#Captain Blubber

[pixies-and-poets]

I like Captain Blubber. He's a hippo. He's a pirate. He's a crybaby. He's OFF TER SPEND, SPEND, SPEND! WAHEY!

[baconhairpost]

Banjo Threeie Movie Coin Captian Blubber Thanks Alight Spend Spend Spend A Few Moments Later.

[theknucklehead]

I find this comment to be rich with irony since I doubt most who played Nuts & Bolts actually made it all the way to the very end of the game to even see this cutscene, even I never finished the game when it first came out because of how bored I was playing it.

I did find this part amusing seeing all the canceled game ideas RareWare ended up shelving like Grabbed By the Ghoulies 2, Battletoads 2010, and some other new Banjo game. (maybe it's Banjo-Threeie)

[jhsharman]

Under the sea

Curious decision for title card re-do. But I guess we don't want kids to think there are literal signs saying 'Constant Critic'.

How come no g'wan?

A wise color change. The indexer at comics dot org points out you can't paint under water, but I think it makes a nice panel -- in blue. Not much of a gag, though. It requires a torturous set up of scenario.

[sponges-place]

Captain Blubber (Unlockable)-Most pirates are hardened, dangerous, and violent. Not Captain Blubber, though; in truth, he's a bit of a crybaby, but he has a good heart. He's also never been known to be the best pilot or driver, so let's hope he doesn't crash during the race.

Land-Bound Longboat-You can't say that the captain doesn't know his style. And with a ship's steering wheel, pirate flag, and treasure chest dashboard, this car screams "pirate captain". It doesn't actually float, though, so don't go driving it into the ocean.

(Bit of shading)

[justwinginglife]

Could you please write some fluff of Soshiro with his pregnant wife? 🥺💖

Honestly- who wouldn't wanna be pregnant with Soshiro's baby? i'm lining up for this man immediately.

Evidence Of His Love

It wasn’t possible for Soshiro to love you anymore than he already did, it wasn’t possible for anyone to ever love someone as much as he loved you, but dammit- he tried his best to love you more and more every day anyway. 

It wasn’t hard to love you. Not for him. He loved you like it was just blood flowing in his veins, like it was just oxygen filling up his lungs, like it was a given, like it was meant to be. 

He loved the way you murmured his name in your sleep. He loved the way you’d show off every outfit to him with a little twirl. He loved the way you savored the scent of a new book right before you’d read it. He loved everything about you. Even something as small as the inhale of a breath, the blink of your lids, the dip of a dimple in your cheeks, made his heart swell with overwhelming affection for you. 

And when you became pregnant, when the evidence of his love and adoration for you made itself known in the confines of your stomach, he thought he might die of happiness. 

If you thought he was doting before, now he worshiped you. If you thought he was committed before, now he was obsessed with you. Humans were flawed beings by nature but Soshiro was your one taste of perfection.

The only concern you had ever confessed to him was his unrelenting devotion to his job, and when he heard your fears, he made it very clear that you were always going to be his first priority. When you got pregnant, he took safer missions, took extra precautions, all to ensure he could come home safe to you. One time he got a papercut, and he bandaged that wound so thoroughly he looked like a mummy afterwards; he didn’t want to die from infection and leave you a widow. You teased him about it but secretly found it very sweet. 

Over the years, Soshiro had amassed an enormous amount of vacation time and became infamous as the Defense Force’s workhorse, sacrificing even his sleep for the good of Japan. The entire Third Division knew just how much he overworked himself and at one point, it even spurred on a competition to see who could get the Vice Captain to relax for once. They’d cheer when he’d join the crew for drinks, but then he’d make up for the time wasted by staying late at work the next night and they’d have to start all over again with their persuasions. When you finally joined his division and became his girlfriend (then later, his wife), the team was nothing but supportive, applauding you for finally giving him a reason to take time off. 

And when you got pregnant, he burned through all of his PTO just doting on you. Sometimes he’d take a day off just to do the laundry, cook you meals, and massage all your aches and pains away. Sometimes he’d take a couple days off, maybe a couple weeks off, so he could take you on a vacation. He wanted to spoil you rotten for carrying his child. He knew it was difficult being pregnant, especially for you. 

You were so used to charging into battle, guns blazing, fire burning in your eyes, and now your swollen ankles could barely transport you to the living room peacefully. And you were usually such a level-headed leader, such an intelligent battle strategist; now you’d been reduced to random hormonal outbursts. 

One night, you had even cried to him about your insecurities of being a terrible mother. Fear had taken hold of you, fear that you wouldn’t be enough, that you wouldn’t know how to love your kid, you wouldn’t know how to protect them, you wouldn’t know how to raise them. Your anxiety stained his shirt as it seeped out of you. He held you close, running his hand up and down your back soothingly as he listened to your fears. Once you’d finished your blubbering, he wasted no time in reassuring you. He told you that you’d be wonderful, that you’ve always been wonderful, that you were worthy, that you were strong, that you were loved, that you weren’t alone, that he’d be by your side until the end of time, that every time you felt like nothing, like less than nothing, he’d be there to hold your hand, to tell you that you were enough, to tell you that you were more than enough. And that’s when you knew that you’d be fine. And your son would be fine. He was going to have the most amazing father because you had the most amazing husband. 

You thought to yourself, if Soshiro wasn’t so affectionate, if he wasn’t so understanding, if he wasn’t so supportive, you honestly might have hated being pregnant. But every time he’d hold your enlarged belly up for you, allowing you some respite from gravity, or rush to the ends of the earth and back to fulfill your every request no matter how silly and ridiculous, or when he’d bring you your favorite drink, your favorite book, your favorite snack, all while you sat comfortably in the warmth of your bed, you knew you’d do this all over again in a heartbeat if he was by your side. You’d have as many babies as he wanted. You’d do anything he wanted. You’d do everything he wanted. You’d move mountains and you’d move them pregnant, all for him. 

And when he’d smile sympathetically at you, murmuring that if he could’ve been pregnant instead, he would’ve gladly carried the burden for you, you fell more and more in love with him. Even though you teased him that he most definitely could not handle being pregnant- he was the biggest baby when he had so much as a cold, craving your presence every second, claiming you were his cure, claiming he couldn’t heal properly without your attention. He still protested at your argument, saying that if it was for you, he could handle anything, even pregnancy. 

When 9 months passed by in a flash, every second of every month filled with his undying affection for you, you were so intoxicated on his love that you begged him to fill you up again. He had smirked in response, so you knew he wasn’t totally opposed to the idea. But being the kind and considerate person that he was, he wanted to devote his time and his love to giving your child the best possible first years of their life before he decided to raise another beside them. He didn’t want them to feel neglected and he certainly didn’t want you to feel neglected by the division of his attention, so for now, one kid was enough for him. 

Of course, that didn’t stop you from trying to persuade him otherwise with suggestive body language and seductive lingerie. He was perfect, but he was only a man after all. 

When he finally caved in and gave you baby number two, you simply shrugged, lips dripping with false innocence as you murmured that it was entirely his fault for loving you so completely and inexorably that you couldn’t help but romanticize the idea of being pregnant with his child. 

And when he succumbed to his fate, saying that he’d never stop loving you like that, that he’d never stop pouring his heart and soul into you, you started planning baby number three. 

[weskie]

Lover, Leader, Liar [Savior, Sinner] - (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

2.4k words | pining, mutual pining, hurt/comfort, the arklay incident, flashbacks, s.t.a.r.s era | Fic Directory

when wesker makes a promise, he keeps it. even if it hurts.

The clock was quite literally ticking.  Every second wasted was a second closer to the inevitable blast.  But there was a… variable that he hadn’t considered.  A scream, a stumble in the room above just barely loud enough to hear over the sharp bang of each discharged round.  If it were anyone else…

But it isn’t, so he bolts.  Shoves through body after body, practically leaping halfway up the stairs.  His boots fall quick and heavy and the door separating him from you is no match.  He rams into it and breaks it clean off the hinges, and there he finds a sickening scene.

That lumbering beast is upon you, trapping you in the corner of the room while you tremble and shake, clambering back until you’ve nowhere else to go.  The slide of your gun is locked open.  You’d spent your entire magazine on her, surely.  Poor thing.  Of course you wouldn’t know.

Your eyes flicker to him, blown wide with raw terror.  You’d been afraid since the moment Alpha Team touched down in the woods, though you'd tried your best to hide it.  The last time he saw you, Wesker had to rest a hand on your shoulder and reassure you that everything would be okay.  No one else would die.  You wouldn’t die.  Not under his command.  Not if he had anything to say about it.

Such is the promise he’s chosen to keep.

He draws his gun at lightning speed and unloads three rounds into Lisa Trevor’s back.  She stumbles toward you but whirls around to face her assailant.  Damn thing had been stalking him since he rose from the dead, so what was a little more time to tango?  Lisa wails at him, lumbering forward, which gives you enough time to crawl under a desk and run to him.  He’s almost resentful that you can’t quite match the pace of his sprint, but, so long as your hand is in his, you will not perish to that creature.

Your frantic breaths and the warmth of your touch are his purpose as he mows down beast after beast.  Hunters, dogs, zombies… it makes no difference.  The two of you must be out of here before time runs out.  There’s no time for your blubbering about the blood splattered all over his body from the wound that no longer exists.  There’s no time for your sputtering when he shoves another gun in your hands, nor any for your hesitation when Lisa reappears and blocks your exit.

He fights tooth and nail.  When that chandelier comes down, impaling and trapping her, Wesker hoists you onto his back and takes off as fast as he can.  It would not do to have you running after him.  Even hand in hand, you wouldn’t be able to make it far enough with what little time remains.  But now, with his new abilities, you’re no more than a mere feather.  Not even the death grip you hold around his shoulders phases him.

You whimper at the deafening boom.  He lowers you behind a thick tree and huddles close, pressing you against the trunk, taking cover against the shockwave that pulses through the forest.

“C-Captain…”

He finds you staring, tears rimming your eyes.  Could be any number of reasons you were on the brink of crying.  He’d wager it was, well… everything.  From finding Bravo Team’s bodies to your first encounter with the living dead, to nearly having your skull shattered by Lisa’s devastating strength, all the way to outrunning enough explosives to leave a crater in place of the mansion.  Your lower lip trembles.

The sight of you calls him back to the night before this whole debacle began.  You’d brought him coffee and dinner from the beat up diner down the road.  You mentioned how nervous you were to find out who the perpetrators were of the string of murders plaguing the area.  It wasn’t uncommon for you to visit his office.  In fact, your relationship had been inching further and further away from purely professional and more toward… well, whatever it was going to be.  Part of him always wanted to cave to those feelings brewing in his chest, but he knew better.  Or, at least, he thought he did.  Truth be told, your odds of surviving the manor had been slim to none and he was going into the situation nearly certain no one would make it out.  He’d been incredibly tempted to fire you just to keep you alive…  Words could never describe the regret he felt when the day came that it was too late.

But, then again, you could be like this because you knew that he was in on it.

Cold, shaking hands land on his forearms.  “Captain… your eyes…” You whisper shakily.  Not what he was expecting.  A nice right hook would’ve made more sense than the way you pat him down, searching for injuries.  He all but fully flinches when your fingertips graze his exposed abdomen.

“That’s not necessary,” Wesker says, pushing your hands away.  

He grazes your fingers with his.  A big stack of paperwork filled out perfectly, just the way he’d asked. “Thank you,” he hums.  Pink tinges your cheeks and a smile settles right in.  You feel it too, then?

“W-Were you hurt?”

Softness drapes over his shoulders.  He’s barely conscious, far too exhausted from his two-day stint without sleep to open his eyes.  There’s a soft clicking noise and the high pitched, barely-there buzz of the computer monitor ceases.  He knows it’s you.  Only you would do this.  Only you would take care of him this way…

“I was.”  He says, turning, still hand in hand with you, to walk away.  “Best not to waste any more time.”  Every three-letter agency in the world would be finding its way to the scene in no time.  Moreover, with the rest of Alpha-Team knowing of his involvement, said agencies would be beating down the door to his home within the day.  There was little to gather, but he certainly needed to stop there before disappearing.  “Come.”

It took many miles on foot before stumbling upon a residence with a perfectly procurable vehicle, and the drive back to Raccoon City had been tense.  You were still on edge, obviously.  It’s when he leads you to sit on the edge of his bed– he can’t let you out of his sight– as he gathers documents and necessities that you finally lean forward, hand over your eyes, and bite back your weak cries.

“D-Did you really… You knew?”  You sputter.  “You knew, and you just let us walk in there?”

Wesker holds your gaze as he strips his ruined vest, uniform button-up, and undershirt away.  Can’t sport the S.T.A.R.S logo anymore. Not that he even wanted to. “Yes.” He says, tugging a black sweater over his head.  He expected you to run.  He’s unsure why you haven’t tried.  At first he thought it was shock.  Perhaps you had been too shaken to consider it an option, but you’d calmed significantly during the drive and now…?

“You don’t have to stay late.”  He tells you, standing halfway in the doorway to his office.  Everyone else went home hours ago.  

“I know,” you say, looking up at him from your screen.  “I want to.”

He catches sight of his eyes in the mirror mounted beside his closet door.  Ocular mutations weren’t uncommon, but it would be one that he must hide from time to time.  Suppose, though, that it was simply solved with a new pair of sunglasses.

Wesker snags the duffel bag he’d prepared before the mission.

“– why did you save me?”  He’d been tuning out your sorrowful rantings, but there could be no ignoring the weak sob that preceded such a difficult question.  Why indeed…

His doorbell rings, jarring him from his focused writings. He opens it to find you, tupperware container in hand, with your eyes practically sparkling.  

“Hi– sorry!  I was just coming back from the little birthday lunch we did for Jill and I–”  You hold the container out for him.  “I dunno, I just thought you’d maybe like some cake?”

He regards you with amusement for a moment.  He’s only seen you in normal clothes a handful of times, usually if you were stopping into the precinct on your day off, but it never failed to tickle some small, cold part of his heart.  In turn, he knows this is the first time you’ve seen him out of uniform.  He’s dressed down, sporting a sweater and jeans, signature glasses left elsewhere.  He quite likes the way you try to hide your wandering eyes.

Wesker takes the container and gives you a soft, grateful smile.  Part of him feels that he should invite you in and offer you something– coffee, perhaps.  Engage in the rules of reciprocity drilled into his head with every etiquette class required in his schooling years.

“Would you like to come in?”  The smile on your face is all he needs.  “You’ve brought quite a large piece.  I might need some help with it.”

“You could’ve left me there!”  You’ve got him by the shirt now, wet eyes boring into his.  “You brought us there to die, so why didn’t you leave me!?”

He clamps a palm over your mouth, spins, and presses you to the wall.  

The chime to the flower shop signals his arrival.  He towers over the old woman tending the plants as he explains to her his need.  

“The most elaborate bouquet you can make for a grief-stricken recipient,” he says.  “Price is no object.”

The moment he picked up that phone and you explained your need for time off through poorly suppressed sobs, he was already sure of where he’d be headed on his lunch break.  Your parents, you’d said.  A head on collision with a drunk driver.  It was believed they died on impact, but such a mercy didn’t quell your sobs.  Frankly, nothing could except for time’s power to numb the pain.

Wesker has no family to mourn.  No parents, no siblings.  As an orphaned boy in boarding school, he’d done his crying when the others would leave to spend the holidays with their family.  He can’t quite fathom the grief you feel at losing your only family, but this? He can do this.

“What would you like the card signature to say?”  Asks the old woman as she scribbles her notes.

He contemplates for a moment, weighing his options.  But he knows, deep down, the best and worst possible options are one and the same.

“With love,” he recites. “Albert Wesker.”

“You have two choices,” he tells you.  Wesker shows extra care to ensure the hand covering your mouth does nothing more than silence you.  You need not suffer any more pain.  “The first: I leave you behind.  You answer questions for every agency under the sun and hole up in your apartment while you wake, alone and afraid, every night when your dreams bring you back there. Just to spend every day adrift in a city that, I assure you, is doomed for worse than the mansion.”

Your eyes widen at his prophecy, but it’s the truth.  Birkin would be continuing operations in the area and, frankly, bad things come in threes.  Between the manor and the train, more was bound to happen.  You could choose to stay, or…

“Or you can come with me, where you need not be alone.”  

You hugged him as if your life depended on it when he showed up at your door.  The flowers had arrived earlier, delivered by the seller as instructed.  The crickets sing their song as he holds you, right hand rubbing between your shoulders while you hide your face against his chest.

“Thank you, Captain.” You murmur into his shirt.  You look destroyed.  His heart lurches for you, practically desperate to burst from his chest and engulf you in whatever crevice within it craves you so badly.  

“Albert is fine.  We’re not at work.”

You invited him in.  Showed him where you put the extravagant floral arrangement he’d sent.  Eventually, minutes of conversation turned to hours, and hours turned to the sun tickling at his eyelids, rousing him from the upright position he’d slumbered in upon your couch.  Your head rests on his blanket covered lap while you get your much needed sleep.  All because you asked that he stay.  You didn’t want to be alone.

“After everything we’ve been through, I won’t simply leave you alone.”  Fresh tears brim in your eyes and he removes his palm, letting it trail down and rest against the side of your neck.  “Come with me.” Wesker urges.  “Let me keep you safe. Don’t go down with the others…”

The conflict in your eyes coupled with your lack of response devastates him more than you’d ever know.  He turns, grabs his bag, and makes his way through the humid nighttime air to the car.  He grips the wheel tight enough to crush indentations into it.  He waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He should’ve known it was only a pipe dream.  After what he’s done, there would be no going back to the old ways.  No more cake and coffee in his kitchen, no more sheepish smiles as you hand in your work, no more…  no more you.

“You’re afraid?”  He asks, doing all he can to keep the remorse from seeping into his voice.  He should’ve cut you loose last week like he planned.  Now you’ll be walking into hell itself for the sake of data collection and it’s all his fault.

“I just…” You try, pursing your lips as you think of the words.  “Bravo Team went missing out there.  That’s not– S.T.A.R.S members just up and vanishing?  I’m scared something really bad happened up there.”

He reaches across his desk, taking your hand in his and giving it a reassuring squeeze.  “No matter what happens, you’ll be okay.  I’ll make sure of it.”

He made his choice.

You made yours.

Wesker turns the key in the ignition and the engine sputters to life.  He fiddles with the seat once more to make it less uncomfortable than it had been on the ride back from the mountains.  In the rearview mirror, he can see the way his eyes glow.  Cat-like pupils stare back and accuse him of failure.  The tyrant, the restricted data, and–

The passenger door opens slowly.  His breath catches in his throat.  It’s like the whole world is moving in slow motion while you climb in and he can hardly believe his eyes.  In fact, he rubs them just to make sure.

“If we’re doing this,” you say warily, “I need to pick up a few things from home…”

Wesker can’t control the smile that spreads across his face.  Though he supposes now there’s no need.  Not anymore.  

[la-undercover-latina]

Eyes on Me, Princess

Summary: After so long apart while Hongjoong was in America, he shows you everything San taught him after Mr. & Mrs. Kim left.

Warning: Smut under the cut so MDNI

Kinks ahead: Dom/Sub relationship, fingering, binding, squirting, and use of Daddy

You didn’t even realize that he was in the bedroom with you, too enraptured by your phone where a TikTok edit played of your boyfriend learning how to body roll, courtesy of San.

Note to self, kill San tomorrow.

“What’re you watching, doll?” Hongjoong asked, grabbing water from your mini fridge next to your bed.

Blushing, you tried to smother your phone underneath your pillow. But, just like with your Nintendo DS that you had as a kid when you were supposed to be sleeping, the pillow did little to nothing to block out the track that the Atiny who made the edit placed over it.

“Now you have to show me,” He laughed and dove for it, wrestling with you for it. 

Somehow, even though he came from clear across the room, he managed to grab it before you could stop him.

A devilishly handsome grin came over his face as he watched the edit play once more.

“Well well well… Little miss innocent isn’t so innocent after all,”

“We both know I’m not innocent Captain,” you smirked, knowing what it did to him when you called him Captain. You were proven right when you saw his brown eyes darken.

He grabbed both of your wrists, holding them above your head.

“Do you want me to show you everything San taught me after my parents left?” He asked with a smirk on his plump lips.

“Yes Daddy,” you gasped as his hold tightened on your wrists.

He was gone and you wouldn’t be able to walk right for the foreseeable future. But you craved it, especially with the time apart.

“Give me a minute. Don’t you dare move your hands until I get back,” The Scorpio warned. You nodded. 

If you disobeyed him when he was like this, you’d be wheelchair bound.

He disappeared into the in-home studio, coming back with his Wake Up scarf in hand.

“Some insurance Princess,” He smirked as he tied your wrists to the bedpost.

“You don’t trust me to stay still?” You challenged him.

“Not with what I have planned, baby girl, no,” he tightened the scarf.

“Too much?” He asked and you shook your head as you tested the bindings.

It was a good thing he tied you up, because if he hadn’t, you would’ve clawed up and down his back already.

He really should talk to the CIA about becoming a torturer if Ateez ever flopped- not that he would let his other baby flop.

Feather light touches mixed with slapping across your sensitive and heated skin made your head spin.

“Good thing I soundproofed our bedroom,” he chuckled as he rolled his body on top of yours, making your eyes shut in pleasure. Only for a slap to your pussy to rip your eyes open.

“Eyes on me princess,”

“I’m pretty sure Prince Charming never tied up the princess or did any of this to her,” you breathed.

“He did, they just never told anyone,” he smirked before moving down your body and coming face to face to your core.

“I missed this so much. You wouldn’t believe how many nights I thought about you like this,” he smiled deviously before nipping at the skin of your inner thigh. A whine left your lips before he began his assault on your pussy, a mix of his tongue and fingers assaulting your bundle of nerves.

“Don’t you dare cum until I tell you,” he warned.

“Or what?”

“Hope you think the bed is comfy,” he told you with a chuckle before continuing his assault.

“Joongie,” you breathed, your back arching as he hit your g-spot with his tongue. He left your core with a pop.

“Not my name princess,” he raised a brow.

“I’m sorry Daddy,” you whined, trying to bring your body closer to his lips.

“That’s better,” he crawled up your body, crashing his lips onto yours while his hands went to work making you a blubbering mess under him. 

You could taste yourself on his tongue mixed with his mouthwash, making you heady.

“Right there Captain!” You left his lips to scream, your hands fighting even harder against the restraints as he pounded into your g-spot and curling his fingers even more, making you see stars.

“You close princess?” He asked sweetly. The contrast of his tone with the look on his face and body made the stars even more pronounced. You nodded furiously, needing him to give you permission before you passed out.

“Use your words baby girl,”

“Yes Daddy! P-please,”

“Please what?”

“Let me cum!” You shouted.

“Good girl. Cum for me princess,” he told you with what Atiny has dubbed Demonline and they didn’t even know how right they were.

With his permission, you finally let the dam release, no control of your body at all.

“I think my princess missed me,” Hongjoong smiled as he released your bindings.

Once you came back to Earth, you saw Hongjoong with a water bottle and the pack of baby wipes that you kept near your bed for this exact purpose.

“How’re you feeling Princess?” He asked, the dominant man nowhere to be found. Now he was your Joongie.

“You haven’t done that in a while,” you breathed.

“Yeah, you too,” he motioned to the bed underneath you that was soaked.

“You squirted,” he gave you a proud smile, bringing you into a sweet kiss.

“Thank god the bed is comfy,”

“Netflix?” He asked and got to work helping you clean up since your limbs were still non functional.

“I missed you so much,” he spoke when you were cuddling after the cleanup.

“Me too,”

“Come with me next time?” He asked and you had to blink, replaying the words in your mind a few times to make sure you heard right.

“I thought you couldn’t,”

“I’m the captain. I’ll talk to KQ in the morning,” he told you before kissing your shoulder and a smile cemented on your face.

Taglist: @multidreams-and-desires @the-princess-of-mischief-1998

[peachdues]

horny posting some more Levi content from Coalescence because I haven’t written in a hot minute but this man makes me feral.

Enjoy a look at Levi cracking the headboard with his hands

The Captain braced his hands against the headboard, his fingers digging harshly into the wooden grain as he desperately fought to keep the leash of his self-control under grip.

You moaned beneath him and stretched up, pressing those pretty lips against his pectoral — right over his nipple — before kissing across his chest to repeat the action on the other. Your movements caused the walls of your core to flex, your silken heat contracting around his rigid length to the point of pain.

It was too much; every instinct within him was screaming to fuck you senseless into the bed, until you were nothing more than a blubbering, pleading mess; your brain a puddle of gray matter, utterly liquified by the pleasure he gave you.

Levi’s grip on the headboard grew stronger, the muscles in his forearms rippling as it creaked under his strain. With a few, pointed, hard thrusts of his hips against yours that were beyond his control, Levi’s hold on the wood tightened until a sharp crack sliced clean through the sounds of your mutual pants and ragged moans.

“W-what…?” Your voice was high pitched and unsteady as you were pulled from the throes of your ecstasy by the noise, eyebrows furrowed slightly.

Levi’s pace only increased. “Ignore it,” he grunted. “Fuck — I can’t slow down, Y/N —“

Your legs around his waist tightened. “Then don’t,” you begged, sliding one hand from where it had been resting against his upper back down until you reached his backside, digging your fingers into the steel-like muscle to press him harder into you.

“Please, Levi,” you moaned, and your other hand found his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Please, Captain — I need more.”

[ganondoodle]

so, inspired by the warm welcome the captain received with that rough doodle i posted, i made an updated design for Ki'ita as well (basic and with clothes)

i removed the piercings she had bc considering that they spend the majority of their time in arctic waters i think having metal directly in your skin is a bad idea, no matter how thick your blubber is; i also gave her typical white markings a green hue bc ... i liked how it looked and makes them stand out a little more

(i will not repeat what i wrote on the post about the captain but wanted to add a bit of more info about Ki'ita herself)

(i dont have ALL of their backstory done yet but) the captain and Ki'ita worked together in another organization, one in which the father of the captains child also worked at, before being betrayed and barely managing to escape, after which the both of them founded their pirate crew (possible name is the Solar Pirates bc of their solar powered boat stuff); since the captain had her daughter shortly afterwards Ki'ita managed most of the organisational matters at first, including the construction of their base on an abandoned island they had initially fled to

over the years they invented the solar powered ships that allowed them to gain control over a large part of an important trade route, leaving normal ships (mostly) alone but attacking those of hunters and similar, rescuing demons and mutants, even some humans from them, most of which also join the crew and it quickly lead to them becoming their own little community

Ki'ita does not like to spend alot of time among large groups of people, no matter how much she cares about them, and her originally being from norther lands gave her the idea to explore, and if viable, do underground missions in those norther areas to disrupt the infrastructure the hunters had built in recent years and overall keep the crew informed about things that may otherwise stay hidden; with each of their travels her time absent from the base increased but the patience of the captain is wearing thin so its likely a serious talk is underway on Ki'itas third solo mission she nearly died due to entanglement in abandoned nets made by hunters from an unknown material that she could not break, the massive scars on her tail especially come from that, only surviving bc the date they were supposed to return to the crew had passed and the captain grew to worried about her and made the entire crew rush into an emergency search, including the captain herself and her toddler, who were not suited for the cold climate just like the rest of crew, taking a huge risk that Ki'ita still feels ashamed of for causing; they stayed within the base for a whole year afterwards, not just to recover but also as a silent apology, taking time preparing herself to ensure theyd not get into a situation like that again

(before departing on their next mission the captain gifted her a sword with the blade made from the material of the net, a wooden handle, bc of the cold, and a blue wrap around it reminiscent of the captains striking blue teeth; a reminder of what had happened, a means to defend herself when their strength and teeth are not enough, and also a promise to always return again)

the oldest members of the crew know Ki'ita well and treat her like an old friend, among the newer members she has more of a .. cryptic status, the mysteriously absent vice-captain who only appears every few months or so out of thin air, throws a big party, sleeps for a few days and then vanishes again, the only hint to when they will return soon again being the captain getting noticably grumpier

(OC art, Ki'ita, she/they)

[as-is-above-so-below]

The Captain - Simon Riley x Sniper!Reader, Wife!Reader

Let's Have a Baby 2.0

summary: Ghost’s sniper wife (reader) joins Task Force 141 on an op, against his wishes call sign: Freyja warning: implied sexual content, MDNI Note: A special thank you to @lethalchiralium and @peachesofteal for workshopping with me, per usual, and for being the best beta! Enjoy and blessed be! << Previous | Next >>

Simon Riley did not cry when his first daughter was born.

He didn’t know how to process his grief amid his love’s agony and emptiness. She spent days on end, curled into the plush rocker in the corner of the empty nursery or lying flat on her back, staring at the white ceiling. His guilt was no match for her shame – as she clutched the tiny hospital blanket to her chest, sobbing that she couldn’t name her. Couldn’t name the daughter that they didn’t get to bring home.

Her wails – I’m sorry I’m weak, Please don’t hate me, I'm fucking useless – echoed in Simon’s mind when he named that baby. He knew, in his heart, that Freyja loved her with her entire being, everything she had. He knew that, if she could, she would have picked the most beautiful name, better than anything he could have come up with on his own. So he named her after his wife, so his daughter would never leave his mind.

When Joan Vanadís was born, Simon stared at her for hours. He memorized every detail of her soft features, inhaled her scent, and poured over her deep brown eyes and button nose. His wife barely got to hold her in her first day of life. Sure, he had cried, as many fathers do in the delivery room. He was completely unsure of how it was possible that he helped create this beautiful, innocent little person.

But his son, oh his son, was an entirely different animal.

Where Joanie came roaring into the world, Arthur Simon was quiet. Quiet like his father, but the spitting image of his mum, minus Simon’s curved nose (Poor thing, he thought). The gentle cry from such a delicate thing broke whatever terrified stupor he’d been in since learning that they were having a boy. The doctor placed the blue bundle on his wife’s chest, and he instantly broke down. The ‘big bad Ghost’ was a blubbering mess as their son’s small hand curled into her skin, his eyes closed, and his mouth curled into a frown. He hesitated, hand hovering over the boy until Freyja’s came and pressed his palm into the tiny body, much smaller than Joanie’s when she was born. The steady rhythm of Arthur’s little lungs working underneath his fingertips made something inside his chest snap and crumble into dust.

Whatever fear he had about having a son was gone. As he had promised their daughters, he again swore that he would be better. Better than his father. He promised he would raise Arthur the way he should have been.

In the months that followed, taking care of his son healed a piece of Simon Riley. A piece that needed the father he had fought so hard to be.

The newborn seemed to have that effect on people, particularly overgrown men.

Arthur’s godfathers and grandfather returned to England about three months after he was born. Johnny brought his partners by the second they stepped off the plane, not even offering time to dress down in civilian clothes.

König was the first in the house, carrying his and Roach’s duffels as Johnny snuck in a moment alone with their partner outside. Freyja appeared, almost making him jump out of his skin at her sudden appearance.

“Herrgott, Kapitän!” he cried, hand on his pounding heart. “You scared me.”

Freyja had Artie strapped to her chest, sucking happily on his pacifier as he stared up at her face. He was already a certifiable mama’s boy, always enamored with her and clinging to her at every waking moment (and then some). “Oh, thank god,” she sighed, unraveling the fabric from her waist and shoulders. “I need a nap.”

His eyes blew wide through the holes of his hood, and he quickly stepped back. “Nein, Freyja, ich will ihn erschrecken—”

“König, nimm deinen Patensohn.” She didn’t allow him any time to hesitate, pressing the baby against his chest. The Austrian immediately dropped the bags from his shoulders, wrapped one arm under the baby’s bum, and rested one large hand against his back.

“Freyja–!”

She was gone.

König desperately wanted to give him back. He couldn’t take the heartbreak of another kid, especially his own nephew, staring at him with pure terror, trying to get away to safety. But this child, a sweet thing, had easily and without hesitation reached for him when Freyja moved to hand him off. It was as if he already sensed that his mom would never hand him off to someone that didn’t have her full trust.

He had gotten used to Joan by that point, but she was almost a year old when he saw her last. And she was much bigger than the infant boy in his arms, done up in an (admittedly) adorable, light blue onesie, with stripes nearly resembling those of the Scotland flag (Soap most definitely bought it for that reason and that reason alone). What if he dropped him? What if he held him too tight? What if he moved and hit Arthur’s head on something? What if–

A small tug caught his attention, his mask shifting downward. König glanced down at the boy curiously pulling the thing toward his mouth, which he put a stop to. “Iss das nicht, welpe. Du weißt nicht, wo es war,” he whispered, using a finger to nudge Arthur’s fist away from his mouth.

They simply stared at each other, the man holding the baby’s gaze, surprised that the little one was tolerating it. Then in a shocking turn of events, Art jerked the fabric up and over his head, making cooing and gurgling sounds that resembled an attempt at a laugh. Both under the hood now, König froze for a moment, completely and utterly bewildered. No grown adult, let alone an infant, had ever warmed up to the giant so quickly, immediately. Artie made another noise, and beyond his control, tears started to flow freely down his paint-smudged cheeks, a huge smile lighting up their dark cavern.

As König sobbed and shook, he pressed his forehead against Arthur’s, trembling body clinging to his godson like a lifeline.

König didn’t know how long he stood there with gentle but clumsy hands palming his scars and features, reveling in the attention. He never wanted it to end. He didn’t fail to notice what felt like Ghost’s hand on his opposite shoulder, brief but definitely present; then, the familiar press of Johnny’s cheek between his shoulder blades and the imprint of his firm hands on his hips.

Yeah, you could say Arthur Simon had a gift for healing.

.

.

.

“Uh oh, Dada!”

Freyja chuckled at her husband’s exasperated expression, staring at the ceiling as the plastic cup bounced across the floor. Simon had spent the last ten minutes trying to slice up an orange for Joan, who, in that time, had thrown the loose cereal onto the floor, tossed her plastic fork across the room, and finally dumped the cup of water into his lap.

“Yeah, uh oh,” he sighed, bending to pick up the cup but not bothering with his now-soaked pants. “Lovie, I’m almost done. You have to be patient. We don’t throw things.”

“No!”

“Look, Joanie, here.” Simon broke a wedge off and held it out for her. Two little hands took the fruit, holding the rind as Joan gummed at the soft flesh. “Can you say, ‘Thank you, Daddy’?”

“No!”

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Arthur rested quietly in his mother’s arms with his cheek pressed against her breast as he dozed after finishing a bottle. Some mothers would have found Arthur’s level of attachment overwhelming; he rarely wanted to be put down, oftentimes crying out for her even when handed off to Simon. Similar to how Joanie gravitated to her father, Artie clung to her, and Freyja took pride in that.

When she looked up from her son, she found Simon had stripped out of his soiled sweatpants and now sat in only black boxer briefs. It was an unusually lazy day due to the poor weather outside. Simon got the kids up and fed at the usual time but didn’t do much to dress them, opting for fresh onesies. Joan’s was a dark navy, while Art’s was cream with mini tan teddy bears.

Joanie finished the orange slice quickly and placed the rind on her plate. She balled one hand into a fist and slapped the top with an open palm in a jerky movement. “Dada, more.”

“That’s right, ‘more’,” he praised, mimicking the sign for her. “Good job asking. Here.”

He placed the rest of her snack on the tray, and she immediately started nibbling at one. Simon leaned forward with his forearm on his knee, getting to eye level with the girl. “I’d really like an orange. Could you share with Daddy, lovie?” he asked while offering a hand. They had quickly learned to keep her hands occupied and practice hand-eye coordination in constructive ways, rather than letting her get bored. That was when she tended to start throwing things, as demonstrated by Simon’s now discarded pants.

She seemed to consider it, before dropping the piece she had already half finished in his palm and grabbing another.

“I meant one that wasn’t half-eaten, but this’ll do. Thank you.” He met Freyja’s eyes, his cheeks tight with laughter as he finished the fruit. 

The rain thundered against the glass windows, filling the space behind Joanie’s giggles at the funny faces Simon made. Her clothed feet kicked the legs of her chair. It was there – in their kitchen on a rainy Tuesday afternoon – Freyja realized just how content she was with the life they had built together. Observing her husband as he wiped the sticky juices dribbling down their daughter’s chin and pushed her blonde curls back; her touch brushing their son’s warm, squishy cheek with her thumb.

She soaked in the atmosphere a moment longer before speaking. “Simon?”

“Yeah, love?”

“I think Artie’s my last.” Her voice was quiet, almost unsure. They’d never really discussed just how many kids they wanted. Against his initial fears, Simon was a natural; he was just as much in his element taking care of their kids as he was on the battlefield. She didn’t want to take that away if he wanted more, but she honestly couldn’t go through it again. Recovering from a c-section royally sucked, but giving birth naturally was not an option.

Simon’s brows pinched together as he swiveled away from Joanie, searching her face. He watched how her careful fingers stroked Arthur’s face, her other hand wrapped around the baby’s thigh to secure him to her. Her touch slid down to his chest, measuring his tiny heartbeat and steady breaths. He often did the same with both of their children; the gesture grounded him in their reality, and he figured it did the same for her. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll call for an appointment to get snipped.”

He said it as if he were talking about grabbing a takeaway on his way home from work, which gave Freyja a slight shock.

“Just like that?” she asked, turning in her chair to face him better. “Are you sure?”

“You’ve given me three beautiful babies,” Simon cooed, reaching to drag his large hands up and down her thighs. Freyja melted into his touch, legs spreading so his knee could slot between hers. “S’the least I can do. If you’re done, so am I. I had a feeling, anyway.”

“A vasectomy just seems a bit extreme. Maybe we can just use condoms?”

He raised a brow at her with an upside-down grin, challenging her. “Do you wanna try that again, with feeling? Look me in the eye and tell me you’re never gonna let me cum in you, ever again?”

“...Birth control?”

“Remind me, how did we have our daughters?”

“I hate you.”

“But I’m right.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“Still right, though.” Simon rose from the table and leaned over her, resting his weight on one hand next to her thigh. He slipped the other around the back of her neck and tilted her head up, stealing a long, slow kiss. He muttered, “I’ll go next week,” against her lips before resuming, tongue gently prodding her bottom lip.

Freyja broke away and glanced up at him through her lashes with a teasing look. “You sure you can last that long without sex?”

“You’re gonna be the death of me.”

Ghost, Soap, and Gaz shipped out to replace the other half of the task force a few days later. They were only gone for two weeks, executing the final excursion to retrieve a stolen weapons cache. König, Roche, and Price had done most of the leg work but decided that the sergeants and lieutenant were better equipped for the situation at hand. 

Johnny’s demolition expertise certainly came in handy this time around.

Still, Simon was sore and aching for the comfort of holding his kids and wife after what felt like the longest two weeks of his life. It was their first time leaving both babies with the other parent since Arthur was born.

Unlike his last time returning from a mission, the house was quiet, which allowed him time to take his boots off at the door and shed his mask. König’s car was parked in their driveway, leading him to believe the operative was spending the night in their guest room. Whether Roach was there too, he didn’t know.

The hall light at the top of the stairs flicked on, and Freyja appeared in a silky nightgown, standing on the last step with a tired smile and messy hair.

Simon stopped at the bottom of the stairs and hummed while his eyes roamed her body with a dopey smile.

“Welcome back,” she whispered, locking her fingers behind his neck to tilt his head back, giving him access to slot their lips together. Freyja moaned quietly at the firm hands on her hips and thighs, gripping and digging into the soft flesh. “How’d it go?”

He shrugged and pressed another chaste kiss to her lips, humming against them. “No snags. Soap got to blow stuff up.” Simon’s mouth trailed down her jaw, throat, and chest, gentle and loving.

Her fingertips brushed a gash on his cheek. Most likely from shrapnel, if its depth and jagged edges were any indicators.

“M’fine, love.”

“Joanie’s out cold, but Artie’s awake if you wanna see him. I just finished feeding him.”

That woke him up a little bit. A soft breath of air tickled the wet spots on Freyja’s skin from his silent chuckle. Simon’s arms wrapped around her waist, and he nuzzled his face in her chest as he soaked in her presence. They’d gone more extended periods without seeing each other, but whether they were apart for a week or a few months, he still missed her like crazy.

“She doing better in her room?”

“Much. She’s having some nightmares but goes back down eventually. She’s having a good night.”

“Mmm, in that case, I won’t wake her. We can surprise her in the mornin’.”

When Freyja turned to lead him upstairs, he couldn’t help himself as his hand swung up and connected with her ass, a sharp CRACK! resonating through the air.

“Simon!”

“M’sorry, couldn’t help it. You left yourself wide open on that one,” he teased, his voice low to not wake their daughter or guests. As expected, Arthur’s quiet coos reached his ears the closer they got to their bedroom. Simon dropped his gear by their bedroom door and approached the bassinet on Freyja’s side of the bed. The little boy stared in his general direction, wiggling like a (precious) worm.

The man beamed down at him and carefully slid his hands under Artie’s back with his thumbs hooked under the infant’s arms, lifting him out of the crib. “Hi, beautiful boy,” he mumbled, pressing his pursed lips against his cheek, leaving multiple kisses in the same spot. He held his son back out for a moment, a confused expression on his face once he pulled away.

“Where’d it go?”

Freyja shifted to her knees on their bed and rested her chin on his shoulder, peering down at their son. “What?”

“The baby scrunch.”

“Huh. You’re right. I didn’t even notice.”

“I just…last time I held him, he still curled up. I missed it,” he said, a grown man literally pouting.

“I know…” She let her hands slide down from his shoulders to his chest. “I’m sorry, Si. I know it sucks. Being away comes with the job, and that means we miss things. We’ve been lucky so far with Joanie, honestly.”

Arthur had quieted down, sucking his pacifier as he studied Simon’s painted face and clinging to his shirt.

A knock at the doorframe caught their attention, and all three turned to the source. König rubbed the sleep from his eyes, bare feet padding across the carpet until he reached them. “Hello, Lieutenant. Did the operation bode well?”

“Yeah, everything was just as you said it – was…”

The baby had started to whine again and let go of his dad, reaching for his uncle with grabby hands. The man’s face flushed, but he didn’t make a move to take the baby. Once the shock wore off, Simon took the initiative to hand Art off, and König gladly received him.

He immediately settled again, laying his head back in the crook of König’s elbow, humming softly against his pacifier. “Hallo, welpe,” he said in a hushed tone, rocking his nephew gently.

“Well, that’s new,” Simon grumbled, sitting on the edge of the bed to avoid awkwardly standing there. Simon wasn’t too annoyed, but he was somewhat sad. He had missed his babies dearly and looked forward to some serious attention. But his usually shy baby, who never wanted to be handed off to anyone besides his mother and occasionally Simon, was suddenly choosing their friend over him.

How much had he missed in such a short amount of time?

“I apologize, sir. I am as surprised as you are. He’s a good boy; I think we have been around so much the last two weeks…”

“König.”

“Ja?”

“Drop the sir. We’re not on base. I’m not mad.”

König blinked at him, confused. “It’s… Scheiße, wie sagt man ‘gebräuchlich’ auf Englisch? Ich weiß es nicht. It is normal to use sir where I’m from.”

Simon glared back. “And this is my house. You’ve done as my wife has said to gain my son’s affection. So now, you will do what I say to get back in my good graces after robbing me of my child. Are we clear?”

“I feel…bad. Please, take him back–”

He shook his head and stood again, scratching at the light stubble that had formed on his cheeks over the last few days. “And I’m telling you, no. It’s fine. I have to shower anyway.”

“Alles klar.”

taglist: @esthervalea, @miss-leto, @sweetestcowboy, @blueoorchid, @apocalypticseagull, @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction, @covenlovenn, @330bpm-whiplash, @gnoccheyy, @jaggernauticals, @dwkfan, @untoldshortsofthefandomsdoms, @bobfloydsgf, @maviee, @thomaslefteyebrow, @kyovy, @prodyng, @scout-fang, @avalkyrieofparis, @misshoneypaper, @berryjuicyy, @voteforpedropascal, @beakami, @addictedtothefictionalworld, @kaghost

Copyright © 2023 as-is-above-so-below. All rights reserved.

[cottonlemonade]

Hi can I order a medium grape lemonade with a slice of grape for Bokuto! I rlly love your work and ice been reading a lot of it! Thank you so much!

Scream It From The Rooftops

word count: 1095 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: Bokuto x chubby female manager!Reader

genre: comfort

warnings: mentions of anxiety and academic pressure

request: fluffy, crush Bokuto takes care of you

“This suuucks.“, Bokuto groaned next to you, ruffling his spiky hair in frustration, “How is a person supposed to remember all of this at once? I feel like my head is about to explode. I need like a second brain in a jar for extra storage. I could bring it with me to the exam and … use a plug or something to harness its knowledge. Yeah! Oh, y/n, I think I‘m really onto something here. Y/n? Hello? Earth to manager?“

You felt a finger poke your shoulder, but didn‘t respond. The words on the page before you had begun to blur and you noticed, with a start, the familiar stinging pressure building behind your eyes. Thick tears soon spilled onto your notes, smearing the ink. “Y/n-chan.“, Bokuto sounded worried when he poked you again, a little gentler this time, “Was the brain thing too gross?“

“I can‘t do it.“, you muttered.

“Do what?“

Your shoulders began to shake, sobs formed in your throat.

“Hey… hey, what‘s going on?“ The captain put an arm reassuringly around your shoulder. A couple of whispers made him look up. Students strewn about in the library had turned their attention to the blubbering, hiccup-ing mess next to him, some peeped out from between bookshelves.

It was rare for Bokuto to become angry. In fact, you had only ever seen it once and it was probably the scariest you had ever experienced the tall, usually bouncy sweetheart.

His golden eyes hardened, jaw clenched and in a firm true captain‘s voice he snapped, “Mind your own business!“

The students quickly went back to their notes or busied themselves with dusty volumes.

“Come on, y/n.“, he said, his voice sweet again and pulled you to your feet.

The tears left hot streaks across your chubby cheeks and you felt the mess your eyes, nose and mouth were making but you couldn‘t stop.

Holding your hand securely in his, he led you out of the library and towards the staircase, ignoring the pointing from people you passed. Bokuto dragged you up a flight, then a second, then a third until finally pushing open the door to the rooftop.

As soon as the heavy metal door fell into the lock behind you, he pulled you into his arms and you broke. You bawled. You hadn‘t done that since you were a child and right now it felt like it had been long overdue. Bokuto‘s strong arms just tightened, holding you close and safe. You brought your own arms up to finally hug him back. He leaned down a bit to engulf you further, making sure to cover as much of your shaking body with pressure as he could. He knew from experience that external pressure helped with an anxiety attack. At least he hoped it was the same for you as it was for him… Many times before you had dragged him out of a dark spiral. From thoughts of failure and disappointment and shame. You‘ve never judged him once, hadn‘t made fun of him when you found him hiding under a table for the first time. You simply offered a shoulder to lean on, an open ear and a hug. He was so relieved he could finally do the same for you.

He felt you trying to pull out of his arms and loosened his grip a bit.

You stared at his shoes, your sobs having calmed down but tears were still dripping on the concrete. Your breathing was shallow and ragged. Bokuto dug around in his pockets for a tissue but could only produce a napkin he had left over from lunch. Before your study session he had gotten himself a taiyaki in the cafeteria and some spilled red bean paste was stuck to the middle. Lips pursed in thought he refolded the napkin so he could offer the clean side to you.

“It‘s all I have right now…“

You accepted it gratefully and blew your nose.

He used the sleeve of his white school button down to carefully dab at your eyes and cheeks.

“Do you wanna talk about it?“

You shook your head. To be fair, it wasn‘t difficult at this point to put together what had upset you.

He pulled you in for a second round of hugs, this time gently running his large hand over your back.

“It‘s all gonna be just fine.“, he said quietly, “And I know, it‘s not much but even if you don't ace every single test, the team won‘t think less of you. We‘ll still love ya.“

You gave a hollow chuckle and he added pressure again to his hold.

“Thank you.“, you mumbled into his shirt.

“You are so very welcome, y/n-chan.“

You let go of him and took a somewhat deep shaky breath, feeling your tears ebb away.

“You know what always helps me? Besides you, that is.“

Still sniffling, you looked at him curiously.

He held up a finger for you to signal to pay attention, then stepped into the middle of the roof, took a deep breath and let out a long scream.

Your eyes widened in panic and you tried to shush him but he just shook his head and came over to get you to join him.

“Come on, give it a try. It‘s pretty awesome.“

“I don‘t know…“

“Come on, we can do it together. On the count of three.“

You couldn‘t believe you were doing this. But sure enough when he finished his countdown you filled your lungs as much as you could and yelled.

You felt the tension subsiding and with another deep breath, screamed again. Bokuto grinned and cheered you on.

“HEY, WHATEVER YOU ARE DOING UP THERE - STOP IT!“, you heard a teacher scolding from the courtyard below.

And you broke into hysterical giggles. It took a while to come down from the laughing fit.

“How do you feel?“, Bokuto asked, beaming.

“Better. So much better. Thank you so much.“

“Great! Come on, we have one last thing to do.“

And he grabbed your hand again to pull you along just as before.

You stopped in front of his locker. Once opened, he gave you a slightly smooshed packet of wet wipes you used to clean your face, then with his signature confident grin he reached for something between his books and held up a handful of little chocolates.

You frowned in confusion. “Why do you have these? You don‘t like mint-chocolate.“

“I know.“, he said and a light blush crept into his cheeks, “But you do.“

a/n: this got so out of hand. Thank you very much for your sweet words! I hope it’s a kind of comfort you were asking for 🌟 thank you for the request!

[whereireid]

𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

pairing:dark!boss!steve rogers x virgin!fem reader

WORDCOUNT: 5.9k | warnings: dubious consent ! power imbalance (boss!steve, employee!reader) sexual naivety, height difference [6'6 steve, 5'3 reader], oral m receiving, rough p in v, misogyny, sexism, breeding kink, daddy kink, housewife kink, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, praise kink, spanking, captain kink, dumb baby reader (in steve's eyes), nonconsensual pregnancy, reader loves big mean stevie and loves when he taints her <3

PSA: YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. 18+ ! If any of these topics trigger you, please do not indulge in this content! This is a DARK!FIC, and is intended to come across as such. Minors, please dni - this content is 18+ and is under my #WOMNSFW tag.

summary: Steve Rogers is in deep need of a new personal assistant. You, an intern for Stark who often loiters around the Avengers Compound, put yourself forward for the position. You believe working under the Captain America will help you to get in good graces throughout your career. Little do you know, being America’s golden boy’s personal assistant means doing a little more than rummaging through files and writing letters.

—

So pretty, so perfect, so poised. Steve Rogers sits back comfortably in his chair, his eyes trained on you, never leaving, not even to acknowledge the poor waitress who puts his beer down in front of him. You speak proper, each word flowing from your mouth with purpose, your speech coherent, and your voice confident.

It makes Steve’s cock twitch in his trousers as he watches you. Your gaze on him doesn’t linger, but you do flinch when he reaches towards his beer too quickly. It makes his stomach flip, and he tries to hold back the hiss that threatens to slip past his lips. He knows he’s America’s Golden Boy, and that he’s supposed to be better than this; but he was raised in the 1930’s, and his ideals surrounding women never really fizzled out.

Your voice fades back in, and as you address him, it snaps Steve out of his train of thought. “So, I’m sure now that we’re well acquainted with each other, Captain Rogers—“

“Please. Just call me Steve. We’ve known one another long enough.”

He quirks a brow as your cheeks flood over in red, before beckoning you to continue your speech. “Well, then, Steve,” you swallow thickly, your voice dropping a few octaves, and Steve senses that he’s embarrassed you. “Now that we’re well - uh, better - acquainted, I hope that you can consider me for the position of your personal assistant.”

“What?” Steve’s blue eyes bore into yours, and they make you brood in anxiety. You feel childish, sitting in front of him in a flowery dress, at what could somewhat be considered an interview, asking to work for him. Perhaps you should’ve dressed nicer, more work appropriate? Yet, before you can blubber on, Steve continues; “doll, if you wanted to work for me, you could’ve just said. Did you do all of this to ask for the position?”

He blinks at you. Embarrassment washes over you like a tsunami wave as you blink back at him. Of course, you could’ve just said you wanted to work for him - you feel naive ever thinking otherwise. Steve’s not a stranger, you practically work with him every day, and he'd be more than enthusiastic to hear you out. He's not one of. the guys at work who ignore women and everything they have to say. He’s nice enough to always say hello to you and sometimes buy you coffee, and flowers if you were down. He's one of the good ones!“I thought it might’ve been inappropriate to ask you whilst you were training.” You shoot him a small smile, trying to ignore how the upwards tug of his lips makes your skin rise with goosebumps.

“Does Stark know you’re applying for this role?”

"He’s actually the one who suggested it.”

Steve takes a long sip of his drink. He stares at you over the rim of the glass, watching you squirm and ponder over his answer. He already knows the answer to your question, but watching you shuffle in your seat and act silly in front of him makes his cock throb, and he enjoys the feeling. You’re so innocent, pressing against the table, wide-eyed, acting as though your tits aren’t pressed together and basically on display for him. The dress is so low-cut. It makes him want to take you right here.

Did you wear that just to get him riled up? “Well, I can’t think of anybody more suitable to fit the position. You know the Compound, you know my office, and I’ve noticed you get on well with higher authorities. You seem like a doting employee.” He kisses his teeth slightly, looking down at the table, before looking up at you through his lashes. He tries to hold back the smirk on his face as he speaks, but it’s impossible not to: “of course, you will also be expected to work somewhat more flexible hours. Later start times, later finishes. We won't always be in the office at the compound - a lot of my additional work files are at my personal home office, but I can always make you up a key to give you easier access."

“Of course,” you chirp, nodding at him enthusiastically. “I’m okay with longer hours, and I can work around you and what you need.”

Steve grins. “Perfect.”

—

It has been about three weeks since you left your position as an intern at Stark Industries and began working for Steve Rogers. It was an exhausting process at first; the sudden change in routine, the heavy workload, the unsociable hours, and Steve often worried you would change your mind. If you couldn't bend for this position, you would break, and he was incredibly worried you'd do the latter. Perhaps because he hadn’t seen you frown so often before, but during the first fortnight of working as his assistant, your lips were always somewhat tugged downwards, and you were always so busy, unable to even joke with him.

You soldiered on, though. Managing to catch up to months worth of missed calls, avoided emails, old paperwork, and forgotten documents. Steve praised you every time you completed a task, and often he found you beaming up at him, prideful and flustered.

Yet, whilst peeking up from his desktop, he finds himself annoyed. You’re sitting quietly opposite him, noting down things and scheduling appointments, and he can’t help the twitch of his cock as he watches you do it. You're not incredibly busy anymore, and yet you're not engaging in any conversation with him. Steve knows you value professionalism, but he only really let you have this job because of his alternative motives when it comes to you.

His eyes flicker back to the computer screen, and then back to you. It's like before his brain can register what he's doing; he's doing it, but he doesn't mind. This is his office, after all, his space. You're his assistant, and if anything, you're supposed to assist him in doing it. His hands are wrapped around his thick, angry cock, and he pumps slowly, watching you intensely.

You're tapping away at your computer so innocently. Your eyes are wide and interested, and clearly whatever your scheduling for Steve has your entire attention because you don't even look up at him. He strokes his cock carefully, and slowly, and his breathing wavers as he runs a finger over his angry, red tip, using some of his precum for lube.

“You okay, Steve?” your voice fills the quiet room, and he looks over at you, his hands still wrapped around his cock. The naivety of your tone makes his cock twitch in his hands, and his pace slows. He makes eye contact with you, never breaking it as he slowly strokes his hand up and down his length. It makes him so much harder that you have no idea what he's doing, and he imagines what your lips would feel like wrapped around him.

“Fine, doll. Just a little sore.” Steve purses his lips as you nod. He meets your eyes, and you hold his gaze, concern plastering over your face.

You're so... modest. Completely unaware of what he's doing, and he loves it. Steve craves you; craves to taint the innocence which consumes you. You're too trusting for your own good, and one of these days, it's going to get you hurt.

Steve just needs to make sure it's him that hurts you, and nobody else.

“You do look awfully red, Steve.” You murmur across from him, concern painting your features. The heavy gaze your boss has on you makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable, but worry overrides any instinctive emotion. “Do you feel hot?”

Steve grunts in agreement with your question. He looks more disheveled than usual. His posture seems hunched, but he seems somewhat relaxed, and his gaze is hard and trained on you. You're unsure as to what's wrong - he's so red, it looks like he's burning up. Perhaps he has a fever, but you're sure the Super Soldier Serum ensures that he doesn't get ill. “Can I get you anything? Paracetamol? A glass of water?” you ask innocently, standing up from your desk chair, slowly walking towards him.

His computer monitor thankfully covers his crotch. Steve’s eyes don’t leave you, and it makes his cock leak when you softly begin to walk over to him. He’s almost certain you own nothing but inappropriate, seductive clothing; he’s seen more of your cleavage these past three weeks than he has anyone else’s, and it’s driving him crazy. The fact he’s managed to hold off from devouring you is insane, but he isn’t sure how much longer he can take.

Being the nice guy just doesn’t seem to be working. The hand which was stroking his cock stills, and he commands you to stop once you’re mere inches away, stood behind his monitor, so small he can hardly see you. “Do you own any appropriate clothing?”

His question is direct and his tone is reprimanding. Your knees wobble, and your head hangs slightly. Shame spreads throughout your body. “I didn’t realise this was inappropriate. My apologies.”

It’s unlike Steve to bark at you. Usually, he’s incredibly soft-spoken and considerate, yet it seems you’ve worn any patience he’s held for you thin. “Doll, every outfit you’ve worn this week has been low-cut and short.” He breathes, and your neck prickles with discomfort when you notice how dark and blown his pupils are. “I’ve been patient. I’ve been kind. I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I don’t think these kinds of… outfits would be appropriate elsewhere. You didn’t wear these outfits when interning for Stark.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” Your subordinate manner only makes his cock twitch more, and he’s thankful his hand is sheathing his cock, because the precum that trickles out of its covers his skin and not his trousers. “I’ll try to be more considerate next time.”

It’s painful to let go of his length, but he has to, and he shoves it back inside of his trousers and innocently buttons them up. “Are you wearing these suggestive outfits to get a rise out of me?”

You gasp. “No. Never. I - Sir, I aim to be as appropriate and considerate as possible. I’m sorry I’ve been misleading you.” Steve rises from his seat, and you swallow thickly, feeling incredibly small compared to your boss. You’ve often been close to him - side by side, brushing shoulders, but he’s always been soft-spoken and gentle, apologetic and genuinely caring. Now, it seems like his patience is worn thin, and as opposed to seeing a civilian Steve, you feel as though you're standing in front of a soldier. “I can go and change now if you want?”

“No.” His tone is so low it matches that of a growl, and you cower weakly as he towers over you. Fear pulsates in your being as you stare up at him, suddenly feeling incredibly unsafe, and your heart races in your chest. Steve would never hurt me, you remind yourself, he’s one of the good ones.

You open your mouth to speak, but Steve shushes you. His finger splays over your lips, and you feel scolded and childlike. “I think you do it for attention.” His finger pushes against you, as does his body, as he stalks forward and you shuffle backward, trying to keep any space between the two of you. “You know, it’s been hard staying silent for this long. Watching you from afar, never knowing what to say or do.” His hot breath fans your ear, and Steve’s nostrils flare. “Trying to be a gentleman. Buying you coffee and flowers and cards when you were working at the Compound as a way to be friendly and nice. But I don’t think you want that.”

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You squeak out, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. Steve’s fingers gently press against your skin, wiping away any that spill, his skin icy against your own. “I-I’ve appreciated the gifts. I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” He asks, his eyes shooting down at you. You nod your head eagerly, staring up at him, trying to ignore how the dark look in his eyes makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think you’re truly sorry. I gave you this job to be my personal assistant. I expected more of you. You’re dressing as whore, and you can’t even apologize correctly.”

You swallow thickly, staring up at him. “‘M sorry. I haven’t meant to present myself that way,” your voice wavers. “What would y-you deem a suitable apology, Steve?”

“Captain.” Steve’s fingers find their way into your hair, and you squeak slightly as he tugs at it. “You only get to call me Steve when you’ve been good, which you haven’t.”

“How should I apologize, Captain?”

Your voice is an incredulous whisper. The subordination you show drives Steve crazy, and it takes everything in him not to force your mouth open and push you onto his cock. No, he needs to coax you into it - make you agree that this is the best way to apologize. Any other way wouldn’t suffice.

It’s as though you can’t believe this is happening - and in a way, Steve can’t, either. He’s always imagined this happening - having you begging him to tell you how to do something in a way that’s deemed fit in his eyes, having you be in pain whilst doing it. He curses slightly, before breathing out, “use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me.”

“What?”

“I said, ‘use that pretty little mouth of yours to worship me’. Don’t expect me to repeat myself again.” He warns, blinking down at you, before muttering, “you’ve dressed like a whore, sweetheart. I think it’s only fair the Captain treats you as such.” His thumb drags down your lips, and you look up at him with such hesitation it makes his balls throb. He feels as though the look on your face could make him cum already.

Warmth floods over your cheeks. It feels wrong as Steve’s palms press heavily on your shoulders, the weight of him coaxing you down. A shudder leaves you as he forces you onto your knees in front of him, and you stare at his trousers, which are tight by the groin. “Captain, I don’t think -“ you swallow thickly, shaking as he comes down to unbutton his trousers, and flinching once his hands clasp yours, “-I don’t think this is appropriate.”

Your voice comes out in a hushed whisper, and he glares down at you, relishing in your embarrassment. Your eyelashes are wet and tears prickle your eyes still, “You’re on your knees now, doll.” He huffs, blowing out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in. Your hands shake as he guides them to his trousers. “You might as well get on with it.”

“No I - I don’t want to.” Your voice wavers as he uses your hands to pry his cock out of his trousers, which is an angry red and seeping with cum, and you feel like scurrying away from it. “I-I haven’t ever done anything like this before.” Steve is stronger than you and the grip he’s got on your wrists makes you feel as though they will snap, so you decide not to, rather cowering away from his length in fear.

“Are you a virgin?” His question makes your head shoot up in embarrassment, your eyes wide and distraught, and he groans. “Oh my god, you’re a fucking virgin.”

“I never said I was,” you mutter, yelping when his hands strike you against the face. Fresh tears fall over old tear stains, and you flinch as his fingers splay over your chin.

He tuts. “Don’t lie to me. Are you a virgin?”

“Yes,” you murmur, shameful, eyes watery as you stare up at him. You sniffle, thankful for his gentle touch, which replaces the cruelty of his hands seconds ago. It makes your heart bloom with warmth as he brushes your face softly with his fingers, although he’s wiping away the pain he’s caused.

“My pretty little baby’s a virgin,” Steve coos, and the tone of his voice makes pressure form in your lower belly. “This mouth has never been around anyone’s cock before? Ever?”

There’s almost a deluded tone in his voice as he presses his tip against your lips. You quiver below him, your eyes trained on him as he pushes himself in your mouth. It feels wrong to do this with him - it feels exploitative, and whilst you opt to pull away from him, the wetness in your panties warns you otherwise. You’re enjoying this, and it’s making you feel terrible. You’re letting your boss take advantage of you and you love it.

You'd be lying if you denied the fact that you found Steve attractive. You had a thing for blonds, and the Golden Boy reputation he had made butterflies form in your belly. The fact he was so unlike what he seems makes your thighs clench and your pussy throb. A Golden Boy with an urge to taint; and somehow, you want to be tainted.

You hum against his cock, and it makes Steve’s stomach explode with heat. The wet of your tongue and the hot of your mouth is everything he’s ever wanted and more, and as your teeth scrape against him, he hisses, trying to hold back the smack he wants to deliver to you. You’re not ready for that yet; you’re a virgin, a sweet girl who needs taking care of. He needs to be gentle with you. “Nuh-uh-uh, doll. Cover those teeth of yours and hollow your cheeks - yes, like that, baby."

Steve breathes heavily as you take it in. It feels intrusive to your mouth as you suck on his cock, your tongue swirling up and down his tip. His hands make their way into your hair, and he gently begins to slide your head up and down, going at a quicker pace. It makes your belly ache with warmth as he does it, the feeling of his hands wrapped in your hair making you feel surprisingly... horny? It makes your face flush when you realize you're enjoying being used by Steve, and you eagerly begin to run your tongue up and down his length, tracing his veins and making sure to pay extra attention to his tip.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he grunts, his balls slapping against your chin uncomfortably, “make your daddy’s cock nice and wet.” Steve’s pace quickens, and more and more of his cock forces its way into your mouth until your eyes are pricking with tears and you’re almost certain his length is going to suffocate you. Gag after gag follows through with each desperate thrust of his hips, and you clasp your hands around his thigh, looking up at him, eager to breathe. He doesn’t let you.

“My perfect little girl. Let daddy cum in your mouth and he’ll forgive you for dressing like such a whore.”

It’s not like you’ve got much of a choice anyway. In Steve's eyes, he's waited long enough to paint you in his cum, and it doesn’t take long for him to finish. He pulls out slightly, spewing cum over your cheeks and lips, grunting with approval at the sight of you. His innocent little personal assistant, who has never felt a man’s cock before today, has just had her throat fucked as though she were a fleshlight. Steve groans, steadying himself by using your head for support, and your nose crinkles as you swallow his cum which had painted your tongue.

It doesn't taste that bad.

“Best you clean yourself up.” Steve murmurs as you clamber up, knees shaking, the heat between your legs throbbing. “I don’t want my personal assistant to look so... defiled whilst she’s working alongside me.”

“Yes, Captain.”

As you attempt to scurry off to the bathroom, Steve stops you. “I want to make a few things clear about your position as my personal assistant, doll.”

You nod your head, uncertain as to what he might say next. The sight of you covered in his cum makes his heart bloom with pride, and he realises that he has finally got you where he wants you to be. “Your role as my personal assistant is to assist me with anything I deem necessary. Whether that be sexual or otherwise. You got that?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good girl.”

—

Your body has been aching and sore for days. Forcing yourself up from your desk chair, you jolt slightly at the sudden pain which shoots up through your spine. You look away from Steve’s hot gaze, which makes you feel flustered and funny, and you begin to flip through pages in your folder, desperate to keep yourself occupied and not draw too much attention from Steve.

“Come here, doll.” His voice is gentle, his arms wide and open, urging you in.

You nod your head, opting to agree. You've become conditioned to his sexual advances, and he accepts when you're not in the mood, saying that he doesn't want to pressure you. Steve is a good guy in that way; he wants you to move at your own pace. You only have to do this for a few more months or so, as that’s how long your contract is.

Steve taps his lap. You comply, carefully seating yourself atop of him, crinkling your nose when he gets too close. He notices, but he doesn’t care, leaning backward slightly and brushing a curl away from your face.

“What have I done for you to hate me?” his once confident voice is quiet, oozing with rejection.

You blink at him. “I - I don’t hate you.”

Steve hums, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. You shuffle uncomfortably in his lap, looking up at him with big, doe eyes, and it makes his cock twitch. You’re so innocent, so friendly, a big baby that needs protecting from the world. All Steve wants to do is protect you and keep you safe. “You don’t look at me the same anymore,” he notes quietly. “You used to look at me like I was a savior before you started working under me.”

You shuffle uncomfortably, looking up at him through your lashes. He moves slightly to get comfortable, and your breath hitches in your throat when his clothed crotch rubs against yours. “I still think of you as a savior, Stevie,” you murmur quietly, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his cheek.

You’ve worked for Steve long enough now to know that the way around difficult conversations is to stroke his ego. His hand snakes around your back, and he traipses his fingers up and down your back slowly. “No bra, huh? What have I told you about dressing appropriately?”

“S-sorry, Steve.”

“Mmm, I forgive you, baby.” His hands fall to your skirt, and his fingers slowly ride up them. The material parts with the moving of his hands, and your body flushes with heat when his finger slides up and down your slits. He tuts. “No underwear, either? This'll be a little harder to forgive.”

You squeak slightly as Steve pushes a finger inside of you. “Y-you asked me not to wear underwear when I'm around you.”

“Nuh-uh-uh. I don’t remember that, doll. Don’t make things up to try and make yourself better off.” Except, he does remember it because he practically commanded you to strip your underwear off the last time you wore some when working alongside him. But you don’t need to remember that. Steve wants you to believe everything you do for him is because you want to do it, not because he’s told you to.

“Really?” you squeak as he curls his finger inside of you, ensuring he hits against your spongy spot. You try to ignore the heaviness of Steve’s gaze, and you swallow dryly, stuttering as Steve slips another digit in, beginning to fuck you faster with a ‘come-forth’ motion.

“Yeah, doll. Maybe you just wanted your daddy to have easier access to this pretty pussy of yours. I know how much you like getting that little pussy touched.”

His fingers slow down inside of you, and he gazes down at you with a raised brow. You protest, trying to roll against his fingers, but he grabs your thighs and shakes his head. “Bad girls don’t get to feel good.”

“I’m not bad," you whine, and Steve shakes his head in response.

“You lied to daddy. Said he wanted you to wear no underwear. You said it like I’ve been forcing you not to wear underwear when it was your decision.”

The sharpness in his tone makes you recoil, and you still your lower half. against him, not wanting to make him anymore angrier than he already is. “I-I’m sorry. It was my decision. I’m sorry for lying.”

Steve sucks in a breath through his teeth. “You know, I’ve been holding back these past weeks. I wanted to break you in.” He pulls his fingers out of you, and you whine in protest, but your sounds are muffled when he shoves them inside of your mouth. You suck instinctively, and he groans against you. “I’ve been wanting to use that pretty pussy of yours for so long, doll. Been wanting to defile you and make you mine.”

Before you can even react, the tip of his cock is pressing against your slits. “I’ve wanted to fuck you and fill you up with my cum for so long now.” His voice is a growl, and you feel frozen in place, beginning to slowly shake your head. “Fuck you full of my babies. And I know you want that, too.” He groans as he presses harsh kisses against your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin.

“No, Steve,” you breathe heavily as he holds you into place, your own body no match for the strength of his. “I- I don’t want that. I'm not ready for a baby."

“But you are. You just don’t know it yet.” His cock pushes into you, and you let out a whimper, struggling against him. Your walls sheathe him, and you let out a pained squeak. "Look at how well you take me, baby. You were made for me. You’re so wet for me. Look at you, trying to deny your rightful place as my subordinate. My pretty little girl.”

He forces his cock into you slowly. Your walls squeeze around him, sheathing his cock so well, and you whimper, squeezing your nails into his shoulders so hard you feel as though you're going to leave behind crescent moons. "No, Steve," you breathe, squeezing your eyes shut, desperately trying to get rid of the burn between your leg. "'t hurts. Stevie, I'm not ready."

"You're ready, baby," he seethes, throwing his head back slightly as he pushes his hips up further. "Your little virgin pussy is hugging my cock so fucking tight."

A mewl escapes you as his cock brushes up against the spongy spot inside of you. Tears prick the corner of your eyes, and mascara begins to brew below your lash line. Steve stares at you, his gaze passionate, wondering how he ever got so lucky. Not only has he got you exactly where he needs you, but he's also ruining you, tainting you for other men.

The only way he can truly ensure other men will leave you alone is to fill that belly of yours with his baby, so that's exactly what he intends to do. "Does that feel good?" he whispers, kissing your cheek softly. "You feel so full, baby?"

"So full, Steve," you whine, trying to adjust yourself to gather more comfort. Your walls rub against his cock as you adjust, and it feels kind of... good, so you do it again. Your hips slowly roll atop of him, and you whimper to yourself, pain mixing with pleasure.

Steve lets you bounce on him. It's a slow pace, and it doesn't hurt, though it feels unnatural to have something this big inside of you. It's not that you're entirely sexually naive - you've masturbated before, but this is completely different. Steve is huge, and with every roll of your hips, you can feel him. There's no room for escape, and your stomach flips as you throw your arms around his neck. "Steve," you breathe, eyes flittering shut as the coil inside of you threatens to break and snap, your toes curled in desperation. It feels as though you're just inches away from experiencing pure ecstasy, but you can't reach it, and it's making you so frustrated, you feel as though you could cry. "H-help me, Steve."

"You want Daddy's help when getting off?" he coos, brushing a curl away from your face. You stare down at him, biting your lip and nodding eagerly, and he groans slightly. So cute, so small, so ready for him. This is how you should be - begging for his help, needing him, relying on him. You're just a woman, after all; you need a big, strong man like Steve to take care of you.

His hips thrust up, and it's incredibly painful at first. Steve's pace is nothing compared to yours - you were being slow and gentle with your body, and he just wants to ruin it. His hips smash into you, his cock sliding in and out, and he peppers harsh kisses against your neck. You mewl against him, pressing up against his chest to feel him, your toes curling in your flats, your eyes dazed, mouth gaping. You look like a picture-perfect image, and Steve grunts as he fucks you, wanting to tip you over the edge.

It doesn't take long until the coil snaps. You murmur and shake against him, your thighs clenched as you cum, squirting all over his cock, drenching his balls and trousers. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," you yell against him, his cock relentlessly fucking you throughout your orgasm.

"I'm gonna fill you with my babies," he growls, "drown your pussy with my fucking cum."

"No," you cry out, unable to move as he thrusts himself into you; again and again and again. You feel so helpless, so small and weak against him, and you stare up at him. His pupils are dark and blown, and his Adam's apple bobs desperately, his nostrils flaring as his cock twitches inside of you. "Please, pull out!"

"I don't think so, baby," he grunts, and with one final thrust of his hips, he finishes inside of you. Your walls squeeze him simultaneously, and he lets out a low, powerful groan, as he coaxes your walls with his cum. "Gotta make you a nice little housewife. Gonna have you popping out all of my babies."

Steve brushes away the tears which slip down your cheeks. He doesn't even realize how hard he's been holding you until he lets go, your arms riddled with handprint marks which he's sure will bruise. "Don't cry, doll," he murmurs, "you knew what came with the job."

"No, I didn't," you sniffle, pressing your head into his neck. It's wrong how his warmth and his smell act as a safety valve for you when he's the reason you're so upset. "I would've never - I would've never gotten into this if I knew what you expected from me."

A gentle sob racks your body, and Steve looks down at you, caressing your face gently. "Baby, stop crying. You're ruining that little face of yours." In honesty, Steve's patience is running thin. He's been good to you; caring, doting, paying you well for an easy job, and this is how you react? You cry into his arms after he tells you he's going to pump you full of his children? He's Captain America, for God's sake. You should be begging for it. "Just - Jesus fucking christ," he huffs as you continue to cry, grabbing your face harshly, and the sudden grip shocks you. "Stop crying. If you're going to speak, at least try and be fucking coherent."

Nodding your head, you wipe your eyes, which are tender and you assume, red. "I'm not ready for this," your voice shakes as you speak, and Steve almost feels a bit sorry at the sight of you. "I- I don't want this."

"Only good girls get what they want," Steve states plainly, staring at your disheveled face. He certainly got what he wanted - you look ruined, and you feel it, too. He imagines his cum is mixed with a bit of your blood; what, with him defiling you and all, he probably broke your hymen as well. The thought makes him grin to himself, and he utters, "I don't think you've been good, so you don't get what you want, baby."

"I'm sorry! I just - this doesn't seem like a fair punishment! I don't want this!" You cry out as Steve delivers a harsh smack to your ass, and you gaze up at him pathetically through your lashes as he tuts.

"I don't care if you think it's fair or not. You've been teasing me ever since you were an intern at Stark Industries, doll. I've been waiting to breed you for that long," his voice vibrates against you, and you shake your head, ashamed that you even thought you could get away with arguing against him. He's the Captain, and he has all of the control. "Anyway, you're just a dumb little baby. You have no idea what you want right now. But I do. I know what's good for you. Don't you trust me, baby?"

[bucknastysbabe]

I knew at once, I knew he needed me

B. Barnes x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Canon-ish universe, friends to lovers, Bucky’s last trauma, flagsmashers debacle, TW: Bucks past non-con but no detail, blowjobs, fluff and smut, MAN TEARS, sexual dysfunction, Bucky Needs Orders, soft domme, Subby Bucky, Bucky is the sweetest sad meow meow who loves his girl, dry-humping, super-soldier loads amirite

Mood board under cut

Something about Bucky shifted when he went off on the Flag Smasher’s ordeal. You’d gotten a debrief back at HQ. No, you were not super powered. Simply a secretary who once upon a time was a SHIELD agent. But you’d got to know the reclusive former Winter Soldier bits and pieces at first.

Sam shoved him in charge of the Compound while he was dealing with things as the Falcon. Therefore you had to deal with a very surly one-hundred something man who had a staring problem and vocalized all of about 10 words— variants of no. You felt for the poor guy, he’s out of time, his best friend dipped off, and now the government owns him again.

You’d be tired and grumpy too.

But eventually your clipped conversations had turned into iPhone lessons along other modern world curiosities. The recruits were, safe to say, a bunch of jackasses and Bucky would come sit with you to have some coffee and mellow out as you typed. He’d grumble and rave, metal hand whining and whirring.

Then he asked you on a date.

Date turned to more dates.

More dates turned into ‘going steady’ and being ‘his best girl’. It was cotton candy sweet how kind and gentle he was. You knew there was a fear lingering he would hurt you on accident or go haywire. That somehow those words would come back— but they were gone.

You’d remind him sweetly with a squeeze of left inorganic hand and a peck on his pouty lips. He’d walk you back to your apartment and had been in there before for dinner, but was reluctant to stay the night. Reluctant to get anything but a little handsy while making out.

That was okay, he’d been through a lot. You didn’t mind, it was fun exploring with Bucky to find his sexuality, what felt good, what made him tick. Sometimes it could be frustrating but a vibe would do the trick until further notice.

On a miserable day Buck informed you he had to go with Sam on a mission. That mission turned into an entire ordeal, you keeping your head down and doing what you did. The Avenger’s secretary, oft dealing with the wonkiest of adventures under the guidance of Pepper.

Buck had left a message now and then, missing you dearly. The video of John Walker made you sick and worried to the point that Pep had you take the day off. The fact that Zemo was cavorting around with Sam and Bucky was it’s own nightmare.

You managed to reach Bucky on an encrypted line, begging for him to be safe. The soldier had chuckled blithely and replied, “I’m trying my best. No Zemo isn’t trying to kill me. That jackass Walker is going down though. Gonna’ get this under control and get back to you, sweet pea. I-,” he paused on the line, “I love you. I miss you too. Take care of yourself, gotta go okay?”

You blubbered back an ‘I love you’ and ate a pint of ice cream that night, wearing his shirt, watching that familiar face on the news. Hopefully they would get this Karli girl arrested and end any source of new serum. Put that asshole fake Cap away too.

It did. Sam emerging as the new Captain America, you jumping and cheering alone in the apartment with Alpine. Bucky was smirking in the back. You’d get to see him soon. He left a message he had to sort out one more thing before going home.

A little disappointed, you were glad Bucky went to help Sam’s family out. But you did have a job. On the bright side you could talk to your boyfriend every day. He seemed keen to get home, rambling about things he missed, things he remembered on the worldwide adventure. When Bucky would get off in his thoughts, his voice would get so soft and breathy, making your cheeks flush.

He groaned, “Soon babydoll, soon, I think I’m going to strap you to my side and we’ll catch up on all these movies from the journal.”

“I can’t wait.”

As stated before, there was a shift in Buck. Not bad. Something occurred though. And you couldn’t complain when he had you pinned to the couch, hands roving your body, breathing down your neck, “Oh god, missed you s’much, so damn cold most of the time.”

His toned thighs held yours spread out, hot length pressed to your core, only thin pairs of underwear as a barrier. Things were getting wet down there every rut of his hips. Bucky moaned in frustration, almost trying to bury himself in your skin.

Grabbing scruffy chin you refocused hazy eyes to you. Softly you murmured, “Slow down handsome. I’m not going anywhere. You okay?” Bucky blinked a bit and blushed, sheepishly apologizing with closed eyes, “I- baby- sorry. I don’t know either, jus’ want you. Life’s too short.”

You narrowed your eyes and prodded, “Don’t rush through something you’re not ready for yet.”

Bucky’s blues peered dead into your being this time as he swore, “Been living in fear since I got brought back. I know that I want you, and god it feels Fuckin’ good.” You kissed him passionately after that, tightening your thighs around trim waist.

Bucky hiccuped and heaved when he spilled all over your clothed cunt, sweetly begging for more. You scratched softly at his scalp, ushering the needy thing along. The brunette slid against his own spend and your slick panties, breath hitching. He whined, “S’good, s’good, wet, ff-fuck!”

You ended up spasming and cumming on Buck’s fourth orgasm, so goddamn slick between the pair of you now. He shook down to his toes, holding you tight as he mewled, “Oh god, oh god, fffucking hurts, can’t stop, baby y-ya feel s’good.”

Poor baby had milked himself dry after two more loads, gasping and making the prettiest little hitched noises. You’d led the pliant super soldier to the shower and tended to him, Buck was out to the park after all that intense sensation, hell, sensuality.

He’d softly thank you over and over again between apologies, until the big teddy fell asleep in your arms, puffing softly. Buck wouldn’t have a nightmare that night. Nor many another night after wearing himself out.

No penetration yet, but fucking close. He wasn’t quite ready for that. You knew he was in some sort of phase, spurred on by whatever occurred in Madripoor. He wouldn’t elaborate but said it made him want human touch again. He’d fess up when he was ready, because then you’d let the needy baby fuck.

Walking into your apartment with a sprawled Bucky red faced and teary made you wonder if he was ready. His cock was red and obscenely engorged, leaking copious precum, balls just as heavy looking. The soldier had pushed his briefs down and looked like he’d been at it for awhile based on the redness and his sweaty chest. You swallowed back some drool. Fuck.

“Honey? Bucky? What’s going on?”

A divine whimper graced your senses. His lashes were thick and clumped from tears. Bucky whined, “Need you, my h-hands, fuck!” He bit down on his lip roughly, obviously frustrated. Blood dribbled down Buck’s stubbled chin.

Dropping your stuff and bolting over to your lover had him barely relax, hiccuping a bit. You straddled his lap, careful not to irritate or stimulate too much. Grabbing his gorgeous face with two hands you stared calmly, as one would to a child coming down from a tantrum, “Baby. Need you to take a couple breaths and tell me what’s going on.”

His chest stuttered, breath thin, you instructing some box breathing, counting for Bucky. You could feel him relax underneath you, pulse lowering, that residual twitching dying down. Your lover blinked a couple of times, lips pulled into a frown.

Now gently scratching his scalp you tried again, “Can you tell me what’s going on sweetheart? Something happened in Madripoor. I want to help, I can help if you just talk baby boy.”

His gaze held your own, a gritting of his jaw and slow exhale. Bucky’s mismatched hands slid carefully up the tops of your thighs to grip your hips. The brunette rasped, “We did a ploy. I played…him..to get information we needed. Whole set up with Zemo trying to sell me. It reminded me of my,” he gulped, “other uses.”

“Oh fuck, I’m sorry, no,” you rambled while pulling him in closer. Bucky eased back and shook his head, “You make it easier. I just…I..I have trouble doing anything without orders right now. I’ve been too- ugh fuck- embarrassed to say anything. But goddamn if I’m not horny all the time, it’s so twisted.” He tucked wet lashes against your neck, steadying his breathing.

You did some deductions in your head. Bucky had been sating any sort of carnal urges on his own. The little ploy had switched that button deep in Buck’s brain that he needed orders to cum. No wonder he’d been so needy, begging you for release, your lover had been in a mindfuck for two months.

You cooed, “Oh Buck, you can tell me anything, c’mon now. I’m not shaming you one bit. If we need to work through this we will.” Poor thing looked like he was going to cry again, nipping that swollen bottom lip. You shoved your thumb between those pretty lips and hummed, “Stop beating yourself up. I’m more than happy to order my handsome boy around.”

Bucky had instinctively opened to accept your digit, cheeks flaming harder than before. You softly pressed down on his tongue, the brunette drooling and jerking underneath you. The tension seemed to melt out of his body with this one authoritative action.

“Such a sweetheart, can’t help it, don’t worry, we’ll get you back in charge in no time. But just relax for now,” you swiped a tear away, “I’m not going to hurt a hair on your pretty head. Thank you for telling me.”

He whined around your thumb, more and more drool leaking onto a strong chest. You hummed, “I’m going to suck your cock.” It felt almost dirty but Bucky whimpering around your thumb was a relief, a gargled, “Pleaaaaseee.”

Sliding your thumb out of his puffy lips, Bucky made another pitiful noise at the loss. When your slick thumb swirled around his purpling cockhead the brunette shouted in surprise, hands gripping into the couch cushions.

“Going to suck your cock and you’re gonna love it, pretty boy,” you cooed, breathing over where he needed it most. A dollop of pre dribbled out, your tongue lapping it up gently. Buck’s thighs twitched and he moaned, throwing his head back. The cushion ripped on his left side.

You swirled your tongue around the bulbous tip, lapping on the underside just to hear him gasp your name. Popping off you rasped, “Grab my hair, you can move me to your pace.” He nodded disjointedly, flesh hand ever so carefully rerouting to your ponytail.

You began to bob down the length on him, other hand crawling up to caress and gently squeeze his hefty balls. Poor Buck, all backed up. He needed to cum bad. His voice came out as a thin whine, “Ohaaaahhh- wha- I’ve never.” You couldn’t help but smile at being his first.

Satisfaction that no one forcibly took this intimate act from him, not to mention you beat out likely someone’s great grandmother to suck the great Bucky Barnes’ dick. Licking and humming on a vein had your own throat stretching and slick, drool collecting around your obscenely stretched lips.

You fucking loved sucking cock. Especially such a big boy’s like Bucky’s. His hips jerked, forcing the blunt tip down your throat, you finally swallowing him down the best you could. Swallow swallow swallow, this was for your baby. Bucky’s built chest shuddered with his staccato breath, babbling, “So good baby s’good s’good, ohmyfuck.”

He whined again when you came up for air, drooling and heaving over that gorgeous prick. Bucky whimpered, “You look pretty, can I cum? Soon? Please?” You nodded, voice hoarse, “No more deep but I want you to fill my throat with all that cum. You have all the permission, actually, an order to cum.”

It didn’t take long of you humming and shallowly bobbing on his rapidly swelling cock for the first load to come. Bucky’s heavy balls contracted and drew tight under your palm, sending hot seed down your throat. You eagerly swallowed, sucking harder if anything. Bucky moaned and cried, squirming, legs sluttily spreading by the second climax.

You so desperately wanted to fuck around with that tender skin behind his balls but stuck to rolling and squeezing. You suckled on the crown, flicking tongue at the quickest speed, the poor thing warning with a sob, “Again!” He filled your mouth up this round, a fucking surprise, damn super soldiers. Dutifully gulping it again you slurped up excess drool and slowed the pace until Bucky was shying away, mewling.

Gently tucking him back in you wiped your mouth, laughing softly at the drool covering your blouse. God knows how wet your panties were. Bucky panted and hugged you oh-so-tight, warbling the cutest thanks. Wrapping back around Buck you curled the hair growing out around his ears and pressed little kisses to his cheeks.

“I’ve got you baby, we can do orders until you’re up to par. Feeling better?”

He rasped softly, “So much better, god, thank you.”

“No need, I love you. You know that. I’m quite satisfied I was the first to give you head.”

Pressing your lips to another stray tear he repeated it back, “Love you too, angel.” He smiled dopily, “The last too, that mouth works wonders.”

[cryinginmyroomsposts]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

pairing: Hyunjin x fem!reader

tags: angst, fluff in ending, dancer Hyunjin, non-idol!au, college au, swearing

summary: Being in the coveted dance team of the university was no small feat. After being in the team for a whole year, you find yourself about to participate in a prestigious inter-college competition for Duet performance with none other than the college IT boy and dance team captain- Hyunjin. You'd spent one year suppressing your big fat crush on the charming boy, but now that you find yourself dancing in his arms, he just might paint you golden.

wordcount: 6.4k

Note: This can be read as a one-shot but I was kind of expanding on the universe from the Lee Know oneshot Mr Gorgeous.

masterlist

Let me know your thoughts and feedback.

It was a nice Sunday morning and like every college student, all you wanted to do was sleep in. But unlike every student, you’re part of the university dance team. From the outside looking in, it was the most glamorous group to be a part of. Being a part of the team inherently gave you the highest social status on campus. You got special exemptions from certain tests and even privileges for missing mandatory events.

Little did they know that all the shine comes with a mountain of hard work. Getting into the dance team itself was a major task lasting 5 entire rounds of selections in multiple genres, solo and group showcase. And once you make it, there is no room for complacency. The team did at least three performances a month- in-house and external. So the only constant in your lives was practice sessions, assignments and sleepless nights.

For being the most desired group on campus, the dance team never got the time to do any of the popular kid things, apart from the validation itself. Except for the dance team co-captain, of course. Hwang Hyunjin will not let busy schedules and tiring practices stop him from being the campus IT boy. Nobody, literally nobody, is privy to his charms.

Including you.

Despite a lifetime of training in dance, the primary reason you tried out for the dance team was Hyunjin. You still remember the goosebumps on your skin and the way your jaw was on the floor the entire time he was on stage. On the day of your freshman orientation a year ago, you had joined hundreds gathered in the amphitheatre to see the dance team perform. The then sophomore, Hyunjin along with his friend Lino (Lee Minho), had been the stars of the show. The entire team, including the charming ex-captain- Chris, were immaculate. The performance was so power-packed mixed with equal parts grace and emotions. While the boys had done a hip-hop rendition, the girls had taken a contemporary approach. The two eventually collided to meet in the modern-pop genre for the finale. You decided then to join the dance team, so you did a few months later.

Although you should’ve decided against harbouring a huge crush on said It-boy. In the first two shows after making the team, you were nothing but a blubbering mess. It took all of your conscious energy to not stammer every time he so much as looked at you. Ultimately, you mellowed down, or maybe the reality of seeing Hyunjin woo more than half the campus with his charms and leave a trail of broken hearts got to you.

You still respected him as a dancer, it’s hard not to when he oozes power, grace and sometimes the literal demon while dancing. His on-stage persona was almost entirely different from the idiot who runs around pissing off his Co-captain Minho, or constantly trying to borderline harass the newest and youngest addition to the team- Jeongin.

Your phone alarm starts ringing bringing you back to reality- Sunday morning rehearsal. You silence it before it disturbs your roommates’ precious sleep. Trying your best to tiptoe your way around the dorm room, getting ready and after grabbing a granola bar from your desk, you make your way to the practice room.

On the way you meet your favourite person on the team- Felix (truth be told he’s everyone’s favourite).

“Hii Y/n.” He waves furiously giggling as he walks up to you.

“Hi Felix” you giggle back, simply because it’s impossible not to get affected by his infectious joy.

“How are you so cheerful at 6:30 AM?” You ask as he gives you a side hug. He just shrugs and skips alongside you to the practice room. You let out a little laugh at the little ball of sunshine that is Felix as he starts animatedly telling you random stories.

The practice room is in shambles. You and Felix exchange a flabbergasted look at each other and look around the room again. Everyone is crowded in the centre and talking over one another.

“Y/N! Come here. Fast.” You hear your Sumi, your teammate, call from somewhere amidst the chaos. When the team starts noticing you enter the room, they fall silent. They move back from crowding in the centre and you realise all eyes are switching between you and Sumi who is holding a paper in her hands.

“What’s going on?”

Sumi gulps and hands over the paper to you.

Inter-College Dance Competition Category: Duet Participants: Hyunjin and Y/N

Shit. Holy shit.

“Morning guys.”

The voice startled you. You whip your head to see Hyunjin enter the room, his duffel bag on his shoulder, clothes crumpled, and hair in a messy bun. Yet he looked ethereal.

He looks at you and smiles. “Oh Y/n, you’ve heard the news. Good, we can get down to the details then.”

Details? What details? Oh, right dance.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Sure.” You finally manage with a nod.

“Alright guys let's start, we’ll do a couple run-throughs till noon, take a break and convene here at 4:30pm to get ready for the show. Finally, we go up there and rock the crowd. Sound like a plan?”

Everyone cheers and you nod, still processing the fact that you had been chosen to dance a duet with Hyunjin. Not just any performance but the biggest inter-college competition in the state. With Hyunjin. A duet. You. And Hyunjin. Good god it’s going to be a ride.

The team goes into a practised routine of rehearsals, chaos, more rehearsals and even more chaos.

At 1 PM you’re glad you can finally rest for a few hours before the performance. The evening rolls in, and you head to the green room. One by one, the girls start getting ready and the green room is already chaotic but becomes a full-blown circus once the boys crowd in.

From your place, you watch as Hyunjin hugs Jeongin so tight that the poor junior looks like he could die. Lino is sitting in his favourite corner (he has one everywhere he goes), cuddled up with his girlfriend- man has been the biggest simp since they got together a month ago. Felix is going around giving everyone motivation and cheering them up- typical Felix. He hugs you so tight and warm, you can feel the nerves physically leave you. Then there’s Yeji and Lia, discussing choreo parts with Sumi and others. The air in here is infectious, everyone is equal parts excited and nervous.

The performance goes by in a whizz, the adrenaline rushing through your entire body as you stand on stage witnessing your friends, classmates, seniors and juniors in the crowds enjoying the performance.

You feel alive.

Afterwards, you change out of the costume into your sweats and meet all your classmates who had come backstage to support you. The gratitude that fills your chest leaves you emotional.

You give Jeongin a tight hug, congratulating him on his official performance as part of the team. Even if he hates the hug, he gracefully accepts it and smiles wide. You were very entirely endeared by his cuteness- everyone was. Specifically his super fan Hyunjin.

Think of the devil and watch as he walks to where you and Jeongin are. Even though you squished down your tiny crush, you've always felt nervous around him- simply because he is Hwang Hyunjin. Now the impending performance and the sheer idea of having to spend weeks practising with Hyunjin- one on one, is doing no help to your nerves.

"Jeonginahhhhh," he squeals and you step back as he hugs the younger member. Jeongin tries his best to smile and endure it but fails, making you crack up.

"Hi Y/N," Hyunjin says, finally letting the younger one go free finally and turning to you.

"Hey, Hyunjin. Amazing performance." You manage to say, trying to keep your nerves at bay.

"Thanks. You did well too." He flashes his smile, his fringe falling to his face and his eye twinkling as his cheeks light up.

There goes any attempt of calming your nerves.

Hyunjin continues to shower Jeongin with compliments, rightfully so, and you watch how he looks carefree and young as the latter is glowing in pride and embarrassment.

Right as you turn to take your leave, Hyujin calls your name.

"Yeah?"

"We need to discuss the performance, when can we meet about that?"

The frown on your face turns up before you realise it and he laughs.

"I get it. I need a break too. Maybe we can meet on Friday evening?"

"Yeah, sure. That works for me."

"It's a date."

A what?

But before you can mull over what he meant, your friends drag you out of the green room to celebrate. You were glad for the welcome distraction. Especially watching Seungmin and Yumi constantly fight over everything as you and Jisung sit there laughing at their antics.

----------

"Y/n, You can do this! It is just dancing. You've been doing this your whole life. Well, not dancing with Hyunjin, but the semantics don't matter. You can still do this. It is just called a duet, maybe the two of you will not even be on stage at the same time. Hyunjin is a busy guy, he might just ask you to do your own choreo for your part. Y/n, I know you're gonna sla-"

"Y/n, I will MURDER you if you don't get out of the bathroom right fucking now."

Yumi's voice breaks you out of the pep-talk you were giving yourself in the bathroom mirror. You give yourself one final thumbs up and head out to see a fuming Yumi standing on the other side.

She grunts like a wounded dog and you giggle as you hug her in apology.

"Sorry. Anyways, I'm heading out now. Haffun." You pick up your bags and start walking toward the dorm room door.

"I will. All the best for your meeting. And Y/n?" You hum looking at her.

"It'll be alright, don't stress out too much." You nod appreciatively and wave as you head out.

The whole way to the practice room, you keep repeating the pep-talk to yourself. You've spent a good amount of time in the last four days telling yourself that the date comment is just a habit for the pro-charmer Hyunjin and it means nothing. You might've also spent a good few hours warning yourself not to develop any embarrassing feelings for him.

When you enter the practice room, you see Hyunjin, Yeji and Minho sitting in a corner discussing something. As the only seniors in the group, they make all the logistical and creative decisions for the team. Minho spots you first, smiling politely and Yeji follows suit. Hyunjin nods in your direction as the three of them start to pack up.

Yeji and Minho make small talk with you before leaving and you're left alone with Hyunjin. He sits down in the centre of the room, in front of the full-length mirror, and ties his shoes as you walk toward him. He's in his usual sweats and hair tied in a half-up bun.

"Hi." You mutter as you sit down next to him.

"Hello. Had a nice break?" He smiles and you nod.

"Yeah, slept like a pig. What about you?"

"Meh, I mean I got a break from the dancing but still... senior year you know. I'm just perpetually tired." He does look tired and you nod sympathetically.

"Well, I'm sure you'll fare better than me as a senior next year." He says with a smile, sounding sincere and it takes everything in you not to blush.

So much for no embarrassing feelings.

"Oh, sure. Don't downplay your achievements. No one could lead this team the way you do." You were speaking the facts but seeing him smile wide and bright made your stomach flip.

"Aye you don't need to butter me up anymore, you got the part in the biggest competition now."

"Hey, I wasn't trying to butter you up." You feign mock offence.

"Okay, I believe you. Anyway, let's start with the concept."

Please say anything except sexy or love.

"So the concept is love- more like finding your way back to love. So I thought we would do something where estranged exes find their way back to each other kind of."

Big time fuck.

You nod and smile as you process his words and what this might mean for said embarrassing feelings (which you will not harbour). You decide to be a professional and only focus on dancing.

"Yeah, that sounds cool. Do you have any choreo already planned?"

"Yeah." He pulls up his laptop from his bag and shows a video. Hyunjin and Yeji are dancing in the video, the dance is… touchy to say the least. You refuse to acknowledge the churning in your stomach as you see the two of them dance closely.

The dance is split into three parts- starting with solos expressing the regret and anger that both parties have, proceeding to a mirroring sequence where their anguish aligns and finally, the slow dance symbolising the happy ending.

Once the dance ends you stare at the blank screen for a minute before turning to see that Hyunjin is expectantly staring at you.

“So?” He asks with raised eyebrows and a small smile playing on his lips.

“Umm it’s amazing. As usual.” He smiles and waves away the compliment.

“I have one doubt though, why didn’t Yeji and you perform this?” Your voice comes out low and quiet. A part of you hopes your question doesn't make him rethink and choose Yeji instead- for dance, of course.

He shakes his head sidewise, a shy smile on his face. "It didn't feel right."

"Oh."

"Alright, so I can start teaching you the common parts and we can modify according to our needs as we go. I'll leave the solo to you. Okay?"

"Yeah cool."

Lord knows how this is going to end.

----------

"Hyunjin, let's do this once more and then we'll move on to the next part." You reprimand a whining Hyunjin, lying face-first on the practice room floor. It's the fourth day of practice sessions and both of you are running out of fuel quickly.

"Y/n, you're doing good. Let's just take a break and start with the slow dance part." He whines turning to face you with a pout.

You want to give in to his antics but you hold your stand. Partly because it is a mirroring dance and you desperately want to be completely in sync with Hyunjin (the man dances like he is the god of dance). Another part because you wanted to delay the thought of starting the next section of the performance because the thought of being close to Hyunjin and doing the slow-contemporary dance section made your legs turn to slime.

"No. I just want to perfect this. Just onceeee. Then we can take a break, and start the- the other part." You flash him your best puppy-dog face and he sighs as he gets up from the floor.

"Alright let's do this but I don't know what you are worrying about, you're perfect already."

Cue embarrassing butterflies and feelings you definitely do not feel.

And like clockwork, the two of you start moving according to the beat. You had watched Hyunjin's every minuscule movement and so had he. Now you are in so much sync that the perfectionist in both of you is almost entirely satiated.

"Okay... that was brilliant Y/n. Please let's take a break and start learning the next part." He says taking deep breaths and chugging water. You can barely nod as you catch your breath.

The next hour is spent eating the dinner you ordered a while back, reviewing the latest run and the choreography video.

"What are you thinking for the solo part?" He asks between bites and you have to admit he looks cute with his cheeks filled as he chews and frowns as he enjoys the food.

"I'm thinking of sticking to my roots- just contemporary."

"Oh that's good. You're good at contemporary."

"I- Thanks." He smiles.

"You should do something similar to your audition performance."

You nod involuntarily and then his words sink in. "You remember that?"

"Yeah, I do. It was an amazing performance Y/N. I'm sure everyone remembers it." You scoff and he raises an eyebrow.

"Minho asked me if I am new, last month."

He laughs. "No no, that's just his messed up humour sense. But anyways, I speak for myself when I say it's hard to forget such a good performance. And you."

You end up swallowing a big bite of your burger and start to choke as he just smiles and hands you the water bottle. Before you can say anything, he is up for the next part.

It starts fine, the two of you slowly moving toward each other with each step- from mirroring each other to reaching out. Then comes the trickier part. It starts with your hands brushing, the two of you circling around the other, looking into each other. Obviously, you look anywhere but his face. Because staring into those eyes will not do anything good for you. He doesn't say anything if he notices the little flinches or lack of eye contact.

The two of you keep practising the moves over and over until both of you are satisfied with the flow. Now it is becoming increasingly hard for you to focus on these details. Especially considering how your heart is beating in your ears with every step the two of you take.

He needs to hold your hand and move it in a curve while his other hand is on your hip. And it gets worse, as the following step requires you to turn and face him, your hands on his neck, his on your hips as you bend away and come back to his embrace. He suggests going over each movement slowly and it worsens your plight. You hear his voice from a distance as you do your best not to stare at his lips that are inches away. You can see that he is saying something and you find yourself nodding along. You do the step according to his counts and return to his embrace.

This is when you do the mistake of looking up at his face, he is staring down at you too. You see the black fringes that have escaped the bun, sticking to the corners of his face. His forehead is lined with beads of sweat, thin darkened eyes, and plump lips slightly apart. The clock ticks somewhere but neither of you seems to realise, until eventually, you snap back into sense- the inherent panic of feelings stirring in your stomach.

You step back and look at your feet, he stays still and starts fidgeting with his hands.

"I- Um... It's almost 10. I- I should head back." You stammer, slowly looking at him. He looks at you for a second and nods. You nod and start collecting your things.

"Do you want me to walk you back?" And thud goes your water bottle, slipping from your hands- entirely due to your clumsiness and nothing to do with butterflies, of course.

"Uh no not necessary. It's just a 5 min walk." You hope he looks disappointed but hope is a dangerous game for a fool trying to live in denial.

"Ok. Bye." He turns to his bag before you can say your bye and that's that.

------

"Two days. That's all we have for the performance! And this is when Hyunjin decides he can just go galivanting about and not show up to practice." You groan to yourself, standing in front of the full-length mirror in the practice room.

The last two weeks of practice have been a lot less eventful compared to the first. After the first day of doing the slow dance, things shifted between Hyunjin and you. Both of you became more distant and closer, at the same time. Some days you bickered like childhood besties, and on others, both of you walked around each other on eggshells. He often showed up to morning practice with crumpled clothes and messed up hair and your heart would drop to your stomach realising he must've spent the night with someone else. You would immediately reprimand yourself for making assumptions just to get your feelings in check.

And yet here you were, mind running in a million different directions as you figure he could be with anybody right now, while you sit in the musty old practice room at 7pm on a Saturday evening. These thoughts never helped, so you resort to your comfort zone- dancing.

And for the third time that evening, you go over your solo part and the rest of the dance. You are tired of dancing the same things so you start freestyling to your favourite tracks. Dancing always made you feel good, especially when you poured all your emotions out through your body. You lost yourself to the song, letting the beat and your body carry you away.

That's how you fail to notice Hyunjin's arrival until you get startled by the loud claps coming from the door. You whip your head around to see him standing with his go-to sweatshirt, duffel bag and hair in a bun. He is smiling wide, the kind that made his eyes small and cheeks full.

"Y/N, that was sooo goood. I've never seen you move like that till now. That was amazing, really!"

This boy made it so hard to live in denial with his charm, kind words and that smile. And that's why you can do nothing but smile and giggle like a little girl as you mutter a small thanks.

"Sorry, I got caught up in work. Have you been waiting long?" You watch as he puts his bag down and starts stretching and you see that his sweatshirt is inside out, and his hair is messier than you've ever seen. Here's the thing about this boy- he goes around breaking hearts without intending to. And here's the thing about unrequited crushes- you become somewhat of an Agatha Christie, just connecting all the randomest dots just to make up reasons to let your heart down again, it's almost a masochistic need. Logically, you knew better than to assume messy clothes meant anything of significance. But as a woman on a mission to prevent herself from falling deeper, you would grip onto anything that provides an anchor for your heart- even if it means you end up breaking your heart anyway.

And which is why you blurt out, "Why do you care if I wait... I'm sure you have better people to attend to anyway."

The piercing tone of your voice makes Hyunjin stop in his tracks and look at you through the mirror. The room is dead silent as you pick apart the skin in your cuticles in an attempt to keep the tears from falling and your heart from breaking further. Maybe it was the exhaustion, the all too familiar feeling of heartache that comes with unrequited love, but the shell you had so carefully maintained had come crashing down.

"Wha- What are you saying?" His voice comes soft and nervous. You do the mistake of looking up, through the mirror. You scoff and swallow the tears back, "No, nothing. I just- forget it. Let's practice."

"Are you sure? You just said something abou-"

"Can we just practice once and get over with this. I'm exhausted." You snap.

He just nods and proceeds to start the music. You don't look at him, not even during the mirroring sequence, he huffs a little too loudly at that. The run-through itself goes smoothly, until the last sequence. It's hard to do a romantic slow dance when you refuse to meet his eyes and keep flinching every time he touches you. Still, both of you push through. You get out of his clutches the second the song ends and start to pack your things.

"Y/N, why are you already packing?"

This boy makes it very hard not to get unreasonably angry at him because he doesn't let you hate him.

"It's almost 9 pm Hyunijn. I have been here since 6, I'm tired." He just nods and stays silent. You gather your things, throw your bag on your shoulder and leave. If he realises that this is the first time in two weeks you didn't wave or say bye enthusiastically like you usually do, he doesn't show it. If he realises that this is the first time in two weeks that he hasn't asked to walk you back to your dorm and you refused the offer like you usually do, he doesn't show it. The walk back to the dorm feels a lot heavier for the first time.

The next day is nothing short of a struggle, your eyes burning due to the incessant crying from the previous night, mind spinning everywhere and body weak. You were ashamed to have let your feelings mess you up so bad. Usually, you'd be extra careful to eat more and rest well during practice and performance times. This is probably the first time that you show up to the dress rehearsal with big bags beneath your eyes and feeling like a mess. It's not your first unrequited heartbreak, just the first time it feels this heavy and lonely.

The rehearsal is sullen- neither you nor Hyunjin makes any effort to talk. The tension in the air gets to the audiences for the day- Minho, Felix and Yeji. They exchange looks and try their best to engage both of you in some kind of conversation- it doesn't work. You put on the outfit and it makes you look decent despite your haggard state. The salt in the wound is how gorgeous Hyunjin looks in his outfit- not surprising, but still annoying considering he walked in looking downright homeless and sleep-deprived. The outfit doesn't hide the state of his face, yet he looks gorgeous. A week earlier both of you had been so excited to see the outfits, you even had hopes of Hyunjin finally seeing what is in front of his eyes. Yeah, stupid embarrassing feelings.

There are two full run-throughs, and the emotions until the last part is so enthralling to the audience. The three watching can see the tension flash as the two of you do your best to avoid each other's eyes and finish the dance. They don't press much, you're thankful for that. Getting out of the outfit, ready to head back to the dorm, you step out of the door only to find Hyunjin standing there- back in his oversized sweatshirt, messy hair and sullen expression. He always looked a lot younger and innocent when he wasn't performing, and you liked that about him- until now.

"Y/N, can I walk you to your dorm?" His voice quivers and he looks like an actual wounded puppy.

"Not needed." You avoid his gaze to evade giving in and walk away before he can retaliate. You always refused his offer knowing it was just another steep step right into disaster- as if the one already caused wasn't enough. You've also seen him pull the same gentlemanly moves with girls and boys across the campus and watch the poor suckers fall for him only to get burnt. Even after trying your best, you got burnt, you didn't need more reason.

------

"Y/N, can we just talk once before going on stage please," Hyunjin begs from the driver's seat. He is driving the two of you to the competition and the minute you sit down he says this.

"Let's just go. I have a headache." It wasn't a lie, but it felt bad rejecting him that way. The rest of the drive is silent, save for the faint music coming from the radio- which was annoyingly filled with love songs. After an hour's drive, you both arrive at the location. the entire place is filled with students from multiple universities across the state, all excited and dressed up, except for the two of you. You hate yourself for making this hard for both of you, especially when he did nothing actually wrong.

Stupid feelings.

"Stop fidgeting with your nails." Hyunjin snaps at you. He is sitting next to you in the green room- looking ethereal with makeup and costume on.

"I'm trying." You grunt back. There are ten minutes left for the performance and both of you are getting increasingly agitated.

"I'll help," is all he says before taking your hand in his and caging it there as looks toward the side of the stage. You try to protest but he clutches your hand pretty firmly.

"I won't burn you, stop squirming." His words effectively shut you up. You try to numb the feelings arising from his touch. You almost manage to do it until you realise he is rubbing circles around your palm. You're simultaneously calming down and getting more worked up. But he does manage to distract you till it's go-time. He gives you a small genuine smile and you nod, almost letting the tears fall. His face deflates but he immediately collects himself and goes into performance mode.

The music begins, you look out into the crowd, the nerves turn to excitement, and you feel alive. Hyunjin's solo leaves the crowd in awe. The audience goes wild during the mirroring sequence. But all the sound starts draining out as you move closer to him. You look at him, he looks at you, and your hands intertwine. The both of you move according to the beat- the only thing that exists right now is the music, Hyunjin and you. For the next minute he's yours and you're his. No one needs to know, the world could divide you later but for now, this was your sacred oasis.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and he reaches to brush it off in sync with the beat. His eyes sparkle, and there are a million emotions behind them. You want to hold on, you want to dance with him as long as you can. Both of you are in the tightest embrace you've ever been in, with shallow breaths, wet eyes and a big lump in your throat. The applause makes you break and look at the audience.

Neither of you speaks as you wait backstage for the last performance. You look everywhere but at him, trying to be as discreet as possible while rubbing the tears off your face. Eventually, all contestants are called up on stage. Hyunjin and you stand shoulder to shoulder, his palm brushing against yours but never reaching to hold on. The third and second places have been announced, the room is pulsing with tension and yet all you can think about is the man on your right.

You faintly hear your name, along with Hyunjin's, and it takes two seconds to realize that you've won the competition. What should've been the highest of highs of your life feels anti-climatic. You look up at him, both of you are smiling wide with teary eyes. You bear tears of fear and heartache, while he is probably teary-eyed on achieving this prestigious prize. The two of you collect the prize, congratulate fellow participants, and socialise with the other people there with practised smiles.

After an exhausting hour, the two of you are back in Hyunjin's car, still in outfits and makeup. He drives silently and you close your eyes fearing the tears will fall down otherwise. The car halts a while later as you've reached the campus. Both of you collect your things, take the cup and medal you won to the practice room and change out of the costumes.

Just as you turn to leave the room and head back to the dorms, he stops you with a hand on his wrist. You turn to question him but he doesn't look at you. He's locking the door with one hand as he holds on to you with the other. You roll your eyes.

"Hyunjin let me go."

He turns, now done with the lock, and starts walking forward as he drags you with him.

"Let me go, Hyunjin. I'm serious." He keeps walking, and you follow, until you've reached a room that looks like a storage room. He stops in front of the door and still doesn't let go of your hand. You're too confused to say anything although your head is buzzing with a million questions.

"When someone asks to walk you back, you should let them."

"Huh?" He turns to look at you, eyes dark and serious. He hasn't taken his makeup yet and he looks positively dangerous if not enthralling.

"I said, stop refusing when I ask to walk you back." His words are sharp and his voice is low.

"Why? What does that change?" The sting in your eye returns, you can't bare to look at him so you turn away.

But he holds your chin in his palm, the one that isn't holding your hand, and turns you to face him. "Y/N, I don't understand what I did wrong. Just please tell me, I'll do anything to make you happy."

"Why? Why do you want to make me happy? So that you can break my heart like you break everyone else's?" He looks shocked and the tears are now flowing desperately from your eyes.

"What are you even saying?"

"Hyunjin stop pretending... everyone knows that you just charm people and sleep around. Actually, it's not even your fault. I'm the idiot who knew all this and still let myself fall for you." You can feel your heart disintegrate and sincerely wish he'd let you go so that you can go hide in the comfort of your bed.

"What the fuck Y/N? Just 'cuz people say something doesn't make it true. I don't just go around flirting and sleeping with people." He's angry and you can hear it. You know he has the right to be but can't help your emotions. He is still holding your hand despite his anger, you note.

"Then where do you disappear off to every night? And why do you always show up in dishevelled clothes and messed up hair?" You sound stupid, now that the words are out of your mouth, but then no fool in love ever remains sane.

He sighs and throws his head back in frustration.

"You idiot. That- that's not because I'm fucking someone every night. It's- I go to.."

"To what Hyunjin?" Your patience is running low and he looks nervous.

He sighs. Letting your hand go, he opens the door to the storage room and turns the light on. It is an art studio, filled with paintings upon paintings. You turn to Hyunjin, more confused than before.

"This is my makeshift studio. A gallery owner has signed me on as the artist for their upcoming exhibition. I'm trying to get stuff done for that. It's next week. That's why I am always late to practice and why I look 'dishevelled'." He says quietly, with air quotes and a desperate tone in his voice.

"What?" To say you're surprised would be an understatement. You know he is an art major and that he paints, but all of this is new information. You look around the room once more, there are various kinds of paintings- places, flowers and even people.

"Yeah. I've been trying to show you my work for weeks now, that's why I keep asking to walk you back. I have always wanted to show you my work but didn't get the courage to talk to you personally till the practice." He looks nervous and his mouth forms into a pout. You just let out a laugh as more tears roll down your cheeks at the relief. "Why are you still crying?" He asks slowly as he wipes the tears away and you just laugh.

"So... you're not with someone else?"

He smiles now and shakes his head. "But I want to be..." Your eyes widen and the lump in your throat that was finally starting to dissolve comes back in full force. Seeing your face he starts to laugh.

He faces you, letting go of your hand to hold your face in both of his hands and leaning toward you. Your heart is beating in your chest.

"Dummy, it is you I like. Don't know how or when, but yeah..."

It appears that the act of having someone reciprocate our feelings can be perceived as rather endearing rather than embarrassing.

"Can I kiss you?" He asks slowly, his voice dangerously low.

"How are you so sure I like you back?"

He smirks at you and rolls his tongue in his inner cheek.

"Hmm... let's see how. You just acted like a crazy idiot for a week and told me it is because you thought I was fucking other people." Your face burns up in embarrassment as his smirk turns into a full smile. "Also, you get so extremely flustered every time I come close to you and your face is all red and cute, just like right now."

You close your eyes shut tight at his words, ready to combust.

"I didn't do a good job keeping my crush in control at all huh." You manage to say, slowly opening your eyes to see him smiling brightly.

"Absolutely not." The both of you laugh, he pulls your face closer and you hold onto his waist for balance. The lump of anxiety in your throat has turned into a plethora of butterflies.

"So can I kiss you or do you just want to keep staring at my lips like you do every time we dance."

"Oh shut up, Hyunjin."

He laughs and leans in but pulls back at the last minute. You let out a whine in protest.

"I- I just wanted to confirm, I like you and want to date you. Only you. Is that clear?" You just nod, breaking into a smile so big your jaw hurts.

"Also you might be the muse of my paintings."

"What? How many?"

He looks shy. "One?" You raise your eyebrows. "Okay, five."

"Hyunjin wha-"

You never get to finish the sentence as he takes your mouth in his and you've never loved rude interruptions before. Seems like wouldn't mind anything as long as you get to hold and be held by Hyunjin and dance with him through a thousand storms.

[va-3]

They're Injured

Masterlist

Joker:

Joker was always being hunted, shot at, and chased in car chases. Yes, you were always with him, and it technically was your job to sacrifice your life for his if it eventually came to such a point, but Mr. J had switched the roles. A gunfight had broken out in Mr. J's club. You'd repeated yourself at least ten times, yelling at Mr. J to get him to either leave or get down. Instead, he managed to switch roles and send you rolling under a table to watch him get shot in the shoulder. It goes to say that you were as pissed as you were worried, seeing that your greeting to him later was a sharp punch to the stomach followed by a passionate kiss. 

Captain Boomerang:

Digger was used to being in the line of fire, and was less than worried when he took a shot to the leg in a less than pleasant robbery. You, on the other hand, upon discovery of his wild adventure and injury, panicked in the most subtle way possible. Unfortunately, subtle in your dictionary was drive over to his house at 2am, kick down the door, scold him, and then proceed to break down crying. 

Deadshot:

In his line of work it was not unusual for him to be hunted in return, as was the occasional "battle-wound". You, on the other hand, found yourself worrying more than you should've. Death was a difficult enemy of mortals, not you, therefore you were entitled to the worry and fear that accompanied the blossoming of your relationship. Needless to say, you had him on a house lock-in for quite some time after his shoulder had been shot clean through. (snuggles were very much included)

El Diablo:

Injuries in battle were hard to avoid, as were near death experiences. You watched in horror as Chato shoved the ancient being towards the location of a lethally powerful charge. When it went off, you were nowhere to be found for a good few seconds. The team was confused until they heard you sobbing from behind the blasted ground, cradling an unconscious, severely injured, but alive Chato.

Killer Croc:

Waylon, bruised an battered after the battle with Enchantress, was pleasantly surprised when you body-slammed/bear-hugged him to near death. You'd never been so worried in your entire life, and although the injuries he sustained were little, your entire being was telling you he was gonna die. It was hard to explain that he was okay through your mix of blubbering and cursing. 

Harley Quinn:

When Harleen freed you from your solitary-confinement room, she was not herself. You were happy to see her, but the joy was quickly overrun with worry when you spotted the two burn marks on either side of her temple left behind by what you knew was electroshock. Concerned, you questioned her like an officer would a criminal until she gave out and let you tend to her wounds before fleeing the cursed institution(no regrets there). 

June Moone:

June's well being meant everything to you, any moment you felt she was in danger you try your hardest to keep her from it. But mental damage was something you could not fight, or shoot. June was tormented nightly by the dangerous being using her as a vessel, and it broke you to know that you could not do anything about it. Instead, you did your best to comfort her: held her close, calmed her with kisses, and gave her the love she needed to mend her broken soul. With your love, June felt the power to face anything. 

Enchantress: 

The mortal soldier held your love's heart in his hands, threatening to crush everything you loved for something he loved. When she refused, your eyes flashed with panic. The soldier began to crush her heart, causing her to shriek with unbelievable pain. Terrified of losing the only person who saw you as a blessing, you snatched the heart from the soldier in a bolt of light. In the flash of light, time slowed around you, giving you just enough time to sway Enchantress' spirit from the human girls body and into one you summoned from your own power. You and your lover backed away from the mortal and his human lover, happy to be safe.

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