#IT IS CRUCIAL HE IS AN FUCKING ASSHOLE

[thebrainrotsreal]

I need you to know every since I saw this reblog I have losing my fucking MIND RIGHT NOW HOLY SHIT????? YOU GET IT. YOU GET IT FR THIS IS INCREDIBLE. I am losing my mind. I am fucking pacing. I want to scream to the very heavens in excitement. Shrieking and foaming at the mouth because yes yes yes yes yes yes.

Calling him Wasp? Yes. I love him. I love that. I was also thinking this, but oh my goodness now it's tickling me because hehe "W" being upside down "M", and vice versa just like how Wasp and Mark are arguable the same "letter" AKA person just inverted morals. I love them so much, your honor.

I LOVE THE WAY YOU THOUGHT OF THE PLOT BECAUSE IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE. I can see Cecil capturing Wasp if Angstrom accidentally openeed one last portal and Wasp came through. Wasp says something implying he's fought/killed/etc. I can absolutely see Cecil using Wasp a potential weapon-in-training (tortured to obey), since they are seriously lacking in the super powered forces right now. Wasp is fucking feral about this double torture because a) forced to help and/or be nice? He would rather bite someone's throat out, then b) his fucking pride of being captured by human forces he once killed.

I seriously want to reply of these because they're incredible but please picture me like so, in complete and utter excitement for every single thing you just said because i love this AU with all my heart and soul and I am so happy I went through with posting it.

I am actively short circuiting in complete and utter excitement because yes yes yes yes. I know what I am drawing next oh my goodness holy shit.

"they both hate each other so much, but it merges with hating themselves bc. they're the same person. what hurts one, hurts the other, no matter how different they are"

YES YES YES EXACTLY! There is this self loathing that exists when they're so callous and violent towards each other, and it's off-putting to witness. I think similar to how Wasp is jarring because he acts exactly like Mark except for the one almost invisible (at times) difference, it's jarring to see Mark being so angry at someone else, and so constantly full of loathing whenever Wasp is around. Even if it's a low simmering annoyance, a deep exhaustion, he's so callous and biting, in a way he would never be with anyone else. They just set each other off so instantly. If Mark (or Wasp) come back with a bruise, you don't know if it's hero related or because he was fighting with the other "twin".

Bonus points if: much like how Nolan flies is eerie because it's too smooth (while Mark makes poses that feel more natural) when he's around Wasp and pissed the fuck off, he flies like Nolan and Wasp do--entirely too smooth, unnatural-looking.

"mark "i can fix him" grayson vs mark "i can make him worse" grayson. one of them will drag the other to their side kicking and screaming"

YES YES YES AND AGAIN YES. EXACTLY THE POINT OF THE AU. I think if Wasp and Mark are ever working together on some hero mission, (Wasp being allowed to kill with monsters/creatures/etc) Wasp is scarily efficient because he aims to kill from the get go. And in a way, he's showing off. Showing how he's better in some way against Mark, because this Mark is so weak in his eyes, but he has his mom, his friends, his school, human food at a moment's notice (wholly believe Viltramite destruction means bye bye milkshakes) but the one thing Wasp has is violence and he wields it well. He refuses to let it go.

He wants Mark to crumble to see this way to validate everything he's done, so he's right, and what he's lost along the way was worth it.

I gotta imagine if Mark was ever struggling with an enemy (and Wasp was certain he wouldn't die or it's way earlier into their dynamic before the insane protectiveness while still full of hatred), he'd pull and Nolan and watch Mark, waiting for Mark to be deadly, to be something more (just like he is), and become even angrier when Mark wins at the last second, or struggles for far too long. He would probably ending the fight himself, scoffing at this Mark and hating him so much he can barely breath, choking on ire (because how dare you have so much more than me and be WEAK-). This could be how they meet???

"imagine wasp gifting mark other people's body parts like a cat leaving a dead bird in your room. he hands him a still beating heart, and thinks, hateful, "you had this coming. you're keeping me here against my will. deal with the consequences"... they grow to care for each other but in a very fucked up way. they still hate each other don't get me wrong, but they would now kill for each other"

Oh my goodness, this is so fucked up, I love it. Wasp hands him a still beating heart, a hand, an ear, a hand still twitching. I can see it, too. Wasp seeing where ever Mark is and gesturing come here and then shoving at it him, savoring when Mark pales in horror. Bonus points for imagery if Wasp's hands are bloody and in the process of catching the bloody whatever-it-is Mark's hands get bloody too.

Working with the other point, I can totally see Rex seeing this and being horrified and yelling at Wasp, "What the fuck is wrong with you?! You know what-", and Mark just instantly shoving out a hand to make Rex back off, glaring venomously. "Don't. Just Don't." And almost wanting to flinch at Mark's tone. Remembering this is Nolan's son for a second. What he can do.

Dysfunctional ass siblings with cain instinct pumped up to actively homicidal levels, actually lethal. Full of deep, deep loathing, and yet "lay a hair on him and I'll fucking kill you".

they can finish each other's sentences. they are not happy about it

YES YES YES YES YES. I KEEP SAYING THAT BUT IM LEGIT SOOO EXCITED AND DELIGHTED. They're so alike. Wasp and Mark go to comic con's together on a truce, they're delighted by the same issues and same shows. Especially Wasp, who might not be able to partake in comics/shows with the whole destruction and enslavement of humanity, and Mark (even tho he hates it) has someone to talk to about the stuff he likes. They both hate it.

They make the same jokes/same humor, they can guess each other's punchlines and end up snorting before it's even said. They both hate it so much.

They kick or punch each other out of the blue, too. Because they know they can take it out on each other, and it still hurts, this kind of self loathing, but it's so palpable, so poisonous.

OH AND THIS TOO:

wasp: oh, mom is still alive. y'know, i killed her in my universe. i could do it again in yours

mark, slowly turning around with a murderous look in his face: what.

I gotta imagine Wasp is unsettled by seeing Debbie alive again. Avoids Oliver. He can't stand whatever this is. Avoids them completely. He acts disgusted by them, but he's unsettled and scared of confronting the taste of regret and guilt. How it could consume him but he's not weak like that, he's not supposed to be, he can't be that way. Not him, he's stronger than that, he killed to be. He could kill her again, and he repeats to himself to be something smoothing. I could kill you, a soothing mantra to remind himself he is still strong.

ALSO YES EXACTLY. WASP BEING DRAGGED KICKED AND SCREAMING BY THE DAMN HAIR INTO REDEMPTION.

thank you so much for adding on because i am actively running on the fucking walls in incomprehensible excitement and utter delight. YOU GET IT.

EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK, EVIL MARK!!! I want to be coherent about this season but please picture me foaming at the mouth and running on the walls. S2 being what if Mark's just like his Dad? Insanity. I love this show. Anyways, AU where an Evil!Mark tries to make Our!Mark worse, and Our!Mark tries to make the other better. Something something confronting your idea of the worst version of oneself. Plus, tweaked black and yellow costume because I saw it and immediately went murder hornet lookin' ass and knew I had to draw it. Evil ass Mark. Horrible. I think he should be dragged kicking and screaming into redemption.

[grimmjowjaegerjaquez]

thinking about changing uriel's resurreccion from the. pavo real/fenix idea i had and just makin him paloma instead.

[isaacathom]

i have a whole OC love triangle situation going on off to the side that is Very YA if the girl in the middle of it was a gay man. which is a delight for me personally.

the bit i find the most enjoyable is that one of the guys, Dylan, spends the whooooole story disliking the other guy, Leon. somethings off about that guy, and he cant figure out what. and dylans a very ~rational~ guy, so hes like theres got to be a logical reason for me to get the ick from his dude. theres gotta be something.

and eventually Leon is revealed to be a spy for the other side in a civil war, and Dylan's like yes! i knew it!

to which a bystander to this absolute shitshow goes 'no i think you were just jealous he was fucking Neven, actually. this is unrelated'

[strawberry-nugget]

Synopsis: Your stomach drops. Because he’s right. You didn’t mean for this to go this far—but you didn’t stop it either. And he knows it. He knew that one day you’d crack.

Pairings: Izuku x reader, married!Bakugo x reader

Tags // Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, smut, office sex, p in v sex, cheating (but not really, no spoilers tho), m! masturbation, sleazy-ish Izuku, talks about reader & katsuki having a baby, slight angst (for Izuku) bc of the ending, big huge plot twist, do NOT hate me for this lol. Bear with me and don’t click out😂 All characters are 20+

Izuku is out of breath. Sweating beady droplets down his face, chest, his glasses are foggy even if they’re still pushed to his forehead, one handle almost broken—he knows he’s gonna have to need a new pair by tomorrow. However with his chest heaving underneath you, he couldn’t care less.

“We—ngggggh— shouldn’t be doing this” you gasp

“Oh, oh you’re— i fffucking know”

Fundamentally, you’re right. You know it deep down, in your gut that this is sinister, evil. You're both two huge iredeemable assholes for doing this. Because there’s a small crucial detail that stalls between you right now. Katsuki is your husband. Izuku’s best childhood friend. There should be no excuse as to why he’s balls deep inside you right fucking now.

You were only supposed to drop by to try and talk to him, convince him to accept Katsuki’s offer to take that enhanced suit and be a hero again. Not fuck him like your life depends on it.

How you ended up on top of him, bouncing on his lap, his leaking dick seethed inside you in his cluttered, dim office, straddling him in his goddamn work chair like it’s the most natural thing in the world, is beyond both of you.

You’ve always been kind to him. Since basically infancy, you always stood up for him. Always helped him, sweet talked him. He was the only person who knew you wanted to get into UA and at one point you were the only person other than All Might who knew how he obtained his quirk. You always put yourself between him and Katsuki, often scolding the blond for his behavior, even stopped hanging out with him after the swan dive line. It was only natural that he formed a crush on you. One that he tried to hide away and shove inside himself for years.

You never told him that you’d shared your first kiss with Katsuki in middle school (and many others after that, before and after the swan dive incident), never talked to him about your first time with Katsuki in his dorm before the war. You just popped up in public together that one day in the hospital and absolutely demolished his heart. He had to be the best man at your wedding because he was your oldest friend, for both of you.

And now? Now you whimper into his shoulder as his hands crush your hips down harder, and Izuku let’s out something like a chuckle. Soft. Dry. Bitter.

“Oh, now you feel bad?” he pants, head tilting back against the worn leather. “Didn’t seem like you felt bad when you were begging for it two minutes ago.”

“Izuku—”

He cuts you off with a sharp thrust, his smirk cruel but so tired. "Nah. You don’t get to act shocked. You came here wearing that pretty little blouse. You sat on my couch like you knew I’d crack. So don’t pretend this just... happened.” His fingers tag on the ripped hem of your blouse, chuckling down on how it looks like a subtle reminder of what it once was.

Your stomach drops. Because he’s right. You didn’t mean for this to go this far—but you didn’t stop it either.

And he knows it.

He knew that one day you’d crack.

Now, your pretty pussy, the one he could only ever imagine, is taking every thrust of his cock like a champ. It’s sucking him in your saccharine walls. Snug and warm and perfect.

His hands snake up your spine, slow and possessive, like he wants to memorize the way you feel under his fingertips. Like he wants to carve you into his memory before it all goes to shit.

“I should stop,” he says. “I want to stop. But I can’t. Not with you like this. Not when I’ve wanted you longer than I’ve wanted anything.”

You don’t reply.

Both you and Katsuki have tried to push him to Ochako, given him lectures on how he should man up and just do it. And in all righteousness he should have. He thinks he ought to have accepted that you are married to his best friend for years. That you were planning an even bigger future than just your marriage. Setting up a nursery. Last week, when he visited him at UA. Katsuki told him you were trying for kids.

For fuck’s sake he should have gone for Ochako. Melissa. Anyone else but you. He should have let it go.

But no one could ever have one up on you.

Izuku has always wanted you.

It’s not just lust. It’s not just love. It’s something uglier than that. Something deeper, deformed with claws and teeth, something that’s been sinking into the marrow of his bones since he was thirteen years old. Since the first time you pulled him and Katsuki —the latter by the ear— behind the school and defended him with tears in your eyes and your fists clenched, shaking. Since he watched you break down in tears that day when Katsuki refused to walk you home and only guessed the reasoning behind it when you forgave him the next second.

He hated you a little bit for it. Hated how kind you were. Hated how much you looked at him like he was good and still chose Katsuki.

Hated how hard it was to let you go.

So now he’s fucking you like he’s punishing you for it.

Your knees are starting to burn against the office chair cushion, but you don’t dare fucking stop. Not with the way his fingers are digging into your ass. Not with the way he looks up at you—hair stuck to his forehead, forest green pupils blown wide, mouth parted like he’s watching a miracle fall apart in front of him.

You moan, and he leans forward, catches the sound with his tongue in your mouth, eats it up like it’s the last thing he’ll ever be allowed to have. His kisses burn against your mouth. And you’re still so reluctant to give in.

“I should’ve told you,” he breathes between frantic kisses “earlier”

You thread your fingers through his wet curls, yank his head back just enough to make him hiss.

“You didn’t,” you whisper.

“I wanted to,” he says, “but you looked so happy. I figured if I waited long enough, I’d stop wanting you or you’d eventually break up with Kacchan”

You clench around him without meaning to, and he shudders, desperately hard.

“Don’t fucking call him that, you don’t deserve to right now, sweetheart”

You’re right. Katsuki spent thousands on that suit because he loves Izuku dearly and here he is, fucking his wife. The wife Katsuki is so doting of. The wife Katsuki adores more than anything else. His childhood sweetheart.

Izuku’s childhood sweetheart, missed by a fraction.

You roll your hips slow, and the noise Izuku makes is practically animalistic. And fuck he feels so good inside you, hitting every spot, every curve of your cunt even with just a stutter of his hips.

Your tummy is burning, coiling internally in shapes of pleasure and you know you’re close. You shouldn’t be. You shouldn’t be falling apart like this on the cock of the man your husband would take a bullet for. But your body betrays you, slick and fluttering, choking down each punishing thrust like you were made for him. Your cunt is melting in the shape of him and only him as his mushroom tip bullies the ridges of your cunt.

Izuku feels it. Hears it in the way your breath hiccups, sees it in the desperate flex of your thighs around his waist, the way your nails claw into his traps like you’re trying to anchor yourself to something real.

He grabs your ass, drags you forward harshly and down, makes you take every inch until his throbbing tip presses so deep, you see white behind your eyelids. You practically scream at the feeling, but he doesn’t let up. Just rolls his hips again, and again, until you need to bury your face into the crook of his neck so you don’t look at him.

Still. Your moans are embarrassingly loud now, and Izuku doesn’t shush them. Doesn’t slow down. If anything, he fucks you harder, chasing the sound, dragging impossibly more out of you. One hand flies to your throat again, not choking, just holding, so you can meet his eyes—like he’s actually daring you to pretend this means nothing.

Like he wants to feel your pulse thrum under his palm, wants proof that he is inside you.

Your eyes roll back, mouth open in a silent cry as your orgasm starts to threaten to burst and he knows it. Feels it in the tremble of your core, the breathless chant of half-formed curses.

“Fuck—you’re gonna cum on my cock,” he pants, voice half-wrecked, yet still so soft and sweet. hips pistoning up his cock inside your tight cunt like a machine. “You’re gonna let me fuck you through it babe?”

You sob against his mouth, and he grins, dark and mean and aching.

Your body spasms, cums hard around him, sleek dripping down onto his balls, with a guttural moan torn straight from your sweat covered chest. He watches your face like he wants to burn it into his brain forever—eyelids fluttering, lips parted in the shape of an ‘o’, thighs clamped tight around him, pussy milking him for everything he has.

Being inside you feels like absolute heaven.

But he wants to ease you through it while he still hammers his hips inside you, opting to bring a finger in between your tight laced bodies to pinch at your clit, hard.

He watches you break and burns the image in his mind indefinitely.

Izuku sees the way your whole body jerks—twists against him, legs trembling from overstimulation as your cunt tries to push him out, fluttering with every brutal thrust. But he doesn’t let up. Doesn’t slow, doesn’t even breathe right, because he’s chasing it—chasing the way you shake and sob into his freckled shoulder like you hate yourself for how good it feels.

His finger still works your clit in ruthless, tight little circles, dragging your orgasm out until it’s messy. Until it’s mean. Slick squelches between you obscenely, dripping down over his thighs and the leather of the seat. You’re trembling, shaking so hard now it’s a miracle you’re still upright.

He doesn’t care enough to slow down.

“You take it so fucking well,” Izuku mutters, breath hot and sticky against your ear, lips finding your earlobe and sucking, sinking his teeth in, his tone somewhere between awe and something condescending. “Like you want me to ruin you.”

“Bet he doesn’t fuck you like this,” he grits out, and there’s something sharp behind it—something bitter and broken and barely held together. “Bet he doesn’t even touch you like this anymore.”

You shake your head, incoherent. “He does. He’s so fucking good to me. Don’t talk about him right now. Please”

His voice is cracking now. Just a little. You wouldn’t catch it if you weren’t still so close—if his chest wasn’t rising hard and fast against yours like he’s panicking underneath it all.

“I shouldn’t have waited,” he breathes against your temple, his rhythm faltering as his cock starts to throb violently inside you. “I shouldn’t have let you go.”

Your thighs are trembling now.

The chair beneath you creaks with every movement, unstable and barely holding, but Izuku’s grip is the only thing anchoring you. His hands never stop moving—fisting the fat of your hips, sliding over your spine, branding the curve of your waist like he’s trying to leave fingerprints in your soul.

You cry out as he drives up into you again, the slick sound of skin against skin echoing off the filing cabinets and scattered gear prototypes, the whole office pulsing with heat and sweat and betrayal. He watches your body move fascinated and furious. Your blouse is a ruined thing now, hanging off one shoulder, one sleeve caught under his boot. He yanks the fabric down further until your chest spills out, and his mouth is on you instantly, sucking hard enough to leave a mark that’ll be impossible to explain later.

His teeth graze your nipple, and your hips buck. One arm snakes around your back, holding you flush, and the other slips between your bodies, hand dragging low, knuckles brushing your clit with the same reverence he used to hold hero relics in the dorms.

Except now he groans against your skin like this—you are— the holy thing.

There’s a sick rhythm to it. Something that feels too practiced, too perfect—like he’s imagined it a thousand times. In the dark, in the shower, in hotel beds in missions, while you were sleeping down the hall beside Katsuki.

The worst part is the way it feels. The way your body responds to him like it was made for this; grinding down, fluttering cunt sucking him deeper, your nails raking angry little crescents into his shoulders that make him grunt and groan.

Izuku’s head falls back against the chair, jaw clenched, throat flexing with restraint he doesn’t have the strength to hold onto.

His cock twitches inside you, and you feel it—feel the tension ratcheting up, the quiet breaking point edging closer. His stomach muscles jump under your palms, his breath coming faster, ragged, broken up by soft, desperate gasps he keeps trying to swallow down.

You don’t know what’s worse—the pleasure or the guilt.

He thrusts up harder. Sharper. There’s no rhythm anymore, just raw, primal, lust ridden drive. Like if he fucks you hard enough, the shame will burn away with it. But it doesn’t. It only gets thicker in the room. You can smell it between the sweat and the sex. Feel it in the way his fingers tremble when he presses them between your legs again, flicking over your clit with ruthless intent.

You clench around him so tight it punches a groan straight from his chest, and that’s it—he loses the very last scrap of self-control. He grabs the back of your neck, pulls you down into a kiss that’s all tongue and teeth and guilted pain. His hips stutter. Then slam again and again until the chair jerks backward half a foot, banging into the desk.

You can barely breathe. Barely think.

He’s so deep it aches. So deep it feels like you’ll never get him out again.

Izuku buries his face in your shoulder when he cums—hard, hot, drawn out and full-body. His arms wrap around you like he’s bracing for a bomb to go off, like if he holds you tight enough, maybe this moment can exist without consequences.

But it won’t.

You both know it.

Because when he pulls back—sweaty hair in his eyes, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like he’s just survived a war—he looks at you like you’ve just killed him.

His thumbs press under your jaw, your heartbeat wild against them.

“You’ll go back to him like none of this ever happened.” He pants against your lips.

You want to say no. Want to say this means something. But your mouth won’t open. Your body is betraying you in a thousand tiny ways.

Izuku’s gaze darkens.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he says. “Tell me you’ll leave him.”

“Izuku, I won’t leave my husband” you speak, finally, voice as steady as you can manage and then you whisper “I love Katsuki so much”

“You’re still gonna wear his ring after this?” he asks suddenly, mouth curved in something you can’t quite read as his cock finally softens enough to slip out of you. “Gonna go home and let him kiss you with my cum still inside you?”

“—Zuku?” 

Oh the way you say his name; it’s dripping like warmed up honey from your watery lips. It makes it hard to tame the beast that growls inside him when you chant the syllables like a mantra.

He wants to—

“Izuku?” you say again, voice tilting into concern now. You reach forward to touch his hand, still pressed onto the plastic handle of the chair “You good? You zoned out a bit.”

He flinches like he’s been shot.

“No,” he says too quickly. “No—I’m. Fine. Sorry. Just—tired.”

Fuck. He blinks once. Twice. You smile at him now. Innocently unaware of what his head just made up right now.

Your legs are crossed, tucked modestly under you. Not split open over his thighs. Your shirt’s buttoned all the way up. Not ripped. Your hair is in place. There’s no sweat, no guilt, no scent of sex in the air.

“If there’s something wrong you can speak to me.”

“No it’s fine i—” he begins to speak but you cut him off, a faint, awkward smile gracing your lips.

“I really don’t mean to pressure you with the suit. But Katsuki said you’d listen to me. It’s taken such a toll on him and I can see it, he just spends all his time at home trying to do anything with his hands. He finished the nursery. Set up a whole crib too. My poor baby… he wants a kid so much and my hormonal therapy is still not even halfway through. I just figured you taking the suit would push him to feel a little relieved.”

Izuku can’t fucking breathe, but he moves from the chair to the couch by your command, struggles to compose himself as your hands cradle both of his in your grip. You’re looking at him with those big, desperate eyes, those fantasy driven parted lips. 

He gulps as he glances down at your denim skirt, when he sees your plush thighs and soft skin poke through the fabric, rubbing against each other.

For a second he’s back there, in his head. Caressing your thighs with his knuckles, eliciting the softest, most guttural and loud moans from your lips.

“And I also want you to tell him that everything will be alright. He panics every time we go to the doctor. He thinks that he’s failing to give me a baby when we both agreed we’d have one at twenty five. But this is all me, not him, I was almost cut in half during the war.” Your eyes are filled to the brim with tears that are threatening to spill as you continue speaking “Please Izuku, please, help him too, I love him so much and he keeps thinking it’s his fault.”

The room feels like it’s caving in around him. His skin prickles with sweat that shouldn’t be there. His fists curl uselessly into the couch cushion beneath him, nails biting into the fabric. He’s still half-hard under his sweats, humiliation coiling hot in his stomach, shame crawling up his spine like mold.

You’re looking at him like you always have. Gentle. Completely unaware.

Not the woman who had just fucked him senseless in his fantasy. Not the one who whispered that she’d never leave Katsuki with his cum still dripping from her thighs.

Izuku blinks. He really is trying to keep his eyes locked on yours instead of your perfect looking tear-pricked lashes or the hem of your skirt, or where your thighs kiss each other too softly for him to stand it. He inhales too fast through his nose and coughs.

And the worst thing is you’re still holding his hands because you trust him. Like he isn’t falling apart in front of you. Because you don’t feel your skin burning in his touch like he does feel for you.

“Y-Yeah,” he breathes, voice breaking against the silence. “Of course. I’ll tell him.”

Your thumbs stroke the back of his palms, soothing, smiling all the way as your face breaks in ugly tears.

Naïve. You’re so naive and oblivious. He wishes you’d stop. He wishes he could yank his hands away. He wishes he could bury his face in your lap, lift your skirt and pull your panties to the side, eat you out like he always wanted and forget all of this.

But he doesn’t move. Just lets you touch him. Lets himself rot inside your hands and the look behind your eyes.

His mind keeps dragging him back, to the burn of your thighs straddling his hips. The slap of skin. The desperate way you held his face as you came, whispering things that don’t exist outside his head. He can still feel the phantom squeeze of your cunt when you begged him to ruin you.

He shudders. It didn’t fucking happen. It never would happen. 

His best friend is probably creampieing you every single night, probably pushing it back inside, with his cock, his fingers. Whispering things to you about breeding you, giving you babies. Izuku even wonders if Katsuki fucked you before you came to visit him, if you’re walking with his cum stuffed inside you, only held back from it dripping down your thighs from the barrier of your panties.

He rubs his thumbnail to the inside of your palm, desperate for some friction. You mistake it for empathy. Squeeze his hands tighter.

“Thank you Izuku, I love him so much it’s impossible. That’s why I want you to take the suit, I just want to see him happy.”

Izuku’s heart cracks.

Because he’s selfish. Because all he wants is for you to stop talking about Katsuki. Stop crying for Katsuki. Just look at him instead. Like maybe he could give you something, even if it’s ugly and wrong and soaked in betrayal, like it could mend all those years he’s spent apart from you.

“I’ll take it,” he blurts. It comes out sharp, bitter on his tongue. You blink at him.

“The suit?” you ask.

He nods once. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything else.

Because the guilt is white-hot behind his eyes and your words still echo in his skull ‘my poor baby… he wants a kid so much…’

A kid. A crib. A fucking nursery.

And Izuku had just imagined splitting your pussy open in his lap, fucking you like he wanted to erase the fact that you belonged—were married— to someone else. To Katsuki. His best friend.

His mind drifts again. Not as vivid this time, but still dangerous.

You smile—god, why do you always smile like that?— and lean back, nodding in relief. “Thank you. I really think it’ll help. I’ll let him know. He’ll be so happy, Izuku.”

Izuku stares at your mouth as it forms his name. Katsuki will be so happy.

The phrase alone twists like a knife inside Izuku’s heart.

Because all he can think about is how you looked when you were riding him in his mind. How you said his name, not Katsuki’s. How you clenched around him like you’d been made to.

He can’t even seem to stop himself from these monstrous thoughts.

“Does Kacchan know how lucky he is?” Izuku states quietly, one hand detaching from your grasp to scratch the back of his head. He smiles softly, yet secretly, he flexes his bicep, hoping you’ll notice.

You don’t, but your brows furrow, one quirking up, just a little thrown. “Of course he does. He never lets me forget it.”

Izuku nods again. But he doesn’t smile this time.

He should pull away. Should stand up. Should put miles between you and him and his sick, fucked-up thoughts.

But your hands are still wrapped around his like they belong there.

And Izuku, for all the good he’s done in the world, can’t stop thinking about your ring. How it glints in the warm light of his apartment like a warning. How it presses into the top of his knuckle while you hold him like this. Like a reminder that none of this is real.

You sniffle and laugh softly, like you’re embarrassed by your own tears. “Sorry, I’m being a mess.”

“No,” he croaks. “You’re not.”

But he is.

He’s a mess of sweat and guilt and hard-on humiliation. A goddamn wreck. And you’re still looking at him like he’s someone you can count on. Like he isn’t unraveling at the seams, dick so painfully hard, just sitting next to you.

“Izuku…” you say again, gentler this time, and he finally looks up at you fully. “Thank you”

Your eyes are glassy. Red around the rims. Your mouth soft. Your whole expression just open and readable. Fucking hell…You don’t even know what you’re doing to him.

“Can you tell him to come over?” What? “He’ll be so happy to hear it from you, please!” 

Izuku’s breath catches in his throat, sharp and involuntary, like your words just punched through his chest and grabbed his heart with both hands.

Can you tell him to come over?

You’re smiling now—barely, but it’s real. Your voice is trembling with hope. You’re already pulling out your phone, thumbs moving with sweet, excited urgency, like this moment might be the first crack of sunlight after weeks of thunder.

And you’re asking him—him—to be the one to bring your husband to his apartment.

You don’t know what you’re doing to him.

You don’t know that he’s imagining that same smile tilted up at him, not Katsuki. That he’s spent months biting down fantasies until his jaw ached, trying not to let them surface—but he failed today. He failed hard. And now you’re sitting here, trusting him with the one thing he wishes he could rip from the world and keep for himself.

Katsuki.

Your husband. The love of your life. The man he was supposed to be a friend to, not betray in thought, not crave his girl like something that can be stolen

He can’t even speak. His mouth opens but nothing comes out—just static, lips parted in numbness.

You don’t seem to notice. Or maybe you do, but you’re giving him grace anyway, because that’s the kind of person you are. Too kind. Too blind.

You hold your phone up to him. “He said he’ll come over if you say it’s okay. You can just tell him it’s fine—please? He listens to you more than he listens to me sometimes.”

Izuku takes the phone like it’s poison in disguise.

He stares at Katsuki’s contact name glowing on the screen.

And he wonders how long he can keep this rotting secret inside his chest before it turns him into something unrecognizable.

His thumb hovers. Then he presses the call button. The phone starts to ring, and he hates himself a little more with each pulse.

Because no matter what Katsuki says when he picks up—whether it’s relief or laughter or love—Izuku will still be the man who, just ten minutes ago, imagined fucking his best friend’s wife into an office chair and coming so hard inside her he saw stars.

And when Katsuki’s voice answers, warm and gruff, saying a small ‘hey tsuki —my moon, you call each other moon— and is positive to dropping by in half an hour to hang out, Izuku wants to die. And you’re smiling so hard that Katsuki wants to join that he wants to die twice.

You press your forehead to the back of his hand. A small, grateful gesture.

And that’s what finally breaks him. Izuku pulls his hands back slowly, as if they’ve been burned.

“I need a minute,” he mutters. Voice hoarse. Jaw tight, fingernails scratching the corner of his jaw.

You blink, taken aback by the sudden change in demeanor. “Oh. Okay—do you want me to go—?”

“No,” he says too quickly, rising from the couch. “No. Just… sit. I’ll be back.”

He walks toward the bathroom with careful, even steps. Every one of them feels like walking away from something sacred. Every one of them feels like a betrayal. And there’s nothing sacred about absolute betrayal. Just pure dirt, filth in his soul.

He closes the door behind him and presses his forehead to the wood, eyes squeezed shut.

And when he reaches into his sweatpants to jerk himself off with trembling fingers—still half-hard, still aching with the ghost of you—he doesn’t even bother pretending it’s anyone else.

He just bites his fist, stifles a sob, and imagines you crying out his name instead.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Dividers by @/cafekitsune

[ebodebo]

jason can't find you…turns out you’re shitfaced at a club in gotham…

-

Jason can't find you.

It's as if you have just disappeared off the face of the earth.

His phone calls went straight to voicemail, and his texts were getting left on delivered. 

Per Alfred's request, Jason was to attend a crucial charity banquet at Wayne Manor tonight.

So, you told him you'd just stay home, take a hot bath, maybe order some takeout.

Stay at home.

That's what you said.

But, when Jason returned, the house was eerily silent, the bathwater ran cold, and the takeout left untouched. 

You were gone.

So, he's been scouring every corner for you for the last thirty minutes, his efforts seemingly in vain.

He even begrudgingly enlisted the help of his brother to help.

He's desperate.

"I don't care what girl in Gotham you were planning on screwing tonight, Dick. Find her," Jason grits out to Dick over his walkie, his voice laced with palpable tension.

"Fine," Dick sighs, his annoyance at Jason's attitude seeping through. "I'll go look with Tim," his voice is monotone, but the irritation is unmistakable.

"Go," Jason's voice is icy. 

"Asshole," Dick grumbles, not minding that the walkie is still connected with Jason's.

"Still on the line, idiot," Jason spits, clearly vexed. 

"Good. Was hoping you heard that," Dick chimes before the static takes over the line and the line goes dead.

Jason lets out a curse, hand gripping the steering wheel tight with tension his mind flooding with all sorts of worst-case scenarios.

What if someone had taken you?

What if he was to come across your idle body?

All bloody and bruised.

Limp and gone.

His stomach drops at the thought, throat growing tighter as he drives hurriedly around Gotham.

That is until he hears a ping from his phone, he almost swerves into a building grabbing it.

But, it isn’t from you.

It’s from a friend of his.

“Dude your girl is fucking shitfaced.”

Before he can respond, his friend sends another text.

“Shes dancing on a table at iceberg. attracted an audience.”

Jason releases a sharp breath, both from anger and relief.

You were alive.

But, you were at a fucking club, drunk out of your mind, dancing on a God-damn table.

Jason types quick, eyes moving from the road to the phone frantically.

“Don’t let her out of your sight. I’m on my way.”

-

“Take your top off!”

“This chick is fucking awesome!”

“Keep the shots comin!’”

You can hear a murmur of voices, but it feels like an echo reverberating in your mind.

You’re plastered.

You can hardly believe that you made it up on the table in heels.

Admittedly, they may be shorter, but they’re still heels.

Somehow, you’ve found your footing on the table, dancing carelessly as if the world around you doesn’t matter.

You glance toward the door and spot your boyfriend, as dashing as ever in a tailored suit, maneuvering through the crowd separating you from him.

“Hey, baby,” you shout excitedly as he draws near.

His gaze meets yours before moving over you from head to toe.

Your dress has ridden up your thighs, leaving your skin exposed.

A strap on your dress slipped a little off your shoulder, showing off the top part of your breast.

He can't wrap his head around the fact that these people are still encouraging you and filling you with booze.

“Show’s fucking over,” he grits to the crowd surrounding you, his hand moving to help smooth down your dress.

“I’ve been trying to reach you, but you haven’t answered my calls or texts,” he murmurs, his hand reaching out to take yours.

You lean down a bit as he holds your waist to carefully lift you down.

“This is my boyfriend,” you voice out as your shoulders grip his tight. “I love him,” your eyes drift to him as your feet plant firmly on the ground.

“My calls go straight to voicemail and you haven’t been answering my texts,” he utters, concern evident in his tone.

"My phone died," you say casually. "Been having so much fun," you remark as you push your hands against his chest, a broad smile lighting up your face.

“Did you come alone?” He asks, gently adjusting the strap of your dress so it rests neatly back on your shoulder.

“Of course not," you reply confidently, pausing to tap your finger on your chin in contemplation. "But, I can’t remember who exactly I brought…”

“Jesus Christ," he groans, reaching out to grab your hefty purse from the table, his fingers curling around it tightly. "Can you walk?”

“Mhm. I think,” you say, taking a step forward only to almost fall. “The heels hurt, Jay,” you murmur as he catches you quickly.

“Sit,” he says plainly, motioning to a vacant chair.

You comply as he bends down to carefully unclasp the ankle straps, slipping them off your aching feet.

“Are you mad at me?” You ask, fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“A little, yeah,” he says, standing up with your heels and purse dangling from his fingertips.

You pursed your lips slightly as he helps you stand. “I’m sorry my phone died,” you whisper as he leads you out of the club, his hand lingering on your lower back.

“Not particularly upset about that, sweetheart," he begins. "Well, your phone should always be charged before you leave."

He turns to you, his eyes intensely focused on yours. "I don't care if you want to go out, but please let me know where you're going. So if anything happens, I’ll know where to find you.”

“Were you…scared?” You murmur, eyes moving to stare at the concrete path you stand on.

“To death,” he replies immediately. “I thought...I thought,” he begins, opting for a lighter tone. “I just thought that something bad happened, you know?”

“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to make you worry,” you can feel tears welling, voice a little wobbly.

Jason lifts your chin to meet his gaze. “Hey, I’m just glad you’re alright, okay? I love you.” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

You give him a gentle smile and go on your tiptoes to press your lips against his.

His hand wraps around your waist, welcoming your lips on his.

“Why are you wearing a suit?” You murmur against his lips, your voice already breathy.

“Banquet?” He questions, raising his brow slightly since he mentioned earlier that he had a banquet.

“Looks nice,” you pant against his lips, fingers dragging over the knot of his tie, haphazardly trying to rip it off. “Really nice.”

That prompts a deep laugh from him, his lips rumbling against yours. “You’re drunk,” he states, pulling his lips back and caressing your cheek.

“Think I wouldn’t wanna fuck you sober?” You press your lips back to his with intent.

“Baby, we have sex regularly,” his voice is slightly strained. “But we aren’t having sex while you’re shit-faced,” he steps back, his hand gently massaging your hip.

“I’ll blow your fucking mind,” you murmur, taking his hand to interlace your fingers as he guides you to the passenger side of his car.

“Trust me,” his voice is strained, as he helps you into the seat. “I know.”

You smile as he leans down to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“I’ll take good care of you in the morning, okay?” he assures, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Looking forward to it,” you say, laying your head back on the headrest and almost immediately falling asleep.

It’s safe to say that he took excellent care of you the following morning…and afternoon…and evening.

-

author’s note: you naughty girl you

[selineram3421]

*looking at taglist slowly turning into a CVS receipt*

Hissy Kitty

Part 2

Part 1

Alastor X Reader

Warnings⚠

⚠ Alastor is still annoying lol, Husk is not having it, italics=thoughts, reader gets pissed ⚠

Husk felt confident that Alastor would stop being annoying. It was in the contract that he couldn't touch you. He had to follow the contract.

Of course the asshole found a loophole.

"Dear, do be careful.", the deer guided you away from broken glass.

"Alastor..", you said in a deadpanned tone. "I have to clean that up."

"Yes but I just wanted to remind you the dangers of handling broken glass.", he smiled at you and turned to grin smugly at the cat behind him.

Fucking hell.

"I know how to handle glass.", you said and started to sweep up the mess.

"Very well, I'll stop pestering you about glass."

You were of course oblivious to Alastor's games.

Husk knew that he should have been more specific so that the smiling asshole couldn't touch you at all.

"Hey, squirt."

"What?", you responded, finishing up sweeping the trash.

"Go to where the Princess is. I'm pretty sure she wanted you to do something upstairs.", he says with a shooing motion.

"Ok, I'll go up after tossing this out.", you said and went towards the staff only hallway.

"Don't worry about it.", your brother said and went to take the dust pan from you. "Just head over now."

"What a good older sibling you are!", the red dressed demon commented with a smile.

You glanced between the two, feeling a weird tension in the air.

"Ok...", you leaned the broom against one of the couches. "Don't kill each other while I'm gone.", you say before going upstairs.

After making sure his sibling was far enough, the cat demon growled and glared at the Radio Demon. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?", he said with clenched teeth.

"I'm doing what I'm allowed to!", Alastor said cheerfully and walked over to the bartender. "So, obviously I am touching them when necessary, like moving them away from danger.", he reached out to scratch behind one of Husker's ears.

"Stop fucking playing!", Husk yelled, smacking the deer's hand away. "They aren't your toy or pet asshole! SO LEAVE THEM THE FUCK ALONE!"

Alastor's smile twitched slightly.

Who is this demon to tell me no? I own the cat, so they just had to suck it up and follow along.

"I think you're forgetting one tiny, but ever so crucial, little detail?", the red demon grew taller, static crackling loudly. "I OWN YOU."

"I know.", Husk hissed out. "But I won't let you do anything to them."

.

You headed back to the lobby confused.

Charlie hadn't called for you at all but she did let you know that you would be getting a different job soon.

Why did he lie? You wondered and turned a corner to get to the stairs.

That's when you felt your fur stand on end, static noise making you shiver and cringe.

Rushing towards the lobby, you saw Alastor take a threatening step towards your brother in his taller demon form. In the moment, it didn't matter if the red demon was one of your bosses or not, you would protect your brother.

Standing between the two, you growled and hissed at the deer demon, fur bristling and tail flicking back and forth.

"BACK THE FUCK UP."

Husk quickly held on to you and tried to pull you back. "No! Stay back, let me handle this!"

You stayed put, still glaring up at the red demon.

Alsastor looked at you in an odd way before he shrunk back to size and fixed his coat. "Ahem, apologies.", he held his hands behind his back. "I didn't mean to give you such a scare!"

Still annoyed, you squinted your eyes at him and finally let your brother take you away from the lobby.

Once getting to somewhere private, Husk immediately shook you by your shoulders. "WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU THINKING KID!?"

You shook your head and moved his arms off of you. "I was thinking of getting you out of there!", you huff. "Look, I know he's the Radio Demon. I know you have some fucked up deal."

Husk tries to interject.

"NO! No, I am not done!", you point at him. "I know somewhere in that deal you made has my protection and that's why Alastor has been so weird when it comes to me. He wants to bug and annoy you for fucking shits and giggles.", you take a breath and brush your ears down to settle your anger. "I've been worried about you ever since you stopped talking to me. What happened at your casino?"

He turns away from you and takes a moment before sighing.

"I lost almost everything..", he grumbled. "I had to make a deal to save my power."

You placed a hand on his shoulder.

"But just because I'm stuck in a bind, doesn't mean you jump into my battles.", he glares at you. "I can handle the smiling piece of shit."

With a roll of your eyes, you turn him to face you completely.

"That's what I've been trying to tell you since getting here.", you hold his claws. "I can fight my own battles, sure I might need help at times but I'll ask you when I do. I know the dangers, I know the risks, I know my limits.", you let go. "But to you I'm just still a defenseless kid.."

"You'll always be my little sibling. Of course I'm gonna think of you as a kid.", he sighs. "But I'll stop giving you shit for some stuff.", he points a claw at you. "You hear that? Some."

"Yeah, yeah.", you smile and hug your brother.

He pats your head and both of you enjoy the peace.

For a second.

"Ok, now get off.", he says.

"Nah, you can handle a few more seconds.", you say and don't let go.

"Awww~"

Both of you get hugged from behind by Angel.

"Look at how soft you are around them~", the spider pinches your brother's cheek with one of his hands, turning his head to look at you. "You should hang around him more often."

"Get your ass off me.", Husk grumbles and moves out of the hug.

"But Husky~!", Angel whines as he clings onto your brother. "You are just sooo cute!"

You laugh as the two go back and forth with their banter, happy that your brother is ok.

Meanwhile, Alastor went up to his radio tower.

The shadows in the room curling and twisting around, the radio static getting louder and louder that it numbed out the sounds from outside.

Something had changed.

Please let me know if you don't find your tag!

~Seline, the person.

Part 3

Taglist@

@ducky-died-inside @scary-noodlesblog @c4rved-pumpk1n @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @kiraisastay @lbcreations-blog @pooplyface1423 @jane-3043 @chocolat3pudding @chewbrry @dewdropsposts @danveration @jyoongim @iloveblogging2 @elaemae @hallowedandhungry @fandom-nobody @nevermore-ramblings @creepylilneko @perilous-pasta @xdolls-crownx @hxzbinwrites @alikate82 @angeliclovely69 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @tsukilover11 @cheshairacat @the-unhinged-raccoon @plapperlapapp @thesimpguru @stevenuniversezanite @random-3455 @hypnossses @crazyforbarnes @ngjhgftujgrtui @haveawanderfulday @dark-stars-and-the-moons-melody @karolinda007-blog @twistedkisses @ghostedddd @+?

ML for Alastor🎙 | HK ChL😾

[slut-for-evans-stan]

Mission Accomplished

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader

Word count: 3.4k+

Summary: Ben and you can't stay in the same room without wanting to rip each other's hearts out. The Boys, tired of dealing with you, decide to take matters into their own hands by tricking you two into completing your most crucial mission yet— resolving your problems. One thing leads to another and you discover that there was an easier, much more enjoyable method to resolve everything between you all along. (I'm sorry I suck at summaries.)

Warnings: SMUT!!!! (18+), Enemies to Lovers, Soldier Boy being Soldier Boy, Dirty talk, oral (m+f rec), fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it fellas), hate fucking!? (kind of), rough sex, swearing, choking, squirting, creampie.

a/n: this is my very first time writing smut. Not proofread, please pardon me for errors if any! I tried my best :')

I'd really appreciate if you could like, comment and/or reblog, it'll make me really happy <3

Being a Supe with extraordinary powers didn't mean you were ready to exploit people for clout, with how things were at Vought. So when Starlight and Hughie learnt that you declined Ashley's offer to have you join the Seven, they convinced you to join hands with The Boys to ensure that the arrogant liars claiming to be "Saviours of the World" got what they deserved. Despite feeling a bit unwelcome at first due to Butcher's distant behaviour, you quickly settled in and felt accepted, and connected to everyone in the team, everyone except the newest member to join forces with you all to help in taking down Homelander and others; Soldier Boy.

In the dimly lit room, stood Soldier Boy in his silk robe, a cigarette in one hand, one leg on the bed, the other supporting his weight on the floor; his back facing the door. Upon hearing a soft knock, he turned around with a smug grin on his face. He began,

"Well, hello there gorgeous! You've sure kept me waiting long enough for someone who made eager promises to choke on my dick."

Unamused, and somewhat disgusted by his comment, you shot him a stern look,

"I'm not here for your entertainment, I need to run a few tests on you. So it'll be nice if you'll please spare a few minutes before you run off to get your dick wet. We need to be sure that you're not going to explode and kill us all."

Soldier Boy's smirk echoed through his room as he eyed you with an amazed expression. Undeterred, he sauntered over to you, leaning in and mistaking your seriousness for a mere challenge.

"Sure. Whatever it is, let's get it over with. Maybe after this, you and I could-"

You cut him off with an icy glare

"Save the charm for someone who cares. I don't have time for this bullshit, we've a mission coming up."

From your very first meeting that started with a misunderstanding, it would've been an understatement to say that Soldier Boy annoyed every living cell in your body. You were both constantly arguing and bickering about something or the other, always at each other's throats.

Soldier Boy's deep, intimidating voice echoed through the room, your comment having hit a nerve.

"You know what, you're insufferable."

"At least I'm not stuck up." he shot back.

What should've been a meeting to discuss the upcoming mission, turned into yet another baseless argument between the two of you. Making your teammates uncomfortable with every passing moment. Hughie, Frankie, Kimiko and others exchanged uneasy glances as the tension thickened. You continued,

"I can't believe I've to be stuck with an unbearable asshole as you. Butcher I think I'm gonna skip this mission. Don't want us to end up in another mess like the last time."

At this point, it seemed like you were both minutes away from strangling each other. Soldier boy chuckled,

"Why, you're so intimidated by a real hero you want to hide away like a pussy?"

Eyebrows raised, you retorted, "Real hero!? More like a reckless liability. I've seen toddlers with better impulse control."

Sensing a storm brewing, Hughie spoke with a shaky voice, attempting to intervene and diffuse the situation. "Can we focus, guys? We have a mission-"

Your gaze never wavered from the supe. "I'll focus when he stops acting like he's better than everyone else. He is not the only one with superpowers here, he might be strong but he doesn't scare or intimidate me in the slightest."

Rolling his eyes, Soldier Boy muttered, "I wouldn't need to if you could follow a plan for once in your life."

Butcher commented shutting you all up "Oi. Enough! No one is backing out. You two should go fuck it out or something, whatever issues you stupid cunts have with each other. Don't need any fuck ups in the mission."

The tension spilled into the supposed battlefield, your bickering a dangerous undertone to the chaos around you. Clashing on missions, your mutual disdain fielding your actions, each vying to outdo the other. Yet beneath the surface, a spark lingered, an undeniable attraction that you both, despised and desired, but neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

On a particularly precarious mission, your incessant bickering almost jeopardized the entire operation.

Amidst the mayhem, you found yourself pinned down by one of the opponents, wounded and unable to use your powers, and Soldier boy reluctantly came to your rescue.

You grunted, "I didn't need your help."

He shot back, "Don't get used to it. I'm saving the mission, not your sorry ass."

Watching the scene unfold from a distance, your teammates exchanged knowing looks. After the mission, they decided they'd have enough, and decided to take matters into their own hands, realising that the unresolved tension between you two threatened not just personal dynamics but the success of missions itself.

On Butcher's suggestion, the team tricked the two of you into thinking there was another mission but instead locking you up in a safe house together,

"Sort this out, or we'll all end up as collateral damage."

warned Hughie before haphazardly shutting the door and leaving, forcing you to confront your issues, facing a choice: either talk and resolve the conflict or risk tearing each other apart. Silence filled the room. However, it was short lived.

Taking a deep breath, you plopped on the sofa across from where he sat and spoke as calmly as you could.

"Great, those little shits tricked us."

Soldier Boy scowled, "This is ridiculous. I don't need couple's therapy, I need a way out of here. I'm gonna beat the shit out of these fucknuts."

This made you roll your eyes and cross your arms. "Maybe if you weren't so intolerable, we wouldn't be stuck in this situation in the first place."

As another argument filled the space, the air in the small living room of the safe house shifted. Soldier Boy's tone somewhat softened, revealing a vulnerability he rarely showed.

"You think I enjoy being like this? Constantly on edge, wondering if I'll turn into a goddamn weapon."

You sighed, your defenses momentarily crumbling.

"I didn't sign up for this either, you know. Being a supe's babysitter wasn't in my job description."

As you bickered, underlying desire simmered beneath the surface. Soldier Boy's gaze lingered a moment too long, making a very visible flush rise in your cheeks.

A smug grin playing on his lips, as he said,

"You can't resist me, can you? Admit it, there's something between us, more serious than all this bickering. You know, I think you want me-"

You cut him off, but your voice wavered. "Keep dreaming, I still can't stand you." This remark gave rise to another banter.

"Don't get over yourself. I was only pulling your leg. You're insufferable."

Accusations started flying like daggers, each word cutting deeper than the last. You walked into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the fridge, making your way back into the living room, catching him intently staring at you. Frustration morphed into a heated exchange of longing glances.

Tension crackled in the air, and just when it seemed the room might implode, his expression shifted.

He got up from the sofa, walking over to you, cornering you till your back hit the wall. He leaned in, his eyes darkening with a growing desire, his voice dropping to a low, almost conspiratorial tone.

"You know what? Maybe you're right. I can't stand you, because everytime I look at you, this is all I want to do."

You arched an eyebrow, caught off guard. "Wait, what?" But before you could process what was happening, his lips crashed against yours in a passionate kiss, making the beer bottle fall from your hands, effectively silencing any protests. You caught hold of the shirt he was wearing, kissing him back with equal fervour, savoring the moment as if it was a dream that would end all too soon. All your pent up anger and frustration showed up as the two of you desperately tore at each other clothes, never once breaking the kiss. A battle of tongues. He only pulled back for a second, with a sly grin on his face, his eyes dark, pupils dilated with glimmers of lust.

"There, no need to argue when we can do this instead. We should've figured this out sooner." Rubbing you over your panties with two of his fingers, he groaned.

"You're such a slut. So wet already and I haven't even touched you. You want to get railed till you can't walk, don't you?"

Before you had a chance to say anything, he reclaimed your lips in a hunger fuelled kiss. The room once filled with tension, now crackled with a different kind of energy. Pieces of both your clothings flew across the room. Soldier boy lifted you up and carried you to the small table in the kitchen and set you down hurriedly. The two of you continued to kiss while he rid you both of the remaining pieces of clothing. He kissed you like a mad man, biting and marking every inch of your skin he could in his desperate need to be close to you. Starting from your neck, moving to your tits, taking one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting it while palming and squeezing the other roughly, then switching and doing the same to the other one. He moved back up to place another rough kiss to your lips, both of you moaning and biting each other's tongues and lips, intoxicated with the feeling of being so close. With an animalistic growl he parted, giving you a look so intense, it could scare the bravest of people.

"When you feel the need to scream, moan my name. Scream it as loud as you can."

With that he roughly nudged your legs apart as wide as they could go and dived right in, eating you out like man starved, licking and sucking your most sensitive parts like it was his last meal. You pulled his hair, legs shaking and trembling with pleasure. His gruff beard giving you a delicious burn, that would heal in no time. He started flicking your clit with his tongue and entered two of his fingers inside you, moving them in and out rapidly. When he added two more fingers, you lost it. Screaming his name and cumming all over his face, your legs wrapped around his head, making it impossible for him to move away.

"Fuck. Ben. I can't-"

you tried pulling away but he didn't stop even then, holding you down with his arms, making you cum two more times before finally deciding to let go. You were dazed in pleasure, but still wanted more. Jumping down the table, and on your knees, you made eye contact with him as you slowly took his long, thick and veiny cock in your hand, stroking him and giving a few kitten licks from the base to the tip and sucking off the beads of precum, moaning at the salty taste, making him groan. You then looked up at him, taking him as far as you could before pulling back again and asking him to fuck your face. He hesitated for a second but his resolve crumbled as soon as you opened your mouth, showing him you were waiting for him. He grabbed your head with both his hands and pushed himself into your mouth, roughly thrusting in and out again and again, moaning your name, cussing like a maniac. You could tell he was close, and then he held your head as close as possible, making you gag a little, his eyes closing, his head thrown back, as ropes of his cum shot down your throat.

In ragged breaths, he said "Be a good little slut and swallow it all."

As you did, you opened your mouth with your tongue out, showing no remnants of his release. He chuckled, pulling you up by your arms, surprising you with a softness in his gaze as he asked

"You sure you want to go further? If you don't, we'll stop right here and pretend this never happened-" you cut him off with an aggressive kiss "Fuck me as hard as you can. I won't break. Take all your frustrations out on me."

With that he smirked and rapidly turned you around, bending your back and shoving your face on the table with his hand, setting it for support right by your head. He entered you with one brutal thrust, making the both of you moan and groan loudly, not giving you a second to adjust as he started ramming his cock into you, hard and deep, his hips moving at an inhuman speed.

"That's it. This is what you wanted right? Now take it. I don't think I'm ever going to let you go after this. You feel so good. Gonna make you my personal little fuck toy. Such a perfect fit."

Hearing all the filth leave his mouth made you clench around him, making him throw his head back in pleasure, never once letting his pace falter.

"Ah you love this. I can tell by the way your tight pussy's choking my dick."

At this point, all rational thoughts had left your brain and all you could do was moan and revel in the pleasure he was giving you. One thing you knew for sure was that he had ruined everyone else for you. After a few moments he moved the hand on your back between your legs to rub your clit and you started screaming in pleasure, feeling yourself flying close to the edge. As soon as Ben realised how close you were, he pulled out and turned you around, lifting you on the table and onto your back, swiftly entering you again.

"I know you're close. I wanna see your face when you cum all over me."

He moved his hand back between your legs to rub your clit in circles, while his other hand moved to your neck, choking you, as he went back to thrusting at his original, rough pace. This new angle somehow making him go deeper than before, hitting that one spot that made you see stars.

"Fuck. I don't think I can last long either."

To that, you finally managed to say

"Cum with me."

which sounded more like a moan than a sentence. You both looked into each other's eyes, moaning, grabbing each other, raking your nails all over his gorgeous, broad shoulders, not breaking the eye contact once. After a particularly hard thrust, you felt a funny sensation, one that you have rarely ever felt, only while pleasing yourself and before you knew, you screamed and started squirting your release, coming undone while Ben kept thrusting into you.

"Oh yes. Fuck. That's so hot baby. Cum all over me. I don't think I'll ever get enough of the look on your face right now. I think I've finally managed to shut you up, fucked your brains out. Fuck I'm cumming."

His thrusts grew frantic, and much harder than before, kissing you roughly, your teeth clashing, and he finally slammed his hips into yours one last time, holding your hips so tight, you were sure you would bruise for atleast a few hours, despite your super healing abilities. Groaning and grunting in his deep voice as thick ropes of his cum filled you to the brim, triggering yet another release out of you, making you squirt even more. He collapsed on top of you, careful that he wasn't crushing you with his weight.

The two of you stayed like that, entangled with each other for a few minutes, trying to catch your breath, before he slowly pulled out of you, making you both wince at the sudden loss. As he walked to the living room, "That was it" you thought, a one time rendezvous with Soldier Boy that might have either helped you two or made things worse. He sauntered back in with a towel in hand, towards the sink to wet it, also filling up a glass of water and quietly walking to you, cleaning you up without a word, handing the glass for you to drink. Taking it from him, you looked at him mumbled a soft "thank you", getting down the table, you nudged him to walk out with you, sitting down on the couch and covering yourself with a blanket, while he picked up his surprisingly untorn boxers, putting them on and sitting next to you, making you turn to face him. You both understood you needed to talk about what had just happened.

The shared realisation that the animosity between you two that had led to this impulsively passionate encounter, had somewhere blurred the lines between desire and hate.

Ben began to say "Look, about earlier... I didn't mean half the things I said."

You replied "What? You didn't mean it when you said you want to kiss me and do other filthy things to me everytime you see me?"

Taken aback, with a raised eyebrow and confused express Ben said, "Oh no, no lies there. I've wanted you from the moment I saw you."

You cut him off saying "I know, I was just pulling your leg. I've felt the same way about you. Your reputation preceded you and it made me crazy knowing I still wanted you."

He replied, "I think we let our tempers get the best of us." sighing, he continued "I care about you more than I let on."

Which made you sigh in response. "Then why do you never act like it? Making me think of you as a douche who loves berating me?"

Ben ran his fingers through his hair. "I guess I feel scared. Scared of how much of a hold you have had on me from the very beginning. It made me feel like a fool at times, I thought the only way I could supress these feelings were by acting like an asshole towards you. I'm really sorry."

Your gaze softened, "I'm really sorry too, my behaviour towards you hasn't been any better either." You continued, "I thought we were destined to be enemies. I don't hate you, I never did. I just wanted you to see the person I am beyond the righteous supe everyone else sees."

Ben slowly took your hands in his, making you look into his eyes. "Now I see you more than I ever thought I would. Maybe.. maybe there's something more here."

You replied, "Maybe there is. What happens now?"

To which he said "We talk. Like normal people. No more running away or avoiding things and arguing for no reason. We figure out where we stand, one step at a time, together."

You smiled, nodding your head. "Agreed. No more hiding how we feel. Besides, I guess I like this way of solving our issues much more." Which made him chuckle and pull you into his arms, staring at you intently, pressing his lips to yours.

Back at the Flatiron building, Hughie sat at his table across from Frenchie, fidgeting with his cup. "I'm worried. What do you think? Will they make up or kill each other?"

Butcher entered the room, a smirk plastered over his face "I'm pretty sure they are fucking like rabbits back there." And boy, was he right.

The two of you went multiple rounds, thanks to your super stamina, christening every possible surface of the safe house. From the couch, to the bedroom and the floor, and the shower too. You had both awoken a hunger, only the other could satiate.

"Now that we're not at each other's throats for the wrong reasons, I think maybe, we'd make a good team after all."

Said Ben, holding you close, running smooth circles on along your arms, with the two of you lying on the bed, tired and basking in the afterglow. You smiled, turning to face him. "We'll have to see about that, you might just be right. For now, I can't believe I'm saying this but I need sleep, we both do. You've worn me out completely."

He chuckled, tightening his arms around you, placing a soft kiss to your forehead and lips, and the two of you drifted off to sleep, feeling content in each other's embrace.

It was a start of a connection and understanding that arose from the most unexpected places, even amidst the chaos of a world filled with superhumans and the fight for good. Fiery exchanges and whispered confessions bringing in an unexpected depth to your dynamic, proving that there can be a fragile, pure connection between two polar opposites. Serendipity, often painted as an unusual force, interweaves with fate, guiding people towards love where they're least expecting to find it.

Your story a testament to the unpredicted twists of the heart, proving that even the fiercest adversaries can find redemption in each other's arms.

a/n: Finished watching Season 3 of 'The Boys' just a few days ago and let me just put this out here, Jensen as Soldier Boy is one of the best things to ever happen to this world. Oh! the things I'd let this man do to me-

Been planning this fic for a week now, I really hope y'all enjoyed reading as much as I did writing this.

I'd really appreciate if you'd comment any thoughts, improvements, suggestions or requests that you have! Thank you ^_^

Credits: Banner by @mykento

post divider by @saradika

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

The Meet-Cute - Zoro's Story - 11

Source for pic

Trouble 11 🔞

Word Count: 6979

Tags For The Whole Story: Fem!Reader; Protective!Zoro; Soft!Zoro; Sexual Tension; Teasing; Flirting; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Reader is being stalked; Fear; Paranoia; Angst; Rom-Com Vibes; Mild Gore-like Descriptions; Blood; Reader in a terror-like state; Dead Animals Mentioned; Fluff; Romance; Banter; Manipulation; Miscommunication; Frustration; Reader is very clumsy;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: After moving away from the hustle and bustle of Grand Line City to help your father around the property following a horse-riding accident - and in the hopes of healing your broken heart after your asshole ex-fiancé cheated - you settle into the country calmness of the Calm Belt. You and Zoro are slowly returning to your easy friendship filled with banter and flirting and you actually begin to glimpse a future with the green-haired cop. But then you start to receive weird gifts. They quickly escalate to manipulative texts. And now you're stuck in a spiral of terror and there's no way to get help because the Stalker, whoever he is, is threatening something other than just your life.

Notes: Okay, you guys know I like to write smut, but in this story... it just felt so oddly out of place to just write a "porn" scene. So it evolved... it's something deeper. I hope it's still satisfying to read, I've put some thought in it. That being said, special warning for this chapter: NSFW - Explicit Sexual Content, MDNI.

Masterlist

“I knew you’d be here.” Zoro drawls as he enters Mihawk’s office and closes the door behind him. “The workaholic that you are.”

His captain sneers, his amber eyes never leaving the folders he has neatly scattered in front of him in a controlled chaos on his desk.

“Takes one to know one.”

Zoro glances at bloodied pair of hands in one of the photos and sighs. “Still no leads?”

“We’re nowhere close. I feel like we’re missing something crucial. If I just–”

“I think I know who he wants.”

Mihawk’s gaze finally leaves the photos and reports and settles on Zoro. His eyes widen slightly as he takes in his pupil’s dishevelled form and leans back on his office chair, entwining his hands as he crosses his legs, waiting for Zoro to continue. 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I’m pretty sure.”

“Spill it out, Roronoa.”

And Zoro does. With a deep sigh, he shares his worries about how you’ve become distant, ghost-like, a shell of your former self. He shares details about the gifts you received earlier and the way you’ve been acting as if someone is watching you. He tells Mihawk that Lucci flirted with you at the yacht party and that the store clerk did too. Too many fucking coincidences.

But more importantly, he describes the bruise he saw on your wrist today. It seemed somewhat recent, but worse than that, it looked dangerous. 

“And she’s not letting me in! She keeps pushing me away when all I want to do is help! If this fucker–”

“Language.”

“...is the one doing this to her, he’s fucking deranged and needs to be fucking stopped!”

Zoro keeps pacing the office, twirling one of Mihawk’s chess pieces in his hands as he seethes and rages.

“I understand your concerns, Roronoa, but you’re far too invested in this. It’s personal for you and–”

“Damn right it’s fucking personal!”

Mihawk sighs, his index finger and thumb pressing against the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stop an oncoming headache.

“I agree with you, coincidences don’t happen like that in our line of work. But I need you to be sure. Take an emotional step back and analyse it.” Zoro opens his mouth to interject, but Mihawk rises in his chair, hands supporting his weight on the desk as he leans forward, forcing Zoro to listen. “What if the gifts were only from an admirer? What if there’s something personal in her life making her act the way she’s acting? There’s no assurance she’s being harassed by the person who’s committing these crimes.”

Zoro’s eye burns into Mihawk, and he grips the back of the chair with so much force he can hear the wood groan beneath his hands. 

“She’s not like this. She’s not herself. I know her.” Mihawk opens his mouth, but Zoro turns on his heel with a hiss. “Fine. I’ll investigate myself, and when I bring you all the fucking evidence you need, you just make sure the fucking bastard rots in jail.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t help.” Zoro stops, his hand gripping the doorknob as his jaw clenches and unclenches. “You go keep her safe. I’m calling the special squad from the city precinct. If we’re dealing with the same person, I’m sure he’s not acting alone.”

A deep exhale leaves Zoro’s lips as he closes his eye, his chest feeling lighter. You might not want his help, you might want to push him away, but he’s not giving up on you. 

Never.

He nods and turns the doorknob just as Mihawk’s phone starts ringing. Zoro’s about to leave when his captain stops him by calling his name. When he turns, Mihawk’s wrinkles are more prominent, he has a hand in the air to signal Zoro to wait and is nodding at whatever is being said to him over the line. 

With a heavy sigh and something that resembles a small grin, Mihawk bends over his desk to gather the photos and neatly stacks the folders, then locks eyes with his pupil. “The store clerk wants to have a word with us, crucial information, he’s saying.”

Crucial? Zoro’s chest tightens again. He knows it’s about you. 

“Are you coming?”

Mihawk’s question feels daunting. Obviously, he wants to go, but what about you? Are you all right? He can’t stop thinking about that damned bruise on your wrist. What if the fucker who did that to you wants to finish the job?

“Can I meet you there? I just want–”

“To make sure she’s safe?” His Captain’s tone could be perceived as teasing, if Zoro believed his Captain to actually feel any kind of emotions. “Go, Roronoa. Meet me there, or I’ll fill you in tomorrow. Dismissed.”

The knots in Zoro’s stomach finally loosen. He’ll solve this fucking case and protect you. 

He won’t let you push him away anymore.

-*-

Fear turns your insides into jelly, and your breath comes out in irregular wisps. He was in your room. He put his hand on your hair. What else could he have done– no. What else did he do?

Nausea churns your stomach, and you muffle a sob, your eyes still boring into the polaroid. Mine. That possessive scrawl summons another whimper and you rise from your bed with a start. This has to stop. 

You can't tell Zoro, but you'll talk to his captain. 

Fighting back tears, you shake your head, trying to push away the phantom sensation of his hands on your hair, and grabbing your phone and polaroid - evidence - you rush downstairs, putting on your sneakers and not bothering to dress in anything else before you bolt out the door and into your car. 

By the time you reach the police station, your cheeks feel wet and puffy from all the crying and as soon as you push open the heavy doors, your heart thrums against your chest. 

Bzzzz. 

Unknown: Wrong move, Kitten. Are you sure you want to do this? 

Yes. You have to. This has to end. 

Unknown: Telling the cops is the same as telling THE cop. I'll still hurt him. 

No. No! 

Every time you feel like you’ve found a way out, he blocks it. It’s impossible to get away from him.

The bright lights from the station force your eyes upwards, and you put your phone away with shaky hands. Searching the almost empty station only makes you more nauseous, and as a kind policewoman talks to you, you take a step back. 

“Miss? Do you need any help?”

Yes! Oh, God, you need all the help you can get. But he just said Zoro will still come out of this hurt. 

The bomb threat, the constant calls to duty, that week Zoro was called away… it all comes down to him. He can easily manipulate Zoro, and Zoro doesn't even know he's being played. 

“No. No. I'm fine, this was a mistake.”

The policewoman calls after you, but you're already halfway out the door, tears mixing with the unforgiving rain, which comes down to darken your mood. 

And then you hear him. Your lifeline, your anchor. 

Safety. 

���Trouble?”

Zoro. 

With the loudest sob you've ever released in your life, you turn back to face him. He looks worried and frazzled. Mihawk lingers by his side for a beat, saying something too low for you to hear, to which Zoro nods, then the captain leaves with a subtle nod and a worried gaze your way. Zoro sighs, his hair is already dampening from the rain as he hastens towards you.

You want to hug him. You need to feel the strength of his arms enveloping you - protecting you. Instead, you hug yourself, shivering violently both from the helplessness of it all and from the cold rain. 

Zoro releases a stubborn noise and quickly pulls you under the building and away from the rain. Then he sheds his jacket and helps shelter you with his oversized clothes. 

It's warmth. It's safety. It's protection. 

“You're shivering.” He states, his hand smoothing your disheveled hair as he takes in your appearance. You see the way his jaw clenches and the way his eyes darken. He wants answers, but you can see he doesn't want to press too hard or too fast. “I'll take you home, and we'll talk.”

“No!” Instantly, you cling to his shirt, eyes pleading with his. 

“Fuck, Trouble. Enough is enough! We will talk, and–”

“Not that… don't take me home… please.” Home is now tainted. He can get into your sanctuary, it’s not safe.

Zoro stops arguing and his hand finds yours, holding it against his chest, trying both to calm you as well as to search for answers in your panicked gaze. He finds none. “Okay. My home, then.”

Bzzzz.

You ignore the buzz and tuck the crumpled photo into the pocket near your phone, where Zoro won’t pry, even though you clearly see him struggling to keep his hands still. Once again, he’s giving you space, not pushing anything. He’s just there. 

He holds your hand as you both make a run to his car. The small distance from the station to the car has you both drenched, though your sniffles are a consequence of much more than that.

Zoro starts the car and you stay silent. Even though you tucked the photo into your pocket, its image still burns holes into your mind’s eye. The stalker is becoming bolder, there’s no telling what he’ll do next. 

You might buy another night of safety just by being next to Zoro, but does your safety bring about his demise? Just the thought has you sobbing uncontrollably again, and you hear Zoro groaning next to you.

He still doesn’t press. It’s like, in between the time you left him at the club and now, he’s made up his mind about something as he’s, somehow calmer. 

When he parks the car and you both enter his apartment, the first thing he does is take away the wet jacket from your back, hand you a dry towel and shove you in the bathroom for you to dry off. Then, when you emerge, looking small and fragile, he hands you a dry, green, oversized sweater, and you pull it over your head.

It smells like Zoro. It’s home.

You shove your clenched fist inside the pocket and store the phone and picture in the safety of the fabric.

“Thank you.” You say, softly. He nods and grabs your shivering hand, pulling you towards the couch and making you sit near a steaming cup of tea, that you know you won’t touch. You’re still too shaken, too nauseous. 

But even though you can’t tell Zoro anything about why you’re behaving the way you are, there’s still something you want to say to him. Something important. 

“Zo…”

“Yes?” He’s eager to hear all you have to say, you can tell, but what you want to tell him won’t be enough for him. But maybe it will be enough to keep the stalker tame, since you know he’s bound to be furious that you sought refuge with Zoro once more.

You sigh and clutch Zoro’s hand tighter, your eyes boring into the way his hand engulfs yours. “I– I didn’t mean any of what I said. You matter to me… a lot.”

Zoro sighs too, and you know this isn’t exactly what he wanted to hear. Then, his index finger and thumb tip your chin upwards forcing you to look at him. “I know that.” A very light chuckle leaves his lips and he leans his forehead forward to touch yours. “I know it.” He repeats and you feel his hot breath fanning against your lips.

“Still, I shouldn’t have said it. I didn’t want to hurt you. I just… I just wanted…”

“To push me away?” He’s right. You don’t want to admit it, but it’s the truth. “Why? What’s gotten you so shaken up? Let me in…” Zoro’s face moves, his eye boring into yours as he hovers near your lips, they brush together, barely touching. It’s clear he doesn’t want to force anything.

But you can’t hold back anymore. You need him.

“Zoro…” Your hand squeezes his, and you angle your face. You shouldn’t do this. You shouldn’t. But… Zoro makes you feel so safe. He gives you purpose. He grounds you. And you’ve been feeling so lost and out of control lately that, just for a little bit, you want to feel like yourself. 

“Trouble…” Zoro finally leans in, taking your lips in his, and you sigh, your hand climbing to his shirt as you grip it tighter, pulling him towards you until you’re both flush. His hand travels to your nape, his fingers entwining with your hair.

And then, just as his tongue traces your lower lip, begging to deepen the connection, your phone buzzes and you know Zoro feels it too. 

You gasp when he breaks the kiss abruptly, his hand traveling to your pocket like he wants to get to the bottom of this for once, but you reach first, pulling the device out in a rush and strangling a whimper between your lips. 

It’s at this moment that everything happens in slow motion: you clasp the phone tighter to your chest, keeping it safe from Zoro’s clutches, but fail to notice as a piece of paper gets dragged behind in the motion and flutters to Zoro’s lap. Another gasp steals your breath, but you’re powerless to stop what happens next.

Zoro picks up the photo and stares at it for what seems like forever.

You shiver and whimper as Zoro’s eye darkens. His jaw clenches tight, and you can see his knuckles turning white from how tightly he’s holding the photo. “What the fuck…?” Zoro’s voice comes out rasp, thick with raw fury, and it almost seems like the temperature has dropped. 

“Zo…”

“Do you know him?” Zoro’s gaze never leaves the photo.

You whimper and shake your head. You can’t speak, you can’t tell him anything. The way you’re risking his safety just by him seeing this is already twisting your insides into impossible knots. 

“Was he the one who did that?” Zoro growls pointing to your covered wrist. This time, a buzz from your phone is answer enough for him. He lunges forward, barely giving you time to react as his hand swipes the phone from your grasp in a quick motion.

“No!” You shout, rising after him as Zoro checks the screen for the incoming messages.

“You should’ve stayed home, Kitten? I told you not to say anything to the cop?” Zoro’s gaze snaps to you and he holds out the phone, the device shakes alongside his hand. “Unlock it.”

You shake your head, frantic tears spilling down your cheeks as you feel helpless. “No, no, Zoro I can’t! He’ll hurt you!”

“Now, Trouble.” Zoro takes a step forward and his aura is so intense that you nearly shrink away from him. With a shaky hand you use your fingertip to unlock the device and slump back into the couch, unforgiving tears marring your face as ugly sobs wrack your body.

You couldn’t even keep Zoro safe.

You just had to leave the house. You couldn’t even handle him yourself.

Useless. Idiot. Coward.

Now if something happens to Zoro, how can you ever forgive yourself?

“Such a good Kitten?” Zoro paces the living room, his hand running through his damp locks as his face twists with each new text he reads. “The punishment worked? His arms around what’s mine? Hurt the cop?”

Zoro keeps growling and scrolling as you curl into a ball on the couch, raising your knees to your chest and hugging them tight. At one point you hear Zoro release a string of curses as he hits the punching bag he has hanging in the corner repeatedly. The dry thuds of his punches bring a new set of tears to your eyes.

He strides back to you with purposeful steps, showing you the phone. “How long?” You just sniff and curl further. Zoro grunts and swipes furiously, not bothering with reading anything anymore, just wanting to finally grasp the situation. “Weeks and weeks and weeks? Fuck!”

Zoro slams the phone on the coffee table so hard he might have broken the screen. Then, he kneels in front of you, taking deep steadying breaths to try and calm himself down. He sets his trembling hands on top of yours, leaning his head against your knees with a defeated groan. 

“I’m not angry at you.” He whispers. “I just can’t stand the fact that you’ve been facing this alone.” He sounds impotent, powerless, and helpless. All words you would never associate with Roronoa Zoro. And the thought that he’s feeling like this because of you churns your insides and makes your chest constrict and ache.

So you raise your head, a sniffle still making you shiver as you run your fingers through his green locks, tugging slightly until he looks at you. “I couldn’t tell you, Zoro… He–”

“He said he’d hurt me. I read.” Zoro scoffs like that is a preposterous idea, and you grimace. He needs to stop thinking he’s invincible. 

“He’s dangerous, Zo…”

“So am I.” Zoro’s smirk is as endearing as it is unhinged, but only for a small moment. Then his head slumps forward again and he lowers his hands, placing them on your calves. “I just can’t help but feel like… like I’ve failed you.”

“You didn't know.” 

“Still–”

“Zo.” You let your legs fall open to the side so you can lower your head and be face-to-face with him. As your thumb caresses soothing circles on his cheek, you cup his face. “Don't blame yourself. It's not your fault.”

Your eyes lock, and the air shifts. Zoro cups your cheek and nearly growls. “I won't let him lay one finger on you.” It sounds like a promise. 

“I know.”

Your foreheads touch and your fingers lower to grasp his wet shirt, pulling him closer. 

“You're not his!” Zoro hisses the word as if it's venomous. “He doesn't fucking own you.”

Zoro's hand grips your nape, desperation seeping through his touch, and you nod and agree, already breathless. “I know.”

“Fuck!” Zoro channels his fury into his lips and crashes them against yours. A soft mewl escapes you as you melt into the intensity of his kiss, your arms climbing and wrapping like a vice around his neck. It’s not cautious or romantic - it’s desperate and messy, clingy and demanding.

You feel Zoro's grip on your neck like a steadying pressure. Then, his other hand climbs your thighs and clasps your hip, pulling you effortlessly against him, closer to the edge of the couch. Moulding into his touch, you wrap your legs around his torso at the same time as he deepens the kiss. It starts with a soft nibble on your lower lip and evolves into him sucking on it until you grant him full access to your tongue. 

Zoro's throaty noises against your mouth are kindling to your flame, and you whimper carelessly, forgetting for a moment about the danger that surrounds you both. That's all it takes for him to hook his hands under your thighs and lift you effortlessly, never breaking your hungered kiss as he stumbles blindly towards his bedroom. 

You need him. 

You desperately need him. 

Your fingers travel to the hem of his shirt, and you tug harshly, as if the clothing item has personally offended you just by existing. You both gasp for air as Zoro helps you pull the shirt over his head, letting it fall carelessly somewhere in the hallway. 

Damn. 

Zoro could very well be a statue of a deity. He's so firm and well-defined. 

Damn! 

He chuckles as you bite your lower lip and stare. Your fingers trace his abs and pecs, and an absent sigh leaves your lips. Zoro uses the moment to find his way through the bedroom door and throws you on the bed, immediately following you and latching his lips to yours again. 

You unbutton your jeans and shimmy out of them because his touch is igniting a fire that needs to be put out immediately, before you combust. The way his calloused fingers travel your bare legs has you panting into his mouth, and you wrap the limbs around his waist again, pulling him towards you and feeling just how hard he already is. 

Zoro swallows your mewl and palms your ass, pulling you harshly closer to him, the friction of his jeans on your clothed clit burning like the hottest fire. Unrestrained, uncontrolled fire. It's exactly what you want. 

Arching into his touch, you feel his hand slither inside your shirt, groping flesh, feeling, claiming, but his movements are restricted, and he groans as he parts with you, pulling you upward so he can hook his fingers under your clothes to finally get rid of them. “Off.” He growls, and you nearly melt.

Zoro’s intensity is only equal to the fire burning in his eyes. It's not just exactly what you want, it’s precisely what you need. 

He gets rid of your clothes, and the minute you're bare to him, you shiver under his hungry stare. 

And then he freezes.

You cock your head to the side, your hands stilling their motions on his arms as you try to grasp what’s going on. It’s only when a gargled sound leaves his lips and you follow his gaze that you understand what’s going on: the bite mark.

Zoro opens and closes his mouth as your eyes widen, your hand instinctively raising to cover up the mark. But he’s faster. He grips your hand to stop you, his eyes unwavering, though the tremble of his hand betrays his composure. 

“Zoro…”

“Are those fucking teeth marks?” Zoro’s voice hits a low, dangerous tone. “What else have you kept hidden from me? Where else has that motherfucker touched you?” Zoro raises your arms, moves your legs, looking for something that’s not there, his teeth clenching so hard you can hear them grind, and his muscles drawn so taut, all the veins in his arms are prominent. “I’m going to kill that fucker for ever laying a finger on you.”

You stop his frantic search, your own hands stilling his as you search his eyes. “Zoro–”

“No, Trouble! Fuck!” Zoro punches the mattress twice, you can almost feel the fury seeping out of him in waves. “I failed you! I didn’t protect you, I–”

“Stop!” Cupping his cheek, you force his gaze back onto your face. His nostrils flare with heavy breaths, and a single tear travels down your cheek. “Zo… he already took so much from me.” A sob shakes your shoulders, and you pull Zoro closer. “Don’t let him take this too… please!” Zoro groans. “Please…”

It takes him a few seconds to breathe out all of his fury - to contain it - and even then, you can still feel it brimming under the surface.

Still, his gaze softens as he stares back into your eyes with a small, condescending nod. Then he presses his lips against yours again, though this time it's much softer. He starts slowly, lazily taking your tongue in his as he lays your body back down on the bed with controlled movements.

He only parts the kiss to remove his pants, then he settles his body in the middle of your legs and starts worshiping you. Zoro’s touch went from intense to soft; from ravishing to reverent; from a raging fire to a slow ember. 

He grabs your hip as his lips travel from your belly button to your sternum, then to your breast, where his tongue comes out and swirls around a perky nipple. You gasp and arch into his mouth, then feel his hand tremble against your hip, as if he wants to grab you harder but stops himself from doing it.

Then his fingers hook on the hem of your panties, and he pulls them down, his tongue never ceasing the dizzying motion around your erect nipple. You let out an unbridled moan, and he grunts, his hands now rough on the back of your thighs as he spreads them open. Zoro lifts his head away from your breast, clenches his teeth, and his touch softens again.

It feels… wrong.

So you reach, helping him out of his boxers and touching him, trying to bring back that intensity and fire that you so desperately need, that he was so willing to give before. His cock is thick and veiny, and he lets out a throaty mumble when you stroke it softly, the coil of desire wound tight in your belly. 

“Zo,” you try, “let go.” He nods softly as his hand cups your cheek and he claims your lips. The kiss is urgent, and you relent. It’s almost what you need. Then his hand travels from your neck to your back and he positions your back against the bed, angling himself with your wet folds, his tip probing slowly. 

A moan leaves your lips as you move against him, but he doesn’t thrust - not yet. You look at him and see clearly the way he’s trying to control himself: a tightness of his jaw, the unrestrained anger behind his eyes. 

His touch is featherlight, and he holds you almost as if he's afraid to break you. Then Zoro takes a deep breath and finally sheathes himself inside of you. 

Your head falls back in abandon as you dig your nails into his shoulders, pulling him closer. The stretch feels good. But there's something amiss. 

“Fuck.” Zoro curses, his brows furrowed tightly as he pulls back torturously slowly, and you whine, shaking your head. 

“Stop, Zoro, stop.” The press of your hand against his chest along with your words makes him halt, his eye widening as he searches for any sign of pain. Instead, he finds frustration. 

“You're holding back.” It's not a question. It's a statement. He sighs, head slumping forward as his jaw sets. 

“I don't… he… fuck! I can't hurt you, you've been through so much and I'm… I'm so furious!” Another punch against the mattress helps Zoro vent some frustration. “I can’t control myself.”

You trace soothing circles against the tautness of his biceps. It's physically visible the way he's controlling himself. “It's not what I need right now, Zo. I've been feeling trapped, held ransom, controlled! I need to feel free… I need to feel like myself. I have to be in control.”

Zoro's gaze falls to yours again, and you hold him there. 

“I need all of you. Let go.” He's still breathing hard, weighing his options, making sure that's what you want. “I want to feel like he doesn't own me.”

Your words cut through Zoro's thoughts like a sharp blade, and you see that unrestrained rage clawing its way from behind his erect walls. He minces your words for a few moments, and you feel the change happening. Zoro grabs your waist tighter, his fingers digging deep into your skin, making you gasp. Closing his eye, Zoro takes a deep breath, and when he opens it again, there's a fire burning deep. 

“Trouble…” He grips tighter, his lips kissing your skin, pressing, claiming. “You know how much I like you, don't you?”

A shiver courses through you, the air feels different - heavier, thicker - filled with tension and unspoken words. 

“Yeah. I think I do.” You nod softly, feeling his gaze baring you in a way that being naked never could. 

“Good.” Then he steals your breath with an earth-shattering kiss. Fiery, determined, desperate. His teeth sink into your lip, and you moan as his tongue swallows the noise. When he breaks it, you're panting with flushed cheeks. “Cause I'm about to fuck you like I don't.”

And he does just that. 

In an instant he's thrusting again, a deep, shattering thrust. Zoro pulls your hips against his body at the same time and you cry out his name in surprise. 

Everything feels like desperation and want. His thrusts are relentless, each one harder than the last, each one hitting deeper. 

It's this! This was exactly what you wanted! 

“Oh, God, God!” You pant, throwing your head back as Zoro grabs, bites, nips and licks every bit of flesh he can get his hands and mouth on. 

“This what you want, Trouble?” Zoro lifts your butt to angle it the right way, his hand pressing down on your stomach to tighten your walls against his throbbing cock, and suddenly, you're hit with blinding, hot, pleasure. “This what you need?”

“Yes! Zo! God!” You moan, a litany of mewls that sound like a prayer. You chant his name over and over again as you feel pleasure building up. You can't think, you can only feel! 

“I don't believe in deities, Trouble. It's all me.” His grunt is primal and possessive as his grip tightens and you clench him, an instinctive response to his claim. The unholy squelches fill the room like an erotic symphony and you’re lost in bliss.

Then Zoro chuckles darkly as he watches you almost break apart beneath him, your legs thrown carelessly as your nails bite and dig into his tanned skin. “Harder?” He asks, breathless as he pulls back, dragging his cock against your walls and then thrusting with such force that the moan that leaves your lips sounds foreign. “Faster?” He thrusts again, relentless, hitting your G spot with such precision that you're pretty sure your brain is melting. 

Zoro's forehead glistens with perspiration as he feels you tightening around him. He's numbing every thought, every feeling of helplessness, filling your mind with just one thing: Zoro, Zoro, Zoro! Another harsh thrust makes you tip over the brink, and the rough touch of the pad of his thumb against your clit in an unforgiving motion, has you spiraling and falling. Zoro's name spills out of your lips laced in moans and praise and you feel more like yourself than you have felt since this nightmare started. 

Still, he barely lets you recover. 

Your body still trembles and shakes as you come down from your high when he flips both of you, laying his back on the bed with you on top, riding him. You brace your hands against his taut chest to try and ground yourself with a gasp as he shows you a cocky smirk. “You wanted control? Take it.”

You feel yourself clenching in response to his teasing words. You did say you wanted to feel in control, but you barely have strength to hold your head straight, let alone ride this man. Zoro’s hands rest on your hips, but he doesn't move. He doesn't guide you or thrust into you. He just waits. 

Slowly you begin to rock your body, the waves of the previous pleasure still rippling through you, pulling another lazy mewl from your lips as you feel every vein of his cock dragging against your walls, hitting deeper than you thought possible. Zoro lets out a strangled groan as his digits create indents against the flesh of your thighs. He gasps and clenches his jaw, and you realise you are in absolute control of how you're making him feel. 

It's empowering. 

But it's not what you need. 

Zoro sees the way you start to struggle, trying to fall back into the relentless pace he set, but failing miserably. It's pleasurable, but it's not mind-numbing. 

His hands stroke your thighs as he lets out a raspy breath, his cock twitching inside of you, pulling a whimper from your parted lips. “Just ask for it.” He mumbles and your throat tightens. 

You know that his words have a much deeper meaning. He's not just telling you to ask for more. He's telling you to ask for his help. Like you should've done. All these weeks spent in suffocating silence, in a desperate struggle to just survive, and he was right there… 

“Say it.”

Your nails dig into his chest and you stop your futile motions. “Help me, Zo…”

It's so much more than a request to take control. It's a plea. It's a cry for protection. 

And he answers. 

A heavy sigh parts his lips as his hands grip your hips, holding you steady. Then he pounds you with a strength you didn't know he possessed. You can't hold back your moans as your body arches for him, head thrown back in rapture as another wave of pleasure starts to crest deep inside your belly. 

Zoro grunts and lets out a string of curses as he feels your cunt clenching him and squeezing him, his hands bruise, his pace quickens. 

And then you fall with a loud cry. 

Zoro's right behind you. 

He lifts his body, holding you tight against him as he buries his head in the crook of your neck and comes undone with a groan, his body stilling against yours in a crushing hug. 

It takes you both a few moments to calm your breaths, your heart rates evening out slowly, though you're both still lost in each other's embrace. 

“All you had to do was let me in, Trouble.”

His breathless words cut deep, and this time you truly shatter. 

Your body heaves and tears sting your eyes. Even though you try to control your sobs, you can't, and you hug Zoro tighter. He's still buried deep within you because neither of you wants to move, but his hand caresses your back in a soothing motion. 

“You're safe now. I won't let him touch you again.” He mumbles, though his words tremble with rage, and you know he's making much more than a promise: it's a vow. Then his lips seal the oath, pressing softly over and around the wound, scorching away the remnants of your stalker's claim: purifying it. 

And you sob harder. 

All the hurt and helplessness, all the fright and feelings of despair, all the stress and anxiety - vanish. Gone, just like that. Because Zoro is safety, Zoro is protection. And you know nothing will harm you as long as you're in his arms. 

“You're safe.” Zoro repeats over and over again, and with each echo of his words, his anger melts further. His hand tangles with your hair, and he kisses your neck, your cheek, the corner of your eyes. He's claiming your tears. 

He’s healing you. 

-*-

In the aftermath, when you’re both lying in bed, you sense Zoro wants to know more, but are you willing to share?

“Was it at the club?” He finally asks and the words are heavy, like they’ve lingered on his tongue for a while, marinating before he lets them spill out. You don’t have to ask what ‘it’ is, you know.

“Yes.” A sigh parts your lips as you know this will only feed Zoro’s anger. “He trapped me against the bar and clutched my wrist.” You don’t tell Zoro all the things the stalker said to you, you can show him that mercy. “Then he marked me… as his.” 

Zoro’s rage is now controlled. Subdued under layers of care and worry for you. But you know this fury is a monster on its own - a demon - and when Zoro finally unleashes it, he will bring forth hell. 

“Tell me everything.” Zoro demands. 

And you do.

Like you should’ve done weeks ago.

-*-

The night is still dark and eerie, it must be around four in the morning, but it’s not daunting or scary. Still, you can’t sleep.

Zoro dozed off a while ago, though his arms around you still hold the same strength, the same barrier of protection he created just for you. But you can’t stop thinking about his safety.

He assured you that you were now safe. He promised. But it was never your safety you were worried about. It was always about keeping Zoro safe.

With a heavy sigh, you disentangle from his embrace and step out of the bedroom on light steps. Your intention is only to go to the bathroom. You and Zoro talked, and he said you should just chuck the phone away, not even pick it up anymore, and you intended to follow through.

But as soon as you step into the hallway, the phone buzzes against the glass of the coffee table.

And you falter.

The buzz is relentless, taunting you, frightening you again. You shouldn’t look, you know that - hell, you promised that.

Still…

Your footsteps take you towards the living room, and you kneel on the floor, eyes darting to the sides because you’re already feeling that familiar prickling on the back of your neck - the one that tells you you’re being watched. 

And then you flip the screen over.

Unknown: Fucking whore! How could you? Unknown: You’re MINE! Unknown: You slut! Moaning for him like a dog in heat? I’ll teach you manners! Unknown: … I’m sorry. I overreacted. It’s not your fault, Kitten. It’s all the cop’s fault. Unknown: He tainted you, he DARED touch what’s mine. Unknown: It’s not your fault. You just need to learn. But I’m patient. I’ll teach you. Unknown: We still have to get rid of him, though, don’t we? Unknown: He can’t get away with making you moan like you’re a common wench.  Unknown: I have half a mind to climb up his bedroom window and gut him like the fucking pig he is! Unknown: Would you want that, Kitten? To see his blood dripping from his open belly? His guts spread out on the floor as he’s still alive and breathing and FEELING all of the pain?

You drop the phone on the carpet with a soft thud, your eyes already brimming with unshed tears. This was what you feared. You shouldn’t have come to Zoro. You shouldn’t have…

The nightmare didn’t stop, it just paused and restarted even worse than before. 

The phone buzzes again and you stare down, your hands still trembling as you try to fight the feeling of dread that has settled in your chest. 

Unknown: I’m usually a patient man, Kitten, but I’ve run out of patience with the cop.  Unknown: It ends now.

What does he mean? You barely have time to conjure up all the grisly thoughts to the forefront of your mind before you see it: a little red laser dot, shining against your hand. You turn your palm upwards, and the laser lingers until your mind associates it with danger: a gun.

You gasp and snap your head forward towards the window where the dot is coming from. And then it moves. Your eyes follow it, dread knotting your stomach and making you nauseous - you don’t need to follow it, you know where it’s going.

Zoro.

With trembling fingers, you clutch the phone, and for the first time since you’ve realised he was a stalker, you answer his text.

You: No, please, no! Stop! You: Don’t hurt him! I’ll do anything!

You angle your body towards the bedroom, and you see the dot stop, then disappear. Did it work?

Your chest thumps loudly against your ribcage, and when the phone buzzes again, you’re eager to read the answer.

Unknown: Anything, Kitten? Unknown: You’ve just saved the cop’s life. Unknown: Meet me at our home. You’re ready.

Fear and apprehension hold you ransom for a few moments before you compose yourself. There’s no room to back away now, no room to feel regret. You saved Zoro’s life. You’re willing to trade yours for his without a second thought.

So you collect your clothes - doning Zoro’s sweater too because you can’t stop shivering, even though you know it’s not the cold that’s causing it - and scribble a small note for Zoro: I’ll handle this.

Even though you know you won’t handle anything. Maybe it keeps him home?

You suck on your lower lip to stop a sob or a desperate chuckle, you’re not quite sure which - Zoro would go to the ends of earth to keep you safe. You know that. That note is trash.

Still, you turn to leave, but before you exit, you reach into Zoro’s holster and grab his gun. 

You won’t go unprepared. You’re willing to fight.

-*-

Returning home has never felt so terrifying. You took Zoro’s car, both because yours was still at the police station - though it’s not that far from Zoro’s - and also because it will slow him down if he wakes up and decides to look for you.

The porch light is on - you didn’t leave it like that - and the front door is open - you closed it, even though you didn’t lock it.

Before leaving the car, you place the gun inside the sweater pocket and mumble a prayer to whichever deity might be listening. 

This ends tonight. It has to. One way or the other, you can’t live like this anymore.

Each step out of the car and closer to your home sounds like the drums of doom. Each light tap of your sneakers is like a nail being hammered on your coffin. Your confidence oozes out of your body as if it were perspiration and gets lost somewhere on the steps of your porch.

You reach the open door feeling bare.

He took everything from you, and he’s about to claim all of it as his own. 

“Finally, Kitten. Come to me.”

And there’s nothing you can do about it.

He turns on the lights inside the house and you gasp, your eyes widening as recognition strikes. “You? Why?”

“Because I love you, Kitten. And you will, too. Soon. Soon.”

The sound of the door closing behind you seals your fate. It’s the lid on the coffin, and it’s suffocating. There’s no air, there’s no light, there’s no room. 

Only despair.

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|Chapter 12|

[mrs-elsie-barnes]

Policy & Procedure | Part 7 | Congressman!Bucky Barnes x Reader | 2.8k words

Bucky struggles with his new reality, a new assitant, arguing with his best friend and, crucially, no more you.

Warnings: 18+language and canon typical violence, Bucky thinks about sex but nothing explicit.

Masterlist | Policy & Procedure Masterlist | <-Part 6 | Bucky Barnes

"Mr Barnes?" There was a new girl at your desk on Monday morning, she had the same cotton poly office wear everyone seemed to own, the same plain black heels, the same neat makeup. But she wasn't you.

"Yes, Abby?" He didn't even look up from his papers.

"It's —it's uh Anna, sir." She stuttered.

She called him Mr Barnes and Sir and brought him coffee.

But she wasn't you.

"Sorry, Anna, what is it?" He rubbed a hand through his hair.

"Mr —Captain Wilson —Captain America…he was asking to see you, sir." Anna had gone pink from the tips of her ears to her collarbone.

"Hang up on him."

Bucky went back to his paperwork. Elections were so close he could taste them, the iron tang of fear in the back of his throat. He had to win. If he lost… well, humiliation would be just the start. He needed to secure his seat to protect Wilson, his friends, his bothers in arms.

"He's outside, sir. He was very insistent."

Bucky could see the tremble in Anna's hands as she spoke, she was brave, at least, he liked that about her.

"Fine, send him in."

Sam had been right, it was easier with an assistant.

But.

She wasn't you.

Sam didn't say anything when he sat down and Bucky wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of speaking either. They stayed in silence for a full three minutes before Anna returned with a little chrome trolley with a coffee service on.

"Thank you, Anna." Bucky kept his eyes trained on Sam, but he could see Anna's little smile and made a mental note to apologise for being a complete asshole later.

"How's the new assistant?" Sam asked, keeping his eyes bored into Bucky's.

He hated that they were back here, but it wasn't his fault.

"She's very professional, efficient. I haven't found out she's a fucking spy yet, so that's good. Unless of course I discover it later and realise I've been tricked — again."

Bucky lent back in his chair.

"Look, Barnes, you didn't give me much choice."

"Why did it have to be anything to do with you in the first place, Wilson?" Bucky shot back. "Since when were you my keeper? Those jokes about me being your sidekick have gone to your head."

"You're not my sidekick, Buck, you're my friend." Sam implored, "and I was worried about you. I know you're a big scary assassin, but politics is something else and —"

"I don't need you babysitting me and I certainly don't need you sending me honeypots."

Bucky could feel an embarrassed flush rising under his starched shirt and fought his body to keep it from Sam's intense gaze.

"Honeypots — what are you talking about?" Sam did look genuinely confused.

"Don't lie, Sam. I bet you even put Joaquín up to teasing me about it. Fucking hell, you were making bets about it. Surprised you didn't win since it was clearly all your idea, but maybe she's been teaching you how to bluff and lose like a spy while you're laughing at me behind my back."

Bucky was fighting hard to keep his voice down, he knew how easily sound carried in this old walls.

"Bucky I really don't know what you're talking about, I just thought she was an excellent agent and maybe —"

"Sure you don't — you didn't put her up to flirting with me? What was the gala, a bonus for promising to fight harder when I made that speech? The speech I wrote thinking about you and your team."

"A bonus? Bucky—"

"I don't know what's more insulting, you pulling the strings for your own benefit or because you think I'm too pathetic to do any of this myself. I really thought we were friends. I really did, Sam."

Bucky stood, meaning to push himself backwards but shoving the heavy table forwards instead. Sam shot out of his seat as it moved across the room, but Bucky was already turning away, looking out of the window.

It was a gloomy day today, but warm still, and he remembered your laugh as he'd helped you climb through the French windows and over the flower beds, shoes in one hand, his fingers in the other.

"Bucky, I don't know what you're talking about. I did seek her out to be your security. I worked with her before, at SHEILD, she was clean when it all came down. I saw her shoot a colleague point blank when they turned out to be HYDRA she was — fuck, she was really strong that day. Reminded me a little of you to be honest. She's as good as they come and she wanted to support you. I don't know what happened between you.—" Sam was doing that quiet, even, VA counsellor voice that drove Bucky insane and made him want to scream. He didn't want to be reasonable. He wanted to argue about it.

"I didn't know. That's what happened, Sam. I didn't fucking know she was a plant. I thought she was my assistant, I thought she liked me and fucking hell I thought I was in love with her and it was all a huge lie." Bucky looked at Sam then, and despite his even voice Sam was visibly upset too. "I thought you were my friend, Sam and I trusted you."

"I am you friend—"

"I don't think so. I'm very busy, Captain, I think you should go."

Bucky pressed the buzzer on his phone and Anna opened the door cautiously, everyone in the office beyond had gone, despite it still being the early afternoon.

He really did owe Anna an apology, she was a very good assistant too.

Anna was gracious in her acceptance of his apology, he had flowers sent via HR to her home address and made sure to use the manners his ma gave him instead of being a the grumpy asshole the media wanted him to be.

But he couldn't shake thoughts of you, or his argument with Sam. He'd seemed genuinely confused about his honeypot accusation, as had you when he'd brought it up at the safe house.

But he couldn't understand why you'd slept with his so readily, acquiesced to his flirting and teasing, been so eager with him. He'd be thinking about your night together for the rest of his life, your pouting lips, the feel of your mouth, your body, the way you tasted. You hadn't hesitated, you'd begged him, thanked him. Could that have been a lie?

When he'd returned to DC, at six am just as you'd said, there'd been a message from Sam on his cell phone voicemail reiterating what you'd already told him about a false alarm, a threat with no teeth, and promising to call in the morning.

Bucky had ignored that call,and the next, and the texts, and even Joaquín despite him turning up at all hours with his favourite snacks and beers trying to tempt him out.

There had been another message too. One from you.

The time stamp was just before the speech and there was enough background noise for Bucky to guess you'd called him from somewhere near the conference room. Your voice had been soft and low, almost a whisper —

Hi, Mr Barnes, I'm about to watch you walk out and finally give your speech. In case you're busy after and we don't get a chance to talk, I wanted you to know I was here and I'm really proud to be a very small part of the work you're doing. It's important, and so are you. I bet you're amazing up there, you look so handsome in your suit. I hope you remember out little deal, but I'm sure you'll be really busy after so don't worry you can write me an 'I owe you'. If you get time, call me, even if it's late but if not — I'll see you Monday…sir.

The lies were so easy for you, the pretence. Of course you'd been a SHIELD agent, probably one of the best.

He'd listened to it twice and then cried in the shower.

On Friday he agreed to a proper security team, but only when he was on official business, but he did relent and agree to a single body guard somewhere in the building. A man named Carl who loved that his job was sitting with his feet up in the security office drinking coffee and reading his book all day.

Anna continued being diligent.

Sharon ran him into the ground with paperwork, speeches and stress.

Sam left voicemails.

Joaquín sent him a bouquet of porn.

And you never called him again.

That seemed fair, Bucky thought, he was just a job after all.

But his fingers itched to call you. It wasn't the same in the office without you around. He'd become used to the way you hummed while you worked and the little pastries on Friday. He wanted to sneak out and get a drink with you at lunch and make out with you on his desk.

He was miserable and everything was boring.

"We have one week to go, Mr Barnes, please try and look excited." Sharon dropped a stack of letters on his desk, "these all came for you. I've put twenty of the most interesting, and most answerable, on the top. Write them some replies for gods sake, you're supposed to be a man of the people."

"Sure," Bucky looked out of the window, it was busy in the Capitol, as usual. Tourists and politicos and hangers on.

"Barnes," Sharon snapped, and Bucky looked at her. She was so much like Steve's Sharon, bossy and sharp. He kinda missed her.

"I'm on it, I'm doing it."

He was half way through the second letter, a little girl with a prosthetic wanting to know how she could get a vibranium leg, when the ground shook, the paintings fell off the wall and everyone started screaming again.

Across the suite of offices Carl dropped his coffee on the floor and ran for Bucky's office knowing he wouldn't make it in time to be of any use.

Anna hid under her desk and Sharon pulled on her high viz vest and started leading the staff out of the emergency exit.

Bucky pulled the SIG from his chest holster, getting his back to the wall he edged to the window, but he couldn't see anything, facing into a small court yard and then a car park. Whatever was happening was happening in the main thoroughfare at the front of the building.

"Mr Barnes!" Sharon called back for him, tugging Anna's shaking hand as she emerged from under the table, "we have to evacuate."

"Get the kid out," he pointed at Anna with his left hand, the right still firmly wrapped around the gun, "I'm fine, I'll do another sweep of the inner offices."

Sharon rolled her eyes, but tucked her arm around Anna and made for the exit.

He could smell fire and he could hear screaming, there was no way he was leaving anyone behind in here. It was full of fliers and letters, it was a tinderbox. Without another thought he began heading for the source of smell, deeper into the office and there, by the mailing room, a masked group were torching the bundles and sacks of mail.

There were no logos on their clothes, but that didn't mean they didn't belong to someone. He was only glad they were scaring people, and not outright harming them.

"Hello. Congressman Barnes." A gravelled voice appeared behind him. He whipped round, but he didn't recognise the man, his face was covered by a ski mask.

"I've not been elected yet, but I'm glad I can count on your vote." His hand lifted to pistol whip him with the end of the gun, but he barely moved before the man crumpled to the floor.

And there you were, sweat on your brow, gun in hand. He allowed himself a moment to drink you in. Your office attire was a little more formal, your shirt buttoned all the way up, trousers intead of a skirt. And he recognised the thin Kevlar armour covering your chest, the shadow of a SHIELD patch still visible.

"Mr Barnes, let's go." You marched off down the hall and he could do nothing but follow.

Bucky wasn't quite sure why he'd decided to follow you again, except that his heart appeared to have taken control of his entire body, beating wildly like a cartoon character being dragged along in the wake of the sexy, unobtainable, love interest.

He supposed that's what he was, a characture of himself, so starved for attention he'd fallen immediately. So overwhelmed by you that even the truth didn't shake his heart's conviction that you were someone he should be with, someone he should trust.

"I'm not even going to bother asking where we're going." He sighed, impressed by the pace you were setting in your heels.

"Safe room." You clipped back, taking an abrupt corner and grabbing his jacket sleeve to take him with you but you were brought up short by the pile of rubble that used to be the first floor corridor covering your path.

"Glad we didn't go down there," Bucky couldn't help the caustic tone, he felt like he was being torn apart.

"Next plan." You turned on your heel, just as abruptly as you had before.

"Next plan," Bucky grabbed your arm, tugging you back, "is we go out of the window and I go home and you go…wherever you like."

He surveyed the windows, most of them old with wooden frames, and slammed his shoulder into the meeting points of the small square frames. The glass shattered easily and he used his left hand to wrench the last of the wood frame away. Bucky shrugged off his suit jacket and lay it over the exposed shards of glass and splinters of wood and then held out his hand.

"Ladies first."

"I thought you didn't consider me a lady anymore." You huffed, but stepped forward, refusing his hand and climbing out. "You called Sam a liar and me a honeypot, I can't imagine what you've said about us when you're not in your little political bubble."

With the broken window between you, you felt miles away again.

"I never said anything like that." Bucky followed, lifting his jacket and checking the lining. Still intact, wallet, keys, phone.

He looked up. You were still there, why were you still there?

You narrowed your eyes at him, "no, I didn't think you would. But I know you're angry. I want to talk about it."

Bucky sighed and, checking the direction of noise reverberating around the office, set off away from the car park. "I'm gonna get a cab, an Uber, whatever, give my regards to Sam."

He set off at pace, hoping some distance between you both would stop his heart from trying to escape his chest. Bucky skirted the edge of the office block and watched as a SWAT team descended on the roof while fire and rescue took care of the growing blaze from the mail room. He hesitated, looking down at the dark metal hand in contrast to his white shirt.

He should go back.

"Nope," your hand slid into his and you squeezed, drawing him away, "that's not your fight, Mr Barnes. Let's get you in a cab."

"Can't you just leave me alone," he snapped, snatching his hand back. "Wasn't your position terminated?"

"Yes," your eyes were shining again, as if you were going to cry, "my position was terminated. There's a rank round the corner, I don't trust an uber right now.

"So what the fuck are you doing here? Just leave me the alone. You've had your fun," Bucky let out a dark life, "Jesus Christ have you had your fun. Now just let me sort my own life out. You don't have to be here, go."

"What if I want to be here?"

He'd never heard your voice so small and quiet and he felt like shit for shouting. Is this who he'd become? The kind of man who shouts at women?

"What if I liked spending time with you, and listening to you and laughing with you. What if I care about you and that's why I'm here, disobeying direct orders to stay away. What if the thought of you in that building when that alarm went off made me sick to my fucking stomach. What then? Mr Barnes? I'm not going anywhere."

You stuck your arm out and a cab pulled up warily, "what the hell is happening here?" The driver eyed the multiple emergency vehicles with one hand on the gear stick.

Bucky climbed into the back seat and slid along, reaching his hand out, "get in."

"What?"

"If all of that— then get in."

You took his hand and climbed in next to him and despite the awkward shuffle to get your seat belts on, you didn't let go.

Part 8 ->

[xxgothchatonxx]

I cannot believe just how perfect Assad's performance was in that art gallery scene.

I feel like this was to Armand what the confession scene was to Louis. As a viewer, this was the moment where I thought "this is The Vampire Armand". I mean, I've been loving Assad's performance from the start, but I feel like this was the make-or-break moment for the writing of Armand in this show. Because yes Armand is manipulative, yes he does truly horrific things, but he is also broken. He's been hurt so much in his life but what's both so horrifying yet also heartbreaking is how he views that hurt. His devotion to his maker, even after he did so many horrific things to his "beloved Amadeo" (god I felt my stomach drop when he said that...) is so tragic.

And I think Assad captured that tragic devotion perfectly. Because we as the audience know just how fucked up this story is, and I'm guessing the show-only viewers have now got a very strong impression of just how much of a gross asshole Marius is. But Assad delivered those lines like he's telling a fairytale. It's so eerily peaceful and almost romantic, which creates a vivid contrast against what he's actually saying.

From an adaptation standpoint, I think it was a brilliant choice to place this backstory here. Because it provides a logical reasoning for why Armand is the way he is, and why he acts the way he acts (and will act). How he views love, why he's so obsessed with maintaining tradition and order. And I think it's smart from a show perspective to reveal it here and now rather than wait a few seasons. The horror of Armand is still there, but he isn't Armand without the tragedy.

Assad and the writers absolutely nailed this scene. It's such a crucial part of Armand's character and I thought it was both incredibly disturbing but also tastefully done.

[chalkrevelations]

So, if you characterize Langdon as ridiculous in The Pitt's Ep 15 confrontation with Robby by framing his response as, "Sure, I repeatedly stole drugs from the hospital and from patients, but you had a panic attack, so we are equally bad, so there!" - is it not clear how this trivializes what's going on with Robby?

Minimizing what happened to Robby as a silly little panic attack, tra-la, in an attempt to weaponize that scene against Langdon misses the point of a show focused on the PTSD, the ongoing trauma, and the continual demand to perform miracles in untenable conditions that healthcare workers face in the U.S. healthcare system. Robby is a hot fucking mess, and we watch the cracks get wider and wider through the course of a shift that starts with him going to get a co-worker off the roof while they crack jokes about suicidal ideation and ends with a co-worker coming to get him off the roof, coaxing him back from the literal and figurative edge. Everything he busts Langdon's ass for re: the way Langdon interacts with Santos is behavior that Robby, himself, displays toward co-workers (including Langdon) through the course of the shift. And it's Robby's perspective that we get to step into and out of as we watch him increasingly dissociate from reality as the shift goes on.

Langdon's comment about drugs vs. breakdown isn't about them being equally bad. It's commentary - on both narrative and meta levels - about them being equally fucked up by the job. This discussion - this discussion - centers Langdon and Robby as individuals who have suffered harm from their workplace environment. There's another conversation that could and should be had about the risk of harm to patients that each of them pose, but that is not what is happening right here. (Not even Robby is doing this here. In fact, Robby continues to see this through the lens of personal betrayal, making it about himself, and is only at this point taking the first baby steps to center Langdon in discussion about Langdon's own addiction.)

This conversation about the toll on healthcare workers as individuals, as people, is a vital conversation, in and of itself, even aside from getting into risk to patients. We should care about both Robby and Langdon - and by extension about the healthcare workers they represent - for themselves, not just as a risk-benefit analysis. They're people, not automatons who spit out treatment when you put your quarter in the hospital machine, and they deserve care and compassion and treatment for their problems just as much as any patient does. I feel like it's crucial that people understand - the conversation they're having, the kind of treatment regimen that Robby is laying out, it isn't about punishing Langdon for illegal, unethical behavior. It's not designed as a punitive program. It's about getting Langdon help for his addiction and getting him back on track, professionally as well as personally.

And here's the thing: Robby needs help for his PTSD just as much as Langdon needs help for his addiction, he is being harmed just as badly by his PTSD as Langdon is being harmed by his addiction, and Robby is just as resistant to admitting that he has a problem and getting help for it. Langdon isn't saying "Don't act like you're morally better than me," he's saying "Don't act like you're functional, either, because you're not." And like many, many of the things Langdon says through the course of the shift, the way he says it may be shitty - whether that's because he's naturally kind of an asshole or because it's part of his addict behavior - but that doesn't mean he's wrong. Robby isn't functional. We watch him be literally non-functional at various points during the shift. By some metrics - terrible, fucked-up metrics - Langdon is more functional than Robby, and it may be how he's gotten away with self-medicating for so long, because he keeps doing what needs to be done, pushing people through the system, through the ED, getting them treated and out, continuing to push the rock uphill, even at points when Robby is demonstrably paralyzed by his trauma, unable to keep moving, to keep doing, to keep treating patients and moving them on the conveyer belt toward admission or discharge, getting flattened under the rock rolling back over him, over and over.

I'm just. So tired of seeing people minimize his trauma as a way to score points off Langdon.

[danasevans]

wait ok im still thinking abt wilde west au. How do all the characters fit into the town??

tysm for asking bc i have THOUGHTS. this will be a hopefully brief crash course, some of them are more fleshed out than others but...

Robby: traveling doc who comes to help out a small town and gets more than he bargains for

Dana: owner and manager of the saloon, one of the pillars of the town. does most of the town's medical stuff by default, a lot of patching up day-to-day injuries and plenty of midwifery too. can treat a concussion with an ice pack and a shot of whiskey bc it's like 1938 who cares

Jack: the only doctor who lives in the town. came back shell shocked from ww1 with an amputation to deal with, too. keeps to himself, has a lot of bad habits thanks to Everything about having PTSD in the 1930s. Robby brings him out of his shell by being a stubborn asshole about it

Heather: town sherriff as she DESERVES. not super sure about Robby at first which leads to some very fun tension. immediately thinks he's hot which unfortunately for Robby makes her even more initially hostile

Frank: owns and operates the local general store. went to college, has a business degree, used to be insufferable about it but more chill now. he's a great husband and slightly overwhelmed dad

bonus - Abby: has to handle a lot of upkeep of the general store while also raising five children. will have a very important arc pretty early in the story because five kids is more than enough, thank you, and she and Dana show Robby that sometimes the less official, more under-the-radar medicine is what the patient needs

McKay: one of Myrna's working girls. first came to town when Harrison was a baby, running from the law after shit went down with her ex. hates men when she's off the clock. fast friends with Dana bc Dana is a girl's girl!!!!

putting the rest under a cut bc this post is getting long rip

Mohan: she's a farmhand but she bounces around between farms. she helps plan fields and markets and everything. when she first came to town people were skeptical but in the Dust Bowl economy someone as bright as her to help with the penny pinching is invaluable

Mel: works at Langdon's store in exchange for room and board. she and Becca live in a small attic apartment but they're close with Frank and Abby and are often invited down for meals. Abby appreciates having Mel for extra hands and Mel appreciates not being the only one there to watch after Becca

Santos: Trinity is the reason Dana and Myrna have beef. she came to Myrna's when she was WAY too young to be doing all that, and she already had plenty of trauma from the path that led her there. naturally Dana just fucking adopted her. Fourth Evans daughter. it takes Robby an insanely long time to learn Trinity is not, in fact, biologically related to Dana (she also works at the Saloon now, one of the few people Abbot tolerates)

Whitaker: his family owns a cattle ranch so that takes up a lot of his life. but he's kind and he's smart and he's gentle so he helps out Dana and Jack with some of the harder injuries-- he has a knack for setting bones or tying slings. when Robby comes to town he struggles between wanting to pursue medicine more or staying loyal to his family when they need him

Javadi: her father is the pastor, and her mother is very influential in town. she's fascinated by some of the crazier things going on but doesn't want to get into trouble. she gets super curious about the medicine and Robby and Abbot's whole Vibe when they show up. Eileen is exploding Robby in her mind bc of this

Perlah & Princess: work with Dana at the saloon. responsible for keeping the town gossip mill flowing-- a crucial job!!

Mateo: farmhand who's friends with everybody. I'll probably let him and Javadi get together bc I'm a sucker for sweet romance

I intend for most of the side characters to make appearances too but this is what i have so far!! came up with a lot of this while writing this post lol. thank you for asking bc i am Insane over this au

[quiet-saint]

"ᴀᴛᴛɪᴛᴜᴅᴇ"

・・・・・・

'Attitude, you got some fucking attitude. I can't believe what you said to me, you got some attitude. Inside your feeble brain there's probably a whore. If you don't shut your mouth you're gonna feel the floor.'

pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader, soldier boy x you

cw: lots of fucks, smut territory but no actual sex yet(sorry), not explicity stated nor very well implied but reader is a virgin, soldier boy is an asshole, kinda mean ben, soldier boy being mean and rough with you

basically: frustrated and annoyed and hating your role as babysitter, you lash out at soldier boy. which, of course, has consequences.

title taken from attitude by misfits.

・・・・・・

You're quiet, laying back on the beat up couch with your arms crossed and knees bent, dirty shoes planted on the cushion like a moody fucking teenager.

The motel room is full of the thick, lingering smell of weed, almost stuffy with it. You add your own to the mix, occassionally puffing out sweet clouds from your vape.

You are, yet again, babysitting Soldier Boy while Butcher and The Boys do their usual thing; gathering information, tracking down new leads and generally plotting. This time they're trying to find Mindstorm so Soldier Boy can get his revenge out of the way and the team can go back to focusing on Homelander. Your current role as supe-babysitter is now an unwanted one. Initially after Butcher's pep-talk a few days ago and a gentle squeeze to your shoulder, you felt... important. Responsible. Tasked with something crucial all alone but that has since soured.

You can't help the negativity that seeps into your mind when you think about your role within the team. Butcher, MM, your friend Hughie... hell, all of them are reluctant to bring you along on any recconnaissaice or 'real' missions.

Too fragile. Too soft. Too wea—

"The fuck's your problem?" Soldier Boy's question pulls you from your thoughts and you turn your head to look at him. The right side of your headphones presses uncomfortably at your jaw.

Right. Him. The reason you've been couped up in a one-star motel several times this week. The supe you're forced to watch over and keep calm.

"Been staring at the wall for the past five minutes like it did somethin' to you."

You can't help but huff. Annoyance grows into anger, festers in your gut hot and bright, bubbling up and spilling forth with a quiet, sharp, "You."

Normally, you wouldn't be so rude. Haven't been rude to him before. Answered his questions about the current world politely, did your best to ignore his flirting, and simply shrugged in reply to his 'back in my day' tangents. But you're fed up. With the team, with Soldier Boy's instability and his arrogance and outdated views. You just want to get out of this shitty motel and return to your almost equally shitty apartment but that isn't an option right now.

"You," you repeat "you're my fucking problem."

Soldier Boy's mouth curls into a crooked, cocky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. Real fuckin' delighted asshole. He takes a swig from his beer bottle, adam's apple bobbing. He sets the bottle back down onto the table with a soft thud. He cocks his head to the side, green eyes settling on you with amusement. "And why's that, sweetheart?"

You sit up, swinging your legs over the cushions that stick out over the lip beneath, worn converse meeting the stained carpet with a light stomp of irritation. You slip your headphones off and set them on the lumpy cushion beside you, not breaking eye contact with him.

"Are you serious? I'm forced to be your babysitter." Blistering venom threads through your words. "I'm forced to listen to an old supe talk about the good ol' days like they were perfect." You continue, soft but no less sharp. The stream of anger won't stop even when your heart begins to beat near painfully hard in your ribcage. "We get it. You were betrayed and woke up to a world that forgot about you. But I'm sick of hearing about 'women these days' and 'men today are pussies'. Just suck it up." This isn't like you. Not at all. You're twisted, warped, shaped by life and its experiences into something jagged and ugly.

Soldier Boy's cocky smile drops, eyes falling to the table that's messy with pill residue, sprinkles of weed, and a few wet circles from the condesation of his beer. He chuckles lowly, the sound hollow to your own ears. He shakes his head slightly, brings his hands up to press flat against the table and stands from the chair to stalk over to the couch.

Not entirely willing to back down, you school your expression into as neutral of one as you can muster in your current state. Ease your glower into something familiar and dead. The hard rhythm of your heart is almost dizzying, adrenaline setting your senses into overdrive.

Soldier Boy tuts, sound bordering on disapproving and, faster than you can process, he reaches out with his right hand to grab your jaw, tipping your head back to look up at him. Tall and broad and looming.

You don't even gasp, already feeling yourself starting to slip into indifference.

"You scared, bambi?" Soldier Boy taunts.

"No."

His hand slides down from your jaw to your throat, thumb finding your pulse point easily and pressing in firmer than necessary. "No?" he echoes. "Pulse says otherwise." Soldier Boy's hand trails back up, grip gentler this time. His brow knits and he uses his hold to turn your face to the left, then to the right, eyes flitting over your features as if searching for something but then he scoffs.

"You don't talk to me like that," he continues, leaning further down to bring his mouth close to your ear. "Hate to ruin that pretty face."

A slight involuntary shiver runs down your spine, something warm and unwanted blooming in your gut to twist and meld with the fear you've pushed down and tucked away to be looked at later.

Slowly, Soldier Boy pulls away and straightens up and you bring both hands up to settle on his arm, fingers pressing into the warm flesh and muscle beneath. "Bambi's a fucking boy," you blurt. He closes his eyes for a moment, mouth pulling into a crooked smile with a huff of a laugh.

Without any warning Soldier Boy's free hand flies to your shoulder, bunching your shirt in his fist. He uses his grip on your jaw and shirt to haul you to your feet and you gasp, hands tightening their grip on his forearm. His rough touch has the unfortunate effect of grounding you, preventing you from fully retreating into emptiness. Limbo. Limbs are simultaneously too loose and too tense, emotions are dull but slowly crawling back up. Too faint yet too felt.

"I want a fucking apology, sweetheart," Soldier Boy growls.

Sweet cold apathy begins to recede.

Apology? Your heart is hammering like it's trying to break through your ribs. You swallow, tongue darting out to lick your lips. Soldier Boy moves his hand from your jaw up to your cheek, giving two light pats in warning.

"'m not hearin' anything, bambi..." He's staring, eyes searching yours. You blink up at him, lips parting on a steadying breath.

"You're not gonna hurt me." Idiot. Digging yourself deeper. "That'd fuck up your chances finding the rest of your team. Butcher wouldn't let it slide." You counter, pointedly ignoring the tension in your throat that turns your voice airy.

"That ain't a fucking apology." Soldier Boy is grinning like he's absolutely delighted, green eyes dark as they flicker from your eyes down to your mouth then back up. "I'll leave that little ass red, purple, and fuckin' blue. Leave everyone asking why you're squirming everytime you sit down. You wanna go cry to your daddy about that?"

Oh.

Heat crawls up your throat to settle in your cheeks, stomach doing a traitorous little flip. "No. No, no." Your eyes widen a fraction and you shake your head a little but Soldier Boy stills it by pressing his fingers against one cheek and his thumb against the other, squishing them harshly and forcing your mouth into an exaggerated pout. The insides of your cheeks meet your teeth and you wince. He laughs before easing up.

"Don't call him that," you mumble. Soldier Boy clicks his tongue and sighs. He pulls his hand back from where it was cupping your cheek to give another pat, this one firmer than the others. A kiss of a slap. Your blunt fingernails dig into his arm but do no damage.

"Still isn't an apology an' I'm losing my fuckin' patience." The hand fisting your shirt loosens, snaking up your shoulder to the back of your neck and further up. Fingers tangle in your hair, gripping lightly close to your scalp to give a short tug, tipping your head back a fraction further. You gasp, eyes shutting and brow furrowing at the slight sting in your scalp.

"F-fuck, okay, okay! I-I'm sorry." You spill, breath coming in little pants. Pathetic. Weak. Disgustingly small. You bite your tongue because there's a lump forming in your throat and you are not going to cry infront of this arrogant piece of shit.

Soldier Boy smirks. The hand in your hair relaxes. "See? That wasn't so bad." He says, gravelly but gentler now. "Just needed someone to put you in your place since daddy's not here to do it, huh?" He coos and, as frustrating as it is to be treated and talked to like you're inferior, the tone soothes the rage in your gut.

"S-stop calling him that," you grumble. "Butcher isn't my, my... anything. He's just Butcher." You don't even know where he even got that idea from or if he's messing with you.

Soldier Boy's smirk grows into an amused smile but he doesn't say anything more. The hand on your cheek shifts a little. The pad of his thumb smoothes over your lips like he's tracing the shape before gently pulling your bottom lip down.

What the hell?

"What're you—" you're interrupted by Soldier Boy's thumb pushing past your lips, nail bumping against your teeth and you open your mouth a little more, not wanting to receive any more pats or hairpulling. He exhales and there's the ghost of a growl in it. Heat pools low in your stomach, breath catching in your throat.

"Cute fuckin' mouth," he says hotly and your teeth settle firmly just past the swell of his knuckle in a weak threat, tongue retreating to the roof of your mouth.

"Can try, sweetheart," Soldier Boy grumbles, "it won't do shit."

You swallow and tentatively unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth and relax your jaw, allowing him to move his thumb freely.

"There we go," he encourages, low and darkly coaxing. He pushes his thumb further in, dragging the pad over the slick velvet heat of your tongue with a faint groan. All you can do is stare up at him with heated cheeks and wide eyes, uncertainty and arousal turning your stomach into a fluttering mess.

"Suck, bambi," Soldier Boy commands and an ache blossoms between your thighs. Hesitantly, you close your mouth around his thumb, hollow your cheeks slightly and apply some suction. He begins to shallowly thrust his thumb back and forth in your mouth at a slow pace. "Good girl." He purrs.

Oh.

The praise goes straight to your heart and down, warming you from within and making your head spin. A small, barely audible whimper is pulled forth from your throat and Soldier Boy smirks knowingly. The hand in your hair leaves, sliding down your side and leaving a trail of fire in its wake. Fingers find the button of your jeans expertly and you go still. He's about to pop them open. Realization washes over you like a cold wave and you reach down, gripping his wrist tightly. Were he not a supe you're sure he'd bruise or be sporting pink crescent moons from your blunt nails. To drive your point home you shake your head.

Soldier Boy sighs in annoyance, the sound almost sharp. He pulls his hand back from your jeans and retracts his thumb from your mouth. A thin string of saliva hits your chin. He shoves you lightly and you gasp, falling back onto the lumpy motel couch with a plop.

"Fuckin' tease." Soldier Boy hisses before turning away from you and walking back to his seat at the table.

Shame, hot and bright and heavy, falls over you, weighing down your shoulders and you sink further into the couch. You make yourself smaller, drawing in on yourself.

The emptiness doesn't return.

With clumsy fingers you grab the bluetooth headphones beside you and pull them on to drown out everything else. A poor, defeated retreat. You lay back with your head against the armrest, knees bent and your shoes planted on the dirty cushion.

Soldier Boy goes back to drinking, smoking, snorting ground up pills and watching tv like nothing happened.

Nothing happened yet you're left wishing something did.

[abusivegymrat]

Kyle x secretary reader - secretary mini series pt1

wc: 505😉 (probs gonna edit this n make it longer cuz wtff)

warnings: jobs n fields in the military i pulled out of my asshole with no reserch whatsoever to sound intimidating, implications of moaning, i should be studying, my usual shit writing

Thinking of an office siren reader working for 141 as a secretary. You’re so sweet, but that’s what makes you petrifying. 

Price is a busy man, so he shouldn’t tire himself by being buried under paperwork. So are his men, right? Following this logic, Laswell eventually agrees to get them someone with enough balls and caffeine addiction to accept the job. The dreading profession, ruthless art of getting crushed under paperwork meant for four men and about a couple dozen more. It’s insane for anyone to be able to keep up, so no one can, right? Wrong. 

Your main tasks are basic: review medical notes, handle recruit admissions, write mission reports, analyze every mission, extract and process classified and crucial information so that the pathetic excuse of adults around you can understand it, write emails, update the military handbook, read and sign documents, attend briefings and debriefings, rate them and send the notes to the general, conduct the communication between map-makers, higher-ups, the “strategy-makers” (as you like to call them) and executives, attend conferences– 

Okay, maybe, just maybe, it’s not basic at all. 

But to everyone’s surprise and fear, you’re efficient. Efficient enough to have time for everything it leaves them curious and a bit jealous. Get your nails done, go shopping, do hair, make everyone coffee…? They’re scared of you at this point. 

You’re also good looking, clean, fast, kind, oh, and. Good looking. And gorgeous. Did I mention that you’re good looking? 

And you take care of yourself. Heels chosen, outfit matching, expressive jewelry, hair and nails always done–

You’re standing in front of the coffee machine, getting yourself a small treat as you plan what’s left of your day. You could maybe leave for a nice dinner or join the nurses in late afternoon gossip, you need more underwear, and basics to wear around the base out of duty… You should start shopping for a tie since the dog, Riley, tore it… You used the other one to tie thug’s limbs together 2 weeks ago. No rest for us women these days– 

You’re lost in your thoughts before you feel a friendly hand on your shoulder– It’s the majestic looking one.

You two chat often.  “Hello, Kyle” your expression takes a warmer turn at him in a loose shirt and sweats, looking relaxed. His name rolls off your tongue smoothly, you like the sound of it. You could moan it–

“Taking a break?” He asks, attempting to start his usual small talk with you but you tilt your head in confusion. A break from what? It later clicks though. “Oh, I’m done.” You smile innocently at him, leaning on the counter sweetly. 

He freezes, eyes widening. “With wh- like, done done?” He’s baffled, and you’re amused. 

“Done done.” You confirm with a syrupy simper, handing him the other cup in your hand. Exactly how he liked his coffee… Now, what the fuck?

Mission: Terrify Kyle

Level: Easy

Status: Completed

Date: 05/04/2025

Remaining: Terrify Simon, Terrify Johnny, Terrify Captain.

To be continued…

hey you!! check out my masterlist!!! (main masterlist)

secretary reader mini series masterlist

[slytherslvt]

Video Games- BSF! Theodore Nott x Roommate! BSF! M! Reader

fic inspired by this picture

Theodore has been playing video games for the past hour. And you? You’re horny. Except the only person in this house is Theodore, your best friend and roommate. However, you’re desperate and you have given him blowjobs before. So, that’s why you’re now on the floor between his legs, his arms around you, holding his controller as you take him into your mouth.

Theodore's eyes flicker between the screen and your eager mouth, his heart racing with both excitement and frustration. He's in the middle of a crucial game, but the way you're sucking his cock is threatening to derail his concentration.

"Alright, guys, I'm gonna have to mute for a sec. My roommate's being extra needy tonight," he mutters, his voice shaking with lust.

You pull back just enough to look up at him, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Theodore can't help but smile as he adjusts his position on the couch, giving you better access to his cock. "Fuck, you're so good at this. Keep going, love.”

You look up at him as he unmutes his mic, going back to his game of Grand Theft Auto. He’s talking to his friends, voice shaking slightly. His knuckles are white from gripping the controller to steady himself.

You pull back slightly to lick at the tip a few times, before going back down on his cock again.

Theodore grits his teeth, trying to focus on the game. "Alright, let's take these assholes out," he says, his voice more strained than he'd like.

His eyes dart to you as you lick his tip. You're so good at this, and he can feel his resolve slipping. He knows he's close, but he doesn't want to ruin the game.

"Fuck, I need to mute again, guys. I'm sorry, it's an emergency," he says, silencing his mic. "Oh, God, you're going to make me cum, aren't you?"

You give a soft moan around his cock, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine. He can't hold back any longer. He releases into your mouth, and you swallow his seed greedily.

“Good boy,” he says. And that makes your cock twitch in your hand before you cum, as you were masturbating the entire time you were sucking him.

edit: society if i didn’t have a typo in every single fic i’ve written so far

[slamminslamminmcgill]

imagine scheduling a dick appointment/sleepover with doctor house on your testosterone injection day. you’re lying naked in his bed and he shoots you up in your thigh, stroking your t-dick and counting to ten before slowly pulling the needle out…

then he hooks you up to intravenous ketamine and sticks a fucking machine in your ass. you won’t be getting your cunt penetrated tonight, but he’ll edge it with a wand vibrator. he’ll use it to bring you right on the edge of orgasm, pull it away, rinse and repeat. he doesn’t want you to cum yet, but he makes a crucial mistake. he spanks your cunt with his belt, thinking it’d make you cry at most. but a few strikes to your dick in a row, and you squirt. your muscles contract and the pistoning dildo pops out of your asshole.

house clicks a button on the remote, and the fucking machine comes to a stop. he thinks for a second, and then sighs.

“oh, you little fucking pain-slut. what am i gonna do with you?” he crawls onto the bed and cuddles up to you, rewarding you with bitemarks and bruises on your neck. “shh, it’s okay, faggot, i know… i know you can’t help it... i can’t stay mad at you…” he lays his palm on your aching pussy and pats it twice, a gesture of affirmation and pride. “you’re just… you’re just precious, you know that?”