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ebodebo · 23 days ago

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shoot to kill mini series | vol. l guard dog

creepy ex bf

imagine your ex-boyfriend being so annoying, spamming your phone, and randomly showing up at your apartment, begging you to give him yet another chance.

at first, you felt pity for the guy.

even thought of letting him in a couple of times.

you didn't, but the guilt that gnawed at your throat nearly became too much to bare.

your hand drifted eerily close to the handle as you heard his pleas through your door.

the only thing that made you come back to reality was the pounding of a broom stick on the floor beneath, shouting for the man to shut the fuck up.

that was some days ago, but now, instead of feeling pity or guilt, you’re starting to feel just plain creeped out.

scared he might act on impulse and break into your apartment in the depths of the night.

you're sleeping has taken a plummet, even with a knife by your bed, nothing seems to coax you into relaxation.

that is, until you have the brilliant idea to go next door to your tall, scary, military neighbor, who goes by simon.

you don't know his last name; hell you barely knew his first.

the only reason you knew it was because you heard some girl he brought home moan it through your thin connecting walls.

you felt guilty as you pulled out your small vibrator, goading your sweet release as you heard him groan and curse with every harsh thrust.

even the guilt that swirled in your stomach couldn’t take away the guttural effects he was having on your body, even from so far away.

you ducked your head, avoiding his gaze from then on, until one day, while having trouble unlocking your apartment door, he trudged to your door after examining you for a moment, gently scooting you away and fixing it right before your eyes.

you claimed he was a magician.

he chuckled, deep and gruff, before his name fell off his tongue in greeting, making your thighs clench together.

you hurriedly introduced yourself, before rushing into your apartment, shutting the door behind you, and sinking onto the ground with a deep sigh and hot skin.

pathetic, really.

but, he didn't mind.

he thought you were cute—odd but cute—and you brought him cookies the next day as a thank you, so how could he think ill of you?

so if anyone could help you, it was simon.

“hey, neighbor,” you greet him when he opens the door. he is wearing a simple black long sleeve shirt and dark cargo pants.

he nods towards you. “hello.”

you smile brightly at him, somewhat forgetting your dilemma.

he tilts his head to the side, quipping a brow. “any particular reason you’re here?” he asks, voice rough as always.

you rock on your heels, fidgeting with your fingers. “i need your help.”

he leans against the doorframe. “go on.”

“i’m sure you’ve heard that guy that comes around,” you start, watching his squinted eyes.

“who hasn’t? that bastard is always here,” he says gruffly.

“he’s my ex,” you admit, cringing.

simon stiffens, eyes opening wider slightly.

“he’s, uh… become an issue. he won’t leave me alone, and i’m scared he’s going to break into my apartment while i’m sleeping,” you say, shaking your head, the tension in your voice evident.

“he’s not going to do that,” he shrugs.

your eyes widen at his dismissal, feeling slightly hurt. “how do you know?”

he turns to grab a backpack off a hook beside him. “because i’ll be there. won’t let him through the door,” he casually mutters as he steps out of his apartment, closing it behind him.

you feel a flutter in your stomach at his taking on the role of your protector so quickly—no enticement necessary.

“i really appreciate it, simon.” your voice is full of gratitude.

“don’t mention it, sweetheart,” he shakes his head, heading towards your door. “key?” he asks, reaching for your painted key hanging around your neck.

you hurriedly lean forward, mind completely fogging at the endearment.

his lip quips as he tugs the key up and over your head to unlock the door.

once he unlocks the door, he pushes the door wide open, stepping aside for you to go in first.

“and they say chivalry is dead,” you can’t help but joke as you slip in, a teasing glint in your eye.

he matches your humorous smile with one of his own. “do they? hadn’t heard that,” he murmurs, closing the door as he steps in.

you spin your head away from his gaze, opting to stare at a lonesome flower pot with a dumb grin on your face.

the next two hours are spent lazing until you find yourself on the cushion right next to simon on the couch as he occasionally glanced at the door, while you picked and prodded at reality show stars on the television screen.

But you and simon both stiffen when you hear the familiar hard knock on the front door, followed by a strained male voice pleading.

you look at simon who's already stalking over to the door; you uncross your legs and walk behind him.

with annoyance, simon pulls open the door, and you see your ex’s face whiten and his body sag at the sight. “can we help you?” simon gruffs, cocking a brow at his pathetic demeanor.

your ex stammers, stumbling over his words as he looks between you and simon. “who the fuck are you?” your ex demands, though not daring to try and overpower simon because simon easily has fifty pounds and eight inches over him.

simon crosses his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging bigger as he does so. “you should lose this address,” he urges, voice so gruff and commanding it sends shivers down your spine. “i don’t take too kindly to guys stalking my girlfriend,” he says with an ease that makes you lick your drying lips.

“girlfriend?” your ex chokes out, unable to comprehend what he is hearing.

“that’s what i said, isn’t it?” simon almost sounds disinterested.

your ex’s eyes wander to you. “you're dating this guy?” he almost sounds hurt.

you shift under his gaze, feeling awkward.

“don't talk to her. talk to me,” simon interjected, feeling your unease.

“you can’t—you aren’t dating,” your ex begins, narrowing his eyes. “you’re just doing this to make me jealous, aren’t you?” there is venom behind his words that pisses simon off.

simon’s lips flatline, and just as you go to speak, simon turns his head, hand coming to cup your jaw to kiss you deeply, possessively.

your ex releases a short breath as the sight.

simon’s tongue moves across to skim your teeth, making you whine into his mouth, as his fingers tangle in your hair for deeper contact.

you release a shallow whimper of protest as simon pulls back, enjoying the sight of your ex so shell-shocked.

simon tilts his head forward, looking into his eyes intently. “this is my girl, and if i find out you’ve been botherin’ her, i’ll make you a dead man. you hear me?” his voice is so lethal it makes you squirm, but in a completely different way than your ex.

your ex’s eyes look like saucers as he nods his head fervently.

“good choice. now leave,” simon instructs.

without another word, your ex spins on his heels, looking like a hurt lamb as he leaves the complex.

simon lets out a dry laugh as he shuts the door behind him.

“thank you,” you murmur.

he gives you a brief smile, gesturing for you to sit back on the couch. you both go back to lazing around, now watching some cooking show you put on.

later that night, he insisted on setting up shop in your living room for the night… or just the next two!

it’s really not a big deal.

he just wouldn’t be able to continue on if something happened to his cute neighbor!

that’s all.

you’re so sweet and still shaken up by the interaction that you let him stay the night.

…and the next one.

…and the one after that.

you’re starting to think he never really counted on staying just one night.

you don’t say anything, but after the second week passes and simon is still around, you find yourself reeling as you start to see his socks and shirts tucked nicely in your drawers.

his coffee mug now kisses yours in the cabinet, and some magnets of the countries he’s visited cling to the fridge.

there isn’t a crevice in your apartment that simon hasn’t explored, or left a piece of himself in.

you should have known better than to invite simon into the same place he had fantasized about for the past six months.

the very place where he listened to your sweet moans, so loud, so tempting.

every. single. night.

he kicked his friends out of his place every time he heard your vibrator start up, so that they couldn’t listen to your breathy whines and so he could sneak away to his room, where your thin walls meet, to tug away at his cock imagining it was you stroking him until he came all over his hand and sheets.

such a sweet girl, you are.

letting a dog into your home to roam free, unaware of the way he watched you with a slobbering tongue and a primal hunger.

oh, sweetheart, you never stood a chance.

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mbat · 1 year ago

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dude its twice now that ive tried to play origins multiplayer minecraft servers that happen to be mandatory roleplay for some reason and its just wild that they like, want you to come up with a whole entire person before even playing, especially with worlds that feel... bare bones as fuck, from the information they give

like they give an origin story of the world and maybe like one or two sentences on the races or cultures, and then theyre like 'okay now give your character an entire in depth personality, backstory, family history, job, life goal, childhood dream, credit card number-'

like... with what info ?? with what basis??

the second one ive joined isnt as strict as the first one, seeing as i joined the minecraft server before i even realized there was character applications, and no one really paid me any mind at all or acknowledged me

but there was one i joined like 2 years ago that you had to get your application approved before gaining access to the server, and they direct you to their wiki for reading up on the world and stuff... but again, bare bones as fuck. and i exaggerated before slightly, but fully seriously they asked me 'oh, and where did your characters origin come from? their grandparents getting infected? how did they become this way' and its like. DUDE I DONT KNOW, WHO CARES. WHO WILL ASK ME THAT IN THE ROLEPLAY??? like where am i supposed to even get any of this shit from, the two paragraphs you typed about the world origin story??

i didnt finish the application because that was stupid and it wasnt worth it imo. shame, cause the custom origins were cool, but theres always other origins mods and servers

like... i guess other people work different from me, cause clearly these servers have people in them that somehow came up with functioning characters, but that aint me. if i make a character in a game, their personality and story comes to me while im playing, through their experiences and appearance and the choices im given in the world.

and also literally no one is ever going to fucking ask 'lol so how did your bloodline get mutated?'

#my post #mc #coming up with characters in video games is some of the most fun. like how ive been obsessed with my WoW characters lately ahghdhg #but i came up with those characters mostly through playing as them OR finding out about their racial history and culture through the game #or fuck. even through looking at the WoW wiki a bit for clarifications or even for information i otherwise couldnt get #and guess what! they actually describe things there! they have helpful information and go into detail about things!#they dont just go 'oh the gods got angry and now the world is a little funny silly'. they actually tell you the smaller things!!!!!!#im going to go nutso crazy #either the people making these servers dont have more in depth ideas about the worlds they want people to care about or #they just want to stay vague to be appealing or for all these different people to make more sense but its like #okay but at this point its literally. nothing. you made nothing. congratulations.#I FUCKING LOVE MAKING WORLDBUILDING OKAY IT MAKES ME MAD THAT THEY DO SO LITTLE AND EXPECT PEOPLE TO CARE #THE AMOUNT OF WORLDBUILDING IVE DONE. bitch i could make a roleplay server too. i wont for a few reasons though lol #no hate to the second server i mentioned. but like...hate to the first one. not hate as in send hate but hate as in i dont like them #like i want to tell them that they sound fucking stupid. but i wont #and of course i wont say names because that would be shitty but also i dont want them finding this and starting something #like im just complaining rn. not trying to start drama cause idgaf

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quickestgold · 3 months ago

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1) Love your writing and cant wait to see more!! 2) For the prompt inspiration, what about something along the lines of Jack's girlfriend, that Dana and Robby don't particularly like, shows up seriously injured at the Pitt?

Someone New: Dr. Jack Abbot x Reader

Synopsis: After witnessing the fallout from Jack's failed marriage, Dana and Robby have been skeptical of his new relationship. But when a freak accident forces them to see the depth of Jack’s feelings, their perspectives shift.

Warnings: Canon-typical depictions of trauma; traffic accident, death, injuries, mentions of a failed marriage, divorce

Word count: 1.9k

A/n: LMFAO guys, most of my requests rn are for injured readers are we okay? Anyway... enjoy xoxo (also, thanks so much for the compliment!! messages/comments like these are super motivating <3)

Mistress. Homewrecker. The Other Woman.

You’ve called yourself worse a thousand times. The guilt over how things started with Jack weighs on you. And though his love feels sweet and pure, it offers little comfort in the face of their judgment.

You wish you’d met under different circumstances. Started things the right way.

But in your heart you know it’s real. Even if they don’t.

The truth is, Jack’s marriage was over long before you came into the picture. They were separated when you met, though the divorce wasn’t final.

So you let others believe that it was your fault. Made little effort to dispel the rumors. To introduce yourself properly.

Maybe you were embarrassed.

Definitely ashamed.

Perhaps they had a point and you destroyed a perfectly good relationship. Or at least got in the way of Jack and his ex trying to salvage what was left.

But it doesn’t matter now. Not anymore. Nothing does.

“Female. 30s. Car vs. pedestrian. In and out of consciousness. Possible head injury. Probable femoral fracture”, the EMT presents.

The cold metal of the gurney beneath you makes you shiver, harsh sterile lights flickering overhead.

“Woah. What happened?” Dana’s voice is laced with concern.

“I’m fine", you murmur, but your voice betrays you, weak and unconvincing. “Just a bit sleepy.”

Why is everything spinning?

“You hit your head?” Robby's voice is sharp and suddenly close, the light of his pen so bright it feels like it’s burning through your skull. He instructs you to follow his finger. You try, but your vision is distorted, like shattered glass. You can barely manage to focus.

“I- I’m not sure”, you confess, struggling to catch your breath, your lungs burning.

“Someone pushed her into oncoming traffic", the EMT continues, calm and clinical, part of his routine. "A bicycle hit her head-on and a car slammed into her hip."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut and your stomach twists with horror.

You can't remember any of it.

You try to move, to sit up, but your body refuses.

Why is your face wet? You beg, pray, it’s just tears. It has to be.

But it’s thick and warm. And the familiar, metallic smell makes your head swim.

“J-Jack… I-“, you plead.

Robby’s movements are faster now. His commands sharp and alert. He gestures to Whittaker, who immediately reacts, moving swiftly, as he rushes out of the room, a quiet urgency in his steps.

Everyone knows about you and Jack. Though it feels like no one approves. Almost no one.

“Y/N, it’s okay. Just keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Collins’ voice is warm, grounding. She takes your hand and squeezes it tightly. You’re thankful. Thankful for her presence. To see a friendly face amidst the chaos.

But you can't shake the quiet fear that maybe... it’s the last one you’ll ever see.

Heather is one of the few who welcomed you, made an effort to get to know you.

You’ve become friends.

You meet up for coffee, chat for hours about the boys. And though her and Robby’s relationship ended, you can tell there is unresolved sadness between them. You wonder if either of them will ever admit it.

“Heather… I-I’m…” Your voice is barely audible now. You're slipping. Slipping fast.

You fight to stay awake. To hold on. Just a little longer. At least until you see Jack.

Until you get to say goodbye.

But your eyes grow heavier by the second, something pulling at you, each blink slower than the last.

You can hear yourself saying something. But it’s far away.

You’re shaking. Why is this hospital so goddamn cold?

Before you can say another word, everything fades to black.

“Male. 20s. Cyclist vs. pedestrian. Unconscious. Blunt force trauma to the head. Multiple fractures", another EMT announces, as they rush the gurney into Trauma Two, the team prepared and ready to work in perfect sync.

Jack's moves are quick, methodical. Driven by one clear, urgent goal: to stabilize the patient first, then assess for further injuries.

“Dr. Abbot?” Whittaker’s voice is tentative, his gaze flicking nervously between Jack and the patient on the table. He hovers just inside the doorframe, not quite sure whether to disturb Jack or not.

Jack glances up briefly, his hands moving over the patient's chest, steady and determined.

Whittaker hesitates, his voice shaky. “We need you in Trauma One.”

“I’m a little busy.” Jack mutters. “Get Robby!” His voice laced with authority. An order, not a suggestion.

He isn’t finished with this patient yet, not ready to be pulled away.

Whittaker hesitates, before he nods and steps back. Jack watches him go, but there's no time to think about what might be waiting in Trauma One.

His focus is here, the young patient's life literally in his hands.

“Abbot?” Robby growls, frustrated at Whittaker’s failed attempt.

Whittaker shakes his head, his expression tense. “He’s treating the cyclist in Trauma Two”, Whittaker answers, almost apologetic.

Robby curses under his breath, his eyes flashing to Dana.

He knows Jack will never forgive them if something happens to you and they didn’t tell him. If Jack doesn't get to you in time.

Dana knows, too. She knows that this isn’t just about the accident. It’s about what they owe Jack and what they owe you.

“Hold compressions.” Jack orders.

Everyone’s eyes are fixated on the monitor, but the flatline continues.

“Okay." Jack’s voice drops. "That’s it.”

“Time of death: 10:35”

Jack takes a minute of silent reflection. He’s been here before. Too many times. But it never gets any easier.

He steps out into the bay, taking a breath. His eyes search the nurse’s station, which is unusually empty.

Javadi almost crashes into him, gripping a blood bag tight to her chest. Jack steps back, putting distance between them.

“Slow down. If you trip and fall you’re no good to anybody.” Always the teacher, calm and collected. “Where’s Robby?”

Javadi stumbles over her words, struggling to catch her breath. “Trauma One, a- a pedestrian got hit.”

“Shit." Jack mutters. "I just called it on the cyclist.” His brows furrow. “Need any help?”

“Not sure… it’s not looking good.” And with that, she rushes back in.

Jack watches her go, making sure she doesn’t run into anyone else. His gaze flicks to the glass doors of Trauma One, catching Robby’s eyes. He's pressing into someone’s chest with practiced ease.

But there’s something else. Panic.

Jack’s alarm bells go off. He moves, quickly.

But before Jack reaches the door, Dana steps into his path. She places her palm against his chest, gently pushing him back.

“Jack”, her voice calm but firm. “You can come in, but we need to do this the right way, honey.” Her eyes soften, full of compassion. “Robby’s doing everything he can.”

In that moment, Jack catches a glimpse of the patient’s face. Your bloodied, gorgeous, beautiful face. The woman he loves.

Multiple hands are on you, your own dangling off the side of the gurney.

His eyes lock on the delicate ring he gave you only a few days ago.

The one that was supposed to be forever.

“What the fuck”, Jack tries to push past Dana, but Langdon and Matteo are already there, hands on his arms, holding him back.

“Dana”, Jack’s voice cracks.

“I know, hon. Take a breath”, she rubs soothing circles on his chest, then steps back. “We’ve got her!”

The sincerity in her voice, comforts him, if only slightly.

The fact that he just called his patient’s death a few minutes ago, tells him everything about the severity of your injuries.

There's a deep ache in Jack’s chest as he follows Dana into the room. He steps to your side, his hand brushing gently over your forehead, the way you like it. The way he’s always calmed you.

“I’m here, baby”, he whispers, his voice raw. “I’m here.”

He watches Robby and the team work, each movement calculated, each second agonizing.

He knows his place. He won’t overstep. His only focus is you.

Like many times before, Jack finds himself on the rooftop. Each inhale of the harsh midnight air a painful reminder of you in that hospital bed, fighting for every breath.

Jack feels someone approaching, doesn’t have to turn around to know who. “Who pushed her?” Jack's voice is low and raw with pain.

“They’re…-" Robby pauses, scratching his neck nervously. "They're still looking.” His tone is soft.

Jack nods, but the corners of his mouth turn downward. “You’ve been too hard on her, man.” He exhales sharply.

“I know, brother.” Robby's words are filled with guilt and regret. He wants to make this right. Needs to.

Jack's gaze hardens. “She was afraid, you know. Felt like you were judging her… more than me.” He huffs out a humorless laugh.

Robby’s remorse is palpable. “We were worried about you. Didn’t want to see you get hurt. We had no idea it was serious between you.”

“Does it matter?” Jack’s voice cracks on the last word.

“I- I suppose not.” Robby shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

Jack nods. He doesn’t need Robby’s apology. You do.

“She gets it. She gets me.” Jack's looking straight at Robby now, barely bringing himself to say the words. “I wish you’d had the chance to get to know her. You would've loved her…” He tries to hold in a strangled sob, but it escapes anyway.

Robby steps closer, placing a hand on Jack's back, voice gentle and reassuring. “I still can… If she’ll let me.” He realizes he needs to carry that hope for both of them right now.

Jack isn’t convinced, but Robby’s belief gives him a moment’s peace.

The door to the rooftop suddenly slams open. Jack and Robby both turn instinctively.

Dana stands in the doorway, her pulse racing. “Jack.”

Jack is terrified to hear what she has to say, assuming the worst.

The midnight air suddenly feels suffocating.

“Jack?” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and tired, the effort of speaking taking all of your energy.

“Hi, gorgeous.” He moves closer to your bed. “Are you in pain?” The concern in his eyes certainly isn't helping, it hurts to see him like this.

You shake your head, but it’s a lie. You know it and Jack knows it too. He doesn’t hesitate, moving swiftly to the IV to adjust the meds with practiced hands.

Warmth floods you and you exhale slowly. The deep physical ache subsides and your thoughts clear. Only now, you can fully appreciate that you’re alive. That Jack’s here.

“I’m here," he repeats, more to himself than to you and for a second you wonder if you said the words out loud.

Jack's hand is gentle against your skin, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face. “Robby and Dana feel badly about how they’ve treated you.” The words heavy with sorrow.

“They shouldn’t.” You're exhausted, but you mean it. “They don’t even know me.” You give him a smile, weak but genuine.

“Maybe it’s time we change that?” Jack leans in gently stroking your forehead, like he always does. Like he always will.

His other hand traces the space where your ring used to rest. You realize it’s no longer there. It was taken off during the chaos of saving you. But Jack knows where it belongs.

With a tender, deliberate touch, he slides the ring back onto your finger, a symbol of the forever he’s promised.

Hahahah aaall the fluff!! It was needed after so many angsty requests lol Pls comment/share your thoughts below. ♡

#the pitt #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #dr abbot x you #dr abbot x reader #shawn hatosy #the pitt hbo #michael robinavitch #dr robby #jack abbott #jack abbott x reader #dr abbott x reader

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viiennie · 1 month ago

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Gojo noticed.

He always noticed the strict distance you kept between yourself and everybody else. He noticed the twitch in your smile when people asked to hangout.

"Sorry, I have a shift to catch."

"My cousins are coming over tonight, so I have to take a rain check."

"I'm not really feeling up to it, next time maybe?"

The lies behind your teeth never seemed to run out, your eyes unblinking even when your friends tried to reason back at you.

He noticed how you’d deflate when no one’s looking, a quiet and long sigh leaving your lips when you think everyone’s too busy to hear. Your shoulders sink and your gaze lowers to the ground, the look in your eyes wishing everything around you to just stop.

Nothing could ever escape his six eyes.

Especially when it comes to you.

He sees the tall walls you’ve built to protect what’s already in pieces. He sees the way you want to be alone, but you’re too afraid of the silence that creeps in when no one else is around.

He sees everything and wants nothing more than to break everything you’ve barricaded around yourself.

Gojo Satoru knows what it’s like to desire isolation. He knows what it does to a person, and he knows he can’t allow himself to lose someone like he lost his best friend. He knows you are the second chance he has to love again, and he will never allow you to leave.

So he shows you bits and pieces of his soul.

He makes sure to show you the joy you bring him—in the way he laughs, in the way he looks at you, in the depths of his dimples every time he flashes you that boyish grin. He's opening himself up to you, stripping himself bare of any lies and facades.

He tells you about his day—the details including the little calico kitty chasing an adorable puppy down the street as he enjoyed his daily walk, and the sweets he had eaten within the day. (He often brings extra with him just in case you get hungry.)

And then, Gojo notices.

He notices how you smile a little brighter now. He notices how slowly you’re beginning to tell him more of your day—about how you had woken up and immediately drank water afterwards, and he notices because he knows in the past you would’ve said, “‘m doing good. Nothing special really happened."

He notices how you start to look less exhausted and spaced out, the color in your eyes twinkling a little bit more.

He notices how you begin to love yourself a little more, the mascara on your lashes, that keychain you held back from buying now swinging back and forth from your phone case, and the way you stare a little longer as you passed by mirrors, a small smile reflecting back all being little signs of the affection that's slowly beginning to grow in your heart.

Perhaps what you needed was a little reminder.

Perhaps what you needed was to remember that somebody cared.

Because one day, when he’s buying you your favorite drink simply because you had briefly mentioned wanting it, you find yourself noticing how wonderful the weather is. You notice that you’re starting to prefer the sounds of people chatting as they walk over the songs of radiohead looping in your earphones. You feel like yourself again—you’re no longer watching life pass by like a stranger again.

You hear Gojo call your name, the summer sun dusting a slight shade of pink on his cheeks. “That line was crazy, but I got your drink!” He smiles, gently handing you the cup.

“Thank you, Satoru.”

He stills at the tone of your voice.

He looks down at you—notices way you hum after taking a sip out of the cup and he knows.

He knows the walls you’ve built up aren’t gone, but rather you’ve let him in behind those walls.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.”

He knows it’s still a long way to go before you can heal from the damage that has been dealt, and he knows there is still an ache in your soul, but he also knows he’s made sure to let you know he’s going to be right here beside you, holding your hand and wiping your tears.

he doesn't notice it, but he heals a little seeing you so happy because even if he couldn't save geto, he saved you.

#gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satoru x you #gojo x you #jjk fanfic #jjk gojo #viiennie — gojo!#gojo fluff #fluff #slight angst #soft gojo #im alive #loooool #viiennie—rambles!

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orphicsun · 3 months ago

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you must be haunting me - ambessa

pairing: fem! servant reader + ambessa medarda

content: 18+ content, sub!reader + dom! ambessa, possessive & rough sex, mentions of various acts (fingering + oral sex + strap on sex + light choking + consensual groping + squirting), power dynamic, NOT a petplay fic but the use of 'pet' is lightly used, i don't play lol so noxia may be inaccurate.

You didn't know what you were signing up for when you took on the job to tend to one of Noxia's most high maintenance generals.

For the most part, Ambessa's relationships with her servants were nothing personal. No matter the gender, they were casually strung along to do her bidding, always willing to please her. Her own affections were limited to entertain herself. If she reciprocated, it was self indulgence. Ambessa may have been selfish, a bit greedy.

You knew of this all too well. The beginning of your relationship was like any other servant-master dynamic. You knew of the vulgarity Ambessa carried within all these situations. You didn't complain when she requested 'perhaps something more than a massage', just to help her take the edge off after an infuriating ordeal amongst others who hold power in Noxia.

It was alluring, the way she captured your interests. You weren't impoverished in any means. You weren't dealt a bad hand or a paycheck away from Noxia's own version of Zaun. You chose to be hers, most likely in contrast to the others who spend their nights in her bed chambers.

You liked staring up at the intricate gold ceiling as you felt her tongue drag up to prod at your clit. The moments in which you got to bury your own face between her heavy thighs, Ambessa's strength leaving you feeling lost in her like a raft in the Pacific was something you admittedly did not wish to ever give up.

On Ambessa's end, you were once a cute girl who took a rare enthusiasm in your sexual relationship with her. Now, you're a curse.

She used to not care what her pets would do when she wasn't thinking with her cunt; now, she finds herself fantasizing about taking you in the most brazen ways during unions amongst Noxia's military. Ambessa pictures it in her head: your cheek against the very mahogany her peers rest their elbows on, your tongue lolled out of your mouth as the ends of her fingers reach the depths of your drooling hole nobody else has dreamed of feeling. The imaginary gift of your ass bent over for her fingers to dig into the meat of it? That does leave Ambessa to think with her cunt.

Ambessa didn't always care. If her sources of entertainment were interested in other affairs in their spare time, as long as they came back clean, it was none her concern. The only thing that mattered was that they were on their bruised knees for her, in front of her when she so demanded and desired, at her beck and call.

Now past the battles scars on her firm abdomen, deep within her stomach lurches with jealousy's ugly appearance. She hasn't quite met her yet, hasn't had the chance to build a tolerance to the green goddess that lurks within her now when she imagines your cunt stuffed with another person's fingers. Her late husband was a good man, but their marriage was one of political needs.

The lack of tolerance to it is why she reacts the way she does.

Ambessa wants to own you and make you stay by her side like an eager little puppy—those soft, saccharine lips she dreams of (waking up to sticky underwear after) wrapping around her clit like it's your honeysuckle and you want each drop of juice, and your nose flush with her dark hairs.

She wants it both ways, too. Ambessa has never been a giver, not thinking about if the people who rubbed her shoulders with care would eventually find a better source of money and leave. It has happened, of course.

With you, she has recently found herself rubbing the tip of her slippery strap against your clit as opposed to just parting your legs with her strength and bottoming out seconds later in hopes that it will keep you satisfied. She doesn't roll over after sex, instead letting her sweaty body lay against yours, a hidden plea behind it all. The less noticeable attempt of tracing the letter 'A' onto your clit is just for her reasons. Branding you with the tip of her tongue, that way you can't dream of finding another to take pleasure in your fuck-me eyes the way she does.

No, she doesn't wish to share you with anyone at all. She should stop herself from imagining turning you around, pinning you against her wall, and fucking you good and well until your fingerprints stain the extortionate wallpaper. She wants to leave her own fingerprints inside your gummy walls for good.

She cannot cease her need to claim you, though.

You arrive late today. You were ordered to swing by her bedroom by 1 p.m, but it is now 1:15. Ambessa reasons with her mind that you could be getting your back blown out by someone else in that time span.

Control is something she values within herself Having patience in any situations, whether it is as minor as your servant running late or in the midst of battle. You have to know how to keep yourself restrained, be responsible, and play your cards right in any situation. Impulsiveness gets people slaughtered like foolish pigs.

So why is it that she lets herself get so carried away with you, marking you up like she is some teenager who lacks self-awareness?

"M-Ma'am, I can explain—" A hand rushes to firmly clamp over your mouth, and your sweet muffles fill her ears.

"Shh, pet. Do you wish to anger me?" Ambessa silences you, breath hot in your ear. She takes a brief pause from her sloppy claiming and loosens her wrapping to hear your answer, your obedience. She craves the reassurance that you're not tainted.

You gasp out for air, willingly pressing your back against her broad chest. The action gives some comfort to Ambessa that you are still hers, but it isn't enough. You're still too hesitant.

"Answer me, will you?" Ambessa growls, one of her hands moving to harshly grope your tit.

It sends a fluttery feeling through your pussy. In reality, you had simply gotten caught up in the crowd on her way to her estate, but the game she offers is like a blanket over your desires—it heats them.

Her leg sneaks between yours, and the feeling of her thigh creating friction with the back of yours creates a wetness that she can probably feel, even through layers of garments. Ambessa lets you feel the firm muscle press against you so snug, so you could grow to want her there, get used to it. After all, she will be between those heavenly thighs of yours all night, maybe well into the morning if she so pleases.

Ambessa flips you around so you're facing her, and you immediately melt into her arms like she is your lifeline. You try to lean closer and feel her lips dominate a kiss, but she grabs your chin before you're able to.

"Did you not hear me? I want an explanation as to why your arrival was so delayed." Ambessa takes you in for a moment—your eyes, wide and so expressive as they stare into hers. You're such an open book; she wants to spread your pages apart and dip into your contents. You don't whine, but the scrunch in your brows belies your need-induced frustration.

"There were a lot of people in the city and-" Ambessa's hand trails down your throat, giving a soft warning squeeze that cuts off your words with a soft, responsive moan. "..I got caught up."

All of Ambessa's irrational fears are quelled. She drops her hand from your throat to pull you closer, and her kiss burns into your lips. Everywhere she touches you is scorching.

Both of you are a tangle of love and limbs, pushing and pulling like magnets. Your lips seek to be love-bitten and overpowered whereas hers part to dive her tongue past yours and show you why you should always need her.

Her mouth is filthy, soft grunts tearing from her throat and resulting in more aggressive kisses. You're an open book, and yet these moments make Ambessa feel an intimacy that even the most vulnerable sex cannot reveal. She feels you responding in time with her, your swollen lips speaking a language she easily understands and adds upon.

In the more vulgar approach, the kiss is sloppy; Ambessa pulls you tongue into your mouth and suckles it in a way that feel more like porn than any hardcore tape.

You weaken Ambessa, you really do. She loses her restraint with her pet so easily. Years and years of success on the battlefield, keeping the Medarda standards raised, and you crash through her building-block tower with ease. She sees the way fabric hugs your hips and she ogles your tits when they're visible to her hungry gaze. She could imagine you in a million sex positions.

But anyone could be so vulgar and not be as affected by a person. It's your lowering inhibitions and the way you wear your pleasure on her face that draw her into what is so vulnerable of territory.

Just like this—she doesn't know how she ended up bringing you down onto her bed, your legs wrapped around her hips as she aimlessly grinds her hips into yours, friction not enough and yet maddening to her.

"I'm going to strip you down, sweet girl," she breathlessly promises. Her hands are hot as they grip the edge of your dress, and she can't pull it over your head fast enough to reveal your soft skin. "You're not to do anything but what I tell you to do."

Ambessa feels all over your body with roughly-textured hands. She teases your nipples through the cutesy cotton bra you're wearing, and you shiver and let out a sweet whine when she traces a path down the center of your navel and dips into your panties.

Almost immediately, she withdraws, leaving your cunt aching and your mouth ready to beg for it.

"Feel yourself. Touch that pretty little cunt of yours and tell me what you feel." She demands.

With a compliant whimper, you hastily shove your hand down your panties. Ambessa feels the imprint it leaves from the outside to make sure she catches any sneaky movements you pull on your own body.

"I'm so wet." And you truly are. Arousal drips down your perineum. Your needy little hole would beg to be filled with something if it could talk. Your lips only glisten with your need, a visual statement, but nonetheless silent.

"You're soaked for me. This pussy of yours loves me. She only weeps for me, doesn't she?" You shamelessly moan in response to her comments. You love the dirty talk.

"Take off your panties." Ambessa orders you. You eagerly peel off the ruined fabric.

Once you're completely exposed to her, she flips you around and handles you until you're on your hands and needs. She yanks your hips back until they're almost fully on her left thigh, but not enough that you're able to grind against the skin.

Ambessa always loves this aspect of the process—how malleable you become. She can twist and turn you in any way she desires all the while keeping your soul intact in the act. Ambessa is your puppeteer, and your cunt is pulled by her strings.

Although Ambessa is one to enjoy the chase and capture of teasing, she is low on her usual patience. A cry of surprise and a response to her invasion releases from your throat when she shoves two fingers into your pussy without warning, harshly thrusting in and out. Her other hand moves to rest on your lower back and press against your body in a show of possession.

She doesn't make an effort to press up into your g-spot or pay attention to your clit, though.

"Ambessa, please!!" She has you crying, needing more. You bury your face into the sheets and your mouth babbles on even though it's all an incoherent, meaningless jumble of words. She has fucked you stupid.

Just when your gummy walls adjust to the harsh fucking your body is enduring, Ambessa thrusts knuckle-deep, pressing into that gooey spot that makes you lose any sense of self control.

Liquid gushes from your hole and drips down your thighs, nature's perversion of a waterfall. Ambessa doesn't stop fucking you until every last drop of cum has left you, though.

You collapse on the bed with a whine from how sore you feel. She strokes your lower back in an offer of comfort, one she doesn't express with most pets.

Not to say she doesn't believe in aftercare, but this feels emotionally charged. This feels like more than what she bargained for. Ambessa has realized how in her head she had gotten. You didn't seem to mind one bit, enthusiastic to it all. It makes her falter, though.

You're her one weakness, and as much as she tries to in these moments, she cannot fully control you.

taglist: @jhyoos, @morticeras, @starryeyedlovergirll, @ferxanda, @frillynpinkprincess, @plasticl0v3r, @meow4510, @mitskimisfit, @waitaminuteashh, @ruelezz, @bewareofmyglock, @witzs

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#ambessa #arcane ambessa #ambessa medarda #ambessa x reader #ambessa x fem reader #ambessa league of legends #ambessa x you #ambessa arcane #ambessa medarda x reader #arcane #wlw smut #wlw #lesbian #sapphic

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sourpeachsayshi · 4 months ago

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(Minors / ageless / blank blogs dni) - slight degradation; mention rough sex

you knew nanami was fit. you knew he was made of muscle. but you had no idea just how strong your boyfriend actually was until you both moved into your new place. you watched him pick up heavy furniture with such ease. move all the boxes without ever breaking a sweat. at one point you were standing in his way and he mindlessly just lifted you up and moved you aside like you were nothing to him.

three weeks since that day you have not stopped thinking about it. it boiled up and made you restless, until finally you had enough.

you sit down next to him on the couch this evening and demand: “I want you to me fuck me,”

kento’s eyes widen with surprise at your tone. his face puzzled as he registers what you just said.

you’re in a pair of panties and an oversized tee, while he’s still rocking his dressed down suit.

“well, good evening to you too…”

“please?”

“is someone in a mood?” he teases, eyes flickering to the book on his lap, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

you nod your head, the space between your legs throbbing.

your lover lets out a low and delicious laugh. “get in bed, and take off your clothes. I’ll be there in a minute…”

your heart thumps, “and you’re going to…fuck me, right?”

confusion contorts the muscles on his handsome face. “Isn’t that what I usually do?”

your cheeks burn. you tuck your bottom lip between your teeth and swallow your last nerve.

“you make love to me,” you explain, “but…you don’t fuck me…”

kento furrows his brows innocently, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “do you not enjoy it when I-“

you cut him off before he has a chance to finish. “no, no, it’s not that…” you crawl on top of his lap, and over the length of his body. you pluck his glasses away from his face and put down his book. “I want you to use me, to be rough with me…”

“hmmm,” he acknowledges, his legs spreading underneath you as he allows you to melt over him.

“I just…” you babble, two fingers reaching to play with the tips of his blonde hair. “I just didn’t realize how…strong you were…”

the tips of his cheekbones now turn red. he’s a little caught off guard, but you enjoy doing that to him once in a while.

“I don’t want you to hold back tonight. Pull my hair, tie me up, throw me down on the mattress. Whatever you want. I can take it…”

his dick twitches - and you feel it. you can see his tawny eyes go hazy as he attentively hangs onto your every word.

he swallows the catch in his throat.

“I could hurt you, love. I don’t want to do that…”

you shake your head in disbelief. “I don’t think you will. I trust you, kento…”

his index finger taps your back in contemplation.

“you want me to tie you up?” he repeats and your heart races as you eagerly nod your head.

“use you?”

you nod again.

“pull your hair?”

you nod once more, your breath going heavy.

he pushed the weight of his body up, the hand on your back trails up the spine until it threads between the strands of your hair. he grips it tight and brings his lips against your ear.

“you want be fucked?”

excitement builds in your core, the depth of his graveled voice sparking your arousal.

“yes,” you pant.

“you asked for this, my love,” he breathes, a shift in his tone sending shivers all over your body. “I won’t stop unless you say “strawberries”, no matter how much you beg…”

his lips brush against your cheek, pulling back until it lightly grazes over your mouth.

“and you…are just going to take it, like you said you would. am I right?”

your whole body hums at the shift in his demeanor, at this sudden seductive darkness that seemed to have taken over of your lover’s body.

“yes,” you agree, making him grin cheekily.

“that’s a good girl,” he praises, and pulls a gasp from your lips when he rips the string of your panties and yanks off the material, before discarding the garment over his shoulder and stealing a kiss.

#[whispers.༉��₊˚🕯️ ]#Nanami x reader #nanami x you #nanami smut #nanami x y/n #this thought is sooo stuck in my head #convincing kento to be rough with you #and he gets soooo into it 😩😩😩

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vunblr · 2 months ago

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Behind Closed Doors.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Tags: Established relationship. Light Angst. Regression Episodes. Emotional Dependency. Comfort. Pet names.

Warnings: 18+ only. PTSD. Regressive!Bucky. Mommy Kink. Praise Kink. Self-Soothing (Nursing). Comfort Sex. Past Self-Harm Mention.

Summary: Most days, Bucky is a functional, dependable, and even deadly man. Others, when the noise in his head gets too loud, behind closed doors, he becomes Jamie.

Word Count: About 5.5k.

notes: For the @avengers-assemble-bingo event, Kinky Bingo. The Prompt is Mommy Kink. Card number KB-014.

The door banged open hard enough to rattle the frame. Sam strode in first, glancing over his shoulder. "I told you to handle it like a grown-ass man."

Bucky followed, with a duffel slung over his shoulder and a deep scowl carved into his face. "It was handled," he muttered.

She stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel, smiling without thinking, until she caught the flicker in Bucky’s eyes, the slight drop of his shoulders, the tension so tight under his skin it was a wonder he could move at all.

Still, he crossed the room like nothing was wrong, dropped the duffel with a heavy thud, and bent to kiss her in a short press. His lips were dry, and his hand felt cold against her hip through her pajama shirt. "Missed you," he said, like he meant to say more but swallowed it back down.

Sam snorted behind them. "Real touching, man. Now gimme the damn briefcase, lover boy."

She laughed under her breath; Bucky flipped him off without looking.

The briefcase was waiting by the couch, matte black, secure enough to survive a plane crash. Bucky kicked it closer with the toe of his boot.

"You know," Sam said, hefting it. "This wouldn’t even be necessary if a certain someone didn’t hulk out on Redwing."

Bucky shrugged, deadpan. "It was an accident."

"Bullshit," Sam barked, half-laughing. "You aimed at him!"

"He was in the way."

"He was flying surveillance, you jackass!"

Bucky shrugged again, more theatrical this time, and a sly twist tugging at his mouth. "Collateral damage."

Sam muttered something vile, but the edge was missing, worn down by exhaustion and familiarity. They circled each other like two old dogs too stubborn to admit they were friends.

"You owe me," Sam called over his shoulder, stepping through the door.

Bucky didn’t answer, just kicked the door shut behind him with a solid, decisive slam.

Three long strides, and he was in her space. He bent his head, digging his forehead into the curve where her neck met her shoulder, banding his arms around her like he could fold himself into her skin if he just held tight enough.

He shuddered once -just once- and then he went still, breathing her in like she was air after drowning.

Already feeling the shift in his mind -the slow melt of tension into something heavier, darker- she cupped the back of his head and murmured, "What's wrong, Jamie?"

His voice was a rasp against her throat. "Don't wanna talk about it, Mommy."

There it was. The tremor under the words. The old damage rising from the depths, thick as smoke, inescapable.

It was going to be one of those weeks.

Bucky was gone. Not dead, not disappeared. Just… buried.

His mind, fractured and fragile, bore scars deeper than any bullet wound. Years of physical torture, mind control, chemical sedation, and that damned chair had left behind something that could never be stitched whole again, only nurtured, only loved in all its brokenness.

"Alright," she whispered, smoothing her palm along the nape of his neck, tangling her fingers lightly in his hair. "You don't have to, sweetie."

Bucky clung harder and shifted his weight, nudging her backwards, steering her without words. The backs of her knees bumped the armrest of the couch, catching her off guard- and then he was pressing, urging, laying her down like something loved but urgent, needing her pliant and beneath him.

She let herself fall back, and her body sank into the cushions.

Bucky climbed after her, sprawling his massive frame above her, caging her in, shuddering like the weight of the world was slipping down his spine.

He buried his face against her chest, moving his mouth blindly, mouthing her through the thin cotton of her pajama top. Desperate, clumsy, a low whine slipping from his throat when the fabric denied him skin.

Frustrated, he nosed under the hem, catching it with his teeth, tugging upward -an animal trying to shed the barrier himself- and she lifted her arms in silent permission, helping him strip the top away.

"There you go, baby," she cooed, cradling the back of his head, guiding him.

Bucky latched greedily onto her breast the second he could. His tongue flicked rough and desperate, the suction was almost bruising, pulling at her with the kind of force that spoke of starvation, not hunger.

She cradled him close, slightly rocking them as soft, wet sounds filled the quiet room. The metal plates of his hand pressed cold against her waist as he shifted his hold, needing the contact. He suckled hard -harder than he usually allowed himself- losing himself in the mindless rhythm of the process, soothed only by her scent, her heartbeat, the feel of her skin in his mouth.

She only held him tighter, whispering into the crown of his head, "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

But it wasn't enough. She felt it, the restless grind of his hips against her leg, the low, helpless groan deep in his chest.

The tremors in his body grew worse. He needed more. More skin, more warmth, more of her wrapped around every broken part of him he didn’t know how to fix.

He whimpered around her nipple, the sound was pitiful, hungry, broken. His hips jerked forward in clumsy, desperate thrusts, rubbing his heavy cock against her leg, the friction too little, too clothed, too maddening.

One of his hands fumbled down between them, pawing clumsily at her waistband, frustrated when the fabric of her pajama shorts didn’t yield. She lifted her hips, helping, soothing, letting him peel the barrier away.

The second her shorts were gone, he was there, grinding harder, the rough denim of his fatigues rasping against the tender, slick heat between her legs. His mouth never stopped, suckling greedily and wet at her breast, the noises were animalistic, wet, and obscene. Her thighs fell open to give him more, to give him everything he was silently begging for.

"That's it, baby," she murmured against his temple, her voice thick with love and aching need. "Take it, Jamie. Take what you need."

He shuddered at her words, and with a low growl, he fumbled at his belt, nearly tearing it open in his frantic need. The sound of the zipper rasped loud in the thick, humid air between them, and then he was pushing his pants and boxers just far enough down to free himself, his cock flushed dark and leaking, throbbing with every erratic beat of his heart.

He didn't even line himself up properly at first, just thrusting blindly, rutting against her belly, her hip, lost in pure instinct. She reached down, gentle but firm, guiding him lower, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds, and he gasped, a desperate, wounded noise, like she'd just torn open his chest and touched his heart.

He pushed forward in a single, shaking thrust, sinking inside her inch by inch, whimpering her name, clinging to her body.

"Mommy... Mommy, please..." he sobbed into her skin, fucking desperately into her, like he couldn't get deep enough, close enough, like he needed to crawl inside her and never come out.

She wrapped her arms and legs around him, holding him tighter, whispering praises and love into his hair, rocking her hips up to meet each frantic thrust, giving him everything, everything he needed.

Bucky's rhythm faltered almost immediately, embarrassingly fast, his whole body went rigid, and a broken cry tore from his throat as he came hard, pulsing deep and warm inside her.

Her fingers never stopped stroking his scalp, the curve of his neck, the tense line of his back where sweat glued his shirt to his skin. He whimpered low in his chest, a sound that made her thighs clench around his waist instinctively, holding him there, inside her, where he belonged.

"You did so good for me." she murmured again, threading the words right into his marrow, "filled me up so good, sweetheart."

His hips gave a weak jerk, as if his body was trying to answer even while spent. He nosed deeper into the crook of her neck, and his hands roamed frantically on her hips like he didn’t know whether to stay still or start again. A needy little whimper bled out of him, wet and desperate.

"Shh, you're perfect," she soothed, rocking her hips just the slightest bit, enough to make him groan, low and wrecked.

But Bucky needed more. Shame and hunger twisted together in his mind, his need to please her, to earn the sweetness of her praise. His hand scrabbled down her body, pushing his shaking fingers between them, seeking out where they were still joined, sticky and wet.

"I can-" he mumbled into her neck, his voice hoarse and cracked, "I can make you come, Mommy... lemme... please, lemme-"

She caught his wrist, soft but firm, guiding him, showing him without words. Her own fingers slipped down, spreading herself open for him, letting him feel the slick heat, her throbbing clit, how ready she was, how close she'd been even from his desperate rutting.

"Alright," she breathed, her voice breaking into a moan when his thumb brushed clumsily over her clit. "Let Mommy remember you how."

He chased every stuttered gasp, every little roll of her hips, with awkward but hungry movements, so eager to please that he trembled. He kissed her neck, her collarbone, and nuzzled helplessly against her, feeding off every moan, "Tell me, Mommy... wanna make you feel good... please..."

"You're doing so good, baby," she cooed, rolling her hips into the clumsy circles he traced against her swollen clit, feeling sparks skittering up her spine. "My big strong boy... that's it, sweetie, just like that."

His breath hitched sharply. She felt him throb inside her, half-hard but growing, so easily aroused by her praise.

"M- more," she whispered into his hair, guiding his hand with gentle, insistent pressure. "Mommy needs more, Jamie... you can give it to me, can't you, baby?"

A shattered little sound broke out of his throat. He latched onto her neck, sucking greedily, slipping his fingers faster, finding the rhythm she loved without even realizing it, simply because she wanted it, because she told him he could.

"Yes... yes, I can-" he gasped, nearly crying it, driving his hand harder against her, frantic, devoted.

She moaned shamelessly, grinding softly against his hand, feeling the wet slide of his cock thickening again between her slick folds. She angled her hips to grind against him, smearing herself all over him, and he nearly sobbed.

"Such a good boy," she panted, dragging her fingers across his scalp, tugging his hair just enough to make him moan. "Making me feel so good... my perfect boy..."

Bucky's whole body shuddered. He humped against her without rhythm, desperate, straining toward the heaven of her approval.

She was so close, the pleasure was burning tight and high, and when he whined brokenly, "Need you to cum Mommy, need it so bad," she ground against him harder, her and breath hitched. The tension snapped through her body as she came around his already hard cock, writhing, crying his name, clamping her thighs tightly around his waist.

His hips moved before thought could catch them, pure instinct, pure need. She gasped sharply, her body so sensitive, still riding her orgasm, and he let out a strangled moan, pressing his forehead hard against hers, as his arms shook where they caged her in.

"Jamie," she whimpered, reflexively wrapping her legs tighter around him, holding him there, where he belonged.

He groaned, trying to last, trying to hold back -but the heat of her body and the clutch of her inner muscles around him milked another low, broken cry from his throat.

"Can't-" he choked out, as his hips twitched. "Mommy, I- fuck-, I can't-"

"You don't have to, baby," she whispered against his lips, "Just let go."

The second the words left her mouth, Bucky shattered. His rhythm was frantic and short-lived, sloppy little thrusts, his whole body spasming, jerking helplessly. His face twisted into a tortured, beautiful grimace, mouth open in a silent cry as he came again, flooding her, so raw, so painfully intense it stripped the breath from his lungs.

She held him through it, both hands threaded in his hair, pulling his weight down onto her so he could sob against her throat, every breath a broken thing.

"Good boy," she murmured, cradling him, rocking him gently even as he trembled and gasped, as if the orgasm had unraveled something too dark inside him.

"My sweet, perfect Jamie..."

He clung to her, gasping, as the aftershocks racked his body. His cock throbbed weakly inside her, spent but refusing to soften, desperate to stay part of her, to never be alone again.

"Love you," he rasped, barely louder than a breath. "I love you so much..."

She kissed his temple, his wet lashes, the corner of his mouth. "I love you too, sweetheart."

He whimpered again, softer this time, more at peace, and his breathing began to slow down as she stroked his spine. It was a mindless comfort, just the warmth of her body, her scent, the surety of being wanted exactly as he was, no masks, no shame.

She felt him trembling against her, as small broken hitches of breath ghosted hot over her collarbone, and she knew he wasn’t done needing her yet. Gently, she threaded her fingers through his hair again, scratching lightly at his scalp until he made a soft, choked sound, half-whine, half-moan.

"Jamie, baby," she whispered, kissing his ear, feeling the damp strands of hair clinging to his temple. "I need you to sit up for me, alright? Just for a minute. Let Mommy take care of you."

He whined again, burrowing his face harder against her skin, refusing. His cock twitched uselessly inside her, spent but stubborn, like his body was terrified of losing contact.

She cupped his jaw, brushing her thumb along the sharp plane of his cheekbone. "Sweetheart, please. Just a little shift, then you can cuddle all you want. Promise."

That promise cracked through the fog in his mind. Bucky lifted his head, blinking slowly and heavy with glazed blue eyes, and his lip caught in his teeth in a desperate little bite. Wordless, he obeyed, pushing himself up on shaking arms and pulling out of her with a reluctant, shuddering moan.

She winced a little at the loss but sat up quickly, nudging his hips to guide him back onto the couch cushions. His tactical pants were still around his thighs, boots still muddy and scuffed from the mission, whole body a mess of tension and need.

She kissed his knee through the fabric, soothing him. "Good boy. Stay still for me, alright?"

He nodded, but his hands twitched like he didn’t know what to grab onto, finally fisting the fabric of her discarded pajama top like a lifeline.

With quick hands, she unlaced and yanked off his boots, tossing them without care. His socks followed, peeled off with a little tug. Then she shimmied the ruined pants down his thighs, down past his knees, ankles, freeing him completely.

Bucky whined low in his throat, and his thighs trembed where they spread for her, his cock flushed dark, twitching weakly against his belly, glistening with the mess of what they’ve made.

"There we go, baby," she murmured, stroking his trembling thighs, letting him feel her loving hands on him. "I got you."

He looked like he wanted to fold in on himself, humiliated and desperate, as his chest heaved.

She pressed a soft kiss to his navel, another just above his hipbone. "You did so well for me, Jamie. Gave Mommy everything she needed.”

He tensed beneath her mouth, breath hitching like he wanted to protest. “That’s not true, I couldn’t-”

She kissed the top of his thigh, firmer this time. “Shhh. No, baby. No more of that.” Her hand smoothed over his stomach. “You did. You gave me what you could. That’s everything.”

Her kiss, her words, seemed to reach him. She felt the tension in his grip easing, not gone, but yielding enough for her to slip from his hold.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” she murmured, brushing one last kiss to his thigh before pulling away slowly.

He gave a faint whimper but let her go, slumping back into the couch, with his legs still spread, and arms loose and heavy at his sides. Vulnerable. Waiting.

She moved quickly, finding a clean cloth and dampening it with warm water, squeezing it out until it streamed between her fingers. When she returned, he hadn’t moved, and his eyes were glassy, staring somewhere past the ceiling, lost somewhere she couldn’t follow, breathing slowly but not relaxed.

She knelt between his thighs and began wiping him with slow, tender strokes, the warm cloth gliding over his softening cock and the skin of his inner thighs. He let her do, as always.

Then, in a voice so quiet it was almost a breath, he said, "There was a chair."

Her hands froze for just a second before she moved again, softer now, like she was tending a wound she couldn’t see. He didn’t have to explain. That phrase -the chair- floated between them, thick and poisonous.

She kissed tenderly the inside of his knee and crawled up to straddle his lap without hesitation, wrapping him up in her arms. His flesh hand immediately latched onto her waist, the metal one curling over her back like he could mold her into himself.

"It was supposed to be another kind of mission," she said tentatively.

"The growing organization... Sam said... they were forming from scraps. Vestiges. Hydra info." His breathing hitched. "We thought... we thought there would be intel to scrap. Maybe... maybe a serum, old samples. Destroy it before it can spread. But they had it. They had the chair."

He choked the last word out like it tasted like blood.

She cradled his face between her hands. “They can’t hurt you anymore, sweetie. You’re free, remember? Remember how they made it all better in Wakanda?” he only nodded, hiding his face on one of her palms.

She threaded her fingers slowly through his hair, feeling the tension beneath his scalp like a live wire still sparking. “Are you hungry, Jamie?” she whispered against the shell of his ear.

There was a small, reluctant pause before he nodded against her chest. "Yeah. But... I can't-" he clutched her tighter, as if her body might dissolve if he let go.

"I know," she soothed. "Come with me, then. We'll stick together."

She coaxed him to stand, his heavy steps were sluggish, clumsy, almost childlike in his exhaustion. He shadowed her across the room, never more than an inch away, his hand curled tight at her waist. While she pulled things from the fridge and stacked a couple of fast sandwiches, Bucky wrapped around her from behind, big and unyielding, pinning her gently against the counter with his weight.

He buried his face in her neck, breathing her scent.

"I'm sorry I'm like this," he mumbled, with a raw, scratchy voice against her skin. "I’m sorry my head's so messed up."

She stilled her hands, the sandwich forgotten half-built, and cupped his forearm where it pressed across her middle, squeezing him hard.

"No," she said firmly, tipping her head back against his shoulder to make sure he heard every word. "You survived what would have killed anybody else. You’re not messed up. You're my Jamie. That's all that matters."

Bucky let out a low, broken sound, something between a sob and a sigh, and hug her tighter like he might fuse himself into her bones if he could.

"Now eat a little, sweetheart," she whispered. "Then I'll tuck you into bed, yeah?"

He nodded mutely against her neck, still clinging, letting her finish fixing the sandwiches one-handed while he melted against her.

"Need me to cut them small for you, or are you good to grab the knife?" she asked gently, tilting her head to catch his expression.

Bucky hesitated, and his eyes flickered uncertainly to the counter, then back to her. "I'll eat them whole," he said finally. "With my hands."

"That's so good, baby," she praised, brushing her fingers over his knuckles. "Wanna eat them on the bed?"

He only nodded, letting her gather the plate and then reach for his hand, guiding him through the hallway like leading a wounded animal.

"Alright. Shirt off, sweetheart," she murmured when they reached the bedroom, giving a little tug at the hem of his tactical top. "Don’t want that messy thing on the sheets."

"Sorry," he mumbled, brow crumpling. His fingers fumbled at the fabric, uncertain. "Should I shower too?"

"Do you want to?" she asked.

"The sheets-"

"Bucky," she cut him off. Not Jamie this time, but Bucky, to wise him up. His breath caught in his chest.

"Do you want to?" she repeated, slower, softer.

"...not right now," he confessed.

"Then get in the bed and eat the sandwiches," she ordered gently, brushing her palm over his stomach in passing.

He obeyed without argument, pulling the shirt clumsily over his head and leaving it crumpled on the floor. His body was flushed and tight with leftover adrenaline, his scars standing out against his skin. He climbed onto the bed, sitting cross-legged like a great, awkward boy, with the plate balanced in his lap.

She settled beside him, smoothing her hand up and down his back in slow, rhythmic strokes as he tore into the first sandwich with trembling fingers, chewing dutifully.

Every time he took a bite, she murmured something soft near his ear: "That's it, baby." "You're doing so good." "My sweet boy."

Bucky shivered every time, eating faster, desperate for her approval, for the tone of her voice wrapped around him.

When he finished, he wiped his hands clumsily on the sheet. She would’ve scolded him, but when he turned toward her, his eyes were huge and glassy, and desperate, his mouth trembling like he might cry if she said even one word wrong, she couldn’t.

Instead, she only smiled, lifting the plate from his lap and setting it aside.

"C'mere," she whispered, opening her arms.

She eased them down into the mattress, coaxing him to lie with his head against her chest. His hair -brushing past his jawline in dark, tangled waves- spilled over her skin. She threaded her fingers through it without urgency, combing gently through the snarls, almost worshipfully.

Bucky let out a low, shaky exhale against her skin, the sound was so raw it made her chest ache. Each slow stroke of her fingers through his hair unspooled knots buried far deeper than the ones at his scalp, memories of fists twisting in his hair to punish, to control, to bend him to grotesque, degenerate wills. Those hands had ripped at him like he was a mindless beast, but hers... hers just held, adored, cherished.

She waited, giving him time to soften under her touch, before she murmured, her voice barely a ghost against the crown of his head.

"Do you have to go tomorrow?" Her fingers combed slowly, untangling another small knot. "You just got here. Can't Clint count on someone else?"

He shook his head against her chest, dragging his hair across her skin in a silky brush. "They need me," he rasped, his voice hollowed out by guilt. "My strength. My hands. Can't just leave 'em hanging."

She kissed the top of his head, brushing her lips in the softest spot where his hair parted. "Rest then, handsome," she breathed into him. "I'll guard your sleep."

----

She woke slowly, feeling him before she even turned her head down. Bucky was draped half over her, his chest pressed to her side, with one heavy arm hooked around her waist. His face was nuzzled into her breast, his wet, warm mouth suckling in soft, absent pulses around her nipple. Not truly awake. Not truly dreaming. Just clinging. Needing.

Nuzzled in like a child too big to be held, too broken not to need it anyway.

She said nothing. Would never say anything. Just slid her hand through his long hair, slow and tenderly, letting him have whatever peace he could steal from her body.

Later, after he finally stirred with a grumble and a heavy, embarrassed sigh, she helped him to the bathroom, guiding him under the shower. She washed his hair carefully, then his body. Dressed him piece by piece in a fresh set of tactical clothing with a lover’s hands.

They sat side by side at the kitchen table, with their knees bumping occasionally, plates between them. Bucky picked at his toast, sluggish but obedient, while she fussed with a napkin, sweeping a streak of jam from the stubble along his jaw. He tilted his head toward her touch like a sleepy cat, eyes half-lidded, savoring every second. Then-

The doorbell rang, sharp and sudden.

Bucky stiffened immediately. His fork clattered onto the plate as he straightened, with a frown etching deep between his brows.

"Early," he muttered. "Wasn’t supposed to be here 'til later."

"I’ll get the door. Finish your breakfast," she said, squeezing his hand before rising.

As she crossed the living room, she could already hear Clint's muffled voice behind the door, some cheery nonsense about coffee and ‘no rest for the wicked.’ She shook her head fondly and reached for the handle, casting one last glance back at Bucky, still sitting hunched at the table, tense, his eyes dark with the weight of parting.

Clint stepped inside with a gust of morning air, scrubbing a hand through his messy hair. He sniffed exaggeratedly, with a wide grin breaking over his face.

"Smells delicious in here. You mind if I munch on something? Didn’t have time at home, kids were playing tug-of-war with my socks."

Bucky froze for a breath mid-bite. Then, without missing another beat, the switch flipped, and he slipped the mask into place. His scowl was automatic, familiar, almost rehearsed.

"Comin’ early and stealing my food," he muttered, jerking his chin toward the table in a rough invitation.

Clint chuckled, taking it for what it was and flopping into the nearest chair.

She hid her little sigh behind a smile, moving to pour Clint some coffee and pulling extra toast and eggs from the warming plate on the stove. As she set them down in front of him, she cast a glance at Bucky.

The mask wasn’t how he lived day to day. Most of the time, he was a functional, competent, and reliable partner. Not the trembling boy who'd wept against her chest, mourning a harsh treatment he hadn’t had in years but still felt in his bones.

When something triggered the trauma, he regressed for days. And those days were… well, manageable inside the house. But when the outside world needed something of him, when he couldn’t just pass those days at peace, the mask appeared. He wore it every time he left home. To go on missions, to stand across from bureaucrats and therapists, to smile awkwardly when a stranger said "thank you for your service," but looking at him like he was a monster.

Now he lounged in his seat, with an elbow propped on the table, coffee in hand, boots crossed at the ankles, looking confident.

Clint wolfed down half a piece of toast, talking around it. "So, mission details got updated late last night," he said, crumbs flying. "Turns out the warehouse’s not just full of spare parts and wannabe Zemo cosplay rejects. They’ve got a shipment of experimental tech stashed in a sublevel. Pressure sensors on every door, that kind of shit. Trip one, and the whole place locks down."

Bucky barely lifted his brows. Sipped his coffee like Clint was telling him the damn weather. "I'll handle that alone," he said flatly. "You just focus on fucking up their electric system."

Clint grinned around his coffee mug. "Pfft. It's like you don’t even need me there."

Bucky gave him a slow, unimpressed look that said exactly that.

Clint clutched his chest theatrically. "Rude."

They bickered, sharp-edged and kind of amicably, but beneath the noise, Bucky’s left hand slid across the seat instinctively until his fingers found hers under the table.

He squeezed her, firm and self-soothingly. She squeezed back, not even glancing down, not making a big thing of it.

----

By the time Clint was asking for seconds, Bucky had drunk all his coffee and finished wiping his plate clean with a torn piece of toast.

"You should see what Lila pulled on Laura last week," Clint said between mouthfuls. "Whole laundry room filled with packing peanuts. Packing peanuts. I swear, that kid’s got a future in psychological warfare."

Bucky huffed -the closest thing he gave to a laugh most days- and leaned back in his chair. His hand didn’t leave hers under the table. Not once. When he stood, he tugged gently, silently asking her to follow.

"Be right back," she said casually to Clint, who just waved her off, too busy scraping jam onto another slice of toast.

In the hallway, Bucky didn’t speak. He just brushed his arm against hers, subtly, before nudging open the door to the gear room.

Everything was already half-packed, and she moved to help without him asking. Slid ammo clips into pouches, folded the spare jacket, and zipped compartments closed. Behind her, Bucky stripped off the sweatshirt he'd thrown on for breakfast, revealing the tight black compression shirt beneath it.

"Are you good on suppressors?" she asked, checking the side pouches.

"Yeah." His voice was rough, but controlled. "Packed two."

She smoothed her hand over the thick strap of his tac belt as she adjusted it on the table, brushing her thumb over a scuff mark near the buckle.

His body brushed hers again, slow and heavy, with a silent gratitude he never put into words.

From down the hallway, Clint's voice floated: "-and then she glued all my arrows together. Like some evil arts and crafts project-"

Bucky huffed another low sound, a little closer to amusement this time.

His arm bumped hers again.

He just kept finding ways to stay in her space, pressing close like something small burrowing under a blanket, chasing the comfort only she could give him.

She worked around him like a second skin, slipping the knives into their sheaths behind his waist, across his thighs, securing the flashbangs to the front clips.

He stood still for her, obedient, letting her dress him for war, like he couldn't do it himself.

Not today.

His hands twitched at his sides when she brushed too close to his belt, reaching for the magazine pouches. When she fastened the vest across his chest, his fingers tangled briefly in the hem of her shirt, clutching, small, desperate. She pressed a kiss just below his collarbone in answer, right over the faint scar where a bullet had once shattered bone. He exhaled roughly. Still trembling. Still pretending otherwise, because Clint was just down the hallway.

She buckled the side straps and slotted the heavier grenades at his hip. Checked the sidearm holsters, one after the other. He didn't even try anymore, just let her do it. Let her carry the ritual when he couldn't. It broke her heart every time, how he still wanted to be the strong asset everyone expected him to be, even when the man inside it had been splintered into pieces.

She knelt to strap his boots tighter, double-knotting the laces with a tug. When she stood up, Bucky was already sinking to his knees in front of her. He pressed his face against her belly, wrapping his arms around her waist in a crushing grip.

She just threaded her fingers through his hair, those longer, wild locks he never let the stylists touch, combing slow, soothing strokes from root to tip.

He breathed against her. Ragged. Needy.

A few years ago, when she'd found him curled in a corner after a nightmare so bad he couldn't even speak, she'd dared to ask him, "How did you deal with it… before?"

It had taken him three tries to answer. Finally, he'd muttered: "I... hurt myself. Until I could function again." Like it was normal. Like it was the best strategy. Damage the body to break the mind out of a loop.

Pain instead of panic.

She cradled him closer, stroking the nape of his neck with her thumb.

Never again. Not under her watch.

She motioned for him to stand up. "You’re geared up, Jamie," she murmured against his temple when he pressed his body against her again. He nodded but didn't move. Just hold her closer, breathing the scent of her skin, sensing the fabric of her shirt, the pulse of life he always chased in her when the world tried to smother him.

Only when she whispered, "Come on, handsome. Let’s not keep Clint waiting," did he finally push himself up with a soft grunt, rubbing his face against her like he could take a piece of her with him.

He took a deep breath, still trembling faintly, but standing straighter now.

Still fractured, but held together by her hands, her patience, and her love.

And that was enough.

It was always enough.

Permanent Taglist: @civilbucky @pandaxnienke @queergalpal97 @mrsalexstan

dividers by: @/strangergraphics

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes x curvy!reader #bucky x curvy!reader #AAKinky #sub!Bucky #sub!bucky barnes #subby! bucky

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clare-875 · 5 months ago

Text

For You (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Zoro x Reader Summary: You take a life-threatening blow for Zoro in battle and he is marred with guilt. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Descriptions of Injury and Blood, Mention of Death, Swearing [One Piece Masterlist] _____

Your limbs ache, breath coming in short and painful increments, but you can't seem to stop. More like you can't allow yourself to. Once again, your beloved crew was in battle with an opposing pirate crew, and it was proving very difficult to come to victory.

You had long since separated from Luffy but assumed he was still fighting in the distance with the rival Captain if the massive blows and faraway destructions were anything to go by. Your less battle-inclined crewmembers were even further from you, no doubt fighting subordinates of the adversary out of town. But you were one of the main combatants of the crew and thus were in the depths of a gruelling battle with formidable commanding officers of the enemy.

You remember last seeing Sanji a short time ago, but to your right, you can hear the impacts of your boyfriend's vicious swords as he fights his opponents. You found slight comfort in that; Zoro never strayed too far from you in battles. Despite his undying trust in your abilities, he found solace in the fact that he could support you if needed, his protective instincts flaring when it came to you.

"Is that all you've got?!"

You grimace and sidestep your opponent, who thinks he's got the upper hand, as you are momentarily lost in your thoughts. The impact of his blow trembles upon the Earth, but you feel yourself unfazed. You lift your weapon of choice, your prized axe, and it hums with unnatural energy.

"I could ask the same of you! Have you even landed a single blow?! "

You yell out, a mocking grin on your face despite the utter fatigue that fills you. The earlier battles you had won were catching up to you, and though your current opponent was stronger, he was still nothing you couldn't handle. Blood seeps from his skin and bruises litter his body, clear remnants of your earlier attacks vastly contrasting the way you appeared so unscathed.

You witness rage fill his features at your words as he swings wildly, his weird weapons flung carelessly in the air. He rushes towards you, but you grin, ready to deal the finishing blow. Your axe hums louder, energy pouring into it, and taking on a fighting stance, you react to your opponent's proximity. His incoherent shouts suddenly disappear as you slice through him in one swift movement, and he grunts when he hits the floor unmoving.

Your axe hums to silence once more, and you finally look around you, taking in a long-awaited breath. The battlefield was lost to destruction, and dozens of enemies lay static around you. You groan as you stretch your limbs idly, fighting the want to fall asleep right then and there. Though you were not hurt beyond the rare scrape or bruise, exhaustion threatened to pull you to the floor, and your vision blurred. Head sharply ringing, you shake it, more important things on your mind.

Your crew's safety.

Zoro.

Gritting your teeth, you force yourself to move. Though your boyfriend was more than, if not the most capable fighter next to Luffy, it didn't mean your worry was nonexistent. How could it be? Most times, your concern was through the roof. Your boyfriend: always overworking himself, always putting himself before the safety of the crew, always fighting the deadliest of enemies.

There's a shriek of a weapon in the distance, and a nearby blow, and your heart thumps a bit faster despite yourself. Pushing back debris, your muscles groan in protest, but you push through into an opening where you finally see a bed of green hair and three familiar swords. You witness sharp eyes flicker to you for a millisecond and the deranged smirk your boyfriend bears seems to grow, proud you have won your battles and satisfied you will be there to witness his own victory.

But you are not met with the same reassurance he seems to have.

Your boyfriend was drenched in what looked like blood... his blood. And when he turns, you see the remnants of a gash on the side of his chest, clearly from having been impaled by the weapon of one of the men he fought. Speaking of which, the opponent he fights now seems unnaturally powerful, towering over his form and with Zoro’s blood on his weapon. Still, you tried to hold onto your faith as you witnessed your boyfriend take on a familiar stance.

"Oni-giri!!"

The dark aura that surrounds him ignites, and even from a short distance away, you can see the fear envelop his opponent's eyes. Zoro slices through him easily, his blades in the air as blood is torn from his opponent, and he falls limp to the floor. You smile in relief that he too has won his battles and your boyfriend who seems more exhausted and injured than he usually is after battle finally sheathes his swords and turns to meet you.

You go to run to him, and his grin widens despite the way he holds onto his side, blood pouring onto his fingers. Adrenaline in his body seems to fade as he finds comfort in the fact you are safe and his battles are won.

"Hey babe, what took you so long?"

You roll your eyes as you approach, about to throw his words back at him, but your voice suddenly gets caught in your throat; your eyes pick up on strange movements just behind him. There is a glint of a weapon beyond your boyfriend's oblivious gaze. Maybe it is his fatigue after hours of constant battle, and blood loss making him less inclined to listen to his senses as he looks to you, but you know he does not see.

"ZORO!!"

Your scream ripples through the air, urging him to notice, but it is too late, the weapon - a sword - is aimed right at your boyfriend's back. Zoro's brows pull together as you approach, vision slightly askew from the brunt of earlier attacks, but he sees an emotion etched clearly on your face. Fear. His heart rate picks up, and lack of oxygen from over-exertion makes his mind hazy as he tries to figure out what troubles you. However, instead of running to him as he thought, you run into him hard, knocking him to the side.

Suddenly it is as though you are torn between numbness and agony.

Adrenaline courses through you as you feel an unbearable pain rip through your torso, nerves and muscles rippling against the cold intrusion of a sword. Though you had managed to push Zoro away from the man who stabbed you, you were now in his place and you had never felt such indescribable pain. Your limbs turn instantly rigid and your vision churns harshly, your body begging you to move away from the affliction. You can hear the scream of your name beneath the mocking laughter of the man who has just stabbed you.

"[Y/N]!!"

There is an instantaneous swing of a sword, and the blurred image of the enemy falls limp on your side before he can even dream of retrieving the weapon ingrained in your body. However, you feel your own body falter on your feet, and the world suddenly turns against your will, as you fall to your knees.

Zoro instantly reacts, unsettling fear penetrating his system and causing his usually sure hands to tremble as he catches you. Shock is all that fills his system, confounded about how quickly his reunion with you has turned into hell on Earth. His eyes are wild, searching your face and the weapon still ingrained in your body for an indication that this somehow wasn't reality; that he hadn't failed to protect you. But warmth fills his hands, your blood mingling with his own from earlier, and in its stead, your limbs start to lose their heat.

"[y-y/n]"

Zoro, still in such disbelief finds no words coming to him, vision still hazy now churning and causing sickness to fill in his gut. He is only brought to his senses when you let out a cry of pain, eyes squeezed tightly shut, nerves bristling within your body. Then, it is like new-found energy fills Zoro's system as he brings you into his arms, careful not to cause the weapon to move any deeper within you. Zoro reacts, cradling your form to his, limbs moving but only acting on sheer will, his mind still lost in terror.

"[y/n], stay with me, don't you die on me!"

He runs desperately looking around the clearing for any sort of help that may come to him, hoping for once that his horrible sense of direction is not the cause of your death. Your eye-sight blears, whimpering at the pain that slowly becomes too much for you to bear. Zoro looks back and forth between you and his surroundings, you try your best to concentrate on his face. Never had you seen your boyfriend so frantic, so far from composure. His stoic facade seems to unravel quickly at the desperation between his shouts, and the sharp way his eyes travel to your injury.

"Damn it! [y/n], don't- don't, keep your eyes open-"

You want to comfort him, to grant him peace of mind, but your body is pulling you to an easy escape from the pain that dulls your system. You don't know how much time has passed but you know it has only been a minute, and your vision starts to fade. Fear stumbles into you at the thought that you could actually die, right here and now. You witness Zoro's eyes widen at the sight of your mulled senses but you can no longer hear the words that slip desperately past his lips.

In a last attempt at goodbye, you lift a bloodied hand as high as you can and try pulling your lips upwards in what you know to be the smallest of smiles. Your bloodied hand smears Zoro's chest before all energy is lost to you and it falls limp.

"[Y/N]!!"

Amid your boyfriend yelling to you to keep your eyes open, your vision fades to black. And lost in his unfamiliar fear, Zoro does something he never thought he would do.

He yells for his crew.

He yells for you.

.....

Cold.

Cold is the air that surrounds Zoro as he witnesses Chopper close the door to the infirmary in a fit of worry and urgency. Blood still coats his hands where he held you, his own injuries neglected in the wake of your near-fatal ones. And for the first time in a long time, Zoro is rendered speechless, numb and motionless.

Luck is what saved him from prompt grief, but the chance that he could still lose you looms overhead.

In his franticity, a man he would usually be less than happy to see had heard his calls for help. Sanji. He had led you and Zoro quickly to aid. More luck had appeared in the unlikely presence of the Heart Pirates, their Captain, quickly taking you from him despite his protests and Chopper doing all he could to stabilise you. Now the weapon ingrained in you had finally been removed, blood prevented from vacating your body, and Chopper and Law worked hard to keep things that way.

Zoro is static as he still stares at the door, as though willing you to open it unscathed, alive and well, but his reality has now been turned in his head and he is left numb. He clenches and unclenches his fists, shock not allowing him to think, still in complete denial of the events that had happened though deep down he knows they have.

Your scream for his name, your smile morphing into a look of fear, his stupidity in letting down his guard, your harsh hands pushing him out of the way.

Why? Why why why... He was supposed to protect you and prevent even the smallest injuries from touching your skin, but now he was the reason you were on the brink of death. Why had you pushed him out of the way? Why had you insisted on saving him? He could've taken it, and even if he couldn't he would rather have died a hundred times than see this fate befall you.

A careful hand is placed on his shoulder, and Zoro's eyes turn, sharp and dark to its beholder.

Sanji looks grimly at the swordsman he usually argues with, unable to find many words to comfort him. But the crew were still scattered around the island, the only ones present apart from him being Chopper and Law who worked on you frantically.

"She'll be okay. [y/n]-san is strong."

Zoro growls low under his breath, shrugging off Sanji's hand though the cook does not seem to be fazed by his irritation. An anger sparks within Zoro, and though he knows that it is all for himself he turns to the cook with his unbridled rage.

"You don't know that cook!"

Sanji again does not flinch, but as he witnesses the green-haired swordsman's eyes flicker with a flurry of emotions, empathy clouds his vision. The crew had all been shocked to find out that you and Zoro were dating, Sanji more than crestfallen that you had been taken by the swordsman. But each day proved the amount of care you held for Zoro; the amount of love. And the swordsman could try to hide it all he wanted, but even ignorant crewmembers had seen how much gentler, how much softer Zoro was around you.

Always searching for you during and after battles. Always saving a spot for you at the dinner table. Always with his welcoming arms whenever you wanted to join him for a nap. His sweet caresses, his gentle care, his anger whenever a breath of an insult was muttered your way.

He watches as Zoro turns, unanchored now that you are no longer there to ground him and pulled back behind the strong walls you thawed. A fist flies through the air and through the wall opposite the infirmary, crackling and leaving a large hole as Zoro retrieves his fist.

"Fuck..."

Sanji says nothing as Zoro walks away, hoping beyond the Gods that you would be okay.

.....

A week.

A week had passed since Zoro had seen the glimmer of your open eyes or the smile that enlightened your features.

A week, and Zoro was yet to go into the room where you still lay unconscious.

He had remembered the sounds of the commotion that had taken place when other crewmembers had returned to the Sunny, shocked beyond belief to see one of their strongest friends on the brink of her death. Luffy had been almost inconsolable in his demanding to see you and make sure you were okay, but Zoro had not had the heart to go greet them. He stays, cooped up in the crow's nest, silent and with frigid images of you torturing his mind.

He found himself surprisingly grateful that Sanji had been there to answer the questions thrown about what had happened to you. It had made it more bearable when crewmembers had come to him in the room where he stayed unmoving, muttering comforts that blew over his head. Even his captain's words of determination that you would pull through did nothing to lift his head or his hope.

Now as the days mulled on, Zoro overworks himself if only to remove the image of you bloodied and harmed in his mind. He doesn't count the reps of swings he contends as he brings weights to the air and lowers them, never stopping his movement. Slowly his anger had chruned with remorse and an unbearable guilt.

He blamed himself.

Though he was angry early on at your carelessness and your thoughtless action to save him. That anger pointed to himself now, and he was much less forgiving of the things he held against himself. He had let his guard down, had lost himself to the relief of a battle he thought he'd won but had not finished off, and you had paid the price. Your hazy gaze and the blood that he just couldn't seem to rid of on his skin taunt him until sleep is fruitless and static silence, insufferable.

He should've been stronger, sharper, better.

There is a knock to the door, and the clatter of plates, and the swordsman knows that it is the crew's cook once more leaving food to quench a hunger he no longer cared for.

"Oi, Marimo. You need to eat, otherwise you'll be no use to [y/n]-san once she wakes up."

Zoro doesn't reply to the cook, and he doesn't heed his words. If. Zoro wants to say. If she wakes up. But what if she doesn't? What then? Zoro knows already the pain of losing someone close to him, but you? He doesn't know if he would ever recover. He doesn’t know if he could ever let someone in again, if he could continue on pretending like the dream of you and him wasn't lost to the blade of a faceless enemy.

If he could pretend he didn't fail.

"The crew are worried. Just... think of what [y/n]-san would say if-"

The cook seems to cut himself off, and Zoro does not see but Sanji's eyebrows are pulled together, expression dismal and worried for you. The Sunny was much too quiet recently. Without your joyous banter, teasing remarks, comforts and laughter, there is a hole in the crew that cannot seem to be filled. Crewmembers were sullen, and quiet and even Luffy had resigned to waiting in stillness for you to wake. The whole crew adored you and missed you, and they had not seen your boyfriend much since the incident.

Zoro's movements falter at the cook's words as the weights in his grasp come to a sharp halt. He hears Sanji's footsteps step away, but in place of him, tears threaten to cascade down the swordsman's face. It seems a week of denial and regret has reduced him to vulnerability. He uses the back of his hand to rub his face irritably, releasing his weights and gritting his teeth harshly. And all of a sudden, he is filled with a different type of remorse.

He had made his crew worry. He had yet to see you.

He was a coward.

Zoro stays still for what feels like hours, but then, it is like his body is reacting on its own and he moves. He unlocks and opens the door to the crow's nest. A breath of fresh air in the crisp, cool night, and suddenly it is like his body realises how bad his overexertion has been. Muscles feel like they tear over his bones, and his form feels heavy, strength lost to his lack of food. He moves down to the deck of the ship, the boat moving quietly as it cuts through the ocean.

He trudges through the Sunny with slow steps, until he reaches the door to where you lay.

Zoro is still for a moment, unsure of what to expect. And in all honesty, he was scared. The Roronoa Zoro was terrified about what he would find. Would you be dead the instant he opened the door? Would you wake only to remember nothing of him or the crew? Would you stay still and unconscious forever?

Gritting his teeth, he curses himself.

He was the man, set to become the world's greatest swordsman goddammit. The swordsman of the fated Pirate King. And he would be damned if mere trepidation is what keeps him from seeing his woman.

He turns the door and enters.

He sees you for the first time in a week.

Soft moonlight falls from a window to your left, seeping onto your skin. You were unnaturally still, but nothing was protruding from your torso, no blood slipping past open wounds, and a surprising lack of medical instruments suspended from your form. You could've been sleeping if not for the bandage around your upper body, and the monitor to your side steadily rising and falling to the rhythm of your heart.

Tightness grips his heart as he looks at you.

If only he had been stronger.

If only he had been more vigilant.

But he also finds in him, the first breath of relief he had held from himself.

You were alive.

He doesn't know why he thought the worst, though the last he saw you he thought you would die. But now, all he does is drown in the relief of your living presence. The tightness of his hands loosens along with the ache in his chest. Fatigue builds and the exhaustion of such high emotions falls in the alleviation. He walks over to you and caresses one of your hands in his, still colder than he would've liked, but with a lingering warmth that has him able to breathe.

He looks at your face, serene and free of the pain that had plagued you mere days ago. You seemed at peace. Zoro lightly pushes away a strand of hair that falls upon your cheek, allowing himself an intimate moment with you. He then, presses a kiss to your forehead, feather-light, before he sits purposefully on the floor beside your bed. Tiredness takes over him, but his hands lay taut on his swords; damned if he doesn't protect you as you lay unconscious. He doesn't know what he guards you from now safely on the Sunny, but he allows himself the comfort of you next to him to free him of burdenous thoughts.

He sleeps for the first time in days.

.....

When you wake you are uncomfortable.

A dull and incessant pain ripples through your torso and your throat is dry beyond belief. Eyes fight the intrusion of soft light as you look around confused, your breath coming in short increments. You hear a beeping in the background matching the pace of your heart.

Where am I?

Where is everyone?

Where's Zo-

As your eyes travel frantically around the room you are in, you finally spot a bed of green hair at the foot of your bed.

Zoro...

Then, your memories flood back in: your desperation to save your boyfriend, the sharp intrusion of a sword, his shouts for you to stay with him, a silent goodbye.

Tears fall past your lashes but you are overcome with the relief that he was okay and well. You go to sit up, desperately wanting water that, lucky for you, was placed on the bedside table for when you woke. However, at a sudden movement, you involuntarily let out a sharp gasp, and your boyfriend stirs.

When Zoro opens his eyes, he too is momentarily lost in the confusion of his surroundings, and then he remembers. But his sharp senses are brought forth when he realises there is movement from the bed he sleeps beside, and he startles, only to meet your open eyes looking sheepishly at him.

"Oops, sorry Zoro, I just wanted a dri-"

"[y/n]..."

Zoro's voice is almost breathless as he frantically moves so that he is standing beside you and not on the floor. You almost laugh at the way he moves so quickly to your side, unable to hide a smile. However, it almost instantly falters when you witness rare tears line his eyes. Zoro's heart pounds in his chest as he looks at you, waiting patiently for him to collect himself, eyes shining with worry for his strange behaviour. But in his mind, there rushes one thought.

You are awake.

"Zoro, you okay?"

You ask, eyebrows pulled together in confusion. You assumed you had only been unconscious for a few hours, maybe a day, and so are stunned to silence when Zoro's low voice reaches your ears.

"You were unconscious, for a week."

His words are cracked and gravelly, as though he had not spoken a word in a while. Your eyes widen, but Zoro continues as you look on.

"You could've died [y/n]. I- I'm supposed to protect you goddammit woman. Why did you have to take the blade, I could've taken it! You weren't supposed to get hurt! I- How could you-"

Zoro's mind is scrambled with everything he wants to say, but instead, words of anger are pushed forth in his inability to process his emotions. Luckily for him, you realise, what a toll he must've been through. You knew you would likely lose your mind if the same thing had happened to Zoro, God you could basically relate what with the events of Thriller Bark entering your mind. You watch as he scrambles, eyes sharp with feigned anger that you know is worry.

"Zoro," you breathe, gently taking a hand that comes undone beneath your touch. "I couldn't just let you die, besides, scars on the back are a swordsman's shame." You murmur your words, seeing the way Zoro's eyes ignite with light. The man who had stabbed you had first aimed at your boyfriend's back; the man you knew aspired to be the greatest swordsman. You would not dishonour him, but more importantly, you would not see him get hurt, but apparently, he could not see you injured either.

"I would've taken the shame a hundred times over this."

"I don't regret my choices."

Zoro meets your determined gaze, a shine within them he missed. You still seemed pale, too pale for his liking. Your form seemed smaller due to the loss of blood and days unconscious, but you were still beautiful. Still, the strong, stubborn, loyal and devoted woman he fell in love with.

You look at your boyfriend the same way.

He seemed smaller, less muscle adorned his features, face dull from lack of sleep. He seemed withered but relieved, and you furrow your eyebrows once more, knowing that he had likely not looked after himself as you lay unconscious.

"Zoro, have you been eating properly?"

You murmur suspiciously, but your boyfriend seems to retrieve himself from what reverie he was in as he meets your enlightened gaze once more. His reply is an answer in itself as he looks to you.

"Don't pull that shit, again."

You roll your eyes but smile, Zoro's relief and care in a caress as he looks to you causing your heart to jolt.

"You know I can't make that promise."

However, just as Zoro is about to retort once more, the door to the infirmary smacks open, and in plunges Chopper. Comical tears cascade over his face, face torn between utter relief and utter joy.

"[Y/N]!! You're awake!! I was so worried!!"

You smile at the doctor you knew had a part in saving your life. Soon, more members of the crew are barging in to claim their relief and give you tearful hugs. Zoro tries to dispel his annoyance at the interruption of your time together, but he cannot help the small smile that reaches his face at the sight of you. You were there, alive, and happy, and the crew seemed all the more relieved for it.

"Now that [y/n]'s awake, it's time for a banquet!!"

Your Captain yells out in his glee and happiness as he clings to you, all the while Chopper scolds him for his roughness in the wake of your injuries. Nami is still hugging your arm in relief and Robin smiles from your bedside. Crewmembers shout in their happiness and Sanji meets Zoro's gaze knowingly. The crew were finally back to their normal selves, and Zoro would soon get there too. But throughout the whole exchange, Zoro's hand not once, lets go of yours.

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just-some-user-hunny · 1 year ago

Text

The Cannibal bonded with a bastard targaryen reader ...

This is heavily inspired by @mangled-parasite writings on their yandere hotd stuff. I wanted to go more in depth about the relationship a bastard princess reader would have with the cannibal, because the dynamics could be so diverse and interesting. The cannibal is a really interesting dragon to me as well, he's not been tames nor shows any interest in it, so I always wonder what he'd be like with a rider!

(fem! Bastard princess reader X the cannibal)

. If you are bonded to him, he would be ruthlessly protective over you. He can feel every flicker of distress and discomfort from you, and he bares his teeth like a guard dog at whoever draws too close. Once he had decided that you were his, and he was yours, his fury when it comes to protecting you rivals hellfire. You will never have to feel fear again, nothing can even dream of touching you- lest they want to experience the nightmarish wrath of the Cannibal. It matters little to him if this threat is human, or dragon. In fact he almost welcomes it. He loves the rush of destroying whatever threatens you, the pride that fills him when he charres their remains and feasts upon them In front you- because look princess. Look how mighty he is, look how well he can fight and protect you. After his gory feast, he'll lower himself close to your little form for his praise- purring till your blood fizzles as he enjoys your pets and attention.

. Cannibal has never been a tame or passive dragon, but around you, he'll make an effort to behave. He'll stave away his urges to salivate when he captures glimpses of the smaller dragons, if it makes you happy. He'll heed your voice, your words, if only to amuse you and keep you content. However, he still has a temper- and although he may not engulf everything with wildfire, he will surely growl and roar to make people bend their knee in your presence. His bond to you is tightly knitted, so he can pick up those who are irking you or upsetting you. He shares your hatred for your father, often bearing his frightening jagged teeth at the pale man who can only endure the monstrosity of his daughter's dragon. It'll take only your word to engulf him in burning emerald flames, so for once, your father will hold his tongue.

. He is not an obedient dog, more like a feral alley cat who's taken a warming to you. There's not a force in heaven or hell that can convince him to confide anywhere near the dragon pits, not to mention his monstrous size cannot even imagine squeezing itself into that little ditch. He'll take to sleeping upon the beach, preferably away from vhager, if he wants to remain close to you. However he is known to fly off and disappear for days on end, returning when you least expect it. He is a wild dragon at heart.

. He may not melt into a big passive puppy, but he will surely let you know he likes the attention you give him. He'll croon with his snarling scarred grin, his eyes glinting as you speak to him and stay close. The attitude he has around you is stark like night and day- with others he glares ferociously and mean, but with you, he's bound by your heels.

When you approach him upon the sand of the tide, he'll lower his head to gaze upon you. he'll feel content as he looks you over, appearing docile and calm in your presence.

Your family find it terrifyingly odd whenever you approach him with so much casualty, and he simply looks at you so fondly. The dragon who has devoured oh so many wannabe dragon tamers is now treating you like a precious little treasure, and it's both awe-inspiring, and frightening. His striking emerald green eyes focus on you as you speak sweetly and softly to him, his purrs can be heard from the dragonstone gates.

. The cannibal is an ancient dragon with many years of experience, so to him, you are little more than a child in his eyes. His child.

If anything, he is more of a loving father to you than Daemon could ever be.

It's puzzling to him, at first. He has never possessed a single maternal bone in his body, having no objection to devouring unhatched eggs and even young hatched dragons to satiate his hunger- but perhaps he sees a part of him in you. That wildness to stray, the desperation to free yourself from the thorns of the targarians that dig deep into you. You may be a little gentle weepy thing, but the fact still stands. You want to be free. He can grant that.

As you claim him as a child, he'll watch you grow. Watch your face and hands become weary from the anxiety and ache of constantly being caged. You'll gradually become more and more beautiful, dripping in gems and jewellery and ornate gowns, but the sadness in your eyes hasn't changed since you were a tearful little child. He sees what they are doing- trying to keep you satiated with material desires, but he understands you deep down that nothing of that matters. You want to be anywhere else but here...

. He is an old dragon, and has a temper to him. His hunger for flesh and fire has not made him weary, and although he is scarred and withered, he is still towering in all his obsideon scaled glory. Emerald flames engulfing the sky as you ride upon his back, soaring above the clouds as pride and glory consumes him. He always despises the idea of being 'claimed' and ridden like some show pony, but he finds himself enjoying the company of his little human experiencing the rush of gliding through the heavens. He can feel your thundering heart, the flutter of butterflies in your stomach as he dips and soars between terrific heights, and he can't help but grin a scarred and twisted smile, egged on by your delight of the views and freedom. Yes! This is freedom, my little princess. Let us not be chained by those targarians, this is what living is!

He certainly likes challenging you, obviously not to the point he puts you in any danger of course- but he'll dive at gut churning speeds to see what'll make you shriek. It's almost like He finds amusement out of it, perhaps getting a little kick out of challenging his rider. Once he has landed however with you safely back on the ground, he'll look at you with his gnarled smirk and expect just a little push from you. Don't take it to heart though, his princess. You'll get gently prodded and nudged by his snout to check on you to make sure you're alright. He is still protective over you, after all. His cruelty will not extend to your pain. Besides, you are more often than not riding him bareback, so he would never fly so recklessly that you'd get bucked off. Most of the time he's holding back, really.

. That is not to say that each time you climb upon his back that you will endure terror, because that is surely not the case. He loves flying with you, loves feeling your awe and wonder. It fills him with unbridled pride and ego. You can both feel freedom, and freedom is all he wants for himself and his rider alike.

. As his rider, you have a good chance of escaping the talons of your family. Who is to stop you? The mad prince, Daemon, and his blood wyrm? Cannibal could laugh at the mere thought of this deranged man challenging him with his little red pest. Even the one eyed prince and his ancient she-dragon, Vhagar, will be a welcomed challenge. When it comes to you, he'd do anything.

#yandere hotd #The cannibal #hotd cannibal #dragon cannibal #hotd x reader #yandere house of the dragon #yandere cannibal #hotd cannibal x reader #dragons #hotd dragons #dragon x reader #bastard!princess reader

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