#Mercenary!Reader

[skelswritingcorner]

A Vessel, A Stranger, An Experiment

A/N: This took half a week to write, and is significantly longer. Also, the reader character's canon name is Ailith, but I use Y/N since this is the reader character. She behaves like a stray cat. I mostly consulted tvtropes because the wikis aren't exactly helpful with getting a nail on the bots' personalities. Also, the translator is an idea I took from @tripleglitchwriting's Ignition fics,

This is a partial rewrite of An Unfamiliar Place.

Part 2 can be read here!

Word Count: 3K

Reader character is written with gender-neutral pronouns. POV changes and timeskips are designated with three stars.

Warnings: SFW, mentions of blood and injuries, communication problems, G/T (giant/tiny), mentions of unethical experiments

You knew about your injuries before going on the little ship you called home. It’ll be fine, you remember assuring your most recent client after you got your payment, I know how to mend myself.

Clearly, based on the spike that impaled your torso, you were indeed not. Your client didn’t need to know, you had the money to pay someone to fix you up if you can’t do it yourself. Perks of being a bodyguard for hire; the money makes up for any injuries sustained. At least the cloak hid that from the client; you knew they’d prevent you from leaving the planet if they saw.

You removed your mask and cloak, peeling your gloves off your hands as well as removing your grappling hook, and limped toward the mirror. Shit, you thought to yourself, the injuries are more severe than what you assumed. The spike in your torso was the one you knew about, but there were also bullet holes in your left calf. You checked your sleeves, mostly just small scratches and scrapes. Nothing you couldn’t fix.

Grabbing the medical kit, you went to work. Cleaning the wounds of blood and possible grime, then applying the bandages and wraps. The spike would have to be removed by someone more professional, you need to navigate to the nearest space clinic. Plopping onto the chair, you set the ship to go to the nearest clinic. However, as a precaution, you turned on the emergency signal in case a larger ship with someone more skilled in medicine could help. Hopefully the trip will be quick, and smooth-sailing.

Oh, how much of a fool you were. Oh-so foolish of you. You thought this was going to be anything but a disaster? You fool, you absolute buffoon.

There was a massive ship, you knew it was for something gigantic. How and why did you end up in this situation?! You weren’t sure what to do, so you kept the ship where it was. The ship you were facing was ten miles wide at least, and you might be its target.

Something grabbed the ship. It pulled you closer and closer to the gigantic vessel, until you knew you were inside it. Launching yourself off the chair as fast as you could, you hurriedly fastened your magnetic grappling hook on your right arm and grabbed the smallest weapons you had. No time to grab anything else, you needed to run as soon as you could. You held the handle of one of your smaller blades between your teeth.

Clearly, what was holding you was massive, footsteps jostling both you and your vessel, but eventually the ship you were in was put down somewhere. Once everything went silent, you cautiously opened the front hatch.

The vessel you were in was truly massive. Whatever crew is inside this thing must be members of species ten times larger than you at least. No time to dawdle, though. You needed a place to hide, and with haste.

Using your grappling hook, you descended down to the floor. It gave out midway, however, and you unceremoniously fell. Waves of intense pain overwhelmed you, fortunately the knife in your mouth prevented you from shouting out in pain. You’d check what happened later, though. You needed to find a hiding spot some distance away from your ship.

Holding onto your bloodied side, you scurried to a wall and started searching. Fortunately for you, there were some boxes that were open on its side after a few minutes of sprinting. You used your grappling hook to get to them, and entered one of the boxes. Now all you needed to do was wait. See if the crew is friendly, or if they’re going to kill you. Or if you end up dying from blood loss, which is the most likely option.

✩✩✩

It was Ultra Magnus out of anyone who noticed the object at first, and the blood trails coming outside of it. It’s an organic, and an injured one at that, he thought. Using his comm link, he informed all upon the Lost Light of the injured “intruder.” As they were minibots, Tailgate and Rewind were delegated the responsibility of investigating the interior of said object; see what it was for and if anything about what was inside could be discovered. Fortress Maximus chose himself not to look for the organic, for his size made it difficult for him to detect the source of the blood trails. That, and he didn’t want to squash them, so he checked all the cameras in the ship. Ratchet and First Aid were to prepare a berth, as the blood implied potentially life-threatening injuries. Brainstorm and Perceptor were to prepare some restraints and trapping items, in case said organic was being difficult. Now, to figure out who to find the organic…

Much to his dismay, however, Rodimus declared to find the organic himself. “I’m the captain of this ship,” he argued, “I’m going to search for them!”

Magnus pinched his enstril, a deep sigh coming from his intake. Rodimus has always been stubborn, refusing to heed anyone’s advice and acting without plans. Which, given the potential gravity of this current situation, could be disastrous. “I’d suggest not running off by yourself, Captain. At least bring one other Autobot, two pairs of optics are better than one.”

He could feel Rodimus roll his optics.

“I’ll go with the Captain.” Drift sighed. “I know you don’t trust me, but I’ll do the best that I can.”

Magnus grumbled, “Fine. You go with the Captain. I’ll remain by the object the organic came out of. Based on the size, they shouldn’t be too far off. Follow the red trail, and once you get them, bring them to the medbay.”

✩✩✩

POV: Tailgate and Rewind

When Tailgate and Rewind entered the ship, it was relatively empty, yet had signs of life. The blood on the floor made Tailgate panic a bit, but he carried on with reassurance from Rewind.

There were a few items of note, mostly the mask and cloak on the floor. The mask was birdlike in appearance; midnight blue in color with signs of wear. Mostly scratches. The cloak was a similar shade of blue, and rather bulky. There was a cut on the back of it, with blood around where the cut was.

Tailgate turned on his communicator. “Oh, this is bad.”

“What is it, Tailgate?” Magnus questioned.

“There’s an item on the floor, there’s a deep cut on it and… and I think the organic’s injuries might be way more severe than we think!”

“Ten four. I’ll inform Ratchet and First Aid of this.”

Rewind noticed a container, opening it up to see several weapons. Most of said weapons were blades. “We’re not dealing with just any organic,” he muttered, “this is one that knows how to fight. They could be armed as well.”

Rewind opened his comm link to Rodimus.

Tailgate investigated thoroughly, there could be a bomb on the ship. Every container he opened lacked bombs, however. Replacement parts, some stuff written in an unfamiliar language, and… diagrams?

Tailgate looked at the diagrams more closely. Based on the shape, the form was of a human. There were peculiar additions on the chassis, left bitarlueus, and right side of the midsection. Likely something Perceptor and Brainstorm could figure out.

“I found what looks like a recording device! It seems rather old, but I think it might work.” Rewind’s words broke Tailgate out of his trance, “We should activate our translator modules so we can figure out what it’s saying. Once everyone’s translators are online, I’ll play the recording.”

Once everyone confirmed that their translators were online, Rewind pressed the play button on the device. The words that came out were steel cold.

“If you’re listening to this, you’re on my ship. You’re a sneaky one, ain’t cha? I’ve been given many names; The Masked Merc, The Bodyguard Who Shot That One Guy’s Eye Out, and many other names. You’ll be getting my real identity from my cold, dead corpse. If you’re expectin’ me to cooperate with you if I’m alive, you better be polite about that. I’m willing to throw hands if you try to force anything out of me. I might be a mercenary, but I’m not one to throw hands just for the sake of it.”

The recorded message on the old device ended. The two bots looked at each other, and back at the device.

“Wait, there’s another button next to it.” Rewind pressed the button, and another recording played. The voice this time was much softer, and younger. Likely their first recording.

“Hello. I am Y/N. I’m not sure what I really am in this world, this is my first time experiencing many things. Heh, the consequences of living your first decade of life in a lab, I guess. I doubt I can find my ‘real family’ at this rate, if they even miss me at all. I’m a bodyguard for hire. Rarely need to use my weapons, guess some people find me too scary. Goodbye for now. If you see me, you see me. If you don’t, you don’t.”

Silence.

“So the organic’s a bodyguard. Y/N, huh? Must be a pacifist, from the sounds of it.” Tailgate pondered.

“Or is powerful enough that most don’t even try to challenge them since it means swift deactivation.” Perceptor rebutted through the comm link.

“WE FOUND ‘EM!”

✩✩✩

POV: Rodimus, Drift, and Reader

Once the two reached Ultra Magnus, Tailgate, and Rewind, Drift began checking the blood. “There’s a splatter on the floor here,” he mentioned, “must’ve had a nasty fall before they started finding somewhere to hide.”

Rodimus winced trying to imagine the pain. Why couldn’t the organic stay put until they got help? Weren’t they the one sending out the emergency signal?

“Let’s go find that organic!” Rodimus started walking while looking down at the blood trails, Drift swiftly following.

The two walked slowly, optics scanning for where the blood led towards and listening to their comm links. They heard Tailgate and Rewind’s notes about the organic’s possible injuries, the weapons, and the recordings.

Rodimus noticed a slightly open crate, where the blood trail ended. A squeak from inside was all he needed to justify putting a servos on the crate’s side, and opening it up.

“WE FOUND ‘EM!”

Well, you got caught. Took what you believe is half an hour, but better than dying. You weren’t going to hop onto them instantly though, they might try to kill you. More likely than not, they might not be super cautious. Especially the orange one, they seem like they’ll accidentally manhandle you and make your injuries significantly worse.

Wait, how can you understand them? Are they using a common tongue? You have some handle on certain languages from your years as a mercenary, but you weren’t sure how they knew any of the languages you knew. Nobody mentioned giant sentient robots when talking to you. Actually, they probably did it in whispers since most people are scared of you. Dammit.

The white one tilted their head, “You’re clutching your midsection with your servo. Are you hurt there?”

Well, shit.

You slowly removed your hand from where you were covering your injury. The spike got pushed when you fell, and is currently jutting out from your stomach. Fortunately, or unfortunately, it didn’t end up on the side of the subspace pocket the scientists installed on you, so you can hide that for a little while longer. Your hand, however, was covered in blood.

The orange one held out their hand, or what they called a servo. You did not trust him to handle you gently, and walked further into the crate. They grumbled, something about you being difficult.

“Let me, Rodimus.” The white one held his servo out, “I think they don’t trust you with holding them.”

You approached the servo with caution, touching a digit with your not-super-bloody hand. When they didn’t try to grab you, you slowly crawled onto their open palm. Another squeak of pain came from your lips when your injured leg touched the hand, though.

The servo slowly brought you close to their body, and the one you assume is Rodimus put a servo on the side of their helmet. “Drift’s holding the organic, I’ll go with him to the medbay and have Ratchet look at ‘em.”

“Percy and I will be there too,” another, more younger-sounding voice said, “I think I found something of note.”

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What did they find? The medical kit that’s pretty low on supply right now, your sewing kit, or…

They found the files you took with you when you escaped, didn’t they? All those diagrams and logs about your conditions and states, and how your body responded to the implementations. You should’ve kept that in the subspaces, in hindsight.

“Don’t worry,” the one holding you, Drift, comforted, “Ratchet’s a bit grumpy, but he’s one of the best doctors here.”

He’s gonna struggle with the spike since it’s so tiny compared to them. Unless he has some sort of assistant closer to your size, you’re probably gonna be the one to remove it for the doctor.

They started walking, Drift making sure that you were safe, and that you wouldn’t be jostled too much.

You heard a door open, and heard another approach.

“This is the injured organic? The berth is ready, First Aid and I will take care of them.” you assume that was Ratchet.

Drift walked closer to a large metal slab, gently lowering you onto it. A pair of smaller servos held you, lowering you so that you laid supine.

“What’s the thing they’re holding in between their dentas?” the voice from who you infer as being First Aid asked. You removed the switchblade from your mouth without saying a word. With a flick of the wrist, the blade went out, but you then put it back in its original position.

A red servo took the knife away. You wouldn’t need it right now anyway, but they better give it back once they’re done fixing you.

“We should take care of what’s poking out of them first. It’s incredibly tiny though, I doubt my servos can even grab onto it without slipping.” Ratchet prodded around the injury, making you wince.

You sighed, grabbing onto the spike. A growly voice came from your mouth, “I can remove it for you.”

First Aid grabbed onto your bloody hand, “You’re injured! We should be the ones removing it!”

“And you’re literally twice my size,” you rebutted, “I’ve had worse done to me. This is nothing.” You weren’t bluffing either. Those researchers have done worse things to you with their twisted experiments.

Ratched sighed, “They’re probably right. I know it hurts your spark to have a patient removing something that you can, but it seems that they have… experience with removing things from themselves. Clean the wound and stitch it up once they remove the object.”

First Aid looked into your eyes. Despite the plate on their face and visor preventing you from reading his expression, you knew from his tone of voice and body language that he was worried. He reminded you of yourself, in a way. That hyper-empathy that frequently decides to say hello when you least expect it.

“Ready?”

You nodded, slowly pulling the spike out. First Aid held your hand during this, not caring about the blood staining his servos. Comes with the job, you suppose. Once it was removed, a cloth was put over the gaping, bloody hole.

It took a decent amount of time before all injuries were cleaned and stitched up. They also made you digest some kind of liquid that Ratchet claimed to help speed up the healing process. Throughout, you were as obedient as a dog.

During the time the procedure was happening, Drift left. In his place, two other robots were there. First Aid was lifting your upper body so you could sit.

“The patient was rather pleasant, didn’t try fighting me or anything.” Ratchet reported to the red and blue one.

“Eh,” you shrugged, “You spend half your life as a lab rat, you get used to followin’ orders and getting weird things injected into your body.”

Everyone went silent and stared. Some looked confused, others horrified. First Aid stopped.

“Y’all’re lookin at me funny.”

The white and blue bot, who was likely the one who went into your ship, said those six words you remember hearing years ago, “What did they do to you?!”

Not this again.

“Based on those documents,” the red and blue one spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, “many things. I translated all of them. It appears that the patient,” he gestured to you, “was used in experiments to see if subspace entrances could be added to organic bodies for purposes of smuggling items. Clearly, they were successful.”

Welp, cat’s out the bag.

“Do these documents have any information other than that?” First Aid asked, “Where they’re from? Their name? If they have a family?”

You scoffed, “I was taken when I was a baby, as far as I’m concerned I’m an orphan. And I’m confident it’s too late to try and find my biological relatives, if they’re even alive.”

The white and blue bot covered where their mouth would be, “But do you know what planet you’re from? We can start there.”

“The documents say they’re from Earth, and therefore a human. From that recording Tailgate and Rewind found, their name is Y/N.” The taller bot said.

“Thank you, Perceptor. I’ll look over the documents once we clean and sanitize the berth.” Ratchet nodded.

You were exhausted from the chaos of today. Closing your eyes, you quickly fell asleep.

✩✩✩

Ratchet carried the sleeping human to the scanner, looking at the screen as it was scanning.

“There appears to be multiple points of trauma, both new and old. Along with those, signs of experimentation are shown especially on the upper chassis, left bitarlueus, and midsection. The peculiar crescent scar below their tank shall be noted for later questioning.” He noted on his datapad. “For now, it’s best that they rest.”

After the scans finished, he brought the human to a berth meant for the minibots, and sat on a chair nearby to monitor them.

[mirrorcatcreditcard]

Your honor, they were watering down my favorite character and not letting them be a jerk.

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix - Masterlist

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 92.2k

Warnings: enemies to lovers; slow burn; Bucky is harsh on reader for a while; mentions of murder, fire, death, knives, blood; loss of parents; violence; injuries; fever; sexism; prejudices; knife throwing; theft; crying; classism; manhandling; self-loathing; talk of betrayal; talk of arranged marriage; suggestive themes; kissing; protective!Bucky

Author’s Note: This is the story that received the highest number of votes in last month's WIP poll. I inquired through another poll if you all preferred this to be a series or a one-shot, and well, here we are. I don’t know how long this will end up being, but I guess about 6-7 chapters. Hope you'll enjoy! ♡

Masterlist

♡ This series is complete ♡

Requests for bonus chapters are open

~ Chapters ~

• part one

• part two

• part three

• part four

• part five

• part six

• part seven

• part eight

• part nine

• part ten

• epilogue

“And just as the Phoenix rose from the ashes, she too will rise. Returning from the flames, clothed in nothing but her strength, more beautiful than ever before.”

- ShannenHeartzs

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Cyberpunk Mercenary

A ruthless mercenary and you, his spoilt little catch.

Mercenaries have a reputation for being mad dogs, so pumped up with biochem they can't even think straight. And Yandere! Mercenary is no exception.

Yandere! Mercenary doesn't care who's paying him, as long as he gets paid. He's put down rebels on Titan and toppled governments on Europa - the flags they fly don't mean a damn thing to him.

Yandere! Mercenary who's spent his whole life fighting. Who dreams of gunfire and chemical weapons and burning up in the atmosphere.

Yandere! Mercenary who rolls his eyes when he gets offered his latest job. Kidnap some rich kid and hold her hostage? Talk about easy money. Hell, he can get the job done and still have time for a drink.

Yandere! Mercenary with his prosthetic arm and cybernetic implants. With his lip piercings and neon mohawk. With his bloodstained teeth and sleepless nights.

Yandere! Mercenary who finds you easy enough. Out on a shopping spree in some fancy boutique. Like you don't own enough shit already.

Yandere! Mercenary who almost scoffs when he sees you. You're everything he isn't. Wearing some pretty pastel outfit straight off the runway, your hair dyed so subtly that he knows it must have cost a fortune.

Weak, spoiled little Earthling.

Yandere! Mercenary who follows you down to the parking garage and shoots your bodyguards full of tranq. Non-lethal, his contractor demanded.

Yandere! Mercenary who grabs the back of your neck when you try to run and slams you into your hovocraft. Your shopping scattered all over the floor and trampled under his combat boots.

Yandere! Mercenary who laughs at the way you claw and scratch at him. Normal nails and not titanium claws? What are you gonna do with those, sweetheart? Tickle him?

Yandere! Mercenary who throws you in the back of his hovocraft and hightails it out of there. Shit, this was easier than he expected.

Yandere! Mercenary who ignores all the threats you spit at him. He doesn't give a damn who your mother is or how rich your daddy is. He doesn't care how many people they send after you. He's getting this job done and getting paid and that's all that matters.

Yandere! Mercenary who realises he should have listened when the first team of guards show up. They almost blast him out of the sky and it's only his quick thinking that gets him out of there.

Yandere! Mercenary who swears as he hauls you out of his wrecked craft and through the neon soaked streets of the slum district.

Yandere! Mercenary who grabs your shoulders and shakes you like a rag doll until you confess that you have a tracker in your neck.

Yandere! Mercenary who pins you against the wall and grabs the knife strapped to his leg. Who wraps his hand around your thigh and pulls your leg around his waist so you have no choice but to press against the concrete.

Yandere! Mercenary who carefully cuts the tracker out of your neck.

Yandere! Mercenary who mockingly apologises when you flinch.

Yandere! Mercenary who licks the cut he left behind. Who sucks at the blood until you stop bleeding. Who trails his lips up your neck before pulling away.

Yandere! Mercenary who's titanium teeth glint red when he grins at you.

"Look at that blush. Did ya like that, pretty thing?"

Yandere! Mercenary who loves the dazed, bashful look on your face. Billionaire princess getting all hung up on herself cause of him? Ain't that a sweet piece of irony.

Yandere! Mercenary who stashes you away in a safehouse while he waits for his boss to contact him. Who realises he was wrong about you. Spoilt, yes. Arrogant, yes. But innocent too. Naive.

Yandere! Mercenary who spends hours telling you stories about the colonies he's visited. And you sit engrossed, eating it all up like you've never heard anything so fascinating, instant ramen bowls scattered across the shitty linoleum.

Yandere! Mercenary who watches your fear of him fade a little with each passing hour. Oh, he still frightens you. But your curiosity outweighs that fear.

Yandere! Mercenary who takes every opportunity to touch you, to reach over you. Who loves the nervous little glances you aim at him, the way you blush when he catches you staring.

Cute. And tempting too.

How long has it been since he's had a woman? Yandere! Mercenary who looks at you and wants to sink his teeth in.

Yandere! Mercenary who catches his breath when you grab his hand and ask to go with him.

"Please," you beg. "I want to see the galaxy."

Yandere! Mercenary who knows that he scares you. He ain't easy on the eyes and anyone with sense can see the notched dog tag he wears - one scratch for every kill.

So why the hell are you asking him to run away with you?

Yandere! Mercenary who finally realises the gold you wear is nothing more than a collar and chains. You're a pretty bird in a gilded cage.

Yandere! Mercenary who, for the first time in his career, decides to run out on a job. Who chooses you over profit.

Yandere! Mercenary who grins down at you as he straps you into the copilot seat of a stolen space cruiser. Nervous and innocent and all his to corrupt.

Sure, he'll show you the galaxy. He'll show you the whole damn universe. All from the comfort of his bed.

[valentine-cafe]

(bottom male reader) Alessio 781 catching you playing some 18+ dating sims.

well, you just... thought the games were entertaining, and the guys in them were really cute and hot, why wouldn't you want to date them?? thinking about how they'd touch you, how you'd react...the voice acting and sound effects had you locked in.

innocent little you thought you had locked the door, but it was quite obvious you hadn't, when you felt a hand on your shoulder. you hadn't exactly explained your hobby to him, and unfortunately for you, your monitor just so happened to have one of those NSFW cg's filling up the entire screen <333 there was no explaining away about what you've been doing, your face was undoubtedly red and hot, how embarrassing to be caught like this.

🍒 𓂃 𝑶𝑹𝑫𝑬𝑹 𝑼𝑷 : tiramisu !! . . . mercenary ⊹ bttm m. reader .

. ᘛ 𝑓𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔​​​​​​​﹕verse 781 ꮽ  alessio arias

 𐔌𖹭 ˖ ࣪  who's that ?⠀﹕a charming, smug inhuman mercenary, with a provocative sense of humor and a few punches

ּ  ֗ recepit ℘ ... your boyfriend catches you in the middle of a smutty cg playing out on screen, and so he thinks to himself, why not help you out a little? ⊹ cw ٬٬ 18+ games . rough sex . overstim .

Why be embarrassed of the cg? It's perfect reference!

The perfect reference for how you like to take dick. How you want to be cradled under your thighs with rough hands squeezed to the fat. How you like your ass to ripple with pounding thrusts. Seems it even provides the kind of dick you're into. Hard, girthy, and stretching you out to the point of tears and drool.

"Just like this baby? Yeah? Doin' it better for you?"

His rough voice matches the wood the top of your ass just barely presses to. Your desk thumps with each powerful thrusts. His snap ferally together with his swollen balls. They slap wet symphonies through your bedroom as he fills you up for a second time that night.

Another thing he deduces when he tilts his head to glance at the screen. A wide grin over his heated face. "That's it. Think we're replicating it pretty well, don't you?" Your legs hug around his waist just like the cg, your arms hook loosely over his broad shoulders. Hell, even your expression matches the mc. Brows knit at the centre, face lax, drool leaks out your lips hung in an 'o'.

Those voice lines have nothing on the way your boyfriend whispers so filthily into your ear. "If you wanted a good fuckin' could have just asked y'know," his heated chuckle punctuates with another punishing thrust. One hand leaves your thigh to wrap round your pulsating dick again. You cry, toss your head back and weakly buck into the palm that squeezes over your throbbing head.

"E-Essio-! Fuck - 'm sorry -" he slams into your sweetspot. Creams it a third time. "Sorry - sorry sorry oh god, soo good."

He grins into his neck at your slurs. Slams his hips to flush against your ass and roughly hump. Poor you, all you can manage is to grip his hair and give a loud whine to put any pornstar to shame. "Why're you sorry baby? Don't have to apologise for wanting dick so bad." The click of his tongue drips condensation. He mocks you even while he's fucking your poor, abused bundle of nerves shallowly. So uncaring of how your dick tenses. How you whimper and weakly buck in overstimulation.

"Can't help it. My slutty little boy just thinks 'bout sex 24/7 yeah? That's why I'm treating him."

You gasp and complain in blubbers when he pulls out with a sharp pop! He grins at the mess between your trembled legs and cocks his head. Bastard. "Ssshh baby, fuck, greedy thing aren't ya?"

Your chest meets the desk with a shove. Ass in the air with a quick swat to the back. You almost complain — but words fall dead on your tongue. You don't know what to focus on, the sudden plough of his cock or his large body weighing you down into the desk.

Another slew of drool. You squeal as he hooks a strong arm around your throat and starts mercilessly humping against the back of your bruised thighs. Heaved pants and ragged breath to your ear as he melts your body into putty. This is what you wanted, isn't it? Might as well get used to it. Used to the delicious stretch of his cock. To the repetitive ram of his tip into your sweetspot.

"I should be sorry," his deep groan twitsts your gut in heat. "Sorry for leaving my poor lil' whore to resort to a fuckin' game." Another squeeze to your dick. Another slap of your ass. What more can you do but bury your face into your arms and take all that he gives you? He feels way better than a 2D man on a screen anyway.

꒰ ۪ ˖ ࣪ 𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑢 ... info ꮽ mlist ꮽ verse ꮽ wiki .

[burningembers91]

Squid Game Masterlists

Mercenary Kim Do-Hyun Masterlist

Cho Sang Woo Masterlist

Park Min-Su Masterlist

Choi Woo-Seok Masterlist

Kang Dae-Ho Masterlist

Hwang Jun-Ho Masterlist

Nam-Gyu Masterlist

Seong Gi-Hun Masterlist

Cho Hyun-Ju Masterlist

Park Gyeong-Seok Masterlist

Choi Su-Bong (Thanos) Masterlist

Hwang In-Ho Materlist

The Salesman Masterlist

Gyeong-Su Masterlist

[sunflower39]

[Left] Or [Right]

(Choose wisely 😔🤗)

[a018233]

ೀ Identity v men with a s/o that sleeps naked.

Characters: , Eli Clark, Norton Campbell, Naib Subedar. Edgar Valden

content warnings: gn!reader, mostly sfw. Not really yandere, but can be read as one. Established relationships. Cockwarming in Norton's but it's not really sexual.

A/N: almost at 100 followers so I kinda wanna do a special. Someone should commission me and I'll write you whatever you want, give me sanrio photographer or buffy and my life is yours‼️‼️

Eli was surprised after finding out, he's a little traditional and modest when it came to clothes, but oddly enough, he wasn't against it. Eli can't help but think it's a little cute and endearing, though. Mainly because he thinks he's at the point of your relationship where you're comfortable doing 'weird' things with him. His biggest concern is you catching a cold. Eli prefers to keep his sleepwear on, so he won't join you in sleeping naked. Though, maybe on a hot summer night, he'd strip down to his boxers just so he can spoon you comfortably without overheating the both of you. Eli likes having you relying on him whether you realize it or not, so he prefers to stay up until you've fallen asleep so he can cover you with a blanket, it's more an act of love and reassurance that you won't accidentally catch a cold.

After you started doing it, It didn't take Norton too long to follow. He likes the close intimacy he gets from cuddling nude with you. Norton is aware he's high maintenance as a lover, to him, it's total reassurance that he's the only one for you. Reassurance that you love and trust him no matter what. The type of intimacy only he and he alone can have with you. It gives him a little pep in his step the next day. It's something looks forward to each night. He looks forward to your shared nightly routine just as much as waking up with you. I'd think at some point you two decide to kick it up a notch with cockwarming, something to keep you two locked in place together. He finds nothing as relaxing than burying himself nice and deep inside you while his arms keep you in a tight embrace.

Naib already likes sleeping in his boxers, so he doesn't really have a reaction. At least, that's what you think when you go under the covers on your shared bed. He's internally questioning himself. Is it okay to hold you? Where does he even put his hands without it being weird? Is he even allowed to look? For the first couple nights, he doesn't hold you like he usually does. But after a while, he gets used to it. Although, he won't join you in going full comando unless he just got out of the shower and dried himself fully, but he's keeping his boxers on when it comes to sleep. Naib isn't one for opening up or heart to heart conversations but having your head against his chest, and your limbs entangled with his provides comfort for him. He's a mercenary, someone who has killed for his own benefit. So it's complete solace when you ramble in a sleepy voice about your day knowing you trust him wholeheartedly.

Edgar can't help but scoff when you join him nude under the covers, he's seen your nude form before. You're his lover and muse, of course he'd seen every inch of you. As much as you're breathtaking, he's annoyed. He bought you a whole collection of all sorts of sleepwear made from the most richest material money can buy. Only the best for his lover, he can't have his muse wearing cheap clothing. Linen, silk, cotton, satin, and chiffon. With all sorts of designs he commissioned personally. Tailored to your exact size, some with your favorite colour's, colour's that match you. He even made sure the fabrics were light and breathable, and yet you choose to sleep naked? When the initial annoyance settles, he begins to feel a little flustered, yes he's seen you naked before, he has done full body portraits of you. But somehow this feels different. He can't explain why, but it feels more intimate than any canvas he's painted of you. Now, to him, it cements your love for him. That in the dead of the night, that you aren't his muse right now. But his lover. The one you love the most.

[turbulentscrawl]

Protection

Yet another little blurb series that absolutely no one asked me for. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? WHATEVER GETS THE JUICES FLOWING AGAIN.

warnings for violence, angst, and comfort. Use of potentially triggering words like "psycho" and "whore."

The manor was a hard adjustment for any new face, but some handled it worse than others. This mystery man was particularly defensive, particularly paranoid of the manor’s nightmarish circumstances. He was stressed, and scared, and confused, and bleeding out in his first match was the last straw needed to tip the scales towards an outburst.

Norton

You were just trying to be friendly when you spoke to him at breakfast. Really. But looking back you could see how a terrified mind might misconstrue your small comforts and placations about death as mocking. He stormed off mid-meal, and you spent the rest of it stewing in quiet guilt. A walk in the gardens would do you some good, you decided, but Norton was still busy with his second helping of steak and eggs and told you to go on ahead.

So alone you exited the room, lost in regretful thoughts, but you didn’t make it halfway down the hall before the new guy appeared again. He stopped down ten feet from you, coiled tight like a cornered animal. He didn’t look like he had calmed down at all, but then he hadn’t seemed calm since he arrived. In any case, it seemed like the best chance you would get to give an apology.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you earlier,” you said, stepping aside to let the fearful man pass, so he could go finish his meal.

But he reacted to your words like a viper strike, flinching and then snapping forward to put his face in yours. His eyes were wild.

“Don’t play coy about it,” he hissed. His hands, at his sides, itched and twitched to grab and you were too fear frozen to move away from them. “You’re part of this hell too, I know it. All of it an act, AN ACT! But you won’t trick me. You won’t get to make it worse for me!” He raved and threatened in your face for what seemed like forever, so close he took up your entire vision and you forgot where you were. Maybe that’s what it was like for him, right now, you faintly mused, still trying to understand. You hadn’t been like this when you first arrived… you or anyone else that you could recall.

He stopped talking suddenly, eyes tracked on something behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see what had caught his attention and spotted, back through the doorway to the dining room, Norton tipped back in his dining chair and watching. Watching you. Watching him. A steak knife was in his hand and a dare was in his eyes.

Your attention was drawn back by the sound of the new guy stomping off again, hurried, tail still between his legs. When you looked back at Norton again, he tipped his chin to beckon you. When you stepped back through the door, Norton took his foot off of the table (its placement earned a side-eye from Fiona) to lower his chair back to four legs, and kicked out the empty seat next to him for you to reclaim. You sat down meekly, shaken by guilt and fear.

“I was just trying to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, biting again into his food. “And he’ll figure it out himself too eventually. In the meantime, let him be someone else’s problem.”

In a rare show of public affection, Norton leaned over and kissed you on the temple. “And stick closer to me for a while. You’ll be fine.”

Naib

Shit had hit the fan as soon as everyone was back and healed from the match. You and the new guy had both died—you to the chair and him to bloodloss—but a tie was a tie and worth at least a small celebration. But when he joined you, Tracy, and Margey for the tea party, he completely lost it.

He leapt across the sun room table for you, tipping it and all its contents to the ground, and the girls screamed with a genuine shock and terror you hadn’t heard in a while. Your back and knees smarted, all whacked by the scattering wooden furniture. Hot tea seeped into your shirt and scalded your belly. Sharp, broken porcelain lay dangerously scattered around your head. You couldn’t tell what the girls were shouting because you were too focused on your assailant. On keeping his hands off of your throat, out of your eyes, and getting his pinning body off of you. His nails clawed at your face, you knew that much, but if the matches taught you anything it was to not give up on a struggle.

Just as you started in on some dirty fighting Naib had taught you (pulling, trying to rip his ears off), the man himself came charging in like a bull and tackled the new guy off of you. You got kicked a bit in the process—but that was a fair price to pay for being able to scramble to the other wall and watch, secured by Tracy an Margey, as Naib completely wailed on the guy.

Naib didn’t talk about his background much, but you knew he knew how to fight. This was barely a fight—a one-sided beatdown morelike—but in your bitter soreness you felt it was well deserved. Naib knew how to make every swing count, and it was only well after the new guy was limp on the ground that William showed up and hauled Naib off of him. Emily followed next, running to check on the new guy since you were already being doted on by the girls.

When William finally let Naib go, he huffed and puffed and flexed off some of his remaining aggression before spitting out a spiteful, “He ain’t dead. I ain’t that nice.”

Then he turned and shooed the girls off, scooped you up, and marched right out of the room. He held you too tight for your sore back’s liking, but you couldn’t begrudge him the positioning to keep his nose in your hair while walking to somewhere more secluded and safe. His chest was still heaving against your side, still high with adrenaline and worry. His knuckles were split and bloody. The day had only just started.

“Sorry,” you sighed into his neck. Naib scoffed, mouth still pressed to your scalp.

“What for? He’s the cunt.” He kicked open the door to your bedroom, fully pulling back enough to give you a smirk. “Don’t ever be sorry for me stepping in. I’ll take care of everything.”

Ithaqua

The manor sometimes held garden parties to welcome new inhabitants. Usually, though, it had better timing.

The poor new guy had had the awful misfortune of being a valuable player. He was good at getting in the hunter’s face, and the others did all they could to get him off his first chair safely. Because of the great team effort, he’d wound up bleeding out while the Hunter—Ithaqua, your boyfriend—dealt with the others. You knew that wasn’t Ithaqua’s modus operandi; it hadn’t been on purpose. …but he wasn’t exactly sorry about it, either.

As a result, the party was tense in some areas. Specifically, the areas where the new guy went. He walked around with a deep frown and a nervous jitter. He’d been anxious when he first arrived too, but it was understandably worse now, in witness of the two factions being chummy with one another right after one had just killed him. The hunters avoided him from the get go, and the survivors gave up on conversation with him not long after.

And you, well. You didn’t get to see Ithaqua in peaceful settings often.

That’s how you wound up here, you supposed.

“So you’re a fucking traitor whore!” the new guy snapped in your face. He wasn’t quiet, either. “What’s the matter with you! Those monsters beat and torture us and you turn around and hang all over one? You’re probably no fucking better, some kind of psycho killer! You’re the one who should die! You’re the one who should bleed!”

Not being quiet would be his downfall, though. Picking a secluded corner of the hedge maze to catch you in didn’t matter. The wind carried.

He didn’t get much farther into his rant and threats before Ithaqua came whirling around the corner with his “business” mask on. His axe was back in the manor, but the Hunter’s claws and sheer strength could do harm enough to a survivor. Ithaqua snatched the new guy up by the nape before he had a clue what was happening, and dangled him overhead. The new guy screeched in a way that made you feel sick, but you knew from experience there was no talking Ithaqua down. Shamefully, you turned your eyes away.

“You sure like to run your mouth,” Ithaqua sneered at him, tilting his head in that wicked, owlish way of his. “You know, all the other rats take death in stride around here. You clearly need some more practice with it.” Ithaqua ruffled your hair with his free hand before stalking off around the corner with the squirming offender.

When he came back a few minutes later, he was wiping his bloody claws off on his cape.

“He knows not to trouble you anymore,” he cooed. When he took off his mask, Ithaqua’s blackened eyed are far more serene than they should have been for what he’d just done. “Come, the Geisha brought out those little caked you like.”

[sapphosclosefriend]

Pick me, choose me, love me ❤️

(Use me, f*ck me, r*il me 🧎‍♀️)

[jealousofmydreams]

mean!price who was a mercenary but gained the title of a baron when he aided the king during the war. with the lack of man power, the group of bandits were seen as saviors from the common people. therefore the king had no choice but to reward them, much to his dismay.

but price, who knew the ploys of powerful rich men, wanted more than a title which had no guarantee of safety for him and his men. he wanted a noble wife fron a distinguished lineage who will give him heirs and a name that will remain untouchable.

the king, having no daughters, procured the daughter of a marquis. much to the chagrin of the marquis who had to send his one and only daughter, renowned as the flower of spring, to a mercenary.

however, upon the wedding night, the veiled bride turned out to be the marquis hidden illegitimate child who bore no reassemble or sophistication of a noble woman.

instead, a scrawny woman who couldn't even hold her head up high was his bride. nothing like the infamous woman he was promised.

furious, price could not even retaliate as he was given the daughter of a marquis as promised, even if it was an illegitimate child.

price returned to the battlefield instead of residing with his new bride. leaving her to fend for herself in a castle where she held no true name. the servants and the maids paid her no mind.

she was a baroness in name only and remained a ghost within the foreign walls of her new home.

the years passed by until her husband finally returned, only in a coffin. a battle taking his life after playing with death for so many years.

however, on the day of his burial the once dead man came back to life, with only her name on his lips.

the hateful man who detested her so intensely clung to her as if she was his lifeline.

as she took care of him, a man who lost his memories but only she remained, she slowly realized the man who came back to her wasn't her husband, but a being that did not belong in this realm.

even so, she could not bear to let him go. the lonely girl craved the warmth that only he gave to her.

however, it wasn't long before the unknown entity and the soul of the dead man clashed and both vied for her affection.

(price making a deal with an unknown entity as he was on the verge of death, he wanted fame of his name. he gave his body so he could return and gain what was rightfully his, glory.

however, caged in his own body, his soul forced down to the deepest and darkness part of his being, price gained affection as he watched the play of romance between the entity wearing his face and the wife he neglected.

for once price desired something beyond greatness, but what was once rightfully his, was given away by his own hands, to the beast who refused to give it back)

[skelswritingcorner]

A Body So Stubborn (Mercenary! Reader fic Pt. 3)

Barely winning against making the TFP bots learn about the horrors of endometriosis, it's the 3rd part to my First Contact AU fic (though it barely feels like one anymore). I ended up splitting this into two parts because this is like 5 pages in the Google Doc.

Warnings/Tags: Injuries, blood, hospitals, mentions of unethical experiments, Megatron experiencing remorse for something he had no actual involvement in, mentions of dead parental figures, Prowl shows up I guess

Word Count: 2050

The third part is finally here! I was going to draw something for it, but I'm currently working on my 2.0 model (Vtubing stuff) so I pushed that off to the side.

“So,” the Cybertronian on the screen tilted his head, “you found a human in a solar system that, as far as our knowledge, has no humans on it?”

“Until now,” Ultra Magnus replied, “according to the files, she was brought to this place at eighteen months old, therefore her connection to her species is nonexistent. She appears to be the only human who’s lived here for any large period of time.”

“There are, however, a group of humans currently on the local planet right now. According to Skids, they’re here to help establish an interspecies alliance. Along with that,” Ultra Magnus showed his datapad; two similar human women on the screen were shown in separate images, “one of the humans of the group appears to have a strong physical resemblance to the one we found. Not only that, she claims that her sister was abducted at eighteen months old twenty years ago.”

“Interesting,” his blue optics flickered, “it’s too similar a connection to be a coincidence. Is Ailith on the Lost Light? I’d like to see her condition for myself.”

“First Aid brought her to the clinic her ship’s coordinates were originally at, Prowl. Once she’s back, I’ll contact you again.”

“Very well. Goodbye for now.” The video feed of the officer ended, and Ultra Magnus sighed. Did he expect to have a human on board the Lost Light? Not at all. However, this is an injured human, and as he was the one who realized that there was an injured organic on board, he felt the slightest feeling of responsibility over her despite never actually seeing her in person.

Ultra Magnus walked out of the communication room, seeing the Co-Captains talking amongst themselves. Once they noticed the officer, they turned to him.

“What did Prowl say?” Megatron asked.

“He’s not sure about how and why a human would be here prior to any intergalactic relations being established. He also wanted to see her for himself, but she’s at the clinic right now. That, and I don’t know how she’d feel around him of all ‘Bots.”

Rodimus laughed. “I’m sure she’ll be fine, as long as we tell her first. It’s not like Ailith can fight in her current state.”

“I doubt that, Captain.” Magnus rebutted, “She’s adapted quickly to her current situation. Too quickly, if you ask me. Along with that, the planet she lives on has weapons designed to defeat Cybertronians. I’m confident that she has at least one weapon in her arsenal that she can use to defeat us if she truly wants to.”

“I know about those weapons.” Megatron said, Rodimus slowly turning with a horrified look. “I remember sending a team to this planet some thirty years prior because of potential energon deposits. The people used the remains of one of the ‘Cons I sent to reverse engineer weapons and other equipment that gave them an advantage. In fact, this might be the cause of Ailith’s subspaces as well. They could’ve tried creating subspaces, and tried to implement them on organic creatures. Including those from Earth.”

“Are you implying that it might be your fault for what happened to Ailith?” Rodimus asked.

“Who else could be to blame?”

“Let’s not dwell on that for too long, Captains.” Ultra Magnus looked at the datapad, “You didn’t know about the experiments until now, correct? Then it’s likely she doesn’t know either. First Aid said that Ailith’s been cleared to return to the Lost Light for recovery, so when she comes back you can ask her.”

“Do we have instructions on what to do?” Megatron asked.

“According to First Aid, it’s best to keep her from doing anything too strenuous. This includes training and combat. Along with that, she can only walk short distances. Her stitches are to remain for fourteen cycles total. Two cycles have passed, so that makes it twelve. As long as she doesn’t strain herself too much, she’ll be alright.” Magnus informed them.

“But who should she be with while she’s recovering? She’s smaller than Tailgate, literally half his height!” Rodimus asked.

“First Aid’s been taking care of her all this time, correct? Why not make a temporary space in his habsuite for her so he can make sure she’s recovering without complications?” Megatron suggested.

“That makes sense. As he’s one of the medics, he can treat her quickly if she gets injured.” Ultra Magnus agreed. “According to Drift and Ratchet, he’s been non-stop worrying over Ailith. It should be reassuring to him if she’s nearby.”

“Hmm…” Rodimus frowned, “Fine. Tell First Aid, and ask Skids and Velocity to get some stuff for her before we get back, I doubt we have anything right now to make sure she can have a smooth recovery.”

“I already asked them, Rodimus. They should be gathering some items right now with the help of someone that might be Ailith’s twin sister.”

“Great! I’m going to talk to Ratchet now. We’ll talk again later.” Rodimus turned on his heel and left the other two mechs standing there.

✩✩✩

The cycle in the hospital came and went. And now, you need to return to the Lost Light for the rest of your recovery. You would’ve protested if it wasn’t Aunt Daule who said that. Instead, you just sighed.

“So, I'm going to spend twenty or more days with them as I recover?” you asked.

Aunt Daule nodded. You understood that the clinic was pretty busy, so if they could they would have anyone who can recover outside the clinic so they can have space for those whose conditions are more severe, they would.

“Welp,” you slapped your knees, “I guess I’ll be stuck with that lot for a while. I’m fine with that though, I need to learn more about them in case I need to defeat a Cybertronian.”

Daule chuckled. “You talk just like your guardian. I remember hearing her many exploits back when they tried to take over our planet and failed, mostly when she charged in without hesitation. She’d use her magnetic grappling hook and a blade, get close to an exposed cable and slice it open. I’m glad to see you’ve inherited her fighting spirit.”

Both faces went solemn. Such goes the usual conversations whenever anyone brings up your first guardian. “It’s been almost five years, hasn’t it? Thirty-five more days until the anniversary.”

“Do you plan on going to her memorial?” you asked.

“Of course. I am, after all, Salva’s sister. It wouldn’t make sense for me to not visit the grave of a family member once in a while.” Aunt Daule answered.

“But that’s in more than a month. For now,” Aunt Daule patted your head, “make sure to focus on recovering. No straining yourself, alright?”

You nodded, and with your aunt’s arms as support you walked to the waiting room. You made sure to hold onto the box Makayla gifted you.

First Aid was already there, along with Tailgate. You walked to them, albeit with a slight limp.

“What are you holding?” Tailgate asked.

“It’s something from her sister.” First Aid answered for you.

“Did you meet her?” he asked again.

“She only came to drop off an injured friend the cycle before First Aid brought Ailith here.” Aunt Daule replied, “We did genetic testing, and they’re almost completely identical. After the testing she gave me the box Ailith is holding right now.”

Tailgate seemed fascinated. Do cybertronians have siblings, or is that an unfamiliar concept to them?

“Regardless of that, here,” Daule gave First Aid a document, “these are the instructions that should help with assisting Ailith in her recovery. She has a copy too, stored in her subspace.”

You nodded at what Aunt Daule said.

“We’ll return in twelve cycles, Dr. Daule!” First Aid said, picking you up. At this point, you’re used to being held by him. Aunt Daule waved, and the three of you departed.

Entering the pod, First Aid set you in a place that was relatively stable for you to sit down. While he piloted the pod back, Tailgate looked over at you.

“What’s in that box? You’ve been holding onto it this whole time.” he asked.

“Stuff from my twin that she asked Aunt Daule to give me. There’s a few pictures, including one of my niece who I just found out exists.” you replied, “Other than that, there’s some clothes.”

Tailgate tilted his head. “A niece?”

“The daughter of a sibling. In my case, my niece is the daughter of my older sister, Chloe MacArthur. I’m not sure if Cybertronians know about the concept of siblings, though.”

“Ooooooh,” Tailgate nodded, “sometimes sparks split in two. That’s the closest we have to siblings. Those are almost identical though.”

So, they sometimes have twins. Identical twins, just like you and Makayla.

“When we get back, I’ll show you the pictures.” you promised.

The pod slowed to a stop, and the door opened. Ratchet and… a cyan Cybertronian? He had red eyes and accents. His helmet was black, with two horn-adjacent finials extending out from the sides.

“Fortress Maximus,” First Aid exclaimed, “I’m surprised that you’re here!” He picked you up as well, placing you on the Cybertronian equivalent of his right shoulder blade before walking up to the two larger mechs.

“You must be Ailith,” the cyan mech put a hand over his chest, “I’m Fortress Maximus. The others informed me of your condition. I’m surprised you even survived the injuries Ratchet informed me that you have.”

You shrugged, “Eh. I’ve been operated on without painkillers and fully conscious. A few slashes and bullets aren’t that bad.”

Oops, you overshared. Fortress Maximus AND Ratchet are looking at you in horror. First Aid tensed up.

“Out of all things you could’ve said… Wait, you were fully conscious? Wouldn’t that hurt?”

Fuck it. You did this to yourself, nothing to hide now. “No shit it hurt! I still have the memory of seeing my intestines on hooks while they put that thing inside me, and when they put the subspaces on my body. As they did for all the other experiments.”

“That’s horrible!” If Cybertronians could cry, Tailgate would be doing that right now. “I can’t believe that anyone would do that, especially to a child!”

“Anyway,” Ratchet spoke before anyone could say anything, “First Aid, the captains assigned her to your habsuite so her recovery can be monitored closely. Skids and Velocity acquired some items to make sure Ailith’s comfortable.”

First Aid nodded, “I’ll bring her to my habsuite, then.” And so, he walked past the two taller mechs.

He’s been holding you for a while now, should you say something? It’s probably better to say something.

“You know you don’t have to carry me everywhere, right?” you asked him.

First Aid’s vocalizer choked, “I- You’re just small, that’s all! Most of the ‘Bots might not realize you’re there since you’re so tiny! Also, you’re still recovering from your wounds. Dr. Daule said that you shouldn’t walk too much as the leg wound recovers, right?”

“Touche.” You felt his grip on your thigh tighten slightly, as if he’s doubling down on keeping you right where you were. It’s understandable though, organic species compared to hulking machines are so delicate, especially those with injuries or preexisting medical conditions.

The rest of the walk was done in silence, which was fine with you. Talking isn’t exactly your best skill, after all. After First Aid went to his habsuite, he placed you on the desk that didn’t have much on it, but that’s something that you didn’t really care about. There were a few soft blankets and a few pillows, likely things the two others Ratchet mentioned. What were their names again? Velocity and… Skids?

Why is that name familiar? You swear that you knew someone who was called Skids. Your caretaker mentioned a large mechanical being with that name who helped save you from that facility, transporting you both to Aunt Daule so you could get treated. You’re pretty sure you bled on him, is he mad about it?

Oh well, it can’t be helped. You’ll find out after you sleep. Cautiously crawling into the blanket pile, you wrapped one of them around you before laying down. “I’m going to bed, see you later.”

First Aid nodded, “Please rest well.”

[meowordeath]

A/N: I love Identity V!! especially Eli Clark!! I attempt to make it as gender ambiguous as possible, besides one having the word boob just replace it with pec! i didn’t know a gender neutral term for boob, sorry! :3 btw I'm not sure if someone else has already done this!

Characters | Eli Clark , Ganji Gupta , Naib Subedar and the lovely lady Patricia Dorval

Content warning : fluff , reader with boobs but no specific pronoun, not too inappropriate, jack the ripper And Breaking wheel if those count?

Identity V characters reacting to their s/o clothes getting ripped! :3

Eli Clark

Before the match started Eli got to view your new costume. It looked very ninja like, the clothes were very skin tight. You two chatted while preparing for the match “Remember, just called out and I'll send brooke to your aid, okay?” He whispered to you laying his gloved hand atop yours. “I know, don't worry if I need you I’ll shout”

You smile before pecking him on the cheek. Brooke hoots happily, as Eli gives you one more loving look, before everyone's sight fades.

For first few minutes of the match you had been decoding. Feeling more relaxed as Luca shouted the hunter was on him, making him first kite. Your cipher was a little over half way done, as Luca started kiting toward you. At first you assumed he was just kiting in the area so you didn't bother to get off the cipher.

Your heartbeat started to get more prominent, but you were still very lax, thinking Luca and whoever the hunter was were just getting closer, when a shout rang out through the map. “Beware! Hunter has changed target!” You lifted your head abruptly from your cipher, accidentally messing up a calibration in the process making you shield your face from the explosion.

Soon after you messed it up you felt blades run from your back to your side. You cry out in pain bumping into the cipher as you sprint away, unfortunately the cipher snagged one of the slashes he had made in your shirt. A dark chuckle sounded behind you as you ran.

“This chase is already way more exciting than chasing that decoder,” Jack said licking the blood from his blades. You ran vaulting windows, throwing pallets for distance, you even led him back to Luca. Luca had a flustered look watching you pass him.

Eli knew you were currently kiting and trusted that you’d call out for help, so he didn't want to waste his spectate. “Help me!” Your shout rang out through the map. Eli was quick to send brooke to your aid. Looking through brooke's eyes he was shocked at the condition of your current costume. His face turned a little red.

Jack had only meant to slash your back, but since you messed up the calibration his slash went down your side, slicing open your shirt. It would've been fine with thin slashes, if your crash into the cipher hadn't caused your shirt to snag. It tore and your right boob was pretty much exposed.

You were trying to hold onto some dignity pulling the shreddings of your shirt over to cover it, but vaulting and pulling down pallets. You needed both your hands. Jack definitely had a great view of you each time you pulled down pallets. Eli was quick to find the teams other assist, William, and asking for his help to get The Ripper off you.

William was quick to assist. He stunned Jack allowing you to escape and hide, forcing him switch targets. Eli set brooke to find you, so he could help.

When he did find you, you were crouched behind a pallet, making a pathetic attempt to save your shirt. Eli crouched in front of you, not looking at your chest, instead checking over the wound. “It’s gonna be okay s/o, you can have my trench coat” His voice was slightly flustered, as he shed his coat.

He was left in his white long-sleeve button-up and black tie. You couldn't be more thankful for him wearing his recluse costume. “Thank you, Eli. God, this is pretty embarrassing!” Both your guy's faces have a faint blush, as you button up his trench coat finally covering your exposed flesh.

Eli's nervousness faded as he smiled. Lifting his hand to cup your cheek. “Don't worry, if they say anything, I'll have brooke rose peck out their eyes” he jokes, brooke hoots in agreement.

Ganji gupta

You and Tracy are both hanging out in the manors workshop. She was originally tinkering until you came in, wanting to show off your new costume to her. It had this futuristic theme, and Tracy was quick abandoned her invention to mess with the small gadgets they stuck to you as accessories.

On the front-side of your shorts, you had some sort of tablet with buttons and fun looking controls. It was attached to some belt that had other gadgets, they were all locked to the belt, which was attached to the shorts. Tracy was crouched down messing with them all.

“How mad do you think Miss Nightingale would be if I started taking this stuff apart?” Tracy said with a small grin. You look down and it seems she had already took her screwdriver to a few things. “Well, I guess we will find out” She laughed at your words.

Everything was going fine you were standing as you watch Tracy dismantle each piece of futuristic tech on the belt. Ganji knocked before entering the workshop. He sighed looking at Tracy crouched next to you. “How much longer are you gonna keep my s/o, Reznik?”

Ganji was told this was only gonna be a quick visit to show off the costume. Yet He’d been left waiting out there for at least 20 minutes. “Calm down ‘Gupta’ your s/o came here to show off their costume to me not you!” Tracy taunted, while saying his name is a mocking tone. Ganji scoffed, setting his cricket bat down at the door.

“Who do you think they showed it to first, Reznik.” Ganji sounded like he was subtly bragging, at being the first person to see you in the new costume. Tracy rolled her eyes. “Darn, the screen to this thing just doesn't want to come off!” She said trying to get the screen off, to get the wiring.

Ganji started to walk toward them reaching to pull Tracy off his s/o. “Okay Reznik, I’ve had my fair share of sharing my s/o.” Before He could reach Tracy she had fell back as her force caused your shorts to rip.

Tracy honestly didn't see anything with how fast Ganji was to cover you, He scowled down at Tracy. “I'm sorry...?” She said with a sheepish smile. “Find my s/o something to cover up with Reznik” He said firmly. She was quick to bolt out of the room. “Right! I'll be right back!”

She didn't look back in fear of seeing Ganji's harsh gaze. You could help but rest you forehead against his back laughing. “What are you laughing at? You’re currently in your underwear, if you hadn’t noticed.” He said turning toward you with a slight frown.

“I can’t help but laugh at the silliness of this situation my love. I never expected Tracy to rip my shorts, all so she could get the tablet!” You found this situation pretty funny. Ganjis frown turned into a small smile with your amusement.

“Glad you find this amusing. Though I’d rather be the only one to see my lover without pants on.” His words made your face slightly red. “Okay, perv.” His gaped slightly. “… I’ll remember that the next time your clothes rip. I won’t cover you.”

You smile squeezing his cheeks. “Yes you will, because you love me!” He sighed as you squeezed his face passive-aggressively. “… Yes I will.”

Naib Subedar

You know your lover hates Murro with an burning passion. Mostly because he hates boars, but you thought Murro’s boar was kinda cute.

Unfortunately Murro stayed very far away from you, making it so you barely saw his boar outside of matches.

It was a very nice day at the manor, survivor matches going smoothly, not that you had any matches to participate in today, Naib had about one or tw. With him on the team you didn’t doubt they would win.

In the manor there is an outdoor area, and due to you not having any matches today you want to go walk around in the sun for a bit.

On your way out you were wearing loose fitting loungewear. Not being in a match you didn’t want to put effort into putting on one of your usually costumes.

The sun felt good especially after being inside for most the day, you would take what you can get before Naib decides to ‘lowkey’ glue himself to your side. The outdoor part of the manor was pretty big enough to have a small forest, with a gate surrounding the whole area of course.

In the distance near trees you saw a tail and decided to investigate. Upon getting closer you realized its nust Murro's boar.

“Oh, I wonder why you’re out here by yourself. Is Murro around?” You said crouching down in front of the boar. It kind of just stared at you chewing on grass.

“Right, you’re an animal you can’t talk…” You felt a little awkward as the boar stared you down. “Well… I’m gonna go back that way…?” You stand dusting yourself off. As you stand the boar approaches you. You got back down wanting to pet it.

It did let you pet it for a moment, you got to even rub its stomach. It was fun, until you decided to go back inside and it grabbed ahold of the back of your shirt.

You and the boar had a short staring match. “Hmm, as much as I would love to spend more time with you Murro’s boar i’m sure my boyfriend is done with his match.” You said trying to tug the shirt from its mouth.

The boar refused turning it into a game of tug-a-war. “Let. go!” You huffed out fighting against the animal, you could hear the fabric starting to tear from you two pulling on it.

With one last tug you fell backwards, grunting in pain. It had a good chunk of fabric in its mouth as its trophy. You heard hurried footsteps. looking up you saw Murro. “I’m sorry! I didn't realize my boar had wandered away, forgive me!” He reached out to help you.

Unfortunately Naib had just arrived at the scene to see Murro’s boar with some of your shirt in its mouth, and Murro himself standing over you. In a moment a blade whizzed past, slicing Murro’s cheek causing him to fall on his butt in fear.

Looking behind you, he could see a very angry Naib hauling ass toward you all. In fear he quickly abandoned you. Hopping on his boar he left, running in the opposite direction.

Naib almost ran past you to chase Murro if you hadn’t gotten up quickly to grab the back of his shirt. “Wait, don’t chase after him!” You struggled to hold on to the man.

“I’ll gut him and that boar. How dare he sica damn animal on you.” His voice wasn't a shout but he was definitely furious. He was very strong actually draggjng you as he tried to pursue Murro.

You pull on his ponytail dragging his head back. “Hold your horses, who said anything about him siccing his boar on me?!” You let go of his hair as he stopped for a moment. “What do you mean, his boar was standing over you with some of your clothes in it mouth. How could that not be an attack on you?” He finally turned toward you head tilted slightly in confusion.

Sighing, you lightly pat Naib's cheek. “I wouldn't say it was an attack, I was originally playing with the boar. It only was trying to stop me from walking away, and Murro said he ran over after noticing it was gone.”

Naib’s eyebrows were still furrowed, eyes slightly closed, as of he was trying to see if you were lying for the sake of Murro. “Fine, I won't chase after him, for now.”

You grin pinching your lovers cheek. “Good! Now lets go inside you smell like shit” You say looping your elbow with his to lead him back to the manor. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever dear.”

Patricia Dorval

“Breaking wheel...! That son... sons? Of a bitch!” You say irritated, cursing his name to the sky quietly. He had been chasing you for most of the match before you lovely, kind, sweetheart patricia, took kite.

Inside your head you gushed about your girlfriend as you were trying to remove his spikes from not only your clothing but from your skin, as it had penetrated through the cloth into you.

Pulling them out was a huge pain, It hurt like hell. If only someone could help. You couldn't reach the ones in your back. Your mind drifted to Patricia as you pondered how her kite was going.

“You need help?” A raspy voice spoke out from behind you causing to yell and jump. Quickly turning around your faced wth the sneaky bastard who turned out to be Kreacher.

“Damn it Kreacher, you don't just sneak up on people like that!” You shout at the man hand over your heart. Other one raised as if you were going to hit him.

He back away from your shouts ready to coward out, and run away from your aggression. “Wait! Yes, I need help...” You say embarrassed about having to ask Kreacher of all people, to help you.

He was a little hesitant to come toward you, he had a sketical look toward you as you were just shouting but he did anyways. “Stay still and Ill get them removed” He said hand already painfully pulling one lodged in your back.

You try to hold in your pained shouts, refusing to show that this bothered you in front of Kreacher. They were pretty thin the spikes, but very sharp with tiny barbs that makes sense them hard to get from your skin.

Kreacher doesn't exactly have the gentlest hands while removing these from both your clothes and skin. You couldn't tell if he was trying to hurt you or help you.

“You could slow down damn it! Stop removing them fast you asshole, It hurts!” You hiss pulling away as he pulled another one carelessly out.

“Maybe if you could actually dodge breaking wheel..” You heard him mutter under his breath. “What did you just say!?” You say ticked off. “Nothing!!” He quickly says pulling one out to distract you.

He was pulling out the last one when both your hearts started to beat slightly, though it was barely anything to make you fret, polun didn't even know where you two were.

Coward freaking Pierson on the other hand grabbed ahold of the last spike dragging it down your back as he pulled away, bolting.

The specific spike he pulled was at the top so it tore all the way down, making the shirt go forward almost exposing if you hadn’t held it up with your hands. You grind your teeth slightly, turning to curse out to Kreacher.

As you turned your eyes met Patricia's, who had wacked Kreacher down with her ape skull, making his head bleed as he dizzily sat on the ground.

“Sorry I wasn't here sooner s/o, but at least I crushed this roach.” She said walking past him to you. She pecked you on the cheek getting her lipstick on your face, before looking at your back which was now exposed.

You had some blood drops rolling down from the sprike removals. She cut some more of your shirt so that she could tie a not in the back so it wouldn't fall off.

“I would take Kreachers jacket and give it to you, but I'd rather none of his filthy items touch you” She said as she gently caressed your back, careful of the small wounds.

You blushed at her caring gesture. “I should've warn a different costume one with a jacket, that's my bad.” She put her arms around your neck. “Well, I for one really like this costume, too bad it gonna be temporarily out of commission”

She makes it so hard for you not to swoon when shes this sweet. Kreacher groans reminding you two he was there.

Patricia unhooks her arms from around your neck. “Let's leave that thing and go decode the last cipher. Polun will find and kill it” She says loud enough for him to hear.

She grabs your hand pulling you away toward a cipher, while you follow her happily. Patricia was right about Kreacher as he was found & killed after Ganji led the hunter to him. At least the 3 of them escaped!

PLEASE I REALLY TRIED HARD TO MAKE THEM ALL SIMILAR LENGTH!! Hope you like this :3

[marvelstoriesepic]

Like a Phoenix (epilogue)

Pairing: Mercenary!Bucky x Princess!Reader

Series Summary: An attack on your palace thrusts your only hope for survival into the hands of a mercenary who is forced to protect you, all due to a vow he made many years before. Though, those are circumstances neither of you have chosen.

Word Count: 12.2k

Warnings: mentions of fire, dead parents, murder, death, ignorance, betrayal, sexism, arranged marriages; classism; feels; tension; suggestive themes; kissing

Author’s Note: Omg we have reached the end to this series. It makes me a little sad but I'm so satisfied I managed to complete this. And hell, I did not expect it to get so long. When I came up with the idea I was planning on making it a one-shot lol. Thank you so much for reading it this far! I hope you enjoy ♡

Series Masterlist | Masterlist

Your journey goes on for another three and a half days. You walk through thickets and shadow-dappled glades as before, but time bends strangely now. It feels no longer like the lonely, endless trek it once was.

It does not feel like a road paved with dread and pain. It feels like something else entirely - something softer, warmer. Like the disentangling of the past and the mending of something broken.

Bucky is always close. Not just in the way he was before, walking beside you, always in your eye line - but in the way he feels close. The way his hand brushes against yours as you trek side by side, fingertips grazing, neither of you acknowledging it out loud, but neither of you pulling away. The way his gaze lingers so unashamed, unreadable, yet soft in a way you are not sure he quite realizes.

The nights are no longer cold.

The forest air is crisp and the earth unforgiving, but you haven’t felt cold since the first night you let yourself fall asleep curled against his chest.

His arms drape around you every night like they were made to hold you. He always mutters that he is not supposed to sleep, that he has to keep watch, and you know he has never been the kind of man to rest easily.

But then, minutes later, his breathing slows, deepens, his body molding against yours, his lips pressed into your hair as if the scent of you alone lulls him into slumber.

Sometimes, in that hazy space between sleep and wakefulness, he mumbles things into your skin - your name, half-formed words, things you wish you could catch before they are lost to the night.

He clings to you and buries himself in you like you are something to be sought out even in the darkness of his dreams. His hand finds the curve of your waist, fingers splay out over your ribs as if grounding himself, and he breathes you in.

He wakes in the mornings with a deep inhale, lips finding your shoulder before his mind even fully registers that he’s awake. And it is soft. It is slow. The kind of gentleness you never imagined a man like himself capable of.

But Bucky Barnes is a man of contradictions.

Just as he kisses you tenderly at dawn, he kisses you with reckless, insatiable hunger in the next breath.

One moment, you are walking beside him, mindlessly following the path, and the next, your back is flush against the bark of a tree, Bucky’s hands bracketing your face, his breath warm against your lips before he takes them in a kiss that leaves no room for air, no room for anything but him.

It’s fierce, consuming, his mouth slanting over yours, his tongue sweeping into your mouth with a desire that sets your veins alight.

His hard thigh slots between your legs, pressing just enough to make your breath hitch.

His hands would dip to your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he devours you, drawing out a sound from deep in your throat that you didn’t even realize you were capable of making.

His breath hot against your lips as he exhales a soft, gravelly curse.

But it never goes further than this.

No matter how heated, no matter how desperate, he always stops.

His hands never stray past the places he’s already touched, never cross the threshold into something that would tip you into the point of no return. Not yet.

He made his promise - to make it good for you, to wait for a better time.

And Bucky Barnes, after all, is a man who keeps his promises.

So he pulls back, even when his chest is heaving, even when his pupils are blown wide with want. Pressing his forehead against yours with a shuddering breath. He only drags his thumb across your swollen lips and smirks at the way you chase after him.

The fire at night is different now, too.

Before, you used to sit in front of it, staring into the flames with an open wound in your chest that you thought would stay hollow and bleeding for the rest of eternity.

Now, you still stare at the fire, but this time with a weight at your back - Bucky sitting behind you, his chest pressed against your spine, his arms wound around you in a tender hold. He rests his chin on your shoulder sometimes and murmurs against your skin - tired yet, sweetheart? - and you shiver at his lips on your neck and shake your head, because how could you ever be tired of this?

The fire crackles and it’s not the only source of warmth anymore. Bucky’s arms tighten. And the hollow place inside your chest is filling slowly, surely, with something meaningful, something fervent.

Something that feels a hell of a lot like him.

There is something different in the air now, too.

You don’t know if it’s the season shifting, the air growing a little warmer, fresher, or if it’s something in you that has changed.

Maybe it’s the way the wind no longer feels like it’s pushing against you but instead lifting you forward. Maybe it’s the way the sky looks a little wider, a little vaster like it belongs to you now.

For years, you lived with the certainty of a future that was never truly yours. A path laid out before you like a straight line - one that led directly to a fate you never wanted.

You were raised to believe that love was not yours to seek, that choices were not yours to make, that freedom was not something women like you could have. You would be given away, just as your mother was, just as so many others before you were. A transaction. A signature on a parchment, your body and soul the fine print of a deal you didn’t want. A deal between men who had never once asked what you wanted. Never cared about it.

Only to be a prize for a man who had done nothing to earn you but exist in the right family, with the right title, with the right wealth to buy your hand.

You tried to convince yourself that it was inevitable. That maybe you could learn to accept it.

But that never happened.

And when Lord Ward spoke these ugly words about marriage something inside you rose like a beast with bared teeth.

Never had you wanted to end up with the life of a wife to a man who would never know you. Who would never see you.

Would never kiss you like Bucky does - like he’s breathing you in, like he’s savoring something rare, something he will never find again.

Would never hold you like Bucky does - tight, protective, almost desperate, almost possessive. Terrified the world might steal you away from him.

Would never look at you like Bucky does - like you are something untamed, something wild, something so far from the obedient, well-mannered woman you were raised to be. But he relishes it. He does not try to fill that flame. He lets you burn.

And now, here you are.

Not in a castle or a palace, not in a cage refined by luxury, not dressed in stiff silks, not standing in front of an altar beside a man whose hands would never be gentle, whose eyes would never soften when he looked at you.

No, you are out in the wild, the scent of pine and earth and Bucky thick in your lungs, with tangled hair, dirt on your dress, and under your fingernails.

And you have never been lighter.

When you dreamed of freedom, you always pictured yourself alone.

The idea of escaping had always been something singular, something you would carve out with your own two hands, even if it left them bloodied and bruised. Never had you imagined that freedom might come with someone beside you. That it might come in the shape of a man whose past is war-torn, whose hands are rough with calluses and sins but who holds you like you are something sacred.

You don’t know what to call this. You don’t know if there is a name for the way his lips trace over the back of your neck in the early hours of the morning, for the way his voice goes warm and husky when he mutters your name. For the way he watches you - really watches you - like he is memorizing the way you move, the way you breathe.

You don’t know what to call the way he lets you take up space.

Lets you question him, tease him, push at the edges of his patience. Lets you be difficult and vulnerable and does not try to shape you into something easier to control.

There are no words big enough for it yet, no name that fits neatly into your mouth.

But whatever it is, you know you don’t want it to end.

Not today. Not tomorrow. Maybe not ever.

Bucky makes everything feel more.

The silence of the woods isn’t lonely with him there. The fire isn’t just warmth, it’s a place where you rest, where you curl into him and breathe in the scent of leather and steel and him until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

The simplest things are different now.

The air tastes sweeter, the wind feels wilder. Your chest feels lighter.

Your food tastes better, even if it’s nothing but charred meat and stolen apples because Bucky makes you laugh between bites. When he makes some dry, wicked comment that should not make your stomach jumble the way it does but you never put in much effort to stop it.

The night feels less like a thing to be wary of and more like a shroud that envelopes the two of you, keeping you hidden in a world of your own.

Your body feels different.

Because of the way he looks at you, the way his fingers graze your skin absentmindedly when he’s half-asleep, seeking you out even in his dreams.

Because of the way your blood sings when he pulls you into an unexpected kiss, when he presses you against a tree, or the ground and growls something against your lips that makes your knees weak.

Because of the way you feel in your own skin now - like it belongs to you, like your choices are finally your own.

And that’s what this is.

Choice.

For the first time in your life, no one is making it for you.

Not your father, not even your loving mother, not some nobleman with a name older than the stones of his estate, not an entire court that speaks of duty while drinking their wine.

You chose this.

You chose to run.

You chose to fight.

And now you are choosing him.

It is the thrill of being wanted - not as a bride, not as a duty, not as a treaty, but as a woman. As a person.

It is the way Bucky does not possess you - but he holds you like you are something worth keeping.

And you think, perhaps you might believe you are.

****

“Bucky!”

“Bucky!”

Two gleeful voices, high-pitched and brimming with joy, call his name in unison, and before you even register what is happening, two boys come hurtling toward the man beside you like arrows loosed from a bow.

Bucky barely has a moment to brace himself before they collide with him, small arms wrapping around his torso with so much force that he stumbles back a step.

A surprised chuckle rumbles from his chest as he catches them, his hands ruffling through unruly heads, squeezing them against him in a hug.

You don’t move.

You stay where you are, frozen, watching as something in Bucky softens. He crouches slightly, to be more level with the boys, shaking his head with mock exasperation, but his face is split in a smile that might just blind you.

“You’re back!” one of them exclaims, clinging to him.

“We missed you,” the smaller one adds, eyes wide and earnest.

“Steve said it could take longer and that we have to be patient, but we knew you’d come back soon,” the first one says, so proud of himself, his words spilling over each other in his excitement.

Your stomach tumbles - not unpleasantly, but in that strange, fluttering way that comes with being overwhelmed.

You knew Bucky had friends, knew that wherever he was taking you, you would not be walking into a place full of strangers to him.

But this is something else.

Because they love him.

And they are not the kind of people you imagined Bucky Barnes might surround himself with. These children adore him, are safe with him, and throw themselves into his arms without hesitation.

Your throat closes up as you shift, not knowing what to do with yourself.

Your nerves had not touched you this morning, as you lay in Bucky’s arms. Not when he murmured against your skin, lips pressing lazy kisses along your shoulder, voice slow and sleep-thick.

“Won’t be much longer now, darlin’.”

You hummed.

“Just a few more hours, and we’ll be there.”

You felt his smirk against your neck.

“You nervous?”

You thought about it. The idea of stepping into a new place, meeting new people who knew him, who might not trust you, might not like you. But it was hard to be nervous with the way Bucky was touching you, tracing patterns over your bare arm, kissing your hair, holding you close like there was nowhere else he would rather be.

“Tell me about them,” you whispered, half to distract yourself, half to just hear his voice a little longer before the day truly began.

And he had.

“Steve’s a pain in my ass. Got that whole ‘honor and duty’ thing goin’ for him. Thinks he’s gotta save everyone. Stubborn bastard.”

You had laughed at his crude language and he just kissed you some more, sporting a proud grin.

“Sam’s loud as hell. Talks too much. Thinks he’s funny.” He sighed dramatically, the vibration of it tickling against your ribs.

“Is he?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, and you realized it was almost a laugh.

“Sometimes,” he grunted out gruffly, but there was something fond in it. He placed a deliberate kiss just below your jaw. “But you better not tell him I said that.”

“He’s got a sister. Sara. She’ll probably try to feed you the second she lays her eyes on you. Got a good heart.”

“Noted,” you whispered, fighting a smile.

He brushed his nose against the curve of your cheek. “Natasha’s a little sharp. She’ll size you up, but don’t let it get to you. It’s just her way. She’s got a good read on people. But I got a feeling she’ll like you.”

He kissed you, slow, savoring the way your lips parted beneath his, the way you let him pull you closer.

“Bruce is quiet. One of the smartest people I know. You’d like him.”

His fingers traced unhurried circles against your waist, his touch warm and possessive without meaning to be.

“Peter,” he sighed. “Kid’s a menace. Talks too fast. Asks too many questions. Has no idea how to shut up.”

You smiled. “But you sound fond of him.”

Bucky groaned dramatically, letting his head softly fall onto your collarbone. “Damn kid grows on you.”

“Wanda’s a little different. Maybe a little odd. She’s got a heart bigger than she knows what to do with. M’ sure you’ll like her.”

He shifted, rolling onto his side so he could study you in the dim morning light.

“Vision’s…” he adds, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t really explain him. But he’s a good man.”

“And Tony’s an ass.”

“That’s it?” you laughed.

“That’s all you need to know.”

You traced the shape of his jaw with your fingertips. He leaned into you, eyes drooping. Your voice grew softer. “But he’s your friend.”

A pause. A sigh. “Yeah, I guess he is,” he admitted grudgingly.

Then you kissed him again and he certainly did not object.

It felt so intimate then, the way he spoke, the way he let you into something personal. His family. You hadn’t been nervous then. Not when he was so warm against you, not when he whispered promises of breakfast and stolen kisses and safe places against your skin.

But now, watching these two children light up at the sight of him, watching Bucky melt and soften, you start to feel the nerves.

The enormity of what you are stepping into.

You are not just entering a place.

You are stepping into his world.

These people are not just his friends. They seem to be his family.

And they seem to live a comfortable life, judging the clustered timber-and-stone houses before you. Slanted roofs are layered with thatch, their wooden beams weathered but sturdy.

A large two-story tavern sits at the heart of the settlement, its balcony draped with drying herbs and bundles of corn.

The earthy scent of bred and corn and ash and tilled soil all mingles in your nose. You breathe it in.

You watch a woman lean out of an open window, shaking dust from a rug.

A great tree stands a little off, roots twisting into the soil like fingers gripping the land, branches stretching, leaves flying in the light breeze. Wooden tables and benches sit unevenly on the dirt ground. A group of men sits hunched over one of those tables, mugs in hand, deep in conversation.

Horses are tied to a hitching post near a small stable, flicking their tails. Chickens peck at the dirt, completely unmoved by their surroundings.

Garlands of wildflowers and wheat hang from beams and doorways.

Nearby, a wooden stall displays golden rounds of bread stacked high, the crusts crips and sun-warmed.

This does, in no way, come close to how you have been raised and lived your whole life. Nothing like the sterile corridors of the palace, where voices were kept soft and every step was measured.

This place is unrefined, full of noise and movement, loud laughter, and unguarded conversations.

It’s the most beautiful thing you have ever seen.

“Who are you?”

The sharpness of the question snaps you from your swirling thoughts and drops you harshly into the present.

Your gaze turns down to meet dark and narrowed eyes. The kind of look you would expect from a man twice his age, not a boy of the age of perhaps 10.

There is suspicion in the hard set of his mouth, in the furrow of his brow. His thin shoulders are squared, his stance too defensive for someone so small. Too wary for someone so young.

He is looking at you like he is judging you. Assessing you. Ready to cast you out.

You don’t know what you expected from those little boys who nearly took out Bucky with a hug. Curiosity perhaps, maybe even excitement, because what child is not intrigued by someone new?

But this boy has learned caution young.

Bucky had not mentioned him, nor the other who is still clinging to Bucky’s side and watches with wide, observant eyes. They seem to be brothers.

You inhale and part your lips, ready to offer something - your name, perhaps, or some reassurance that you mean no harm - but Bucky steps in.

“Hey,” he chides, voice carrying a note of authority, but it is still easy. As though he expected this reaction. “C’mon now, AJ,” he says, ruffling dark strands. “That any way to treat a guest? Hm?”

The boy scowls, wriggling his head free of Bucky’s grip and standing a little straighter, eyes still on you.

“I have questions,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest.

You blink.

This boy is so small, and yet so serious, staring you down like you are his enemy.

Bucky sighs dramatically beside you, shaking his head.

“You hear that, darlin?” He turns to you, blue eyes glinting. “Little punk thinks he runs the place.”

You smile amused and tilt your head slightly. “Does he?”

The little guy seems taken aback for a moment, like he hadn’t expected you to address him so directly, hadn’t expected you to engage instead of deflect.

But then he squares his shoulders again.

“I do when Steve isn’t here,” he informs you seriously, sharp eyes on you.

Bucky chuckles.

“So?” the boy presses. “Who are you?”

You take a breath in.

“She’s mine.”

The words, low and firm, come from Bucky.

You turn, startled, but Bucky is not looking at you. He is looking at the boy, at both of them, his expression unreadable. But his jaw is set.

“She’s with me,” he tells them.

But that makes the older boy before you narrow his eyes further.

“You brought her here?” he asks, and there is an accusation in it.

“I did,” Bucky confirms, voice turning a note harder. “And you’re gonna behave, alright?”

“Why?” the boy presses. “You don’t bring people here. Ever.”

That catches your attention. You glance back at Bucky, but he still doesn’t look at you.

He opens his mouth, about to crouch down to his eye level.

“Oh, mother of gods, James Buchanan Barnes, you did not!”

Your head snaps up at the harsh exclamation, dragging your attention to the woman storming toward you. She has fire in her eyes and disbelief clear in every step she takes. The fabric of her dark skirts rustle with the force of her marching steps, her expression caught somewhere between outrage, horror, and exasperation.

Bucky sighs beside you.

The woman sweeps her gaze over you, fast but uncomfortably precise, drinking in the tangled mess of your hair from wind and sleep, the dirt staining the folds of your gown, the frayed laces at your bodice. They hang limply around you.

Heat wanders along your skin, creeping up your neck. Your fingers jerk against your skirts.

You are painfully aware of how you must look. Not a princess. Not the picture of nobility. And it makes you feel exposed.

She then latches her burning eyes on Bucky, who for his part looks painfully unbothered by the way her glare could send him to his grave.

“The princess?” she hisses, incredulous, her voice barely contained. “Are you out of your mind?”

Bucky exhales softly. “Sara-”

“No, no,” she cuts him off, throwing a hand in the air. “Don’t you Sara me, James. What- What in the name of every god above and below were you thinking?” She jabs a finger at him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? Do you have any idea what kind of mess this is?”

You recoil slightly.

Bucky doesn’t.

Sara exhales sharply and fixes her gaze on the two boys. “Aj, Cass,” he says, voice edged with maternal authority. “Inside.”

The younger boy scrambles away, while the older one hesitates. He looks at you. And you watch the realization of who you are dawn like a slow and creeping sunrise. Color drains from his face, only to be replaced by a deep, mortified flush. He hurries off after his brother.

A low whistle sounds out.

“Well damn,” follows a smooth, almost delighted drawl. “You kidnapped the princess? Man, that is a whole new level of crime - even for you.”

Your eyes shift toward the new voice.

A tall man steps up beside Sara, arms crossed over his chest, a wide, amused, and toothy smile on his face.

“You know,” he muses, glancing at you before looking back at Bucky, letting out a chuckle. “I figured you’d eventually get yourself into a mess you couldn’t talk your way out of, but this?” He gestures at you, at all of you. “This is next level, man. This ain’t just thieving a couple of horses or lifting some noble’s coin purse.”

“I didn’t kidnap her,” Bucky growls, exasperated.

“No?” The man lifts a dark eyebrow. “Then what is it I see before me? Huh? Certainly not the missing kingdom’s princess, looking all rugged and dirty, standing next to the only fool dumb enough to waltz into the palace and take her right from under their noses.”

“Sam,” Bucky warns.

Sam ignores him. “God, I can’t believe this. You kidnapped the princess.” His eyes practically dance with amusement. “Really, man?”

“Didn’t kidnap her,” Bucky repeats, tone and eyes dark.

Sam snorts. “Alright, then.” He shifts his attention to you now. You are only able to listen to whatever this is with wide eyes. “Your Highness. Blink twice if you need rescuing.”

You glance over at Bucky helplessly, but he only runs a hand down his face and shakes his head.

You straighten, eyes going back to Sam, composing yourself as best as you can despite the dirt on your skirts, despite the strange, unmoored feeling of being in this place, surrounded by these people.

“Sir, I-”

But Sam interrupts you, keening with laughter.

It’s full-bodied. He throws his head back, shoulders shaking, one hand gripping his ribs as if the sheer force of his amusement might crack them open.

You startle, staring.

“Oh, hell, yeah.” He wheezes through his laughter, eyes gleaming with delight. “D’you hear that, Barnes? Your girl called me sir.”

Bucky glares. It’s nothing short of murderous.

Sam laughs harder, nearly doubling over, slapping his thigh like this is the greatest moment of his life.

Bucky’s hands flex at his sides, fingers curling, and for a second, you wonder if he might actually lunge at the man.

“You wanna keep runnin’ your mouth, Wilson?”Bucky grounds out, voice flat, but there is something dangerous in it.

“I apologize for the trouble, your Highness,” Sara says, voice full of exasperation, though it is not directed at you. Her sharpest ire belongs to Bucky. She shoots him a look so blistering it could peel bark from a tree. But he only rolls his shoulders like a man unbothered. “You’re lucky she doesn’t look half-dead, Barnes.”

Bucky exhales through his nose. “She’s fine, Sara.”

“Fine?” she echoes, eyes flaring. Hands settle on her hips. “Fine is not what I’d call a girl dragged through the wilds, looking like she hasn’t had a proper meal in days.”

You wince, self-conscious.

She notices.

Her gaze softens. “My apologies, your Highness,” she says, sincerely, directed at you this time. “You must be exhausted. Have you eaten? Drunk anything? Lord above, Bucky, did you even let her rest properly?”

Bucky folds his arms over his chest with a huff. “She’s not a child, alright? She’s handled herself just fine.”

Sara glares him down.

You take a step forward before she can start another round of chastising him.

“You do not need to apologize,” you say softly. “I have been taken care of.”

You see Bucky smirk in your peripherals.

Sara pinches the bridge of her nose, exhaling long and slow, before turning back to you.

And this time, when she looks at you, there is no suspicion, no frustration.

Now, there is just worry.

Not the worry of someone who sees you as a liability, a mistake, a problem to be solved.

But the aching worry of someone who sees you as a person. As a girl who has run a long, long way from something big.

Shaking her head, she fixes her eyes back on Bucky. But they are softer. Her voice is calmer when she speaks again, but no less chastising. “The princess, Bucky? Of all the reckless, ill-thought-out things you’ve done-”

“Alright-”

“I chose to come with him.”

Bucky falls silent.

You don’t know why Bucky hadn’t explained this himself. That he didn’t force you into anything, or even kidnap you. Perhaps he still can’t believe that you said yes to him. Or he didn’t want to put those words into his mouth because they should be yours.

All eyes turn to you.

Sara’s brows lift slightly in surprise. Sam, who has been watching with a grin of pure entertainment, lets out a low whistle.

But it’s Bucky’s gaze you feel the most.

You sense the shift in him, the way his eyes find you with an intensity that has you clenching your fingers around the fabric of your gown.

“I wasn’t taken. Especially not by him,” you continue, gaze sweeping from Sam to Sara and back again. “I left of my own accord. It was my decision. And Bucky-” You glance at him for a brief moment, before setting your eyes forward again. “-he kept me safe.”

Sara exhales sharply, hands on her hips, lips pressing together in thought. She studies you, weighing your words against whatever she has imagined. You cannot make a lot of her expression, but there is respect in the way she looks at you.

Bucky doesn’t move, but you feel his gaze on you like a touch. Heavy and lingering.

Sara’s hand on her hips tighten. “That may be,” she allows, her voice slow. “But I find it hard to believe you were given many choices to begin with.”

“Sara,” Bucky warns. But his voice is thicker now.

Sam doesn’t relent on his toothy grin and Sara flicks him on the back of the head. “Alright, enough,” she says, then turns to you. “If you’re staying, we need to get you cleaned up and fed.” She eyes your dirt-streaked gown and your disordered hair, her concern slipping back in. “Gods, you must be exhausted.”

You stiffen.

Not at her words, but at the way something deep in your chest trembles in response.

Because, yes you are exhausted.

You have been for as long as you can remember. But never like this. Never in a way that feels earned.

This exhaustion is not the kind that comes from waiting - waiting for a decision to be made for you, waiting for a fate you have no hand in shaping.

It is the exhaustion of moving forward, step by step, of carving a path where there was none before.

It is real.

And for the first time, it does not feel like a burden.

You do not know how to say this. So you say nothing.

“Come inside. Eat something. Get some rest,” Sara offers gently.

Like she has already decided she will take care of you.

You have spent your entire life refusing. It is a habitat ingrained in the very marrow of your being. To be polite, but never imposing. To be gracious, but never in need.

But you are not in a palace now.

You are in a place where people say what they mean, where laughter is loud, where Bucky Barnes holds children to his chest and lets them believe he is something softer than the world has made him.

A place that is not yours, but could be.

You do not refuse.

Because you don’t want to.

Fingers graze the inside of your wrist, a feather-light touch. A question.

And you answer without words, letting your fingers brush his.

Bucky’s shoulders loosen. His jaw unclenches.

You smile up at him. He smiles down at you.

Sam is gaping.

****

You inhale the food as if you have not eaten in days - because, in a way, you haven’t. Not like this. Not like something that tastes like home, like care, like hands that have kneaded and stirred and seasoned with the intent of nourishing, not just sustaining.

The wooden bowl in your hands is warm, the simple stew inside thick and hearty, brimming with root vegetables and tender meat that falls apart on your tongue.

The broth is rich, salted just enough to bring out the depth of the flavors, but not so much that it overpowers the natural earthiness of the ingredients.

At the palace, everything had been delicate. Well-considered. Gilded dishes prepared for their beauty before their taste. Sauces too intricate, wines too aged, plates of food so finely arranged that they resembled paintings rather than meals. Adorned with edible gold and the finest spices from across the kingdom. They had been created for show, for excess, for appearances.

But this is food meant to fill you.

The bread that Sara placed beside your bowl is dense and still warm from the hearth, the crust slightly cracked from the heat, the inside soft as a cloud. You tear a piece away and dip it into the broth, watching as it soaks up and turns heavy in your hand before bringing it to your lips.

The taste spreads warmth through your bones.

There is no grace to your eating, no careful sips or polite nibbles. You do not have to sit straight-backed in an uncomfortable chair, do not have to mind the placement of your hands or the pace of your bites.

You simply eat.

And for the first time in your life, food does not feel like an obligation. It feels like comfort.

You sit at a wooden table. The texture of the wood is uneven beneath your fingertips, worn and etched with knife marks, scratches, faint grooves from elbows propped against it.

This cabin is small, but it breathes.

The walls are made of sturdy logs, darkened from years of firelight and time. The stone hearth is still slightly glowing with embers from where Sara had cooked, projecting shimmering golden light against the walls.

A simple woven rug lays before it, slightly askew, as if someone has kicked it on their way past.

It is nothing like the palace.

The palace had been marble and silk, cold stone and uncomfortably ringing echoes from footsteps. Walls that expanded too high, chandeliers so grand they could never be touched, windows so polished you could see your reflection clearer than you could see yourself. Every corner a testament to wealth, to power, to the careful orchestration of control.

But this is lived in.

This is home, even if it is not yours. Yet.

And you love it.

You love the way the cabin smells of woodsmoke and earth, of herbs hanging to dry, of something baked earlier in the day.

You love the way the chair beneath you creaks slightly when you shift, the way the light is softer here, golden rather than cold.

You love the way your own body feels here.

Because here you are not wearing a gown that feels like a costume, corseted and pinned and stitched into a silhouette.

Here, you are still wild from the road, still warm from Bucky’s touch, still catching your breath from all the ways your life has changed.

Your fingers tighten around the wooden spoon in your grasp, the thought of Bucky bringing something else entirely to the warmth inside you.

He left moments ago.

Not without touching you.

You stood beside the table when he stepped close, when he tilted your chin up with the barest press of his knuckles, his other hand warm at your waist.

“Eat, sweetheart.” His voice has been soft, softer than his usual rasp. “Take your time.”

He kissed you before you could reply.

Not deeply, not claiming or desperate, just so incredibly tender, something that felt like a promise. A press of his lips that lingered, that tasted like all the words he did not say.

His fingers brushed against your jaw so delicately as he pulled back, his breath warm when he whispered. “I’ll talk to the others. You eat somethin’ and get some rest, yeah? I won’t be long.”

And then you were alone.

And what feels like for the first time in your life, no one is watching you.

There are no guards, no courtiers, no looming figures waiting to tell you what you must do next.

You are alone.

And it is wonderful.

A slow breath fills your lungs. You let it out slowly, feeling your shoulders loosen, your limbs grow heavier with something softer than exhaustion.

“You must be starving.”

The voice - deep, smooth, touched with humor - startles you so thoroughly that your spoon slips from your grasp, clinking against the rim of the bowl before settling with a soft plop into what’s left of the broth.

You snap your head up, heart lurching, body still half-wired for a fight that is no longer necessary.

A man stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, framed by the golden light of the setting sun behind him.

He is tall. Not just in height, but in presence. His shoulders are square, built with strength, but there is something calm in the way he carries himself. His blond hair is slightly tousled from the breeze outside and his blue eyes scan you.

His expression is unreadable at first, gaze sweeping over you, taking in the way you hover over your food like it might be taken from you, the way your hands twitch before stilling, the way you study him as though he might be another threat.

He lets out a short, remorseful breath but smiles at you then. Warm. Open. Easy.

“Sorry,” he says, lifting a hand as if to show he means no harm. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

You exhale slowly, steadying yourself. You take him in for a little while longer.

“It’s okay,” you reassure. “You must be Steve.”

His expression shifts. His brows lift just slightly, eyes glinting with something wry and knowing, but also a kind of surprise. As if it isn’t normal that Bucky talks of him to people who don’t know him already.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just watches you for a beat longer, like he is trying to place something about you.

Then he drops his head a fraction, a smile tugging at his lips. He glances around the cabin like this is a place he knows, a place that has always been home to him.

“Had to see for myself,” he starts, stepping closer, “what kind of thing Bucky’s gotten himself into this time.”

There is no accusation in it. No sharpness. Just a lightness, an understanding - something that makes you feel like this is not the first time he’s had to check in on Bucky’s reckless decisions.

“It was my decision,” you retort before he can go any further. “He did not take me. He did not force me. I chose this.”

You expect surprise. Like the others.

But Steve just nods. As if it makes sense. As if he might already have known that.

He chuckles, the sound low and genuine, before lowering himself into the seat across from you. The chair groans slightly under his weight, and for a moment he just studies you.

Not in the way people at the palace or castle did. Not with judgment, or scrutiny, or expectation.

Just curiosity.

“Bucky’s done some rash things before,” he then muses. “I had to make sure you aren’t one of them.”

It is said without malice. Just a simple, honest statement.

He doesn’t dance around it. Doesn’t pretend he wasn’t concerned. And strangely, that puts you more at ease.

You exhale, your fingers brushing the rim of your bowl.

“I appreciate the concern,” you say carefully. “But I meant it. This is my choice.”

Steve smiles.

Not a small smile. Not an uncertain or fake one. It is true.

“Then I guess that’s all I needed to hear.” He shifts, pushing his hands against the arms of the chair, preparing to stand. “I should let you rest.” He says it with a kind of old-fashioned politeness that reminds you of a man who has spent his whole life minding his manners. “Didn’t mean to intrude on your alone time, your Highness.”

But before he can rise, something in your stirs - curiosity, but something else, too.

“Wait.”

Steve pauses and raises a brow as he looks at you. But he eases back into his seat. Blue eyes flicker with interest.

“What did you mean?” you ask quietly.

Steve tilts his head. “About what?”

You hesitate, but the question is already lodged in your chest, needing release. “You said Bucky has done a few rash things before. What kind of things?”

A short laugh shakes the chest of the blond man. He leans back slightly, shaking his head and resting one ankle over his opposite knee. He crosses his arms over his chest and regards you with a look that is both amused and considering.

“You really wanna know?”

You nod.

His lips quirk and he lets out a slow breath, rolling his jaw, weighing whether he should actually tell you anything. He contemplates for a moment.

“Alright,” he relents. “I suppose I can tell you something.” He leans forward slightly, forearms braced against the edge of the table. His eyes glint with something that seems nostalgic, fond, but at the same time exasperated.

Then, he chuckles, obviously thinking of something. “Let me tell you about the time he stole a nobleman’s prized warhorse because some poor stable boy was about to be flogged over it.”

You blink, eyebrows shooting up, not even noticing that you are leaning in yourself. Watching him intently as he speaks.

“We had been passing through a town. Saw a stable hand, just a boy, barely a teenager being dragged out into the square because the noble, some smug son of a bitch-” he winces. “Pardon my language, your Highness.”

You huff a laugh, shaking your head.

“The noble he worked for claimed the kid had let his prized horse go missing,” Steve continues. “That boy was about to be publicly whipped.”

You frown, heart seizing.

“Buck broke into the nobleman’s stables,” he says with a disbelieving laugh, “stole the very horse they were fighting about, and rode it right through the center of town, causing a distraction long enough for the kid to escape.”

Your lips part.

Steve watches your reaction with a grin.

You don’t think you have ever been this invested in a story as of now.

“Of course, half the town guard ended up chasin’ him for miles,” he continues, amused smile on his face. “His plan, mind you, was to just return the damn horse the next day, all casual like nothing happened. Didn’t wanna keep it, he told me. Just wanted to prove a point.”

Steve’s gaze softens as he watches you take it in.

He leans back again then, palms planted on the table. “Well, the horse did send him flying straight into a pile of mud. So maybe that’s the true reason he wanted it gone.”

A laugh bursts from your lips.

Steve’s eyes are glinting. “Left him sitting there, covered in filth, swearing up and down that it wasn’t his fault.”

You press a hand to your mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter.

Steve seems even a little proud. Satisfied, with the way you are laughing so carefree. He lets a few beats pass.

Your ribs ache pleasantly.

It is rare, this kind of lightness, this kind of ease.

It is especially rare that you let yourself feel it. Let yourself sink into it. Relish it.

Suddenly, a shift in the air tugs at your awareness, a pull, like something in the room has changed shape without a sound.

Slowly, you turn your head toward the doorway.

And there he is.

Bucky leans against the frame, one shoulder pressed casually against the wood, arms crossed over his chest.

Candlelight catches on the lines of his face, casting a glow over the edges of his cheekbones.

He hasn’t said a word, hasn’t made a move to interrupt. He is just watching.

Watching you with something in his eyes that makes the giggles in your throat falter - not because they fades, but because they become something different.

He looks at you like he is seeing something he didn’t know he needed to witness.

Like he is listening to the sound of your joy and tucking it away somewhere safe.

It is in his eyes. This softness, something golden that flickers like a flame caught in the cradle of his chest.

His mouth is curved at the edges, not a smirk, not quite a grin. Just something fond, something private.

Your heartbeat slows into something deeper, warmer. A flush creeps up your neck that has nothing to do with laughter.

He has been standing there, silent and content, just watching you laugh so brightly with his best friend in a place he calls home.

“Bucky.” His name slips from your lips as you shift in your seat. “How long have you been standing there?”

Something shines in his gaze, something unreadable but vast. The space between you seems to hold more than just air.

His lips press together, holding back a chuckle. Pushing off the frame, he ambles toward you. “Long enough to wonder what kinda shit Steve’s tellin’ you ‘bout me.”

You try to suppress a smile, glancing over to the blond man, who only smirks, clearly enjoying this.

“He told me about you falling off a horse.”

Bucky lets out a groan, but his smile never wavers. He steps over to you unhurried, like he is savoring the moment, having all the time in the world.

He drags a hand down his face as he stops beside you, but the exasperation in his sigh is a lie - his smile still does not fully vanish.

His fingers find your shoulder as if drawn there naturally. His touch is light, absentminded. He rubs slow circles with his thumb before trailing down to your arm, his palm coming to rest warmly at the bend of your elbow. It sends something skittering down your spine.

Leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest, the look on Steve’s face turns downright knowing.

Tilting his head, Bucky shoots the blond a look that lands somewhere between betrayed and amused.

“Really, punk?” he groans. “Coulda told her anythin’.”

Steve shrugs, unbothered and smirking. “She should know what she’s gotten herself into.”

Bucky scoffs.

Steve then pushes up from his seat, muscles in his arm bulging under his shirt. “I should leave you two to it,” he says but his gaze lingers on Bucky, before briefly switching between you two. His gaze is warm with something satisfied, something knowing, something relieved.

“Yeah, yeah, get outta here, Rogers.”

Steve smirks and turns toward the door, clapping a heavy hand against Bucky’s shoulder in passing. Before he steps out, he throws another look over his shoulder at you.

“It was good meeting you, your Highness,” he says, and though there is respect in his tone, there is something else. Something approving.

You nod, smiling warmly. “And you, sir.”

Steve chuckles. Bucky sighs.

Then he is gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

Bucky doesn’t say a word at first.

He only guides you up from your chair, touch warm at your arms, just enough to maneuver himself into the seat. He doesn’t sit a second before pulling you onto his lap with a kind of possessiveness that feels more like safety than restraint.

A hitch disrupts your breathing.

You sit sideways, his arms winding around your waist, drawing you close, settling you comfortably against him.

The moment feels intimate. It’s as if time and space have thickened since Steve left. It’s slower and it sinks into your bones, into the spaces between your ribs, something deeper pressing in. It feels delicate and releases a pleasant tingle along your skin.

Bucky looks at you.

His eyes are softer now, the smirk something half-forgotten in the face of whatever this moment is becoming. So focused, so without teasing. His gaze moves over your face, slow and searching, reading the shape of your expression, as if he is trying to pin down whatever thought lingers in your eyes before you can speak it aloud.

There is almost something like wonder in his eyes as if he is still not used to this - to have you here, in his arms, so close that the space between your breaths barely exists anymore.

You swallow, fingers twitching where they rest against his shoulders.

You feel him in your pulse, in the warmth of your spine where his arms brace you.

Softly, as if not to disturb the air too much, you speak up.

“I like him.”

Bucky’s smirk twitches wider, but it is gentler now. Not sharp. Not cocky. Just fond.

His nose skims along your temple, featherlight, and he exhales warmly against your skin.

He hums, low and gruff but amused like he already knew it before you said it.

He inhales, slow and deep, as if breathing you in, as if you are something he can’t quite get enough of.

“Knew you would.”

And then, so gently, his lips meet your cheek in a kiss. Soft and lingering, and you close your eyes for just a second, letting yourself fall into it. Letting yourself feel him.

You lean into him, the weight of your body pressing more fully into his, and it feels like home.

He hums against you again, pleased, the vibration making you shiver. He feels it.

His voice is lower when he speaks again, his breath warming your skin as he smooths his words there, slow and teasing but full of something truer beneath the surface.

“Still gonna have a word with him, though. Can’t have him fillin’ your head with stories ‘bout me I ain’t got a chance to defend myself against.” Something about the way he says it feels important.

You lift your head, enough to meet his eyes, your fingers tracing absently along the line of his collar, your touch light, thoughtful. The depth in his blues nearly makes you forget what you were about to say.

“I like knowing more,” you basically whisper, only for him.

Bucky’s smirk fades into something quieter, something that makes your stomach churn in a slow and uncomprehending way.

His hands tighten where they test on you, fingers tenderly digging into your waist.

A muscle jumps in his jaw. He is reading you, something in your face that you don’t even know you are giving away.

And Bucky kisses you.

Slow and meaningful.

Like he knows there is no need to rush, that he has all the time in the world. Certain of the fact that he’ll get to do this again. Again and again and again, as often as he wants, as often as you’ll let him.

And you will.

His lips move against yours, coaxing, claiming - but it doesn’t feel claimed. It feels given. Offered. Cherished.

He is taking his time learning you, savoring you, not because he is afraid this might be the last time, but because he knows it won’t be.

He kisses you with a softness that contradicts the strength in his hands, the way they hold you - sure, definite, fingers curling just enough to tell you he’s here, but not so tight that you ever feel caged.

His fingers slide against the fabric of your clothes, keeping you exactly where he wants you. Where you want to be. One of his thumbs brushes slow strokes at your ribs as if he can’t help but touch, as if he needs to keep that connection even as he has his mouth firmly planted on yours.

His tongue sweeps against yours, the heat of it making your stomach tighten, something deep inside you ignite and spread low in your belly.

And then, softly, from deep in his chest, he lets out a groan - so content, so relaxed. Right against your lips, against your skin, shuddering through you like the quietest kind of need. It’s him sinking into this moment just as much as you are. You feel it vibrate through him, through you, pooling somewhere deep and warm and thrilling.

By the time he pulls back, you are lightheaded.

He doesn’t go far. Doesn’t let you go. His forehead meets yours, and it feels like a moment held in stillness. His breath is warm. His lips are swollen.

“You eat enough?” His voice is husky.

You nod. Or maybe you think you do. You’re still dazed, still floating somewhere between his kiss, his scent, and his voice.

“You drink something?” he murmurs next, the concern filling up his tone so seamlessly. His fingers tighten slightly and then start to trace shapes along your back.

Another nod.

His lips curl, just slightly, like he is amused by how wrecked you already look from a single kiss.

“You wanna get some rest?”

He says it so sweetly, so soft and careful, already preparing to gather you into his arms and lay you down himself if you so much as waver.

You blink at him, at the softness in his voice, the way he is still so close, his lips just a breath away.

“Not just yet,” you whisper.

His lips curve fully this time, his breath escaping in a breathy chuckle, warm with affection. Dipping down again, he presses another kiss to your temple. Then, another just behind your ear. And one against your jaw. Unhurried.

You almost forget the question forming on your tongue, almost forget the reason you wanted to ask in the first place.

“What did the others say?” you ask quietly.

Bucky exhales through his nose, thumbs remaining to glide idle patterns over you.

He tilts his head, considering his words. “They had questions,” he answers, tone light, but there is something thoughtful in it. “They just wanna understand.”

His eyes are intense, gauging your reaction.

“They wanna meet you,” he goes on.

You exhale a breath, but it doesn’t seem enough to push some of your lingering nerves from your chest. You swallow hard, and he catches it. He sees the way you shift slightly in his lap, the way your hands tighten where they rest lightly against his chest.

“But I told ‘em they’re gonna have to wait,” he adds, his tone firm now like the matter’s already been settled. “They know what they need to know and you’ll talk to them when you’re ready.” His gaze holds steady. Unblinking and piercing. “Not while you’re still catchin’ your breath.”

A part of you wants to say that you’re fine.

To brush it off, to tell him you can handle a conversation right now, that you’ve been handling things your whole life.

But you don’t say it. Because it’s a lie. And Bucky would know.

You are tired. Your mind is still catching up with the reality of where you are and what you left behind and the unknown of what is ahead. And it is so much, so much more than you ever thought you’d allow yourself to have.

Bucky shifts, leaning in and smoothing his palm down your back in grounding strokes.

“We’ll figure everything out,” he assures you, voice sure, but gentle.

Your pulse picks up.

It’s not a grand declaration. Not a sweeping promise of a happy and prosperous future. But it comes from him. And he is genuine. Solid.

There seems to be no doubt in his mind that this is right for you.

He believes in this.

In you.

And then, he pulls you closer. His breath fans warm against your skin, you feel his chest move as he speaks his next words.

“You’re safe here, darlin’,” he whispers. A hand reaches up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I promise.”

You believe him.

Maybe because of the way he says it so earnestly, unshakable, determined.

Maybe because of the way he holds you as if you mean more to him than anything else ever did.

Maybe because of the way his strong heartbeat beneath your palm is so reassuring, so passionate.

Maybe it’s just him.

After all, it has been him since the first moment your eyes found him. A man standing rigid and intimidating, his silhouette cut from the very shadows that enveloped him.

His gaze alone sent a tremor through you, those many weeks ago, in the tunnels of the palace, as if he already decided your worth before a word had even passed between you.

The hatred in his eyes had been undeniable, a roaring fire fed by years of betrayal and injustice, all hidden behind a mask of indifference.

But something else had lurked there. Something wounded, something searching, something that you would come to understand.

It has been him when you found out where his hatred was rooted.

Born from the sins of your father, in the broken promises of a ruler who swore loyalty to his men only to cast them aside when their usefulness was deemed expired.

A soldier betrayed, a man left with nothing but scars and grief and the knowledge that his devotion had been answered with silence.

Bucky Barnes has fought for your kingdom. Has bled for it. Has faced death for it. Has believed in it.

And in return, he has been given exile, stripped of his honor, and robbed of the people who mattered most - his mother and sister used as a leash to keep him compliant.

Your mother ensured their safety and sent them far away, but he still has to live with their absences, the uncertainty of how they are doing, and where they reside.

The anger that has festered in him was not misplaced. It was justified. You know that now.

And you know that if there is anyone who should reunite them with him, it is you. The idea has taken root inside of you, latching onto your ribs like vines, growing stronger with each passing day.

If your mother had the power to save Bucky’s family from your father's hands, then surely you can find the strength to bring them back. You don’t know where she sent them, where she thought they would be safest, but there has to be a way.

A letter, a name, a whisper of a clue waiting in the dark. You will find it. You will search every inch of this world if you must.

Because it is not just about justice. It is not just about redemption. It is about him.

The man who has been forced to protect a princess born from the same bloodline of a man who has stolen something irreparable from him. The man who once looked at you like you were the sum of every lie he has been told, the man who now watches you with something softer, something hopeful. The man who has kissed you like a promise, who has held you like you are something precious, something he wants to keep. The man who has chosen you when he has every reason not to.

Bucky Barnes deserves to see his family again. He deserves to know they are safe, that they live, that they are not lost to time and cruelty. And you will be the one to give that to him.

You are certain of that.

“Bucky.”

It’s barely a word, spoken so softly, but Bucky hears it.

His brow furrows ever so slightly at your tone, concern rushing through his eyes for a second, regarding you with attentiveness.

His hands continue their exploration, fingers smoothing over your waist, mapping your form.

“What is it, darlin’?” he asks patiently, nodding for you to go on.

You swallow, heart twisting as you gather your thoughts.

“I need to say this,” you start, but his brow only furrows deeper. His hands stop on your hips, waiting for you to continue. “I cannot express how sorry I am for what my father did to you.”

The blue of his eyes darkens. He parts his lips, ready to dismiss it, ready to push it aside like he has done with so many wounds inflicted upon him.

But you press on.

“I know I’m not him,” you continue, meeting his eyes. Voice a little frail, but remaining resolved. “And I know I cannot undo what he did - cannot rewrite the past or erase the pain he caused. But I hate that it happened. I hate that I was ignorant for so long, that I did not ask more questions when I should have.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches, muscles ticking beneath his skin and his gaze lowers.

His expression is unreadable at first, carefully guarded. Like a man who has spent a lifetime learning how to keep his pain behind locked doors. But you don’t want him to do that with you. Not anymore.

The fingers on his chest start to trace a careful path over his left shoulder. Even through the fabric of his shirt, you can feel the uneven texture of marred flesh, a reminder of the pain he had endured, a reminder of something he can’t escape. Your heart bleeds for him.

Bucky’s breath catches, shoulders tensing up slightly, but he doesn’t stop you. Just watches you, searching for something he won’t ever find. Disgust. Fear.

He exhales after a beat, something deep and profound, before reaching up to take your hand gently in his. His thumb brushes over your knuckles and he takes your hand off his shoulder to bring it to his lips, kissing your skin there tenderly.

His eyes find yours again, something shimmering in their depths. Something breaking and rebuilding all at once.

“You don’t owe me an apology, sweetheart,” he quietly says, his voice a thick rumble. “Not for him. Not for what you didn’t know.”

Your throat tightens.

“Still,” you whisper. “I’m so sorry, Buck.”

Bucky stiffens. Just slightly.

His fingers twitch where they hold onto yours and when you take a better look at him, you catch the faintest flush creeping up his neck, settling at the tips of his ears.

He blinks, then glances away for the briefest moment, trying to compose himself.

You bite back a smile.

He exhales a breath that is almost a laugh, but there is something softer underneath it. He turns your hand over in his and presses another kiss to the center of the back of your hand. You bite your lip.

“Buck?” he rasps out, clearing his throat. “Where’d you get that from?”

“Steve said it earlier. I liked it,” you declare, grinning softly.

There is a tug at the corner of his mouth, but the color on his face hasn’t entirely faded. If anything, it deepens when he meets your gaze again, something affectionate flashing in his stormy blue eyes, the simple act of you calling him that seems to have rattled him more than he might have expected.

“Yeah?” He lets out another breath, shaking his head like he can’t believe you, as if you managed to unearth something in him he long had buried deep. A kiss meets your nose.

“Yeah,” you whisper back.

It is a strange thing, this feeling inside of you.

Strange because it is so unfamiliar, but even more so because it does not frighten you. It is something so new, so boundless, and you feel like it should be more overwhelming than it is right now, should make you hesitate.

But it doesn’t. Not in this moment at least.

Rather, it embeds itself within your bones, your skin, and the spaces between your ribs, establishing a residence there as if it was destined to be.

It is not the fleeting kind of lightness that comes with bringing a forced discussion with some Lord to an end or the temporary relief of fulfilling an obligation.

This lightness is deeper, so warm and weighty, like the glow of the first morning sun spilling through trees and making the earth all shiny. It fills you up, but it does not press down on you. It lifts you. Like a breeze curling under the wings of a bird in flight.

The tight pull of breath always caught too high in your chest is getting released. You feel like you exist without effort, at least right now. No knots in your stomach waiting to tighten. Nothing to brace yourself against here in Bucky’s arms, here in Bucky’s lap. You are simply being hold, by this incredible man and the earth and you are finally light enough to notice.

You think, perhaps, that this is what contentment is supposed to feel like. Not the shallow kind you have convinced yourself you’ve had before, but real and true contentment. It is not desperate or fleeting. It is secure and whole. It lingers in spaces where doubt once lived, replacing it with something softer, something stronger.

And you want to get used to it.

Not just the feeling of Bucky’s warmth against you, his hands on your waist, his breath ghosting over your skin as he watches you with eyes that see more of you than anything ever has.

It is what comes with it - the stillness inside you, the feeling that, for the first time, you are exactly where you are supposed to be.

You never want to stop feeling like this.

There is no fear in that thought, no apprehension, no indecision. Only the truth as sure as the beat of your own heart. A truth that you do not need to run from. A truth you want to hold onto.

You have always felt so helpless, a pawn in a game played by men who viewed you as little more than a bargaining piece.

You had believed for so long, that your fate was sealed - to be given away to some lord, some stranger who would claim you as his possession, who would shape your life to fit his desires.

You never thought you had a choice.

But now, especially here with Bucky, freedom no longer feels like a foolish dream.

But you are not dreaming anymore.

You are no longer walking through marble halls and seeing a ghost in your reflection in the polished floors, your presence announced before you even entered a room.

You had been told your life that power is your birthright. That it is simply something you have because of your blood.

But you have never felt less powerful than when you sat on a throne, looking down at a world you were meant to govern someday but have never touched. Never walked through. Never lived in. A kingdom only yours by name but not by heart.

But here - in this place, this home that is not gilded but real - you feel power for the first time.

Not the kind that demands respect through titles and gold-threaded sashes. Not the kind that is wielded from a seat high above. Not the ornamental power of a princess, where everything was dictated to you, where your hands were kept clean while others did the work.

But the kind that is earned.

The kind that festers in your hands as you work alongside others, as you listen, as you see. The kind of power that does not isolate you, but makes you into something greater than yourself.

You are no longer watching the people you are supposed to rule from afar. You are among them. You are one of them. And that means you can help in ways you never could before.

Not by signing decrees in a gilded chamber, but by standing beside them, hearing their worries not through secondhand whispers but through their own voices, spoken under the same sky, breathed into the same air.

There is nothing grand about this worn-down cabin, its wooden beams creaking faintly due to the wind outside. But here are the walls close enough to feel like an embrace. The fire burns because someone built it, not because a low-respected servant lit it for them. The food is made with hands that know hunger, not by unseen kitchen staff preparing feasts for people who will never truly taste them.

For so long, your life has been a thing of ceremony, of distance.

You smiled in silence at elaborate gatherings while outside the palace gates, there were people who had nothing. You had been dressed in fabrics woven by hands you never saw, had eaten from plates polished by people who were invisible to you.

You were a symbol. A statue.

Here, you are a person.

You are listening. Learning. Understanding. With the will to help.

And you owe them.

You owe Bucky, who risked everything, who once had nothing by the hand of your own father, who still gave.

You owe Sara, who looked at you with concern instead of resentment.

You owe Sam, who teased and laughed when he had every reason to scorn you.

You owe Steve, who came looking for you to make sure you are here because you want to be.

You owe all of Bucky’s friends, who are willing to take you in.

You owe AJ and Cass and all the other children, who are young but already know the world better than you did when you were their age.

You owe the townsfolk, who live with a laugh in their breaths and callouses on their hands, who bake bread and spin needles and sell belongings to earn their living.

You have spent your life wearing a crown, but now you are learning what it means to deserve one.

It took ruin for you to find your purpose.

It took fire to finally wake you up, to finally make you see.

It took the scent of smoke in your lungs, the acrid sting of burning silk, the sight of your world collapsing in embers and ruin to strip you down to something exposed and wholehearted.

It took the echoes of screams, the witness of death, and the brutality of your so-called power stolen by force to finally open your eyes.

It took blood running in the luxurious corridors of your palace, seeping into the cracks of the very foundation that held up your name.

It took watching torches burning high in the night.

It took the fall of a kingdom - the death of a king whose sins caught up to him, a queen who had tried to shield her daughter from the truth but could not protect her from the consequences.

You had never fought for anything before. You had been raised to believe you wouldn’t have to, that battles were waged in war rooms with ink and parchment, that change was something slow and distant and impersonal.

But it never was. It never was supposed to be.

It was blood on marble floors. It was your parent's life’s taken in the dark. It was hands grabbing you, dragging you away from the only life you had ever known. It was hatred in Bucky’s eyes when he looked at you, sharpness in the way he treated you, old wounds bleeding into every moment, every breath between you.

Bucky Barnes had not wanted you. Had not wanted this burden, this reminder of the very throne that had once crushed him beneath his weight.

He had looked at you with cold indifference and that simmering loathing buried behind those storm-dark eyes, seeing nothing but the ghost of a man who stole his life.

But fate thrust you into his hands anyway.

It forced you into the shadows of his world, into the villages and the backroads, into the lives of the very people you had spent your whole life standing apart from. it stripped you of titles, luxury, of safety. Of all the things you took for granted.

You had spent your life being something beautiful, something untouchable. But beauty did not save you. Elegance did not keep you from falling. Manners did not stop the fire from devouring your home.

You had burned that night.

Not just your home. You. The girl who has never asked questions. The princess who has accepted the world as it was given to her. The daughter who has not known the sins of her father.

She has burned away, turned to ash with the palace that has stood for centuries.

Now, you are something else.

You are rage tempered into steel.

You are grief sharpened into resolve.

You are ashes turned into kindling, waiting to catch fire.

And you will rise.

Not as a queen draped in gold and jewels, sitting high on a throne of empty power. But as something stronger. As the force that destroys the old world and builds a new one from its remains.

Something built from the bones of the past, something shaped by loss and truth and the unrelenting fury of a fire that refuses to die.

You will wield it.

You will not let the past define you. You will not let their sins be yours. You will fight. For freedom. For justice.

For the people who took you in when they had every reason to turn you away.

For the mercenary who should have hated you forever but now watches you like you are something worth believing in.

You will be born anew from the ashes of what once was.

You will not let the flames consume you this time.

You will not be caged.

You will set the world alight.

You will rise.

Like a phoenix.

“She survived the war; many times over. And she still somehow looked like royalty.”

- Lalah Delia

Taglist: @cjand10 @unaxv @bellamoret @singsosworld @mrsnikstan @melsunshine @hawkinsavclub1983 @homiesexual-or-homosexual @vvs-dlxodyd @winterassassin1804 @thescarleteevee @coutureisart @chachkid @ibelieveindragons141 @baw1066

[eliasmelody]

UNLOCK BY ACCIDENT

Naib x f!reader, maid reader Warning: threaten, misunderstood, grammar & spelling

INTRO:

Naib stepped into his room, the creaking floorboards amplifying the stillness of the manor. The air felt colder than usual, and the flickering candlelight cast long shadows on the walls. His eyes narrowed as he noticed the faint disturbances. The manor was quiet, but the silence now felt heavy. The unease settled in his chest, the tension rising. Who had dared to enter while he was gone?

The maid cleaned the room carefully as usual, her eyes falling on the lighter on the bedside table. Did the other maids forgot it?

✦.───────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ───────── .✦

It’s just a regular day in the manor, the silence broken only by the soft creaking of the old wooden floors beneath his feet.

He drags his exhausted body back to his room, each step a heavy reminder of the toll the day has taken on him. The matches, once manageable, have now become unbearable. They’re not a choice, but a force that binds him to this relentless cycle. Every moment feels like a struggle, the pressure mounting as they are pushed to play, whether they want to or not. He longs for an escape, but in this place, there is no such thing, just the cruel repetition of forced competition.

Naib groans in exhaustion as he finally reaches his room, collapsing on the bed and letting out a long sigh. He looks and feels completely worn out. As he lies there, trying to calm his racing thoughts, something feels off. His eyes, half-closed, flicker open again, scanning the room.

The quiet is unsettling. His gaze shifts around, taking in the surroundings. The room that had once been his sanctuary now feels unfamiliar, as though it has been disturbed.

His sharp mercenary instincts kick in, even in his wearied state. The room looks the same at first glance, everything in its place, but then he notices it. The dust, usually settled in every corner and crevice, is missing in several spots, on the desk, the windowsill, the bookshelf. Some areas are unnaturally clean, as though someone had carefully wiped away the grime, leaving behind the unmistakable sign of intrusion..

His chest tightens. He hadn’t been gone long, and he’s certain it was there when he left. Someone had been in here. The unsettling thought lingers as he stands, carefully checking every corner of the room.

His eyes narrow, and a sense of unease washes over him as he checks the small table beside his bed. His lighter, always kept within arm’s reach, is gone. It’s a small thing, but it’s enough to send a chill through him.

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

A few days had passed since Naib first noticed the unsettling changes in his room. Since then, he had kept a constant vigil, his senses on high alert, watching for any further signs of intrusion.

The missing lighter was the smallest of clues, but it had been enough to make him wary. Every time he entered his room, his eyes immediately scanned for anything out of place.

Naib was no stranger to enemies who could slip in unnoticed, he had fought many battles in the shadows, but this was different. At first, he had ruled out the obvious: no broken windows, no forced locks. Whoever this was, they were getting in without a trace.

The possibility that it could be one of the staff began to creep into his mind. It was a thought that unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

The staff, always so quiet, so invisible, had never truly registered in his mind before. They were as much a part of the manor as the walls and the furniture, blending into the background, seemingly lifeless. Maids, butlers, cooks, and cleaners, or whatever, were human, but their emotionless demeanor had always set them apart.

He had once threatened a maid with a knife, and though she had shown fear, she had been trained to suppress it. The owner of the manor did not tolerate harm to the staff; those who lashed out were punished severely, often driven to madness. Naib had seen the consequences firsthand and knew better than to provoke them.

Yet, the missing lighter and the disturbed dust suggested someone had been in his room.

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

One day, as Naib walked through the manor, he spotted a maid holding his lighter. His heart skipped a beat. He recognized it immediately, the worn edges, the faint engravings. It was his.

The maid noticed his gaze and held it, her face betraying no emotion. Naib's mind raced. Had she taken it? Or had someone else planted it on her? He couldn't be sure.

He approached her, his voice low. - "Where did you find that?"

The maid met his eyes, her expression unreadable. - “... Find what sir?”

His voice is steely and hard, eyes locking with hers as he speaks. - "Don't play coy. You know what I'm talking about. My lighter. Where'd you get it?”

The maid blinked, clearly confused, and glanced at the lighter. - "...This belongs to the manor."

Naib’s eyes narrowed as she studied the lighter, then met his gaze with a challenging tone. -"That’s a load of crap. It’s a unique lighter, full of engravings and carvings. I've had it for years."

He stepped in closer, his presence looming over her.- "Don’t play innocent with me.”

The mercenary had the kind of presence that could turn dangerous in an instant if he chose to. His eyes, cold and devoid of emotion, seemed almost dead as he fixed his gaze on the maid.

So, she’s the one who took it? The one who dared to invade his space? The one who had driven him to the brink, making him lose his mind for days? The realization hit him like a jolt of electricity, and a dangerous tension settled over him as he watched her. Every instinct in him screamed that this was no accident.

The maid glanced at the lighter, then at him, her eyes widening as if a memory suddenly struck her. She looked nervous.

"I-I can explain," - The maid stammered quickly, her voice shaky.

Naib's eyes narrowed, his expression growing darker, the air around him heavy with menace.

"Go on. Explain." - He folded his arms, his gaze locked on the lighter in her hand, his stillness almost suffocating.

"There must be a mistake. I-I thought this was one of the manor's lighters because of the color, so I took it-”

Her words faltered as she saw the darkness creeping into his eyes, the danger in his stare making her stop mid-sentence, a chill running down her spine.

The mercenary threatened her with his posture, every muscle tense. His eyes were cold and empty, fixed on her with a chilling intensity that made her heart race. He didn't need to say a word, his presence alone was enough to make her feel cornered.

Naib let out a scoff, his eyes narrowing as he rolled them in disbelief. He took a slow, deliberate step closer. The air around them seemed to grow colder, heavier, as if the shadows themselves were drawing closer in response to his silent threat.

"That's bullshit, and you know it."- He said, his voice a low, guttural growl that sent a shiver down her spine.

"I keep my lighter in the same spot every day. In my room. You're telling me you just happened to think it was one of the manor's lighters, and took it?”

The maid gulped. "I-I swear- I didn't know it was a guest room. Usually the manor key can't unlock it if there's someone occupy-”

Naib's expression darkens her words. So she was snooping around his room? Who knows what she could've taken besides his lighter.

"Stop lying to my face. I've been in this damn manor long enough to know how the keys work. You've been in my room.”

"I-It's the truth. Sir, if you just let me-”

BAM

Naib slammed his hand forcefully against the wall, the sound echoing through the hallway. The impact was so sudden that it cut off the maid's speech mid-sentence, leaving her startled and wide-eyed. His face twisted with intensity, eyes narrowing as he glared at her.

“You’d better be honest with me.” - He growled, his voice low and dangerous, every word dripping with a sense of urgency and threat.

Without a word, she nodded quickly, her movements frantic and desperate.

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

Hours passed, and the tension that had hung in the air earlier now lingered in a heavy silence.

Naib stood motionless, watching intently as the maid shakily approached the staff room’s drawer. Her hands were trembling as she reached for the handle, the sound of the drawer creaking in the stillness. She hesitated for a moment, casting a nervous glance toward him, before slowly pulling it open. Inside, neatly arranged, was a collection of lighters. Naib’s eyes narrowed as he spotted one, its color unmistakable, exactly the same as the one he had lost.

He remained silent, processing the truth that seemed to be unfolding before him. The maid, standing still by the drawer, waited patiently, her hands clasped together in a tight, anxious grip, giving him space to think and absorb what was now undeniable.

"So..." - Naib starts. He glances at the lighter and then back to her. - "... It was really a mistake?”

Naib’s gaze flickered between the lighter and the maid, his mind racing. His eyes narrowed as the pieces of the puzzle seemed to shift, but he held his silence. He let out a deep sigh, his tense posture softening as his expression turned less hostile.

“Alright…” - He paused for a moment, his eyes drifting to her.

“But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been in my room. Why were you there in the first place?” - His voice was steady, but the question lingered in the air, carrying a weight that demanded an answer.

The maid’s voice trembled slightly as she spoke, her words hurried. - “I don’t know how, but the manor key can open it. We have a set of keys for cleaning some locked rooms. I... I don’t know how one of them can open yours though…”

Naib's expression softened a little at her explanation, but his suspicion remained.

"And how did you not realize it was my room when you went in? I have my things in there. You would've seen them while cleaning."

She stared at him, her eyes unsure, before glancing down.He held her gaze, waiting for her response.

After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice quiet. “…Sir, no offense but your room is nothing different from a basic room.”

Naib blinked, caught off guard. "...What?"

She went on, her words calm but firm.

"There's no decoration, no personal items. The only thing that stands out is the lighter on the bed table, but even that looks like one of the manor's own.”

Naib was left speechless for a moment. His room was deliberately sparse, his personal belongings carefully hidden away, nothing to give away who he was. He didn’t care for fancy things, and his job demanded secrecy.

Naib stared at the maid. She stared back at him. The awkward silence was so thick that the ticking of the clock seemed almost deafening.

After a beat, he sighed, rubbing his temple. Naib glances over at her, and sees the look on her face. He's never been confronted about his room's barrenness before, and it embarrasses him more than anything. He clears his throat, trying to regain some composure.

"... You can leave."

The maid tilts her head slightly, a mix of curiosity and concern crossing her face.

"I... apologize, sir." - She says, her voice gentle, almost hesitant. - "I didn't mean to-”

Naib looks away, his mind racing as he fumbles for the right words.

"No, it's fine." - He mutters, still avoiding her eyes. - "Just... leave.”

After she leaves, Naib can't help but sigh in embarrassment. He sighs, rubbing his face in frustration. The maid had been nothing but kind, yet doubt still lingers. At least, she's not an enemy.

Innocent enough, he tells himself. He shakes his head, trying to push the thoughts away. I’m overthinking, he mutters under his breath.

✦.───────── ˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗ ───────── .✦

Slow burn. Tough guy needs time 😔

[valentine-cafe]

May I have a tiramisu please?

Bottom male reader perhaps meeting Alessio at a club or party and being smitten with him and decides to have a one night stand with him

Also is it ok if I am 🖍️anon? (Pronounced like craynon)

˖⁺. “ pretty party boy ! ” : 

﹙ top punkgoth mercenary x bttm male reader ﹚.𖹭 ݁

 . . . verse 781 alessio x male reader !! 🍒 : ﹙ punkgoth ˖ mercenary ˖ immortal inhuman  ﹚ 

you found the flirtatious hunk at the club rather cute - and it seems like the both of you can't keep your hands off of each other. might as well head over and get into his pants, right?

﹙ cws ﹚: explicit content ˖ one night stand ˖ penetrative sex ˖ fingering ˖ size difference ˖ degradation ˖ rough sex ˖ spit ˖ creampie ˖ alcohol consumption ˖ club scenes | wc : 1.6k

﹙ receipts ﹚: oh I had wayyy too much fun with this and yes ! welcome 🖍️<3

꒰  other treats : guidelines ˖ m.list ˖ characters ˖ our lore  ꒱

Parties seemed to be his scene. Even moreso when he's got a pretty lil' thing like you grinding up on him on the dance floor. He barely knew your name but he sure as hell knew the taste of your lips. Fuck. You were fun to kiss.

He found that out especially so when you stumbled with him through the hazes of booze and bright lights. His hands were all over you from the crowd to the bar. He bought you a drink, then two. Let you pipe on about how you're so happy you can unwind after exam week. He finds out you're a student at his uni. Well ain't that convenient?

"Mechanical huh?"

"Yup! First year."

"Well if you need a tutor," his lips smile into the rim of his glass. Glossy emerald eyes flicker over in time for you giggle. Your hand shoves at his arm. Electric. Your touch, your eyes. Everything about you.

So eager too. You just slipped off of his lap after another steamy makeout. Did you even remember his name? "You offerrin' me something, 'essio?" Seems you do. He quite likes it on your tongue.

His hand falls back to your thigh, just as greedy. A calloused thumb strokes along the fabric of your pants. If he could he'd dig in here and now. You'd love the feel of his silver rings clamped round your thighs as he split your pretty little hole open. "Maybe I am. It working?"

What a charmer. His words couple with a grin and a wink. Dangerous. That's the only way to describe. But like most forbidden things, the man donned in silver and black drips with allure.

You are no saint. Indulge, why don't you?

What else were you to do? Pass up on a guy who's so evidently packing something in his ripped black jeans? No way in hell. You snatched him up the second you could. A second make-out, then a third. All the way back to your apartment.

The door shut and the next second he shows you his strength. Wraps large hands round your thighs and hoists you up. Shoves you back into the wall just as his tongue does your mouth. Chills wash over you as a silver piercing graces your pink muscle so graciously. How friendly.

Alessio's far from a patient man. He'll tongue kiss you breathless all while stripping haphazardly at your clothes. Chuckle when you whine and buck at the hand that had just been pre-occupying itself with your pleasure. Another cute thing — your dick in his palm. Especially how it squirts and twitches all over.

"Pobrecito," his tongue clicks beside your ear. His hand returns to your hard cock and squeezes at the head once - twice - as he drops you down into your sheets. Handling you and your furniture as if he owned the damn place. "Too greedy for a man you just met? Or are ya just that pent up?"

The jerky motion of his palm is cruel. You hiccup and he makes sure to kiss on your adam's apple while you grind into the calloused feel. "Please," you quiver. "Please - please please."

Warmth withdraws, you nearly whine and reach for his hair to cling. "Oh baby I haven't even stretched you out yet." Spit streaks your hole, he's got good aim. You can't really appreciate it as his words run rampant through your mind.

Stretch you out? "I can take it - jus' need some lube. I'm not a virgin." So proudly you say it and yet - the shadow of emerald peering down at you renders you nearly timid. He chuckles, deep and dark as his thumb flicks across your tip.

"Aww that's cute."

His free hand circles fingers at your rim. The centre of his brows crease and knit upwards as he croons while you throb around his slowly inching fingers. "That so? Please." Another snicker. Cocky bastard. But maybe he's right, with the way two fingers stuff you up you're suddenly reconsidering what he might be hiding down there.

He'll stretch you out on his fingers more than once. It's slow for the first round. You wonder if that's what he prefers — but the second has you jerking, crying as he fucks his fingers in till the knuckle. So effortless too. Like he's done this multiple times before.

Seems like it. The way he croons and cooes at you tells you he's said these words before. The way he so expertly know where to curl his criminally long and thick fingers only motivates the fact. He'd get you off twice like that. Lean down and kiss your sticky tip so messily before he finally backs off.

What the fuck. Oh that's more than you could have ever imagined. His fat cockhead slaps back into him. Tall and proud with throbs at his tip to match. And that vein that pulses on the underside? You lick your lips to restrain the urge to swoop down and suckle on it. Not that he'd give you a chance with the snatch to your thighs that yanks you to the end of the bed, his cock rests atop your thigh. Fuck — it's heavy too.

He asks if you're ready. What a gentleman. As if he wasn't making you cream on his fingers just a second ago. Caresses your sides and positions. He even made sure to jerk you off a bit while he pushed in. Maybe he's addicted to your pleasure.

Pop! The tip alone has you straining. You squeeze out lube he drizzled all over combined with his saliva. What's Alessio doing? Grinning. As he splits you open on his cock and grips your waist when you try to squirm. Yanks you back down on his dick so that your ass is spread wide as he jams between your legs.

"This the same cock you said you could take hermoso?"

Skin slaps wet and rapid. Plap plap plap! His balls smack against your ass. Strong hands yank you down on every plough of his cock. You're drooling. Loopy. Head limped into the sheets and hands barely gripping anymore.

A mess of your cum stains your thighs and splatters your tummy. Runs down your poor abused ass to mix with Alessio's seed. He's pumped you full who-knows how many times.

And he's still going.

Your dick squirts more when he grabs it with his free hand that's not got your thigh hunched over his muscled shoulder in a tight slot. "Answer me pretty boy." Even his hiss drips with sex appeal.

You try to nod. Try to speak. How can you when he starts bullying a gummy spot so deep inside. Knocking so roughly. Sloshing up your heat with sprays of more cum. How isn't he stopping?

"C-Can - can take it - can take - hngh - 'e-essiiioooooo I can't takkeee iiitttt."

With a shaky hand you pathetically clamp on his bicep. You want him close. And he's so gracious for a man you just met. He drops his weight and squishes you in half. Pours kisses down your neck as he slams all the way. Throbs a few times. Then shallowly fucks you through another orgasm.

You search for his lips. Messy. Just like the kiss he wretches your jaw into. Oh how he suffocates you. How he pumps you full and has your smaller body creaming all over him.

"Tha's what I thought. Yeah. Fucking whore thought he could take me first try huh?" He keeps a grip tight around your jaw when he parts from your lips. Saliva is the only connecting. Strings of slick just like down below where your tight ass spurts messes of cum again and again.

"Right baby? You can take it. Not a virgin after all - fuckk - so take it!"

Another slam. Your body jerks on the bed. You tear nails down his back and sniffle out a sob as you spray his toned abdomen again. The knot in your tummy is tight. Legs tremble on his shoulders. "Please - pleasepleasee-ease-easseeee"

How pathetic. All Alessio can do is chuckle along the crook of your neck as he paints hickies in return of your cum that decorates him.

He thought you were cute at the party alone. But you're fucking adorable when you struggle to take his cock.

  Despite the roughness he'll pepper soft kisses all over your face once it's over. Hoist you up into his big arms and carry you to the bathroom. How the hell isn't he spent? You can barely see straight!

You'd be in and out of consciousness but he'll make sure to clean you up. Get you nice and comfortable in your bed before slotting in beside you.

You're surprised to see he's still there in the morning. In your kitchen - making you food? "An apology for wrecking your ass." He jokes. You could get used to this. . . but it's just a one night stand, right? You're reminded of that once he's out the door.

Well. Until later that night when your phone pings. When did you give him your number??

﹙ taglist. ﹚: | get tagged for specific posts

﹙ tip jar. ﹚: like our work? consider suporting us 𖹭