#and even getting something in return. like i have the choice to always leave this time but i can handle it and i end up being friends

[haveihitanerve]

not a completed fic but... also not a fic i think i will ever complete so.. have this?

Alfred… had never grown fond of her. Not in the way Bruce and Duke and Damian and even Dick had. Not in the way Cass and Tim had.

Alfred had put Tim in the mask, draped the cape around his shoulders, begged him to take up the mantle and save Bruce. But he hadn’t done that for Steph. He had never liked Steph.

She hadn’t known to what extent, until she had forgotten to lock up her utility belt one night. She could’ve come back in the morning, but Bruce would’ve noticed, and she didn’t want to give him another reason why she wasn’t worthy as Robin. She was certain Tim had never forgotten to lock up his belt at the end of the day.

But Bruce had been in the cave when she had snuck down the stairs, and despite her skill, the skill he had now taught her, he always knew she was there. Maybe it was something he taught all his- the kids. All the robins. A way to hide from everyone but him.

So she had waited, crouched beside the door, her legs growing numb as she waited for him to finish and leave. That was when Alfred had come.

“Master Bruce. Your dinner is cold.”

“I’ll be there in a second Alf.” Bruce returned, fingers flying across the keys.

“She ate an hour ago.” Alfred threw out, emphasis on the she. Emphasis on not using her name. Stephanie’s fingers dug into her thighs. Bruce’s fingers stilled.

“Do you have something to say, Alfred?” He asked. Steph could hear the control in his voice, the measured tone he was using. The tone he used with her when she did something wrong and he wanted her to discover for herself what it was and how to do it better.

He was just like that, wanting her to learn on her own, to not rely on him, to not hear his reprimand but rather his pride when she figured it out. Alfred was quiet.

“She is not Tim.” Bruce said, his voice gentler.

“I know.” Alfred returned. “And that is the problem.” Steph bit her lip as her fingernails drew blood. Tears stained her eyes and she blinked them back.

“What would you have me do?” Bruce asked, and his voice was measured again, though Steph could hear him getting angry. “Kick her out? Return her to the street? Let her run around Gotham alone?”

“He is!” Alfred yelled back. Bruce’s control snapped and he stood, turning to his butler.

“Tim made his choice.” He hissed. “And as much as I want him back he is not coming back. That is not my fault, no more than it is hers.” He snarled. Steph almost gasped. Bruce was… defending her. She blinked the tears back again.

“Stephanie is not to blame for Tim leaving. I need a Robin.” Bruce said quietly, voice firm and hard. “And she stepped up. Not unlike Jason. Not unlike Tim. I cannot make you love her, I cannot make you like her. But you will give her the respect she is due.”

In all her work with Bruce, Stephanie did not think she had ever once heard him actually give Alfred an order. Alfred nodded stiffly, and turned, stalking back up the stairs.

Bruce slumped back into his chair. Steph hardly dared to breathe, but his eyes found her anyway. “I’m sorry.” She whispered. Bruce looked at her tiredly.

“For what?” His voice was soft. Quiet.

“For not being him. For not being good enough.”

“Oh Steph,” Bruce sighed, standing, and grabbed her utility belt, locking it up in her locker. “I never wanted you to be Tim.”  He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her hair, before following his butler up the stairs.

Steph remained there, crouched in the corner, and finally let the tears fall.

[astraearinehart]

──Stella laughed at the words, not really taking offense by what her daughter had just spewed on her. in fairness, she has a right to be suspicious of her, as well as her motives; they don’t know one another, after all, and despite their conversation, it is but a mere glimpse into their lives, doesn’t sum for all the years apart. Liz isn’t aware of the suffering she had endured for years with Claude, with no prospect of things ever getting better. she was trying to be as honest as he possibly could be with her daughter, but words would surely fail to fully paint the right image for how her life had really been before her brother reached out to her to go back home.

“I might go back home, but we will keep in touch,” she responded in a coy tone, smiling a little. however, she did not plan to leave New York for a very long time, had made arrangements to be able to work online with the team, even if her duties wouldn’t be quite the same as she couldn’t be on-site and that would be her brother’s responsibility for as long as she was away. in short, it kind of felt like a vacation for her, and she hadn’t been on any proper one since her return home; her father had been quite strict with her schedule and what she needed to accomplish —and she did because she wanted him to trust her again, and treat her the same as before she had left. the same reason she had chosen to study, a plan she never had for herself before even meeting Claude, if she was, to be frank; she had only planned to be a socialite and enjoy the good life, yet her choices came with consequences. “not really,” she smiled as she shook her head. it wasn’t as if she would have cared either way, and maybe it was her personality, but she had fit well in her class. another soft smile graced her lips. “I’d be damned if I ever didn’t do something for fear of what people might think or say,” she laughed a little —frankly, she didn’t care for the most part, she could beat them up so they could try and say what they thought of her at their own risk, and that applied to everything in her life.

the more they spoke, the clearer it was for her to understand that her daughter did not have a good childhood, getting those little snipers in her memory, as well as the description she had given her back at the bar that night —Claude, despite his arguments, had not been a good father to her. listening to Liz speak of her father and describing a common situation for her back in the day made her wonder how she was still so defensive of him. “and did you still stay in that ugly boat?” she inquired, quietly, remembering well how beat up and useless that thing was; winter was just cruel in that thing and if it rained it was even worse.

a hand waved dismissively, though a smile adorned her lips. “it is what it is,” her tone gentle, almost, as she spoke. “we can’t always have what we want in life without consequences,” and she had learned that the hard way.

⸻ Elizabeth wishes she could forgive her mother the same way she accepted her father. The truth is she could not force herself to change overnight. It is too kind of her own part, to allow this woman to talk to her, and be present in her life again. It was funny, that Claude never talked about his wife when she left them. In fact, he let his own daughter make her own opinion about her mother. ⏤ Her grey-bluish hues met her gaze again. The younger Aussie still finds it suspicious that her mother is back after all those years. Either, she is giving the benefit of the doubt… Interesting. ❛ We have plenty of time together until you flee again. ❜ She doesn't know how long her mother plans to stay, no matter what the woman says, she still won't believe it.

The financial topic… The truth is the younger blonde is a bit detached from material things. She contents with small, perhaps because all her life or the beginning of it, she had had nothing. And she went through a lot of financial struggles. One could get used to a life of comfort easily, meanwhile, Liz was taking time to adjust to a life of luxury. ❛ People didn't judge because you were older to start over? ❜ She inquired quietly, curious to know how she handled it. In truth, Elizabeth wasn't so sure if she had the patience to back to her studies, and mixed with unsure about what she truly wanted to do. Perhaps, it was the main reason why she wanted to avoid this topic.

She loves arts, singing, dancing, and acting… Having the little family she has makes things a bit complicated. ⏤ The question about her father, caught her a bit off guard. Worry as she may be for her own father's sanity ( the one he lacks, truth be told ) . ❛ After you were gone, Papa started to drink even more and use other things. He didn't have another child. In a way, he isolates himself from people, even me. I met a few women, but I supposed it was his one-night stands. He spent too much time with his plants. It was kind of rare to see him with other women. He never brought them home. He used to call his friends. Sometimes, his best friend used to take me out to stay with him when Papa wasn't doing great. He would give me cookies and milk, and let me watch cartoons on his TV. Sometimes UFC.❜ She explained, a little of a glimpse of how everything begins to go south.

Liz in part blames her mother for her father's loss of once and all his sanity. There were things in her father's past he didn't share. She tried to pry, but he would never say anything. ❛ I'm sorry about that. ❜ The younger blonde refers to being trapped in an unhappy marriage.

[xazse]

okay hear me out…. reverse hybrid au… with tigerhybrid!sukuna bc nobody else can handle him because he’s so aggressive and overbearing .. so reader is their last resort zoo caretaker and they’re is shocked at how it’s like reader has a leash on tigerhybrid!sukuna 😚

I’VE GOT IT?

Synopsis: You’re head of a completely different department so why are you being asked to help with an odd situation?

Warnings: Female!reader + Mean!Sukuna + cringe tropes (sorry) + Hybrid!Sukuna: ears and a tail + heat + cumming inside + doggy + NOTPROOFREAD!!! + obsessed!Sukuna

Pairings: Tigerhybrid!Sukuna x female!Reader

Notes: I’m really working to improve my writing for you guys!! Esp my non-English speakers

“Miss please you know we would never beg like this if it wasn’t urgent.”

“I don’t specialize in that field, how many times must I tell you?”

You were getting sick of these scientists coming to you more often than normal, there’s three right now begging for you to take on a case that you didn’t want to do.

“Sukuna is out of control, he’s already injured five of our best, now they refuse to work with him”

“And I should be the sixth?” You say with a quirk of your brow.

They all stop and stare at one another, you have a good ass point what makes them think that you’ll be the antidote for their beast they decided to keep.

“Like I said, my stance on this won’t change.”

Another voice in the doorway of your office speaks up: “I’ll upgrade your pay and have you transferred up.”

Your ears perk up at this offer, to go even further where you are right now means business and a fuck ton of money. On the flip side it means facing whatever they’re against but you’ve always been a little greedy for money so you oblige.

The scientists made sure to throw you in the thinnest garments: “to let him know you don’t have anything on you.” As they put it.

They also had told you no sudden movements and to talk with him in a calm manner, show him you aren’t afraid and find out what’s been making him so angry lately. Easy peasy except your life is on the line!

You disregard any negative thoughts of death and make your way into the place where they keep their hybrids, it’s like little apartments where they can do as they please in return for information on their biology, as far as you know they love it here. You’ve once met puppy!hybrids Satoru and Suguru they were very sweet men, needy but sweet.

Your first step into the apartment is met with a strong smell, a smell of something primal if that even has a smell. It’s warm.

You start poking around his place, checking his fridge and looking for anything out of the ordinary, nothing seems amiss though. It’s not until you come up to one of the doors and hear slight noises. You press your ear up closer making the noise more clearer: whining it sounds like whining.

Could he perhaps be In pain? You knock three times and announce you’re coming in. The door clicks and you start slowly pulling it open. You see the man in all his glory resting upon his bed, arms wrapped around his pillow and an unreadable expression.

Sukuna is big, he’s a big man compared to all the other hybrids, he’s brimming with pure muscle. Does he workout in here? Your thoughts are interrupted by slight growling: he’s warning you. Step any close r and he will have no choice but to harm you.

You pay him no mind, instead you step fully in and start looking around without a care in the world.

“You’re making trouble- why is that?” You say while looking through his dresser.

“You’re being extremely nosy, leave before I kill you.” He threatens harshly.

“If you harm me I’ll have you sent somewhere else, I know where you come from and I’m assuming you don’t want to go back.”

The room goes eerily silent like he’s making a choice, he opens his mouth to speak but a groan accidentally slips past his lips.

Oh… the big oaf is in heat, and top scientists couldn’t tell or try to track his cycle?

“You in heat big guy?”

“No-“

“Such a liar, I’m not here to make fun of you, I’m here to make sure you get proper help.”

“The only way I’ll get proper help is if I fuck someone.” So damn blunt you think to yourself.

He continues speaking: “I think you know they won’t allow that though.”

“Would you like some toys? I can request that for you.”

“Useless.”

You let out the loudest sigh and plop down on his fluffy bed. Bending your head in his direction you see he’s not looking at your face but your body, eyes fully trained on your pert nipples because of the cold.

You allow the poor suffering hybrid to mount you, putting a good bit of his weight on your back you can feel the outline of his thick meaty cock resting near your cunt and ass.

He’s hard, fully hard and probably has been for a while: you feel almost a little bad.

Sukuna doesn’t waste anytime grinding down against you, it feels so fucking good, his cock is accepting anything even if it’s the bare minimum. Everytime he meets your ass he whines, such a needy tiger you coo.

He’s ignoring all the dirty little comments you send his way too focused on the only good sensation he’s felt for a while, his hand doesn’t compare to your rounded ass. You reach between your legs and pull his shorts down, letting his cock bob free for a minute before he’s pushing up against you again.

He’s producing so much precum that youCan feel it through your silky garments.

“Smells so good… really good.” “Mhhhphmmm-“ he’s now being open with his groans too focused on the feeling of his tip prodding your clothed pussy. His swishing tail is within your eyesight, you grab it and rub it for extra stimulation.

You help him a little bit by bouncing your ass against him. He places his head in the crook of your neck and starts nibbling on your neck, you can feel how sharp his damn teeth are and pray to yourself he isn’t going to bite you: killing you in the process.

He doesn’t do any of that instead he just lightly bites, using no strength at all. While he’s busying tearing up your neck you slip your panties off, grabbing his fat length and teasing your wet hole. Just feeling it in your hand has your body burning up in arousal it’s been a while since you’ve had a cock, especially a cock his size.

You slowly start inching it in, the stretch is so damn unbearable and uncomfortable. When he feels what you’re doing he starts moving his hips already. An impatient thing such as him isn’t gonna wait. He gets about halfway in and you feel a thick liquid fill you, did this beast just cum? Already?

“Nhhhnn.. fuck-..” this doesn’t deter him because he’s sitting fully on his knees and pulling you flush against him, his entire length snuggly inside your pussy. He doesn’t wait to bounce you back on him, you can’t comprehend anything properly so shocked by how he just made you take every inch of him.

Your lashes flutter closed as he ruts into you like you’re the damn sex tox he’s been given, one he wasn’t gonna take care of properly. His hold on you is extremely tight so you can do nothing but take him fully, even when your walls threaten to constrict around him he pushes through it and keeps fucking Into you.

You allow him, allow him to thrust like a wild animal, mercilessly pulling all the way out of you just to slam back in. Drool is seeping down your neck where he’s latched on in droves. He’s far too gone, pussy has never felt this good.

By the end Sukuna is still rutting uselessly, he’s not even hard anymore he just can’t stop leaking cum nor has that good euphoric feeling stopped. He’s made a mess of your pussy, his cum and yours seeping down your thighs and onto his ruined sheets.

Hes licking at your face and you can hear a deep rumbling in his chest, this big hybrid is purring in content. Any attempt to move from under him is completely halted, he won’t let you move even an inch.

He begins sucking on your nipples, they’re definitely gonna be sore later but now it seems he just wants comfort and you fully give that to him. Rubbing his ears and whispering sweet nothings to him.

After that incident Sukuna is completely attached, he constantly whines for you to come see him including the scientists also calling for you to calm him down. He won’t let you have a moments peace.

Even when you tell him you’re extremely busy he’s having none of it, if he wants you to laze around and do nothing but rub him or praise/coddle him he completely expects it!

As his mate you’re meant to be with him all the time you should be grateful he’s even letting you leave the nest.

You were left fully shocked when he first called you his mate but the scientists explained that you were his first and now you are his last, they had all praised you because testing was made easier if you were there.

They’re all surprised to see him completely like mush under you, like one time when it was time for his blood to be drawn he made you come and sit in his lap while he had it taken. The doctors said he seemed to be completely smitten with you, in love and so possessive.

[teamred]

any other way

✩‌ logan howlett/wolverine x reader | fluff | 1.8k

SUMMARY | in which your good friend, wade, ditches your planned movie night, but his roommate offers to watch one with you instead. however, logan ends up falling asleep on your shoulder.

WARNINGS | drinking, kissing, swearing, gets a little steamy/handsy

RATING | teen+

NOTES | it's funny... i've been a big x-men fan for a while, but i never really fell for logan until d&w. if this pops off, maybe i'll write more for him!!!

///

“Wade, hurry up and let me in! A girl can only hold freshly popped popcorn for so—oh.” 

Instead of your dear, annoying friend, it’s his gorgeous, rugged roommate who answers the apartment door instead. Your eyes sweep over him, taking a liking to how his brown plaid button-up drapes over his white tank top. His clothing choices compliment his sturdy frame and strong pecs. His facial hair is perfectly groomed and—  

And it doesn’t help that you have just the teeniest, tiniest crush on him. 

“Logan, hey!” you exclaim, a little too enthusiastically. “I didn’t know you were going to be here for movie night too.” 

“Wade’s not here, bub,” Logan says, leaning against the doorframe with crossed arms and a sympathetic half-smile.

“What?! That little shit said he’d be free tonight…”  You sigh, shaking your head. “Well, it’s all good. I’ll just—” 

“Did you want to watch a movie with me instead?” Logan offers. You think you hear a hint of hopefulness in his voice. “Since you came out all this way?” 

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, I wouldn’t want to bother you. I’m sure you’re—”

“Darlin’,” he interrupts with a soft chuckle. Your heart stumbles at the sound. “I have never been more free on a Saturday night. You’re welcome to join me, but only if you’re comfortable with it.” 

Now your heart is melting over his kindness. You smile warmly. “I always feel comfortable around you, Logan.” 

He returns the smile and gestures for you to come in, offering to take the popcorn and if you want anything as you remove your shoes.

“I got it, but thank you. A beer would be good,” you reply, settling in on one end of the couch in the living room. You glance around curiously. “Is Blind Al not home either?” 

“Yeah,” Logan calls from the nearby kitchen, bending towards the open fridge to grab the drinks. “She’s getting, in her own words, ‘turned up’ at the casino tonight.”

You snicker as you browse through streaming services to pick a movie for tonight. Logan returns with a beer in each hand and you’re surprised when he takes the middle seat next to you. You catch a whiff of his scent and it is intoxicating–a blend of woody notes, perhaps leather and pine. 

“So what’s the movie for tonight?” Logan asks, taking a sip from his bottle. 

“Well, be honest with me here: Wade promised that we could watch this new movie that just released a few days ago, but it’s a romantic movie, so—” 

“Of course,” he cuts in with a roll of his eyes, tossing a kernel into his mouth. “That’s his favourite genre.” 

You deflate a little. “Okay, with that tone, I’m assuming I will have to change the movie choice.” 

“No! Don’t change it because of me,” Logan quickly interjects. “We can watch whatever you want. I’m genuinely content to just sit here and do something other than watching reruns I’ve seen a million times before.” 

You study him for a moment, trying to gauge his sincerity. “Are you sure?” 

“I’m sure,” he reassures you, nodding and flashing another smile. You will yourself to calm your racing heart and focus on finding the movie. Once you select it, you press play and relax into the couch cushions. 

Out of nowhere, Logan places his arm around you, his hand slightly hovering above your shoulders. You stiffen at the unexpected move, unsure why he’s doing it. But then he quickly pulls back, shuffling a bit away from you.

“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, clearly embarrassed. “It’s out of habit when I watch stuff.”

“You can leave your arm there,” you blurt out. You don’t even register the words coming out of your mouth. Where was this boldness coming from? 

He quirks an eyebrow, amused. “Yeah?” 

“Mm-hmm,” you nod fervently, rushing to grab your beer to steady your nerves. Taking a long sip, you try to force your body to relax again. 

The first few minutes of the movie starts quite slow, but your eyes are glued to the screen to ensure you don’t miss the exposition. Just as you reach for the popcorn, so does Logan, and the back of your hands brush against each other. 

“Sorry,” you both mumble, glancing at each other in awkwardness and something hanging in the air. He juts his chin out with a subtle smirk, gesturing you to go first. You grab a handful, and as he follows suit, his fingers graze against yours, causing you to shiver. 

The air in the room is electric, and you wonder if the tension is just in your head or if Logan feels it too. The movie continues, but your thoughts are consumed by the warmth of his body so close to yours and the possibility of what might happen next. 

Later into the movie, you freeze as you feel Logan leaning in closer. You turn your head, ready for what might happen–

But then, he goes completely lax, slouching into your shoulder and resting his head in a comfortable position. 

“I should’ve chosen a different movie…” you think, shaking your head. 

It’s hard to focus on the movie with this gorgeous being asleep on your shoulder (and the movie doesn’t seem to be that great anyway). Towards the end of the movie, your attention drifts completely and you indulge in how Logan sleeps. His soft snoring. The gentle squeezes he gives your shoulder as he dreams. The steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathes in and out. 

Suddenly, Logan stirs and lifts his head, almost snorting up air cutely. He blinks groggily. “Oh, shit. I’m sorry, gorgeous. Did I sleep through the movie?” 

You hesitate, hung up on the fact that he called you gorgeous. Your cheeks prickle as you search for the right words to say.

“Yeah, you did,” you whisper with a small smile. “But it’s fine. It wasn’t that great anyway.” 

“Mm, figures,” he mumbles. “Did you wanna watch another movie or—” 

As he straightens up, you instinctively lean towards him, closing the gap between you two. Your noses practically touch.

“Or did you wanna do…” Logan’s voice is low and gravelly. You hold your breath and hold his gaze. “...something else?” 

You barely nod, and he drags you into a searing kiss. His hands cup your cheek and neck with urgency. Soon enough, his tongue dips into your mouth, sending a jolt to your core. 

Logan cradles your body and carefully positions you lower onto the couch. The weight of his body pressed up against you sends you into overdrive. His hands dive underneath your shirt, exploring your soft skin. The pressure of his body against yours leaves you breathless. Not only the pressure of his body, but also his—

“Winner winner, chicken dinner!” 

Wade’s booming voice cuts through the front door like a tornado, forcing both of you to scramble away faster than opposing magnets. However, it’s too late; Wade has witnessed everything. 

“Oh, my God, Blind Al, my plan worked! It fucking worked!” Wade squeals, jumping up and down. 

“Oh, no. Are they butt-ass naked on the couch? Times like these, I’m grateful to be blind.” 

“No, they’re thankfully fully clothed. But they were just dry humping the shit out of each other though.” 

“You ditched movie night on purpose, you asshole!” you screech. 

“Hey, you should be thanking me,” Wade retorts with a wink. “You and Wolvie always have had palpable sexual tension every time you were in a room together. Hell, even Laura agreed it’d be a good idea to set you two up.” 

Logan and you exchange a sheepish smile, acknowledging the truth in Wade's words. 

“Blind Al and I will just be basking in our casino winnings with a few drinks and then we’ll be out of your hair in a few. And then you two can carry on and fuck each other freely on the couch.” 

“But keep it down, please,” Blind Al adds with a hint of desperation.

“I probably should get going now,” you chime in, eager to avoid the awkwardness. Logan quickly follows behind, walking you to the front door. 

“I’m sorry about all this,” he says in sincerity.

You wave him off. “You never have to apologize for them. They’re like family; I’m used to them.” 

“I didn’t know where the night was heading, but—” He turns around to check over his shoulder, lowering his voice and leaning in slightly. “—I’m glad Wade set us up.” 

“Heard that!” Wade calls out from inside the apartment. 

“Damn it,” Logan mutters, making you giggle. “Anyways, would you let me take you out on a proper date tomorrow night?” 

You beam as you reply, “I’d love that.” 

“Great, I’ll call you later.” 

Logan steps outside of the apartment and closes the door behind him, pulling you in by your waist for another kiss. Innocent at first, but then he presses you up against the wall and his hands grips at your waist, extracting a few moans from you.

“Either get back inside or just go home with her rather than wall-fucking her outside of the apartment!” Wade’s muffled voice echoes through the thin walls. 

Logan retreats slightly, his breath warm against your cheek. He keeps his voice low. “And not trying to put pressure on our date tomorrow, but if—”

“If things get heated, let’s go back to my place,” you finish his thought with a soft promise. 

His eyes light up with a relieved smile. “You read my mind. Thank you.” 

You smile into one last kiss, the world fading away as you savor the sensation of Logan’s mouth on yours.

Until Wade pops his head out through the door like a whack-a-mole you’re dying to hit. “Okay, seriously. I will offer you my bedroom, if you’re really that horny, you guys.” He calls out your name. “Also, did you know he can smell how horny you are?” 

“I—what?” you stammer, blinking in confusion.

“Wade, shut the fuck up,” Logan snaps with gritted teeth. He faces you again with a gentle smile. “Have a good night, gorgeous. I’ll call you as soon as you get back home.” 

Logan’s a man of his word, almost calling immediately as you stepped foot in your apartment (with Wade providing unnecessary commentary in the background, as always). 

Later, as you get ready for bed, you can’t help but admit how grateful you were for Wade’s set-up. If it wasn’t for him, neither of you would’ve made a move; it would’ve progressed at a glacial pace. 

Lying in bed and looking up at your bedroom ceiling, you think to yourself how tonight truly was perfect, and you wouldn’t have had it any other way. Smiling, you drift off to sleep, dreaming of what tomorrow’s date might bring. 

ENDING NOTES | thank you so much for reading and giving some love! part two can be read here!

[selamat-linting]

ugh i hate my coworker like, the guy is well meaning and quite kind but the way he took every social faux pas like its an attack on him personally is exhausting. like dude, the world does not revolve around you. also stop holding grudges over petty things that much. this is the reason why you keep getting into an argument with basically everyone at work. like, i can handle the guy, i've been handling him for two years at this point and i gotta admit the good moments way outweigh the bad. yes, even when the time we briefly fight. and no im not saying simple arguments, sales people bitch at each other all the time, the guy dragged me by my shirt once and i pushed him off. but other than that bitchiness my coworker was a good teacher and a good advocate against the manager. one of the few salespeople who could be good at the job without throwing his coworkers under the bus and actively wants people to do better. i respect him for that. and he's the guy who took me to my first piercing appoinment, my first night out clubbing, and gave me temporary tattoos. we are friends at this point. but oh my fucking god his attitude is annoying!!!!

[nightingale-prompts]

You are not Special- DC X DP Prompt

Interdimensional God-like beings are not known for their patience, however it looked like they had gotten lucky.

This being that had been summoned against its will to their universe was actually quite calm. They sat back on a makeshift throne made by the cultists that had brought them here. Its body was the form of a young man draped in silk. He paid little mind to the cult bowing and scraping at his feet as he absentmindedly examined his nails for anything under them. They were as pristine as his marble-like form.

"You know cults get a bad reputation in these modern times." He said not looking up at the heroes who had invaded his sanctuary intent on sealing him away. "Not without cause of course. But not every cult is evil. As oxymoronic as that sounds. But it used to mean a group of people devoted to their god of choice, no different than any other religion except they lived solely to dedicate their lives to it. No tricks or schemes, just beliefs. None of that sacrifice or blood here though. I like cleanliness and a good batch of dessert for my alters."

"We aren't here to give your offerings." Batman said simply.

The teen stretched lazily and shrugged.

"You are free to just pray, take a rest, eat, or do whatever you want."

"You don't belong here. You must return to your own realm." Superman said fimly but cordially.

The cultists panicked as they looked between their god and the heroes. Some had disdain etched on their faces others had sadness.

"Don't belong? I do what I want. Who are you people to tell ME what to do? Do you own this planet? This universe?" The god challenged.

"We are the protectors of this planet. Surely you understand that we can't let you stay here using humans like servants." Superman retorted.

Constantine had a bad feeling about what came next as he got between everyone to speak.

"Sorry, forgive him. We don't want to offend. It's just that our universe has had enough beings like you causing issues in the past. We are a bit exhausted because every major event seems to hit our planet. We are a bit defensive."

The teens's lip curled.

"Do you think you are the only planet with such woes? How conceited. What you believe that your little planet is so special that it is the only one subject to the powers of beings you can't control? As we speak there a thousands of beings influencing this world that have a bigger effect than what I'm currently doing. Are you tired of being the playthings of the universe? Bah! The universe doesn't care one bit what goes on on this little planet over the billions of planets in this universe. You are no more special than a bit of algae on a frozen world." The teen sneered.

"But that doesn't change the fact that we would like one less threat to deal with," Batman said as Constantine tried to shut him up. "Even if you do not care about humans, we care what you can do to us."

"A good point but I never said I didn't care. I'm actually fond of humans but no more fond of them than any other lifeforms. There are billions of aliens in this universe alone. But not one is special because all life is special. Not one is better. But any damage I could possibly do to you could easily be done by the many unseen gods of this realm. These beings have built this world from those that actively created it, ignore it, and those that don't even realize it exists. Could you believe that your own creator doesn't know you are there? It's actually very common."

"You're dodging the question and talking in circles. We just want you to leave." Batman sighed irritably.

"You keep telling me to leave. I have just arrived but I've also always been here. Is this how you greet me?" The teen crossed his arms.

"Are you a god of this world?" Wonder Woman stepped forward this time. "You dress like that of a Roman god."

"Do you like it? I got it from Rome a few thousand years ago."

Well, he never failed to turn something into a compliment, that's for sure.

"But that's a complicated question. If you're asking if I made your universe then, no. If your asking if it exists because of me then, yes. It exists because I do. It's my nature. So I'm not a god. I'm a law of nature." The boy leaned back and kicked his feet childishly.

"You look like a kid." Clark blurted.

"Well... you're right. But you didn't have to point it out." He pouted.

"I mean, you just look...like a person. Not a force of nature." Clark quickly corrected.

"I look like what you can perceive me as. Can't ask a two-dimensional creature to understand three dimensions. Think of me as an anthropomorphic personification of a concept." The teen stood up finally and walked around his bowing worshippers.

"And what are you?" Batman said stiffly as the boy reached him.

"I am the Void. The absence of force or untethered space and infinite possibilities. A place of raw unprocessed energy. So if I exist then a tethered space with one string of possibilities exists. Think string theory." The boy laughed.

"Wait, I know what you are. You're an Ancient, an Endless. I thought I'd get a break from your lot after Morphosis." Constantine said.

The group turned to Constantine in surprise, not surprised that he knew what the kid was but that he had done this before.

"Look, kid. Your lot don't show themselves often. Especially not in front of so many people. You'd usually lay low among mortals." Constantine said suspicious of the young Endless. "Do the others know you are playing around?"

The teen presses his lips together. He glares like someone has ruined his game.

"Should I try summoning them and ask." Constantine smirked, he knew he found his in.

"You wouldn't." He frowned.

"I would." Constantine said "Unless you want to go home on your own."

The boy tried to protest but a portal opened on its own and a hand reached out grabbing the boy by the ear.

"What are you doing in the mortal realm this time?! I told you to focus on fixing the timelines not playing god like a child!" The voice boomed.

"But Clockwork-" The teen whined as he was dragged through the portal "I was just pulling a prank. I swear!"

The boy's voice was muffled and distant as he got to the other side. Then the prtal closed and it was over.

The room went silent.

"He was right. There is nothing special about any life form over another. But that also means he is no different than a human child and held to the same standards." Constantine said lighting a cigarette before leaving the ruins. "You can handle the rest right?"

[annewithaneofthegreengable]

Smile, we're on the camera

max verstappen x reader

Content warnings: unprotected sex (p-in-v), rough sex, dirty talk, language, public sex,..

my masterlist

“Here?!” you screeched. 

“Yeah.” Max shrugged, unfazed. “What’s wrong with that?” 

You choked on your own spit at his nonchalance, how carefree he was about this. “W—What do you mean what’s wrong with fucking here, Max? We’re in a damn photo booth!” 

The blank expression on his face was unchanging. “So?” 

The words on the tip of your tongue died out. Your boyfriend could be a little freaky in the bedroom sometimes and you were all for it. Never had you both risked the danger of public sex, however. 

"So?" you sputter, eyes wide in disbelief. "Don't you have any decency, any boundaries?!" Max's stoic face only serves to enrage you further. "Fine, if that's how you want to play it,"

Max slammed his arm against the opposing wall, effectively blocking your path of going out of the photo booth.

 “We’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you.” 

A shudder of arousal ran down your spine at the gruffness of his voice. “Baby,” you laughed nervously. “I know we like to experiment sometimes, but this is a little far, don’t you think?” 

The air between you was thick with tension, especially with a pair of bright blue eyes staring you down so intensely you imagined the burning embers of a fire raging behind them. 

You gulped as Max slowly licked his lips, giving you a once-over that made you feel too exposed in an already revealing sundress. There was a short distance between you, and your boyfriend’s stature was towering and beefy, taking up a large presence — his imposing nature made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

He walked you backwards slowly, step by step until you hit the far wall of the booth. Pressing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarled. “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now and if I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna haul you over my shoulder and take you out there in front of the whole damn mall.” 

A shiver ran down your spine at his menacing words, your body instinctively pressing back against the cold metal wall of the photo booth as Max's muscular frame loomed over you. The heat of his breath on your neck, the raw intensity in his voice - it was intoxicating and terrifying all at once. You can feel the hardness of his muscular chest through the thin fabric of your dress, as his hands gently but with confident grip move up from your thighs. They slide around to cup your ass, pulling you even closer against him.

You thought you could tamp down the moan trapped in your throat, but you were sorely mistaken when it unleashed without remorse. Your chest heaved with exhilaration and your fingers twitched excitedly at the prospect of something so scandalous. 

“So what’s it gonna be, Liefje? In this photo booth with a little privacy? Or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your choice.”

You had not expected this outcome when you had dragged your boyfriend over to the booth. You wanted to take cute pictures and add them to your keepsake memory box. Now you were deciding your fate; whether you would be leaving your dignity in the tiny stall or chance getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of the shopping mall. 

Max raised an eyebrow, awaiting your answer. 

“In h—here,” you whispered in anticipation. 

The cheshire cat grin you received in return spiked your nerves even further. “Bingo.” 

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, Max hoisted you up into his arms and smothered your squeal of shock with his lips. He wasted no time snaking his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance like always. 

“Mmph!” you moaned when he flicked his tongue against yours. A zing of electricity shot down to your pussy and you threaded your fingers through his hair, trying to grab a hold of it tightly. 

“Maxie, I swear to God, if you ever cut your hair short again I will leave you then and there.”

Max chuckles against your lips, the vibration sending a shiver down your body. "I wouldn't dream of it, love," he murmurs, breaking the kiss to trail his lips down your jaw and neck, all the while keeping you lifted in his arms.

Even after so many years, the spark between you and Max was still alive. Throughout the trysts of your sexual experiences together, the attraction to each other had only intensified. He was sexier now than ever before. And even if he came up with outlandish ideas that made you step out of your comfort zone, you held so much trust in him that it was easy to follow him to the depths of sin. 

He continues to pepper kisses along your collarbone, his warm breath sending goosebumps down your arms as he makes his way to the sensitive spot just above your breasts. Your nipples ache in response, and you arch your back, pressing your chest against his.

“Hold on,” he warned before handling your weight over to one arm. With the other, he unzipped the fly of his trousers and shuffled them down just past his ass until his cock bounced out. 

You gasped at the sight. Max really was hard for you already, if the angry-looking vein straining from his thick length was anything to go by. He was throbbing, you could see his dick viciously twitching with need and your thighs clenched around his waist with hunger. 

The sight of Max, so clearly overwhelmed with desire for you, was indeed a powerful aphrodisiac. The way his throbbing member twitched with need only served to fuel your own desire, your thighs clenching around him in response.

Max's hand finally made contact with your skin, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body. His fingers traced a path up your side, causing you to shiver with anticipation. "You're enjoying this, aren't you, Liefde?"

You tightened your lips to try and hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “Can’t say I mind it so much.” 

His hand reached your breast, cupping it possessively as he squeezed the soft flesh through the fabric of your clothes. "You're so responsive to me," he murmured, his voice low and husky. "I can feel how hard your nipples are, even through the thin fabric of your top.

The amusement was quick to wipe from your face when he reached down and ripped the panties covering your mound. “Max!” you scolded. “Those were new!” 

Your heart raced as Max's fingers hooked into the waistband of your new, now destroyed lingerie, effortlessly peeling the delicate fabric away from your heated skin. The cool air of the small photo booth  caressed your exposed lower half, a stark contrast to the burning desire that seemed to radiate from the man holding you.

He rolled his eyes playfully, trying not to laugh at the way the shredded material now hung from your ankle. “Oh, hush. I’ll buy you some more.” 

You huffed. “What? So you can rip them off me again?” 

Max chucked under your chin condescendingly. “Look at you, learning so fast.”

Smug bastard, you cursed internally. 

“Gonna stop complaining and let me fuck you now, mijn kleine meid.?” 

You scowled and poked his chest with your finger. “You better watch the way you speak to me— OH!” The retort on your tongue cut off as Max sheathed the entirety of his length inside of your pussy in one smooth thrust. Your nails dug harshly into the firm muscle of his shoulders and you buried your head into his neck. “H—Holy shit.”

The sudden surge of pleasure that coursed through you at Max's forceful thrust stole your breath away. Your back arched instinctively, pushing yourself harder onto him. The roughness of his actions, the sound of his breath hitching, it was all too intoxicating.

Max's hands roamed your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer, his fingers leaving imprints on your skin. His thrusts became more urgent, sending waves of pleasure crashing over you with each movement. The feeling of him inside you, filling you completely, was almost overwhelming.

Your moans grew louder, more desperate, as Max's pace quickened. Sweat dripped from his forehead, onto your skin, as he lost himself in the sensations. The air was thick with tension, heavy with anticipation, as you both hurtled towards the edge of a shattering climax. "Max...

The nails of his fingers dug crescent shapes into your bare thighs, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the slow drag of his cock leaving your cunt. You whimpered as his thick girth left you inch by inch until only the tip sat inside of you. 

“Gonna beg me for it, baby?” he asked. 

"Please," you whimpered, not even realizing the word had escaped your lips. Max's grin was wolfish as he began to ease out completely, just the head of his cock nestled against your entrance. He rocked back and forth, teasing you with the promise of returning to your warmth.

“My baby is so polite. Come on, tell me, Liefde, what do you need and I’ll gladly give it to you.”

"Please, Max," you managed to gasp, the desperation clear in your voice. The denial was torture, the touch and then the swift removal driving you crazy with need. "Please, fuck me, fill me up again."

He shrugged. “Good enough.” 

A high pitched keen was forced out of you when Max thrusted his hips up, his dick sat deep inside of your pussy. “Fuck!”  

You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing him to touch every part of you. Max obliged, grinding against you with a primal intensity, his hips slapping against your thighs. "Take it, baby," he growled, his voice raw with lust. "Take every inch of my cock."

Your boyfriend’s eyes shone with pride. “That’s my girl.”

Max fucked like it was the first time every time. His movements were careful and his hands were greedy; always touching you, always gathering you as close as possible to him. And while he was soft with his caresses, his desire to roughly pound his cock into your cunt, as deep as it humanely could, was another story. 

“God, you’re like a fuckin’ vice around my dick,” he choked out. “Would’ve thought you’d have loosened up by now, baby. But I can still barely move.” 

Unable to speak without screaming, you sucked his neck, bruising his skin until it turned a dark purple. 

“You markin’ me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?” 

You nodded your head while whimpering, the nails of your fingers scratching against Max’s scalp. 

Max's eyes rolled back, his pupils constricting as he groaned, his fingers digging into your hips. The sound of his ragged breathing and the wet slapping of his cock against your pussy filled the air. The motion of his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass — he loved it when you got possessive. “Filthy fuckin’ girl. Don’t worry, Liefde. I’m all yours.”

Letting go of his neck with a pop, you loudly whined out, “So good— cock feels so good in me, baby. Fucking me just right.”

“Oh, I know. But you gotta turn down the volume, Liefje,” he chuckled. “Save it for the bedroom, alright?” 

You tried, you really did. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly stroked against the sensitive spongy spot of your pussy made your inhibitions blurry and you couldn’t help moaning like a whore.

Max tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His lips curled up in perverse satisfaction as he shoved three of his fingers into your mouth. 

You hummed around them instantly while staring into his eyes. He made you this way; a willing body for him to toy with, a woman who was quick to fall under his command and you lived for it. You gargled around his large fingers as you jolted each time he drove his cock into you, drool dripping down from your chin and landing on your boyfriend’s lower stomach and dick. 

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Just have to make sure everyone knows how good it feels to be fucked by me.” 

You sucked on his fingers, your eyes half-lidded with desire as he began to take control. He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and trailed them down your body, tracing a path from your lips to your breasts, down your stomach, and finally to the apex of your thighs.

His fingers danced around your clit, teasing you mercilessly before he slowly slid them back inside you, plunging deep to stroke that sweet spot once more. You whimpered, your body trembling with pleasure as he bit gently on your earlobe. "You're going to come for me, baby?"

His strength only turned you on more and even with the intrusion of his fingers, your noises grew louder, more unabashed. 

“Shit, you sound so pretty.” His eyes darted towards the swinging panties still attached to your ankle and he quickly removed his fingers to grab them. “Such a good girl for me, baby. But I think we need somethin’ a little more efficient to quiet my eager girl down.” 

Before you had the chance to whimper again, Max shoved your underwear into your mouth. To both of your luck, your moans became muffled enough to not draw attention. “Perfect.”

Though the volume of your sounds had been solved, the slick noises coming from your dripping cunt became the center of attention. Max groaned, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple as he fought the urge to thrust deeper. "Fuck, babe, you're so tight... so goddamn wet." He grunted, trying to maintain control.

“Mhm!” you mumbled over your makeshift gag. Your worries of being caught had long disappeared, your main focus now to revel in the building tension from your lower stomach creeping to the surface. 

The two of you were only concealed by a pathetic thin curtain that didn’t even close all the way. It left a large gap, one that should a member of the public managed to notice, would reveal Max’s bare ass and your scrunched up face, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his cock. 

Again, you were so far out of your realm to notice. Though Max did as he glanced over his shoulder and the high he got from the danger was addictive. 

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Max discreetly reached into his jean pocket with his free hand while keeping up his momentum. He was so close to the edge, balancing on the precipice of cumming, but he strived to hold on just a little longer. 

Grabbing the loose change, he discreetly dispensed it into the money slot of the machine. “You think you’re gonna cum for me, baby?” he asked, short-windedly while his thighs trembled. 

You whined desperately around your panties, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming thread that was beginning to unravel. 

“Alright. I’m gonna count down from three and you’re gonna give it to me, yeah? Can you do that for me?” 

Thumping your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and nodded hastily. 

“Good. Ready, Liefde?” he asked. 

Your nails scratched the back of his neck in approval and he began. 

“Three.” He pistoned his hips, fucking you with all the energy he had left in him. 

“Two.” The deep dirty grind of cock into your cunt was torturing and your thighs shook as you fought to hold out. 

“One.” On his final count, Max pinched your clit, hard. Your eyes shot wide open at the same time multiple bright flashes blanketed the photo booth and your mouth dropped on a muted scream. 

“Holy— F—Fuck!” Your boyfriend’s shout echoed across the white walls while his fist slammed next to your head. A huge load of his cum shot up into your cunt, overflowing the already full hole. 

Your mind swam in ecstasy from the adrenaline-filled haze of your orgasm. The pure rush of your sparking nerves was a familiar thing with Max and yet the sensation was so deeply gratifying every single time. 

You sucked in lungfuls of air on your comedown, letting your mouth hang open while your ruined panties dropped with a wet slap onto the floor. Shivers wracked through your body and before you could even notice the coldness, Max enveloped his warm body around you while he stroked your cheek. 

“That’s it,” he cooed soothingly while he recovered from his own intense orgasm. “Take it easy, baby.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you until there was no space between you. “That was fun,” you slurred lazily.

Max’s tired laugh rumbled through you. “Damn fuckin’ right it was.” Lifting his head out of your neck, he kissed you delicately. “You alright?” 

“I’m great,” you told him truthfully. “Though you may have to help me walk because I can’t feel my legs anymore.” 

He grinned, satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?” 

You lightly smacked his chest, even if you couldn’t contain your own cheesy smile. “Nope. I’m not inflating your ego more than it already is.” Turning your head to the screen of the booth, your eyes widened at what you saw. “No, you did not.” 

“Oh, but I did,” Max said proudly. “A little souvenir of our sexual awakening.” 

“Oh my god.” The shock of it rendered you speechless. 

“I know, right? Now you have the photos you wanted.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Looking back at your boyfriend, you shook your head. “I wish I could tell you off.” 

“You can tell me I’m a bad boy later,” he suggested with a wink. “For now let's get outta here.” 

Once he gently placed you down, making sure you were steady on your feet, the two of you sorted yourselves; tidying the mess of your sex hair and straightening the wrinkles out of your clothes. Max made sure to pocket your panties from the floor, leaving no evidence of your fun. 

“Come on, you.” He lightly slapped your ass before ripping the curtain open. “We’ve still got some shopping to do.” He stepped out, whistling to himself like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless and held his hand out for you to take. 

“You want to go shopping while your cum is literally leaking down my legs as we speak?” you hissed as heat crept up your neck from the thought. 

Max leaned his shoulder against the booth and smirked. “Well, we do have to buy you some new underwear. Remember, doll?” 

You so desperately wanted to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. 

With a huff, you exited the photo booth, begrudgingly sliding your hand into Max’s. Before you left to continue your shopping, however, he plucked the Polaroids from the outside dispenser.

Your boyfriend admired the photos, each one a debauched image of you with heavy, hooded eyes with your mouth hung open on a scream. 

“You look good on camera, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We should make a film next.” 

Trying to clench your thighs together to keep his cum from dripping down your leg, you swatted his arm. “Pfft—you wish.” 

[iceunhie]

[ 3 + 1 ].

premise. in which entails your daily life being in a relationship with the one and only eccentric wanderer. (alternatively: wanderer's love for you comes in many forms. you welcome them all the same.)

warnings: established relationship, hurt-comfort, slice of life, wanderer is called kuni. jealousy (wanderer), angst. FLUFF fluff fluff. wanhida family goals

a/n: ITS SCARAMOUCHE WANDERER SEASON his event broke me btw [in tears]

BACK TO MASTERLIST || ASKBOX !

# observation one: unconventionally clingy

early on in your relationship, this side of the wanderer remains quite privy to himself alone. this is because he has a very, very uncanny similarity to an aggressive and guarded cat that hisses when given an ounce of affection.

this does not mean he doesn't like your outlandish and grand displays of affection, though; its actually the opposite. (LOL)

the true crux of the matter lies in his inability to let down his guarded pride to admit that he thinks your affection is his lifeblood. (basically, “ew, affection... do it again”)

he's a menace (affectionate), and if you were one for critiquing that aspect of his character, you wouldn't have been in a relationship with him by now, anyway.

however—there is always a however when it comes to him—this does not mean that wanderer doesn't come across points of anxiousness over the fact that his less than affable personality may be something you will grow sick of one day.

he knows he isn't the best choice of a romantic partner; seriously, what were you even thinking... but when he establishes that you are indeed now an irreplaceable part of his life (which will take a long time, good luck), he clings to you with a fierce desperation underneath all that thorn and bristle.

this is part of his visceral fear of abandonment—you are the one thing that he adores, cares for with his entire being (nahida as a close second), and to watch you slip away from him due to his own misgivings will spell out a death sentence for him.

(so please, treat him gently; cradle his cracked palms and broken psyche, and slowly, emphasis on slowly, but surely, he will learn to return in kind.)

this ‘clinginess’ comes forth in his proximity to you. once he has felt comfortable with your relationship, wanderer is quite unafraid to show how touchy he is in his own way.

whether that is to get groceries in your shared home, following after you like a second shadow when you go to the grand bazaar, or even shooing away people that harass you (tba), the wanderer's gaze and all his efforts are always directed to your will.

(you dubbed this as ‘scary cat boyfriend privilege’—and are rewarded with a painful flick to the forehead. ouch.)

—☆★☆—

“where are you going?” the slender hand that stops you from leaving your comfy bed does little to help your need to fall back into the blissful arms of sleep.

“just going to go get some water, kuni.”

waking up to the sight of the wanderer in all his divine glory certainly isn't one of the things you expected in your life, but you welcome it all the same. leaving a simple kiss to his forehead, you pry your hand away with a gentleness you reserve only for him.

he flushes, a lovely red adorning cheeks, to the span of his neck. oh, how you love seeing him melt.

“you won't take too long?”

he doesn't need to breathe, but he sucks in a breath anyway, face twisting to a deep set frown—your telltale sign that your kunikuzushi had a nightmare.

an unanswered question. you won't leave?

your hand caresses the silky soft strands of his purple hair, that in which wanderer nuzzles into. he doesn't seem keen on telling you, and you respect that. you'd wait for him as long as he'd like.

“of course i will. not going anywhere, silly.”

why would i? you convey in that same gesture. i love you.

the tightness of his face relaxes, his grip on your hand loosening. right—you weren't. (you were not going to abandon him.)

“hurry up and come back, then. it's far too early.” his voice is still thick with sleep, though that doesn't temper his signature sass at all.

i love you too. goes unsaid.

your grin sharpens, teasing. “aww, don't miss me too much, okay?”

anddd there's the signature scowl. “...never mind, don't come back.”

“hey!”

shuffling to hide his face from you, wanderer sports a genuine smile, hidden from your sight.

because in your presence, the wanderer stills, and all thoughts of a doomed eternity fall short of how he commits himself to you—wanderer loves and loves, loves you, for you nestle in the space his heart was meant to be, holding onto the mere wisps of your identity and weaving it into the mosaic of his soul.

it's silent save for when you plop yourself back to the bed, bearhugging wanderer and complaining about waking up early again because you stayed up all night playing tcg with him. (he's at 10 wins and 5 losses and he was not going to be caught lacking).

“you do realize that's entirely your fault, right?” he gloats. “it's not my fault my card bested that lawachurl of yours.”

“what?! no way, mister! my all geo team is still superior, mind you-”

once, wanderer wondered about the concept of infinity.

everlasting devotion. of unabashed care and trust. as he listens to your ramblings as the night falls to day, he figures that what you currently share fits that concept just fine.

# observation two: (very) jealous tendencies

it isn't in wanderer's intention to be jealous. well, so he says.

really, he isn't! after all, what was there to be jealous of? absurd! looks, intellect, an extensive range of vocabulary not limited to insults and creative verbal attacks; wanderer boasts quite the sizable number of pros that get most people falling at his feet. (his outward personality leaves much to be desired, however, but his snark does have a certain charm. probably).

and of all the bashful akademiya seniors and well-intentioned young women (and men), you managed to get into a relationship with this black cat of a derisive puppet. this is an achievement worthy of celebration, for not just anyone can take the wanderer and burrow into his many, many guarded walls and claim the title of being his lover.

yet, wanderer is the more jealous one in the relationship.

he knows that you won't cheat on him, and trusts that you won't look at others in such a way. but still, your boyfriend can't help but doubt. be patient when working out his jealousy, for it is a double edged sword—on one hand, wanderer was so adorable when he was jealous; sulky, clingy, hot you name it! and it was very flattering, knowing that he loved you enough to want to keep you all to himself.

but, the other side was quite... a piece of work. should you attempt to tease him about such a thing, it ends in three ways. one, him flying off to god knows where and leaving you alone (😐), two, restricting you from hugging and giving him affection (😭), and worse, giving you the silent treatment (😨). choose your ammunition wisely.

and from this, be prepared for the wanderer to monopolize your attention all to himself— with said admirers mysteriously off the grid or too afraid to approach you for fear of his wrath. i'll say it once: a jealous wanderer is a force to be reckoned with. (and we love him for it)

(he was chided endlessly by nahida for this; “you're scaring all the researchers that want to do a thesis review with [name]!” she says.

a sly smirk was his only reply).

—☆★☆—

“what, and here i thought he had more bark left in him.” wanderer huffs haughtily, with the researcher dashing away as if his life depended on it.

“you'll get scolded by nahida again, you know. i don't think the dendro archon's trusted aide should boast a terrifying reputation.”

he snorts. “lesser lord kusanali has better things to do than chide me for harassment.”

“but you don't have better things to do than scaring away poor kimiya?”

that gets you an eye roll that could reach massive highs of ‘what about it?’ from your boyfriend. “you're overthinking.” (translation: you're right).

“uh huh, sure i am.”

“whatever. who you talk to and interact with is none of my concern. it's not like i care about such things anyway.” he retorts. “i'm not possessive.”

so he says. “by the way, his pickup line was pathetic—‘are you anemo because your beauty blows me away’? atrocious.”

your eyebrow raises in return. really, who was speaking about “not caring” and then judging right after? well, it's fine because he was kinda right.... cyno would definitely get along with that guy.

“it was sincere! i think he has to be commended for his efforts, no?”

“you call that effort?” his face scrunches to a dissatisfied frown.

kinoya, kimiya—he doesn't even remember his name anymore. wanderer doesn't care for those that waste his time, and more especially to those that attempt to get close to you in particular. honestly, what a cheap trick.

and you! you were seriously humoring that moony researcher earlier. you even smiled at him! wanderer seethes, crossing his arms. “its quite irritating, knowing that they flock to you under the guise of—what was it he said? right, ‘shared academic pursuits.’ it was too obvious.”

“first of all: that's rude, second, he really needed help! anyone would feel sorry for him.” you tut, pinching the smooth of wanderer's palm. you wisely decide not to comment on how he immediately interlocks hands with you.

you snicker. “and he was only asking for advice on his research topic, silly.”

“hah! how nice — you're defending him now.” it's incredible how wanderer has the uncanny ability to be just like an annoyed cat that dunked itself into a bucket of cold water; and the way he frowns at you only makes you let out an even worse fit of laughter.

wanderer drinks in the sound, resonating it with the beat of his soul, your laugh the heartbeat echoing deep within his veins. he is reduced to nothing with you—with you, his face relaxes; wanderer may be indifferent to humans, but with you, your mere existence is enough for him to falter like a human, weaken like a human.

and weakly, perhaps in an attempt to save face, he speaks, “you didn't deny it.”

“deny what?”

“...defending him.” (if he were a cat, his ears would definitely fall flat right now).

you let out another light laugh, but sparing your lover the torment, you cling to the side of his arm instead.

“i never had such intentions.” stating it quite firmly, “i'm only saying that there's no competition to be made, darling.”

he gives you a skeptical look in return. “was there even any?”

“none at all.” you lean closer to him, and the wanderer leans into the touch of your hand on his cheek. “since you're winning.”

the flustered blush you receive and the subconscious squeeze of his hand in yours conveys all you need to say.

that did the trick. wanderer's smile is satisfied—smug. “clearly, you managed to make the right call for once.”

“well, i could hardly resist you.”

afterwards, you note that the wanderer's pace doesn't seem as fast as usual anymore. no matter the jaw dropped stares of others at the two of you cozying up together, he never let go of your hand once.

(the next day, kimiya comes to you with a sheepish smile saying that he'd like to focus on his own without your help.

“was it your doing?” you look at the wanderer by your bedside table fastening his vision in pace, voice deadpanning.

“hah? why would i waste my time over some insignificant mortal?” he replies, but as he's putting on his hat, you see him smile to himself.

that little...)

# observation three: secretly? protective/considerate (green flag!!)

if you ask anyone who knows the wanderer on a personal note, you'd find out that he is, indeed, quite considerate—hidden underneath alllll that snark and aloofness and haughtiness, the wanderer cares for those who have helped him in some way, and with you as his partner (romantic), that care is multiplied tenfold hundredfold.

this quality of his, despite being endearing on paper and practice, is reminiscent of that of an aggressive mother hen; if you count wanderer as a hen that pecks someone incessently to show his care.

he chides you like an exasperated young maiden, but the soft way he handles your bruised arm littered with injuries from your recent run in with some strange fontainian seahorse contradicts his harsh scoldings.

(“bested by a fish? are you serious?”

“excuse you, i needed to get it's horns for materials, okay?!”

“...remind me why i'm stuck with an idiot for a companion.”

“uh, because i have a great personality, and you love me?”

“a decision i've made that's quite hard to defend, honestly.”

you stick your tongue out at him. yes, his habits also become yours.)

or how he tells you you're hopeless at cooking, but always manages to excuse himself to cook for you the moment he notices even the slightest decline in your health. one concern though; he throws the bento towards your head—so minus points for domesticity. (...he has cut heart shapes into the vegetables before and has never been the same since.)

if there's anything you can count wanderer for, he will do it. you could ask him to attempt to pluck the very fabric of reality for you, string together the stars and leave them at your feet, and he will do so, huffing all the while (he never means it). he's just smitten like that; not that he would ever verbalize it—yet. his hushed and vulnerable whispers of asking you to let him stay by your side are your closest road to his admittance.

he will not serenade you with ‘shallow declarations of love,’ as he tells you, but you know that he will always be there for you, for better or for worse.

—☆★☆—

fury is an emotion wanderer was once very accustomed to—it reminds him of electric violet, of three betrayals and of yearning for a constitution he was never fated to reach.

and fury tugs at the strings of his being the moment he sees the droplets of tears fall from your eyes, blurring your vision.

“who did it?” something bitter and violent manifests in his countenance, his vision pulsing angrily with gales threatening to harm. (it does not harm you, though. it never does.) “who did this to you?”

his grip on your shoulders tightens the more you refuse to answer, both from anger and fear. you're never this silent; and his panic increases when you opt to bury yourself in his neck. wanderer sighs.

“hey. i'm asking who made you cry like this, idiot.”

“...”

“fine, i won't call you an idiot, then.” but impatient way he speaks the syllables that make your name betrays his worry. “just talk to me.”

“...can we just stay here like this?”

“....”

“sorry, that was a little-” you say, voice strained, pulling away; but the wanderer tugs you close, allowing you to hide from the world that seems so out to get you. (he knows that feeling well, after all.)

it's he who entangles himself with you, listening to the steady rise of your heartbeat, wiping away your tears.

“i didn't say you couldn't hug me, stupid. it's fine. do as you like.”

if it were a person that did this to you, that would've been better murder was never really out of the table with him, but when faced with something he is unable to solve for you; whether it be a bad day, bad luck, or even something he cannot control, wanderer finds himself at a loss.

because the concept of love, with you, is foreign—terrifying, even. betrayal and scorn were his guiding compass, and to be rid of it and to be seen by you, held by you, and to know that you were not going to follow in the footsteps of those he once clung to was far too good to believe. (yet he tries. for you.)

returning your embrace only passively, he tries to scramble for words of comfort—and when he fails to find the nerve to do so, he does the only thing he can allow himself to do.

with the kindness and gentleness he fostered (still fosters, thanks to you) from his memories as the kabukimono, the wanderer holds you, if only to remind himself of his place by your side, unchanging and adamant—as you remind him of his place beside yours.

he leads you to calm yourself down, albeit roughly as he tells you to stop fussing over trying to help him get you something wipe your tears with—and for all his flushed visage, he lets you cling to him, seeking his comfort.

i'm here, it goes unsaid. wanderer knows you'd pick up on it anyway. please talk to me.

(“if i die from this, i'll come haunt you as a ghost.” you shake like a leaf in his arms, clutched tight and staring at anywhere but the ground. who comforts someone by putting them almost 80 feet up in the air? heights are so not your thing.

“like i'd let you.” wanderer says, rolling his eyes. “and you're shaking too much. just keep your eyes on me, will you?”

“...was that flirting?”

“i will drop you.”

“wait, i'm kidding!” a particular breeze leaves you in goosebumps, with wanderer tightening his grip on you. “don't let me fall, please?”

“are you stupid?” he snaps, but urges you to look at the sight of the sunset on the horizon. his hold is more gentle this time, too. “why would i let you fall? now stop shaking and hold on to me.”

you think you fell just a little harder for him that day.)

—and if you decide to press a kiss to the back of his nape as a way of thanks, you're rewarded with a playful gale and a little zap to deter you in response.

“watch it, [name].” he says, but the shifty eyed way he doesn't meet your eyes isn't fooling anyone here; neither is the red on his cheeks. “you're too close.”

“hehe, sorry, sorry, couldn't resist.”

nonetheless. he supposes the growing smile on your face in place of your tears are sufficient payment for wanderer's efforts. hmph.

he'll let it slide for today.

(he does a lot of that when it comes to you.)

# deciding conclusion: totally in love with you (real not clickbait)

saying it outright: being with the wanderer is not a smooth road. it is full of hardships, hurt, and learning. there will be many times when his built in self destruction (read: abandonment issues) will kick in, hurting you in the process.

getting him to say ‘i love you’ will seem impossible at first, and there will be times when his doubt pierces your heart and renders it tattered to pieces. he's doing his best chat, pls help him

he will not be able to utter sweet words of adoration like you do, or return your embrace as easily as you would with him—and there will be many moments when he will feel as if he's not enough.

but nourish your affections, stay consistently by his side, show him that he is worth loving, worth staying for, and like the foundations of a steadily built tower, his trust and love for you too will grow.

(it will sometimes feel tiring, it will feel hopeless, and it's more than what you've bargained for, but it will all be worth it in the end.)

because you know he cares; it's in the way his expression morphs into helplessness when he sees your face fall in an argument, how he doesn't push you away when you kiss him and shower him with hugs, and when his hands lock tightly in yours in a sea of people, with you only in his sights. how his eyes betray him to look at you with fondness and warmth.

(it's wordless whenever wanderer decides to hold you tight at night, hugging you like his last lifeline. especially after a disagreement, with only the quietude of the night to observe.

he said some hurtful words today. that much he knows.

“are you asleep?” his voice is muffled against your shirt, and he may not need to breathe, but he inhales your scent anyway, memorizing the sight of you in his arms like a promise. “...you probably are.”

silence. “i'm sorry.”

“.....”

his lip trembles, his grasp on your arms bruising if not for your non-awareness. there's a wetness growing against your shirt, and small sniffles.

“i'm sorry.” and gently, so gently, wanderer presses his forehead against your shoulder, feeling the rise and fall of your body. “i shouldn't have snapped at you and told you those sorts of things.”

i'm sorry i hurt you.

please stay.

please don't let go of me.

i need you.

i love you.

when morning comes, you wake up to the sight of the wanderer in your bed, face nuzzled in your chest.

there are tearstains on his face.)

getting him to be open and vulnerable is akin to keeping a rusty, torn boat afloat; it will not be easy, no, but you know that he tries, (so very hard) to make it work. that he fights desperately against his own clumsily strung tethers and rebuilds himself anew, if only to understand and perceive you—to love you as you deserve.

and when that time comes, wanderer will cling to you, desperately, completely, and make sure your efforts will never ever make you regret giving him the chance to open up and be with you.

—☆★☆—

“what would happen if we ever broke up?”

dropping such a bombshell in the middle of having the wanderer on your lap was not how he thought things would go to, granted how pleasant the atmosphere was—he'd agreed to going on a much needed date (your words) with you after lesser lord kusanali had just graded him on one of his essay papers. (he got an a, obviously)

you don't think you've ever seen such a distraught look cross wanderer's face—aside from the time you finally beat him at tcg (5 out of 4); and you've never seen him look so angry either.

rather, he looked scared.

“what brought this idea on?” he tries to lodge out the words, trying to act coherent. but underneath, a storm brews—his hands are shaking. wanderer feels like he's swallowed a bag full of needles.

am i not doing enough? was i too harsh on them when i scolded them for fighting that damn mechanical desert robot? he's scared. or... do they really....

the mere idea of you being tired of him—sick of him, and ready to leave him behind leaves an ugly, disgusting feeling. like acid on his skin.

perhaps, you don't love him anymore? wanderer panics, senses going overdrive. was it that argument months ago when he hurt your feelings? he knows you know he apologized, and he's doing everything in his power to make sure he wasn't repeating that mistake anymore—but why would you say this out of nowhere?

or maybe it's because he didn't notice you feeling uncomfortable in your relationship? no, you would have definitely told him if so. then what is it? you don't just say things like this out of nowhere so seriously-

“i mean... at this point, i think i wouldn't ever want to break up with you.”

“...what?” wanderer blinks.

“you heard me.” cupping the sides of his face with your hands, you restate your words with more vigor. eyes determined. “i don't think i've ever loved someone so much as i love you. heck, not even close! kuni, if we break up, i might actually never recover.”

and the wanderer falls. how could you even say such a thing?

“that's... you're shameless.” he states it like an insult, but his hands go up to hide his eyes, hiding his embarrassment from your romantic words. “why would you even say something so out of pocket like that? you utter fool. you almost made me think i-”

- would lose you. even thinking it made him feel nauseous.

“why are we still dating then? but really, i mean it. i love you too much.” you coo, and that, in return, leads the wanderer to release an exasperated, weary sigh. if he were human, he's sure his blood pressure would never be normal because of you.

but contrary to his attitude, he relaxes his face and allows you to hold him. lightens up, even. you continue, rambling on, “be honest, you know you love me.”

“unfortunately.”

and that brings out such a bright and dazzling smile on your face that the puppets sarcastic smile is replaced by a real one when you huff and smack at his head. (all is well.)

“you're so unromantic.”

indeed, being with this strange, eccentric puppet was certainly a challenge in more ways than one. nonetheless, you know he cherishes you—because with you, the wanderer is different. he's bristly, infuriating, and honestly a pain (lovingly), but he cares for you.

he tells you to stop ogling at his pretty face and do the dishes, yet he never minds the attention at all. he tells you that you were a fool for accidentally getting yourself injured by eremites because you wanted to save some fungi, but follows you anyway and makes sure no one messes with you.

he says he probably wouldn't miss you while you're gone, but is always the first person you see when you return to sumeru city. it's these little things that make you love him, and you know the feeling is mutual—even if he'll act indifferent about it in the meantime.

“hey, kuni?”

wanderer's eyes are closed, serene. once he knew that you were not, in fact, going to break up with him, he relishes the feeling of his head resting on your lap. it was safe, warm, and everything to him; but he'd rather let the world burn before he tells you. “what?”

“thank you for letting me love you.”

....

“...idiot.” is all he says. you can feel him shift to the side so you won't see his face. “you don't have to thank me for that. that's so sappy...”

(and if you ever saw the slight sheen of glossiness in his eyes, you keep it to yourself.)

i should be thanking you. he thinks instead. i'm glad you love me.

so many things pop up in his head for this, so many unspoken words—and he may not be able to convey such things to you; he might never be able to, but you know that he loves, loves, and adores you.

because you accepted his past, his sins and his imperfections and treated him with tenderness and care. and you know that no matter how many sides of the wanderer you have yet to explore, you will love each one.

and that is enough for him to never let go.

a/n: IM CRYING I FINISHED THIS RIGHT ON TIME AFTER HIS EVENT and his growth has come so far,,, so proud of him 🥹

[thevillainswhore]

You Look Good On Camera, Baby

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Bucky’s not letting you leave the photobooth, not until he’s had his way with you.

Warnings: Established relationship, teasing, kissing, smut, public sex, p in v, quickie, finger sucking, uses panties to keep reader quiet, creampie.

Author’s note: Unbeta’d, warning graphics by @rookthorne

Aaand all of a sudden we have another oneshot. Sigh. This one has actually been on my mind since these pictures were first released so a big thank you to Lana for finally giving me the push to make it happen 🤭 really enjoyed this one 🤍

“Here?!” you screeched. 

“Yeah.” Bucky shrugged, unfazed. “What’s wrong with that?” 

You choked on your own spit at his nonchalance, how carefree he was about this. “W—What do you mean what’s wrong with fucking here, Bucky? We’re in a damn photobooth!” 

The blank expression on his face was unchanging. “So?” 

The words on the tip of your tongue died out. Your boyfriend could be a little freaky in the bedroom sometimes and you were all for it. Never had you both risked the danger of public sex, however. 

“You’re out of your damn mind if you think we’re doing it in public,” you scoffed before beginning to make your way out of the stall.

But you were quickly stopped in your tracks as Bucky slammed his arm against the opposing wall, effectively blocking your path. “We’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you.” 

A shudder of arousal ran down your spine at the gruffness of his voice. “Baby,” you laughed nervously. “I know we like to experiment sometimes, but this is a little far, don’t you think?” 

The air between you was thick with tension, especially with a pair of bright blue eyes staring you down so intensely you imagined the burning embers of a fire raging behind them. 

You gulped as Bucky slowly licked his lips, giving you a once over that made you feel too exposed in an already revealing sundress. There was a short distance between you, and your boyfriend’s stature was towering and beefy, taking up a large presence — his imposing nature made the hairs on your arms stand up. 

He walked you backwards slowly, step by step, until you hit the far wall of the booth. Pressing his nose against the curve of your neck, he snarled. “All I know is that my cock is so fuckin’ hard for you right now and if I don’t have your pussy wrapped around it within the next thirty seconds, I’m gonna haul you over my shoulder and take you out there in front of the whole damn mall.” 

You thought you could tamp down the moan trapped in your throat, but you were sorely mistaken when it unleashed without remorse. Your chest heaved with exhilaration and your fingers twitched excitedly at the prospect of something so scandalous. 

“So what’s it gonna be, sweetheart? In this photo booth with a little privacy? Or out there where everyone can watch me ruin you? Your choice.”

You had not expected this outcome when you had dragged your boyfriend over to the booth. You wanted to take cute pictures and add them to your keepsake memory box. Now you were deciding your fate; whether you would be leaving your dignity in the tiny stall or chance getting arrested for public indecency in the middle of the shopping mall. 

Bucky raised an eyebrow, awaiting your answer. 

“In h—here,” you whispered in anticipation. 

The cheshire cat grin you received in return spiked your nerves even further. “Clever girl.” 

Without giving you a chance to backtrack on your decision, Bucky hoisted you up into his arms and smothered your squeal of shock with his lips. He wasted no time snaking his tongue into your mouth, fighting for dominance like always. 

“Mmph!” you moaned when he flicked his tongue against yours. A zing of electricity shot down to your pussy and you threaded your fingers through his long hair, pulling it tightly. 

Even after so many years, the spark between you and Bucky was still alive. Throughout the trysts of your sexual experiences together, the attraction to each other had only intensified. He was sexier now than ever before. And even if he came up with outlandish ideas that made you step out of your comfort zone, you held so much trust in him that it was easy to follow him to the depths of sin. 

A string of saliva connected between your lips as Bucky pulled away for air. While he was reckless for suggesting such a depraved idea of public sex, he was smart enough to realise the two of you were short on time to make it happen. 

“Hold on,” he warned before handling your weight over to one arm. With the other, he unzipped the fly of his trousers and shuffled them down just past his ass until his cock bounced out. 

You gasped at the sight. Bucky really was hard for you already, if the angry looking vein straining from his thick length was anything to go by. He was throbbing, you could see his dick viciously twitching with need and your thighs clenched around his waist with hunger. 

Your boyfriend squeezed your hip. “You like seeing me desperate for you, huh baby?” 

You tightened your lips to try and hide your smile and shrugged innocently. “Can’t say I mind it so much.” 

Bucky growled with a smirk. “You’re a fuckin’ tease, girl.” 

The amusement was quick to wipe from your face when he reached down and ripped the panties covering your mound. “Bucky!” you scolded. “Those were new!” 

He rolled his eyes playfully, trying not to laugh at the way the shredded material now hung from your ankle. “Oh, hush. I’ll buy you some more.” 

You huffed. “What? So you can rip them off me again?” 

Bucky chucked under your chin condescendingly. “Look at you, learning so fast.”

Smug bastard, you cursed internally. 

“Gonna stop complaining and let me fuck you now, doll?” 

You scowled and poked his chest with your finger. “You better watch the way you speak to me— OH!” The retort on your tongue cut off as Bucky sheathed the entirety of his length inside of your pussy in one smooth thrust. Your nails dug harshly into the firm muscle of his shoulders and you buried your head into his neck. “H—Holy shit.”

Bucky panted breathlessly, just as affected as you. Though he still had the gall to tease you. “You were saying?” 

You lifted your head to glare at him, still winded. “You’re damn lucky I love you.” And though you wanted to scold your boyfriend for his cheek, you couldn’t help but squirm on his cock. There was only so much you could take until it wasn't enough — you needed him to move. To feel the delicious scrape of his length against your tight walls. “Now shut up and fuck me before someone comes.” 

“You’re so hot when you boss me around,” Bucky moaned before kissing you with urgency. 

The nails of his fingers dug crescent shapes into your bare thighs, but the sting of pain was nothing compared to the slow drag of his cock leaving your cunt. You whimpered as his thick girth left you inch by inch until only the tip sat inside of you. 

“Gonna beg me for it, baby?” he asked. 

You blew out an impatient huff and tugged on his hair harshly until he groaned. “Give me your cock, if you know what’s good for you.” 

“Eh,” he shrugged. “Good enough.” 

A high pitched keen was forced out of you when Bucky thrusted his hips up, the full nine inches of his dick sat deep inside of your pussy. “Fuck!” 

“Should’ve begged like I asked and maybe I’d have gone a little easier on you, sweetheart,” he said tauntingly. 

“If you ever think that I would want it easy then you don’t know me at all,” you clapped back. 

Your boyfriend’s eyes shone with pride. “That’s my girl.”

Bucky fucked like it was the first time every time. His movements were careful and his hands were greedy; always touching you, always gathering you as close as possible to him. And while he was soft with his caresses, his desire to roughly pound his cock into your cunt, as deep as it humanely could, was another story. 

“God, you’re like a fuckin’ vice around my dick,” he choked out. “Would’a thought you’d have loosened up by now, baby. But I can still barely move.” 

Unable to speak without screaming, you sucked his neck, bruising his skin until it turned a dark purple. 

“You markin me, huh? Want everybody to know who I belong to?” 

You nodded your head while whimpering, the nails of your fingers scratching against Bucky’s scalp. 

The motion of his thrusts made his balls slap against your ass — he loved it when you got possessive. “Filthy fuckin’ girl. Don’t worry, doll. I’m all yours.”

Letting go of his neck with a pop, you loudly whined out, “So good— cock feels so good in me, baby. Fucking me just right.”

“Oh, I know. But you gotta turn down the volume, sweetheart,” he chuckled. “Save it for the bedroom, alright?” 

You tried, you really did. But the way the head of his cock repeatedly stroked against the sensitive spongy spot of your pussy made your inhibitions blurry and you couldn’t help moaning like a whore.

Bucky tutted and shook his head in mock disapproval. “Guess I have to do everything for you, hm?” His lips curled up in perverse satisfaction as he shoved three of his fingers into your mouth. 

You hummed around them instantly while staring into his eyes. He made you this way; a willing body for him to toy with, a woman who was quick to fall under his command and you lived for it. You gargled around his large fingers as you jolted each time he drove his cock into you, drool dripping down from your chin and landing on your boyfriend’s lower stomach and dick. 

“Can’t even let my fingers keep you quiet, huh? Just have to make sure everyone knows how good it feels to be fucked by me.” 

Your back slammed against the wall of the stall and the force of Bucky’s hips rocked the whole thing back and forth. His strength only turned you on more and even with the intrusion of his fingers, your noises grew louder, more unabashed. 

“Shit, you sound so pretty.” His eyes darted towards the swinging panties still attached to your ankle and he quickly removed his fingers to grab them. “Such a good girl for me, baby. But I think we need somethin’ a little more efficient to quiet my eager girl down.” 

Before you had the chance to whimper again, Bucky shoved your underwear into your mouth. To both of your luck, your moans became muffled enough to not draw attention. “Perfect.”

Though the volume of your sounds had been solved, the slick noises coming from your dripping cunt became the center of attention. 

“Are you that fuckin’ soaked for me, sweetheart?” Bucky’s eyes rolled back as his cock throbbed at the feel of you. Even though you were wet, your walls still hugged his shaft. 

“Mhm!” you mumbled over your makeshift gag. Your worries of being caught had long disappeared, your main focus now to revel in the building tension from your lower stomach creeping to the surface. 

The two of you were only concealed by a pathetic thin curtain that didn’t even close all the way. It left a large gap, one that should a member of the public managed to notice, would reveal Bucky’s bare ass and your scrunched up face, moaning in pleasure at the feel of his cock. 

Again, you were so far out of your realm to notice. Though Bucky did as he glanced over his shoulder and the high he got from the danger was addictive. 

Wrapping an arm around you tightly, Bucky discreetly reached into his jean pocket with his free hand while keeping up his momentum. He was so close to the edge, balancing on the precipice of cumming, but he strived to hold on just a little longer. 

Grabbing the loose change, he discreetly dispensed it into the money slot of the machine. “You think you’re gonna cum for me, doll?” he asked, short windedly while his thighs trembled. 

You whined desperately around your panties, your eyes glossy from the overwhelming thread that was beginning to unravel. 

“Alright. I’m gonna count down from three and you’re gonna give it to me, yeah? Can you do that for me?” 

Thumping your head back against the wall, you closed your eyes and nodded hastily. 

“Good. Ready, baby?” he asked. 

Your nails scratched the back of his neck in approval and he began. 

“Three.” He pistoned his hips, fucking you with all the energy he had left in him. 

“Two.” The deep dirty grind of cock into your cunt was torturing and your thighs shook as you fought to hold out. 

“One.” On his final count, Bucky pinched your clit, hard. Your eyes shot wide open at the same time multiple bright flashes blanketed the photobooth and your mouth dropped on a muted scream. 

“Holy— F—Fuck!” Your boyfriend’s shout echoed across the white walls while his fist slammed next to your head. A huge load of his cum shot up into your cunt, overflowing the already full hole. 

Your mind swam in ecstasy from the adrenaline filled haze of your orgasm. The pure rush of your sparking nerves was a familiar thing with Bucky and yet the sensation was so deeply gratifying every single time. 

You sucked in lungfuls of air on your comedown, letting your mouth hang open while your ruined panties dropped with a wet slap onto the floor. Shivers wracked through your body and before you could even notice the coldness, Bucky enveloped his warm body around you while he stroked your cheek. 

“That’s it,” he cooed soothingly while he recovered from his own intense orgasm. “Take it easy, sweetheart.” 

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him closer to you, until there was no space between you. “That was fun,” you slurred lazily.

Bucky’s tired laugh rumbled through you. “Damn fuckin’ right it was.” Lifting his head out of your neck, he kissed you delicately. “You alright?” 

“I’m great,” you told him truthfully. “Though you may have to help me walk because I can’t feel my legs anymore.” 

He grinned, satisfied. “I’m that good, huh?” 

You lightly smacked his chest, even if you couldn’t contain your own cheesy smile. “Nope. I’m not inflating your ego more than it already is.” Turning your head to the screen of the booth, your eyes widened upon what you saw. “No you did not.” 

“Oh, but I did.” Bucky said proudly. “A little souvenir of our sexual awakening.” 

“Oh my god.” The shock of it rendered you speechless. 

“I know, right? Now you have the photos you wanted.” 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. Looking back at your boyfriend, you shook your head. “I wish I could tell you off.” 

“You can tell me I’m a bad boy later,” he suggested with a wink. “For now let's get outta here.” 

Once he gently placed you down, making sure you were steady on your feet, the two of you sorted yourselves; tidying the mess of your sex hair and straightening the wrinkles out of your clothes. Bucky made sure to pocket your panties from the floor, leaving no evidence of your fun. 

“Come on, you.” He lightly slapped your ass before ripping the curtain open. “We’ve still got some shopping to do.” He stepped out, whistling to himself like he hadn’t just fucked you senseless and held his hand out for you to take. 

“You want to go shopping while your cum is literally leaking down my legs as we speak?” you hissed as heat crept up your neck from the thought. 

Bucky leaned his shoulder against the booth and smirked. “Well, we do have to buy you some new underwear. Remember, doll?” 

You so desperately wanted to smack the self-satisfied grin off his face. “You wait until we get home, you little shit.” 

An excited gleam twinkled in his eyes. “Can’t fuckin’ wait, baby.” 

With a huff, you exited the photobooth, begrudgingly sliding your hand into Bucky’s. Before you left to continue your shopping, however, he plucked the Polaroids from the outside dispenser.

Your boyfriend admired the photos, each one a debauched image of you with heavy, hooded eyes with your mouth hung open on a scream. 

“You look good on camera, baby.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and leaned down to whisper in your ear. “We should make a film next.” 

Trying to clench your thighs together to keep his cum from dripping down your leg, you swatted his arm. “Pfft—you wish, big boy.” 

But Bucky smirked, a wickedness in his expression. “I’m sure I’ll be able to persuade you somehow.” 

Author’s Note: There may be huge potential for a part two 🫣

[miniwheat77]

Triple Threat. (Keegan, König, & Ghost X Reader.)

!CW! NSFW, Smut, unprotected p in v sex, double penetration, Sex Pollen, drugs, death, violence, poorly translated German, (sorry if I missed any.)

It’s been a long day.

You’ve been walking for miles behind the trio of masked men. You aren’t even sure why you were sent on this mission, considering the three men in front of you were the strongest. Physically and Mentally. They’re all skilled, more skilled than you’ll ever be. But you obey orders and even though you’re pointless to be here, you’re still enjoying yourself. König thought you’d be useful, you can’t argue there.

You’re lagging behind a bit, listening to everything going on. You’ve got a clear idea of how this mission is supposed to go. Capture the target, see what he knows, leave no survivors.

After a couple bomb threats from this person with the target of the base you all stayed on, you had no choice but to do this. You were getting too close to his operation and he was getting desperate. Which means whatever he has going on, is not good. You’d been walking a few miles, it’s where you were dropped off. You were closing in on the building he was in. It was all dense jungle around it. Nowhere to run.

As you approached the building, you noticed quite a few men outside. They were loading up a truck with crates of something. None of you had any kind of idea what it could be. “Keegan and Ghost, you two go ahead. You’re the quietest.” You nod. They give you nods of their own before splitting off into their own directions. “I’m going to go around, see if I can’t get a clear shot of some on the other side.” You mumble to König. He tilts his head. “Be safe, schatz.” You smile, “always.”

You make your way around, not having any idea of what awaits you ahead.

König watches through his scope, not sure why he’s out here when he did better with close combat, but nevertheless he kept quiet and stayed hidden. He watched Ghost and Keegan zero in.

“Y/N, how’s it looking?” He says into his radio.

He receives nothing but silence.

“Y/N? Do you copy?”

After another few minutes of silence, he begins to panic.

“Y/N isn’t responding, she circled around to get a better view, verrücktes Mädchen.” He mumbles the rest as he releases the button on his radio. “Shit. We have to get inside.” Ghost calls back.

“Keegan, do you copy?”

Ghost calls.

Goosebumps rise on his skin when he gets nothing in return. He’s breathing hard, resting up against a door. “Keegan?” He asks again. He sighs. “König. Keegan isn’t answering either.”

He takes in a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He’s surprised when König doesn’t call back.

“König?”

Silence.

“God damnit.“ he breathes, taken by surprise when a dart is being shot into his neck. “What the f-“

That’s the last he remembers.

Slowly, one by one, they’re waking up. They’re on their knees with their hands tied behind their backs. They’ve killed most of the threats, but there’s still one. “Rise and shine.” He smiles. Their vision is blurry but they can hear you whimpering. When they fully register what’s going on, they start to panic. You’re strapped to a chair, fully naked. You’ve got a cloth tied around your mouth. “What the fuck is going on?” Keegan yells. “Ah, so you can talk.” The man smiles. He’s breathing hard, fighting against his restraints. He runs a knife over your chest and you close your eyes tightly, breathing heavily. “Deep breaths darling. Yeah, that’s it.” He chuckles.

König’s eyes darken. He wants to rip this man’s head off for touching you.

“Your precious girl here is infected now. Well… all of you are.” He chuckles. “This little dart here. Holds 1 Milliliter of the sweetest drug you can get your hands on.” He holds up the little dart. “I prescribe about 1/4 of that for my very special clients. You’re all infected with enough of this to kill a horse.” He laughs. “What the hell is it?” Ghost seethes. “Oh? You don’t know?” He smirks. “It’s a sex drug. A bit like the over the counter ones you can buy, but on steroids. When you take a little bit, you get aroused, you produce pheromones that attract people, makes sex intense. But when you take in more than the recommended amount..” he clicks his tongue.

“Heart rate picks up. Blood pressure rises. Keeps rising and rising until it bottoms out. You’ll either die of a heart attack or your heart will just give out.” He laughs. “So.. your girl here. She was infected first. Which means she’s going to die first, and you’re all going to watch her squirm. She’s going to beg for relief, beg for anything you’ll give her. But you’re stuck.” He laughs. “The only way she’ll feel better is if she gets fucked enough.” He laughs. He sits down in a chair, writing something down. “Ich werde dich töten.” König seethes. Looking up at him through his mask. “What was that big guy? Hm?” He laughs. He stands up once more. “You know what, I’ve got an idea. How about we get rid of the ridiculous costumes, show your real faces!” He claps his hands together. He starts with König, pulling off his hood. He glares up at him. Next was Ghost, he tugs his balaclava off. Ghost sends him a death stare. Next was Keegan, who had a smile on his face. “What are you smiling at?” He crouches down. “Just think your head is going to look perfect on a stick.” He spits in his face. He growls. “Whatever. Pay close attention to your little girlfriend, she’s going to start begging soon enough.” He mumbles. “She’s actually really sexy, might give her a go before her heart explodes.” He grips his dick through his jeans and that’s when König tugs at the ropes, feeling them start to give away. You whimper out, shifting in your chair. “Yeah, there we go.” He chuckles, sitting back down. He goes back to writing something down, and you squirming on the chair doesn’t help the situation at all. You’re rubbing your thighs together, raising your hips. You’re rutting them down into the chair for any sort of relief. As the time goes on, the worse it gets. Pretty soon, all three men are trying to ignore the tightening in their pants, shifting uncomfortably, trying hard to get out of their restraints.

“Awe. Look at you.” The man smiles. “Soaking the chair.” He chuckles. He runs his fingertips up your thigh and you flinch. “Stop.” Ghost growls. “Nah, I think it’s time I take her for a test drive.” He smiles. König rips through the ropes, the man freezes when he hears the click of a gun.

“Turn around.” He growls. “Woah… take it easy big guy. I was only joking.”

“Ich habe einen Witz für dich.” He smiles. “What?” He asks. Just then, König pulls the trigger. He hits the man right between the eyes. He falls backward, blood pouring from his head. König cuts the ropes off of Ghost and motions for him to free Keegan. König rushes to get to you. “You okay?” He asks. “No-“ you shiver. He kneels down, freeing you from the chair. “I know, it’s hard. But you have to fight it.” Ghost mumbles. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?” He asks. You shake your head. “No.” You grit your teeth. “Where are your clothes?”

“I don’t know, it’s too hot anyways.” You pant. Your skin is hot to the touch. Keegan stands behind you, brushing your hair away from you to look at you. You’re completely clear aside from a tiny puncture mark from the dart. “The… the only way-“ you grit your teeth, closing your eyes. “The only way is to have sex, I can feel my heart beating out of my chest.” You whine. “I feel it too.” Keegan mutters. Ghost looks down. Agreeing silently. König nods his head. “So what do we do?” Keegan asks.

“We do what we have to.” Ghost mumbles. You nod your head.

The more aroused the three men get, the better they seem to smell. They’re attracting you so much. You bend over, crying out. “You okay?” Keegan kneels by you. “Can’t take it anymore.” You look up at him. Tears streaming from your eyes. “Cmon.” He mumbles, sliding his arm under the bend of your knees and your back. He lifts you up. “We’ve got to find a room or something. If we’re going to do this we have to start now.” Keegan mumbles. They nod. They quickly move through the building, Ghost first, König next, and than Keegan with you. They move in a line, just in case there’s more men they don’t know about. You whine into Keegan’s shoulder. Propping yourself up onto him. “Y/N- what are you doing?” He mumbles. “Need it- need it so bad Keegan.” You mewl. You grip onto him, wiggling out of his grasp so that you’ve got your legs wrapped around his waist. You attack his neck with your teeth, grinding your hips into him.

“Shit- Y/N. We’re almost there. You have to stop-“ he grits his teeth, Ghost and König glance back at you, seeing you attacking Keegan. Your desperation has them aching.

“In here.” Ghost holds open the door, locking it behind you and propping a chair up on it just in case. It’s a bedroom, at last. “Ah- you’ve got to let go sweetheart.” Keegan groans. “No, please. I need it. Need it so bad.” You whine. Grinding your hips into him more. “I know, we’re going to help you. Just… for one second baby.” He breathes. You let go of him and he lowers you onto the bed. “Fuck..” he growls. Noticing the way you’ve soaked the front of him. The three men are standing at the edge of the bed, staring down at you. Like you’re the finest meal they’ve ever laid their eyes on. Keegan is first to break, reaching for his belt. Your pupils are blown out as you watch his hands move to unbuckle it. The other two follow his movements. You bite your lip, body shivering at the thought of what’s about to happen. You can’t help yourself, reaching between your legs to stimulate the sensitive nub that awaits any kind of relief it can get. A mewl leaves your lips and you tilt your head back. “She’s going to have to get used to me, I’ll go last.” König nods. They all silently agree. He’s right, he’s the biggest of the three. After admiring the way you touch yourself, they can’t anymore.

Keegan reaches out, grasping your hips and pulling you to the edge of the bed. “Poor girl. Just soaking..” he breathes. He rubs the tip of his cock over your aching hole, a whine leaving your lips as you raise your hips into him. He moves his hips forward, the tip of his cock pushing through your wet folds. You want to cry when he fills you up. The relief you feel is incredible. You can feel more tears welling up in your eyes as he starts to thrust himself inside of you.

The squelch from your wet pussy is the only thing they can hear besides your whines. You squirm around, the way he feels is almost too much. “Ah- you’re gripping me so tight.” He breathes. “Hold on.” Ghost mumbles. He lifts you up off of the bed, apologizing at the loss you feel from Keegan exiting you. You straddle him. “You wet enough from her?” He asks. Keegan nods his head. “Y-yeah. Fuck.” He groans. He’s never done anything like this before, nothing like he’s about to do. Ghost lines his cock up with your pussy, and you sink down onto him with a gasp. Clutching his shoulders. “There you go, now relax for Keegan alright?” You nod your head. You feel Keegan’s tip aligning with your ass. You’d be worried. If it weren’t for the drug, you’d be modest and shy away from what they’re doing. But as he fills your ass to the hilt with ease, the fullness you feel. You can’t even think straight anymore.

The pleasure you feel from them has you on cloud 9. Vision blurring, you can barely make a sound. Your lips are parted, eyes are blown wide as they start to move into you. A chuckle leaves Ghosts lips at your reaction to them.

“She’s feeling good.” He laughs. “Think so.” Keegan chuckles. You rest your head on Ghosts shoulder, turning to look at König. He’s pumping his cock quickly, he’s desperate too. You reach your hand out for him. He moves closer and you take him into your hand, pumping his cock. He gasps out, head tilting back. You can see them, all of them. More than just the color of their eyes. You can see their sharp jawlines, the small scars decorating their faces. You can see the curves of their lips, their stubble that needs to be shaved. You can see and feel all of them, and it’s too much. Your first orgasm is coming fast. Your thighs are shaking, your cheeks are flushed from the warmth moving through you. “I.. I’m so close.” You whimper. Your hand tightens around König and he hisses slightly. “Fuck.” He groans. You clutch Ghost hard with your other hand. “I-“ you freeze up. Body going rigid as you reach your first orgasm. You cry out, soaking Ghost’s thighs with your arousal. “Oh fuck.” He breathes, looking down. “Look at the mess you’ve made of me.” He chuckles. “Ah fuck- I’m gonna cum too!” Keegan pants. He grips your hips hard. Thrusting into you harder. He’s chasing after his high, using you to reach it.

He’s panting hard, moans getting more unsteady by the second. “Oh fuck!” He growls, teeth gritted as he cums. His thrusts are sharp and bruising as he rides out his high, stuttering to a stop against you. You feel full of him, turning to look at him. He grips your throat, kissing you hard as he slides himself from your ass. “Fuck-“ he breathes. He steps away from you for a second.

“I think she’s ready for you, König.” Ghost nods. Keegan takes a deep breath, relaxing back into a chair. “Does it feel like it’s worn off?” Ghost asks him. He nods his head. “Yeah. I think it’s only got her so worked up because she’s smaller than us.” He nods. “Probably, never thought about it like that.” You’re rocking your hips into him, desperate for more. “I’ll go make sure the rest is all clear.” Keegan finishes getting dressed. König replaces the chair on the door behind him before making his way back to you. Ghost slides you off of him and you mewl at the emptiness you feel. He chuckles at this, “Relax, just for a second darling.”

“Go to König.” He breathes. You nod your head, König lifts you up into him, swapping places with Ghost. He sits down, lining his cock up with your entrance. “I’m really big sweetheart, so don’t get too eager.” He breathes. “Schau mich an.” He raises your chin and you look him in the eyes. “Keep looking at me.” He presses his forehead to yours. You slowly sink down onto him, thighs shaking slightly. He’s big. You moan out, and he takes the opportunity to kiss you. Once he’s bottoming out in you, you can barely hold yourself up. Ghost has his cock nestled into your ass, like Keegan had. He was already so close. When they start thrusting, you can’t keep quiet. It’s so much, and König adds to it. Circling your clit gently. Sucking your nipples into his mouth. You being stimulated is what helps the l drug wear off. He’d do what he had to.

Ghost has a tight grip on your hips, his thrusts are getting sloppy. He hisses, feeling you tighten slightly around him. He’s right on the edge. He tilts your head back, tugging slightly on your hair. König has one of your nipples between his lips, sucking gently as he rubs your clit. Ghost kisses you hard, his orgasm hitting him like a freight train. It’s by far the best he’s ever had. His body jerks hard as he finishes inside of your ass, pulling away from you completely. You moan at the loss of him, turning to look at him. “I’m going to go help Keegan.” He mumbles. He’s readjusting his cargo pants, buckling his belt. “Be safe.” You whimper. He nods. When he leaves this time, neither you or König are worried about the chair in front of the door. He lifts you up, turning around so that he can lay you on the bed. Smiling when you refuse to let go of him. “Relax, Ich gehe nirgendwohin.” He pushes your hips down into the bed, and looks at you. He’s not sure you’re ready for the force he’s about to use on you, but as desperate as you seem to be, he doesn’t think you’ll mind.

He starts at a fast pace, fucking into you hard. It only takes a few seconds and you’re nearly crying from how rough he is with you. His cock is big and you’ve never taken anything like the three of them ever before. You’ve got a death grip on the blankets beneath you, and you can’t stay quiet. He releases one hand, using it to rub circles into your sensitive nub once more, and that’s when you lose it. You’re sobbing when you finally cum again, raising your hips into him and flinching away from him when he continues his fast pace. “Doing so good for me. So ein gutes Mädchen.” He pants. He leans down to kiss you once more, his high is approaching too. The stimulation he feels is intense, you’re wrapped so tight around him, he just can’t take it anymore.

“Oh yes… yes so close.” He grips your hips hard as he slips over the edge, hips hammering into yours as he cums. You’re sure there will be bruises all over you. “Verdammt, so gut.” He cries. His thrusts halt, and he realizes he’s just filled you up with his cum. He sighs. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He breathes. You look up at him. Eyes feeling heavy as the arousal finally begins to wear off. You send him a lazy smile. “Don’t be.” You breathe. He slides out of you, groaning as he does so. He takes a second, panting. He’s trying to catch his breath.

He helps you get cleaned up, making sure to clean your skin if the mix of arousal between the four of you.

He wraps you up in a clean blanket. Lifting you up and carrying you back into the room this had all begun. He’s looking around for your clothes but can’t seem to find them. “It’s all clear.” Keegan nods. König nods his head. He places you down in a chair for a moment, picking up his hood and returning it to cover his face. Ghost and Keegan doing the same. “I can’t find her clothes.” König sighs. “I’ve got them.” Keegan nods. He passes them to König and he thanks him. He unwraps the blanket you’re in, helping you get dressed. You’re exhausted and weak, eyes getting heavy as he helps you. “I’ve got a sample of the drug and some paperwork. That’s all we needed right?” Ghost asks. König nods his head. “Yes. All in all this was a successful mission.” He nods. “Jedoch, this stays between us.” He laughs. Ghost and Keegan can’t help but laugh, even you have a tired smile on your lips. “Yes sir.” Keegan laughs.

König ties your boots, and returns the blanket around you, lifting you up with ease. That was one good thing about the massive man, he was strong. “Let’s get to exfil. We all need to be checked out.” Ghost says. Everyone nods in agreement. You’ve finally fallen asleep and König can’t help but smile.

This was going to be a day to remember.

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART SEVEN

pirate poly!141 x reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, blood, brief mentions of death, ghost is mean, as always, be cautious! masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

Soap was an obnoxious snorer. His heavy rumbles echoed throughout the quarters, traveling right over to you and keeping you awake. It didn’t help that you were forced into his bed, either.

Your eyes remained on the ceiling, slowly blinking every few seconds with the ache to sleep but unable to. You felt groggy yet restless, wanting to succumb into a comfortable slumber, but the snores began to make you itch more and more.

You didn’t know what time it was, but you knew it was too early to be getting out of bed. However, you needed an escape. A breath of fresh air.

Sitting up and swinging your legs over the bed, you stood with all the intention to escape the room for a few moments to get a piece of quiet. You gently slipped each foot into the shoes Soap had gotten you, careful not to rouse the two of them from their sleep.

You could only pray Soap didn’t feel the movement in his sleep.

Slowly, you crept towards the door, wincing at every faint creak beneath your footsteps. The two men were still sound asleep, though it was too dark to tell whether that notion was completely true or not.

With Soap still in a peaceful rumble, you successfully made it to the door, breathing out a sigh of relief at the idea of getting a moment of peace.

Price’s quarters were much quieter. Sure, he snored as well, but it wasn’t as aggressive as Soap’s. The Captain had a bad habit of smoking cigars, something you gathered when you’d seen him once or twice with a trail of swirling gray that seemed to linger a second too long.

“What are you doin’?”

The sound of Gaz’s familiar voice nearly had you jumping out of your skin. You muffled your yelp with a hand, whirling around to try and pinpoint him in the darkness.

You could faintly see his silhouette, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. He looked menacingly in the dim light like this, a noticeable glint in his eyes that shined back at you from the lick of moonlight that poured through.

“Escapin’ again?” he gruffed, unimpressed.

Soap stirred in his sleep before shifting positions, returning back to his previous snoring.

“No, not at all,” you defended. Even in the dark, you could see Gaz didn’t look convinced.

“Yeah? Then what are you doin’ up, creepin’ around like you’re up to somethin’?” Gaz asked. He stood from the bed, arms crossing over his chest.

“I wish to get some air,” you explained as confidently as you could without waking Soap by being too rowdy. “Soap is not easy to fall asleep next to.”

Gaz was silent for a moment before he let out a quiet snort. “Aye. Well, I’m not leavin’ you unchaperoned. Captain’s orders. Can’t risk a little minx slippin’ away again.”

You went to object. You didn’t wish to have company, you wanted to be alone. Being around men was positively suffocating, and living with them against your own will wasn’t what you pictured for your future.

You wanted to live as a woman again. You wanted to live freely again. You wanted to tour the upper decks alone.

Gaz made his way across the room and over to you, his footsteps surprisingly much softer than yours, even as a larger man.

You began to think maybe he had done the same as you before. Rooming with Soap couldn’t have been super thrilling with him purring like a cat majority of the night.

He stood in front of you, cocking his head in question when he noticed your gaping mouth and a slur of words unspoken on your end. 

“C’mon. I’ll join you,” he insisted, opening the door for you and leaving no room for argument.

Moonlight flooded in, causing you to squint. You looked outside of the door, then at him, unsure.

Joining you was nicely saying that he was indeed chaperoning you. You knew the difference.

“I am not going to run away,” you repeated.

“I’m aware,” he huffed, guiding you out with a hand on your shoulder. “But I, too, can’t stand that bugger’s snorin’.”

So really, he trusted you not to run. He just trusted his Captain much more. 

Gaz becoming humorous with you was definitely new. He was usually much more serious, down to Earth, well-spoken. Apart from the casual slip of accusation towards Ghost being jealous at breakfast the day before, he had been rather silent.

You had no choice but to allow him the time to take you out on the upper deck, the two of you falling into a calm atmosphere.

The sound of the waves instantly eased the tension built within you, shoulders falling slack and your mind quieting down. Soap’s snores became a distant memory, and you had a moment to think.

Think about what, you weren’t sure. There were a plethora of things that sprouted, not all good. They had unsettled you since your very first steps on to the ship, but only did they come in the silence of the night.

You wondered how differently things would transpire for you if you were still home, safe and sound. You didn’t think much would’ve changed, not for the better anyway. You still would’ve been the crazy girl who had a wild mind and an absent desire to pursue a life like the other women.

Then Mary flashed, only for a moment. You knew the truth. If the rest of the village was dead, she was just as unlucky. As much as you wanted to hate the pirates for shifting her course of fate, you knew it would’ve been an outcome sooner rather than later.

She was old and frail with only her mind kicked into overdrive. She had the personality of just a girl, but her visits for checkups became more and more frequent as the years went by. You knew she was destined to pass somewhere down the road.

You just wish it was a comfortable death rather than one filled with chaos and terror.

Would, if the time ever came, the pirates offer you a death they couldn’t give to Mary? To your people? Or would they grant you the agony of death in cruel ways the moment they sensed a shift in your trust?

“Your mind seems disturbed,” Gaz said, not unkindly. “I’ve been told I’m a rather good listener.”

“I do not think you’d like to hear about it,” you responded, attempting to steer the topic.

“You’re one of us now, whether the both of us like it or not,” he explained. “I believe that it’ll be a much smoother sail if you have an outlet to release your troubles.”

The two of you halted at the ledge of the ship, peering down at the water. The waves lapped lazily tonight, allowing peace for you to let out your burdens.

“I think it’s rather selfish what you men have done to me,” you began. You took a brief glance at Gaz, who had his elbows leaned on the railings, eyes watching the sea. Where you expected a rebuttal, you were offered silence. “I was thinking of home.”

“I see,” Gaz hummed. “And was it a place you were happy?”

You furrowed your eyebrows in thought. You joined him in resting your elbows next to his, lying your chin on top of them. “Of course. I was very happy.”

“That doesn’t seem very convincin’ from you, little dove,” he noted. He still refused to look at you, though his attention was entirely on hearing you out.

It was a change you didn’t expect to see. It caused you to feel… confusion? Apprehension? You weren’t quite sure how you should feel.

“I was happy,” you tried to defend. Now was the time he looked at you, though it was really more of an unconvinced side eye. “On my own. I was happy when I was alone.”

“Was that such a hard confession?” he jabbed. “Go on. I know there’s more.”

You huffed through your nose, frowning at the water. “I am angry at you for killing Mary,” you confessed. “She was innocent. She was my friend.”

“Every soul is innocent under the eyes of the Gods,” he mused. “We simply do not care to be under watch. We have our reasonin’ for what we do. We will never say we’re proud of it.”

“You ask for me to— to unleash my disturbed mind, yet you are only defending yourself!” you accused with a heavy frown, setting a glare on him.

“I said I am a good listener,” he corrected with the hint of a smile. “Not a good friend.”

“Unbelievable,” you mumbled beneath your breath, returning to looking at the sea.

Where before you were surprised yet relieved that the two of you seemed to be getting on much better than before, it seemed he was taking it farther — by being insufferable. It was nearly as bad as Soap when he would take the piss out on you.

“I am merely jokin’,” Gaz assured with warmth in his tone. “I used to be very good with people, mind you. Now, I fear I’m a bit rusty.”

You glanced at him, resting your cheek on your elbows. The moment of tension had faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving the two of you in that comfortable space once again.

“What made you so good with people before?” you inquired, curious.

“I was not always a pirate,” he confessed. “I did not grow up in poverty, sailin’ the seas. I was someone of higher status before I abandoned the title and sought adventure.”

You stared at him, bewildered. The thought of Gaz being someone of importance before who he was now was mind-boggling. He didn’t appear to be posh and proper, rather a bit hot-headed with a loose tongue.

“What kind of status would that be?” you asked.

Gaz finally looked at you fully, turning his head to face you. His smile was more radiant than ever, completely genuine and kind. It was the most emotion you’d seen out of him. He seemed real.

That smile wasn’t one of a cruel pirate’s. It was a boy with a bandaged heart that was still hidden inside and needed to be coaxed out with a bit of patience.

“A prince.”

Gaz didn’t continue the conversation after. He took you back to the shared room without a lick of an explanation, opting to keep the mystery hanging in the air. Even after you questioned him further, he only gave you a slick smile before urging you back to bed.

Now, it was morning, and you had spent the rest of the night becoming friends with the ceiling once again. Soap continued to snore the night away, yet he wasn’t what kept you up.

It was Gaz. You were achingly curious.

It gave you a glimpse of who these men might have been before you, before becoming pirates. The thought of them being rugged and cruel was still heavy in your mind, but there was also a peek of light trying to pour out and shed a bit of sunshine on what you thought was only darkness.

“Ye up, dove?” Soap’s voice flooded the room and when you peeked up from where you buried yourself in your blanket, you saw Soap standing in the doorway, ready to go for the day.

You felt him leave the bed earlier that morning, but pretended to be asleep, hoping you’d finally get some rest alone. Spoiler, you did not.

Gaz stood behind Soap, and unlike before, there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. It was a faint glint, barely noticeable, but you saw it.

The damned pirate knew he was stringing along on a brutal journey of torture for not answering your inquiries and leaving you restless.

“Price wants ye in the kitchen with Ghost today,” Soap explained. “Since ye can’t do any medic duties, he wants ye to help in cookin’.”

“I do not know how to cook,” you tried to reason. “I only ever ate bread and rice. I will be of no help.”

The last thing you wanted was to be in Ghost’s area. You felt as if you took a step too close, he’d bare fanged teeth out from that mask of his and sink them into you like a rabid animal.

“Ghost’s a good teacher. C’mon, dove, Cap doesn’t like bein’ left waitin’, especially in the mornin’.” Soap encouraged you out of bed, and you quickly slipped on your shoes, stumbling on the way out.

Ghost was already present in the kitchen by the time you arrived. He was laser focused, chopping at vegetables on a wooden block with a large knife.

You had never taken note of it before, given his skull ring was the main piece plastered on his finger, but this time, you observed closer.

Black ink swirled along the back of his hand, dipping underneath the cuff of his shirt. You couldn’t make out what the picture could be, but judging from the rest of his themed attire, you had a good idea.

“The hell she doin’ here?” Ghost immediately gruffed to Soap, who was busy guiding you further into the kitchen.

“Play nice,” Soap pleaded. He walked you over to Ghost, pressing you forward when your body began to protest. “Cap wants her to learn how to cook. Be a lad and help the poor bird out, will ye?”

Ghost stared at you with eyes as dark as the onyx on his finger before grunting in annoyance, focusing back on chopping away.

Soap left before you could get a word out, leaving you alone with the Devil himself. Ghost spared you no glance, not for a long while until his vegetables were chopped and placed in a bowl.

“What do y’know how to cook?” Ghost asked, leaning his palms on the counter. “Y’know how to boil water?”

You frowned at him, offended. “Of course I know how to boil water.”

“Good. You aren’t as clueless as you act.” Ghost grabbed a pot hanging from one of the many cabinets of the kitchen before handing it over to you. “There’s some water in that barrel. Go on.”

You turned your head to where he pointed, noting the heavy barrel seated with others in the corner. You gave him a firm nod before making your way. Once you got to the barrel, you attempted to lean it over to pour some water into the pot.

It was heavy. Overwhelmingly heavy. You weren’t weak, but you were certainly in no shape to lift the barrel like Price had done when he ran you a bath.

It was a struggle. You tried not to make it obvious, not wanting to hear more jests from Ghost. Nothing you did would work. Rather than getting water into the pot, it spilled out around your feet, soaking the soles of your shoes.

Before you could express your frustration, scarred hands came around you, lifting the barrel with a deep grunt. The water poured into the pot, and when you looked behind you, Ghost stood over you.

His mask hid his expression, but judging from the way he looked at you briefly, you could pinpoint the annoyance.

“Christ,” he muttered.

When he finished helping you, he trudged back to his station, stomping along the way. You, knowing better than to quip in return, began boiling the pot over the burning embers of a small fire that centered in the middle of the kitchen.

It was nothing like a normal fire, and it was small, but it was amazing that the crew could even manage to start a fire for cooking on a rocking boat at sea.

You stood patiently and quietly as you watched the water jostle from the slight waves, slowly forming bubbles that floated to the top and popped.

Ghost remained silent as well, not sparing a single glance in your direction. This was something you were growing used to, though you wished you knew why he resented you so harshly.

He was the coldest out of the crew. Everyone had been at first, but he seemed to be the one with the most roughness around the edges. Even in his appearance, he was tougher, and the skulls certainly didn’t aid him in coming off as kind.

“Stop starin’ at me,” he said roughly.

You quickly averted your attention away from him, opting to watch the bubbles. “I apologize.”

“Don’t need no apology. Just need you to stop starin’.” He continued to mutter under his breath grumpily, and you regretted even looking his way in the first place.

“You do not have to be so rude,” you reckoned, frowning. “You are the only one with reservations left for me.”

“Because I do not like you,” he snapped, whirling around to face you.

He was menacing, the way he held the knife and stared at you like you had just kicked his puppy. It was terrifying before, but now, it didn’t feel as threatening.

“You have no reason to dislike me,” you defended. “If anything, I have every reason to dislike you.”

“Yeah? If you hate it here so much, I’ll place a plank out just for you so you can walk it.” Ghost’s hand gripped the knife tighter, his knuckles going white.

“I have done nothing to you,” you clipped back.

“You have done everythin’ to me,” he rebutted. “You are only here because of Soap, and that is only because he is more kind-hearted than the rest of us. If we had it our way, we would not have you here.”

You could feel your blood begin to boil like the water in the pot. It was sizzling, steaming, and heated.

You didn’t have a clue why Ghost hated you, and he wasn’t giving you a clear answer. The only thing you knew was that he did, and he stood on it.

“You are the ones who took me prisoner,” you jabbed. “You’re the disgusting pirates who burned down my home and took me as a medic. Who is at fault but yourselves?”

Ghost let out an angry noise from the back of his throat, slamming down the knife — except, in doing so, the blade clipped his finger, pebbling up drops of blood that began to drip down his finger and on to the wooden block beneath it.

Immediately, your fury turned to worry, and you hurried over to check the cut. Instead of allowing you to help, he stepped away from you, holding his other hand up to his bleeding finger, cutting off the blood with a fisted grip.

“I do not need your help, medic,” he spat, turning away and storming out of the kitchen.

You watched wearily as he left, the door slamming behind him. You didn’t like getting into fights, let alone with Ghost. He was harsh with his words and did not hold back on your feelings.

Now, you felt you were the reason he hurt himself to begin with. You were taken in as a medic, and you couldn’t even fix up the one man who had hurt himself thus far.

You let out a heavy sigh, slumping your arms on to the counter to bury your face in them. Before you could, a glimpse of something unfamiliar caught your eye.

Upon closer inspection, you noticed something off about Ghost’s blood that had dropped the wooden block. When it had first dripped, it was a deep crimson.

Now, as you looked, it had changed. It was no longer red and was unmistakably black in color.

[madaqueue]

CARVE ME UP AND EAT ME

there was almost no information on the mysterious cult nestled into the mountainside near your hometown, with even less knowledge about its leader. curiosity sets you on your path to investigate, but something else manages to keep you.

pairing: vampire!suguru geto x f!reader

themes/content: dark content (dubcon). smut. cult leader suguru, blood drinking/feeding, like mind control-ish? idk i was making up vampire rules here, pet names (little lamb), oral (reader receiving), p in v (missionary). 18+, MDNI (wk: 7.6k)

a/n: HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE!!!!!!!!!!!! thanks for getting freaky with me this month, it's been such a blast and i love you all!!!! hope you get to dress up and have lots of yummy candy tonight :) mwah!!!!!

quintober masterlist | main masterlist

People rarely came back from the mountains.

When they did, they were…different. Months, even years having passed from their disappearance, and suddenly returning with no memory of it. As though their time away suddenly ceased to exist. They couldn’t recall what they had done, who they were with, anything that could help the townspeople pin down the mysterious group making their home in the depths of the woods.

Any efforts to catch the so-called cult were obviously futile - the town lost enough soldiers that the leaders decided it was pointless to send anymore sacrifices.

So, there was a sort of peace. Well, less peace, and more a silent war, a battle of contempt, one that left everyone on edge. Whenever someone went missing, the entire village stood on edge, waiting but never searching.

But you were trained well, oh so well.

“Never go out at night.” “Never stray from us.” “Never get lost.”

“Never go into the mountains.”

They praised you for your obedience, feeding it to you from dirtied palms, making you kneel before them to drink from it. It felt good to be good.

Obedience is strength.

Their orders pulled at the strings of your muscles, dictating your actions, your movements, your very thoughts. They pulled and pulled and pulled until you were stretched taut, desperately tightening you into a form they deemed desirable.

It was only a matter of time before the strings snapped.

The fight was blurry now, nothing more than screams and tears and broken expectations so sharp you worried you may cut yourself. Your feet hit the ground outside your parents’ home faster than you could breathe in the burning air, cold in your lungs.

You had always obeyed.

So now, perhaps you could enact your final act of disobedience. The one thing that had been taught to you so deeply until it buried itself under your skin.

The path up the mountain wasn’t nearly as dangerous as others made it seem. Truthfully, it was shockingly well-maintained, the occasional branch snapping under your feet but no other obstacles.

What could even be so bad about this place, anyways?

The people who returned were never injured, always fed and clean and cared for. They always came back in a fresh set of robes draped over their skin, no signs of markings or damage painted across their bodies.

The options weighed heavy on your tongue. Either you’d reach the cult’s temple, or you’d die trying.

Either way, you’d be acting on your own. You’d be independent, free. With an exhale, you blew the remaining obedience into dust, joining the stars sparkling overhead.

The moon seemed pleased with your choice, at least, guiding your path clearly through the woods. Whenever the ground below your feet disappeared, you knew you had misstepped, returning easily to the worn-in gravel placed along the way. Eventually, the trees became sparse, no longer guarding you from whatever lays ahead.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust before focusing on the building before you, a gentle glow illuminating the temple through its exterior screens. It was certainly different than you imagined, expecting high stone barriers walling off a great fortress, leaving you to wonder: could masses of soldiers truly not pierce the paper screens protecting this deadly palace?

Yet, you couldn’t help but feel welcomed; it was unimposing, the warm lights flickering inside a definite sign of life. How many people call this their home? How many people serve here?

The wooden steps leading to the entrance creak slightly below your weight, palm hesitantly resting on the sliding door. Doubt flashes across your mind, the pull of your family threatening to tug you back home - should you turn around, forget this silly stunt and return to the life you had known?

Before you can move, the screen slides open in your grasp.

“Do come in,” a soft voice calls from inside as light floods your vision.

Your weight makes you stumble forward as your feet move on their own, carrying you into the room. It’s nice inside, the smell of sage lingering in the air as you make your way to the center. Before you is a man, his green and gold robes hanging loosely from his shoulders, the bare skin covered only by inky locks cascading down his back. His position looks almost leisurely as he kneels, his eyes scanning your figure.

“Sit.”

And you do - your knees buckle as you lower yourself to the ground.

A devilish grin spreads across his lips as he follows your motions. For a moment, his gaze locks on yours, deep purple eyes staring back.

“Quite an obedient little thing, aren’t you?” he purrs.

Air rushes into your lungs through a gasp, but you can’t stop the muscles in your neck from nodding.

What the fuck is happening? Why can’t you control your body?

As fear begins to course through your nerves, the stranger in front of you lets out a breathy giggle. “Good, that’s very good,” he muses.

When he rises to stand, your heart drops as you realize just how deeply you may have fucked up. He’s tall, easily towering over you. The bottom of his robes graze the floor as he circles you quietly - no, silently.

The sound of his humming vibrates in the air - you want to look at him, monitor him for any malicious intent, but you can’t bring yourself to turn your head.

When he’s completed his course around you, he returns to his seat on the floor. Perching himself on the balls of his feet, he leans forward. Cold fingers wrap around your face, pushing your cheeks together as he easily maneuvers you in his grasp. His eyes burn your skin as you realize:

He’s inspecting you.

With a pleased huff he releases your head, settling back across from you. That same smirk rests across his lips as he speaks. “Tell me, why did you come here, little lamb?”

The sound of your voice hits the air before you realize it’s yours. “I ran away.”

“Oh?” With a tilt of his head, his eyes crease. “Well then, I suppose you’ve found your new home. Welcome.”

Silently, he rises once more. This time, he extends a pale hand out to you. “I can show you to your room, if you’d like.”

At his words, the tendons within your body relax, more at ease. Finally under your own control, you raise a hesitant arm. Is this what you want?

Your palm rests lightly upon his.

He smiles.

“Good choice,” he whispers as you rise to your feet.

The temple’s grounds are beautiful, even in the dark. Flickering candlelight lines the stone paths as you walk through tended gardens, over wooden bridges and small streams. He guides you to a house near the back, tucked safely into the mountainside.

The paper slide shudders as it opens, revealing the outline of a bed covered in crisp white sheets.

“You can sleep here tonight. If there is anything you need, do not hesitate to call for me,” he informs you, each syllable floating through the night air.

With one swift motion he turns, returning down the path you came from.

“Wait!” you call - as the command settles, you sheepishly cross your hands. Dark hair falls over his shoulder as he turns to face you. “How…how will I find you?”

His eyes close as he laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll find you.” And with that, he disappears into the darkness.

–

The sun rises hesitantly here. It peeks its head through the translucent screens, barely illuminating your room enough to rouse you. When you finally wake, your thoughts swirl in confusion for a moment - where are you? what happened? - before you remember the previous night, the path beneath the watchful moon, the man who led you here.

Despite the unfamiliar environment, the warnings carved into your skin about the dangers of this place, you can’t bring yourself to feel afraid - after all, if he wanted to hurt you, he surely would have by now, right?

There’s an ache in your muscles as you stretch your arms overhead, bare feet resting upon the wooden floor, cool from the morning air. Idle hands begin searching the room as you open the hand-carved drawers, the scent of pine still lingering on them.

In the first, you find fresh sets of sheets. Below that, cleanly folded towels.

Moving to the next chest, your eyes widen as you scan its contents. Inside lie beautiful silks in every shade - your palms run over blues that mirror the sea, pinks the color of sunrise, greens brought from the forest floor. Each one feels more extravagant than the last, and as your awe clears, you suddenly feel ashamed to be holding them. They slip through your fingers as you shy away in embarrassment, your dirtied skin unworthy of touching them. They aren’t yours, after all - you’re nothing more than a guest here.

Turning to the closet nearby, you swing open the heavy doors, only to be met with even more luxury, this time robes hanging in neat rows.

You shouldn’t take them, but then again, the man did say anything you needed was yours…and you could use a new set of clothes after your travels last night…

Hesitantly, you pull one of the kimonos from the rack - in your hands, it catches the morning sun, small threads of gold reflecting across the room interwoven with the purple cloth. Sliding into it, you can’t help but notice the way it fits you perfectly, the length extending to just above your ankles, the sleeves resting gently along your wrists.

It feels foreign on your skin, surely you look like a fool, nothing more than a child trying on their parent’s work clothes. Glancing around the room, you search for a mirror to confirm your suspicions, but none seem to catch your eye. Oh well, you sigh, you’ll just have to face everyone looking like a stranger.

Stepping outside, a cool breeze brushes past your cheeks, your arms wrapping the robes tighter around your body as you fight off a shiver. It must be colder at this altitude, no longer afforded the protection of the very mountain you now reside on.

Small pebbles crunch beneath your feet as you make your way along the temple grounds. You try to retrace the path you took from the main house last night, but it quickly proves useless, your memory already foggy. Maybe it just looks different during the day?

Nevertheless, you don’t mind being lost here - the area is truly beautiful. Flowers fill the green spaces, ones you’d never seen before, shades of purple and red dotting the meadows. In the distance, tall trees poke against the horizon, leaves dancing in the wind.

As you wander, you pass identical buildings to the one you stayed in last night. Had you walked past all of these on your way there? Surely you would have remembered them, right?

This time, of course, the lights inside are off. There’s no use for them under the sun that’s now settling into the sky above. There are fewer clouds up here, you realize, perhaps another effect of the altitude.

By the time you find your way back to your new home (only able to identify it by the screen door left ajar), darkness has begun growing along the grounds, insects chirping their nighttime songs from nearby trees.

Sliding your shoes off, the smell of something tantalizing hits your senses.

You hadn’t even realized how hungry you were until you’re suddenly faced with the most delicious looking meal sitting upon the table. Steam rises from the bowl of salty broth, and for a moment you overlook the fact that someone must have been here to deliver it as you hurriedly shuffle to sit down, scooping noodles into your mouth with the chopsticks resting nearby. Finally, the ache in your stomach eases as you slurp the remaining liquid, allowing it to practically dribble down your chin.

A long shadow is suddenly cast along your room from behind you.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying dinner.”

Your spine shoots straight up as you turn, wiping your face with the back of a suddenly clammy palm.

“Y-yes,” you stutter, attempting to hide the utter lack of manners in how you had ravenously consumed the meal.

The man from last night stands in your doorway, leaning against the frame as he crosses his arms. That same smirk spreads across his features.

“Thank you!” you suddenly blurt, aware of your impoliteness. “It was…very good. Thank you.”

Another light chuckle dances across the air. “Please, no need for formalities. I’m simply glad you are enjoying the food. It’s been quite some time since I’ve had to make something for someone other than myself.”

Questions lie along the tip of your tongue, but before they can escape, he turns with a wave. “Well, I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Wait!” You internally curse yourself again for the interruption, but one question in particular was burning its way through your throat. “I realized I never learned your name…”

“Oh,” he smiles through thin lips. “My name is Suguru, but most call me Master Geto. You can choose whatever name you like.”

Warmth floods your face at the title, and further at his informality. “O-okay.”

With another small flick of his wrist, he continues the path away from your room. “Anyways, goodnight,” he calls into the darkness ahead.

“Goodnight, Master Geto,” you murmur to yourself.

–

Your second day is all too similar.

You wake.

You dress.

You wander.

You eat.

This time, Master Geto does not stop by your room at all. You’re beginning to wonder what he does all day - hell, you’re beginning to wonder what anyone here does all day, not having seen a single other person.

All that free time leaves you to fester on your thoughts.

When you were a child, you heard the rumors of this place. At first, it was a sort of commune, a community where disillusioned and lost souls could go to find purpose. But when they stopped coming back, the stories twisted into more sinister adaptations. It was a religious group, who worshiped their leader as a false god. Then, it was a sex cult, who offered their bodies to him as a form of salvation. After that, it was a political power who strove to overtake all of society and enact his rules as law.

Time after time, story after story, it was always him at the forefront: some mysterious man who cornered and compelled his followers to obey.

And yet, you find yourself doubting it. How could he lead if he was never present? More than that, who could he lead if there were no loyal servants here to be led?

It didn’t add up.

The townsfolk were known for fear mongering - perhaps it was nothing more than a way to avoid losing any more citizens, to prevent them, too, from joining the strange man in the mountains.

But then again, you can’t quite shake the power you felt radiating from him when you were in that room, the way he so easily manipulated your body (and your thoughts) with nothing more than his words.

The thoughts string together in your mind as you pace the temple grounds during your walks, the only routine grounding you to the passage of time.

Today the sun struggles to shine through the clouds, a general greyness cast upon everything. It’s been almost two weeks, and you’ve barely seen him at all. Occasionally he’ll stop by your room, but only hover in the doorway, never entering. His voice always seems so calm when he speaks to you, offering simple observations about your meals, as though he was slowly investigating your preferences (not that he needed to - you were grateful simply to be fed - but he persisted nonetheless).

Tonight, you return to find the entrance to your room closed, the candlelight from inside casting a welcoming glow. As you slide the shoji open, a familiar scent fills the space. Your mouth waters as your feet carry you forward on instinct.

With the first bite from the bowl, you nearly moan in pleasure at the taste.

“Is it good?”

This time, you don’t jump at his silent approach. Glancing over your shoulder, you smile through a full mouth. “It’s incredible.”

“Good,” he laughs softly, “I’m glad. I was worried it wouldn’t be as good as you remembered.”

“Master Geto,” you swallow, “this is delicious.” Through another bite, your voice lowers, “It’s just like the oyakodon my parents used to make.”

“I know.”

The statement catches you momentarily off-guard, questions catching in your throat making you nearly choke.

He senses the change immediately as your shoulders close off, confusion building behind your eyes. “I apologize if I overstepped,” he begins, uncrossing his arms and allowing them to hang loosely by his sides in the slightly oversized robes, “I remembered that dish being popular in town, so I thought it might bring some comfort.”

“Oh,” you hum, tentatively chewing another bite. It’s a reasonable explanation, you suppose, even if it leaves more uncertainty swirling in your lungs.

After a moment of silence, his presence in your doorway begins to feel…awkward.

Normally by this point he’d have left with a wave, fading into the darkness outside. But not tonight. Tonight, he stays, swaying slightly within the entrance.

As your gaze covers him, the traditional robes remind you - perhaps you were being even more rude than you expected. You still knew very little about him, but maybe he abided by more traditional laws, one that forbade a man from entering a woman’s sleeping quarters without her permission.

(You always thought those rules were a bit silly, but now was not the time for debate - now was the time to learn more about the man lingering outside.)

“Would you like to come in?” You place the question into the air as you swallow the final piece of your dinner.

His grin threatens to tear across his cheeks as he nods politely. “Of course.”

As he approaches the table inside, his presence suddenly feels overwhelming. Even though he’s not physically much larger than you, something about him suffocates the space, his soul spreading out until there’s no room left. It’s stifling.

But when he sits across from you, it gets sucked back into himself. You can breathe again.

“How is the temple?” he asks easily.

“It’s beautiful,” you muse, “but…where is everyone?”

“Everyone?” He cocks his head to the side. “Oh! You mean the others. They aren’t particularly active during the day - you know how hot it gets here.”

In an instant, it feels right - the memories of the brisk mornings become hazy in your mind, replaced with the sun beaming overhead. Maybe you even returned to your room with sweat glistening along your skin after a particularly long walk.

Suguru notices the way your vision clouds over as the experiences rewrite themselves. If you were more present, perhaps you’d be able to decode the emotion flashing across his face as his nose scrunches and eyebrows furrow.

He stands suddenly, pulling you from your internal trance.

“Well, I suppose I should be going now,” he hums, gliding seamlessly to the doorway once again. “Goodnight.”

Before you can breathe a question, he’s gone, the rattling screen door the only proof of his existence.

–

You think you’re going insane here.

When you fled, you wanted to find something exciting, a new experience, an act of defiance. You wanted something to fill the emptiness in your soul and make you into something else, someone stronger, someone braver, someone more than the obedient little girl you left behind.

But now, with every repeated step through the temple grounds, you feel yourself collapsing inwards. The support beams inside you aren’t strong enough, cracking under the weight of loneliness.

Why wasn’t anyone here?

Why wasn’t anyone helping you?

Even Master Geto’s presence became desired, in spite of the slight unease that brewed within your stomach when he was around. It was like an addiction, as though he knew just how to feed you enough of him to keep you coming back, to keep you starving.

Ironic, isn’t it? That here, in a place with all your needs met, with delicious meals and extravagant clothes and plush beds, you find yourself destitute. Hunger pangs shoot up your chest as you eat alone, the robes begin stifling each breath, too hot even as the days grow colder. Every night you become increasingly acquainted with the wooden beams drawn above your bed.

You’re empty.

On your thirty-first night, after hours laying alone in the dark, you wonder if perhaps the moon would have any advice for you. She’s always watched over you, maybe she could guide you.

Outside, the gravel shifts beneath your feet. The candles are lit once again, lining the paths throughout the grounds. You’ve never seen anyone light them, and yet every night, their flames continue to burn (not that you need them, of course - you’ve grown accustomed to this place, steps tracing it like palm lines).

So you trust your legs when they carry you forward. Until you’re once again at the entrance of the main temple, the same warmth flickering from inside.

The door slides open easily, the hesitation that used to live in your muscles now replaced with tired indignation. You no longer have to wait for Master Geto’s command to enter (even though you want it, you want it so badly, to be told what to do and where to go and how to act and what to think until you’re nothing but his little puppet because then at least you could be something).

A part of you expected him to be in his chambers given the late hour. But a more possessive part hopes he’d be here, waiting for you.

Your lungs breathe a sigh of relief as you feel his gaze. He smiles as you stand in the doorway.

“What’s my little lamb doing up so late?” he coos, beckoning you inside.

Rubbing your eyes, you take your seat on the floor next to him. “Couldn’t sleep.”

It’s been some time since you’ve been here, you realize - perhaps since the first night you arrived - but it feels comfortable, the scent of smoke lingering in the air. And Master Geto is here, too - that surely helps.

“I see. Tell me, would you like me to make you some tea?”

Your head nods on its own, perhaps an effect of your recent insomnia.

Silently, he rises, moving easily through the room to collect his arsenal. Armed with a maroon teapot and a single cup, he returns to where you rest in the center of the room. Dark liquid pours into the mug before he places it in front of you.

The first sip burns your tongue slightly, but you avoid wincing - you wouldn’t want to seem ungrateful. You wouldn’t want to push him away.

Deep eyes watch your every move, drinking you in. That quiet discomfort is back, but you shove it down with a forceful swallow. After all, if you seem distrustful, it may make him unhappy, or worse, leave you. After so long without him, you’re content to sit under his blanket of silence.

“How are you enjoying your time here?”

Your throat catches for a moment. Should you tell him it’s killing you, eating you alive and breaking you down? Should you tell him how much you’ve missed him? No - surely he’d think you strange, you barely know each other despite the time you’ve spent here.

“It’s been…comfortable.”

He tilts his head through a thoughtful hum. He allows the quiet to choke you for a moment before he continues. “And yet, you’re here at this hour. Tell me, why?”

Your lips are moving on your own, fighting against your better interest. “I’ve missed you, Master Geto.”

“Oh?” He seems pleased with your response, letting out that tantalizing little chuckle. “What is it about me you’ve missed?”

This time, you’re able to stifle your voice before it betrays you. Through another sip, you let the words simmer on your tongue before he speaks again-

“Tell me.”

“I missed being told what to do,” you blurt, nearly spilling the tea that had been resting behind your lips.

Thin lips tug into a smirk as he eyes you, and you can’t help but feel you’ve answered correctly, even if it was against your will.

That fear bubbles inside your chest once again, but this time it’s tainted with something else, something hot. Something you would be tempted to call desire.

Adjusting his weight, muscled legs sprawl before him. “Come here, little lamb,” he purrs.

So easily he pulls your strings. In an instant you’re crawling towards him, until you’ve settled upon his lap, head resting on his shoulder. Perhaps a month ago you would have been scared at how easily he maneuvers you to his will, but after countless days left with only your own thoughts to drive you, it’s a welcome reprieve. A body is a heavy thing to carry alone; there’s no harm in letting someone else borrow it for a moment.

Slender fingers card through your hair, melting you beneath his touch. Until all that’s left is a fluid form in the outline of your flesh; it makes it all the more easy to shape that way.

“You must be tired, poor thing,” Suguru hums into the crown of your head.

“Mmm,” you hum in response, eyelids fluttering closed.

“Go on then, sleep.”

And your vision melts into his darkness.

–

When you wake, everything feels stiff. The room, your body, the blankets cocooned around you. Stale air sits in your lungs as you rise from the bed.

It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to the darkness of the room, landing on wood floors and drawn shades. Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust except you, the only living thing here.

Nothing moves except for your breathing, no sounds besides the mattress creaking as you stand. Your thighs are tense, aching with each step forward. At least your robe is comfortable, even if it’s not the one you remember falling asleep in.

That memory itself feels fuzzy - how long had you been here?

But the slippers on your feet are warm, and you don’t feel that gnawing ache inside your stomach anymore. Maybe it doesn’t really matter.

Sliding the bedroom door open, you wander into the hallway. At the end, flickering candlelight casts a glow across the familiar carpet, the same as in the main building. Oranges and greens blur in your vision as you make your way to it, and your heart picks up its pace as you walk, drawing you in.

It lurches when you see him.

Master Geto.

“You’re finally awake, my little lamb.” His voice is smooth like silk, softer than the sheets that had cradled you as you slept. “Come in.”

The room is beautiful, dark reds and browns lining every surface, especially the bed he lays upon. The material is cool on your skin, flushed from sleep.

“You slept for quite a while,” he hums, beginning to slowly run his fingers over your hair. “Do you feel better?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Why thank me?”

“I think…I think it was because of you.” The sentence trails up at the end, leaving it a question. One he does not decide to answer.

“Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, please. Thank you, Master Geto.”

His lips spread into a smile as he rises, silently moving to the teapot resting in the corner. With his back momentarily to you, it’s easier to remember all the questions you ought to ask - how long was I asleep for? where is everyone? why am I here?

But they’re too overwhelming, too big. You aren’t sure he’d answer them, anyways - you aren’t sure you’d want an answer. It’s easier to not ask.

“I’m not sure I should stay here anymore.”

His shoulders stiffen, just enough that the tea nearly spills over the edge of the cup. He sets it down on the table beside you.

“And why is that?”

“I just…” you trail off, holding the mug in your hands. It’s warm, making your palms itch. “I’m not sure there’s anything for me to do here.”

“You keep me company. Is that not enough?”

“It is, but I just…I guess I don’t feel like I’m doing a good job.” It’s easier to speak when you only have to face the steaming liquid held in your lap. “I feel lost without you. I don’t know what to do with my time. I mostly just wander around and hope I see you, or hope you give me something to do. I like that, but I’m not even doing anything. You’re never around during the day anyways, so then I end up festering with my thoughts and just feel worse. I’m losing my mind here.”

A slender finger traces up your neck, tilting your chin so you’re forced to look at him. His eyes hold a dark ice behind them, the kind that would slice open ships and kill sailors in the middle of the night, the kind the sea only makes when it’s craving blood.

“You have a purpose here, little lamb, you just can’t see it.”

You can’t hold his gaze, so you allow it to fall to the pink and red of his lips. “Then tell me what it is! I want to do something, please Master Geto.” Nails leave crescent-shaped marks in your skin as you grip the teacup.

“I can’t tell you, not yet.”

“Either tell me, or I’m leaving.”

You aren’t sure where the words came from, but they shock you as they land. Perhaps some deep part of your soul, some part the moon uncovered on your walk to the temple, growing brighter under her protection.

Fire, then ice flares behind him. He forces his shoulders back, cooling his tone. “Why don’t you drink some tea and calm down a bit, then we can talk about this?”

“I don’t want your tea! I want to know what’s going on!”

“I said, drink.”

The muscles in your arms tighten to bring the cup to your mouth. Liquid is forced past your lips through a choke. It burns your throat.

Once it’s empty, you drop it, the mug clanging against the floor. Tears prick the corners of your eyes in pain, and Master Geto seems tense. Lowering himself to the ground, he gingerly picks up the cup, allowing his palm to graze yours as he rises. Silently, he glides to the corner of the room where steam rises from the still-full teapot.

With everything in you, you force your mouth to move. “How do you do that?” Your voice is hoarse.

“Do what?”

“That,” you stumble, trying to explain. “Make me…do things.”

Six seconds pass before he answers.

“Do you know what obedience means?”

You nod.

“Tell me, what does it mean to you?”

“It means to do as another person says, always.”

Glancing at you from over his shoulder, his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Exactly.” He pours more liquid into your cup, a silent apology in his own misshapen way. “Some must be trained into obedience through leashes and chains, but others are born for it, their souls a softer shape, one that’s easier to mold.”

The mug is warm in your hands as your fingers wrap around the ceramic, accepting it from his grasp.

“Someone like you, for example, was made to obey. You feel it, don’t you? That emptiness when you aren’t being commanded?”

As you nod, something inside you aches, a hole where your autonomy should be. And here is Master Geto, so kindly offering to fill it.

“That makes it all the more effortless to follow someone, you see. I can sense it, the way your body practically begs me to control it.” He explains it easily with a wave of his hand, as though a few sentences could make you understand.

And yet, you do. It feels right to be led by him, molded by him, controlled by him. It’s the comfort you’ve felt, the warmth that clouds your thoughts whenever you’re near him.

“Is that…is that what I’m doing here?” A large hand reaches over to rub slow circles into your back through the robe - his robe, you now realize. “I’m here to follow orders and do whatever you say?”

“No, no, not at all.” A sound close to a laugh brushes through his throat at the thought. “You’re here for something else.”

You finish the second cup of tea - it’s easier to drink now that your throat has already been burned. “Please, tell me why. I promise not to leave, please, Master Geto.”

Dark eyes fall to the empty cup in your hands, then back to you. So powerless in his grasp, the smell of him lingering on your clothes, on your skin, on your breath. An impossible scent to lose, even if you were to run.

“Do you know what a vampire is?”

Confusion swirls in your mind at the question. “Yes? I’ve heard of them, of course. Creatures who live forever and drink blood to survive, right?”

“Exactly,” he smiles, voice smooth like the silk wrapping around your body. “There are other components too, of course. Other powers. The commands, for example. And you’ve heard of those coming back from my temple, yes? How they return with no recollection of their time here?”

“Yes.”

“They were ones who ran - who I allowed to run, of course. They didn’t please me, or they were too weak to keep my company. But as you can imagine, I couldn’t allow them to tell others of what they had seen here, regardless of how stupid some of them may have been. So, they may survive, but the memories must go. And that’s just a fraction of what I’m capable of.” His words rise and fall in pitch, the most visible sign of excitement you’ve ever seen in him, before it flattens again. “Many think vampires are dangerous, but they aren’t, not if they’re able to control themselves. It’s a matter of obedience, you see.”

“Obedience,” you whisper into the empty space.

“If one can stay in control of their desires, it’s barely any different than how a human lives.”

Your hands fiddle with the hem of the robe, teeth chewing on your lip. “Why are you telling me this, Master Geto?”

The finger on your chin trails up until his hand rests upon your cheek. When your eyes finally meet his, he smiles, a gesture you don’t return. Your heart beats loud, pulling you into him.

“You know why.”

And you feel it, in the depths of your stomach. The true weight of his horror, his power, settles like obsidian in your chest. A cough stifles from your mouth from the coal-black dust inside you.

His thumb runs over your lips, pressing down on the plump flesh. You should run, you should scream and beg for help and go back to your parents and pretend this never happened. You aren’t safe here, you shouldn’t stay a moment longer.

All your body can do is quicken your pulse, thrumming up your neck.

Your lips part. His thumb slides past them.

When he smiles, he seems pleased, and you feel warm like the tea spreading through your muscles with each breath. Flickering candlelight casts a shadow across his eyes, and they seem to glow with hunger.

“Are you scared?”

His skin tastes sweet as it settles on your tongue. You slowly shake your head, humming a soft, “No.”

A twitch of a smirk plays across his lips. He didn’t even have to compel you. They spread wider, allowing sharp, whitened fangs to poke through. Your eyes widen and pupils dilate as they dig into his lower lip, red blooming beneath the skin.

“You should be.” He’s leaning forward, until he’s so close you block the light from cascading across his face. In the shadows of your body, he looks monstrous, all flashes of black and white. “And yet, you stay. Tell me, why? What could you possibly hope to achieve?”

Air rushes through your lungs, and the words tumble out in a single breath. “I want to obey you, Master Geto.”

Tilting his head to the side, dark bangs obscure his eyes.

“Ah, I understand now. You really were made for this, weren’t you?”

Sliding his thumb from your mouth, he closes the distance between you. A long finger tilts your chin upwards, locking your gaze on him.

“You want to be good for me, don’t you?”

You nod. You can’t help it - you want to do anything he tells you; you will do anything he tells you.

“Good.” Pink lips brush against yours. His breath is cool as he whispers, “Then lay down.”

The sheets are chilled against your burning skin as your back rests upon them. It’s easier, now, the way you’ve accepted your muscles enacting his will. It feels right to let him pull your strings, letting him shape you into whatever pose he sees fit.

He doesn’t even need to command you to open your legs, large palms spreading your knees apart easily, allowing them to fall with the weight of his gravity. Your clothes are gone in an instant, laid bare before him, returned to your natural form before the god that granted it. It’s only natural.

Hot breath hits your core, cold eyes resting on your face. His thumb trails a path along your skin until it lands upon your clit, each slow circle another rotation around his orbit.

It’s almost too much, your body writhing under his touch, desperation making your hips rut uselessly into him. But he’s just…watching you.

“P-please,” you can’t help but whine, trying to grind into him for any additional ounce of friction. Master Geto simply continues his agonizingly slow pace.

Your gaze meets his for a moment, fire crackling beneath it as his lips tug into a sinister grin, a predator about to consume its prey.

Eat me, your body begs, I’m yours.

Oh, he knows.

His palm opens, sliding two fingers easily into your cunt. Just as he curls upwards, sharp teeth move from poking through his lip into the soft flesh of your inner thighs. For the violence crackling beneath his skin, he’s surprisingly gentle as his canines sink into you.

Because he doesn’t want it to hurt.

Not yet.

The prickling pain tingles your senses as he pulls your first orgasm from you, a faint moan humming in your throat.

When he rises from between your legs, red dribbles from his lips. He crackles with pride, completely unabashed; if anything, he’s proud.

Warmth blankets your body as he crawls on top of you, a wolf stalking a lamb. And you can’t bring yourself to run.

Muscled shoulders bare themselves under the flickering lights as he slowly sheds his robes, pale and morphing, too blurry to focus on. If you were more naive, you’d be tempted to call him an angel.

“You taste so sweet,” he purrs, his face now mere centimeters from yours.

When he kisses you, a mix of metal and cum tangles on your tongues, intoxicatingly you. Every ounce of his weight rests against you until you can’t pull in a breath anymore, your ribs unable to expand below him.

But like always, he grants you mercy.

He pulls back, just enough to let air rush in through your parted lips. Your skin burns where he places a gentle peck to the corner of your mouth.

Because now, you want it to hurt.

And oh, he knows.

That devilish smile curls upon his lips, no longer hiding the fangs behind it. Every beat of your heart makes you dizzy, your vision pulsing with each reverberating thrum. You wonder if he can feel it in your chest.

(He can.)

(He wants to claw it from your body and eat it.)

The remnants of blood lingering on his teeth are wiped away as his tongue swipes over them, an innocent white left in its wake. How perfect a sinner’s body can be.

He’s shifting his weight above you, but you barely notice, too enamored by him, too lost in his eyes, in his depravity. The moment your eyes flutter shut to protect your soul, he’s reaching out to you.

“Look at me, little lamb.”

And then, your gaze is locked on him.

And then, his cock is pressing into you.

Lips part, fire shoots up your spine, a cry dies in your throat. It’s burning and tearing and it’s death and everything is too hot and you’re staring into those eyes with flames behind them and you think you’d let him kill you if he asked.

Not that he needs to ask, of course.

Your back arches off the bed as your eyes nearly roll back into your head but they can’t - because it’s not what Master Geto commanded. Because you always do as he says.

Because you always obey.

Instead, tears prick at the corners and your entire body trembles and he’s staring down at you with pity.

“There, shh, that’s my girl,” he coos. He wipes away a tear with his thumb but he doesn’t stop, not until his pelvis is flush with yours and all you can feel is him inside you.

Ragged breaths rack your core, your walls clenching around him from his size alone.

“You’re being so obedient, so good,” he whispers into the shell of your ear. And the sun bursts through your chest.

A slack-jawed smile spreads across your features at his praise, cheeks warm and full of pride. You’ve done everything you were made for - you’ve made Master Geto happy. You’ve been good.

When he drags his hips from you, his tip catching and pulling and gouging any remaining shred of disloyalty from your consciousness, you know you’re his: your mind, your soul, your body. All his, in any way he wants it.

When he thrusts back into you, the emptiness inside you is filled with him.

Him.

Him. Him. Him. Him.

Master Geto.

All you have ever needed.

All you will ever need.

Master Geto.

Warmth blossoms in your chest as he fucks you into the silk sheets. You are his. You were always made to be his. There’s no pain in it, no uncertainty. It’s as things were always meant to be.

But there’s still something missing, something lingering in the droplet of red beading at the corner of his lips.

Eat me, your body pleads, I’m yours.

“Master Geto,” you whimper, “I…I want…”

As he gazes down at you, there’s a reverence behind it - not to you, no, but to your servitude.

“Yes, my little lamb,” he breathes through the sound of skin against skin. “Tell me what you want.”

“Bite me, Master Geto,” you cry, “please.”

And you feel him laugh, his breath hot against the skin of your neck. “Well, how could I deny my most devoted?”

First, it’s the searing pain of his fangs sinking into your skin. An instant later, it’s the burning pleasure of it.

A moan bubbles from your throat, allowing your head to fall back into his waiting palm, cradling you above the respite of feathered pillows. Because for now, he will hold you; you should be held by him.

Suguru is greedy as he drinks.

Grunts and groans echo from his chest, his body never stilling as he plunges in and out of you in pace with his tongue lapping at your pierced flesh. Just as his teeth pull away he strikes them into you again, and again, and again. Puncture wounds grow across your skin, blooming hues of maroon beneath them, stars decorating the sky, each one a burning supernova moments away from exploding.

They mark you for what you are: his.

“You taste,” he pants, “fucking devine.”

Nails claw at his back, your head lolled back into the sheets, limp beneath him. Of course, you’d move if he told you to - you’d die if he told you to.

Each racing heartbeat makes your vision pulse, head swimming as he drinks from you. Your body melts inside him, warm in his stomach.

The friction of his hips between your legs only grows, until it’s burning like the teeth in your neck. Red flames prick your skin, Suguru’s tongue chasing each one to put it out.

His grunts grow animalistic, a beast pulling muscles and tendons until it’s out of breath. Shoulders tense beneath your palms, and your stomach begins to tighten.

“Master Geto, I-”

“I know,” he growls into your neck. Arms tighten around your body, until they cage in your ribs, until you can’t breathe anything but him. “Cum for me, little lamb.”

Warmth floods your senses, numb save for his cock twitching. He bites down harder as his claim shoots into you, thick and hot.

For a moment, you wonder if he tore flesh from bone. When he removes his head from your collarbone, blood dripping down his chin in thick rivulets, it seems all the more possible.

Licking his lips, he groans at the sanguine flavor pouring down his throat, sweet like honey. When he kisses you, his tongue presses against yours until it lingers in the back of your mouth. Sweet like him.

Low eyes meet yours, a thumb stroking your cheek.

“Stay here, with me.”

And maybe, you will.

It’s easier like this, to be his.

It’s easier to obey.

[uhohdad]

(18+) König x Reader - Catching Him Getting Off

It takes you far too long to process both your mistake and the sight before you.

Even though you’re stumbling and your vision is blurry, you knew something was up. This was not the room you had left when you went to the bathroom to relieve a bladder so full it threatened to burst. The room you had just left was packed with your teammates, pungent with the smell of alcohol, and flooded with songs you don’t recognize.

This room was almost silent, smelled of musk, and held only one occupant.

Your colonel.

Shirtless.

His impressive, intimidating form sprawled out on a bed he makes look comically small, muscles tight and glistening with sweat. His massive arm bulging to pump what is no doubt the largest cock you have ever seen, at full attention and freed from his sweatpants.

König’s eyes flit to you, so obviously not where you’re supposed to be. While his brow quirks and the pace of his pumps slow, he doesn’t rush to cover himself up or even stop what he’s doing.

When your brain finally catches up, you scramble, shouting desperate apologies and tripping over yourself to leave and slam his door shut behind you.

You do not return to your team. You dart straight to your room, seal yourself away, and pace for the better part of an hour.

You manage to get away with your avoidance for a few days. Hardly lifting your head from the floor and darting away anytime he neared. The burn of his stare is hard to ignore, though. Searing and white hot. But there’s no way you’ll be able to make eye contact with him ever again. Not when you know what his thick cock looks like when glistened with precum and being pleasured by his fist. Not when you’ve already gotten off to the thought of helping him out with his needs by letting him rut into you instead of his hand.

Always blunt and never bashful, he waits until your guard is down before he corners you. He plants his giant hand just in front of your lunch and leans down until you have no choice but to acknowledge him. It’s hard to look at his arm and not picture the muscles you know reside underneath his uniform.

“You don’t have to be so shy around me.”

“Colonel, I am so sorry. I thought I was- Please, can we just forget that even happened? I won’t tell anyone, I- I haven’t-”

“Es ist okay,” He says, soft and reassuring.

It’s so jarring from his usual assertive and even vitriolic way of speaking. You don’t have the sense to hide the furrow of your brow.

His eyes crinkle, and he gives a low hum with a tilt of his head. It’s hard to resist squirming with those intense, piercing eyes boring into you.

“Did you like what you saw?”

“What?” You ask through a nervous laugh.

You heard him, oh you heard him, but you have to hear it again to be sure.

“Did you like what you saw?”

His repetition doesn’t waver. The words roll off his tongue far too casually for such a forward question.

You don’t have an answer for him. You’re paralyzed under his stare, by his brazen words, trying to figure out if this is some kind of joke you don’t understand. Your mouth parts in anticipation to answer his question but fail to form the words. He doesn’t wait for you to scrounge up a response before he throws another impossible question at you.

“Do you want to see it again?”

You suck in a sharp breath and finally look away. After a beat, you give a shameful but eager nod.

Suddenly you’re back in his quarters, on your knees before his monstrous, impossible form. Stripped of your clothes while he stands covered head to toe except for the cock freed from his waistband. He studies you carefully, your head craned back and pitiful eyes trained on him. Your mouth is open, tongue stuck out, obediently waiting for the finish he’s working toward. His hands are just a blur, pumping himself to the sight of the tiny little thing kneeling between his boots.

“Sehr gut,” He breathes, “So patient for me.”

He slows to run the head of his cock along your slick tongue.

“You want to get off too, süßes kleines ding?”

While your cheeks are burning and you feel more than degraded, the growing stain of arousal in your panties tells a different story.

“So hübsch.”

König reaches down to cup your jaw and guides you to look at him while his foot nudges its way between your thighs.

“Grind on my boot.”

You whine, keeping your mouth open and ready like the obedient little soldier you are, and lower yourself onto his boot. Cheeks flushed with heat as you wrap your arms around his leg and grind your soaked panties along the leather. Relieving the needy ache between your legs and chasing that warm jolt of pleasure with each brush over your clit.

“Ich werde dieses hübsche Gesicht ruinieren.”

Your eyes instinctively pinch shut when you feel the warm droplets of his finish splatter on your cheek. He lets out a choppy moan as he paints your face and outstretched tongue in his sticky mess, making sure to milk every last drop on his waiting canvas.

“Look at me,” He grits.

He takes a moment to admire his work, tilting your head side to side with a gentle but firm hand on your jaw. He hums content before letting go, tucking himself back into his boxers and buttoning up his pants.

“Swallow,” He orders.

You finally close your mouth as you take down what he managed to get on your tongue, intrusive and salty.

He gives a gentle wiggle of his boot and squints at you, surely wearing a smug grin beneath that hood.

“You can clean your face after you finish yourself off, liebling.”

♡ KÖNIG DRABBLE MASTERLIST ♡

[vennilavee]

summary: uncle sukuna at yuuji's little league baseball game

Saturday mornings are meant for sleeping in, having a greasy breakfast while nursing a nasty hangover, and watching television on the couch until his eyes close once more. Saturday mornings are meant for not leaving his apartment, not for an earthquake, not for a building fire, and certainly not for his brother Jin, or his annoying nephew, Yuuji.

He does not care about getting fresh air, as Jin insists. Fresh air is stupid and overrated, what’s wrong with the air in his apartment?

Saturday mornings used to be for sleeping in, having greasy breakfasts while hungover, and rotting on his worn out couch.

Saturday mornings are now meant for Yuuji’s little league baseball games, where Sukuna finds himself in the bleachers with two coffees in his hands with a hat and sunglasses over his eyes.

The nice sunglasses are courtesy of you, a gift for his last birthday. He cleans them thoroughly everyday, not allowing a speck of dust to gather on them.

“Hey,” comes your voice from next to him, slightly out of breath from running up the bleachers, “Did I miss anything?”

“Yuuji hit a home run,” Sukuna says flatly, suppressing his yelp when you pinch his side. Yuuji is seated in the dugout, patiently waiting his turn to bat. Well, as patiently as he can- anyone can see how excited he is to bat and show everyone what his uncle and dad have been practicing with him on Tuesday evenings in his backyard.

The boy, who is very nearly his carbon copy,  just learned how to properly hit a ball with his baseball bat. Sukuna scoffs, but if anyone asks, he will not admit that his home screen is a picture of Yuuji in his uniform, smiling so wide that his eyes look like crescents.

Yuuji catches your eye from the stands, nudging his friend and waving to you happily. You can’t help but return and match his smile, his energy infectious even from across the field.

Sukuna absently hands you your coffee, taking care for it not to spill. You lean into his warmth, feeling the chill of the morning air. He touches your index finger for only half a second before pulling away and stashing his free hand in his pocket, as if he’s guilty of something he hasn’t even been accused of.

You roll your eyes fondly.

“Where are Jin and Kaori-san?” you ask, noticing that you both are in this row of bleachers by yourselves.

“Down there with the other loser parents,” Sukuna replies.

“Oh, I’ll go say hi to them-”

“No, don’t. They don’t know I’m here.”

“They… wait what? They don’t know you’re here… to see your nephew play?” you ask incredulously with a laugh. That’s so him. “Whatever. I’m going to say hi to them, you can join me, or stay here in your brooding corner.”

He frowns deeply at you.

“Fine.”

“Kaori-san,” Sukuna says stiffly, barely nodding his head in greeting.

“Sukuna-san,” she replies, “We didn’t know you were coming! We would’ve brought you breakfast if you told us. Maybe we still have leftovers…”

You roll your eyes at Sukuna for the millionth time already.

Kaori gives you a hug before dragging you away to introduce you to the other parents. You throw Sukuna a wary look over your shoulders and he just grins at you as if to say ‘I told you so’.

Truthfully, Sukuna’s Saturday mornings have been spent at Yuuji’s baseball games for the last- is it four? Or five?- weekends in a row. Jin knows nothing about baseball, as his brother claims, and Sukuna has vehement opinions on the uniform.

In fact, he had such vehement opinions on the uniform that he ended up designing the team’s uniforms to something less… vexing to the eyes.  The team’s tired coach had no choice after Sukuna voiced his very loud distaste for the uniforms at every practice.

And Yuuji couldn’t get enough of the fact that his favorite uncle customized his team’s uniforms. Yuuji told everyone and anyone, especially his two best friends on the team, Megumi and Nobara. Sukuna never told him to shut up (like he usually would), and you’d always catch him with the tiniest smile on his face when he’d overhear his nephew so happy about it.

The poor coach never stood a chance. 

“They’ve been practicing for weeks,” Sukuna grumbles, “None of them can even hit the damn ball to save their lives.”

“They’re just kids, Sukuna,” Jin rolls his eyes, “They’re here to have fun and make friends.”

“The only one who can hit is Yuuji and that’s because I’ve been practicing with him. It’s no thanks to you that he’s decent.”

“Look at them. The coach can’t coach for shit-”

“Why don’t you then?” Jin interrupts, “He plays favorites anyway, and a lot of the parents have been questioning his… abilities. He is a frequent topic of conversation in the groupchat.”

Sukuna is silent for a moment, as if the thought never struck him. Then he scoffs, ignoring his stupid brother and his stupid, lame idea to coach his nephew’s little league baseball team. Really? As if he has nothing better to do on Monday evenings and Saturday mornings.

It seems his legs have a mind of their own as he makes his way to the dugout where the kids and the coach are. Yuuji waves at him happily with sunshine in his eyes. Doesn’t his face hurt from smiling so much?

“Call a time-out, I wanna talk to the kids,” Sukuna demands to the coach.

He turns around and groans when he recognizes Sukuna. 

“Not you again-”

“Do you even play baseball? These kids have no form and its been weeks, they can barely hit a ball and don’t know which way they’re running-”

“You know what, I’m tired of you! First, the uniforms, now this? Yeah, forget it, why don’t you just be the coach then? I quit!”

From the dugout, the kids all gasp loudly and the parents in the bleachers whisper amongst themselves. You watch from the stands warily, of course Sukuna had to cause a scene. Well, you suppose, the man has always known how to make a presence.

“Oji-chan, are you gonna be our coach now,” Yuuji asks with wide eyes, identical to his own, “Please, please, please!!”

“Well, I guess you brats don’t have a coach anymore. I promise I won’t quit on you like that loser just did,” Sukuna grins wolfishly and gives Yuuji a high five and the boy immediately runs to tell his teammates about the news.

“Look who it is,” you whistle, “It’s Tokyo’s hottest coach in the riveting sport of little league baseball. Will he overcome all odds? Or will he succumb to the pressure of the league?”

Sukuna throws his hoodie at you half-heartedly as you laugh, wrapping an arm around him as he settles next to you in bed.

“Those brats will win the championship with me as coach, just wait and see,” Sukuna replies, pressing his nose into your hair.

“Baby, it’s an under-ten league. I don’t think they even have championships.”

“I’m still gonna win. And rub it in Gojo’s face.”

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say,” you reply, threading your fingers through his scalp, “Yuuji’s really happy that you’re his new coach. I think he may have cried before leaving the game.”

“That kid cries at anything,” Sukuna says, but you hear the tiniest hint of affection in his voice. You’ve been with him long enough to be able to detect it.

“Maybe one of these days you should take out that old baseball uniform of yours…”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, instead rolling on top of you and closing the distance between you both. He quells your peals of laughter with a searing kiss, his hands wandering under your shirt deviously.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Hey! I saw you were accepting Feyd requests and I got so excited! Could you do something where Feyd and reader have been married for a little while, have been pretty stand-offish and just keeping up appearances. They get into a fight over something stupid, saying hurtful things because reader still believes Feyd is incapable of feelings. Turns out he’s really protective though and gets seriously injured saving her during an attack? Reader panics trying to help him and the feels super guilty, meanwhile Feyd is enjoying the attention.

Staining

Feyd-Rautha x reader

Notes/Warnings: It's slightly different, but I hope you like it anyway. Mentions of blood and death. Smut so 18+. I'm sure there's typos. I think that's it.

Words: 4100

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag list

“You’re heartless”—that’s what you spit at him after watching him rip apart another family right before your eyes. 

He slaughtered a man for a petty crime, and then you had to watch what would become of the wife and children. 

He gave them options, of course. He presents all of them with a choice: to be servants for his House or to fight for survival in the slums of Giedi Prime. For the mother, it likely means you’ll have a new handmaid. For the boys, they will be trained so they can one day face off in the arena. Either way, it's no life.

As he announced the options for their future, you couldn’t look away from her: the woman whose husband lay at her feet, the blood drained from his body as she attempted to shield her two young sons behind her small frame. You watched her kind eyes go permanently wide out of shock. She needed to answer your husband’s question, give a response to his merciful offer, but she couldn’t. Nothing on her moved save for the grip she had on her boys, which only tightened the longer she stared at her dead lover. 

You knew what would happen to them. Your husband found her silence and inability to snap out of her trace irritating. She would make a poor handmaid if she could not listen. The boys, however, could still make fine warriors—guaranteed entertainment a few years down the line. 

So he separated them. Allowed the guards to pry them away from their mother’s fingers—who left her state of shock behind only when she felt them being ripped from her hands—before dragging them to cells with tears streaming down their round cheeks. 

Their mother collapsed to the floor by her dead husband. His blood soaked her skirts. You didn’t know how a man could do this to his own people for something as simple as the theft of some food, but he does, and often. Then he had her thrown out, back to the slums where she came from. 

She’ll never see her boys again. If you know your husband, he will likely one day force the two to face off with each other in the arena. After all, that’s where his uncle finds entertainment, and your husband will do anything to please the old man. 

Long after his guards have departed with the woman, you’re still staring at the body on the floor. The red around him is congealing. If you run your finger through it, the digit will return sticky and thickly coated. He’ll stain your skin. He’ll stain through your skin onto your insides. He’ll never come off. 

He’s like your husband, you think. Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen stained you, and impressively, he didn’t even have to touch you to achieve that. Simply being in his presence was enough to leave his mark, and you’re in his presence plenty, just not how you imagined you would be when you married him. You imagined being in his bed. You imagined kisses and loving caresses and sweet words—that kind of staining. But you were a naive girl when your parents dropped you off on this planet, and you quickly learned how to be a woman; a woman whose husband only uses her for formality’s sake. 

You don’t know why you have to be by his side for this, though, but he always ensures that you are. The two of you…a solidified front to the world, as if you agree with the choices he makes and the punishment he doles out to those who don’t deserve it.

So that’s why you say it. Because you’re tired of this, tired of being silent, hating the idea that your silence might lead him to think the two of you are on the same page; that you’re a team. 

“You’re heartless.”

His head whips to you. “Heartless…” His voice around the word is vile; thick and rich like the blood on the floor. With a few steps in your direction he is in your space and you clasp your hands in front of you, fingers squeezing tightly to keep yourself from running off. He stares down at you, a luminous blue that you found so stunningly gorgeous when you first met him now a pair of frozen icicles stabbing into your skull. “I’m heartless?”

Your swallow is rough. Dry and scratchy. 

“I’m not the one who steals from his neighbors. I’m not the one who risks leaving his wife alone for the rest of her life,” he says. “They know the laws. They know the consequences.”

“And the woman? She deserves to be alone, rotting away in poor living conditions because of his choice? Her children deserve to die for your entertainment?”

“You take issue with how I handle things?”

“Yes.”

Feyd’s back teeth clench. His jaw sets in a sharp line. “Another reason for you to hate me then,” he grits out.

You blink. Your lips part. Another reason? You don’t have multiple reasons, and there’s certainly nothing you’ve done to indicate that you do. You used to hate that he didn’t, and doesn’t, care about you, but you’ve never said a word about it. You’ve never bothered him about sleeping in separate rooms or asked him to give you anything of himself. This—his treatment of his people in situations like this one—isn’t another reason. It’s the reason. 

“You could deal with these matters differently,” you say.

His fingers form balls at his sides. His mouth opens. It closes. He shakes his head and walks past you but pauses before he is completely out of your peripherals. “This is how things are done here,” he says. “You’ve been my wife for five months now. You need to get used to it.”

—

You don’t get used to it. You don’t get used to it because he doesn’t demand you be by his side at his executions anymore. Not after that day. 

You’d never spoken up before that moment, and it cost you what little interaction you had with your husband, which you despise to say was precious. You may not love him, and at times hate him, but he is the only thing you have on this planet. Little as you spoke to one another before, you held onto it because no one else gives a damn about you. Not that he does either, but at least he would give you a word or two. His brother and the Baron don’t bother, leaving you to Feyd to decide what to do with and when to do it. 

However, you imagine they didn’t expect that he would never touch you, and based on the way they watch you and Feyd when you’re forced to join the Harkonnen’s for dinner, you imagine they’re now aware that whatever was between you—minute as it was—is gone. He doesn’t even call on you for formal events. He no longer cares about showing a unified front to the other Great Houses. But you do.

You know what reputation means to the Harkonnens, and regardless of how you feel about the history of Feyd’s choices, you’re not willing to present your life on Giedi Prime as a failure. The two of you are too young for whispers to spread among influential families of a tainted marriage, a crack in the system. You don’t need questions floating about in regards to a unification that will not result in an heir. The end of the Harkonnen line, they’ll say, as Rabban, much older than your husband, has yet to choose a wife. How unfortunate, they’ll slyly mutter around the rims of their champagne glasses. And you’re not ready for that. 

So, with the exception of executions, you attend the events your husband does not invite you to anymore. You make sure your face is seen, especially when most vital. At his meetings, at his fights in the arena, and at Harkonnen parties such as this one. 

People enjoy themselves here. Shockingly, a few strong drinks eases the tension between Houses, and Giedi Prime has the strongest drinks of them all. It’s a tactic. A genius one, if you’re honest. The Baron invites his guests and gets them in a good mood and strikes deals one cannot go back on. Brilliant. Something you might have thought of yourself if your husband let you share your thoughts; thoughts you have plenty of. But no one cares how you would rule this planet if you had a say in its future.

You watch the Houses mingle about. You watch them laugh and dance. You watch them watch your husband. You watch them watch you. You watch the wheels turn in their alcohol-addled brains. You roll your eyes at what he doesn’t see. 

Ungluing yourself from your designated spot, you step up the staircase that leads to the Harkonnen men, your husband and his brother flanking the throne the Baron sits upon. You don’t think to speak to any of them; you didn’t break away from your assigned location for words. Instead, for all to see, you reach up to cup Feyd’s cheek and turn his head toward you for the first kiss since the day of your wedding. A gentle brush of lips. A buzz more engulfing than any drink could offer.

He freezes, and when you pull back his lips are still parted. His eyes open slowly and he stares down at you in awed confusion. How he doesn’t understand why you’ve done what you’ve done is just short of bewildering, but it doesn’t seem to click. 

“You–”

“I’m going to retire for the night,” you tell him. You’ve been at this party long enough, and the guests have now seen what they needed to see. Not to mention, their tipsy state means they’ll soon forget any thoughts they have about you until morning. They’ll stop searching for your presence. 

You don’t wait for your husband’s nod of approval. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t care where you are at any given time anyway, so you descend the staircase and exit the grand room into the hall that leads to your bedroom.

The echo of footsteps follows and you’re bold enough to believe it could be Feyd before a blade is pressed against your throat from behind. For a moment, you think it still might be your husband—retaliation for the kiss that re-sparked a feeling you’ve been trying to ignore since you married him—but the voice in your ear is feminine. 

“He killed my husband, my Lady,” the voice says, and you instantly remember her. It’s been two months but nothing could make you forget the look in her eyes. “I want my sons.”

You swallow hard. The blade nicks your throat from the additional force. A droplet trickles down your neck. “I can’t return your sons to you,” you tell her, at the same time questioning how she infiltrated such a secure place. But you suppose with the number of guests, slipping in would not have been the most difficult of challenges. 

You wince at the deepening cut. Your heartbeat quickens, doing little to aid in stopping the blood seeping from your wound. “You’re the na-Baronness.”

“I have little power here.”

“I don’t care!” she shouts, her words bouncing off the walls. “I want my boys,” and you think now she’s crying. Her tone alters. Something catches in her throat. “What’s happened to them?”

You don't wish to tell her, but you’re in no position to deny her requests. “They’re alive and well,” you say, which isn’t a complete lie. The Baron prefers strong, well-fed fighters—the duels last longer that way. 

“I want them back!”

“As much as I would like to, I cannot give them back to you. It’s not my decision.”

“Then I’ll take you from him,” she spits. “The way he took mine.”

You must’ve put on a grander show than you expected with that kiss because she seems to fully believe that your death would matter to him. But you know he won’t blink an eye. He might even thank her. Reward her by reuniting her with her sons, though unlikely. 

“He won’t care,” you tell her. 

“I have seen him, my Lady. He will care,” she says, and you don’t know how she could possibly come to that conclusion or why. It’s not as if the people of Giedi Prime sense a kind capability from the Harkonnens. “He will–”

She chokes. The blade trembles then drops from your neck. You quickly glance down to find Feyd’s knife deep in her side. 

Many things are a mystery to you in that moment. Why he bothered to leave the party; why he came down this hall of all halls, especially when his room resides in another; and why he pierced her side rather than go for the neck, which would have instantly ended her. His mistake. An uncharacteristic mistake.

The woman whips around, freeing you, and you stumble out of reach. They’re a blur of battling bodies as you get your footing, but then it catches up with you—the pain. Your hand goes to your neck and you make a little noise at the sting of your fresh wound. Your mistake. 

Feyd looks away from her in search of you for a single second. Not even. A half-second. But the woman is smaller, quicker, and the distraction is enough. Her blade slides into his abdomen. He grunts. You gasp.

He regains his focus and, by her hair, he rips her head back to expose her throat and shoves the blade through her neck. Blood spurts across his chest as he removes the weapon, and she collapses to her knees before the rest of her body flops to the floor. 

Feyd takes a shaky step back, staring down at the blade in his torso. He drops his knife and his hand goes to the hilt of the other. 

“No, don’t!” you yell, but you’re too late. He jerks the blade out and it clatters on the ground. His palm does nothing to stop the flow of crimson. 

Rushing to him, you fall to the floor as he does. You press your hands on top of his to keep the pressure but it’s useless. “Don’t you know anything?” you mutter. “You should’ve kept the damn thing in.”

He chuckles. The bastard actually chuckles. Then his other hand raises and lands on top of yours. You think he’s trying to add more pressure, but his touch is gentle. His thumb runs over your knuckles. 

“It’s alright,” he says, and you’ve never heard his voice so devoid of depth and strength.

“No, it’s not,” you retort, irritated. 

“You still hate me?”

“Shut up!” you snap. “Help!” Yanking the black chiffon sleeve off your gown, it tears free and you ball the material to shove it against his wound. “Help!” 

Guards burst through the doors and run to you. You sigh with relief, but when you look down, your husband is paler than you’ve ever seen him. 

“Feyd…” 

You’re shoved out of the way in a second, flung to the side like a flicked-away ant, and then he’s taken from you. You watch them until he’s out of view. When you glance down at your hands, they’re stained with him. 

—

They bandaged your neck in mere minutes and you find it aggrivating that they couldn’t work as efficiently on him. You’ve been dead silent for hours now, expecting to hear screams of pain as they stitch him back together, but then you remember he’s a glutton for pain. He’s probably enjoying it, the sick bastard. But you’re not enjoying it—the waiting, the limbo. It’s torturous. 

You’ve never seen him hurt before. You’ve witnessed his skills in the arena, and not once in your seven months of marriage has someone gotten a decent slash on him. 

Guilt hits you hard as you recall that it’s your fault. That woman was skilled as well—you suppose she would be if she was raised to live where she did—but if you hadn’t made that noise, if you hadn’t distracted him, she would’ve been dead before she could do her damage. This wouldn’t have happened. 

Just then, a knock comes at your door. You speak for them to enter and a guard peeks into your room. “My Lady…” he says, and you pray you’re not about to be told your husband didn’t survive a single stab wound. “You can come with me.”

You don’t wait around for more. You hop to your feet and quickly follow through hall after hall until you’re at his room. 

“What will I see when I walk in there?” you ask. 

“He’s fine, my Lady,” he says, bowing his head to dismiss himself before returning to his post. 

Turning the knob, you edge the door open and step inside. The bed is in immediate view, but he’s not in it. He’s not in it and he should be. Not even the covers are pulled back. Maybe the guard misled you. If he were fine, surely he would be resting. 

You make your way in further. 

“You’re here.” 

Your head snaps to your right where he’s leaning against the lone table in his room, a lit orb on the wooden surface illuminating him from behind in a white glow. He’s less pale than he was; what little rosiness he once had returned to his skin. 

Clearing your throat, you say, “I was told to come.”

“Because I told them to bring you,” he says. 

Your heart pounds at the bareness of his torso, the thickness of his arms as they cross in front of his chest. It pounds in a different way, an off-kilter way, when you notice the dressings wrapped around his waist and the patch of blood that is seeping through three layers of it. 

He must see your distraction because he says, “It’s fine.” Your eyes flick back to his. A beat of silence passes between you. You’re unsure how to continue now that he’s seen the concern you have for him. “I suppose you’re disappointed.”

“Disappointed?” you repeat. “What for?”

“I’m alive.”

Your jaw drops ever so slightly. You recover as best you can before you say, “Feyd, I don’t want you to—I’ve never wanted you to–”

He holds up his hand, cutting you off. “I’m going to listen to you.”

Your brow pinches. Why did he silence you, then? “Listen to me about what?”

He takes a deep breath, an action that lifts his shoulders and has them falling heavily back down. His eyes penetrate you as they’ve always done, but the iciness is gone. “I don’t care if the people I hurt want to kill me,” he starts. “But she didn’t come to kill me; she came to hurt me by killing you. So I will listen to your thoughts when it comes to dealing with matters like that one.” He pauses, expecting a response, but you don’t quite know what to give him, so he continues. “Your voice will make fewer enemies.”

“You care about making enemies?” Since when would a Harkonnen ever care about such a thing? Especially when they are known for doing that thing so well.

“I care when they come after my wife,” he says. Pushing off the table, he leisurely steps toward you. You’re stuck to your spot. “The men of my House do not have a history of caring about their wives. They’ve never cared if their actions bring them harm, and yet, people have used our wives as pawns for revenge for centuries. Many have died to prove a point. I’m not going to let you be one of them.”

He stops only to not collide with your body. You have to look up to maintain eye contact, and when you do, his breath brushes over your lips. “Why didn’t you kill her when you could have? You stabbed her in the side. You avoided vital organs.”

“Because you wouldn’t have wanted me to kill her if I didn’t have to,” he says. “So I didn’t kill her…until I had to.”

You suck in a sharp breath. You didn’t know he was capable of such restraint. You didn’t know he had enough fragments of a heart to glue together to keep him from doing exactly as he pleases. 

His hand lands on your hip and his thumb begins to rub up and down over the curve of it. He hasn’t touched you…ever. In fact, he’s seemed over the months to deliberately avoid it. Like your skin would burn him even through the fabric of your gowns. Anytime it looked like he would try, he’d pull back before flesh grazed flesh. 

“You hadn’t kissed me since we married,” he says, so gentle in that low voice that it’s practically a whisper. It doesn’t make the heat of his breath any less intense against your skin. 

“People were watching too intensely,” you inform him. “They were thinking something was wrong between us, I could tell, and I didn’t want to give them that power over you.”

“So that was it, then?” he asks. “That’s the only reason you did it?”

“That’s–” you swallow, debating whether or not to say it, to give him more. 

“What?”

“That’s the reason I did it,” you decide to tell him, and his face shifts; his features alter in a manner you’ve never seen. He looks down to his feet. He nods and his touch disappears, and now you feel cold and you hate it. “But that’s not the only reason I wanted to do it.”

He freezes as he did before. For a moment, his chest stops rising and falling with expected breaths. When his tongue darts out to wet his lips, he raises his head. 

You can’t stop staring, even though your brain is telling you to get ahold of yourself. His mouth is so plush. You’ve always known it. It’s always done something to you. And whatever that something is, it’s more potent now that he’s so close and you can see his lips glistening in the low light. 

“Will you do it again?” he asks.

Again? You didn’t imagine he wanted you to do it the first time, or the second. The first was an obligation. The second was not exactly mutually agreed upon. But as he stands in front of you, asking, you can’t bring yourself to say no. You don’t want to say no. So you say yes, and you inch up on your toes until your lips meet his. 

Immediately, he’s yanking your body flush against his. His hand goes into your hair, and he parts his lips so they can better lock with yours. He’s good at this, and you don’t want to think about why, can’t think about why without a knot of jealousy settling in your gut that only dissipates when those hands travel down your body to the back of your thighs. You’re in the air, your legs wrapped around his waist, your lips still sealed for one second more before your back hits the mattress and he’s on top of you with his leg shoving between yours, nudging your thighs open for him. 

You don’t know the exact moment it happens, but your skirts are up to your waist and he’s inside of you, moving in and out, kissing your neck and pulling gasps from your throat, and it feels right, good, like pieces falling together. A bit of you feels guilty for that. That you can know what he’s done to people and still want to feel the pleasure of every inch that he’s giving you. You’re selfish, maybe that’s it. Maybe you’ve always been and you didn’t know it. You can’t bring yourself to care as he makes those deep noises in your ear and stains your insides.

After you’re sated, you lay there for a while with him in your arms and his arms wrapped around your waist. His head rests on your chest. You think about the things you’ve done to each other in the course of an hour and it brings a blush to your cheeks. You think about how you can’t go back and that you don’t want to. You’ve wanted this from the beginning, despite what he’s done. You expected it when you married him only to be sorely disappointed at his lack, or what appeared as a lack, of interest. You’re definitely selfish, at least when it comes to him. But you refuse to be when it comes to other matters.

“I want something from you,” you say. He hums, content. “I want us to take in that woman's boys.”

[endless-ineffabilities]

The Bolter (part nine) (18+)

Steve Rogers x f!reader / Bucky Barnes x f!reader

synopsis : Steve carries out his decision to return to Peggy, aiming to live out the rest of his days with her. But this means he's leaving everything behind - he's leaving you. Did he make the right choice? Will there be anything left with you to come back to?

in this chapter : Sam, Bucky, and you head to Madripoor with an unlikely ally. Steve says goodbye to Peggy, then travels in time to where he truly belongs.

themes/warnings : language, even more pining, even more smut!, Zemo being Zemo, Sharon cutting through our bullshit

word count : 5.8k

main masterlist ▪︎ series masterlist

━━━━━━☆━━━━━━

The 1950s, seven months after Steve’s arrival

Steve sits by the window, watching the fading sunlight pour into the room. For the first time in months, he feels calm—an eerie, unnatural calm, like the eye of a storm. He has come to accept the truth, bitter as might be: this was never his home, and soon, it won’t exist at all.

Mobius had warned him. When he goes back to his timeline, it will be as if none of this ever happened. This branch, this brief stolen life with Peggy, will be pruned. She will never know what they had here. Steve will fade from this time, and she will move on, be with the man she was always meant to be with, and have the children she was destined to have. She will live the life she was always supposed to.

But he will remember everything. He will carry the ache of knowing that none of this was ever really his to keep. 

And deep down, Steve knows it’s the right choice. His normal, whatever semblance of it he can grasp, is always going to be with you. It has always been you with whom he belonged. With his friends. With Bucky. 

His very being is meant for the picket line and not a picket fence.

“Are you ready?” Peggy’s voice breaks the silence, and Steve turns to find her standing in the doorway, looking at him with those sharp, knowing eyes. She has accepted it, just as he has. There’s no anger, no confusion. They’ve had too many talks in the past week about this—about how something always felt off for both of them, like an invisible weight pressing against their happiness. 

“I am,” Steve answers. 

“It didn’t feel right, did it?” she says quietly. 

“No… it didn’t.” He hesitates, the truth weighing heavy. “But I think I know why.”

She steps closer, her hand reaching out to touch his arm. “You don’t belong here, Steve,” she says gently, her voice unwavering. “You belong with them. You belong with the one who truly holds your heart.”

When he lifts his eyes, there’s something new in them. Certainty. “Yeah. I do. But I’m glad we had this. Even if it was never meant to last.”

Peggy’s smile is bittersweet as he presses her hand to his lips. “Me too.” 

Steve nods, his throat tight as he steps away. Hunter pads over, his loyal companion waiting patiently by the door. Mobius and Loki wait in the other room, the quiet harbingers of the life he’s meant to return to.

“Goodbye, Peggy,” he says, for one final time. 

“Goodbye, Steve,” Peggy says, her voice filled with quiet grace. “Go get your girl.”

A shiver runs down his spine. You had said the exact same words when he left you. But it didn’t stick, because he was too stupid to realise that you had always been his girl. He can picture it so well, picture you, and the thought of seeing you again soon inspires an overwhelming happiness in him.

“Ready?” Mobius asks, his usual lighthearted demeanour replaced by something more solemn.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly. “I’m ready.”

Loki taps the device, and with a flash, Steve’s world shifts.

And just like that, he’s on his way home.

2024, seven months after Steve’s departure

Your first encounter with the Flag Smashers did not go as expected. Or maybe it did. Fighting a bunch of serum-powered radicals – kids, practically – on top of cargo trucks moving at high speed was perhaps the likeliest outcome of this whole thing. After everything you’ve been through, in your decade and a half as the Huntress and all your run-ins with the Big 3, this is just another afternoon, just another mission.

Except the appearance of John Walker threw you in for a loop. Captain America, he calls himself, but there is no chance of you ever addressing him by that name, and you know the same goes for Bucky. John isn’t even carrying the right shield, the only shield, the one Steve brought with him. All he dons is a replica, much like he himself is one. 

Seeing that red, white, and blue paraded around almost made you forget about the kiss you shared with Bucky before the fight. Almost.

But you feel its undercurrent in every moment, you catch glimpses of it when you close your eyes, you feel him… and you know he does too.

The three of you made your way back to New York, recuperating in your apartment, and planning the next move, but what Bucky proposes seems the farthest from sensible.

“Zemo?” Sam stops mid-step. “Tell me you’re joking.”

Bucky doesn’t flinch. “He knows about the serum. More than anyone alive.”

“Yeah, and he’s also the guy who tried to tear the Avengers apart,” Sam counters. His voice is rising, filled with disbelief. “You want to break out a criminal mastermind? For what, a history lesson?”

“I’m not saying I like it,” Bucky says. “But if these Flag Smashers have the serum, then he’s our best chance at understanding what we’re up against.”

You can see Sam’s shoulders stiffen, his eyes wide with incredulity. You, though—your gut reaction is different. Zemo is dangerous, but your concern isn't for yourself or Sam. It’s for Bucky.

You meet his gaze. “Bucky… do you really think you can handle him? Zemo’s not exactly a small problem.”

He looks at you, something quiet and intense behind his eyes. “I can handle it,” he replies. “I have to.”

There’s a finality to his words, but they don’t ease the knot forming in your chest. Sam throws up his hands. “This is madness! I’m just supposed to be okay with busting a guy out of maximum security prison? You people are crazy.”

A moment of silence passes before you let out a resigned breath. “We don’t have much of a choice, Sam. If Bucky thinks this is the way forward, I trust him.”

Sam glares at both of you, then mutters under his breath, “You two have been spending way too much time together.”

The Berlin Correctional Facility is colder than you expected—both literally and figuratively. 

Sam checks his watch, then gives Bucky a sideways glance. “You know, this is the part where I remind you again that this is a bad idea.”

Bucky shrugs, his expression unreadable. “Noted.”

Sam sighs. “I just want it on record that I’m the voice of reason here.”

You smirk, leaning against the wall. “Come on, Sam. What’s life without a little danger?”

“You don’t get to say that when we’re about to break a supervillain out of prison,” Sam deadpans.

The plan, despite its insanity, goes off without a hitch. The guards are neutralized with minimal force, and the security systems go offline like clockwork. You hack into the mainframe to open Zemo’s cell, and when the door finally slides open, you see him—Helmut Zemo, calm and collected, standing there as though he’s been waiting for you all along.

He steps forward, his movements slow and deliberate, like a cat stalking prey. “I must say, I didn’t expect visitors.”

You glare at him, your hackles rising instantly. “Let’s get one thing clear. This is a means to an end. One wrong move, and you go back in.”

Zemo’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Of course. I wouldn’t dream of causing any trouble.”

You don’t believe him for a second.

Zemo’s private jet is the epitome of luxury—plush seats, dim lighting, the hum of the engines barely audible. Chump change compared to what Tony used to travel in, but still. It’s surreal, sitting in this polished environment, knowing you’re en route to one of the most dangerous cities in the world with one of the most dangerous men in the world.

You’re seated across the aisle from Bucky. His body is tense, his fingers twitching in his lap as if he’s holding himself back from something. You wish there was something you could say to ease the weight he’s carrying, but you know better than to push him. Not now. Not with Zemo sitting across from you, watching everything with sharp, calculating eyes.

Zemo leans back in his seat, looking far too relaxed for your liking. “I must say, I’ve always had a fondness for Madripoor. It’s a city of endless possibility, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sam glances up from across the aisle, his expression unimpressed. “Yeah, I’m sure it’s paradise for a guy like you.”

Zemo smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “It’s a place where the lines between good and evil blur. A place where one can truly be free.”

Your grip tightens on the armrest, and you glance at Bucky. His face is turned toward the window, his jaw tight, eyes dark. You lean closer, keeping your voice low. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he says, but you can hear the lie in his voice.

You open your mouth to press further, but Zemo speaks up again, cutting through the tension. “It’s interesting, isn’t it? The way history repeats itself.”

You glare at him, your protective instinct flaring. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Zemo’s eyes flicker between you and Bucky, his gaze too knowing for comfort. “It’s just... curious. The way you watch him. The way you stand between us.”

You feel a surge of anger rise in your chest, but you hold it back, keeping your tone steady. “You’re not part of this conversation.”

Zemo chuckles, leaning back. “No need to be defensive. I’m merely an observer. But I must say, the loyalty you show to him... it’s quite touching.”

Bucky shifts beside you, his hand balling into a fist. You place your hand on his arm, silently communicating that Zemo isn’t worth it. 

You warn lowly, “Don’t push it, Zemo.”

Madripoor is a city of lights and shadows, the streets buzzing with a kind of energy that makes your skin crawl. Zemo leads the way, his steps confident as he navigates the underworld with ease. He fits right in, and so do you. You’re not unfamiliar with the city yourself, with many of your contacts residing here. Sam picks at his flashy fur coat, having to wear the guise of the Smiling Tiger, and you have to bite back a laugh.

What you hate is Bucky’s role in this. Zemo insisted that Bucky act the part of the Winter Soldier again, and seeing him slip into that persona makes your stomach turn. You’ve fought so hard to help him leave that part of himself behind, and now he’s being forced to wear it like a mask.

You stick close to Bucky, your eyes constantly scanning the crowd for threats. Your hand brushes his occasionally, a silent reassurance. He doesn’t speak, but you can see the conflict in his eyes, the way his jaw clenches every time someone looks at him like he’s a weapon.

Zemo’s voice cuts through the noise. “Ah, here we are. The Brass Monkey Saloon. You’ll need to put on a show, Soldier.”

Your heart twists at the cold way Zemo refers to him. Soldier. Like Bucky’s nothing more than a tool, a means to an end. You step forward, putting yourself between them.

“Watch yourself,” you snap, your voice low and dangerous. 

Zemo raises an eyebrow, clearly amused by your protectiveness. “Of course. I merely meant that appearances must be kept."

The atmosphere inside the Brass Monkey Saloon is thick with tension. Zemo’s plan, of course, involves a show of force. Bucky takes on the role, fists flying, and you stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as he dismantles anyone who stands in your way. You can see the fear in the faces of the crowd, the whispers of “Winter Soldier” passing between them.

When the chaos finally subsides, Zemo steps forward, calm and collected. “Very convincing, James,” he says, clapping Bucky on the shoulder.

You can’t help yourself. “Don’t touch him.”

Zemo leads the way to Selby’s hideout, the plan already set. You, Bucky, and Sam follow close behind, nerves taut. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, recognizing not just the Winter Soldier, but the Huntress.

Inside Selby’s lair, things unravel faster than you can react. The exchange was supposed to be smooth—get the information on the serum, figure out who’s behind the Flag Smashers. But Selby, sly and dangerous, catches on too quickly. The words turn heated, tension thick in the air. When the situation escalates, a gunshot rings out, and Selby collapses to the floor.

Everything goes to hell. 

Selby’s guards surge forward, the entire operation blown to pieces. You don’t even have time to think before the room erupts into chaos, bullets tearing through the air. 

Bucky grabs your arm, pulling you toward the exit. “We need to move!”

The narrow alleyways of Madripoor are a maze, and no matter how fast you run, the sound of pursuit is never far behind. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline surging as you push forward, leading the way through the twisting streets.

“I can’t run in these heels!” Sam yells, his voice tight with effort as he ducks behind cover.

The sound of gunfire grows louder, and just when it seems like you’re cornered, Sharon Carter appears from the shadows, her expression all business. 

“You guys really know how to make an entrance.”

The tension in Sharon Carter’s loft is thick enough to choke on. You can’t deny the relief that floods through you at her arrival—she’s saved you from the brink more than once—but the comfort quickly dissolves the second she opens her mouth. Sharon’s never been one to coddle, and it’s clear she’s ready to let you know exactly what she thinks about this whole situation.

Her apartment reflects her new life in Madripoor: sleek, stylish, and modern, with a hint of danger lurking beneath the surface. The large windows offer a panoramic view of the chaotic city below, bathed in the neon glow of a world where morality has always been in short supply. You’re reminded of who Sharon has become—the Power Broker, controlling Madripoor’s criminal underworld from behind the scenes. And yet, she’s still the woman you fought beside, the woman you trusted implicitly. Your friend. 

“You’ve made a mess of Madripoor,” Sharon says, leaning casually against the bar, one eyebrow raised as she surveys the room. Her eyes flick between you, Bucky, Sam, and Zemo, her smirk cutting. She takes a slow sip from her glass, her posture relaxed. “You’re lucky I showed up when I did.”

“Yeah, we didn’t exactly have time to send out a save-the-date,” Sam mutters, his voice dripping with sarcasm, though you can tell he’s thankful. Sharon’s saved you all from a sticky situation—again.

Her gaze shifts to you, and that smirk widens, a playful but knowing glint in her eyes. “Still running around with these boys, huh? After everything?”

There’s an edge to her words, something that cuts deeper than you expected. Sharon’s always had a way of seeing through you, right to the heart of things. But this time, her words carry an extra weight. You know what’s coming before she even says it, but it still feels like a punch to the gut when she does.

Her eyes dart to Bucky, who’s standing tense and silent beside you, his shoulders tight. Then, they come back to you, her lips curling slightly. “You and Steve were… close. And now, here you are, keeping Bucky in check.” She pauses just long enough to make it sting. “Seems like you’ve got a type.”

Your stomach twists, and you catch the slight flicker of movement from Bucky, the way his fists clench at his sides. His face remains stoic, but you know him well enough to see the storm brewing underneath. Sharon’s words have struck a nerve. 

“What?” you say, keeping your voice even, though there’s a sharpness to it. Your heart races, and you try to keep the emotion out of your voice.

"Wow," Bucky mutters dryly, "she's kind of awful now."

Sharon shrugs, feigning casualness, but her eyes gleam with amusement at you. “It’s just… interesting. You and Cap. And now Cap’s best friend. Two men who can’t escape their own shadows. You seem to have a thing for complicated.”

You bite back your immediate retort, but before you can respond, Zemo—because of course he has to chime in—speaks up, lounging against the wall with that smug, knowing look that makes you want to punch him. “Ah, the familiar,” he says, voice silky. “It’s natural to seek comfort in something... predictable. But I wonder, how much of this is about James, and how much is simply because he reminds you of your precious Captain Rogers?”

You feel the room go cold, and the weight of Zemo’s words settles like a stone in your chest. The air around Bucky shifts, his calm demeanour fracturing just enough for you to see the tension rippling beneath. His posture stiffens even more, his jaw tight, but he doesn’t speak. The silence is worse than anything he could say.

“Leave him out of this,” you snap, your voice barely above a whisper, but the threat is clear. Zemo’s eyes gleam, dark and dangerous, but he raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Of course,” Zemo says, his smile widening. “But… leave who out of it? Which one?”

Sharon watches you closely, her smirk fading slightly as she steps closer. For the first time since she spoke, her gaze softens. She knows you—really knows you. The unspoken history between you feels heavy in the air. She tilts her head, studying you with a sharpness that you’ve come to expect from her.

“Can I have a word?” Sharon asks, her voice quieter now, almost gentle.

You nod, barely noticing the others as Sharon gestures for you to follow her into a more private corner of the apartment, away from the tense stares of Bucky and Zemo. Once you’re out of earshot, Sharon leans against the wall, crossing her arms. The playful glint is still in her eyes, but there’s a seriousness there too.

“You know I don’t mean to be harsh,” she says, her voice quieter, more personal. “But you and I... we’ve always been able to call it like it is.”

You exhale, your shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah, well, some things are harder to call than others.”

Sharon watches you for a long moment, her gaze searching your face. “It’s been a long time since Steve left. I get it. I do. But you and Bucky...” She trails off, her eyes flicking back toward him. “You’re not fooling anyone. Least of all me.”

You swallow, unsure how to respond. You’ve spent so long trying to navigate your own emotions, keeping them at bay. But here, it feels impossible to ignore any longer.

Sharon takes a step closer, her expression softening. “He’s not Steve. And I know you know that. But Bucky—he’s been through hell too. And I see the way you look at him. The way he looks at you.”

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, you can’t speak. Sharon does have a way of cutting through the bullshit, of seeing things for what they really are. 

“I’m not—” you start, but Sharon cuts you off with a small, knowing smile.

“I’m not saying it’s the same as what you had with Steve,” she says. “But maybe that’s a good thing. Bucky’s different. And maybe that’s what you need.”

You glance back toward Bucky, who’s still standing with his back to you, his shoulders tense, his hands curled into fists at his sides. You can feel the weight of his emotions, the way Zemo’s and Sharon’s comments have hit him harder than he’s letting on. You want to go to him, to tell him it’s okay. That he doesn’t have to be Steve. That you don’t want him to be.

But there’s a part of you that’s still tangled up in the past—in Steve’s shadow.

Sharon places a hand on your arm, pulling your attention back to her. “Listen,” she says, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever this is with Bucky... don’t let it slip away because you’re still holding onto something that’s gone. Steve’s not coming back. But you’ve still got a chance—with him.”

You take a deep breath, nodding slightly, but the knot in your chest doesn’t loosen. Sharon squeezes your arm, offering a small smile before she steps back, her smirk returning as she glances toward the others.

“All right,” she says, her voice louder now, more playful. “Enough emotional introspection for one night. Let’s figure out how to get you out of Madripoor before you make an even bigger mess.”

Zemo, lounging against the wall with a glass in his hand, raises an eyebrow as you sit down beside Bucky. He doesn’t say anything, but his smirk is enough to get under your skin. It’s like he can feel the emotional turbulence swirling around you.

Sharon saunters back into the room, her heels clicking against the polished floor, a confident ease in her step. “Well, now that we’ve aired out some of that dirty laundry, maybe we can focus on the job at hand?”

Sam, who’s been uncharacteristically quiet through all of this, gives Sharon a look. “Yeah, and maybe we can talk about why you didn’t feel the need to mention how deep you are in Madripoor’s criminal scene, huh?”

Sharon doesn’t miss a beat, throwing him a cocky grin. “I’m an opportunist, Sam. Madripoor offers a lot of opportunities.”

Sam mutters something under his breath, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but it’s clear Sharon has no intention of explaining herself further. And you don’t push her on it either, even though you’re the only one here who knows exactly what her role is in this city. You’ve never questioned her decisions before—everyone has to survive somehow—but seeing her now, it’s hard not to wonder if she’s lost herself in the shadows.

“I trust you’ll all stay out of trouble until I arrange our next move?” Sharon says, her eyes flicking back to you, a knowing glint in her gaze. It’s subtle, but you can tell she’s still watching you closely, assessing everything—especially your unspoken bond with Bucky.

Before anyone can respond, she turns and walks out of the room.

After escaping the chaos and making it back to Zemo’s safe house in Riga, the adrenaline finally starts to fade. It’s well past midnight when you make your way into your designated bedroom. You drop onto the bed, your heart still racing, trying to calm the storm of emotions churning inside you.

Sleep never comes easy to you—a side effect of your chosen life. One of high stakes and adrenaline. A lot more losses than wins, if any of your successful missions can even be considered wins at all.

After an hour of staring up at the ceiling, your eyes tracing the curves of the rosettes, Bucky enters your room, as noiseless as a cat. You raise your head sharply on instinct, but relax as soon as you see his figure. His shoulders are slumped as if the weight of the world rests upon them. He glances at you, and you can see the struggle etched across his face.

“Can’t sleep?” you ask, sitting up and patting the space beside you on the bed.

He purses his lips, not saying anything for a moment. After a while, and with a resounding sigh, he settles at the foot of the bed, his back to you.

“What you saw back there…” he starts, his voice low. “That wasn’t me. I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore.”

“I know,” you say softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder soothingly. “I’ve always known. You’re just Bucky.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to ever lose control,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“You won’t,” you say firmly, shuffling closer to him. “You have me.”

Bucky turns halfway, meeting your gaze. “I want to prove to you that I’m not him,” he says, his voice thick with conviction. 

Your throat suddenly feels dry. You don’t know anymore if he’s referring to the Winter Soldier or Steve. You can tell that Sharon’s comments rattled him. You’re familiar with her humour, so you know that she didn’t mean anything negative by what she said, but Bucky might have easily taken them to heart.

“You don’t have to prove anything to me,” you whisper. 

His gaze softens, and then he’s leaning in, capturing your lips with his. There is no goddamn way you’re falling asleep now, with the fire he’s igniting within you. You pull him closer, your hands threading through his hair as he deepens the kiss. 

“Are you sure?” you whisper against his lips, breathless. A roll in the hay at the height of a high-risk mission is not beneath you, especially with someone like Bucky. With these things, a heated release of pent-up tension might be just what you need. But you want to be sure that he needs it too. That he needs you. 

He nods, eyes searching yours. “I want this. I want you.”

In one fluid motion, he takes your lips again, this kiss softer, more deliberate. He relishes in you, taking his sweet time, his tongue raking the outline of your lips. You melt against him, feeling the warmth of his body pressing against yours, as well as the cool of his left arm wrapping around your torso. 

“Bucky,” you breathe, breaking the kiss momentarily.

“Just Bucky,” he replies, his voice thick with emotion.

He tugs you against him, the two of you moving in a slow, sensual dance. You feel the weight of everything—the mission, the past, the chaos—slipping away as you lose yourselves in each other. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, as you taste the sweetness of his tongue.

“I want you,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice thick with desire. “I want to show you how much you mean to me.”

You shiver at his words, the sincerity behind them sending a rush of heat coursing through your veins. “Then show me,” you whisper, your heart pounding in your chest.

The world tilts slightly as he lays you back against the soft sheets. He hovers above you, his expression a mix of desire and reverence, as if he’s afraid to touch something so precious.

“You’re so beautiful, doll,” he breathes, his gaze travelling over you as if memorising every detail, and you suddenly forget how to speak. 

You’ve never considered yourself meek by any means, always able to stand your ground. The last time you’ve actually felt shy, and felt blood rush to your face at the attention of an admirer was with….

You shake Steve out of your thoughts.

“It’s just me,” you say, mirroring his earlier words.

His lips curve into a soft smile, and you can see the flicker of warmth behind the shadows that often cloud his expression. “Just you is everything,” he replies, his voice dropping to a whisper.

His hands slide under your shirt, fingers brushing against your skin, igniting every nerve ending. The sensation is overwhelming, and you gasp against his mouth, the heat pooling low in your belly.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, his lips trailing down your neck, kissing a path along your collarbone. Each soft touch leaves a trail of fire, and you can’t help but arch into him, your body instinctively seeking more.

“Bucky,” you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as if you can fuse your bodies into one. “Please.”

His response is immediate. He pushes your shirt up, baring your torso to him, and you feel exposed yet completely alive under his gaze. Then he leans down to press soft kisses along your midriff. The sensation is electric, maddening even, as he drifts ever lower. 

Bucky lifts his head, meeting your gaze with a burning intensity. “Let’s make this moment last,” he murmurs, his eyes darkening with desire as he shifts his weight, settling between your legs. His hands find the hem of your pants, his fingers grazing your skin as he slowly pushes them down your legs, along with your underwear, revealing you completely to him.

“Bucky,” you moan, when he kisses a trail along your inner thigh. “Patience, doll,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. You watch him as he continues his exploration, his kisses drifting higher until he reaches your core, and the breath hitches in your throat when he sucks at your aching bud.

The heat builds, swirling around you as he loses himself in you, the world outside fading away completely. You can feel the tension tightening in your belly, a delicious coil that threatens to snap.

“I’m getting close,” you breathe after a long while, the words almost lost amidst a long bout of incoherent moaning. You reach down and roughly push his face into your pussy, wantonly craving more as his tongue laps at your juices. 

Bucky responds with a growl, his hands gripping your hips as he pushes you closer to the edge. “Let go,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with desire. “I’ve got you.”

With those words, you explode, pleasure crashing over you in waves as you cry out his name. He holds you tightly, a steady anchor as you ride the waves of ecstasy, feeling more alive than ever.

As the pleasure subsides, you gasp for breath, your heart racing as you come down from the high. “You okay?” Bucky asks, hovering over you and brushing a stray hair from your face.

You nod, your body still buzzing from the aftermath. “Better than okay,” you reply, a smile creeping across your lips.

He chuckles, the sound resonating deep within his chest, a rich, warm sound that makes your heart swell. For all his worries about falling back into the darkness, you find that he is slowly becoming your source of light. 

“I want you to know,” he murmurs, his voice softer now, “that was only the beginning.”

“Oh really?” you tease, raising an eyebrow, letting your fingers trace along the contours of his vibranium arm.

“Yeah, babydoll,” He grins wolfishly, and you’re glad to see this playful side of him resurfacing. 

You roll on your side, pressing a playful kiss to his lips. “Well, I’m all for that.”

He undresses in a haste, his motions careless and frantic that his black shirt gets stuck around his head, earning a giggle from you. His groans are muffled when he protests, “It’s not funny.”

You reach up to help him out of it. “It’s kinda funny.”

When he’s finally free of the confines of cotton, his hair is all mussed. He looks downright adorable that you could just melt at the sight. But then he frees himself of his trousers too, his thick cock bobbing erect from his boxers, the vein running down its side angry and swollen. 

He’s not just adorable; he’s sensual, virile, erotic.

And you want him so fucking badly.

But he beats you to that admission. “You drive me crazy,” he rasps, his hands massaging your sides. “In the best way possible.”

“I could say the same about you.” There’s a teasing glint in your eyes as you lean back slightly, letting your fingers wander down his chest, tracing the solid lines of his body, each muscle taut and inviting. He groans softly at your touch, his head dropping slightly as his control wavers. 

He positions himself just right, teasing at first, his breath ragged as he enters you slowly, inch by inch. The stretch is exquisite, your body tightening around him as a disjointed gasp escapes your lips. His jaw clenches, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as he savours the sensation.

“You feel so good, doll,” he groans, his voice hoarse with restraint. There’s a primal hunger in the way he looks at you—like he’s claiming you, and that realisation ignites something deep within you.

You meet his thrusts, your hands gripping his back, nails biting into his skin as he starts to move. His rhythm is slow at first, deliberate, as though he’s drawing out every moment of pleasure, letting it pool deep inside you. Each thrust pushes deeper, more intense, as he slams his pelvis into you.

“You’re mine,” he growls, his voice dripping with possessiveness, his lips brushing against your neck before he bites down softly, enough to make you moan his name.

“Fffuck, yes, Bucky—”

“You’re so tight,” he gasps, his voice thick with need as he watches your reactions, the way your body responds to him. “God, you feel incredible.”

Before you can respond, he shifts his angle, driving into you harder, deeper. Your knees are pressed together, pointed to one side as he lifts your hips slightly. Every time he ruts into you, he hits that fleshy, sweet spot in your cunt. 

“Yes, Buck!” you gasp. “Just like that.”

“Look at me,” he demands, his voice barely above a growl. “I want you to remember this every time you think of him.” His words are punctuated with a dangerous tinge that almost makes them sound like a threat. A warning. 

“Want you to fall apart around me, doll. Go on. Cum on me,” he commands. His movements grow frenzied, his body shaking with intense pleasure as he drives his cock mercilessly into your core.

You practically scream out hoarsely, the sound mingling with his as he follows you into bliss, his hot seed filling you completely.

Bucky collapses beside you, panting, and you turn to face him, a blissful smile breaking across your lips.

“That was fucking incredible,” you whisper. 

He catches his breath, his fingers trailing along your cheek, his gaze softening. “You have no idea how much I needed that,” he admits. 

“I can kind of tell,” you tease lightly. 

He smiles, a wicked glint in his eyes as he leans in, brushing his lips against yours again. “You’re amazing.”

You smile back, despite the pang of wistfulness in your heart. Because even as his memory lingers, you can feel yourself falling deeper for Bucky. 

“Thank you,” you say sincerely, “So are you, Buck.” You take a breath, the words caught in your throat, as you desperately attempt to address whatever it is that needs to be addressed, but he sees the turmoil in your eyes, and gently cradles your face with one hand.

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t know…” you mumble. 

“Hey,” he says, offering a soft smile, “it’s okay, it’s okay.” You feel hopeless—it should be you consoling him. About whatever this is, and how the memory of Steve continues to complicate everything. Perhaps it always will. But here he is, carrying that burden for the both of you.

He presses a kiss to your forehead, a gesture carrying nothing but tenderness. 

Maybe even love.

“I’m with you, doll,” he promises. “Until the end of the line.”

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Some notes in the margins:

I'm kinda rushing through the events of tfatws, but I want to reach a certain point in time for Steve to make his entrance!

Writing this made me really, really feel for Bucky. My allegiance sways every week. I don't know what to do 😫🥲

oh, and the header images have been updated to include our Buck! As always, I am keen to know what yous think about this chapter 💙💙💙