#LEFT TO GUARD THE TABLE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mephisto-reporting · 5 months ago

Text

Wearing This Dress Was a Mistake…or Was It?

Premise: You decide to prank him by making him think that you'd be wearing that risque, revealing outfit when you are about to head out... only to find out that pranks have consequences. Pairing: Reader x Xavier, Zayne, Rafayel, Sylus, Caleb (Seperate) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

CALEB

Caleb was lounging on your couch like he owned the place, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other holding a can of soda that he swirled absentmindedly. He had taken a few days off, escaping from his duties as Colonel to come back to Linkon. And now, here he was, making himself right at home in your apartment like he had never left. The sight was almost domestic, but you knew better—there was nothing ordinary about Caleb. Not anymore.

He was on leave, a rare moment where he could shed the weight of his uniform and just be Caleb. It was a refreshing change to see him like this—less guarded, more relaxed—but something about it sparked mischief in you. You'd always had a playful, mischievous relationship with Caleb when you were younger. Pranks, jabs, teasing—it had all been part of the dynamic. And now that he was back, you couldn't help but feel a familiar tug to push his buttons just a little.

You'd planned this prank for a while. Slipping into the most scandalous, revealing outfit you could find in your closet, one that certainly wasn’t something you'd wear out in public. You had no intention of actually leaving—just giving Caleb the briefest hint that you were about to, and seeing how he’d react.

You walked into the living room, draped in the most inappropriate outfit you could manage. A fitted dress that barely covered your thighs, a deep V that left little to the imagination, and a loose, barely-there wrap that hung carelessly from your shoulders. Your intention was to get under Caleb’s skin, to push him just a little—just enough to remind him that the old pranks hadn’t gone anywhere.

When Caleb glanced up, his relaxed demeanor faltered for just a second, his sharp gaze lingering on you. There was a flicker of something darker in his eyes, something predatory. But he said nothing at first, just observing you with a cold silence that sent a chill down your spine. Your pulse quickened slightly under his intense gaze, but you pushed down the thrill crawling up your spine. This was just a joke.

You took a deep breath, feigning innocence. "I'm heading out to meet some friends," you announced, grabbing your purse.

The shift was instantaneous.

The lazy, relaxed Caleb from moments ago was gone. His can hit the coffee table with a soft thud, his entire frame tensing as he straightened up. His gaze darkened, trailing over your figure with slow, possessive deliberation.

"You're wearing that?" His voice was low, almost casual—but you could hear the undercurrent of something dangerous lurking beneath it.

You swallowed but kept up the act. "Yeah. Why?" You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "It looks good, doesn't it?"

"You’re not going anywhere dressed like that." he muttered, the words falling from his lips in a near-growl.

You smirked, crossing your arms over your chest. "What, you think I can’t pull it off?"

He stood in one smooth motion, and before you could react, he was standing in front of you, his hand gripping your wrist with a surprising amount of force. His fingers were warm, rough, as if he were trying to ground himself with the touch.

"If you're so insistent on showing this side of you to others," he whispered, his breath hot against your ear, "then it’s only fair that I get to see more of it, isn't it?"

Before you could protest, he hoisted you effortlessly onto his shoulder, your legs dangling in the air as he carried you toward your room like a caveman claiming his prize.

"Caleb!" You gasped, half-laughing, half-embarrassed by the sheer force of his actions. But Caleb wasn't listening. His grip was firm, his footsteps purposeful as he crossed the room.

He threw open your bedroom door, his eyes locking with yours with an intensity that made your heart race. "You think you can strut around like this for anyone else?" His voice was dangerously calm, but the heat in his gaze betrayed the undercurrent of rage—jealousy, possessiveness—swirling just beneath the surface.

You opened your mouth to say something, but he silenced you with a heated kiss, his lips claiming yours in a way that left no room for argument. His lips were urgent, demanding, but still with an edge of care as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone seeing you in that outfit.

"Do you want me to show you what that outfit can do to any individual with a working braincell?" Caleb murmured against your lips, his breath shallow as he gently pushed you onto the bed. He towered over you, his body a wall of heat and strength, completely commanding your attention.

You couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly, still shaken by the intensity of the moment. "It was just a prank, Caleb. I didn’t mean—"

His fingers traced the line of your jaw with surprising gentleness before his eyes darkened. "No," he whispered. "You didn’t mean to tease me like this, but now that you have, you’re not going anywhere. Not until I’ve had my fill of you. I don’t like the idea of anyone else looking at you like this.”

You opened your mouth to explain, to tell you weren’t actually heading out like this, but before you could say a word, he was on you, his lips crashing against yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. His hands roamed down your body, tracing the curve of your waist, gripping you tightly as if he were afraid someone might take you from him.

You could feel his breath on your neck, hot and heavy, as he pulled away just enough to whisper, “You’re mine, understand?” His words were both possessive and adoring, a dangerous combination you knew too well.

And as your neighbors found out soon after, the only sounds that filled the air that evening were far less friendly than the teasing words you’d exchanged earlier.

RAFAYEL

Rafayel was early. Again.

Technically, he was supposed to be on time tonight—after all, it was his gallery event. But you knew better. You had predicted, with painful accuracy, that he'd find some way to ding-dong ditch his own damn celebration. Which was exactly why he was here at your apartment an hour before you needed to leave.

"I'm only here because Thomas would physically drag me if I didn't show up at all," he muttered from the other side of the door of your bedroom. "Consider this me being a responsible artist. All of you should be grateful."

You hummed, feigning disinterest as you checked your reflection in the mirror. "Oh, I am grateful, Rafayel."

"Good, as you shou—"

He cut himself off entirely as you stepped out from your bedroom.

You had planned this prank the moment you'd heard he was coming early. Because if Rafayel wanted to ditch the gallery, you'd at least make sure he suffered before he got his way. So, instead of slipping into something elegant and refined for an art exhibition, you had opted for something else entirely. It wasn’t even an outfit you would wear outside—it barely covered anything at all, and the material clung to your body in all the wrong places. A sheer, tight-fitting slip with lace accents, enough to leave little to the imagination. The fabric wasn’t completely transparent, but it did the job well enough to make every inch of your skin noticeable. Every inch of skin exposed was deliberate. Calculated. A direct attack on Rafayel's composure.

And oh, it worked.

His entire body stiffened, the lazy smirk on his lips frozen mid-form. His next grape missed his mouth completely, bouncing pathetically off his chin and rolling onto the floor. But he didn't even notice.

For a long, silent moment, all Rafayel did was stare.

Then, dramatically, he clutched his chest. "No."

You blinked. "No?"

"I can't take you anywhere like this," he lamented, waving frantically at all the exposed skin. "You—You will steal the show! The gallery will forget my masterpieces the moment you walk through the door!" Rafayel’s eyes flickered to the door, then back to you, his expression a mix of shock and something darker. “You’re kidding. You want me to take you to the gallery dressed like… this? Everyone will be staring, and I can’t have that.”

He turned his back to you with a huff, clearly flustered. He spun around to face you again, his eyes narrowing, and a flicker of possessiveness flashed across his face. “This is too much. I’m not taking you out like this.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re embarrassed to be seen with me?”

His expression faltered, and for a split second, you saw a vulnerability in his eyes. But it was quickly replaced by his usual dramatic demeanor. “Embarrassed? No!! I just don’t want everyone gawking at my—especially when I’m the one who’s supposed to admire you tonight. How am I supposed to take you out like this? All eyes will be on you, and I don’t know if I’m prepared for that level of attention. How am I supposed to look at this…”

"Is that such a bad thing?" You teased, twirling a loose strand of hair around your finger.

"Yes!" Rafayel practically whined. He circled you like a predator, eyes flickering with a hunger he hadn’t quite named yet. "Some art should be displayed for the world, sure," he murmured, voice turning dangerously low. "But some art? This should be kept private. Mine."

You bit your lip, barely suppressing a laugh. "Raf, it's just a prank. I'm not actually going like this."

He stilled. Then, very slowly, he grinned.

"Oh?" he purred, stepping closer until there was barely any space left between you. His fingers skimmed the edge of your exposed thigh, tracing your skin before gripping it lightly. "Then you should go change, hmm?"

You moved to step back, but Rafayel caught your wrist. His grip was loose, teasing, but there was no mistaking the heat behind it.

"Ah, wait," he murmured, feigning deep thought. "Actually… No. That would take too long."

You frowned. "What—?"

"We're already late," he sighed, tone laced with mock regret. "And if we're already late, then it doesn’t really matter, does it?"

Before you could say anything else, Rafayel scooped you up in one swift motion, his hands firmly gripping you. “Forget the gallery,” he said, his voice practically a growl. “You’re not leaving this apartment until I’ve taken my time enjoying this… work of art.”

“Rafayel, wait!” You tried to protest, but he was already striding toward your bedroom, his grip firm around you.

“You don’t deserve to wear something this distracting for anyone else,” he muttered, his voice laced with a possessive hunger. “I’ll be the only one to appreciate it properly.”

Before you could even respond, his lips were on yours, demanding and heated, the rest of the world completely irrelevant. You could barely keep up with the intensity of his kiss as he stripped away the fabric, each motion more urgent than the last.

As the sound of Thomas’ calls rang through both your phones, going straight to voicemail, Rafayel didn’t spare it a second thought. The gallery? It was already a lost cause. Tonight, he had you—and he was taking his sweet time with it.

SYLUS

As Sylus prepared for his mission, a sense of anticipation hung thick in the air. He was packing his gear with the meticulous attention of a man who thrived on the chaos he created, readying himself for whatever dangerous task lay ahead. This lifestyle was no stranger to him —the dangerous, dark heart of his empire. But you couldn’t shake the worry that gnawed at you every time he walked out the door. Dangerous, illegal missions were a regular part of his life, and while you knew he could handle himself, the thought of him in harm’s way left you restless.

But you weren’t about to voice that concern—not when he took so much pleasure in riling you up with his teasing. Tonight, you had decided to give him a taste of his own medicine—payback, as you saw it. After all, his teasing and his ability to keep you on edge with his deep voice, knowing smirks, fleeting touches, and that intense gaze deserved a little retaliation. This time, you were going to make him work for it.

Fair was fair.

You stepped into the study, heels clicking against the floor, the sharp sound enough to draw his attention. His red eyes flickered up from his preparations, widening just slightly before narrowing with intrigue. You had dressed specifically to get a reaction—a short, black mesh dress that left little to the imagination, the sheer material teasing glimpses of lace underneath. The plunging neckline dipped scandalously low, while the cutouts along your waist accentuated every tempting curve.

Sylus let out a low, appreciative hum as he leaned back against the wall, taking his time raking his gaze over you.

“And where exactly do you think you’re going dressed like that, sweetie?” His smirk was lazy, but the sharp glint in his crimson stare was anything but.

You let your eyes linger on his figure for a moment, before casually offering, "Actually, I’m heading back to Linkon for a night out—clubbing with some friends." Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you took a few steps closer, and you could see his pupils dilate briefly, his reaction evident, though he masked it quickly with another smirk.

"Well, well," he drawled, his eyes still locked on your attire. "Funny, I’ve never gotten the pleasure of seeing you in such bold outfits before."

You shrugged nonchalantly, your lips curling into a playful smile. "I dress for the occasion."

A small chuckle escaped him, the sound rich and dark. "Interesting, these 'occasions' never seem to happen when I'm around." His eyes trailed over you once more, the intensity of his gaze making your pulse quicken.

He walked slowly, closing the distance between you in a few slow, measured strides. When he reached you, his fingers brushed against the exposed skin of your thigh, the touch featherlight, deliberate.

“I suppose I should consider myself unfortunate, then,” he murmured, trailing his hand higher. “But I’ll be damned, sweetie, you do look ravishing.”

You hummed, feeling the heat of his touch ghosting over your skin. "Maybe ypu were just not paying enough attention before."

His laugh was low, dark, full of amusement. "Oh, kitten," he purred, his hands drifting lower, tracing the dip of your waist before pulling you just a little closer. "Trust me, I pay attention. Especially when it comes to you."

Your breath hitched as his palm splayed possessively over your hip, his fingers teasing the hem of your barely-there dress. “Not worried about all the attention I’ll get?” you teased, meeting his gaze.

He let out a soft chuckle, the sound almost like a growl. "Sweetie, I know you can handle yourself if things go wrong." he said, his hands suddenly roaming over your skin, slow and deliberate, almost as if he were marking his territory. His touch was magnetic, entrancing. His fingers traced your jawline, grazing over the curve of your neck, and you felt the weight of his presence pull you in, closer to him with each movement.

He smirked, as if he could sense the effect he was having on you. "Go ahead. Have fun tonight," he murmured, pulling out his black card from his wallet and offering it to you. "Just don't have too much fun without me." His breath ghosted over your lips, hot and tantalizing, and you could feel his eyes trailing lower

You saw it then—the flicker of something dark and hungry in his stare, a silent challenge laced with possession. It made you want to push just a little further.

“What if I do?”

The moment the words left your lips, you barely had time to react before Sylus’s hands were on you. A startled gasp escaped you as he lifted you effortlessly, locking your legs around his waist. The back of your dress rode up, and his fingers pressed into your thighs, holding you firmly in place as his mouth found yours. The kiss was deep, slow, devastating. He wasn’t just kissing you—he was claiming you, drawing you in until the thought of leaving, of doing anything other than this, felt ridiculous. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you’re more entertained...” he murmured against your ear, his voice dripping with possessiveness, as if you were already his in every sense.

Without another word, he carried you through the mansion, his lips never leaving yours as his pace quickened. He didn’t even give you a chance to respond, his hold on you firm, commanding, as though the very idea of you going out tonight was laughable. His smirk never faltered, his confidence radiating in waves.

“You think I’d let that happen?” he said in a husky whisper against your lips, his voice thick with amusement. As he kicked open the door to his bedroom, he laid you down on the bed with a grin that sent a shiver down your spine. “Guess neither of us is going anywhere tonight…”

You tried to speak between stolen breaths, to tell him it was a prank, but he only smirked against your mouth, cutting you off with another slow, intoxicating kiss.His weight pressed you down onto the bed, his hands sliding over every inch of exposed skin. “It’s a good thing you weren’t actually going out,” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “Because I plan to keep you here… All. Night. Long.”

A thrill ran through you as you realized just how easily he'd flipped the situation in his favor. And you weren't sure if you could—if you wanted to—fight it.

XAVIER

You had been scheming for a while, setting the perfect trap to prank Xavier, and today was the day you were finally going to execute your plan. You’d texted him earlier, asking him to swing by your apartment to pick up the meals you had prepared for him. You knew full well Xavier could barely cook an egg without burning it, so he was always appreciative when you made him something special. You always made quite a batch of food whenever he came over to pick it up so he could store them in his freezer.

He had a spare key to your apartment in case of emergencies, but today, you were going to make sure he’d get more than just food when he came over. He’d always been so calm and collected in most situations that it was infuriating at times. You had tried to get a reaction out of him before but had always failed. But today, it would be different. Today, you knew you would get him to falter. You’d been thinking of a little prank to get a rise out of him—and you knew exactly what would get under his skin.

When you heard the door click open, you made sure to pick up your purse slowly, letting Xavier get a good look at the outfit you’d chosen: A tight, revealing midnight blue dress that clung to your curves like a second skin, the plunging neckline barely covering what was necessary and the high slit on the side showing just enough leg to drive anyone wild. The fabric was soft, almost like a second layer of skin, and you knew it would make his blood run hot.

Xavier’s footfalls slowed, and the air seemed to thicken with tension as he entered the room, his eyes immediately darkening the moment they landed on you. His usually calm expression shifted, but only slightly, and his voice, low and even, carried an edge. “You have plans?” His tone was casual, but you could tell it didn’t match the storm brewing in his gaze.

“Oh, yeah, I’m heading out with some colleagues,” you answered nonchalantly, knowing full well that would get him riled up. In your mind, this was all part of the prank. You were expecting a laugh, a joke, maybe even a playful remark.

His eyes narrowed, the calm veneer slipping away. “Wrong answer.”

You tilted your head slightly, looking at him with feigned confusion. “Huh?”

“I said, wrong answer. You are not going out to meet them… in that?” He spoke slowly.

“Why not? What’s wrong with the dress? I think it makes me look nice.” You looked at your dress pretending that you didn’t know what was wrong with it. “Plus, I already made plans with them…”

He didn’t hesitate, slamming the door behind him with a soft thud. His hand rested on the doorframe as he leaned in, towering over you. “Your plan,” he said, voice gruff with unspoken demand, “is with me. Right here. And only I should be the one seeing you in that dress. And outside of it.” he added, his voice dark with possessiveness.

Your heart raced, though you maintained an innocent air. “Xavier, come on... I’m just going out for fun. It’s not a big deal.” You tried to laugh it off, but your breath caught as his hands trailed over your skin, tracing your body with an intention that left no room for interpretation.

You didn’t have a chance to react before he was right in front of you, his frame crowding you against the door, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you slightly.

He didn’t respond to your attempt at casualness. Instead, his gaze was fierce, intense, and utterly unyielding. The meals you had prepared was forgotten. The only thing on his mind was you—and the dress you wore, too.

“Why do they get to see you like this when it’s meant for me?” His voice dropped, each word heavier than the last.

Your breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. The heat between you was immediate, pressing, suffocating. Xavier reached up, his fingers gently grazing your neck, then sliding down to your waist, his touch possessive and slow.

You tried to laugh it off again, your playful nature not quite prepared for how serious he had gotten. “It’s just a prank,” you said, offering an innocent smile, hoping to break the tension. “I am not going anywhere…” You giggled, but it came out a little nervous. “I swear… It’s just a prank, Xavier.”

He blinked once, the twice, confusion flickering in his eyes. His boyish, innocent looked returned, stunned at your words. He seemed to process it for a moment. Then, the intensity of his gaze returned, fiercer than before. He took a step forward, closing the non existent distance between you, and his lips were suddenly on yours—hard, commanding. His lips crushed against yours, his tongue immediately claiming dominance as he growled low in his throat.

Before you could even process what was happening, you were on the couch, his body pressing you into the cushions. His hands roamed, touching you everywhere. as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“Prank or not,” he said, his voice hushed but full of intensity, “you’ve got me thinking about you in that dress with them—with anyone else.” His hands moved lower, sliding over the fabric of your dress. “You thought teasing me would be funny, huh? Let’s see how funny it is now.” His tone was equal parts teasing and threatening, a dangerous mix that made your heart race.

You gasped as his hands found your thighs, pulling you against him, his body already pressing into yours. There was no more pretending, no more games. Xavier’s need was undeniable, and you couldn’t escape the heat between you.

His lips met yours again, deeper, more frantic this time, as if making sure you understood just how serious he was about what was happening between you. You didn’t stand a chance against him.

And when the night ended, teasing Xavier definitely wouldn’t be on your list of things to do again... or maybe it would be.

ZAYNE

The dress was daring—too daring, perhaps. The fabric clung to your body, smooth and sultry, dipping dangerously low in the front and riding scandalously high on your thighs. The sheer lace along the sides barely covered enough, teasingly revealing glimpses of skin beneath. It was the kind of dress that would have heads turning, and you knew it.

That was the point.

You had planned this all too perfectly. A new pastry café had just opened downtown, and you’d invited Zayne out for a date. You had been expecting a reaction when he arrived—maybe a subtle quirk of his brow, a small shift in his usual stoic demeanor. Something.

Instead, when you opened the door and greeted him with an innocent smile, his gaze flickered over you, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then, the door clicked shut behind him.

His expression remained unreadable, but his movements weren’t. The way he took his time removing his gloves, slipping them off with methodical ease before placing them neatly on the nearby counter. The way his fingers traced the hem of his coat, unbuttoning it in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Interesting choice,” he finally said, his voice calm—too calm—as his gaze finally lifted back to meet yours.

You grinned, shifting your weight just slightly to make the dress slide a little higher along your thigh. “Do you like it?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took a step forward, and you felt the weight of his presence settle over you. His fingers brushed your arm, barely there, before trailing down your wrist. The lightest touch. A doctor’s touch—controlled, precise. But beneath it was something else.

Something simmering.

“Tell me.” His voice was still even, his tone almost thoughtful as he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your fingertips. “How far were you planning to go with this little game of yours?”

Your heart stuttered. He knows.

You feigned innocence, tilting your head as if confused. “Game? I was just dressing up for our date.”

“Is that so?” His lips curved, the barest hint of amusement slipping through. “Then I suppose you wouldn’t mind if we went outside right now.”

Your stomach flipped. He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Before you could respond, his other hand moved—so subtle, so swift—and in one seamless motion, he pulled you closer, his fingers splaying over your lower back. Your breath hitched as your bodies pressed together, the warmth of him seeping through the thin material of your dress.

His lips were close now, brushing against your ear. “You forgot,” he murmured, “I know you.”

Your skin burned.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure. “Okay, fine. It was a prank.”

Zayne chuckled softly. The sound was low, velvety, but it sent a shiver down your spine. “I knew that before coming over.”

His fingers traced slow, idle circles against the small of your back, and suddenly, you were all too aware of how little there was between you. How easy it would be for him to simply pull—just a little—and the dress would slide right off your shoulders.

You blinked. “Wait, you—?”

“Of course I knew.” He leaned in, his breath brushing against your jaw. “You think I don’t know when you’re trying to get a rise out of me?” The heat in his voice made your knees weak.

Your heart pounded against your ribs as his fingers traced a slow path up your spine, dragging along the zipper of your dress.

“I knew the moment you picked up my call earlier and sounded too innocent. The way you sent me a picture of the food but conveniently cropped yourself out.” His fingers pressed, teasing, against the small of your back. “And now? Now you’re here, looking like this and expecting me to just let you waltz out into a crowded café?”

You barely managed a breath before he tilted your chin up with two fingers, his expression unreadable save for the faintest glint of something more. “Cute.” His lips brushed against yours, feather-light. “But you knew better.”

You shivered at the subtle challenge in his voice, the sheer restraint beneath it. “Zayne, we have a reservation—”

“Mm.” He kissed the corner of your mouth, slow and deliberate. “We’ll reschedule.”

“I—”

Whatever you were about to say was swallowed by his kiss. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was deliberate. A slow, consuming thing that left no room for escape. His hands were firm but unhurried as he guided you back, step by step, until your back met the nearest surface—the couch, the wall, you didn’t even know anymore.

Zayne finally pulled away, but only just. His breath fanned across your lips, his fingers still resting against your waist. He looked at you then, truly looked at you, his eyes dark with something unspoken.

“You wanted my attention.” His voice was a whisper now, a dangerous kind of quiet. “You have it.” Your protests faded the moment his hands slid lower, gripping your thighs just enough to make your breath hitch. His lips trailed downward, past your jaw, tracing a searing path along your neck before murmuring, “Tell me, was the prank worth it?”

And as his hands began to move, taking their time, exploring, savoring—one thing became very, very clear.

Prank or not, you wouldn’t be leaving for that café tonight.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace@sinsodom@m00nchildwrites

9K notes · View notes

finallychaoticeffigy · 1 month ago

Text

Yandere patient x psychologist reader

You can't believe it. How were you assigned to work with the most dangerous patient in the hospital when you just started working a few months ago.

You shook your head "Sir there must be some kind of mistake here, I don't have enough experience to work with him"

Your boss chuckled putting down his coffee at the nearby table as he looked at you "I know it's been only a little while since you started working here, but i believe in your abilities y/n"

You stared at the door , guards behind following you. Room 13, every psychologist would rather quit than to be seen here. Last time he tried to run away, he killed over 9 guards with just a fork. But like your bosses say you have the abilities so it's only worth a try.

You opened the door. You saw a huge man with a straitjacket on.

"Hi" you greeted, putting down your things at a table. You turned to the guards "Leave us, I'll just call when there's an emergency. They nodded as they closed the door.

The patient, or should i say Darius looked at you. His eyes softened. "H-hey" you looked at him with awe . According to his documents he doesn't speak a word to anyone. So that simple word shocks you.

"Come closer...please" He softly utter making you think. Is he trying to get you to come close so he can also stab you with a fork? Even with a straitjacket on , you never know what happens next. Oh well you can't really talk to him when you are this far, unless you shout that is.

You came close to him. You get a better look at him. Jesus this man is beautiful, you thought. Even though he's a murderer psychopath who looks like he could crush you with his pinkie. He's sitting down but you can already tell he's tall as hell.

You then explained the things he had to do to get better. "Don't forget to drink your medicine at the right time." You fix your coat and stand up ready to leave.

"Wait, leaving already?"

"Yes, our time is over" you explained

"oh...Will you come again tomorrow?"

"Totally" you picked up your papers and left

It's been a month since you have been assigned to Room 13. And dare you say ,you two have gotten a bit close. He's not as cold as you thought he was. Actually, he seems clingy and sweet, but you're still not completely comfortable with him.

"Am back" You gave him a small smile. He quickly turned to you and beamed "Y/n !! Come and hug me please" He softly pleaded.

It's kind of weird how he would want to always get in contact with you but you brushed it off. I mean you do work in a mental ward , people here are naturally weird.

As you get closer to him you notice his straitjacket looks a bit out of place. Your suspicion was confirmed as he suddenly lunged at you.

"Hey ! What are you doing Darius get off " you tried to hit him but he's just too strong, heck he even broke his straitjacket.

"Mmmh you always smell divine baby, You have no idea how long I've waited for you to be in my arms" He commented as he licked your cheeks down to your lips.

"No get off! Help someone! " You screamed feeling terrified at his actions. His arms wrapped tightly around you as he also began to suck and lick all over your neck and he moaned in delight.

"I love you Doc , i love you so much i could die, I just wanna kiss you, lick you, suck you and love you forever." He smiled at you , his other hand moved down to your waist and softly squeezed it.

It continued on for a few minutes , the most terrifying moments of your life until the guards came to sedate him.

-----------------

You were given a week of vacation to make up for the traumatic experience you've been through.

You entered the hospital to get some of your things when you noticed how uncomfortably quiet it was.

You suddenly stopped at your track. Is this a prank? You don't think so. You let out a scream as you saw multiple bodies with blood, gut out.

You know those stupid characters in horror movies when instead of running through the exit they ran upstairs instead.

You used to get so annoyed with that , but who knew that's what you'll also do. You didn't think . You just ran through your office .

You collapse on the floor as soon as you close the door. With trembling hands you began to type.

"911 what's your emergency" the other line calmly asked.

H-hello , th-theres been a massacre at the xxhospital. I saw so many dead bodies please we need help" You cried feeling terrified for your life. You still have dreams, you can't die.

" Maam i need you to stay calm , please go to a safe plac-"

"Hello!" You began to panic as the line on the other side was cut off.

"Y/n" you heard a voice outside calling you

"Doc... please come out , i know you're there" He cooed as he began to bang on the door and twist the knob.

You could only cry , not knowing what to do. "Go away !"

"Fuck y/n even your shaken voice is cute. I love you more and more now"

You ran under your table hoping this nightmare could all go away.

Just then you heard the door break down. No..No this can't be, is he in?

"Baby..." Softly said and yanked you out under the table .

You protest and kicked him which was obviously useless as he began to hug you suffocating you,almost.

"Aww. You look so vulnerable right now Y/n, i could just eat you up" The huge man chuckled at you breathing heavily, you swore you could see heart forming in his dark eyes.

"You're mine.. Everything about you " He picks you up still hugging you tightly.

"Now let's get out of here and live together for the rest of our lives"

----------

English is not my first language so my apologies if my grammar is not perfect

3K notes · View notes

buckysleftbicep · 1 month ago

Text

exit wounds 𐙚 b.b

pairing: new avenger!bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: nsfw, 18+, minors dni, choking, hairpulling, rough sex, degradation, overstimulation, unprotected sex, rough sex, creampie, possessiveness, dom!bucky, angst

summary: after you put yourself in danger once again during a mission, bucky finally snaps.

word count: 3.2k

author's note: hello my loves, i hope you enjoy this fic! also, i am currently looking through all the requests i've received and am excited to say i got started on a few! so please, keep sending them, fresh ideas always helps me write better! love you guys and please stay safe out there!

want him so badly

The storm broke before the mission did.

Rain pelted the shattered rooftops, thunder cracked above as you darted through the ruined alleyways of Bucharest, your pulse hammering in your ears. The objective was simple, get in, extract the intel, get out.

“Left. Take the left,” Bucky’s voice crackled through your comms, taut with command.

“I see the target,” you shot back, breathless. “I’m going in.”

“You go in alone, and I swear to god—”

You cut the line.

Not because you were being reckless. You knew what you were doing. You had spent hours upon hours studying the building’s layout, the guards’ rotations, and the window of opportunity that was already closing.

You didn’t need him barking orders in your ear. And you especially didn’t need your boyfriend second-guessing you when you were this close to securing the objective.

But then, behind you—boots pounded on wet concrete, close, fast, and furious.

“Fuck—(y/n)!”

Too late.

The intel was secured. The flash drive sat warm in the lining of your suit, pressed against your sternum. On paper, the mission was a success.

But the cost?

Three injured agents. A building engulfed in fire. And Bucky’s silence on the jet ride towards the nearest safehouse, the tension was thick enough to choke on. He hadn’t looked at you once.

Not when you handed Val the drive. Not when she nodded coolly and dismissed you without a word of praise. Not when the soft hydraulic hiss of the safehouse doors opened and when the rest of the team shuffled in like ghosts.

Now it was just the two of you. The others had scattered quietly, retreating to their temporary rooms for the night. The rain still dripped from your suit's collar, blood clung dry beneath your fingernails, and the silence between you and Bucky pulsed like a second heartbeat.

You peeled your damp tactical vest from your shoulders and tossed it onto the table. Every breath you took felt too loud in the stillness. Your skin was still buzzed with leftover adrenaline and heat, you didn't know if it was from the mission of the confrontation you knew was about to come.

You heard the final set of footsteps retreat, then the soft click of the outer door.

Still, you didn’t turn around.

“I had it,” you said calmly, your voice flat but controlled. “You didn’t need to come after me.”

He didn’t respond at first.

But you could feel him. The tension radiated off him like heat off an engine block. You didn’t need to look to know his jaw was clenched, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You could already feel his glare burning through your back almost as if it was trying to set you aflame.

You met his eyes—cerulean, but sharper than usual. Tense. Controlled.

“I got the drive, didn’t I?”

“That’s not the fucking point,” he snapped, the steel in his voice sharp now. “Three agents could’ve died (y/n). You could’ve died.”

“I didn’t,” you bit out. “And I wasn’t going to.”

His mouth twisted, his chest heaving once before he spoke again, voice splintering. “You think I give a shit about your stats? Your little field heroics?” His voice cracked then, just slightly.

“You think I want to scrape you off the concrete one day just because you were too stubborn to follow the damn protocol?”

You barked a bitter laugh. "Funny. You’ve been quiet up until now.”

He moved fast.

One moment, he was across the room. The next, he was inches from you, towering, taut with anger, fist clenched so tight you could see the veins straining in his forearm.

“You wanna say that again?” he asked, low and dangerous.

You squared your shoulders, refusing to flinch. “I said—”

“Don’t,” he cut in sharply. “Don’t test me tonight.”

“Why not?” you hissed. “You’ve been dying to explode since we landed Bucky. Go ahead. Yell. Blame me. Do what you always do when you don’t get your damn way—”

He didn’t yell. He didn’t move.

He just looked at you. And somehow, that was worse.

The silence that followed crackled with heat. His jaw tensed, eyes burning into yours like he was holding back with everything he had.

Then, slow and deliberate, he stepped forward, closing the space between you. His body radiated heat, tension rolling off him in waves.

“You think this is about me?” he whispered, dangerously quiet now.

“You think I give a fuck if I look bad in the debrief? I don’t care about orders, (y/n). I care about you. And you made the call without backup, without thinking. Again."

“I knew what I was doing,” you murmured, but it came out thinner now.

“And if you were wrong?” he snapped. His breath hit your cheek—damp, hot, ragged. “If I hadn’t gone in after you?”

You couldn’t answer. Because you didn’t know.

And suddenly the room felt too small. Too close. Your heart pounded against your ribs like it wanted out.

He was so close you could smell the rain still clinging to his skin, see the soaked-through fabric of his black shirt clinging to every line of muscle. His hair was still damp, curling around his jaw as his chest rose and fell with heavy, measured breaths.

He looked frayed at the edges, barely holding it together, and burning with fury.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, voice rough. “You think I care about the mission? You think I care about what Val thinks?”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered. “I was just… I needed to prove I could handle it.”

He took another step forward. “To who?”

You blinked.

“To Val? The team?” He shook his head, eyes narrowing. “Or to me?”

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your silence said enough.

Bucky’s hand came up, not fast, not aggressive, but deliberate. It hovered near your jaw, then gently ghosted along the column of your throat. Two fingers settled over your pulse, barely there. Feeling it. Reading you.

“You think I don’t see you?” he murmured. “Think I don’t know what you’re trying to prove every time you run headfirst into danger like you have nothing to lose?”

“You don’t have to be reckless to be worthy of standing next to me,” he said, and something broke in his voice then. Softer. Almost broken. “You already are.”

Your breath stuttered.

You hadn’t meant to move. You hadn’t even noticed your body leaning forward until your chest brushed his. Until you felt the ragged breath he caught against your cheek, until your eyes met his, and everything stopped.

He looked at you like he was drowning in everything he hadn’t said, rage, fear, hunger, all of it right there in his eyes, barely held back.

His thumb brushed your jaw, tilting your chin up. His touch was light, barely there, but it felt like the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“You keep pushing me,” he said, voice low and quiet, the kind of quiet that carried weight.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Always testing. Always toeing the line.”

Your throat tightened as you swallowed, pulse fluttering beneath your skin. A slow ache bloomed between your thighs, the kind that only got worse when you held his gaze.

“And what if I’m doing it on purpose?” you murmured. “What if I want you to snap?”

Something shifted behind his gaze, a flicker of heat barely restrained, and the air between you crackled like a live wire. His jaw flexed, his body unmoving, and then, the corner of his mouth lifted. Slow, measured, anything but kind.

“You really want to see what happens when I do?” he gritted out

“Maybe I like seeing how far I can push you.”

You didn’t get a second to breathe.

His hand clamped around your throat, not hard enough to cut off your air, but firm enough to remind you who was in control as he shoved you backward.

You stumbled, caught off guard, and then—without warning, he turned you. One arm braced across your shoulders, the other sliding between your thighs. You barely had time to gasp before he was behind you, chest flush to your back, hips grinding into your ass.

His body pinned you in place, unforgiving and close, and suddenly there was no space, no air, nothing except the burn of him against you and the way your body reacted, fast, instinctive and shameless.

“You want to push me?” Bucky snarled, the words like gravel dragged through his teeth. “Then take it. Don’t you fucking run from it now.”

Your pulse throbbed wildly beneath his fingers. He felt it—you knew he did—because he smiled against your neck. It wasn’t kind. It was the smile of a man barely containing the storm underneath, teeth bared like a wolf on a leash.

You tried to turn your head, to spit something sharp, something defiant, but his metal hand was there in an instant, pinning your cheek to the wall with a ruthless kind of tenderness. Cold vibranium fingers spread across your jaw, holding you still like he was lining up a shot.

“Don’t move unless I tell you to,” he growled. “You don’t get to talk back. Not after the fucking stunt you pulled.”

Then—he tore your suit open.

The front zipper split with a vicious rip, teeth dragging down your sternum, and then the fabric was shoved roughly off your shoulders. Your bra came into view, your skin prickling in the open air, exposed and vulnerable and throbbing with anticipation.

He didn’t hesitate.

His mouth latched onto the side of your neck, sucking hard enough to bruise, and your body reacted instantly, arching toward him, heat coiling low in your belly, wetness pooling between your thighs before you could even think to stop it.

It was humiliating how fast he had you soaked.

“Fucking wet,” he hissed, voice sharp with satisfaction. His flesh hand slid down the front of your suit. Two fingers pressed through your panties and straight into your slit, finding you hot, drenched and needy. “You’re dripping, sweetheart. All that mouth and you still want me this bad?”

You moaned—shameless, high-pitched and he growled like it offended him.

“Pathetic.”

Your suit hit the ground in a heap, shoved down carelessly around your boots. He didn’t bother to strip you completely, he didn’t need to. He just yanked them down far enough to spread your thighs apart, leaving you open, exposed, and trembling.

Then you heard it—the heavy clink of his belt, the hiss of his zipper. Your body jolted at the sound.

“Look at you,” he muttered, low and mean. “Begging to be fucked like a slut after risking your life like a dumb little brat.” The words hit you hard and god, they made your pussy throb.

You clenched around nothing, slick dripping down your thighs, and the worst part was how much you loved it. How much you needed more, needed him.

Your breath stuttered, your hips tilting back instinctively, shameless in how fast you were unraveling for him. You didn’t care what he called you. As long as he didn’t stop. As long as he fucked you like he meant every filthy word.

He pumped his cock once—twice—right behind you. You could feel it already, flushed and hard and heavy, the tip brushing the curve of your ass as he lined himself up.

“You wanted this,” Bucky rasped, voice dragging low and dark. “You pushed me on purpose. You knew exactly what would happen.”

You whimpered, cheeks burning.

And then he laughed, low and cruel and knowing.

“You like it when I’m like this, don’t you?”

His cock dragged through your folds—slick with your arousal, bumping your clit before dipping lower, teasing your entrance with maddening pressure. You nearly sobbed.

“Y-yes… I like it,” you breathed, eyes fluttering shut as your thighs trembled. “I wanted it. I wanted this. W-wanted you like this.”

He slammed into you.

You cry out, the stretch splitting you wide open in one unrelenting thrust. No warning. No mercy. Your nails scraped against the wall as your body spasmed around him, pussy clenching instinctively around the thick length now buried to the hilt.

“Oh my fucking—”

He slapped a hand over your mouth.

“Be quiet,” he gritted out, breath hot on your ear. “They’ll hear you.”

You moaned into his palm, the sound muffled and desperate, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as he began to move—long, deep thrusts that rocked your entire body.

Each snap of his hips sent you forward, your chest jolting against the cold wall with every brutal push. Your legs shook beneath you, barely able to hold you up under the weight of him, his rhythm, his heat, the relentless way he claimed every inch of your body.

His cock hit every spot inside you—deep, relentless, perfect in its punishment. Each thrust drove you harder into the wall, your palms flattened against the cold surface, fingers splayed like you were holding on for dear life.

The air was thick with the sound of slick skin and broken moans, the wet slap of him pounding into you again and again until all you could do was whimper, body shaking, needing more.

He was ruthless.

“You feel that?” he grunted, fucking into you harder. “You feel how deep I am? Fuck, princess, your pussy’s squeezing me.”

You nodded, eyes rolling back. Everything was too much. Not enough.

He grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, lips brushing your ear.

“You gonna come already? Just from this? From getting fucked like you’re made for it?”

You tried to speak, tried to form a word, a plea, anything but your mouth refused to work. All that came out was a desperate, broken moan, choked off by the force of him inside you.

Every muscle in your body was strung tight, overwhelmed, aching, begging for release, but all you could do was let the sound of your need echo in the space between you, raw and strung out and wordless.

He let go of your mouth and slapped your ass—hard.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Tell me how badly you want to come.”

“I, god—I need it,” you choked. “Please, need your cock, need you to—”

He pulled out. Completely.

You cry, voice raw with frustration.

Bucky laughed, voice thick with dominance.

“Look at you. Falling apart already. And I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you could respond, he seized your wrists and twisted them behind your back, pinning them there easily with his hand. The cool press of vibranium against your skin made your breath hitch, your chest rising in shallow gasps.

You barely had time to brace yourself before he drove back into you—harder, deeper, with a force that knocked a strangled sound from your throat and sent sparks ricocheting through your core.

Your body jolted. Your mouth dropped open in a silent cry. His flesh hand wrapped around your waist, fingers finding your clit again—rubbing tight, relentless circles in time with each brutal thrust.

You were unravelling, your legs burned and your body trembled. You were a babbling, incoherent mess as your orgasm built again—rising like a fucking tsunami.

“Don’t you dare come,” he growled. You tried. Fuck, you tried.

But he was everywhere—his cock driving into that sweet spot deep inside you with ruthless precision, his fingers working your clit in tight, relentless circles that had you trembling. His voice, low and filthy, poured into your ear like sin itself, each word pushing you closer to the edge.

“Say it,” he rasped. “Say who owns you.”

You sobbed.

“You do, Bucky! You do—”

“Good fucking girl.”

And then he snapped his hips again, slamming into you so deep you felt it in your throat.

You came with a strangled cry, body seizing as pleasure tore through you like a live wire. Your cunt clenched around him in tight, desperate pulses, milking every inch as wetness spilled down your thighs, slicking his cock and coating both of you in heat and ruin.

You slumped forward, forehead pressed to the wall, barely able to hold yourself upright as your orgasm wracked through you.

But he didn’t stop, he kept going—kept fucking you through it like he was trying to brand you from the inside out.

You sobbed, body trembling uncontrollably.

“That’s it,” he snarled. “Take it. Cry if you want princess, I’m not stopping.”

Your knees gave out, barely holding you upright and then the second wave hit. He slammed into you hard, tearing through your body before you had a chance to catch your breath.

You clenched around him again, tighter this time, a cry ripping from your throat as you came all over his cock. Everything blurred, your vision, your thoughts, until all that was left was the sharp pulse of pleasure and the rough sound of him still moving behind you.

“Gonna fill you up,” he muttered, pounding into you with short, broken thrusts. “Stuff you full, just like you deserve. Let it drip down those pretty thighs. Let everyone see who fucked you like this.”

He groaned—loud, rough—and then shuddered, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. You felt the warmth of it, the pulse of his release, the way his entire body seemed to collapse into yours.

The only sound was your wrecked breathing, the whine of your body, and the soft drip of his cum sliding down your thighs.

You were trembling, undone in every possible way—mind blank, body limp, pleasure still echoing through your nerves. Your knees wouldn’t hold you, but he didn’t let you fall. His arms were around you instantly, strong and steady, pulling you into his chest like he could anchor you there, like he needed to.

His breathing was still ragged, chest rising and falling against your back. His lips pressed to your temple, slow and soft, and you felt the way he lingered, like he was grounding himself, too.

“You okay?” he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to speak. Tears still clung to your lashes, not from pain, not even from the intensity, but from the overwhelming ache in your chest.

He kissed your temple again. Then your jaw. Then the corner of your mouth.

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.” he murmured.

You blinked, surprised by the tremble in his voice. He wasn’t angry. Not now.

“I can’t—” he swallowed, brow pressed to yours. “I know you’re capable, I know you’re smart. But I can’t watch you walk into something like that again.”

Your throat tightened.

“I thought I could handle it,” you whispered.

He shook his head. “No. No more of that. If something happened to you out there—”

He cut himself off. Pulled you closer. One hand cradled the back of your head. The other still wrapped around your waist, like he was afraid you would slip through his fingers.

“You don’t get to scare the shit out of me like that,” he rasped, voice cracking. “I’ve lost so much—and, fuck, I can’t lose you too.”

He looked away, just for a second, like the words hurt to say.

“I wouldn’t survive it.”

You nuzzled into his chest, heart hammering. His scent, his warmth, the rasp of his voice in your ear, it was all too much and not enough.

“I’m sorry,” you said, small and hoarse.

Bucky didn’t say anything right away. He just held you tighter, kissed the top of your head.

“I know”

requests are open!

3K notes · View notes

yanderedrabbles · 6 months ago

Text

Yandere Bisexual Best Friend

Male Yandere x Fem Reader He just wants what's best for you. If he has to tell a few white lies now and again, then so be it.

When you first saw him, he had his tongue down your boyfriend's throat.

It sure as hell would not have been the start of a friendship, except...

He was the one who ran after you when you stormed out of the club, mascara and eyeshadow running in silvery streaks down your cheeks.

He was the one who hugged you and apologised and said your boyfriend was a piece of shit for doing that to you.

He was the one who got you home safe, cleaned off your makeup and left aspirin on your bedside table.

In your half haze of alcohol and tears, you clung to him and nuzzled into his neck and told him you were so grateful, that he was such a nice guy.

It wouldn't have been the start to a friendship and maybe it shouldn't have been. But you called him the next morning.

You apologised for being such a mess, stuttering just a little at the deep gruffness of his morning voice. He laughed and told you not to worry about, that you should've seen what a fool he made of himself when his boyfriend cheated.

You weren't sure how, but a phone call turned into lunch together. Both of you just a little tipsy from bottomless mimosas, his arm tossed across the back of your chair as he sketched out the horror of his last situationship.

"So you're gay?"

You should have noticed it then - the way he narrowed his eyes just a little, the way he let his fingers graze your bare shoulder, the way he seemed to take just a second too long to answer.

"Yeah. I'm into guys."

That was the first lie he told you. Not entirely untrue. He was into guys.

He was just into girls too. And he was especially into you.

He could have been honest with you, he could have told the truth. But you were still reeling from your boyfriend's betrayal, too guarded and hurt to let another man into you life.

And he so desperately wanted to be a part of your life.

The next time you asked him to hang out, you were so at ease. You hugged him when you saw him, your tits squished against his chest. You held his hand and dragged him along behind you. You fell asleep with your head on his shoulder.

He smoothed your hair away from your face and any idea of telling the truth crumbled.

He told himself he just wanted to be your friend. Lord knows you needed one after such a nasty break up. But anyone who looked at you together could tell friendship was the last thing on his mind.

He took you to watch his favourite band performing live and hoisted you up on his shoulder for the encore, his hands inching further and further up your thighs.

He took you to his favourite club and bought you drink after drink until you danced with him, your arms thrown back around his neck and your ass grinding into his crotch. It was only the pulsing neon lights that kept you from seeing his hard on.

He invited you over for a movie night and pretended to lose the AC remote, just so he could share a blanket with you and keep his arm around your waist.

And the longer it went on, the worse it got. You were cute and clever and funny. You could yap together for hours about fashion and music and video games. You brought him little presents every time you came over - small packets of his favourite sweets, a new flavour of ice cream, his go-to Starbucks order.

Could you blame him for wanting you?

He started calling you his wifey, even in front of his friends. Would crack jokes about getting married if either of you couldn't find a guy by next year. And you went along with it. Ran your hands up his chest and fluttered your eyelashes at him and called him your strong, handsome fiancé - oblivious to the way it made his heart race.

When he walked in on you changing, he kept his face deadpan and told you red was definitely not your colour, even as you scrambled to cover up and spluttered at him to get out.

"Why? You aren't exactly my type babe."

Another lie. Not even remotely true this time.

And soon you got used to him walking in on you. Started asking him for fashion advice while you were in just your underwear and heels. Started asking him to tie your bikini tops and unzip your dresses. You didn't notice him always slipping away afterwards, one hand shoved deep in his pocket. You didn't notice the way his hair was always slightly messed up when he got back, his cheeks just a little flushed.

And if there were ever any warning bells - any subconscious instincts that told you he touched you too much, hugged you for too long - they were drowned out by his parade of boyfriends and flings. Why would he be into you when he could be dating a ripped surfer or hooking up with his personal trainer?

You never realised you were the reason his relationships were always so short lived. He couldn't fall for any of them the way he fell for you. They were all just quick fucks to get the frustration out of his system.

He could have continued just like that - fucking a new guy every weekend and getting brunch with you right after.

But then you went and met someone.

He froze when you told him, his smile a rictus, hand clenched so tight around his wine glass that he was lucky it didn't shatter.

He gritted his teeth and managed to choke out a congratulations. You beamed at him, flushed pretty with young love. You squeezed his hand and said it was only a matter of time before he found his love too.

He had to excuse himself after that. Had to splash cold water on his face and fight down the urge to scream. God, why was he so fucking stupid? He should have made a move on you ages ago, back when you first met. If you rejected him then, at least it wouldn't hurt as bad as it did now.

He somehow managed to make his way back to the table and smile at you like you hadn't just clawed his insides to shreds.

"So when can I meet the lucky guy?"

When you got up to wash your hands he slipped your phone out of your bag. He scrolled through your gallery, over analysing every pic of your new boyfriend. Cute, but you could do so much better. And he wasn't even that much taller than you. God, are you really gonna date this loser?

You kissed him on his cheek when he left and he spent the entire walk home rubbing the spot and thinking up ways to get rid of this new... disruption.

Later that afternoon you called him up and asked if he'd like to come to a bar with you and meet your new man. And just like that, the wild ideas in his head clicked into place.

"Sure wifey, I'd love to come."

He showed up late and spilled a drink down your dress before you even finished saying hello. And while you rushed off to try and get red wine out of satin, he scanned the bar for your new boyfriend.

And when he finally found the bastard, he turned on all his pretty boy charm. Bought him a drink and slung an arm across the back of his chair and pretended not to hear when he said he had a girlfriend. Managed to get the guy flushed and stuttering even after he claimed to not be into men.

When he pulled your boyfriend into a kiss, the fucker had the nerve to actually kiss him back.

He was careful with his timing - going in for a second kiss as soon as he saw the flash of your dress through the crowd.

He pulled away just as you reached the table and looked up at you with oblivious innocence.

"What's wrong baby? Why do you look so shocked?"

Your boyfriend shoved him off and stood up to grab you, to claim he didn't kiss someone else, the guy just came onto him swear to God. But the damage was already done.

Who would you believe was at fault? Your best friend who didn't even know what your new boyfriend looked like? Or the asshole kissing someone else while you were gone?

You threw your drink in your boyfriend's face and called him a filthy liar. When you grabbed your best friend's arm and dragged him away, he struggled to hide his smile.

He took you back to his apartment and popped open a bottle. Poured you a drink and kissed your forehead and let his hand settle on your lower back.

"Men ain't shit baby. We're all just manipulative assholes deep down."

He let you drown your sorrows in the bottle and then pulled you onto his lap when you were too drunk to object.

"I'm the only man you need in your life, yeah?"

You sniffled, too drunk and hurt and dizzy to notice his hands moving to your bare thighs.

"Yeah."

"C'mon, say it. Say I'm the only man you need."

"You're the only man I need."

His fingers slipped under the hem of your dress and he pressed his lips against your skin, teeth oh so close to your jugular.

"And I'll take care of you. So just sit still and I'll make it all better."

#Not sure about this one chat #Might delete later #Yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere scenarios #reader insert #x reader #yandere oc #Yandere best friend #Fem reader

6K notes · View notes

apatheticsunday · 4 months ago

Text

Henchmen for Hire

AKA "Danny is employed as one of the Rogue's henchmen and he's doing so well at being discrete, none of the Bats even know he's committing crime! (They absolutely know.)" prompt idea!!

Y'know what would make this funnier?? Is if Selina Kyle, Catwoman and hoarder of strays, immediately Work Mom'd this kid.

Imagine Danny gets dumped into Gotham by himself. Except there's, like, no ectoplasm - not nearly enough to sustain his Ghost. So, his Ghost form slowly peters out and he's left penniless and powerless on the streets of Gotham. Obviously, the next step would be to find money. But how?? He can't go invisible, intangible, or Full Ghost to help him out here. And there aren't a lot of stand-up places that hire kids younger than 13, so ultimately he's forced to apply for henchmen positions. He doesn't actually find Catwoman's ad. No, she hears through the grapevine that this actual child is applying to be a drug runner for the Penguin or - oh, shit, the Joker??

Absolutely not. Selina is no saint, but she's not going to let another kid be beaten to death by the Joker. Maybe she talks to Harley and finds out where the kid's going, or maybe she just puts in an ad and hires him on the spot. To be honest, she doesn't really expect to particularly like the kid - she'll have him pick up her coffee or something, pay him at the end of the day (standard henchmen pay periods since it's likely they won't live through the end of the week), and clear her conscience.

Except Danny is a little shit.

Danny, for his part, doesn't necessarily want to be a henchman but he figured it'd be more than getting some lady's coffee, right? He imagined an evil man twirling his extra long mustache and smoking a cigar, or mobsters hunched over a gambling table grunting about... playing cards or something, he doesn't know. Instead Danny's told to pick up Catwoman's dry-cleaning. It's almost an insult when he knows she's planning a heist that includes stealing several very expensive items from a museum during an evening showing. Without him, her only henchman!! (So what if he snooped in her office? It's not like it's ghost-proof; she should've expected Bad Behavior from the Very Bad Criminal in her house.)

Selina finds out very quickly that Danny is akin to a rambunctious kitten chewing through her phone charger cable and clawing at her favorite muslin blanket (the one Bruce gifted her from one of their dates). And she's so exasperated that she agrees he can be involved. But only as a distraction and he's told that he needs to scram once the police come because she's not bailing him out of juvie if he gets caught. (She wouldn't, but she could make Bruce do it. Her lover would take one look at Danny's watery doe eyes and cave like he's already experiencing Empty Nest Syndrome.)

So, Catwoman and her littlest henchman plan to rob the Gotham Museum. She buys him a cat-themed facemask (in case things get sticky and he needs a quick anonymous getaway) like ones from Party City, it has little ears poking out from the top and it's adorable. And then it's go time.

Danny's role is to distract the crowd by pretending to be a lost kid and distract Batman if he shows up. Selina will take care of the rest - disarming the alarms, timing the museum workers' shifts, bribing the West Entry security guard, frame-freezing the surveillance cameras, smuggling in the forgery and smuggling out the original, and - well. It'll be nice not to deal with the Big Bat if he shows up, but Selina is used to doing this on her own.

She should've expected that Danny doesn't do what's expected.

Because Danny does his part as the crying, screaming child whose mother is lost amongst the chaos once the museum's power shuts off. He distracts the guards easily. Selina hides away the art, replaces the forgery on the wall, and goes to find her little stray. And Danny is clinging hysterically to The Batman, refusing to be pried off by security guards and museum workers. He's straight up sobbing. Talking about how he loves Batman and Robin, his family is dead, he wants to be Robin, did you know you should be able to see Ursa Major from Gotham but you can't because of the smog, do you think Poison Ivy can just make a lot of trees to unpolluted the air, Nightwing is his favorite superhero, do you think he'll sign an autograph-.

It's astounding how fast that kid can speak while also smearing green snot onto Batman's cape. Danny proves himself to be even more unexpected when he goes off-script, eyeing her and screaming, "Mom!" And Batman's eyes catch hers. Shit. How can she explain a tiny child calling her mother in front of her lover? That'll be an awkward conversation.

Catwoman doesn't take Danny to outings after that. Instead, she has Harley and Ivy take turns "babysitting" (i.e., using Danny as Batfam distractions) while she's at work, kind of like having the fun aunts take you shopping. Danny can do whatever he wants!! With the exception that he needs to be wearing his cat-mask at all times, to properly conceal his identity (neither woman knows he'd already thrown himself at Batman without his mask).

So, while Ivy is destroying a toxic power plant, Danny is stealing Nightwing's escrima sticks, clinging to him, "accidentally" tripping him, doing the Koala-leg thing. He goes all out when Nightwing actually does trip on him - he shrieks that he broke his arm, which forces the vigilante to pay attention to him. Sobs, clings harder, and endures the trip to the hospital on the back of Nightwing's motorcycle with a shit-eating grin.

Harley is beating the hell out of some of Joker's gang. Red Robin is doing surveillance and coordinating with GCPD so they can get the whole circus to Arkham. Except Danny is calling out where Red Robin is hiding with the glittery pink microphone that Harley bought him (originally to sing Doja Cat and Chappell Roan in her car). Joker gang's priority will always be the Batfam because of Joker's obsession with Batman and Danny uses the distraction so Harley can get a couple good swings of her bat in. He cackles maniacally when he hears a muffled, "C'mon, kid!!" from Red Robin.

And the Batkids are just like, Jesus, this kid is literally a nightmare. But they can't do anything! Are they going do arrest a kid? No. Are they going to arrest Batman's lover? No! So, they're stuck dealing with this.... absolute gremlin of a child!!

Danny, of course, is very pleased. The Bats have no idea who he is because of his little cat-mask, he's getting paid literally several grand per week, and Selina - who he's been living with ever since she realized he was homeless - even got him goldfish!

(Bruce is in his office, eyes crinkling in that iconic Dad-Smile, scrolling through candid photos Selina snuck of Danny's chocolate-smeared face while the kid was passed out on her couch. There's a fake ID under the name of Danny Fenton and several pages of foraged school records in a pile on his desk. Bruce eyes his desk drawer where several emergency adoption papers are tucked away.)

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton #danny phantom #batfam #selina kyle #catwoman #adoption au #are bruce and selina married?#....maybe #mine

3K notes · View notes

yandere-daydreams · 20 days ago

Text

tw - unreality, eldritch!yandere, prolonged captivity, implied nsfw, and voyeurism.

You might’ve been the only one left.

If there was another living person in town, they were either too assimilated or too well hidden to find. Everyone else – the unliving, the possessed, the altered – had that glassy sheen over their eyes, that thoughtless smile painted over their lips, that sense of connected omniscience that meant you could walk into a café you’d never visited before and the beaming barista would already know your name, your order, and your mother’s address. There were no strangers anymore, not really, no differentiation between your closest friend and your coldest acquaintance. Everyone knew everything, especially about you.

You still went to work, for some reason. There wasn’t really a point. What few responsibilities you had as a professional pencil pusher dried up months ago, leaving you in a state of white-collar limbo. Occasionally, you’d get an email, but the message was always disjointed and nonsensical, like filler text in a bad office simulator game. Sometimes, your phone would ring, but there’d only ever be heavy breathing and the muffled sound of wet flesh hitting stone on the other side. After a while, you stopped answering.

Your boss would stop by your cubicle, make small talk over lukewarm coffee. He was the attractive, older type – all grey-streaked hair and tailored suits. He used to hate you. You couldn’t remember when he change his mind.

“We’re grabbing a round of drinks on the company card tonight,” he explained. “To celebrate the end of another tough week.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“It’s the least I could do. You’re such a hard worker, (Y/n).”

You glanced up from the sticky note you were currently folding into a paper crane. This would be your forty-seventh attempt. “I am?”

He laughed as if you’d said the funniest thing in the world and rested a hand on your arm, leaning in a little too close for comfort. “So, you’re coming?”

“I’d rather gauge my own eyes out.”

“Sounds like a date.” He squeezed your shoulder before drawing back. “We’ll be waiting.”

You didn’t go. You would stop coming in a few days later, but the phone calls followed you home.

Not that ‘home’ had ever meant safety. The infection had seeped into the architecture, gotten control of the roots. There were swaths of days where you didn’t – couldn’t – leave, every door disappearing and every window sealing itself shut, trapping you in. Others, it almost seemed to force you out – every wall suddenly glass and every door hanging open despite your best attempts to keep them closed. You’d find a fully stocked fridge suddenly empty, or every word of your favorite paperback abruptly replaced with encouraging messages to stretch your legs, get fresh air, go outside. Once, you even tried to leave town altogether. Your car broke down after the first mile, so you walked in an endlessly straight line, never turning, never looking back, never stopping. Somehow, you found yourself on your own doorstep, door open wide as if welcoming you back.

You spent that night on your lawn, sobbing into the grass while your neighbors formed a uniform circle around you, watching. Guarding. Smiling.

Things devolved quickly. You tried your hand at burning down a local bookstore, but the clerk stood beside you all the while, snuffing out every match you managed to light. You poured yourself drinks at up-town bars and slept in velvet-lined booths, never so much as attempting to pay your tab. You skinny-dipped in a mall fountain during peak hours, bathing under cheap plastic skylights and harsh fluorescents. No one paid you a second glance. There were no kids in town anymore, and everyone seemed to glow with a sort of unnatural, off-putting beauty. Like they were grooming themselves to your preferences. Like the town was preening itself to better capture your attention.

You sat in the corner of an old-fashioned diner, staring silently at the table while a handful of other customers pretend to talk amongst themselves around you - the inflections familiar but the words gibberish. Thirty minutes passed before a waitress wandered over, notebook in hand and smile wide enough to strain. “What can I get for you, darlin’?”

“I want to leave.”

“Afraid that’s not on the menu.”

“Then tell what you want. Why you’re keeping me here.”

“Coming right up, sugar.”

A silver platter too nice to be in a place like this was brought to your table. A golden wedding band stood solitary one side and, on the other, bridal lingerie, nearly folded and white as a dove.

Your stomach dropped. You considered getting up, going home, but that wouldn’t have made a difference. You were surrounded, cornered, imprisoned.

And eventually, you would have to reckon with the needs of your warden.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere monster #yandere eldritch #yandere drabble #monster x reader #eldritch horror x reader

2K notes · View notes

kisses4themissus · 6 months ago

Text

A Foreign Love || In-ho x Reader

wc: 2.6k a/n: Ahh i had so much fun writing this request!! if you would like a happier ending do please send me a message or inbox me i don't mind warning: (spelling errors possibly?)

Pt 2 | masterlist

You nervously played with your hands as you walked around the room, every team had gotten a sixth player, it didn't help that you were seemingly the only foreigner there.

“Excuse me, could I join you all?” You questioned as you walked up to a group of elders.

Player 100 scoffed and dismissed you with a wave of his hand. “Please sir, I see your team is short a member..” You tried to convince him. He groaned at you before turning towards you. “Can’t you take a hint and leave...entitled americans!” He scoffed at you, looking you up and down in disgust.

“I’m sorry.” You apologized before walking away. You sat down near the wall and let tears well up in your eyes. As you let out a shakily breath, covering your face with your hands. You didn't even want to play more games, all you wished was to go home.

As you cried, a gentle hand was placed on you shoulder, making you peek through your hands. Player 388 was squatted next to you. “Are you alright, miss?” He questioned, concern in his eyes, you nodded and wiped your eyes with your jacket sleeve.

“Do you have a team?” He asked, helping you stand up; You shook your head at him, “Everyone claimed to have a sixth player..” You explained, he nodded slowly at your words before motioning for you to follow him.

Trailing behind him, he led you to a group of three older men and one girl around your age. “I have found our sixth!” He announced happily before stepping to the side to show you.

They all blinked as you waved to them, a small polite smile on your face.

“The foreigner?!” Player 390 exclaimed, one of the other men; player 456 smacked his arm before greeting you with a nod.

“In my game we had a foreigner, he did well, he just got given the wrong kind of person during a game...” Player 456 explained.

“Welcome!” Player 001 greeted, you smiled and nodded your head in acknowledgment “Thank you for having me.” You bowed slightly.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You all sat together in a line as the games got announced.

Ddakji, flying stones, gong-gi, spinning top, jegi and jacks.

“Jacks?” All of your teammates questioned. “You have to bounce a ball and collect little metal jacks and have to pick them up before the ball falls.” You explained, perking up.

“Are you any good?” Player 001 questioned. You held your hand out and shook it side to side, “somewhat.” He nodded as the others began to claim the other games.

You all watched as the other teams went, before you knew it, you were the last team to go.

You all got up and waited as the guards chained you; Your team had done well til it had gotten to spinning top.

You groaned as he managed to toss it behind you all, he broke down, yelling at himself for his mistake, you leaned forward a bit and looked towards player 001, “We all make mistakes, maybe try your left hand!” You suggested, he nodded and winded the toy up before letting it go, you all waited with baited breath as it spun.

You all walked to the next mini game and began to hype player 456 up as he did jegi, you all moved forwards as both player 456 and 001 caught it with their legs that were tied together.

“You got this!” Player 388 smiled as the guard handed you the ball, you and your team squatted down so you could play on the small table, shaking you tossed the ball up, you had failed to catch the jack in time due to your shaking hands. You groaned, you had tried twice to get the jacks before the ball fell but failed, you were on the verge of a panic attack as you glanced up to the counter.

“Calm down, we all make mistakes!” 001 tried to reassure. You just nodded and tried once more, you waited as the ball went up, with a swift hand you swiped up the mini jacks and the ball, you all yelled out in relief before running the fastest you could tied together.

You all cheered as you crossed the finish line; your beginning was cut short. Gunshots made you all flinch; The opposite team didn’t make it. You all stared horrified at the corpses while being unshackled.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You all walked back to the dorm, everyone's eyes on your backs. You had linked arms with 222, she had explained she was pregnant at the beginning of the game, you had gained a need to protect her ever since. As you passed player 100 and his friends you stopped at his words, “Both the foreigner and the pregnant girl lived, they’re definitely not making it to the next round!” He laughed, you turned and went to open your mouth but stopped as 001 walked over to them.

“What does that say about you? Your team is all old men, who’s to say none of you don’t have heart failure in the middle of the next game? What kind of men are you all, denying an expecting mother and an innocent foreigner help?!” He scoffed as the group of older men stumbled over their words.

He wordlessly walked away to his bed by the others.

You unlinked your arms as 222 walked towards another player, leaving you to follow after 001.

He sat on his bed, sighing. You quietly approached his bed, watching as he rubbed his shoulder, trying to give his muscles a bit of comfort. “Thank you again mister.” You muttered out, earning his attention, he looked in your direction.

“For letting me on your team, and standing up to that player…thank you mister!” You clarified, nervously playing with your fingers.

“Someone had to put them in their place, it was a matter of time really.” He lightly chuckled, patting the space next to him on his bed, you sit down.

“Why are you in the game?” He questioned, you softly laughed. “I originally came here to study abroad. emergencies happened in my home country, I trusted the wrong shady guy to send money to my family..” You explained, he listened.

“What brought you here mister?” you questioned, sitting up. “Hospital’s build up a lot of debt..” He sighed, you nodded.

He snickered, making you look at him confused. “You don’t have to call me mister, it’s-!” As he went to give you his name the others walked over, talking about the next vote.

“I think I threw my shoulder out!” Player 390 sighed, moving his arm in a circle motion. “I’m sorry about earlier, everyone..” 001 apologized. You all dismissed his apology

Player 222 had walked over and sat on the steps beside your shoes; she looked around as the group sat down together and talked. “Oh what about her ddakji play, im surprised she didn’t break the ground when she threw it!” Player 390 laughed, she looked bashfully to the ground, a smile on her face.

“Or what about her jacks play, swiped them better than a thief!” 388 complimented making you giggle; Player 222 bowed her head as she looked at you all. “Thank you for including me on your team.” she thanked. You quickly nodded in agreement, “thank you, i’d probably be dead if i hadn't found a team in time..” They all nodded.

“I think we’re lucky you two joined us, we’d be lost with the jacks or stuck on ddakji forever.” 390 joked, earning laughs from everyone. 388 stood up in front of you all, “listen since we’re sticking together, i think we should learn each other's names, it would be a good idea right?” He questioned, waiting for someone to disagree but it never came, you all nodded.

“I’ll start, my name is kang dae-ho; dae means big and ho means tiger!” He grinned, you all nodded.

“That’s a very cool meaning!” You grinned at him. Player 390 cleared his throat, “My parents didn't give me a cool name, it's just park jung-bae. Righteous and twice.. I guess they want me to be twice as righteous.” He sighed.

“My name is kim jun-hee, i dunno what it means though..” She gave a soft look before glancing down to her hands.

“Jun-hee, once we get out of here you need to go see a doctor, stress isn't good for either you or the baby.” 001 told the young girl, who nodded.

“I’m oh young il.” He introduced himself, you all nodded.

“It kinda sounds like your number!” You pointed out. “It’s easy to remember,” He laughed, before turning to 456.

“You’ve all heard my name, it's gi-hun.” He dismissed you all, “What’s your last name gi-hun?” Young il questioned. “It’s seong gi-hun.” He explained, earning nods.

“I’m y/n y/l/n, my name doesn’t have any meaning like your guys.” You smiled, earning a laugh from jungbae.

“Very american!” He commented, earning more comments of your nationality.

“Is it true americans carry guns everywhere?” Jung-bae asked, earning a laugh from you. “Um, certain states..yes.” You grinned.

You all had continued talking till a loud buzz, out walked the guards with the voting machine, you all watched as they set it up and went over the rules once more.

You all looked at one another’s badges. Young il cover his as you looked at him with a slight frown. ‘I’m voting to leave this time.” He nodded at you. You grinned and nodded “Maybe when we get out, me and you can go for dinner?” You suggested, a smile on your face, he chuckled at you “I’d enjoy that.”

You grinned at him as he walked to the machine and pressed the X.

You watched as the screen counting the votes go up as more people voted to stay, you began to shake as gi-hun pressed the X but was outvoted, you swallowed a knot in your throat.

You stood beside dae-ho and jun-hee in shock at the results, “I’m gonna be sick.” You muttered before running to the restrooms.

In-ho waited til everyone had disbursed before signalling towards the guard in your direction, you were to busy trying not to vomit in the dorm to notice anyone gaze.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Gi-hun had you all move your mattresses to the ground, he was on edge. He had told your group in his past game by the third game players had gotten violent during the night.

You sighed, laying down under the bed frame on your mattress. Slowly you had drifted off to sleep while the others continued to move more beds and set up a watch system.

You woke up during the night, having to use the restroom. You glanced over and saw everyone had fallen asleep. You quietly got up and walked to gi-hun, who watched for other players.

“I need to go use the restroom.” you told him, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. “It's dangerous out there!” He warned, you glanced around the dorm, no one was actively awake.

“I'll be ok, no one seems to be up yet either!”

Before he could respond, you walked past and towards the side door and knocked. A triangle guard opened the small hatch, before you could say anything the door opened fully for you. “oh, thank you! I won't be long.” You thanked them, before walking into the restroom.

Gi-hun silently watched, holding back his yawns. A tap of his shoulder alerted him, in-ho smiled at the man. “Ready to switch off?” He asked, rubbing sleep from his eyes, gi-hun nodded and traded spots; In-ho waited til he knew gi-hun was asleep before getting up from the floor and walked to the side door and knocked in a pattern, the triangle guard bowed their head and stepped to the side.

- - - - - - - - - - -

You yawned as you walked out of the restroom, as you went to leave back to the dorm, the guard stopped you, standing in front of the door, facing you.

“Can i get by please?” You motioned to the door with your hand. They shook their head at you before speaking. “Follow the guard.”

You gave him a confused look, as you followed their raised hand you were surprised to see another guard, this guard was dressed different, his clothing was black and his mask had a sqaure. “Ok?” You quickly followed as the guard let you through the stairs, as you go to a certain part, they turned around and handed you a piece of black cloth. “Put it on.” They commanded, you nodded and tied it over your eyes, your heart began to pick up.

What did they want from you? Are they going to execute you?

Your thoughts ran wild as the guard guided you through the halls. Finally you had stopped. The sound of shoes filled your ears.

Your blood ran cold as your vision was restored, you flinched covering your eyes due to the lights. You squinted at the figure.

“Who are you?” You questioned, your eyes adjusting to the room’s light, the man’s mask was matte black, it had a sort of 3D design to it.

“I am the frontman, owner of these games.” He introduced himself, your heart stopped.

“Why am i here?” You questioned, too busy to see the guard grabbed rope and slowly approaching you. “I see you have gotten very close with one of the players…001.” You nodded, watching his every move.

“What did you do to him?” You questioned, the frontman stepping closer to you. “Nothing, just if your safe and away from him, he’ll do better at these games.” He explained, motioning for the guard.

As you turned your head the guard grabbed your arms and began to tie them together. You let out a yell as they pinned you and tied your legs together. “No one can hear you from here.” He explained, running one of his gloved fingers over your cheek as tears fell down.

He motioned to the guard to help move you to the bed he had in an adjacent room. You cried and thrashed the best you could.

He shushed you as you cried, he sighed, knowing it wasn't helping. He grabbed a remote he had on the bedside; he waited til the guard confirmed you were sacred in the bed before pressing a button, a small hiss filled the room. You stared at him in horror as gas filled the room.

“Goodnight.” He nodded to you before shutting the room door, feeling drowsy, you tired to look around the room for any way out but stopped as your eyes forced shut.

- - - - - - - - - - -

Gi-hun and the others were startled awake as in-ho yelled at the guards. “What happened?” Jung-bae questioned, rubbing his eyes and began to stand up to see the commotion.

“YOU TOOK HER, I KNOW IT SHE’S BEEN GONE FOR 5 HOURS!” In-ho yelled, pounding at the door where the hatch was closed.

Gi-hun and the others ran over to him, concerned and confused. “What’s going on?” Gi-hun asked looking at his teammate who sobbed squatting down to his knees, playing the grieving act.

“Those masked guards took y/n, she had been gone for sometime and i went to see if she was there and-!” He sobbed, earning worried looks from the group.

“Player 129 has been eliminated!” The voice rang out in the room.

Everyone stared at each other in shock. Jun-hee covered her mouth in shock. Gi-hun sighed and squatted down to in-ho’s level and patted him on the back in comfort. “Help stop these games for her.”

In-ho nodded and wiped the tears away. “For her..” He repeated sadly, knowing full well you were peacefully sleeping in his bed at the moment.

pt 2

#frontman x reader #hwang inho x reader #squid game x reader #young il x reader #frontman x you #hwang inho #squid game x you #player 001 x reader

4K notes · View notes

greengoblinswifey · 6 months ago

Text

Beneath Chaos II—Hwang In ho/Player 001 x Fem!Reader

summary— as the two of you become more intimate, you uncover Young-il is not who he claims to be. He’s revealed to be the Hwang In-ho, the mastermind behind the entire game. As he manipulates you with his affections, you begin to question everything you thought you knew about him with the line between love and manipulation becoming increasingly blurred

warnings— age gap(reader is in her 20s, he’s in his late 40s) the usual squid games violence mentions, manipulation and deceit, fingering, choking, nipple play, oral(f!receiving), praise kink, body worship, mirror sex, unprotected sex, creampie, aftercare.

a/n— requests are open but i take a while to get to them, patience <3 like and reblog <3

Part I

It was a war zone. Screams and shouts echoed through the space as players turned on each other, desperation driving them to violence. You’d managed to stay out of it for the most part, keeping close to the quieter players, but tonight, the group had decided it was time to go after the organizers of the game.

“Stick with me,” Young-il, the player who had stuck by your side since the start, urged.

You nodded, clutching your arm. “Where are we going?”

He tightened his grip on your wrist. “Trust me. I’ll get you out of here.”

The two of you weaved through the chaos, narrowly dodging bullets as guards closed in. One of them lunged at you after having their gun taken, and before you could react, Young-il used a gun to shoot them.

“Keep moving,” he barked, his voice unusually firm.

As the two of you made your way through what you called a maze, a steel door loomed and you couldn’t help but notice how methodical Young-il was. He fought with precision, taking down and guards and helping the group as you pressed forward.

“In here!” he said, dragging you through a hidden corridor behind the door.

Your heart pounded as the sounds of chaos grew fainter. “Where are we going? How do you know about this place?”

He didn’t answer, his jaw clenched as he led you through the dimly lit hallway. When two guards appeared, you froze, expecting them to attack, but Young-il stepped forward, raising his hands.

“It’s me,” he said coolly.

To your shock, they stepped aside, lowering their weapons.

“What the hell?” you whispered, staring at him in disbelief.

He turned to you, his expression unreadable. “I’ll explain everything. Just stay with me.”

You followed him through the hallway, each step filling you with dread. At the end of the corridor, he pushed open a heavy door, revealing a sleek, high-tech room filled with monitors.

You froze in the doorway. The screens displayed every corner of the facility, the dormitory, the games, the guards. It was the command center.

“What is this?” you demanded, turning to him.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he reached to a table and picked up a black mask that had been hidden.

“You’re the organizer of the games?” you whispered, recognizing that he was what they were after.

“I wanted to tell you,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “But I couldn’t. Not yet.”

“You’re the Front Man?” Your voice trembled as the realization hit you like a freight train. “You’ve been running this whole thing?”

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone laced with guilt. “I didn’t want you here. I never wanted you to get hurt.”

Tears blurred your vision as you stepped back. “You lied to me. All this time, I thought—I thought you were one of us. I slept with you!”

“I did what I had to do to protect you and—forget that,” he said, taking your hand firmly.

You pulled your hand away, anger bubbling to the surface. “And this is your idea of protection? Letting people die?”

“I’ve kept you alive, haven’t I?” His voice softened, and for a moment, you saw the man you thought you knew. “I brought you here because it’s the only safe place left. Please, just trust me.”

The heavy doors to his quarters slid open, and he guided you inside with a hand on your back. The room was cold and sterile, lined with screens showing every corner of the games. You felt a shiver crawl up your spine as you realized how removed this place was from the chaos you’d just escaped.

He stood by the console, running a hand through his damp hair as his chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. He was fighting to keep his expression neutral, but you noticed the faintest flicker of something else, a strain, like he was holding back.

“I need to explain,” he said, his tone carefully measured.

You crossed your arms, your voice trembling. “Explain what? That you lied to everyone? To me?”

He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening as he walked closer. “I had no choice. My name isn’t Young-il. It’s Hwang In-ho. I entered the game for a reason, to infiltrate and dismantle this from the inside.”

There it was again—that careful modulation of his voice, as if he was reading from a script. But the way he avoided your eyes gave him away.

The real truth you were unaware of was that he didn’t care about dismantling anything. The truth was, the deaths, the violence, it didn’t matter to him. The only thing he cared about was you. His sweet, pretty little thing.

“What about our friends?” you asked, cutting through the silence. Your voice cracked as you thought of the people you’d fought beside. “What happened to them?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Don’t worry about them,” he said coldly. “It’s just me and you now.”

“Don’t worry?” you repeated, your voice rising. “They were our allies, our—”

“They don’t matter,” he interrupted, his tone hard. “You matter. I’ve done everything to protect you. Every choice I’ve made, every lie—it was all for you.”

You stared at him, unsure whether to believe the man in front of you. His eyes softened as he stepped closer, his fingers brushing over your arm. “I know it’s hard to trust me right now. But you’re safe. That’s all that matters.”

You shook your head, your mind racing. “I don’t even know who you are right now.”

“You’ll see,” he murmured, his thumb grazing your knuckles as he took your hand. “You’ll see that everything I’ve done has been for you.”

He straightened, his voice firm again. “You can get cleaned up. There are clothes for you in the bathroom.”

You walked into the sleek bathroom, its stark white tiles almost blinding under the fluorescent lights. A stack of fresh clothes sat neatly on the counter, along with a towel. The sound of water running filled the room as you stepped under the stream, letting the heat wash away the violence of the night.

You hadn’t heard him enter until you felt his hands on your waist. “In-ho?” you gasped, turning to see him standing behind you, naked, water dripping down his hair.

“I told you,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “I’m not leaving you alone.”

Before you could respond, his hand tilted your chin upward, and his lips were on yours. The kiss was slow, his fingers tangling in your wet hair as he deepened it. You felt his other hand slide to the small of your back, pulling you closer until there was no space between you.

“Is this your way of making me trust you?” you whispered against his lips, your breath hitching.

He chuckled softly, his forehead resting against yours. “Maybe.” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Or maybe I just can’t stay away from you.”

For a moment, you let yourself get lost in it, the warmth of his lips, the weight of his arms on your naked body. But in the back of your mind, the doubts lingered, like a dark cloud that wouldn’t leave. As his lips trailed down your neck, you fought to push the thoughts away, telling yourself you could question him later. You really wanted to argue, to pull away, but the warmth of his hands against your wet skin, the way his breath fanned across your neck, made your protests dissolve before they even formed.

“I can feel how tense you are,” he continued, his fingers tracing slow circles along your hip. “Let me take care of you. You don’t have to do anything.”

You swallowed hard, the heat from the water mixing with the heat of his touch. “I don’t know,” you whispered, your voice shaky.

“Yes, you do,” he countered softly, his lips skimming your jaw. “You know I’ll make you feel good. I always do.”

His hand moved lower, his fingers slipping along your thigh and feeling a slick wetness completely different from the water, and you couldn’t suppress the shiver that ran through you. “See?” he said. “Your body knows. It always knows.”

His fingers teased higher, the pads of his fingertips grazing your clit with a deliberate slowness that made your breath hitch. You leaned against the tiled wall for support, your knees threatening to give out. Pleasure ran through your body and you opened your eyes to stare into his dark ones as they locked on you. They broke away from you, looking down at your breasts that were cascaded in warm water before leaning down and swirling his tongue over them, his fingers still rubbing your clit.

Soft whimpers left your lips even though you tried your hardest to suppress them. You bit your tongue as he took your nipple between his teeth and bit down gently, a finger now slipping inside your wet pussy.

“Look at you,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet praise. “So beautiful. So perfect for me. Your body is a masterpiece.”

Your head tipped back, water running down your face as his fingers found your sweet spot, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. “In-ho,” you breathed, your voice trembling with equal parts of protest and need.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his free hand moving to cradle your face, tilting it toward him. “I won’t let you fall. Just trust me.”

He moved his hand back down to your breast, kneading it as you involuntarily arched into his touch. A small smirk played on his lips and he leaned down, placing a kiss on yours. Another finger found its way inside your pussy, as his thumb skillfully rubbed your clit, increasing your pleasure. His fingers curled, and he used his free fingers to gently pinch and pull on your nipples as you tried to stop the soft moans from leaving your lips.

The sensation was overwhelming, his touch unrelenting, and the praise spilling from his lips only heightened it. “That’s it my good little girl,” he coaxed, his lips brushing against yours before capturing them fully, swallowing the sounds that escaped you.

His kiss was possessive, almost desperate, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of anyone hearing you but him. His fingers thrusted faster inside you with an expert rhythm, sending sparks of pleasure through your body. “You’re such a good girl for me,” he whispered against your lips, his voice low and intoxicating. “So perfect, every part of you. All mine.”

You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as an orgasm built inside you. “That’s my girl,” he murmured. “Let me see you cum, just for me.”

His fingers went faster and your body gave in, the release was swift and all consuming, leaving you trembling and moaning his name in his arms. He held you close, his hands steadying you as your breathing slowed.

“See how good that felt?” In-ho murmured, his lips curving into a small smile. “It can get even better.”

A flicker of shame passed through you, how could you let him do this, knowing what was happening just outside these quarters? The chaos, the danger, the people you had left behind. But the moment his hands trailed down your waist, firm and grounding, the doubt began to dissolve.

“In-ho,” you whispered, though your voice betrayed you, shaky and soft.

“I know angel,” he said gently, his forehead resting against yours for a moment. “But don’t think about anything else right now. It’s just you and me here. No one else matters.”

Before you could reply, he dropped to his knees. The sight of him kneeling before you, his dark hair dripping with water, made your breath catch.

His hands found your thighs, spreading them slightly as his lips pressed kisses on your pussy. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice husky. “Let me show you.”

Your hands instinctively found their way to his hair, your fingers tangling in the damp strands as his lips engulfed your throbbing clit. He worked with slow, deliberate care, his mouth trailing heat over your pussy.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered between kisses, his breath warm against you. “So good for me. You always are.”

His tongue flicked over your clit fast, better than your fingers or anyone else could ever feel on you. He licked from your entrance back up to your clit, swirling his tongue and suckling like a starved man.

Your grip in his hair tightened as a low sound escaped you, and he let out a quiet chuckle, clearly pleased with your reaction. “That’s it,” he murmured. “Don’t hold back. Let me hear you.”

For a moment, all thoughts of the world outside were forgotten. The only thing that existed was the feel of his lips and the steady stream of praise falling from them.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice reverent yet commanding. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”

He ate you out like he had something to prove. Like he was showing you that no one else could care for you so much that it reflected in how they pleasured you. His tongue slipped inside your pussy, thrusting gently as you shivered and let out soft whimpers that made his dick hard. All that clouded your mind now was his tongue, exploring every inch of your needy, quivering pussy, licking up and down and slurping on your clit.

Your grip in his hair tightened again as your breaths turned shallow, your body trembling under his touch. He moved with such precision, as though he knew exactly what your pussy ached for. The sound of the water cascading around you only heightened your senses, every touch, every flicker of his tongue sending waves of pleasure through you.

“Come on sweetheart,” he murmured against your skin, his voice a low, rumbling praise that sent a shiver up your spine. “Just cum for me. Be good for me.”

Your fingers clenched in his wet hair, and your body obeyed, your orgasm spilling over as the pleasure became too much to contain and you squirted in his mouth.

“Good girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your clit one last time before he stood, his hands trailing up your sides to pull you against him. You could feel the strength of him, solid, grounding you as you tried to catch your breath.

He leaned in, his mouth capturing yours in a heated kiss, his hands sliding down to your hips. “See how good I can make you feel?” he murmured against your lips.

Before you could respond, he turned you gently, guiding your hands to brace against the tile as the warmth of the water poured over you. His lips found the curve of your shoulder, trailing kisses along your neck as his hands explored your wet, naked body.

“You feel so perfect,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet reverence. “I won’t stay away from you, you know that?”

As his hands gently groped your ass, you could feel his hard cock pressing against you. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, his words soft but full of lust. “I need to fuck you,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

“Please- please do,” you whimpered.

You could feel the way he was responding to you, his cock against your ass telling you everything you needed to know. Your pulse raced as you gave in to the moment, not wanting to fight the pull between you. You both let out low moans as he entered your tight pussy from behind, halting for a second to give you time to adjust to his sheer size. He was so thick, stretching and filling you in ways you knew no one else could.

He began steadily rutting into you, the sound of skin slapping amplified by the water making him chuckle lightly. His lips pressed against your neck as your pussy gripped his cock like it never wanted to let him go.

His voice was a little hoarse as he whispered, “You feel so fucking good.”

His hands shifted, one sliding around your neck, the pressure just enough to make you gasp. You leaned into it, feeling the pleasure rise inside you. With every thrust, he took his time, drawing out each moan, each squelch of your pussy that sent your heart racing.

He looked down at your ass bouncing against him, and you swore his cock throbbed inside you. With his hand still around your neck, the other reached in front, rubbing rough circles on your clit as his cock hit your g spot repeatedly.

“Relax,” he whispered softly. “I’ve got you. Cum on my cock.”

His words, his touch, it was all part of this undeniable force pulling you closer, and you gave in, your pussy soaking his cock buried inside you, surrendering to the moment, feeling more alive than you’d ever thought possible these last few days.

After drying off, the steam from the shower clung to your skin. The mirror fogged up just a bit from the warmth, but it only added to the intimacy of the moment. His hands gently cupped your waist as he stood close behind you. You could see his reflection in the mirror, his gaze intense as he met your eyes through the glass.

“You’re breathtaking,” he whispered, his breath warm on the back of your neck. His hands traced your sides slowly, memorizing every curve, every inch of you. “From the moment I saw you, I knew I had to protect you.”

The words made your chest tighten, a mix of emotions swirling within you. You’d never felt so seen, so cared for, as if everything about you mattered to him. He continued, his voice low, full of reverence, “You’re my priority. I would do anything for you. No one else matters but you.”

He stared at you in the mirror as his hard length entered you again. He moaned into your ear, the deep sound going to your pussy and making it throb as he began fucking you again. Your mouth fell open, the intimacy of the moment sending ripples of need through you. His large hands cupped your breasts, groping and tweaking your nipples as you met the roll of his hips, fucking him back as he pounded your pussy.

The mirror reflected the way his eyes softened as they traced your brown skin, his admiration for you evident in the way he held you. He kissed your shoulder, your neck and then your temple, the feel of his lips on you making you shiver.

“No one else matters. They don’t fucking matter, only my pretty little angel,” he murmured

With every thrust, he showed you just how much you meant to him, his actions speaking louder than words ever could. You could feel the care, the devotion, and the unwavering desire to be close to you, to cherish you in some lowkey sick and twisted way. It was a rare and overwhelming feeling, one that made your heart race and your pulse quicken.

“Every.part.of.you,” he murmured, thrusting with word, his lips brushing against your ear, “is.perfect.to.me.”

You couldn’t hold on much longer. He was right at the edge waiting too. Your hand reached behind him, bringing his head down to suck on your neck, his eyes still locked onto yours in the mirror as you squirted on his cock. Your pussy drenched him, your juices trailing down your thighs and his as you convulsed with him still inside you.

“That’s my good girl, fuck, I’m gonna cum too, deep inside this tight pussy. Take it for me sweetheart,” he groaned.

He let out a deep, guttural moan and you hummed in content, feeling his hot load fill you to the brim.

As your highs passed, you could feel the air between you slowly easing. His lips brushed against your temple, soft and tender, grounding you. His voice was gentle but firm, “I’m here. It’s just us now. That’s all that matters.”

His words were soothing you in a way that only he could. With delicate care, he cleaned you up, his touch surprisingly gentle despite everything that had just happened. Then, he led you to the bed, helping you lie down as he dressed you slowly, making sure you were comfortable.

“You’ll get all the answers you need,” he said quietly, his hand brushing a strand of your curls away from your face, “in due time. Just trust me. Be patient.”

You let out a soft breath, not fully understanding everything, but something in his words made you want to believe him. Trust. What a word. It was so simple yet so heavy. Could you really place it in his hands, when everything else felt so uncertain?

You looked up at him. “Trust,” you echoed, “you’re really good at making that sound easy.”

He returned your smile, though it was tinged with something darker, something unreadable. “I don’t need you to trust me now. Just know I’ll never let you go.”

4K notes · View notes

massivechildtidalwave · 2 months ago

Text

Its a terrifying scene. The camera angle revealing parts of a science lab straight out of hell. Kitchen knifes and scalpels lay dripping on a table.

On the dissection table- because thats all it could be- lays a small child. Small but noticable gills on the neck, the occasional fleck of scales and webbed fingers mark them as merfolk.

Viewers watch on in horror as the table is bloodied. A steady incision made in the left leg. The Justice League had been contacted but there was no indication they would make it in time to help.

A large Bang! went off in the background of the video, clearly catching the duo off guard. The man turned to his (wife?) with a weird moniter in his hands going off the charts and with an excited yelp they both took off running up the steps that were just barely in frame behind them.

A few long moments later, two teens sneak into the lab. The boy rushed over to unchain their parents 'test subject' while the girl kept watch.

Freshly released limbs had bloody wounds rubbed into the pinned down areas and quiet whispers of empathy were only just picked up by the audio. One of the viewers pointed out that the boy himself had scars in similar places.

The boy picked up the kid and the trio quickly slipped away out of camera view. Soft thuds mark their escape from the house, seemingly unaware of the Livestream their parents were apparently trying to make.

--------------------------

The story makes international news and leaves everyone on high alert. Government agencies scramble to prove they had no connection to the couple, the GIW undergos mass arrest when their names Maddie and Jack Fenton come up on their payroll. A channel is made to document any sightings of the kids.

The first one is posted after a day. It's security footage from a fast food restaruant. Four teens- the two from before plus a goth and someone named ''Tucker''- along with the comparitively tiny Mer sit in a booth. ''Tucker'' and "Sam'' argue about possible dietary restriction before seemingly ordering one of everything. There is soup, and a burger, the largest cup filled with water they could find in the back, chicken tenders and salad.

When the server goes to deliver everything, the four watch them like hawks, understandable given the previous day.

(Did any of them even know Half the world knew what went down? )

(Did any of them know how Aquaman was taking the news of one of his subjects being injured like that? )

( Did any of them realize that their choice to protect the kid was one of the main reasons war hadn't been declared yet on the human race?)

Jasmine is heard softly encouraging the tiny Mer to eat something, anything and eventually the soup is downed and apparently liked enough that she gets up to order more.

Right before they leave, while under the relative safety of a roof, they swap the bandages wrapped around most of the kids leg and arms and slowly tell them about future plans despite the fact that they probably can't understand the language.

(Jasmine points at a laptop screen filled with a view of the ocean. "We" she circles the group with her pinky "are going there to get you home." The atlantian can't speak english but the way their eyes light up and they relax further into Sams side shows they understand the basic message)

(The sight- of the child definitely scared but trusting them enough to get so close- helps calm the atlantians with access to the internet. Somewhere Aquaman finds himself able to breathe slightly easier.)

#ectoplasm and a glowing core #Dc x DP #aquatic ghosts au

3K notes · View notes

buckyseternaldoll · 17 days ago

Text

bad desire

this is the final story from my 707 followers' milestone event 💖

Pairing: WinterSoldier!Bucky x Civilian!Female!Reader

Summary: Hydra tried to turn you both into monsters. But even as the Winter Soldier, Bucky still chose you.

Disclaimers: 18+ (mdni!), explicit smut content, p in v (standing & bed positions), oral (m giving), light dubcon (serum influence), winter soldier mode, overstimulation, soft dom!bucky, recovery sex, emotional aftercare, post-Hydra escape, angst with resolution, semi-public surveillance

Word Count: 8.5k

Author's Note: As much as I love Winter Soldier, writing his smut scene is very challenging 🥹😭

Bucky escaped Hydra with Steve’s help—though “escape” wasn’t quite right. It felt more like a release. A bleeding, uncertain kind of freedom.

He vanished into a quiet Eastern European village, tucked between cold hills and roads long forgotten. Somewhere small. A place where the language felt foreign in his mouth, and the people kept to themselves. No tourists. No curious eyes. Just cobblestones, an aging clocktower, and silence.

It was perfect for him.

He rented a room above a bakery. Kept his head down. Never let anyone walk behind him. The locals didn’t pry, and he didn’t offer anything back.

But you noticed him.

He was tall, broad, always in the same dark jacket. He moved like someone studying life from the outside—trying to memorize the rhythm of it. Watched more than spoke. At the bakery, he never haggled—just nodded, paid in full, and left. Over time, he started greeting the baker. Murmured a stiff “thank you” like he’d practiced it. You even caught him trying to smile once. It didn’t quite reach his eyes, but the attempt was there.

At the market, he lingered. Watched people barter. Mirrored how they tapped scales or leaned in to laugh. He looked like he was trying to relearn how to be human.

He often came to the café where you worked part-time. A small, tucked-away place across from a crooked bench and flickering lamp post. That bench became his perch. He’d sit, stiff-backed, notebook in hand—too small for his fingers, but he wrote in it anyway. Not often. Just a few lines, then he’d tuck it away like it mattered.

You watched him from behind the counter. Pretending not to. But he stood out—quietly. Like a story you couldn’t quite read.

Once, you saw him flinch—actually flinch—at a fat green caterpillar crawling over a daisy by the café door. He took a full step back like it had hissed at him. You barely kept your laughter in. He took a full step back, like it had hissed. You barely kept your laughter in.

Another time, a stray cat jumped onto his bench. He just blinked at it, then scratched behind its ear like he wasn’t sure how. Two more joined. That evening, he walked in covered in cat fur.

You handed him his usual—black coffee. No sugar. No milk. But this time, you added a glazed donut beside it.

“On me,” you said softly. “You’re a regular now.”

He stilled. Shoulders tense, gaze sharp. Like he hadn’t planned for kindness.

You raised your hands gently. “No pressure. Just sugar.”

He hesitated, then gave a slow, reluctant nod.

And he ate the donut.

—

The next day, he was back on the bench again—early afternoon, sunlight brushing through the thinning trees. You brought his coffee out and hovered a little longer.

“Do you like cats?” you asked.

He didn’t answer. Just gave a tiny nod, almost imperceptible.

Your grin grew. You pulled out your phone. “Wanna see mine?”

You held up your phone—a photo of a chonky black cat sprawled across your kitchen table like a lazy prince, belly up, legs akimbo, mid-yawn. “That’s Noa,” you said, grinning. “I found him at night, back in Romania. So—Noa. From noapte (night). He only answers when he feels like it. Fat chonk gremlin thinks he’s royalty. Loves pumpkin purée more than tuna, for some reason.”

You chuckled softly to yourself, expecting silence again.

But then came his voice—quiet, deep.

“Noa. Suits him.”

You blinked. It caught you off guard—not just that he spoke, but the way his voice wrapped around the name. Calm. Unhurried.

You tilted your head, smirking. “You can actually talk?”

He huffed through his nose. A breathy, reluctant sound. But it was amused. The closest thing to a laugh you’d seen from him yet.

You’d take it.

—

A week later, he tapped the edge of the table when you brought his drink.

You raised a brow. “Want me to sit?”

He nodded, eyes still on his cup.

So you did.

You didn’t talk that first time. Just sat, close enough that your knees brushed beneath the table whenever one of you shifted. He didn’t flinch. That felt… like something.

It became a habit. Not always. But often enough that the seat across from him started feeling like yours.

One quiet day, after closing early, he was still there—scribbling in that little notebook. You sat down with your tea, watching him.

“I’ve seen the way you move through the village,” you said. “Like you’re learning. Studying how people work.”

He stilled, pen pausing mid-stroke.

“I think you’re trying to be more human. Or trying to remember how. If you ever need help… I’m good at pretending to be human.”

Still no reply. But he didn’t leave.

You leaned in slightly. “I swear on Noa, I’m a solid secret keeper. He’s the only one I tell things to. And unless he starts speaking, your secrets are safe with the cats.”

That did it.

A low chuckle escaped him. He shook his head, eyes down—and smiled.

It wasn’t wide. Not perfect.

But it was real.

Something pulled tight and warm in your chest. You smiled back, trying to play it cool while your heart scrambled.

—

You’d started seeing him outside the café more often.

Not exactly planned meetings—but they became frequent enough to feel like a habit. You’d catch him on your way home. Sometimes, he’d be waiting at the park bench with his notebook. Other times, you’d spot him loitering near the market until you finally walked up and dragged him into conversation.

You were the one insisting on it—on helping. And to his quiet credit, he let you.

“I mean,” you said one afternoon as the two of you strolled down a quiet lane just past the edge of the village, “you’ve gotten pretty damn good at talking, considering how you used to communicate in grunts and side-eye.”

He gave you a sharp glance, but there was warmth tucked into it. “Didn’t grunt.”

You snorted. “You did. I have witnesses.”

He shook his head, but you caught the curve of his mouth. He wasn’t quite smiling, but it was there, that pull—like he was getting used to the idea of letting something reach him.

“I’m serious, though,” you said, more gently now. “You’ve picked up on social cues really well. You don’t stare at people like they’re puzzles anymore. You even laugh sometimes.”

“I don’t laugh.”

“You chuckled when I told you Noa tried to eat my eyebrow pencil. That counts.”

He sighed. It wasn’t irritated. Just resigned.

You looked at him, eyes soft. “Anything else you want to work on? Anything you need practice with?”

That made him pause.

You both stopped walking, the dusty road quiet around you. The breeze shifted, carrying the smell of firewood and something herbal from a nearby window.

Then he said it—low and measured.

“Human touch.”

You turned to face him. “Touch?”

There was a silence between you, and in that moment, it held weight. Like a breath held too long.

“I forgot,” he said slowly, eyes not quite meeting yours. “What normal touches feel like.”

You felt something stutter in your chest. You wanted to ask more—about what he meant, about what kind of touches he did remember—but something in his voice told you not to. There was a darker layer beneath that calm tone, a history stitched into his skin, and you knew better than to tug at those seams without invitation.

Your gaze dropped for a second—to the gloved hand at his side. The right one.

That other arm—his left—was usually hidden, but sometimes you’d catch it glinting beneath his sleeve. Sleek metal, darker than silver, and forged with faint grooves along the knuckles. You’d never asked about it. Even though you were curious as hell.

Even now, it caught the light—a quiet shimmer beneath the worn fabric.

You took a slow breath. “Do you want to try?”

He blinked. “Try what?”

You lifted your hand, palm up. Open. Gentle.

“I mean… my hand’s not exactly groundbreaking,” you said with a light smile, trying to ease the sudden weight of the moment, “but if you want to… I dunno. Start small. No pressure.”

He stared at your hand.

For a second, you weren’t sure he’d move.

But then—without a word—he reached up and tugged the glove from his right hand. His flesh hand. The one that looked weathered but strong, broad-knuckled with veins that caught just beneath the skin. His fingers flexed once in the air, almost uncertainly, like they were trying to remember how to approach something.

He didn’t grab you. Didn’t squeeze.

Instead, he touched the center of your palm first. Just with the tips of two fingers. A featherlight stroke.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t move.

He traced slowly. His forefinger curling against your skin, drawing a slow, shaky line toward the base of your thumb. His touch wasn’t smooth—it trembled, faintly. Like he was afraid he’d do it wrong. As if even this small contact required permission.

Then, after a pause, his entire hand lowered into yours—deliberate, careful. He fit his fingers into the spaces between yours, but not all the way. Just hovered there. Testing.

You let your fingers curl softly around his. Closed the gap.

His breath caught.

For a long, quiet moment, you stood like that. His hand warming against yours, every inch of skin-to-skin charged with something unspoken. And when he finally wrapped his hand fully around yours—gently, so gently—it felt like a tether. Like he was anchoring himself to something he couldn’t name.

You didn’t speak. Didn’t tease. You just let him hold you, because it felt like he needed it.

And when he looked down at your joined hands, eyes blinking slow, the smallest crease formed between his brows—confused, maybe. Or overwhelmed. Like he wasn’t sure what to do with softness that didn’t come with strings.

You squeezed lightly. Just once.

He didn’t let go.

And something about that… moved in you.

You weren’t sure what it was exactly—only that it lit something behind your ribs. Like an invisible string tugged its way from your palm to somewhere along your spine, curling low and quiet and warm. It didn’t hurt. It wasn’t wrong. But it made you feel… squirmy. Restless. Like there was something else happening beneath your skin that hadn’t been there a second ago.

You stayed still anyway. Let the moment stretch.

But he must have felt it—something shifting, or maybe just the timing of it all—because after a few more seconds, he slowly unhooked his fingers from yours and pulled his hand back. Carefully. Like he didn’t want to break something.

You didn’t say anything.

Neither did he.

But from that day on, the “touch training” became a regular part of your meetings.

It started innocently enough. A brush of shoulders while walking. The occasional graze of his knuckles when he passed you something. You let him explore the idea of safe contact—real, present, unprogrammed. And in turn, he let you see how deeply lonely he must have been to crave it in silence all this time.

Today, you told him you were ready for the next step. “We’ve done hands,” you said with a teasing smile, standing beneath the low branches of a pine tree that shaded your usual path. “Now let’s try hugs.”

He didn’t move at first.

Then—slowly—he nodded.

You took a breath. Arms out. Waiting.

He stepped forward, movements uncertain but controlled. His arms wrapped around you not like someone who had done it a thousand times, but like someone trying to replicate something from memory. Not tightly at first. Just enough to encircle you.

You stood there, letting the contact settle in. His chest was warm. Firm beneath your cheek. His breath slow against your hair. But then…

Something inside you curled.

It was that feeling again—that tight, electric buzz in your stomach. That low twist of pressure that felt… weird. Not in a bad way. Just… complicated. Your insides knotted, not from fear or nerves, but something else. Something unnamed.

He smelled like cedar soap and wood smoke. His heart beat slow. Heavy. Constant.

And then his arms shifted—pulling you in closer. Just slightly. But closer.

The hug deepened. Changed.

You weren’t sure how, but the second his body pressed more fully against yours, you felt it again: that same shiver in your chest, sliding low through your belly like something melting. Your breath caught. You didn’t understand it, not really. You didn’t even have a name for the feeling.

You didn’t know that was what want felt like.

You swallowed hard and buried it. Ignored it. Because he didn’t seem to notice anything strange.

At least, you didn’t think he did.

—

The last thing you remembered was the sound of his breath near your ear. His hand between your shoulder blades, steady and warm.

The next time you opened your eyes—he was gone.

You were no longer in his arms.

You were strapped to a chair.

Metal. Ice-cold. The kind that bit through your clothes and dug into your spine. Thick cuffs pressed around your wrists, holding you in place. Your ankles were bound, too—tight and immovable. The room around you was dark, echoing. Empty, except for the faint buzz of electricity overhead.

A single bulb swung slowly above you, the only source of light. It flickered once. Twice.

Your vision was still blurry. Mind fogged, sluggish. But your body knew something was wrong before your brain could catch up. Your head pulsed with pressure. And your arm—your right arm—ached.

You blinked downward, slow and heavy, catching the faint pinprick of dried blood at your inner elbow. A needle mark.

You’d been injected.

The panic didn’t hit all at once—it crept in slowly, like ice cracking beneath your skin. Your breath came shallow. You tried to move, to speak, to scream, but nothing useful came out. Just a hoarse breath. Dry. Weak.

And then you heard it.

Voices. Low and sharp. Coming from beyond the door.

Russian.

At least three men, maybe four, talking quickly—too quickly for your foggy brain to translate. The hinges of a metal door groaned. Then footsteps. Heavy boots. Closer. Echoing.

You tried to brace yourself.

But you couldn’t even remember how you got here.

All you knew was that a moment ago, you were in his arms.

And now… you were alone.

—

The door creaked open with a loud metallic groan, and four men stepped into the cell.

All in black. Boots heavy. Faces unreadable under buzzcuts and shadows. One of them—broad, smug, older—stepped forward like he owned the ground he walked on. The others fanned out like guards, or wolves waiting to be told when to bite.

He tilted his head. Eyes gleamed as he looked you over like you were inventory.

“Well, well,” he drawled. “Feeling better?”

You barely lifted your head. Everything ached—your skull, your arm, your gut. You tried to speak, but the words clung to your tongue like glue.

He didn’t wait for an answer.

“Got what we needed, thanks to you.”

You blinked at him, dazed and confused.

He grinned like a jackal. “Soft little village girl walks into his life, and boom—he forgets what he is.”

He crouched a little, closer to your face now. His breath reeked of blood and smoke.

“Our asset went soft,” he spat. “You made him soft.”

The word dripped with disgust.

You stared at him, blinking through the fog in your brain.

“Where is he?” you rasped. “What did you—where’s the man I was with?”

His grin widened. “Man?”

He laughed. Sharp and cruel. One of the others snorted behind him.

“That wasn’t a man, darling. That was a weapon. And now he’s exactly where he belongs.”

He rose to full height again. “Different cell. Alone. Like he should be. We’re reprogramming his brain.”

The blood in your veins turned to ice.

Hydra.

You didn’t even have to ask.

You knew exactly what they were—what that name meant, what it carried.

The older man smirked, noticing your change in expression. “Ah. Now it clicks.”

You felt sick. Your stomach turned. But still—you shook your head.

“No,” you said. “You’re wrong. He’s not like that anymore. He’s—”

“James Buchanan Barnes,” the man interrupted, lips curling with glee. “Winter Soldier. Ring any bells?”

You went still.

James.

The name slammed into your chest like a blunt weapon.

“And you,” he sneered, “got in the way. Made him weak. Turned him into a fucking puppy.”

You didn’t answer.

You couldn’t.

“We should’ve killed you,” he added, almost casually. “Collateral damage. But lucky you—we had something better.”

He gestured to your arm. “You’ve been injected.”

You glanced down, breath catching at the sting on your inner elbow. The tiny welt. The bruising.

“A gift,” he said, all false cheer. “We call it a mirror. Brings out the dark stuff. Whatever’s locked deep inside. Instinct. Want. Urge.”

He leaned down one last time, lips close to your ear.

“You’ll be placed in his cell when it’s time. Once he’s been… tuned.”

He straightened, already walking away.

“Let’s see what happens when we give the monster exactly what he wants.”

The men laughed—cold, barking sounds that echoed as they stepped out.

The door slammed shut behind them with a brutal, final thud.

—

[BUCKY POV]

The sting in his neck came first.

Then the cold.

Then nothing.

Just flashes.

Boots dragging him across concrete. Metal floors. Voices scraping through static—low, clipped, familiar.

Russian.

Fucking Hydra.

He came to strapped into a chair.

No. The chair.

The one they used when they wanted to rip you out of yourself and leave the bones behind.

Thick leather cuffs bit into his wrists. Ankles locked. Wires pressed cold and sharp against his chest. A band wrapped tight around his head, wired into the humming machine behind him. He didn’t have to turn to see it.

He knew it. Every screw. Every sound.

He could feel the current buzzing in the wires before it even touched him.

His jaw tensed. Shoulders squared.

Don’t show it. Don’t move. Don’t give them anything.

Then the door creaked open.

Three of them stepped in—uniformed, smug, smiling like they were about to unwrap a weapon, not a man.

“Back where you belong,” one sneered. “Didn’t take much, huh?”

The second laughed. “Too easy. Poor thing really thought he was human.”

The third passed by, tapping a syringe. “Relax. We’re not wasting the asset. Just giving him a little… reminder.”

Bucky stayed silent.

They didn’t expect a response. Not yet.

“We already dosed the girl,” one of them said, voice curling with amusement. “Desire-enhancer. She’ll be begging for him before the hour’s out.”

“And yours?” the last one smirked, fingers hovering over a switch. “We upgraded it. Stronger. With a twist.”

He flipped it.

The current hit like fire.

Bucky’s spine arched against the restraints. A choked sound tore from his throat as electricity ripped through him—nerve to nerve, bone to bone. Sparks blurred his vision. Static roared in his skull.

His name vanished.

His mind split.

But somewhere, buried in the white-hot haze—you.

Your laugh. Your voice. The softness of your hand in his. The way your eyes never flinched when they met his.

Hold onto that. Don’t lose her.

He tried. God, he tried.

But the machine clawed deeper. Pulling him apart from the inside. Ripping softness from his bones, kindness from his memory. Replacing it with silence. Precision. Directives etched where memory used to be.

When it finally stopped, his body sagged forward, gasping. Muscles trembling. Jaw clenched so tight he tasted blood.

But something was off.

He wasn’t gone.

Not all the way.

Not the Soldier. Not Bucky.

Something in between. Something worse.

The serum already pulsed in his blood, coiling around every raw edge. Every flicker of need. It sank claws into the parts of him that still felt.

And what he felt now—

Was you.

But not with love.

With hunger.

Every memory of your skin, your voice, your scent—it all shifted. No longer comfort.

Triggers.

He needed to hear your breath catch. Feel your body tense under his. Mark you until you knew he was there, even after he was gone.

To take.

To claim.

To never stop.

[END OF POV]

—

The door to your cell groaned open, flooding your ears with the shriek of rusted hinges.

You blinked against the sudden light, but it barely helped. Everything around you was still dark—your vision tunneled, your limbs heavy, your skin burning.

You barely registered the two guards entering.

Thick fingers undid the straps around your wrists and ankles. Cold hands hauled you up before you could find your own footing.

Your legs buckled once.

“Move,” one of them growled, dragging you out into the hall.

You stumbled forward, caught between their grips. The corridor was dim and narrow, stone underfoot, cold air brushing your fevered skin. You could hardly see—just outlines and flickers of shadows along the walls.

But none of it mattered.

Because you felt him.

Somewhere ahead. Close.

Your whole body throbbed with it. Like your nerves were no longer your own. All you could think—feel—was the need for him. Not the gentle kind. Not the kind with whispered touches and stolen glances.

You wanted him inside you.

You wanted him to tear you apart and put you back together with his hands, his mouth, his body.

It was a hunger that crawled under your skin and made you feel like you’d melt if you didn’t touch him soon.

The guards reached a door at the end of the hallway—wider, steel-reinforced. One of them punched in a code. The other turned the handle.

You shivered, your skin hypersensitive under the thin fabric of the knee-length dress you still wore—soft and light, now clinging slightly with sweat. It felt out of place here. Too exposed. Too easy to pull up. A whisper of softness in a place built to break you.

And then they shoved you in.

You stumbled again, caught your balance on instinct, heart hammering.

The room was bright.

Too bright. Walls blinding white. Sanitized. Cold and clean in a way that made your skin crawl.

There was a bed, bolted to the floor. A single chair in the corner. No windows. No shadows.

Cameras. You knew there were cameras. Probably hidden in the corners, blinking silently as they watched you unravel.

Your eyes adjusted—and then you saw him.

Bucky.

Only—he wasn’t quite Bucky anymore.

He stood near the back of the room, facing the opposite wall. Shoulders tense, spine straight, chest heaving beneath the thin black shirt that clung to every ridge of muscle. His metal arm gleamed under the overhead lights—exposed now, the red star dark against the metal.

He turned toward you.

And your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes.

Not soft. Not tired. Not like before.

They were darker. Sharper. Focused.

Predatory.

He looked at you like he already knew what you were feeling—because he felt it, too. Because he wanted it. Wanted you.

But not gently.

Not sweetly.

There was no careful Bucky here.

This was the Winter Soldier.

And he wanted to ruin you.

—

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse thundering in your ears as you took one slow, trembling step forward.

“James…”

The name slipped out—quiet. Barely above a whisper.

His head tilted slightly at the sound of it. His eyes flicked toward you, nostrils flaring like a wild animal scenting prey. His shoulders rose with a slow inhale.

But he didn’t speak.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

You swallowed hard, body tense, skin prickling as the serum’s grip twisted deeper in your belly. The heat was unbearable. Your thighs pressed together instinctively, trying to stop the ache, but it only pulsed harder. Your cunt throbbed, needy and swollen, aching for him—only him.

Still, you tried to stay in control.

“I want you,” you rasped, your voice hoarse with restraint. “God, I want you so bad it hurts—inside, everywhere—but I know it’s the serum. I know Hydra did this.”

He didn’t move. His jaw flexed.

“I don’t want to take advantage of you,” you continued, your voice cracking. “I never wanted this to happen like this. Not with you like this. I wanted—I wanted you—but not like this.”

He was still silent.

But something flickered in his eyes.

A shadow of the man you’d held before. The man who’d brushed his fingertips across your palm like it meant something. Who smiled when you talked about your cat. Who let you into his world one inch at a time.

That man was still there.

Barely.

And he was fighting.

But the desire was eating you alive.

“I’m trying to fight it,” you whispered, stepping back until your shoulders hit the wall. Your hands flattened behind you, bracing against cold white. “But I—fuck—I can’t. I’m so wet it hurts. I’ve been clenching around nothing thinking about you, and I hate it. I hate how badly I want you right now. I want you inside me. Filling me. Stretching me. Ruining me.”

His eyes darkened.

A crack formed in his stillness.

Then he growled something low under his breath—in Russian.

“Хватит говорить.”

Stop talking.

The words barely left his lips before he moved.

He lunged.

In less than a breath, his body crashed into yours, pinning you against the wall. The impact stole the air from your lungs. You gasped, but he was already on you—his metal hand seizing your wrist and slamming it above your head, hard and cold and unrelenting.

The other hand gripped your waist, lifting you slightly off the ground as his mouth crushed into yours.

It wasn’t a kiss.

It was a claim.

Teeth. Heat. Pressure. Desperation.

You tried to push him away—tried to gather what little control you had left—but it was useless. Your hands, your mouth, your body all betrayed you. Your hips rolled up against him like they had a mind of their own, your thighs shaking.

You moaned into his mouth, unable to stop yourself.

There was no softness in the way he kissed you.

It was all teeth and heat and panting breaths, mouths crashing over and over, no rhythm—just hunger. Every movement from him was brutal, precise, urgent. Like he was trying to rip the need out of himself and shove it into you.

Your body burned.

Your cunt clenched around nothing, soaking through your underwear.

The sound of your whimper made his grip tighten.

His metal arm held you like steel, unrelenting, fingertips bruising where they curled around your skin. You were pinned in place, completely at his mercy—and yet, all you could think about was how badly you wanted more.

Your free hand curled in his shirt, yanking him closer. Your legs lifted, wrapping around his hips as he held you pinned.

Your back hit the wall again with a thud as he ground against you—rough, hard, hot. His cock was already stiff beneath his pants, pressing against the curve of your cunt, and it made you cry out—the contact was too much, not enough, everything and nothing at once.

His mouth tore away from yours, lips red and wet, breath ragged.

You barely heard the static click of the camera in the corner behind you.

Hydra was watching.

And they were delighted.

The serum wasn’t meant to end in one round.

It was designed to feed itself.

To keep you both burning.

To keep you needing until you were hollowed out.

Even if it killed you.

And right now, with Bucky’s mouth on your throat, his hand tearing at your clothes, and your body already grinding down against him—

You weren’t sure you’d live through it.

But God—you wanted to.

—

His mouth dragged lower, tongue hot against your collarbone, and then suddenly—

RIP.

Your dress split down the middle with one brutal yank—his metal arm tearing through the fabric like paper. The sound cracked through the room, echoing against the white walls.

You gasped, trembling, suddenly half-naked—left only in your soaked underwear and a thin, non-padded bra. The cold air met your feverish skin, and your nipples peaked instantly, painfully hard under the sudden exposure.

He saw them.

And groaned.

A low, guttural sound. Not desperate. Not hungry in the way a man would be. But programmed. Like a predator recognizing its target.

His mouth closed over your left nipple through the thin fabric—biting, sucking, dragging his teeth over it like he wanted to bruise you there. The stimulation made your knees buckle, but he didn’t let you fall.

His arm still held your wrist tight above your head, unrelenting, while his free hand gripped your waist to keep you still.

He was in control. Utterly. Entirely.

You squirmed, hips rolling forward, grinding against the solid length of his cock through his pants, your wet panties dragging along the ridge of it with every movement.

“Fuck,” you whimpered. “James.”

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t pant.

Didn’t tremble.

Not like you.

He was still—his eyes sharp, his mouth ruthless, his body composed like he wasn’t even breathing hard.

Because he wasn’t.

He was in Winter Soldier mode now.

And Winter Soldiers didn’t pant.

With a quick shift, his flesh hand reached behind you, unclasped your bra with a practiced jerk. The clasp snapped open, and he yanked it down your arms, tossing it to the floor without ever loosening his grip.

Then his hands—both of them—were on your breasts.

He squeezed hard.

Too hard.

You cried out at the pressure, but your cunt clenched in response. Slick coated the inside of your thighs, your underwear already soaked through, sticking to you like a second skin.

“James—James, please,” you gasped. “I need—I need you inside me, I need it, I can’t—”

Still no response.

Just that single flash of his eyes before his metal hand dropped down, hooking into the waistband of your underwear. He didn’t pull it down.

He tore it off.

The fabric snapped apart in his grip, and your gasp turned into a full moan.

Your thighs parted without thinking. Your hips bucked.

You were so fucking wet.

The air hit your pussy and made it worse—the heat, the slick, the hollow ache deep inside. You were clenching around nothing, sobbing through your teeth, begging like it was the only language left in your body.

“Please, please, please—James—fuck me—”

You barely had time to breathe.

You felt the heat of him between your legs—thick, hot, pulsing. Then came the sound of a zipper—fabric shifting just enough for him to free himself.

He didn’t undress. Just shoved his pants low enough to free his cock.

Thick. Veined. Angry-red and leaking.

You gasped. “Wait—”

But he wasn’t built to wait.

His metal hand gripped your hip, cold and unrelenting. His flesh hand slid under your thigh, hoisting your leg up and pinning it to his side.

Just one leg.

Just enough to open you.

And then—he drove forward.

No warning. No teasing. No care.

Just a brutal thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs and slammed your back into the wall.

You screamed.

The stretch lit your nerves on fire, forced your body to open around him—thick and hard and so deep it hurt. But the pain was nothing compared to the ache that came before it.

Now that he was inside you, your body clenched like it never wanted him to leave.

He pulled back, barely.

Then thrust in again.

Harder.

Faster.

He fucked you like he was trying to purge something from his bloodstream—his hips snapping forward with unrelenting force, again and again, every motion slamming you into the cold wall behind.

You weren’t just holding on—you were unraveling.

Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingers digging in wherever they could find purchase. One leg hooked up high on his waist, the other shaking, barely able to hold you upright, but he didn’t falter.

The wet slap of skin echoed in the sterile white cell. Your moans cracked open and feral, your body shaking with every punishing stroke—and he?

He didn’t blink.

Didn’t groan. Didn’t pant.

He just fucked.

Mechanical. Precise. Feral.

The Winter Soldier wasn’t built to feel.

He was built to finish.

And that’s exactly what he intended to do.

—

He didn’t stop.

Not even when your spine slammed against the wall again, the shock rattling through your ribs.

Not when your lifted leg started to tremble, slipping a little against his side.

Not when your moans broke into gasps—ragged, breathless, barely hanging on.

He only growled—low and wordless—and wrapped his arms around you, metal and flesh, lifting you clean off the ground with a brutal grip.

You cried out as your back arched involuntarily, still so full of him.

He carried you—still inside you—across the room in a few fast, purposeful strides. His cock didn’t slip once. The stretch remained deep, unforgiving, dragging across every nerve inside you like it belonged there.

Then you hit the mattress.

Hard.

The springs squealed beneath your weight as he slammed into you again. No rhythm now—just sheer force. He was fucking like a machine with one directive: use. release. repeat.

Your eyes rolled back. You couldn’t breathe.

You didn’t even want to.

You were burning alive from the inside out and still you needed more.

But then—he stopped.

Pulled out.

You gasped from the loss, legs trembling, your cunt clenching around nothing.

“Flip,” he barked. The only word he’d said since entering you.

Your dazed mind barely registered the command, but your body obeyed—rolling over, knees digging into the mattress, arms braced, still shaking from the first onslaught.

You didn’t even get the chance to settle before he grabbed your hips—his metal hand gripping tight enough to bruise—and slammed into you again.

No warning. No patience.

You screamed into the mattress, forehead dropping forward, hands clawing at the sheets for something to hold onto.

He pounded into you from behind with no rhythm, just relentless depth—every thrust jarring your body forward, dragging a fresh moan from your throat.

It hurt.

It burned.

But God, you were so close.

So close you were choking on it, dizzy with it. Your body betrayed you completely, clenching, spiraling, seconds away—

But he didn’t let you come like that.

Not from behind.

Because the Winter Soldier wasn’t done with you yet.

He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over like a ragdoll—no tenderness, just force—and shoved himself back in with a violent thrust that made your hips lift off the bed.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream as he slammed into you, now facing him.

His face was blank. Eyes wild. Breath controlled.

You, on the other hand—were falling apart.

He fucked you violently, brutally, each thrust harder than the last, hips crashing into yours like you were built to take it.

And you did.

You came hard.

So hard your body spasmed, your nails digging into his shoulders, your voice breaking apart on his name—“James—oh fuck—James—”—as you shattered beneath him.

You shook.

Convulsed.

Almost blacked out.

But he didn’t stop.

You tried to breathe, to beg for a pause, but your lungs wouldn’t cooperate and neither would he.

His thrusts grew even rougher—inhuman—and then with a sharp, guttural exhale, he came too.

You felt it.

Hot and thick, pumping inside you in waves.

But he didn’t stop moving.

He kept going.

His cock still hard, still twitching inside you, still thrusting, like his brain didn’t register release as a signal to stop.

You gasped, overwhelmed. Your hands scrambled for his chest—“wait, wait—”

But he didn’t hear you.

Didn’t want to hear you.

Your body convulsed again, overstimulated, throat hoarse from moaning and screaming and gasping for air like you were drowning beneath him.

It almost felt like you could die from it.

And only then—finally—he pulled out.

Leaving you empty, ruined, soaking in your own slick and his cum, your legs still spread, your chest heaving like you’d run for miles and your heart might never slow down again.

—

He wasn’t done.

Even after spilling inside you—after wringing you dry and watching you break—he still wasn’t done.

The Winter Soldier moved with a single, controlled motion, shifting downward along the bed, his metal hand still gripping your thigh, prying it open wider. You tried to close your legs, weak and trembling, but it was useless. He forced them apart like it was protocol. Like this was routine.

He dove between your legs without a word.

Not hungry.

Not greedy.

But driven.

Programmed.

His tongue dragged along your folds—slow, deliberate. Gathering everything. Your slick. His cum. All of it. He wanted it. Wanted to taste it. To keep stimulating you until you broke again. Until your body couldn’t take it anymore.

He licked deeper.

Sucked on your swollen clit until your legs kicked out on reflex, your throat catching on a sound you couldn’t even shape into a word.

Your hips bucked weakly. You tried to push at his shoulders, but he didn’t move.

He was a machine.

And you were his task.

He kept going—precise licks, tight suction, his tongue fucking into you like he had been ordered to memorize your body and extract your climax as efficiently as possible.

You were already so sensitive. So raw. You couldn’t even process the pleasure anymore—it felt like pain. Like lightning.

You sobbed out his name again. “James—please—”

Still nothing.

No reaction.

And then—

You came again.

Your body convulsed violently, back arching off the mattress, vision tunneling. Your voice cracked open around the moan, and this time, it wasn’t lust.

It was a cry for help.

“B-Bucky—!”

His name tore from your throat like a sob—like a plea from somewhere deeper than instinct.

And it stopped him cold.

His mouth froze. His grip loosened. The relentless pace, the way his tongue had been driving you toward the edge—all of it stopped in an instant.

You couldn’t breathe right. Your chest was heaving, every sob catching sharp under your ribs. One arm had gone slack beside you on the sheets. Your thighs trembled where they draped over his shoulders—still open, still shaking. Your back arched off the bed in aftershock, your cheek damp with tears you hadn’t realized were falling.

And then—he looked at you.

Really looked at you.

His head tilted slightly, like something wasn’t computing—like your voice had hit a frequency he couldn’t filter out. His eyes, still dark and storming, moved over you slowly. The marks on your hips. The red prints around your wrists. Your swollen lips. The way your body shook in his arms.

His gaze landed on your face last.

The tears.

The way you whispered his name again, softer this time.

“Bucky…”

A breath caught in his throat—different from the harsh, mechanical rhythm he’d been running on. This one was shallow. Fragile. Human.

And then—

Something cracked.

You saw it.

Like a wire snapped behind his eyes. His brows drew in sharply, lips parting, shoulders falling—not with discipline but with shock. The kind of shock that came with recognition.

The Soldier had no use for guilt.

But Bucky Barnes did.

He stepped back.

Stumbled.

Like his legs suddenly remembered how to give out.

“No—” he rasped, voice frayed and hoarse and unmistakably his. “No, no, shit—fuck—I didn’t—”

He looked down at his hands like they didn’t belong to him. One metal, one trembling. Covered in sweat, in your slick, in proof of everything he’d just done.

His breath hitched. “I’m sorry,” he whispered—raw and cracked open.

And when he reached for you this time—

It wasn’t to hold you down.

It was to hold you up.

—

He eased you up—gentle now. Hands soft under your arms, cradling your head as he slowly pulled you into a seated position. You gasped for air, your body shaking like a leaf, lungs still catching up to the storm he’d left in you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, his voice shredded. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—I lost control. I didn’t know how to stop.”

Your head dropped into his chest. You were still trembling. Still clenching around nothing. Still throbbing for him.

But now… it was different.

Now it was safe.

Now it was him.

You felt his heartbeat under your cheek—fast, uneven, not cold or programmed, but human. Real.

“Bucky,” you rasped, barely a breath.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his fingers trembling as they tucked your hair behind your ear. “I’ve got you. I’m so fucking sorry—I’d never hurt you. I swear I’d never—” His voice broke. His mouth pressed into your temple, like he was trying to will the shame out of his body. “I’d rather die than touch you like that by choice.”

You exhaled shakily. Your palms pressed to his chest—warm, solid, familiar.

You nodded.

You believed him.

Because you were just… you.

Just a civilian.

And even with that serum still curling in your veins, you were never built to keep up with the machine he’d been forced to become. Not with the brutal rhythm. Not with the stamina. Not with the feral need he had been hijacked by.

You were still aching—still wrecked, still wanting—but now, what you needed more than anything…

Was a breath.

A pause.

A moment to live.

And for the first time in hours…

You had one.

—

Bucky sat at the edge of the bed—his dark shirt clinging to him, damp with sweat. His breath had evened out, but his shoulders stayed tense, like something inside him still hadn’t fully unclenched. He hadn’t stopped watching you—not since you said his name. Not since the Winter Soldier slipped back into the dark, and something human took its place.

He reached out, slow and unsure, brushing a knuckle along your jaw.

“Do you… need to stop?” he asked, voice low. Careful. Not cold. Not commanding.

Just a man trying to make sense of what was left.

You didn’t answer right away.

Your body was still shaking, legs drawn in now, curled close to your chest. You’d pulled the sheet around your hips at some point, but the sweat, the slick, the after of everything still clung to your skin.

And the ache between your legs hadn’t faded.

If anything—it pulsed deeper. Slower. But steady.

“Hydra’s watching,” he said, quieter now. “They’ll see I broke protocol. They’ll know I’m not… him.”

He swallowed hard. Shame flickered behind his eyes like a faultline.

“I shouldn’t have let it go that far. I shouldn’t have touched you like that—not with them watching. Not like I was still—” He cut himself off.

He reached for the shredded fabric of your dress, trying to drape it over you again.

“I’ll get us out,” he muttered, jaw tight. “I’ll rip through every one of them if I have to. I’ll make them pay for using you. For using me.”

But before he could stand, your fingers wrapped gently around his wrist.

Not to stop him.

Just… to hold him there.

“No,” you whispered, voice raw and dry. “I still need you.”

His brow furrowed, uncertain.

Your hand slid down—hesitant at first—then wrapped around him directly, where his cock rested heavy between his thighs.

He was half-hard. Already twitching back to life.

You stroked once.

Then again.

“I’m still aching,” you murmured. “Still burning from that serum. It hurts, Bucky.”

He flinched at the sound of his name.

“I know it’s wrong,” you continued, your palm moving slow and steady. “But it’s still inside me. It hasn’t worn off. You can help. You can stop the burn.”

His hand came down to catch yours—trying to still it, but not really pulling away. Just… pausing.

“Not like before,” you added, your voice quieter. More certain. “I don’t want the Winter Soldier.”

You shifted your knees apart, just enough to make the invitation unmistakable.

“I want you.”

His jaw locked.

He was still for a long second—then his hand eased around yours, guiding the stroke. His shoulders dropped, tension melting like ice under sunlight.

You were still looking up at him when he bent forward and pressed his lips to your forehead.

It was brief.

But it was him.

He didn’t move at first. Just sat there beside you—silent, tense. Like he was waiting for you to change your mind. Like he wouldn’t touch you unless you asked.

You reached out first.

Fingers curling gently around his wrist. Not to drag him close.

Just to let him know you hadn’t pulled away.

That you still wanted this.

Bucky looked at you—longer this time. Eyes searching. Then he gave a small nod, like he understood. Like he’d follow your pace, whatever it was.

He leaned in slowly, like every inch forward was a question.

Then his mouth met yours.

Not rough. Not rushed.

Just heat. Just lips. Just a man trying to ground himself in something real.

The kiss was soft, tentative. Testing the shape of trust between you. His tongue brushed yours carefully, tasting—not claiming. His hand slid to your side, fingertips brushing sweat-damp skin. He paused at your hip, his touch feather-light, almost unsure.

“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured against your lips, voice strained. “I need to know.”

You nodded, breath shaky.

“I will.”

He drew back just enough to look down at you—then shifted, lowering one hand from your side. His flesh palm found your breast, cupping it gently. You gasped as his thumb circled your nipple—slow, delicate, like he was memorizing the way your breath hitched for him.

Then he moved, steady and deliberate—propping himself up slightly on his metal arm while his other hand slipped between your bodies.

He wrapped his fingers around his cock—still slick, still heavy—and stroked it once, twice. Just enough to guide himself to your entrance.

You parted your legs.

Not in surrender.

In choice.

He hovered there, the head of his cock barely pressing into your folds. The heat between your bodies simmered. But he didn’t move. Not yet.

“Is this okay?” he asked, his voice low and tight. “Do you still want this?”

You met his eyes.

“Yes.”

That was all he needed.

He pressed in—carefully, inch by inch. Your breath hitched at the stretch, your body still tender and sore, but it wasn’t pain that bloomed in your chest now.

It was fullness.

Connection.

He exhaled through his nose, brow furrowing as your body clenched around him.

You whimpered when he hit too deep, too fast.

He stopped instantly. Eyes wide.

“Did I—?”

“No,” you whispered. “Just… slow.”

So he did.

He eased in fully, hips flush to yours, both of you stilling—your foreheads brushing, your breaths shaky. Letting the moment settle.

Letting it be real.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispered. “I didn’t want it to be like before.”

You shook your head, touching his shoulder.

“Just… stay with me.”

He rocked his hips—slow and deliberate. Nothing like before. Nothing like a weapon. Just heat and care. The rhythm built gently, each thrust a quiet apology, each movement asking instead of taking.

Your legs drew around his hips, locking him deeper.

The stretch no longer burned. It warmed. It ached in a way that felt right.

He adjusted his grip, bracing his legs before slowly sitting up—keeping you wrapped around him, keeping himself buried deep. You moved with him, your thighs tightening around his waist until you were straddling his lap, chest pressed to his. His hands slid up your back, steadying you as the new position settled in.

The new position made you gasp.

“Still okay?” he asked, voice barely holding steady.

You nodded, hips beginning to move on your own.

He let you take control.

You rode him slowly, finding a rhythm that made both your mouths fall open. Your hands flattened to his chest, your eyes fluttering shut as your body pulsed around him.

And when you came—it was soft, drawn out. A slow unraveling that started low in your spine and rippled outward, your breath catching, your voice shaking as you gasped his name.

“Bucky—Bucky—”

That was what broke him.

He came with a guttural sound, arms locking around your waist, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, groaning through clenched teeth as he emptied into you.

Then silence.

Just the sound of breath and heartbeat and the sharp edge of being alive.

Not owned.

Not broken.

Just alive.

—

Hydra didn’t miss it.

The climax. The soft moan of his name. The tenderness.

The serum was meant to create hunger that burned until it destroyed you.

Not… this.

Not love.

Not care.

Not healing.

Alarms didn’t blare, but you felt the tension in the air shift.

Somewhere behind those walls, someone flipped a switch. Surveillance feeds caught tenderness where violence was expected. And Hydra? They didn’t like malfunctions.

You barely had time to breathe before Bucky’s body tensed beneath you.

“They’re coming,” he said, voice low. Calm. Steady.

Different.

No longer cold. No longer detached.

Just… Bucky.

He adjusted his hold, lifting you gently off his lap. His hands moved with purpose now—grounded, clear. He peeled off his shirt and pulled it over your head, helping guide your arms through the sleeves. It wasn’t oversized, but it covered what needed to be hidden. Then he grabbed the torn remains of your dress from the floor, wrapping it like a makeshift skirt around your waist.

“You okay to move?” he asked, gaze locked to yours.

You nodded, heart pounding.

He stood, turned to the metal door—and with a single kick, it crashed open with a screech.

You flinched at the sound. He didn’t.

Hydra guards rushed in, shouting orders in Russian. Too late.

Bucky was faster than them all. Brutal, efficient. He didn’t kill them—but he made sure none of them would walk straight for a while. Every strike was calculated. No wasted motion. All precision.

And then he grabbed your hand.

“Stay close to me,” he said, glancing back. “Don’t stop running.”

You nodded again, breath shallow, legs unsteady but moving.

Together, you sprinted through the narrow corridors of the Hydra base. Red lights pulsed on the walls. Somewhere behind you, someone shouted his name—the wrong one.

“Soldat!”

But Bucky didn’t turn.

He didn’t flinch.

He ran.

You ran after him.

The metal halls gave way to concrete. Concrete to dirt. Dirt to pine needles and open sky.

When you both finally burst into the night, the forest swallowed you whole. The air was cold. Clean. Real.

You stumbled, and Bucky caught you before your knees hit the ground. Without a word, he swept you into his arms and ran deeper into the woods—his chest steady, breath even, grip unshakable.

And you?

You weren’t aching anymore.

You weren’t burning.

You were… full.

Filled with him. With air. With a strange new peace.

He wasn’t just a weapon.

Not anymore.

He was a man. A human being. One that had been taken apart and rebuilt—but still capable of love, tenderness, control.

He just needed someone to help him remember.

And maybe—just maybe—that someone was you.

#by elle.ᐟ #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fic #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x fem reader #bucky x fem reader #queuedtie pie #mcu!bucky smut #mcu!bucky

2K notes · View notes