, he knows what you’re doing. Your hands are always cold, so you like holding the cup between your hands with anything warm in it to try to warm them. You have done this since he could remember, and that thought makes his insides sparkle. You haven’t changed at all.

Yet many things have changed.

The sweet and warm smell of hot chocolate fills his nostrils, and the smile widens on his face as he sees the contents of his cup. Katsuki isn’t the type to like sweet things, yet your hot chocolate has always been his weakness.

He hasn’t had it in years, since you moved away to another continent, so he can avoid to enjoy quite thoroughly the first sip. And yeah, it tastes just as he remembers. All you.

There’s silence. He doesn’t push a conversation and neither do you. You both just drink your hot cocoa and wait. Wait for anyone to gather some courage and say something.

There’s so much to say, so much to ask, so much to answer. Yet the bubble is nice and cozy, Katsuki really doesn’t want to be the one to pop it.

Right at the last sip of the drink, you are the one who decides to finally pop the bubble.

“I know,” it’s all you say, and Katsuki understands it perfectly.

You know he has been around. You know he has been watching from afar, carefully protecting you from the shadows. You know he has sent Izuku and Eijirou more times than he cares to admit just so he knew you were okay, safe. You know it had been Katsuki the one who dealt with that piece of trash who left the shop without paying and sent the money via mailing to you. You know he was the one who hung the big sign of your shop after it fell due to a strong windy day. You know he has been aware of every one of your moves around the shop for a month.

You know.

“I was… I didn’t want to-...” His voice breaks when he looks up and sees the tears running down your cheeks. His own eyes fill with uncontrollable tears he knows he won’t be able to hold back any longer either.

For the first time, Katsuki thinks his heart won’t survive this.

Despite this, he smiles genuinely at you and asks, “H-how have you been doing?”

You don’t break eye contact as you clean the tears from your face and murmur a simple, “Good.”

Katsuki knows himself well, and he knows he is a complete bastard. Because it pisses him off. It makes him mad that you’re good when he carries this turmoil of feelings for you that are making him go insane day by day.

He feels his insides bursting, all the emotions spilling out from his being pathetically as he cries in front of you. “Really?” One nod in answer. And he can’t stand looking at your facade of neutral features as tears keep escaping your eyes in betrayal.

Katsuki snorts, forearms leaning over the table and his head hanging low, “Why it fuckin’ annoys me that you’re doing well? Damn it.”

“You don’t actually mean that…”

“I do, I always mean everything I fuckin’ say,” he leans back against the chair, eyes going back to yours. His probably are even redder thanks to his tears, just like yours already look puffy from yours.

Katsuki decides then that this is the moment. This is the moment to finally pour out everything he has been carrying inside for you.

“Because you see, as I’m sure you’re aware now, day by fuckin’ day, I’m dying a little more inside without you. And you’re just– doing well.”

The sudden cry that leaves your being makes him want to hold you, and the little sobs only sink him more into the pit of feelings he named ‘Y/N’. Because he hasn’t been able to get out of it, nor has he actually put enough effort to, swimming there painfully pleasantly.

And yet… there you are. Doing well.

So well, that you are going to marry another guy.

Katsuki stretches his arm over the table and reaches without struggle the wrist of one of your hands that hides your crying face. You let him bring that hand toward the table, and he holds it in between his. He smiles again; he was right, your hands are always cold.

“Y-you waited…” you weep, your other hand resting over your chest, right where your heart is.

He nods, “I waited…”

You close your eyes, head going to a side and sobbing again. It hurts him so much to see you like this, just as much as the thought of another man being the carer of that precious heart of yours.

“Oh, Katsuki…”

The way you whimper his name like it physically hurts you, made him want to vomit. It brought a new deep pain to his chest that he doubts he is ever going to recover from.

There’s silence again, both of you sniffing and trying to gather your emotions back in control.

He doesn’t know why he came here. Probably he needed a confirmation of what Izuku told him after his first encounter with you.

“She’s going to marry, Kacchan,” Izuku’s words had been like an ice-cold bucket of water thrown at his back, leaving him breathless and distressed. But it didn’t compare with the next bomb, “because she’s pregnant. She wanted the ceremony to be here, in commemoration of her parents.”

He pucked right then and there; Izuku being the best fucking friend he always has been tended to Katsuki’s breakdown that day. The nerd even held him in a tight hug as he bawled his soul out.

But again, the pain doesn’t compare to the living proof right in front of his eyes now.

The hand he’s holding in between his is the one where an engagement ring adorns your beautiful finger. A ring that should have been from him, and not that other guy.

The very discreet little bump on your abdomen he got to feel when he caught you when you fell from the old ladder makes him boil with frustration. That should have been his little brat inside you, and not the other guy’s.

Bakugou Katsuki really feels like a sword has stroked right through the middle of his heart.

And it doesn’t matter anymore, he’s going to die watching from afar how the love of his life is being united to another guy. Well, you already are.

Ah.

Katsuki didn’t mind the cold. The quirk his parents gave him made him run hot most of the time.

Yet, from now on, Katsuki thinks he’s going to feel the piercing cold everyone talks about in winter forever.

He thinks he’s going to hate the cold now.

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