#and he is so close to snapping at any given moment

[firingstars]

faded, but not forgotten

wintersoldier!bucky x blackwidow!reader

summary: chosen for a special hybrid program between the red room and hydra, you find yourself being trained by the winter soldier himself. you continue to watch as the numbers dwindle around you while the soldier seeks you out for help.

warnings: 18+, mdni, smut, unprotected sex, violence, blood, death, descriptions of injuries and wounds, survivor's guilt, language, reader lowk got that red room depression, angst, no use of y/n

word count: 10.2k

masterlist

Droplets as deep as rose petals trailed down the hall.

You looked down both ends of the hall, trying to find a soul in sight. There was no one that you could see, no one that was injured or hurt. You had no idea where the blood started, but you saw where it ended. 

Slowly, you moved. Your footsteps no longer made a sound. Your breath didn’t dare stir with the wind. Your clothes didn’t rustle with your movement. The years you spent in these halls had conditioned you better than that. No, by this point, you were close to graduation. If you couldn’t mask your presence, you would’ve been dead long ago. 

In fact, you were one of the twenty girls chosen in your batch for a special group.

Just six months ago, you and twenty other girls had been brought for examination. You were injected with some sort of medicine, something that you weren’t allowed to question.

Your instructors barely gave any of you any warning. Simply told you that the serum would make you stronger, better fighters, give you a higher chance to be Black Widows.

Five of you died that night. 

You didn’t doubt the numbers when you were brought back to your bed. You thought you were going to die, too. 

You wanted to separate the skin from your muscles, to remove the muscles from your veins, and drain the serum from your system. You’d never felt pain like that in your life before, and you had spent over two decades of your life being broken  and rebuilt within these walls. 

There was no anesthesia given to you. Nothing to help with the pain. There never was. This place was cruel. You are either killed, or you kill. A place to train young girls to be assassins, spies, and much worse. 

The pain was an initiation. If you could survive through the night, survive the change your body was going through, then you were chosen. Blessed to see another day. It was never truly a blessing. 

Death was the true blessing. 

You pushed open the door of the gym, eyes falling on the man who stood at the front. A puddle of blood was dripping from his arm as he stared at the wall.

Your newest instructor, who appeared not long after you and the other girls underwent your ‘transformation.’ 

They called him the Winter Soldier. 

You’ve met plenty of domineering figures in your time in the Red Room, but he was the first to make your heart stop. The mere force of his presence makes you shiver. 

You’ve never seen his face— not fully. He’s always worn a mask over his nose and mouth. You could never bring yourself to meet his gaze, but you know his eyes are piercing. Dark, guarded. His hair is long, and covers the rest of his face in shadows that just adds to your terror. 

He replaced your previous combat instructor, and he came with a handler. He was there for more hand to hand combat, unlike your other teacher who taught you formations and tactics. You all would watch as he fought with each girl daily. At first, you didn’t understand why the handler was necessary— didn’t understand why the handler always had the loaded gun pointed at him at all costs. 

Then, on the third day, fifteen girls became fourteen with a snap of a neck under the grip of his metal hand. He didn’t even need to try. You had to fight back the gasp of horror that threatened to escape your lips.

The girl beside you wasn’t so controlled. She let out a scream, and his target changed. In just a few moments, her head was bashed into the wall right next to you. The side of your face was warm with the splatter of her blood. You forced yourself to remain stoic, to keep your eyes trained in front of you, to ignore the scene unfolding beside you. To pretend that fourteen did not just become thirteen. 

The handler had the Winter Soldier on his knees, electrified and subdued before he could go after the rest of you. You watched him fall to his knees in front of you, watched as whatever killing intent reset in his brain, and he stood once more. 

Class was dismissed early that day, as your headmaster needed to revise the plan for your special program. 

You didn’t even get the chance to fight him one on one before the classes shifted into the girls sparring with each other, and him observing instead. If he found something he disliked, he would correct it. Not by speaking, but by punishment. 

Punishment wasn’t uncommon. It was how the other teachers trained you all. He would repeat the same actions he disliked to the Widow in training, and make her fix it until she found a way he liked. 

When he walked away, it meant he was satisfied. 

And now, he was bleeding. All over the floor. 

Your eyes flickered up towards the clock on the wall. You were over an hour earlier than you needed to be. You finished your chores and tasks, and you were simply roaming the halls during your free time before class. You didn’t mean to be found out— much less run into him of all instructors. 

The Soldier was staring at you. You couldn’t just turn around. Turning your back to him would be a death sentence. The handler wasn’t here. You’ve watched him snap a girl's neck. Watched him inflict punishment on other girls without his handlers intervention since that was the Soldier’s job here. 

You took in a slow breath, and straightened your spine. 

“You’re hurt,” you whispered, and your voice carried across the room, bouncing off of the walls. 

He doesn’t react. There’s not a hint of recognition in his eyes that lets you know that he even heard you. You don’t dare to take a step in fear of activating some sort of kill switch within him. You’re not even sure what makes him tick. 

“Can I… We’re taught how to treat wounds,” you said slowly. “Can I fix you?”

Silence continued to fill the gym, and you wait. There’s no yes, but there isn’t a no either. You decide to take your chances. 

“I’m going to get supplies,” you informed him, stepping backwards towards the door. “Just… stay here. Don’t move.”

A nod. For a moment, you think your eyes are playing tricks on you. But it was unmistakable. You know what you saw. The Winter Soldier nodded at you. It was only one; small slight tilt of his head, but he acknowledged your words. 

You shuffled out of the gym, and floated towards the nearest first aid kit that you knew to find. On your way back, you quickly cleaned up the traces of the Soldier’s blood so no one would be able to see. 

You shouldn’t care to do any of this. You chalk it up to fear. You’ve seen him fight your batchmates. You’ve seen him deal out punishments. You’ve been lucky to avoid all the disgruntled gaze he throws at the other girls. 

Moreover, you wonder if his handler might shoot you, too. You saw the asset injured. No one is to know that the Winter Soldier is closer to man than he is machine. He’s supposed to be an unstoppable force, which is what he’s training you and the other girls to be. It’s why you got that serum— to make you a lesser version of him.

You slink back into the gym, finding the Soldier right where you left him. Blood is still dripping down onto the wooden floor from his flesh arm, and the pool of blood is growing larger. You vaguely wonder how this man is still standing in front of you. 

You approach him carefully, like he’s a rabid animal in the middle of the woods. For the first time, your eyes connect with his, and you notice the color. 

His eyes are blue. Not like the sky. They don’t resemble the ocean, either. The color is closer to a storm about to crash over your body in thick pelts. It’s dangerous, yet breathtaking all at the same time.

Now, you’re right in front of him. The scent of metallic blood is stronger, mixed with the heavy scent of gunpowder and smoke. His eyes are still on you. You can’t look away. You’re not sure if you can.

“Can you take off your sleeve?” you whispered, afraid to speak any louder. 

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Your eyebrows furrow as you stare at him, then cautiously allow your gaze to drop down to his gear to look him over. There’s a cut in the upper part of his bicep, but you can’t see how bad the wound is without inspecting him closer. His sleeve is connected to his vest, it seems. There’s a series of straps and belts that you’d have to undo to get to his arm, where you think he’s bleeding from the most. 

You clenched your jaw, weighing your options. 

You didn’t have the time to wait for his response. If the handler came back to find the two of you like this— you stopped yourself from thinking further. You don’t know what or how the Soldier came to be in this kind of state, but you didn’t need to be blamed for it. 

“I’m going to take the gear off of you,” you told him, eyes flickering up to meet his once more. 

He was already staring at you. He was staring at you the entire time, while you were stuck in your thoughts. 

And once again, he nodded. Just one nod to show he heard you. 

Very carefully, you placed the first aid kit down on the ground to free both of your hands. When you straightened, you moved slowly. Gave him the chance to back away, to anticipate your movements as you reached for the straps on his chest and began to undo them. 

The Soldier did not flinch as you undid his gear and peeled the Kevlar from his body. However, you couldn’t mask the horror that came into your face when his skin was revealed to you. 

Your eyes didn’t know where to look— several fresh bruises and cuts were all along his chest and abdomen. These could not have been from a mission or training. These were inflicted by torture. These were too precise. Surgical, even. The blade was too thin. The cuts were shallow enough to not leave any lasting scars. 

Your hands were shaking. Your body was trembling. 

Even after everything you’ve witnessed, everything you endured, things like this weren’t easy for you to swallow down. Perhaps this is why you stuck your neck out for the asset. Offered to ‘fix him up’ when you saw him bleeding. 

A cold hand closed around one of yours. Your eyes shot up to meet his, and he looked down towards his right shoulder. You followed his gaze— fuck.

He was bleeding, horribly so. There was a thick puncture wound. The Soldier had been stabbed into his muscle, then the blade was dragged down slightly before being pulled out. You cringed at the mental image of it all.

“Sit down against the wall so I can stitch you up,” you murmured weakly. 

The Soldier let go of your hand, and moved as soon as the words left your mouth. 

Realization hits you as you watch him slump against the wall. It fills you with a strange sort of pity and sadness. He doesn’t respond to your questions. He only follows orders. 

You grab the first aid kit and settle beside him, kneeling. You make quick work of his shoulder, following the routine and instructions that you’ve learned in your other classes. You glance at his face every once in a while, or just his eyes, you guess. The rest of his face is still covered. 

You’ve had to patch yourself up more than a handful of times over the years, and you still had to grit your teeth to stop yourself from making noise. The Soldier didn’t even blink. He stared at the floor in front of him. His muscles didn’t betray his stoicism, either. 

His entire body was stone throughout everything, even when you passed the needle through his skin to close his wound up. 

The Soldier was pliant in your hands like this. Almost like a doll. When you moved his arm or body in a way that you needed to accommodate you, he simply shifted and stayed until you moved him back. You wrapped his shoulder in gauze and bandage, then reached for his gear. 

You could feel his eyes on you as you quickly scrubbed the inside of the sleeve and vest, tossing aside the bloodstained gauze and wipes before dressing him back up. You strapped and buckled him back into place, as if you’d never touched him to begin with. 

“Just be careful,” you muttered as your hands finally left him, “Don’t tear the stitches.”

You saw his eyebrows furrow, just slightly. Confusion just briefly flickered through the storm of his eyes before fading away, and you turned away, closing the kit. 

Your eyes caught the pool of blood, a soft curse exiting your lips. You quickly cleaned it up, thankful that it didn’t stain the wood. You checked the time on the clock next— you had five minutes. Enough time to return the kit back to where it came from, wash your hands of the blood, and come back for class. 

You spared the soldier one more glance before you got up, and turned your back to him, going for the door. 

You had many downsides to being picked for the special program. One of them was that you consciously decided not to get to know any of the girls that you were training with. 

The chances of becoming a Widow in general was one in twenty. Putting names to faces would only give you more pain in the long run, you believed. You spent most of your time with these girls. Forming long term connections with them when either you or them could die within the next few seconds would be counterintuitive. 

It was a self inflicted downside, but one that you instilled on yourself nonetheless. 

Another downside was your instructors. Not just the Winter Soldier, but all of them. Since receiving that special vial of something, your classes were longer. Harder. The curriculum had been increased by tenfold because they were convinced that you could take it. 

Your head could barely keep up with the strategic information they were shoving into your head. Your body was exhausted from combat training, weapons training, acrobatics, gymnastics, ballet— all of it. The added mental fatigue wasn’t helping. 

You couldn’t fall behind. You wouldn’t let your marks fall below what was acceptable, and what was acceptable was perfect.

By the end of the third strategic exam, thirteen became ten. You and your batchmates had to ignore the gunshots in the room. You still had to force your body not to flinch when you heard the bodies hit the floor. 

Your special program received one benefit— private rooms. You no longer had to sleep in the prison style hall room all the other girls slept in. You were no longer monitored at night by an instructor that slowly walked up and down the aisle with a cattle prod in hand to strike a girl that they thought was faking their sleep.

It was a privilege that you earned, the headmaster told you as you brought the few belongings you had into the small, rectangular room that held a tiny twin bed and a desk with a lamp and journal. At the foot of the bed was a clothes rack with your uniforms— combat training, ballet and acrobatics, your formal attire for meetings, and your nightgown. The smallest of windows was on the wall, just enough to allow light to seep through. Thick metal bars framed it, reminding you of your place in the world. 

You no longer were cuffed to the bedframe at night, like the other girls in the regular Black Widow program. Your door, however, was locked from the outside. You would have to wait every morning to be let out. At the end of the day, this was another prison cell— just private. 

You were still stuck within these walls without a way out. They wouldn’t give you a chance to escape. Your only chance of escaping was to graduate from the program or to succumb to death itself. 

If your time in the program taught you anything, it was to be a light sleeper. To sense anything in your sleep, even the faintest of movements. 

Your eyes snapped open as adrenaline coursed through your veins. You sat up quickly, feeling disturbed. Your hands instinctively reached for your waist, then a curse ripped through your throat when your hands touched the silk of your nightgown. 

You had no weapons in your room. It was a rule. A stupid fucking rule that made no sense— weapons were not allowed where the Widows in training slept. It was to eliminate the possibility of the girls attacking each other in their most vulnerable states. However, when you train young girls to be assassins, you would expect them to feel safer with a gun in their hand as they slept. 

Your eyes trained on the figure standing right at your door, shrouded by the shadows of your room. Your heartbeat was accelerated, your chest rising and falling in uneven motions. 

“Soldier?” you whispered, terror running through you. 

Wordlessly, he held up a box towards your direction. You blinked at it, forcing your eyes to focus in the darkness of your room— another first aid kit. You stared for a few moments, lips parted. 

What?

“Are you… hurt?” you asked slowly.

His arm fell back down to his side, bringing the kit with him. He didn’t answer you— of course he didn’t. He responded to orders, and you always asked him questions. 

Slowly, you moved your feet to the edge of the bed and stood. You smoothed your hair out as you carefully approached the Soldier, reaching behind him to turn on the fluorescent overhead light.

You couldn’t see any visible injuries on him from your first glance. Then again, he wore thick, padded gear. You couldn’t even see the last entry point from when you patched him up last time. 

You carefully took the first aid kit from his hands, and set it onto your desk. The Soldier allowed you to do so, watching your every move. You pulled the chair from the desk, and gestured to it. 

“Can you sit down for me?” you asked. 

He didn’t. He just stared at you, and you stared right back. You inhaled slowly, biting the inside of your cheek. You released the breath, and swallowed thickly. 

“Sit,” you said. A one word, simple command. 

The Soldier responded in kind.

He was rigid against the wooden chair. His spine was eerily straight, eyes trained on the wall in front of him. His hands were resting on his thighs, pinkies brushing against the weapons holstered there— ready for any threat to appear. 

You pushed the thought away.

Slowly, you shifted onto your knees. You pulled your nightgown up your thighs to avoid them from scraping against the floor, to avoid any indication during inspection later in the morning that you were doing this. 

Just like before, the Soldier did not move when you reached to take his gear off. Unlike training, he wasn’t rough. He was soft in your hands, allowing you to mold him in ways that were easiest for you to take care of him.

This injury was different— a few bullets that were embedded into his skin that weren’t able to fully penetrate from the layers of his gear. Still, they punctured through, and he was bleeding. 

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath. “This… It doesn’t hurt?”

You knew he wouldn’t respond, but you asked anyway. You could feel his eyes on your every move as you reached for the first aid kit, and started to work on him. 

From this point forth, the Soldier sought you out every time he had an injury. 

When he would appear in your room, he would simply wait until you woke up from the pressure he brought— the fear of being watched in your sleep. He would sit when you told him to, remain still as you mended his wounds, and let you dress him back up. 

Afterwards, he would take back the first aid kit with him, and lock your door as he left. You weren’t sure how he got the key to your room. You didn’t even know if he had the clearance for that. Then again, you were pretty certain that he wouldn’t need a key to get in and out of places. 

It wasn’t just limited to your room, either. 

You started to see him out of the corner of your eye in the halls. Like some kind of fucking creep. 

You’d be exiting one of your classes, and see him in the back somewhere, eyes fixed on you. You’d have to take a quick glance at the clock before locating the nearest kit, and rush over to him with steps no one could hear. Each time, the Soldier would allow you to pull him into an enclosed, quiet space to undress him so you could assess the damage on his body.

You lost track of the amount of times you patched him up. The amount of stitches you pulled through his body. The times you undressed him, and redressed him. The injuries were always different. You always looked over the previous injuries, too. Checked to make sure they healed right, muttered to him about how he needed to be careful if they weren’t, looked at him with suspicion when they healed too fast. You removed the old stitches, too. 

You weren’t sure why you were doing all of this. 

Guilt, if you really thought about it. You don’t know how many other girls you’d lured to their deaths for tests so you could move on to the next grade. You had countless amounts of bodies under your belt, and you haven't graduated yet. Girls that you had killed otherwise they would have killed you, but there were other girls you could have helped. Girls you could have pulled into a room like you did for the Soldier, and patched them up before the instructors saw. 

You never did. You didn’t want to. All of your batchmates were your competition, your rival, your enemy until you graduated with or without them. If they died from their own foolishness, from being unable to tend to their own wounds, it wasn’t your problem. 

It’s what you told yourself to try to sleep easier at night. 

But the Soldier was not competition. He was your instructor. He corrected your class with brutal techniques that made you cringe, and want to look away. You never did. You couldn’t. Eyes were always watching, and you knew you would be the next target if you showed weakness. 

An enemy, maybe, but not in times like this. You could trick yourself to thinking that you were good if you kept doing this for him. If you kept helping a man that wasn’t that great himself, a man that didn’t trust you fully, but still kept coming to you to fix the wounds that he wouldn’t tend to himself. 

The Soldier’s eyes never softened. They were always sharp, as if he was waiting for the moment you would turn on him— for the needle in your hands to stab instead of stitch. His fingers always rested on the side of his belt, ready to pull a dagger faster than you could blink. 

You never asked why he didn’t go back to his handler. You didn’t think he would answer you even if you asked. Then again, during classes, you saw the way the handler looked at him. Saw how the handler treated him. Guns are always drawn and pointed. Taunting the Soldier. 

The Soldier was a toy. Not a man, not a machine. He was an object to be played with.

Just like you were. 

“All done,” you murmured to him, adjusting the last strap on his vest. You lifted your eyes to meet his. As always, he was already looking at you. 

He stood. Not abruptly, not haphazardly. Methodically. He collected the first aid kit, and went for your door. This time, he didn’t lock it behind him. No, he didn’t even close it. Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared at the opened door. After a few moments, you pushed yourself up to your feet, and reached for the handle, pulling it the rest of the way open to peer your head out. 

The Soldier stood at the end of the hall, his back turned to you. However, he was looking at you from over his shoulder. Quietly waiting. 

“Do you want me to follow you?” you whispered, your voice barely carrying down the hallway. 

The Soldier turned his gaze forward, and started walking. 

You don’t know why. You should’ve closed the door, and tucked yourself back under the covers. Then, you thought about the fact your door wasn’t locked, and only the Soldier could lock it right now. 

You shoved your feet into your slippers, and quickly took down the hall after him, heart thundering in your chest. He’d already disappeared. You didn’t hear where he went. Then again, you never could hear him when he approached— only felt him when it was too late, when he was already too close. 

You turned the corner, your adrenaline spiking as you came into contact with another body. A cold hand clasped over your mouth gently, while a metal hand closed around your shoulders to steady you before you stumbled backwards. 

The Soldier towered over you, eyes piercing into yours, his long, dark hair brushing against your skin. A warning was in his eyes. To be quiet.

With his hand still over your face, you nodded. Small, only once, but you acknowledged him. 

Satisfied, he released you. 

You continued down the hallway, trailing behind him. Neither of you made a noise. You both were better than that. If the Soldier heard an instructor coming by, doing their nighty hall rotations, he would stop in his place. A hand would come out from his side to signal you as well. Both of you would blend into the walls, the corner, the shadows– anything that you could to hide the fact that you were not supposed to be out of your room.

Your confusion only seemed to grow even more. The Soldier knew that you had a curfew. You were supposed to be locked away, and yet he was leading you somewhere else. 

When the coast was clear, he would keep moving. Every once in a while, he would take a look over his shoulder to ensure that you weren’t falling too far behind. If you were, he would stop until you were at a distance that he preferred before moving forward again. 

The two of you made your way to the stairwell. You stood behind him as the Soldier carefully picked the lock, ensuring that his movements were silent enough so no one would be alerted. It must’ve been how he got into your room every single time he was injured. 

You followed him up the stairs– you’d never been through this area before. You had no idea where he was leading you. At the very top was another door, and a warm breeze hit your face almost instantly. 

Fresh air. 

Your lips parted as the Soldier walked outside to the rooftop– you hadn’t been outside in years. You weren’t allowed. None of you were. The last time you were allowed to be outside was during an outside exercise, and a girl had tried to bolt. You had all gotten the privilege revoked from you after they gunned her down. 

Cautiously, you took a few steps out onto the roof, joining the Soldier where he stood at the edge of the building. You couldn’t see anything for miles. You were surrounded by dense woods. There were no city lights. No other form of civilization that you could see in the darkness of the night. But if you were to look up, you were comforted by the night sky.

Twinkling lights cascaded your eyes, caressing your mind and promising you good dreams. You could almost cry at the sight. You had no idea when you had last seen the sky so clear, so unguarded and bright. 

The Soldier wasn’t looking at the sky. You could feel his eyes on you.

Unlike all other times, when his presence was too overbearing for you to even breathe– it seemed like he felt different. There was no hostility in his eyes tonight as he looked at you. No suspicion or weariness. 

“Why did you bring me out here?” you whispered. You turned to look at him, meeting his eyes. “To thank me for helping you all those times?”

For the first time, he answered your question. Not verbally. 

Just a nod. A single nod, to let you know that you had guessed right. 

And you smiled– a ghost of a smile, something that you thought you’d forgotten how to do long ago. You let out a small laugh a few seconds later as you shook your head before looking back up at the sky.

“Thank you for showing me the stars,” you told him. “I couldn’t remember how beautiful they were.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the Soldier slowly tilted his head back. He also looked up to see what you were talking about. Together, the two of you stood there for what seemed like hours, taking in the twinkling orbs of the universe. 

You stood in front of your headmaster, Dreykov, feet shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind your back. Your shoulders were squared off, chin held high. You were called into a meeting, several of your instructors sitting around the conference table as well. 

“We’re impressed by your recent marks,” your headmaster started off, “and it seems that the Winter Soldier has taken an interest in your skills during combat training.”

You keep your expression trained, but your pulse quickens in your neck. 

Shit. 

You tried to tell him to ignore you. To tell him to focus on the other girls, to stop hovering around you during class, but the stubborn fucking soldier wouldn’t listen to you.

Since the night on the rooftop, he didn’t come to you for just his injuries now. He came to you when he wanted company. When he didn’t want to be alone. You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t like it– you didn’t want to be alone either.

The two of you went out onto the rooftop every once in a while like you did that first night. You trailed behind him down the halls, like you two were ghosts on a mission. You both would sit out there for hours at a time. He would return you to your room before sunrise, lock the door, and your secret would be safe.

You also would spend time with him in your room. The two of you would sit in silence. He would sit in your desk chair while you sat at your bed. The two of you would just look at each other. It was never weird or strange, for some reason. Your eyes would trail over his body. You would take stock of how strong his body looked, despite everything. You would take notice of how the light would watch the silver of his arm, and how his eyes were striking against the black shadow of his gear. 

You don’t know what he was thinking when he was staring at you, but you knew that he was taking in all of you. His eyes seemed to rest on every single part of you when he looked. You would be dressed down in your nightgown in your room, as per instruction, and your hair would be down as per regulation. 

At one point, he reached for you. Touched your hair a few times. He seemed curious. During classes, your hair was braided up and out of the way. It was just how it was supposed to be. After he crossed that threshold, the Soldier started sitting closer to you. Started touching you more. 

You allowed him to. His touches started moving from your hair to your neck. He reached for your hands, flipping them over to trace the slight calluses on your palms from handling weapons all day. His fingertips were light against your arms as they danced up them, going all the way back up to your shoulders and to your collarbones. His touches were innocent enough. You didn’t mind it. You enjoyed his touch. It seemed as if he was exploring– trying to see what about you was fascinating to him. Why he kept coming back here. 

You were wondering why, too. 

But it was starting to translate into classes.

He was pushing harder during combat training. Not in a way that was hurting you– he was pushing you past your limits because he knew you could take it. He knew what you were capable of. He had been watching you closer. He hadn’t inflicted any punishments on you like he had the other girls, but he was fixing the tells that you had without others finding out. 

In combat training, if his eyes didn’t linger for too long, then his hands did. When he walked you through a sequence, his hand would rest on the small of your back for a beat too long, and others were beginning to notice. He picked you out against the other girls to demonstrate harder techniques when he knew that there were others that were better than you, that could’ve done it better– but fuck. You had no idea why he was doing any of this. 

And now, you were in this fucked meeting. 

“We’ll start transitioning into Phase Two of the program,” Dreykov continued. “We’re choosing you as our Widow.”

“Thank you, Headmaster,” you responded, offering a pretty, trained smile. You knew better than to ask any questions.

“And the other girls?” your tactician's instructor asked.

“Get rid of them,” Dreykov waved a dismissive hand. “They failed.”

A collective sigh of disappointment is released around the room. You locked eyes with the headmaster, who watched your expression. You didn’t give any indication of discomfort or pain. You can’t afford to let your fear show. Not when you’ve come this far. He looks pleased with your  lack of reaction. 

You were dismissed shortly after, told to retire for the night early as you had a long day ahead of you tomorrow. You left them to discuss the rest of your training for the special program. You couldn’t breathe. You don’t know if he did it on purpose– you had no idea if the Soldier saved your life on purpose. You had no idea if he knew that him showing interest in your skills would result in this outcome, but it made you sick all the same. The guilt of surviving was gnawing in your gut, but you couldn’t help but be grateful.

As you made it down to the hall towards your room, you heard the gunshots ricocheting off the walls as you met the Soldier’s eyes. He was standing right outside your door. You saw his shoulders relax, just slightly as he saw you. 

Just like that, ten became one. 

Before the assistants could come out of the rooms with the girls in body bags, the Soldier crossed the hallway, and pulled you into your room. He shut the door behind him, allowing you the sanctuary, and space for you to fall apart without anyone pulling the trigger on you for being human. 

You stay still. You wait until you don’t hear shuffling in the hallway anymore, until you don’t hear the voices of the assistants talking about bringing the girls' bodies’ to the incinerators to burn. Once it falls completely silent outside, you crumble. You release the breath you’d been holding since you heard the gunshots, and you can’t fill your lungs with air.

You reach for the Soldier. Every single part of him. You’re grabbing onto his arms, his shoulders, his chest. Your fingers get caught onto the straps and belts of his vest. Your nails dig into his gear as you attempt to ground yourself. 

In just one moment, you were the cause of the death of ten girls, and you didn’t even realize it. You shouldn’t be this bothered. You’d killed others with your own bare hands. You’d pulled the trigger yourself. You’d had your hands smeared with their blood after slicing throats before. 

Maybe it was because you didn’t know. Maybe not knowing made it much worse. You didn’t have the time to prepare.

You slowly sunk to your knees in front of the Soldier, and he followed you down, supporting you so you didn’t just slam onto your kneecaps. Then, you felt his hands on your shoulders. Your breathing hitched, just slightly– shocked by his touch. Then, his hands moved to your face. He angled your head to look at him.

As always, he was already looking at you. Except, his gaze wasn’t piercing this time. It was softer. His presence was calming. He was trying to comfort you. 

“Did you know they would die?” you asked. “Did you know they were going to die when you kept helping me?”

The Soldier nodded to you. You searched his eyes. There was no regret in them. You shattered, just slightly, but he kept you in his hands. You hooked your hands on his wrists, closing your eyes tight to try to stop the familiar feeling of tears coming. 

“Why?” you whispered, your voice breaking with the single word. 

“You were not their first choice.”

Your eyes snapped open, meeting his again. Your eyebrows furrowed as your lips parted. Your soldier spoke– he spoke to you.

“What?” you muttered, swallowing thickly.

“I couldn’t let you die,” he murmured, thumbs brushing the tops of your cheeks as a tear escaped from the corner of your eye. 

His voice was hoarse, deep, and gravelly. It was as if he hadn’t spoken in years. It sent shivers down your spine, and made goosebumps rise along your skin. Every sense in your body was awakened just from listening to him talk. 

You tugged on his hands, pulling them down and away from your face. You let out a shaky breath, and slowly reached for him. You gave him the chance, the option to move away from you. He didn’t. Instead, he lowered his eyes. Almost as if he was submitting to what you wanted to do. 

You removed the mask off of him, revealing his face to you for the first time in the entire time that you had known him as your instructor. 

The Soldier was beautiful. Strikingly beautiful. You had no idea why they covered his face. You set the mask aside, and touched his face. You traced the slope of his nose. Your thumb gently went over the shape of his lips. Your palm rested on the stubble of his jaw. 

“What is the second phase?” you asked him, fear lacing your voice.

“Another serum,” he said. “The first one you got was barely anything at all.”

Dread filled your stomach. “Another one?”

“The first one was to slow your aging, boost your healing factor,” he said, meeting your eyes. “This next one will make you a weapon.”

Your hand dropped from his face, resting onto your thigh. You felt numb. You couldn’t feel anything at all. A weapon? Isn’t that what you already were? Isn’t that what you had been training to become? 

“Is that all we are?” you asked, a dry laugh escaping your lips. “Just a weapon?”

The Soldier didn’t answer you. You didn’t blame him. You didn’t have an answer, either. 

You stared at him for a few moments. You searched his face, taking in a slow, deep breath.

“What’s your name?” you whispered. “I can’t just keep calling you ‘Soldier” since you’re talking to me now.”

A look of pain flashed through his features. His lips parted, and his eyebrows furrowed. He blinked a few times, and his fists clenched against his thighs. 

“I don’t know,” he murmured.

“You don’t… know?” you repeated slowly. 

The Soldier shook his head at you. You watched him slowly, eyes going tracing over his features and body. He wasn’t lying to you. There was nothing in his body that showed that he was withholding the truth from you. If anything, he looked like he wanted to tell you. 

“That’s okay,” you said, and his eyes met yours again. Confusion was behind the storm. You gave him a small smile. “When you remember, just make sure to tell me.”

The Soldier stared at you for a few moments before he reached for you once again. Just like he always did, he touched your hair. He took out of the regulation braids that you were required to wear outside of your bedroom. Carefully, he smoothed out the locks until they were no longer in plaits. You watched him as he focused on his task. 

Slowly, his hands shifted, resting on either side of your neck. His fingers were on your pulse points, feeling your heartbeat under his fingertips. Gently, his fingers trailed lower, down to the first button of your formal attire that you wore for the meeting you had for the instructors and undid it. 

He was exploring, like he always did. You didn’t shy away from his touch, didn’t hide from his wandering gaze. You’ve explored him, too. Even though you didn’t mean to, you had undressed him and your hands had been all over him without him ever making a noise of complaint. You’ve memorized him, and could draw him with your eyes closed. The two of you had been intimate and vulnerable with each other in ways that you wouldn’t dare to be with others.

Your shirt was undone, and you were left with your bra exposed before him. His fingers traced down your sternum, ghosting the mound above your heart. 

The Soldier shifted slightly, now completely on his knees in front of you, between your own knees. His hands lifted to rest on either side of your neck once more, fingers cradling the sides of your jaw. And he moved closer. You watched quietly as he did, as he gave you the opportunity to push him away.

You didn’t.

You could feel his breath against your face as his forehead rested on yours. Your eyes locked with his. He looked conflicted, almost pained. He took in a slow, shaking breath as if he didn’t know if he should close the remainder of the distance or not. 

“It’s okay,” you muttered to him. 

It was all that he needed to hear before he moved.

His lips were on yours for the release you both needed, and it wasn’t hungry or needy. It was cautious. Both of you were scared. Terrified of what this meant on both of your ends. You rested your hands on his shoulders, to touch him in return. 

You moved slowly against each other. His hands moved from your face down to your sides, resting on the dip of your waist, and lifting you as if you weighed nothing to him. He pulled you against his body to distinguish the space between you. His arms wrapped around your back, holding you tight.

For the first time, his touch wasn’t cold. It was achingly hot. You were on fire. His hands went under the unbuttoned formal shirt, pushing it off of your shoulders, discarding it to the ground. He was desperate to touch your skin– to feel you against him. You wanted nothing more in return.

You arched your torso away from him, just slightly, to allow your hands space to work on his vest as his tongue swiped at your lips. You allowed him entry, careful to keep your voice quiet as you tasted him in your mouth. 

Just like always, he allowed you to undress him. Except this time was different. There was no injury. There was no first aid kit that you were rifling through, and there were no stitches that you were going to pull out of his skin. 

And it wasn’t purely lust, either. You knew it wasn’t from him, either. You could tell, in the way he was holding you. His touch wasn’t harsh. It was almost reverent, as if he was afraid that he would break you like all the other things did within this building. 

After you managed to shove the gear off of his torso, he stood, with you in his arms. He transferred you to the bed, laying you down beneath him. Your breaths mingled for a few moments as you stared at each other, in silent conversation as you contemplated your actions– if you were really going to do this right now.

You nodded at him, just once. And he responded in kind. 

He lowered himself back onto you, catching your lips as his hands went for the side zipper of your skirt, pulling it down your legs along with the regulated tights you were supposed to wear with them. He tossed them somewhere to the side, hands roaming all over your bare skin as a sot, guttural noise escapes his mouth. 

You swallowed the noise with your kisses. 

You’d spent more than enough time observing him to know each and every single detail of his uniform. You didn’t need to look at him. Your hands knew what to do. You made work of the belt around his waist, then reached for the holsters on his thighs, undoing the hooks to help shove down his cargos. 

He helped you the rest of the way, undressing where you couldn’t reach. While he did, you took off the remainder of your underwear. The two of you didn’t spend too much time apart before he was back over you, curtaining your body with his warmth. 

You’d learned seduction in your tactician classes. It was one of the many topics that you were taught to master. This wasn’t seduction though. This wasn’t even desperation or pleasure. 

This was release. Freedom.

The Soldier was gentle with you, even as he slid in. Pain prickled through your entire body as he pushed his length in, shocked by the foreign sensation of something so large and hard– and he pressed his lips against the corners of your eyes as tears began to form. 

Even though you could see it, the desire for him to desperately want to move, he didn’t. He clenched his jaw, and waited patiently for you to adjust to his size. You watched as he controlled his breathing, though it was shallow. He didn’t allow for his hands to leave your body. It gave you something to focus on– the rough texture of his palms trailing over the mounds of flesh on your chest as he kneaded them softly. 

You need to touch him. Needed to connect with him more– even though he was already so deep inside of you, but you needed him to know how much you appreciated him. So, you reached for his face. Pulled him back down to you for an open mouthed kiss, and whispered for more against his lips.

The Soldier answered your plea, slowly rolling his hips to meet yours once more. You swore you saw the night sky behind your eyes with that first thrust. You were floating, and you never wanted to come back down to Earth ever again. 

Then, the Soldier moaned your name in your ear. Low, soft, and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t paying attention. A sense of pride shot down your body, and heat built up in your core as his breathing grew heavier. 

His hips stuttered when your walls clamped down around him, and as your nails dug into his shoulders. His fingers dug into your waist in warning, silently telling you to calm down. You could only whimper in response, and he let out a soft groan in your ear to let you know that he heard you. 

You couldn’t help it. Not when he was being more vocal with you– when his moans were spurring you on, when his thrusts were directing his length to hit you right where you wanted him to– it was all too much. 

You didn’t even have a chance to tell him that you were about to cum, but he felt it. His mouth covered yours in an instant, swallowing your moans down his throat as your body seized beneath his. His thrusts never stopped, and he kept his hips moving through it– fucking you through the pleasure that wrecked your body as his hands held on tight to your waist to keep you in place. 

He was chasing his own release, and he was close– so desperately close, brought on by the sound and feel of you reaching your own nirvana. Seeing you fall apart beneath him from the pleasure that he brought you was all he needed.

Unfamiliar warmth filled you as the Soldier shuddered above you, his mouth parting in a soft, broken moan as his hips stuttered against yours. His breathing stopped for just a moment, but God, he was so handsome. There was a light sheen of sweat that had accumulated over his body, and glistened slightly against the moonlight that filtered in through the tiny window of your room. You could see those eyes– the beautiful eyes of storm that you wanted to be lost in– full of pleasure and adoration as he looked down at you, bare, and full of his release. 

When he regained control of himself, he lowered himself onto you once more. Your hands reached for him, arms wrapping around his neck to pull him to another kiss. The Soldier kisses you back, and you melt under him. 

“When… When do I receive the next serum?” you whispered to him, lips brushing against his. You slowly open your eyes to look at his face as he pulls back. You watch as his eyes open as well, looking down at you.

“Tomorrow.”

You swallow thickly, and the freedom, the joy– all of it goes away within an instant. You see his freedom vanish as well. You stared at him, searching his face for a few moments, clenching your jaw.

Tomorrow, you were going to face another serum. You would have to go through hours of torture and pain, and you didn’t even know if you would survive. Hell, you barely survived the first serum that they pumped through your veins. You weren’t even the first option– you weren’t the strongest of your batch. 

You weren’t going to survive. 

You wouldn’t be able to see the Soldier again. You wouldn’t be able to help him, patch him up. There would never be another time where he would seek you out for the two of you just to sit in silence for hours on end, staring at each other. His hands would never reach for you, just so he could touch you– so he could make sure that you were truly in front of him. This would be the only time that you would be beneath him, raw, free, and in your most vulnerable, beautiful state. 

Fuck all of that. 

“Soldier,” you said softly as you took a slow breath. “Do you want to run with me?”

The fluorescent lights overhead were blending into one dizzying view. Your eyes couldn’t focus, and your feet were being dragged under you. Guards were on either side of you, holding you by your arms as you desperately tried to put yourself back on your feet to walk, to run– you couldn’t. You were drugged, you think. This felt like a drug. Some kind of sedative that made you hallucinate slightly. 

This hallway was pure white. Almost like a science lab. This wasn’t the Red Room. You were somewhere else, somewhere far away.

You and the Soldier almost got away. 

You were caught. 

You thought you had been careful enough. 

In the distance, you thought you could hear the sounds of screaming. Muffled screaming as you got further down the hall. It was piercing, almost as if it was breaking the sound barrier. Your eyebrows furrowed– you’d never heard something like this before. It was worse than when the girls received punishment. This was as if cattle were being tortured for sport. 

The doors to the lab were opened, and your senses were cleared within an instant. You were in the rafters, looking down below at the scene before you. 

Strapped down to a metal chair, with a helmet over his head, the Soldier sat connected to wires and a machine. He had a mouthguard between his teeth that did little to silence his cries of utter pain and terror. From where you stood, you could see electricity being fed through the helmet and straight into his head.

You fought against your guards to get to him. You almost won. You had the knowledge, had the experience– the Winter Soldier personally fucking trained you.

Your sudden burst of energy caught them off guard. You stole a gun out of their belt, shooting one of them in the kneecap to disarm, then going for the temple. Your elbow slammed into the second guard’s nose before you aimed at their chest. You shot at the scientists in the room– took down two of the four before your body was seized by electricity as well.

“You and the Winter Soldier are so fucking stubborn,” the familiar voice of your headmaster said from behind you as he walked into the lab.

Your body collapsed to the ground, twitching from the shock of the electricity. 

Dreykov kicked the gun away as you glared at him, and he gave you a smile.

“Be grateful we didn’t kill you. It was going to be you in that chair, but when we told the Asset that, he killed half of the operatives, and wouldn’t listen to commands to shut down,” he sighed, nodding towards the Soldier. “He only stopped when we said we would shift the punishment onto him instead.”

Your eyes widened, and you weakly forced yourself up onto your hands to look at the Soldier– who was still screaming in pain. His chest was heaving as he attempted to breathe between his shouts. You couldn’t tear your eyes away, even if you wanted to.

He put himself in that chair for you? 

The headmaster knelt down beside you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to force your gaze to be on him.

“What did you do to the Winter Soldier?” he demanded. “He is programmed to listen to commands, not to a little girl that is about to graduate from the Black Widow Program.”

“I didn’t do anything,” you spat at him. “Even if I did, why the fuck would I tell you? You kill little girls for fun.”

“I train spies. Big difference,” he scoffed at you, then threw your head back down onto the rafters. He stood up, and let out a deep breath. Dreykov nodded to someone near the doors, and you could hear footsteps coming towards you. 

Momentarily, the screaming stopped. You lifted your head weakly towards the Soldier– and you saw his eyes. Fearful. Pained. He was looking at you as you were being scooped off the ground. Then, you saw as he fought against his restraints as you were being dragged out the door. You watched as he shoved the mouthguard out of his mouth with his tongue– and heard your name leave his lips.

It came out broken, hoarse, raw, from all his screaming. Your chest lurched as you stared at him. You couldn’t say a single word in response. You didn’t know what to say to him. You put him in that chair– you did. Because you asked him to run with you. And yet, he was still sitting there, trying to fight his way out because he was worried for you?

You were going to be fucking sick.

“I hope you enjoy the cold,” Dreykov told you. “You’ll have a long, long nap.”

Every muscle in your body ached. 

You could barely breathe at first. It felt like you hadn’t breathed in years, like your lungs had been out of commission, and you needed to relearn how to breathe. You forced your eyes open, eyes trained on the tube that you were in. 

You pressed your weak hands onto the glass, giving it an experimental push. There was no give. No give at all. You couldn’t stay here. You needed to get out– to find the Soldier and leave. 

You rammed your fist into the glass once, twice– a hairline crack formed. You tried your elbow. On the third hit, it shattered, and your body tumbled with it. 

The facility around you was abandoned. Desolate. Cobwebs littered the corners of the ceiling, and the sound of scurrying mice filled your ears in the corners of the hallways. Even the tech was rusting. 

Slowly, you made your way through. You found no one. There wasn’t a single soul in the entire facility. You had no lead on your soldier or where he could be. They must have transported him elsewhere, you thought. You had no idea how long you had been shoved into cryostasis, but it had to have been long enough for the generators in this H.Y.D.R.A. facility to have failed. 

After making your exit, and stealing a car off of an unsuspecting civilian that was too kind to stop for a woman on the side of a desert road, you went to the nearest town.

It took you a week to come to terms with the fact forty years had passed. It took you another month to get to New York City, and another week to locate your soldier on the streets with his group. 

His hair was shorter. His eyes were softer. He had a smile on his face now. He spoke. Full sentences. He responded to others' questions and concerns. He gave other people questions. His arm was no longer silver with a red star, but black and gold. 

Your soldier was no longer a soldier, but was hailed as a hero. 

You spent a long time watching him. You learned everything there was to know about this new era in life, everything that you missed during your time asleep. You learned everything about him that you missed. 

You learned that he defected. That he successfully ran away from H.Y.D.R.A.. He cleared his name– he found his name. He was pardoned for crimes that he did not do under his own volition. His friends helped him argue that he was a machine, a weapon, not a man.

And you were part of his past as a machine. 

You watched him one last time. You sat at a bar, listening to him laugh with the group known as the Avengers. The name still makes you smile when you think about it too hard. A group of superheroes known to save the world, to avenge those that need avenging. There are two other Black Widows in that same group, too. You wonder if they know about you, if you were talked about during their training. 

You keep your head down at the bar, watching as Iron Man– Tony Stark– takes the crowd’s attention once more. Everyone laughs, but you’re not staring at him. You’re staring at your soldier. The man who made you feel real during your time as a weapon. 

You flag down the bartender, and slide over a bill as well as a napkin that you wrote on. “Can you send over whiskey to that man with the black button down?”

“Certainly,” he hummed, and took your money and napkin.

You smiled, and collected your things. You take one last glance to watch one of the servers bring over the napkin, and the drink over– and you see him shaking his head and giving a polite smile. You take the chance to push the door open, and head out into the street. You didn’t need to see his reaction. Didn’t need to know if he remembered you. 

You knew his name now. It was the only thing you’d ever asked from him.

masterlist

taglist: @duacruel @natsomens @decthaxhrcv @shortandb1tchy @iyskgd @ifuckwithyouanyday @miss-chuchu @bighappypiels @snnoopyy @messrkarmaismygf13 @thebuckybarnesvault @aekzla @simp4f1 @its-in-the-woods @lvrrinx @herejustforbuckybarnes @djotummy @star-yawnznn @gallifreyansass @nanikio @jmclouds @sundaepoet

[oporotheca]

I'll Crawl Home to Her

pairings: Poly!SaShiSu x f!Reader synopsis: even in spite of it all, you crawl home to her. inspired by Hozier's "Work Song" tags: angst, (some) fluff, mentions of death, grief/grieving, hurt/comfort notes: here it is! tysm for everyone who waited so very patiently for this fic, i love you all to bits!! dividers by @uzmacchiato and @kodaswrld. fanart by @neuchimonai on twitter & bluesky. Hozier project m.list wc: 2,054

It's a chilly evening for the summertime in Tokyo, and you can feel the cold nipping at the flesh of your exposed arms as you slide the key into the lock of your front door.

Eagerly, you press your weight into the wood after hearing the satisfying click of the deadbolt receding, sighing a breath of relief as the warmth of home floods your being.

Smiling softly to yourself, you move to slip off your shoes, glancing up at the photo that decorates the otherwise plain wall beside the coat rack. It depicts a much younger you alongside much younger versions of your partners, playing a game of chicken on a beach somewhere.

In it, you're sitting atop Shoko's shoulders, hands clasped with Satoru's in an effort to unseat him, while beneath you, Suguru and Shoko are playfully glaring at one another, hands poised in a threat to grab.

It's a fond memory of a happy moment, one taken just a few months after you'd all given up on the whole "just really close friends who happen to kiss sometimes" thing and finally started officially dating.

Your expression softens a bit as you recall that it was Haibara who took that photo of you all - and you swear that you can almost hear his laughter behind the camera even all these years later.

You miss him.

You miss a lot about those days.

Still, you shake off that thought before it can fester into something unmanageable, lining your shoes up beside the only other pair before walking deeper into the home.

The hallway greets you with more snapshots, each frame a breadcrumb trail of who you used to be - who you all were together.

Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko all asleep on your bedroom floor after a long night of cramming for a test the following day.

Shoko trying to teach Satoru reversed curse technique while he shamelessly attempted to cop a feel.

You donning a cone shaped hat labelled 'birthday girl!' while Suguru and Shoko kissed each of your cheeks - Satoru grinning wide and offering the camera a peace sign as he snaps the closest thing to an early 2000s selfie that your old film camera had allowed at the time.

All four of you at some arcade somewhere, your ring finger adorned with a comically large fake ring that Satoru had "proposed" to you with as you and Shoko watched him and Suguru try to beat one another at some ridiculous fighting game.

But, of course, eventually things started to change. The photos began to grow more recent, and as they did, Suguru's absence from them became glaringly apparent.

Still, there were moments of happiness to be found - even in spite of the ache that always seemed to follow their memory.

Like the photo of you, Shoko, and Satoru at the former's med school graduation, each of you with an arm wrapped proudly around her waist as she held up her diploma.

Her hair was longer there than it was in any of the previous pictures. She'd decided to grow it out after Suguru's departure, and you'd never needed to ask her why.

Or in the next image, which depicted you and Satoru brushing your teeth in the bathroom mirror, mouths foamy with toothpaste and eyelids heavy with sleep.

You were pretty sure that your boyfriend had taken that to accompany one of his many good morning texts to your shared girlfriend, who was always up before both you and Satoru (at least on the days where the latter got to sleep at all).

Shoko always said that it was one of her favorites, a reminder of the pair of idiots who made her look forward to coming home each evening.

Still, the next one was probably the one you adored most.

In it, Satoru slept peacefully, his head resting atop your girlfriend's lap. The woman in question held the camera (aka her phone) far above the two of them, a playful and clearly exaggerated frown on her face that seemed to say 'really?'.

There was a book on her chest, propped open to the page she had paused her reading on (most likely having realized that the person she'd been reading to was actually fast asleep).

If you looked close enough, you could just make out the cover - one of many pregnancy and parenting guides that had begun quietly piling up around your apartment back then.

And yet, none of the photos on the walls showed a child. Not a single one.

And eventually, Satoru disappeared too.

In spite of it all though, the beautiful moments persist, unaware of absence or grief.

Like the day that Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara all graduated, you and Shoko stood proud and smiling at their sides.

Or the day that you proposed to her, down on one knee with that ridiculous ring that Satoru had given you all those years ago.

Or the day that the two of you got married - a private little ceremony with very few guests save for the students you loved so dearly and the ashes of those who should have been there with you held in lockets pressed close to your hearts.

But there should have been more.

You wished beyond anything else in the world that there could have been more.

Pets, and babies, and achievements, and black hair, and blue eyes, and love beyond measure.

But still, you at least found that last thing waiting for you in the kitchen.

Shoko stood there, bathed in the gentle candlelight emitted by what had once been Suguru's favorite scent of candle and the soft glow of the bulb above, expression one of adorable concentration as she read over a recipe from the box of organized index cards that sat atop your kitchen counter.

You take a step forward, eager to feel the steady and certain weight of her held in your arms, but falter when you see a door you don't recognize on the wall just opposite of the place she stands.

It looks incredibly out of place, the bright white light that creeps out from under it a stark contrast to the honeyed warmth that the bulb above you gives off.

And even stranger still, your wife doesn't pay it any mind at all.

Nor does she seem to even realize that you're there.

You watch her for a few moments, throat tightening for reasons you don't quite understand before finally, you tear your gaze away and bring it back to the strange door.

It's a plain stark white, sticking out like a sore thumb, and the hardware is a clinical and cold looking steel, a jarring difference from the bronze knobs and hinges that exist within your home.

You don't think you want to step through, some voice in the back of your head insisting that you shouldn't, but in the end you find yourself turning the handle before you've even realized that you moved at all.

And when the door opens, the light is nearly blinding in comparison to the dark warmth of your apartment.

Bright, white, clean in a way that suggests the absence of dirt as a whole, as if this place has never known dust, decay, or any of the other messy things that life guarantees.

Something in you registers this space as some sort of airport, an area made for transitions, but that hardly matters when you notice the two figures sitting on a bench nearby.

They smile at you as if they'd never left, like it had all been some sort of awful nightmare and this was the part where you finally got to wake up.

But you were starting to remember now.

So this time, you knew better.

They make a space for you between them as you approach, gazes full of subtle sorrow and obvious longing.

"Back so soon?"

Suguru teases lightly, fingers gentle as he brushes something wet from your cheek.

His thumb comes away stained red, but neither of you acknowledge it.

Satoru speaks up before you can formulate a response.

“You should really be more careful,” he says, mirroring Suguru’s teasing. “This is your third mission-related accident this year.”

He pauses for a moment, blue eyes seeking out yours before he continues,

“If you miss us, just say that. No need for all the dramatics.”

And, despite the leaden feeling in your chest, you laugh, eyes rolling and smile trembling as your head falls upon his shoulder, fingers linking with Suguru's in the same moment.

"I miss you guys."

The words are barely above a whisper as they're spoken, but you've long since learned that they don't have to be.

This is far from your first time here, and you doubt that it will be your last.

Still, it never really got any easier.

A calm quiet fills the space, the warmth on either side of you a welcome feeling after having gone so long without it.

However, it isn't long before someone speaks up once more.

"You can always stay."

Suguru reminds you, tone laced with sympathy as his hand squeezes yours,

"You can only put this off for so long."

Still, you can tell from his voice alone that he already knows what you'll say next.

Your eyes are full of grief and certainty as they meet his own once more.

"I can't leave her."

Three pairs of eyes look back toward the open doorway all at once, gazing into the life that anchors you.

Shoko is still stood there in the kitchen, back to the counter as she checks the time on her phone, fingers tapping the back of the device in that way they always do when she starts to get anxious.

You wince a bit as you watch her answer a phone call soon after, something dangerously close to panic marring her beautiful features before she suddenly rushes off in the direction of the front door.

"We need each other."

Your words are whispered, lips pulling into a thin line as they're spoken.

"I could never go before she does. Not as long as I can help it."

You feel Satoru press a kiss to your temple, tone uncharacteristically serious as he speaks.

"And if you can't?"

The obvious guilt in his voice makes your heart clench.

He never meant to leave you both behind.

That choice was never his to make.

You feel yourself shake your head in response, slowly raising it from his shoulder as you prepare yourself for yet another painful goodbye.

"I won't let that happen. I can't give myself the option of letting go - not when she's waiting."

You can feel the two men exchange a glance above your head, but they make no attempt to talk you out of your decision. They'd given up on such a feat a long time ago.

Two pairs of soft lips find each of your cheeks, but you don't have it in you to look at either of your partners as you finally move to stand, gaze focused solely on the nearby doorway.

You worry that if you glance back, you'll give in.

There's never anything easy about leaving two thirds of your heart behind, even when you know it's the right thing to do.

They could wait a little longer, and so could you.

As long as it took.

As long as she needed.

There is no closure as you step through the door, no words of comfort shared before your sharp return to reality.

That peace was reserved solely for the end.

You wake up to white walls and a stiff mattress beneath your back.

And still, even despite the less than comfortable accommodations, Shoko's clinic is always a welcome sight.

"You came back."

The voice that comes from your right is familiar and followed shortly by a hand that comes to entwine itself with your own.

You don't have to look to see who it is, but you do anyway, because no matter what, it could never possibly be enough.

Shoko sits at your bedside, deep brown eyes meeting yours, allowing you to see the unspoken devotion that shows plainly within them.

You squeeze her hand then, knowing you made the right choice.

Someday, you would all be together again, and things would be as they should.

But, until then -

"I always will."

[lumilasi]

Quickish 1-2 hour doodle for the next chapter for S.O.S I'm gonna post later today. The scene is at the end, sneak peek below:

They retire for bed in silence as well, with Jayce not daring to reach out right now.

Given how reluctant Viktor had been to initiate anything for a few days now, his eyes snap open in surprise as a cool hand suddenly rests against his chest with caution, making him turn to look at Viktor who’d shifted closer to him now. His golden eyes were nearly shining in the night, an iridescent hue to them that flickered on and off, the color shift almost hypnotic.

”…..I agree with your mother. You two perhaps need to talk these things out properly. It feels to me, based on what you told me and what Ximena indicated, that there is still a lot of confusion and unresolved feelings between you two.”

”You shouldn’t worry about it Viktor, this is not your mess.”

”Ehh, but I am the cause of it, am I not?”

Viktor offers him a lopsided smile, and Jayce shakes his head firmly, turning on his side to pull Viktor flush against his body, the coolness of his new skin kind of pleasant contrast against the overtly warm covers.

”No. Please, don’t take blame for any of this; I should’ve talked with her long before I decided to kiss you. In any other circumstances, I should’ve absolutely done so, I should’ve…”

Jayce closes his eyes with a sigh, pressing their foreheads together as he squeezes the cool but pliable body against him more. Viktor rests his hands against his chest, not to push away, but just to soak in his warmth and likely feel the heartbeat beneath his touch.

”Sure, maybe Mel should’ve told me. Maybe she should’ve broken things off when she realized. But I’m the one who went and actually did something behind her back essentially. And I put you into such an awkward position, all because I—”

He didn’t even know why. After Viktor had woken up, after he’d convinced him to stay to work together on this new threat, all he could’ve thought of was Viktor. It was as if, just like Sky in Viktor’s mind, Mel had ceased to exist to an extend, and that was absolutely horrible of him to do. The fact she wasn’t more mad at him was a miracle.

”Jayce. Please.”

Cool hand settles on his cheek, thumb stroking his skin as Jayce opens his eyes, realizing he’d teared up now. Viktor just looks at him with the kind of softness that he almost felt he didn’t deserve right now, not after the complicated mess he’d caused.

”Yes, perhaps you certainly need to extend her a proper apology, but just like you are asking me not to burden myself with this, neither should you think even once that I am mad at you.”

”…..I’m pretty sure you find ways to do that.”

”Yes, over burning yourself and not treating it properly, but not about this. I….for once agree with you on this matter, perhaps. This is between you and Mel, it is not my place to say anything about it. Other than to agree with your mother’s recommendation.”

Viktor offers him a sad smile, and Jayce breathes out slowly, shifting closer to bury his face against his chest, wanting to hide away from the world for a moment. Viktor seems to understand this, as he tugs the blankets around them firmer, planting a kiss atop of his head before settling to sleep, arm wrapped around his neck and shoulders.

[frownyalfred]

2 things I got feral for

1. Batman calling any of the former Robin's, Robin, to get them to snap out of a spiral or a panic attack

2. Other Heros, but excpecially the batfamily, being forcibly reminded that Batman is just a human. Seeing him go down, wounded or even at his limit. And being reminded that under the self confident, calm, cold manner is just another guy with no special power. Just a man

There’s something really poetic about former Robins still answering to “Robin!” even years later. It’s so ingrained in them, in their psyche, it forces them to get up and look for Batman no matter what.

And it’s equally poetic that Bruce can snap out of almost anything when he hears one of his kids say “B!” in that specific tone of voice. The one that says I need you now, something’s wrong.

[shycoconutt]

“S–hic–so full, Ken,” you whimper as the last ropes of his cum spill out into your insides. You have never felt a sensation like this before, being absolutely filled to the brim with all of what Nanami Kento has to offer.

You feel the deep hum Nanami lets out in response everywhere–his overwhelming being currently consuming your own. Currently mounted over you, he holds you up by the plush of your ass so your hips are lifted to meet his thrusts. Your body is so contorted that your knees fall and press against your shoulders with every piston of his cock. How the hell did you even end up in this position?

“Oh darling, fuck, I missed you so much,” he moans as he languidly pushes his cock in and out of your sopping wet pussy. You watch as his abdomen flexes with every thrust, and you can’t help but marvel at how the low light of your bedroom reflects on his glistening, sweat-slicked skin. Eyes trailing upward, you soak in the constellation of freckles on his shoulders, the swell of his deltoid muscles, the way his damp hair falls forward, messy and unkempt after rounds of orgasms.

Another one of his moans snaps you out of your trance, and you focus your eyes to meet his blown-out, lust-filled gaze. Instinctually, your walls clench at the sight, and your eyes widen in horror when you realize it’s too late.

“Tsk,” he smirks as he breaks his gaze from your own to down where you’re both connected, “she’s so greedy, begging for more after all I’ve given her.”

One of his hands leaves your ass to swipe a thumb against your sensitive clit, causing you to gasp and clench again. “Should I give her what she wants, sweetheart?”

“I-I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up so much,” you mewl.

His eyes flick up again as your words trail off, and you can’t help but notice how the intention behind them has changed, looking as if he has been given a new life–a new meaning. Reaching somewhere behind him, he fiddles around until he finds what he’s looking for–his phone.

Slowly, he shifts backwards to release himself from your gushing heat, being careful to not let any of his seed spill from your folds. He groans as his tip finally slips out and quickly grabs your hand to press against your opening.

“Yeah, just like that, hold it all in for me,” he praises. 

You feel your heartbeat quicken, curious and interested. Climbing off the bed, he stands off to the side and holds out his hand, beckoning you to join him, which you do without question.

“There we go, pretty girl, stand right here for me.”

Following his request, you stand before him with your hand still pressed up against yourself. You feel yourself tremble, not in worry, but in anticipation of what’s to come. Nanami must have taken note, because he is now grazing his fingers up and down the skin of your shoulder.

Leaning in close, lips ghosting over your own, he whispers, “Do you trust me?”

“Always, Ken.”

Your heart flutters as he smiles and kisses you, tongue slipping from his parted mouth to swipe your lower lip. With one final peck, he keeps eye contact with you as he kneels, light pooling into the room from the flashlight of his phone.

You hear a little ding, signaling that he is recording.

“Do you remember what you said to me, baby?” he murmurs, voice filled with love and adoration as he points the camera up to you while his other hand rests against your lower tummy. 

“W-what I said?” you stutter, mind trying to think back to moments ago.

“Yes.”

You try to think, mind still in a daze. What you said?

Oh.

Ah.

So this is what he wants.

Looking at the camera, eyes blinded by the light, you pout, “I don’t think there’s any more room, Ken, you’ve filled me up sooo much.”

You hear a soft groan, and the light moves down your body to your lower half. 

“Show me.”

Slowly, you remove your hand from your core, a mix of your cum and his already pooling at your fingertips, to place your hand above his own on your abdomen. You don’t have to look down to confirm–hot liquid is already dripping down your thighs at an intense rate.

You jolt and gasp when you feel his firm hand pressing into your body, a fresh new wave of semen spilling from your insides. There’s so much–maybe too much–as it trickles past your knees. There’s another groan that escapes from Nanami’s lips.

“Good girl.”

Your body is trembling, your pussy fluttering around nothing, just wanting so badly to be filled again and again. Would it be so bad to ask for more?

a/n: well, well, well, here we are again. what can I say? nanami kento is always on my mind. hope you enjoy! ੈ♡˳

[goosewriting]

The Aftermath

summary: reader visits Joaquín at the hospital as he wakes up from surgery.

relationship: Joaquín Torres x gn!reader

warnings: established relationship, spoilers for captain america: brave new world, mention and description of injuries and medical procedures, mention of accident and explosions, brief mentions of PTSD from events in Infinity War/Endgame, self-doubts and guilt

word count: 2.2k

A/N: i started writing this the moment i came home from watching BNW. can't believe it took me this long to write for him,, he's been rotating in my mind ever since tfantws <3 we really need more fics for joaquín, he’s so blorbo coded like cmon!! 🥹🥹 if you have any recs pls send them my way!

[all masterlists] 🪶 [mcu masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Sitting by Joaquín’s hospital bed, you bring your hands to your face as you remember his accident on the Indian Ocean. You had watched the broadcast in horror, your heart in your throat as his figure fell from the sky into the open water. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but remember the video from all those years ago, where you saw how Rhodey had fallen as well, like a rock, everyone watching, unable to do anything to stop him. Just like War Machine, Joaquín had turned uncontrollably on his descent, one of his wings ripped from the suit by the missile exploding right in his face.

You’ve been in the Avengers’ orbit since a little before the battle against Thanos on Wakanda, where you had also fought with everyone, but then got blipped. The transition back to society with a gap of 5 years had been very hard on you, and while you stayed in contact with everyone who remained, helping out whenever you could, you didn’t really have it in you to go back out to the battlefield. Even after all this time, you still have nightmares about the snap and the Battle for Earth. 

Bringing your hands back into your lap, you let out a trembling breath, clinging onto the constant soft beeping of the machinery to tether yourself to reality and not fall down a spiral of despair. Every time your eyes roam over Joaquín’s injuries, you close your eyes, pressing the base of your hands over them, then open them again. Your sight is momentarily sprinkled with dots, and as it clears, you hope for everything to have been a horrible nightmare. But once your view clears up, he’s still there. Unconscious. Hurt.

The surgery he’d been in last night had felt like it was never going to end. Still, you had stayed the whole time, and once he got out, you stayed at his side. 

It’s been several hours since Joaquín got wheeled into his room, the head medic saying he was still unconscious but stable. You shift in the armchair by the bed where you sit. One of the nurses brought you something to eat earlier since you refused to leave, the wrapper of your sandwich still in your hands as your eyes start feeling heavier and heavier, and you can’t find it in yourself to fight the welcome embrace of sleep, slowly spreading through your limbs. You’ve almost completely dozed off when you hear a groan, and immediately your grogginess dissipates. You straighten up in your seat, the wrapper falling to the floor as you scoot closer to the bed, tears stinging behind your eyes. How you still have tears left, you have no idea, given how much you’ve cried in the past hours, terrified of losing the love of your life. 

Joaquín blinks several times, scrunching his face, eyes trying to adapt to the light. He lifts his good arm, looking at the tubes attached to it, and his gaze roams the room and down his body, face contorting in pain lightly. Then his eyes land on you, and his face immediately softens.

“Hey, there,” he croaks out. 

“You’re awake,” you whisper, holding his hand in your trembling ones. “I was scared you wouldn’t.”

“Pfft, it’ll take more than a meagre explosion to defeat the Falcon,” he retorts with a pained smile.

Normally you’d laugh at his jokes, enjoying his silly side, but right now you have no humour left in you. Another wave of tears rolls down your cheeks, and his smile vanishes.

“Please don’t joke about that,” you plead, giving his hand a squeeze. “You were hit by a freaking missile. From a fighter jet. While up in the air between two armies about to start a war with each other.”

“Well, if you put it like that…” He sighs. 

There’s a moment of silence where you again study his bruised face, your gaze landing on the massive burn covering his whole shoulder, streaks of red raw skin visible on his jaw and throat. Your brows furrow in frustration.

“I should have been there,” you mumble, angry at yourself for letting this happen.

“What?” he asks, craning his neck to fully look at you.

“I should have gone with you,” you say, bringing your eyes to look up at him. “Then I could have helped and you wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Joaquín exhales through his nose in disbelief.

“We were in the air, and I went head to head with the missile even after Sam told me to back off,” he retorts, shaking his head. “There was nothing you could have done.”

His tone isn’t scolding; he’s telling the truth and you know it. Still, you can’t help but feel like the outcome could have been different, if you had just been better, braver. You try to choke back a sob, unsuccessful, and his hold tightens around your hand.

“Hey, hey. Look at me.” He speaks your name softly. “This isn’t on you. Please don’t cry.”

You grimace, biting the inside of your cheek.

“For a moment I thought you died, Joaquín. I was so scared,” you say with a shaky breath, bringing his hand to your face, and he cups your cheek. You place your hand over his, holding onto it and leaning into his touch like it was the last time you could hold him like this.

“I’m sorry I scared you.”

Your heart shatters at the thought that even after getting hurt, after getting blown up, he’s the one apologising to you. He’s about to add something when the door opens and a nurse comes in. You back off a bit and hastily wipe your face with the back of your sleeves as she does some check-ups, both on Joaquín and the machines, taking some notes on her clipboard. She then takes one of the tubes attached to his arm, and places a syringe at the other end.

“What’s that?” you ask, suspicious. She gives you a quick look with a raised brow, but when she sees the state you’re in, her face relaxes again.

“Painkillers and antibiotics. He’ll need both of them,” she explains.

It doesn’t take long for the fluids to reach Joaquín’s blood system, and he visibly relaxes against the pillows and closes his eyes.

“Oh, hell yeah. That’s the good stuff,” he sighs, and the nurse chuckles softly. You still can’t get yourself to let go of your worry. Once she’s done with everything, she leaves the way she came, exiting the room. As the door closes behind her, your eyes land on the wrapper on the floor, and you pick it up with a sniffle, crumpling it up further.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you anything?” you ask as you throw the trash into the bin from where you sit, to your surprise making the shot. He doesn't answer, eyes still closed.

“Joaquín?” you ask softly, not wanting to wake him in case he fell asleep again.

“Huh? Wha?” His eyes open and he turns to look at you, his face visibly relaxed now.

“You okay?” You take his hand again, and he gives you a squeeze.

“Hmm-mm,” he hums with a nod, blinking slowly as he tries to focus on your face. “I just think I’m… kinda high right now.”

That’s when you finally break, unable to hold back an endeared chuckle, shaking your head. Joaquín’s eyes are filled with warmth and then concern as they land on your face, brows furrowing as if he just noticed something. His hand comes up to wipe away the remaining streak of tears. He also playfully pinches your cheek for good measure, eliciting another smile of yours.

“That’s better,” he concludes, a smile spreading on his face as well. The smile that could light up any room he’s in, in your humble opinion. 

You prop your elbow onto the edge of the bed, head in your hands as you look at him, and he looks back at you with a silly grin. The beeps on the machine speed up a bit, and you look up at the screen, then back at him with a brow raised in amusement.

“Usually you can’t tell because I’m smooth as hell, but it’s true,” he notes, like a huge secret was just uncovered. “You still make my heart race.”

Heat prickles on your cheeks at his words and you avert your gaze with a snort. As long as your heart is still beating, you think, remembering that they had to resuscitate him after the accident, but you shake those thoughts away, preferring to focus on the fact that he’s still here, alive.

“I know that the moment you’re back on your feet, you’ll be out there again, suited up,” you start after a moment, shooting him a serious look. “So I won’t ask you to stop. But promise me to be more careful next time?”

“Pinky promise.” Joaquín lifts his hand, fingers curled except for his pinky, and you can’t help but chuckle as you mirror his gesture, curling your finger around his. He shakes your hand like that side to side for a bit, then drops it back down onto the bed. A strand of hair falls into his face as he leans back, and you brush it back, caressing over his bruised cheekbone gingerly. 

“When was the last time you slept?” he asks suddenly.

“Hmm.” You look at the timestamp on the muted TV in the corner, currently playing some movie or other. It’s only then that you realise you’ve been intermittently awake for almost two full days now. “Can’t really remember,” you lie.

“You need to rest. You look exhausted,” he remarks, gesturing to himself. “I’m taken care of.”

“No, I’m not leaving you,” you say, putting as much finality into your voice as you can in your state.

He says your name softly. You look away. He sighs.

“Well, if you insist on staying, then at least I can get pampered a bit, yeah?” he starts, and you narrow your eyes at him in feigned suspicion. He asks with a playful pout, “You know what would make me feel better?”

“Hmm?” 

Joaquín turns his head, offering you his cheek. You can’t help but laugh. 

“I thought you were high on painkillers already?”

“Even the best medicine holds nothing against your kisses.”

“Pfft, is that so.” Now it’s your heart’s turn to speed up. You two have been together for a while now, but he still makes you feel warm and fuzzy, and gives you butterflies in your stomach, when he isn’t on the brink of death, at least. “Well, in that case, I better get started on your dose.”

You lean forward, placing a kiss on his cheek, and he hums pleasedly. He doesn’t move, though, clearly waiting for more. You’re more than happy to oblige, placing kiss after kiss on his cheeks, his nose, his forehead, being especially careful around his injuries. Finally, you hold his chin to turn his face towards you, and kiss the corner of his mouth, then his lips. It's chaste but sweet, and he smiles into it. When you lean back, his eyes are filled with love, slightly unfocused because of the meds, a goofy grin on his face. As you hold his face, you consider saying something cheesy, hoping he won’t remember it. But before you can speak, there’s a knock at the door, and someone steps in. It’s Sam. He looks surprised to see you.  

“Damn, you’re still here?” he asks with concern, then turns to Joaquín. “How’re you feeling?”

“Splendid, really,” he replies, leaning into your hand still cupping his face.

“He got a decent shot of painkillers,” you explain, looking up at Sam with a tired smile. “He’s high as a kite.”

Sam chuckles, then looks at you worriedly. 

“You need to rest. Both of you.” He places a hand on your shoulder. “Go home, I’ll take it from here.”

You hesitate, looking between the two, and Joaquín nods, his eyes pleading for you to also take care of yourself. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” Joaquín says, taking your hand from his face and giving it a squeeze. “I’ll be here when you come back.”

“Right,” you sigh and rise to your feet with wobbly legs now that the exhaustion is finally kicking in full force, and Sam holds you up when your knees threaten to give in. 

“Whoa there. You need a nap, ASAP.” 

“Yeah, yeah I do,” you say with a sigh, steadying yourself as he lets you go, his hands still hovering over your arms for a moment in case he has to grab you again, but you manage to stand straight. You grab your jacket from the back of the chair, and turn to Joaquín. “I’ll come back this evening, okay? I’ll bring your favourite snacks too. Don’t tell the nurse, though.” You wink at him with a knowing smile.

“You’re the best.”

“No, you are.” You lean over him to kiss him goodbye, whispering ‘I love you’ against his lips, and pecking him once more for good measure. The machine’s beeps speed up again.

“Love you too. See you later.” Joaquín brings his hand up to caress over your cheek one last time, then you leave the room.

Sam is still standing there, hands in his pockets, looking down at his friend as the beeps slowly start decreasing back to normal.

“Very cute,” he remarks, unable to bite back a teasing smile. 

“Don’t even,” Joaquín says and rolls his eyes playfully, knowing perfectly well that Sam will never let him live that down.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!]

[billiereid]

Jealousy: Haikyuu! x Reader

Warnings: Rated X. This content is intended for readers ages 18 years or older. Minors, do not interact.

Featuring: Tetsuro Kuroo. Kenma Kozume. Kotaro Bokuto. Keiji Akaashi. Fem!Reader.

Contains: Posessive behavior. Jealousy. Fingering. Oral sex (F receiving). P in V sex. Edging. Praise. Exhibitionism. Public sex.

Summary: The boys all know that you love them. Your relationship is special and important, and you've never given them any reason to distrust you. But even still, everyone has insecurities. Everyone gets jealous sometimes. Here's how they react when that jealousy starts to flare up over you.

Author's Note: This is written post-timeskip. All characters are written to be adults.

Tetsuro Kuroo

Kuroo is one possessive motherfucker. At least, compared to the rest of the people on this list. 

He’s happy to always let you have your space, your friends, anything you need.

But the moment he feels like another guy might end up in first place?

Absolutely the fuck not.

There was no reason for Kuroo to worry. He knew it. You knew it. But the moment one of your coworkers started giving you a ride home, he decided things were getting a little too friendly. 

And he would never demand 100% of your time, your attention. That just wasn’t the kind of guy Kuroo was, and it wasn’t realistic anyway. You were a person. You deserved to have your friends, your family, your space, your fun. 

But you were his. And he was going to make sure it was drilled into your head before the night was over. 

“Please, Tetsu–” you all but whined. You didn’t know how long you’d been underneath him at this point. Your entire body was flushed with pleasure. You couldn’t think straight, couldn’t even come up with words. You had gotten so close at least a dozen times. A dozen edges that felt like a hundred. 

All because of his hands.

Kuroo had his fingers buried inside you now. He’d had them on your clit just minutes ago, though after edging three times it certainly felt like hours. Now, he had your two favorites stuffed inside you, pressing against all your inner buttons and making your head spin. 

“Aww, baby’s being so patient, aren’t you?” Tetsuro purred on his knees in front of you, his free hand pinning your hips to the bed with a bruising grip. “What do you think, princess? If I let you come right now, ‘re you gonna make a mess all over me?”

You knew what he wanted, knew that he wanted you to squirt. But you had only ever done it once for him, and it was a long time ago, when you were both a little too tipsy to care about having to change the sheets afterward. But now? Now, you weren’t sure if you could. 

“You’re still thinking too much, babygirl,” Kuroo said, his voice low and nurturing despite the filthy squelching sounds that his fingers were making inside your ruined pussy. “Eyes on me, princess.” It was a command disguised as a gentle coaxing. Your eyes, glazed over with pleasure and the effort to hold back your orgasm, finally met Tetsuro’s. “There’s my pretty girl,” he purred. 

The imaginary cord inside of you was wound so tight over and over, and you could tell it was about to snap, permission or no. 

“Whose are you, sweet girl?” Kuroo asked. He needed to hear you say it–to make you say it.

Your eyes widened a little bit as you realized, he really might not let you come. “Tets–”

“I said, whose are you?” he repeated. When you still couldn’t seem to find the words, his eyes darkened in that dominant way that only his could manage. “Answer, or I’ll edge you again.”

The edges of panic crept into your mind. You couldn’t handle being edged again. You were already so sensitive. “Yours! Yours, Tetsuro, I’m yours,” you chanted frantically, hoping that this time he’e actually let you come. 

“That’s fucking right,” Kuroo praised. “Now, come. And make a mess all over this fucking bed.”

Kenma Kozume

Honestly, Kenma’s not usually a jealous person. 

He knows you love him, and you’ve never given him a reason not to trust you.

Just like anyone else, though, there are little insecurities. 

And rather than getting possessive or angry, he just finds himself reminding you of all the reasons you keep him around.

It should’ve been such a simple interaction, really. 

You’d left your wallet on the train when you were on your way home. Someone had found it and had been kind enough to meet up with you in a coffee shop and return it. Kenma had even agreed to go with you, even though there wasn’t much he could’ve done in the way of protecting you. He had seen the entire interaction happen. There was nothing suspicious. You hadn’t even touched the man who came to return your wallet, hadn’t seemed to flirt or even bat your eyes in his direction. 

But he was tall. Extremely tall. Not that it normally mattered. But he also might’ve been handsome to some people, Kenma guessed, and his voice kind of sounded like warm butter when he spoke. And he was so kind, and your smile was so pretty when you looked up at him. But your smile was always pretty, especially when you were looking at Kenma. And it didn’t matter. 

But it did. 

Kenma wasn’t even really aware of what he was doing. But he spent the rest of the day doing whatever you wanted, his entire focus on you. He took you for lunch, then ice cream. He took you to your favorite little used bookstore, and he even stopped for a coffee on the way home.

And now, as the sun was setting outside your shared apartment, he was kneeling on the floor in front of your couch with his lips attached between your thighs. Kenma suckled sweetly on your clit, fingers kneading the squishy plush of your hips. His tongue dipped inside to taste your wetness before his lips returned to your clit. You’re his, you’re his, you’re so his. 

He wasn’t really sure if he was convincing you or himself.

Kenma fully moaned against your pussy as he tasted you, completely enraptured by the sight of your back arching in response to the pleasure he was giving you.. His tongue always made you dizzy. Your hands carded through his hair, continuously brushing it out of his face for him as he devoured you.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” you moaned, your voice barely above a whisper. The desire practically rolled off of you in waves. The buildup was completely delicious, making time seem to slow down around you. 

“So good… So perfect…” you told Kenma, looking down at him between your thighs. Your voice was husky, dripping with your need, and the words poured out of your mouth before your brain could even think to stop them. Not that you would’ve stopped him anyway. Kenma was perfect, and you were going to let him know that. 

Kenma whimpered under your praise, his tongue flickering over your clit in that way he knows you love so much. Your back arched again–fuck, you were pretty when you did that. 

“Baby… please, don’t stop…” you begged, your voice little more than a breathy moan as you got closer to that high you needed so badly. 

But he pulled his lips away. Your head fell back against the sofa cushions, and you let out an extended whine. “Not yet,” Kenma said, his breathing heavy and his voice raspy. You watched him let his pants and boxers fall to the floor, his dick hard and aching like you’d never seen before. 

You whimpered again at the sight. “Kenma,” you whined, “I was so close.”

“I said, not yet,” Kenma said again. His cock slid through your folds, coating himself in your liquid arousal. “This pussy is mine. And I’ll do what I want with it.”

Kotaro Bokuto

When Bokuto gets jealous, he just gets unbelievably sad. 

He’s not usually a possessive guy.

But he just loves having all of your attention. 

So sometimes, when you’ve had your attention on another guy, he just needs to be reminded that you love him, too.

Was he fucking pouting? 

You’d been out with your boyfriend all day, seemingly having a good time. And then you struck up an extended conversation with the barista at your local coffee shop, someone you’d become very friendly with because of your frequent visits. He’s a little too cute for Bokuto’s comfort. 

Really, he wasn’t trying to be short with you. It was just a few comments that came out harsher than he intended. Some indifference here, some feigned boredom there. It was a recipe for disaster, you thought. And you couldn’t figure out why. You’d been having a perfectly normal day together. Actually, it was one of the better days, because there was no practice, no travel. Just the two of you, going out grocery shopping.

It wasn’t until after you got home that you realized what exactly was going on. When you were watching TV, Bokuto laid his head in your lap, his arms clinging to your waist, his face buried into your stomach. You laced your fingers into his hair and called him cute, and you saw the tiny, proud smile that he tried to hide by nestling further into your belly.

That was how you ended up here. 

You straddled Kotaro’s lap, his cock buried inside you to the hilt. He was sitting on the bed, his back propped up against the headboard. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you said, starting to move your hips in your need to relieve the pressure low in your belly. “You fit me so perfectly.”

Bokuto’s hands gripped your waist, fingers digging into the soft flesh on your hips. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you as you rode him, your pace slow and deliberate, as if making some sort of point. But fuck you were so gorgeous, your tits bouncing ever so slightly as you rode. Your hands perched on his shoulders to keep your balance. Your eyebrows pinched together. Your lip was caught between your teeth. Tiny little whimpers were escaping your lungs. Everything about you was so beautiful and gorgeous, and you were undeniably his and–

Oh, he thought. 

But the thought didn’t stop him, didn’t make him falter for even a second. His hips started rising to meet yours with every thrust, forcing you to ride him faster. “That’s it,” Kotaro said through his teeth, one of his strong hands sliding up your side and gripping your breast. “That’s it. Keep goin’, yeah? Keep fuckin’ yourself on my cock.”

Bokuto’s lewd ramblings made you dizzy as his dick hit just the right spot inside you and kept hitting it. You let out absolutely the most sinful moan as you got closer to the high you wanted, the one you needed him to give you. “Fuck, don’t stop… Need more,” you moaned, leaning your forehead against his. 

“I’m not stopping. You close?,” Bokuto says, still flexing his hips to fuck up into you, forcing his own pace over the two of you. You nod in answer. “Yeah, that’s it. Come for me. That’s my girl.”

Keiji Akaashi

Akaashi is an overthinker. 

So while he isn’t necessarily jealous or possessive, he definitely does overthink things a lot.

And he isn’t afraid to call you out when he thinks you’re being a little too friendly with someone else.

Not that he thinks you would ever leave him. He’s just going to remind you why.

Thinking back on it, you could see why Akaashi did what he did. 

You’d been out to dinner. Not just any dinner. Your anniversary dinner. He had made a reservation. You’d gotten dressed up. He was ready to wine and dine you all evening, to spoil you all night the way you deserved.

And then he showed up.

Some guy you’d gone on a couple of dates with before Keiji was even in the picture happened to see you from across the room. And the idiot had the audacity to come speak to you like Akaashi wasn’t even there. 

And he wasn’t angry at you. God, no. Akaashi let you handle things your way. You were short in your responses, and when you finally introduced Keiji as your boyfriend and mentioned it was your anniversary, the guy finally left the two of you alone for the night. 

It didn’t stop him from overthinking the entire evening though. 

If things had been the other way around, if one of his exes had shown up on your anniversary date, he would’ve told her she was ruining his date. He would’ve said she needed to learn to read the room. He would’ve kissed you right in front of her for good measure. 

He supposed that wasn’t what would’ve actually happened. And he supposed you probably just didn’t want to make a scene in the middle of the restaurant. So he wasn’t really angry with you. God, he was never angry with you, especially once you flashed him that pretty smile…

After dinner, he brought you out to the parking lot, supposedly to drive you home. But he smirked and guided you into the backseat, where he pulled you onto his lap and kissed you like you were the only oxygen in the entire world.

It wasn’t long until you were a tangle of limbs and tongues and teeth. Akaashi had pulled your dress and bra down, your pebbled nipple caught in his mouth. He had pulled his cock out of his pants and shoved it inside you, pushing your panties aside and thrusting into you in one fell swoop. 

God, you were pretty like this. You were pretty always, Keiji couldn’t deny that. But your face was heated from the pleasure. Your dress was hiked up around your waist. One of your tits was hanging out of your dress. And fuck you felt so good wrapped around him, your hands perched on his shoulders as you awkwardly rode him in the back seat of his car. 

“Keiji…” you whined, the tone of your voice betraying just how good it felt to have him inside you. “I’m… so… close…”

Akaashi only hummed his approval against your nipple. He wouldn’t dare stop now. Not when you were right on the cusp of coming on him in the middle of this parking garage. Fuck, you were so hot. He kept rolling his hips to meet yours as you rode him, his tongue delicately swirling around your nipple. 

What you didn’t see was Akaashi locking eyes with the man who interrupted your date earlier. Your eyes were screwed shut and your head was thrown back in as you reached your peak. So your ex knew it was you, but you never got a chance to see him. 

As the guy walked away, Akaashi let go of your nipple and replaced his mouth with his hand, his thumb circling your peak. “That’s it,” he whispered. “That’s my girl.”

[yoiisa]

wbk reacting to you getting beaten up by a rival gang .𖥔 ݁ ˖

w/ SUO HAYATO, KIRYU MITSUKI, AND KAJI REN

part 2 with Sakura, Togame, and Uryu is here!

Tags: Descriptions of wounds (nothing too graphic, just mentions of blood and bruises), angst, hurt/comfort!

SUO HAYATO ⋆˙⟡

He should’ve seen this coming.

He’s carrying you on his back, his heart battering against his ribcage as you lie slumped over his back.

He’d been at home, completely ready for bed. Just before he tucked himself in though, he got a panicked phone call from Nirei, the blonde boy’s voice high pitched and frantic.

“Suo, come quick! [name] . . . she’s hurt really bad!”

He’d rushed out of his house, not even bothering to change or put on shoes. When he’d gotten to the location Nirei sent him, he found you hunched over on yourself, sitting on a bench. Nirei was sitting next to you, his jacket on your shoulders. Sakura knelt in front of you, checking your injuries.

You looked up, and Suo’s heart shattered like porcelain. A stream of blood leaked from your nostrils, a bruise bloomed across your throat, and your left eye was swelling. Sakura stood up and Suo quickly took his place. He cupped your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as you tremble.

“What happened lovely?” he asked, his eyes wide and concerned.

You were silent for a brief moment before you slipped off the bench and into Suo’s arms. You sobbed, “I don’t even know . . . Hayato . . .”

He pulled you into his chest, stroking your hair and kissing your hairline. “Shhh, shh, take your time, it’s okay.”

You wiped your tears and whimpered. “I think someone recognized me . . . they saw me walking with you one day . . . they . . . they had a white jacket on . . . ?”

Sakura and Nirei shot each other sharp looks behind you, before eyeing Suo, who remained stone faced. You continued softly, “I think they wanted to get to you through me?”

Suo went rigid, his breath hitching. Of course. Of course. No one knows anything about him, any of his other weaknesses. Of course they’d go through the first option they’re given. He was an idiot. He was so fucking stupid.

He kissed your forehead and shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“. . . ” he removed Nirei’s jacket from your shoulders and replaced it with his. Then, with the help of Sakura and Nirei, he got you situated on his back as he walked you home, to his apartment.

“Hayato,” you whisper, your soft voice snapping him out of his recollection of the past half hour.

“Yes lovely?” he asks, turning his head slightly towards you. You gently play with a tassel, and he smiles.

“Thank you for coming. It was by complete accident that Sakura and Nirei found me, but I'm thankful they did. I was so scared, but when I heard Nirei calling you . . . I was so relieved. I love you,” and then your head droops, sleep overtaking you as you breathe in and out deeply.

Suo almost trips over his own feet. His eyes go wide and he sighs. His heart swells and he kisses your cheek.

“I love you too,” he whispers, “so much lovely.”

KIRYU MITSUKI ⋆˙⟡

Kiryu has an inkling that something was wrong since the morning. It was currently noon, the sun blaring down on the two of you. He was very close to sweating but for some reason, you were in a sweater. The two of you were walking in a strip mall, hand in hand, window shopping.

He studied you, analyzing your appearance. He’d known that you had a crop top at home that you were excited to wear once the weather got warmer, so then why . . .?

“Mitsuki?” You ask, fanning yourself with your hand. “Are you okay?”

“Are you?” He asks softly. His voice is gentle as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Why’re you sweating like this sweetie? You should take your sweater off.”

You stiffen marginally, but relax just as fast. It doesn’t go unnoticed by your boyfriend though, who pouts and furrows his brow.

“I just bought this sweater,” you explain softly. “It’d be a waste to not wear it, right?”

“Then what about the tank tops you bought two weeks ago?” He presses. “That blue looked really cute on you.”

You hum and nod. “Hmmm yeah, maybe.”

“ . . . Cut it out,” he says pulling you closer. “Why’re you lying? Are you okay? Did something happen?” He hugs you and nuzzles his face into your neck. “I’m worried [name]-ie.”

You sigh after a moment, your hand coming up to pat his head. “It’s okay, I’m okay.”

“You’re gonna die of heatstroke!” he exclaims.

You sigh and shake your head, lifting a hand up to fan your face. “Mitsuki-” you begin, but suddenly your sleeve slides down your arm, and the edge of the bruise starts to peak out from behind the cuff.

Kiryu’s eyes narrow in on it and he instantly jumps. His hand wraps around your wrist and he pulls the sleeve down slowly, revealing a nasty bruise in the shape of a hand.

“ . . . Mitsuki-”

“What happened to you?” He asks, his voice hardened by shock. “Where did you get this from?”

“. . . it’s nothing,” you sigh. “I don’t know. Some guys just kinda cornered me the other day and were being asshats,” you mutter angrily. “They . . . beat me up.”

“What?” Kiryu asks. For a second he thinks he misheard you but the more uncomfortable you look by his silence, the more he knows that’s not true.

The two of you stare at each other for a moment before Kiryu drags you into the nearest department store. He leads you to the back of the store and pulls you into the first open stall.

“Mitsuki you can’t do thi-”

“I wanna see what they did. Take the sweater off.”

You stare at him indignantly for a few minutes before finally pulling the sweater up over your head. Bruises cover your torso, your stomach displaying an array of nasty purple splotches.

Kiryu stares at you, his face falling. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” he asks quietly after a moment.

“Because they wanted a rise out of you and I didn’t want to give them that.”

“You should’ve told me,” he grabs your arms and yanks you into a hug, squeezing you tight against him.

“I’ll heal.”

“That’s not the point,” he whispers against your neck. He pulls himself back and stares deeply into your eyes, his own a whirlwind storm of different emotions. “You always take care of me whenever I’m injured,” he whispers, lifting your wrist up to give the inside of it a kiss. “I wanted to do the same for you.”

You don’t know how long the two of you stand there in the fitting room hugging, but eventually, you’re back at his place, in his shirt, on his bed, in his arms, and you’ve never felt safer in your life.

KAJI REN ⋆˙⟡

Kaji’s sun bathing on the roof, the heat soft against his skin. Music was blaring in his ears, a tiny smile graced his face as he pictures the date the two of you are about to go on later today: go to Pothos . . . get some food . . . hold hands . . .

His smile widens as he pictures it. He can’t wait.

But he won’t have to, cuz you come to him. Or more like someone drags you to him.

“Kaji!” Enomoto shouts, yanking his headphones off.

“Ah! What the hell-”

“Look!” Enomoto shouts, pointing somewhere beyond Kaji.

Kaji sits up and looks through the chain link fence blocking the edge of the roof. At first he doesn’t see what Enomoto is pointing at, but then . . . he sees it.

Kusumi is already hurrying to your side, and scoops your limp body into his arms as he checks your injuries. More second years also rush to your body to look over you. They all know you through your relationship with Kaji, and they all see you as a sister of sorts.

Kaji is bursting through doors and racing through hallways, desperate to get to you. When he finally gets out to the courtyard, his heart is thrumming in his chest as his peers part to let him approach.

Kusumi sets you gently in Kaji’s arms, and Kaji tucks you under his chin. He looks up at Kusumi and Enomoto, who kneels by your side to assess your damage.

Kaji’s fingers dig into your arm as he growls, “What the fuck is this?”

You cough hoarsely as Kusumi says, “I got a text of a photo from an unknown number. Here,” Kusumi shows a photo of a broken you, your body in a fetal position to try and deflect the beating. You face has cuts all over it and bruises mar whatever skin is visible in the picture.

“It was probably a few stragglers from Keel who wanted revenge,” another second year theorizes.

Kaji grits his teeth and pulls you tighter against him. The fact that those lowlife scum would go after you . . . he’ll kill them all. The white hot rage that he knows all too well floods his system and short circuits his senses. He can feel it taking control of his brain. It threatens to take complete hold over him, turning his vision red.

“Ren…?” You whisper against his jaw.

And just like that, he snaps out of it. The other boys freeze as you speak. Kaji gently pulls you back so he can better see into your eyes. Your poor sweet eyes, which are teary and scared. He hates seeing you like this. Hates knowing how scared you must’ve been when you were being assaulted.

"C'mon, let's get you patched up," he mutters. He lifts you in his arms and carries you inside the school, calling for someone to prepare the nurse's office.

“Ren,” you whisper into his neck. Enomoto shouts for some food and water as you continue, “I was so scared.”

Kaji can only give a tight nod. He doesn’t know what else to do. He feels horrible, like this is all his fault. In a way, he supposes it is. When he feels you nuzzle against him, soaking in his scent, he wants to throw you far away from him, that way he can never accidentally cause you pain like this again.

Nevertheless, he carries you back into the school and into the nurse’s office, where a first aid kit is being organized, and some dorayaki and milk is brought forward to you. Some of the boys fuss over you, bandaging your cuts and pouring water into your mouth. You thank them graciously. Kaji stands off to the side, watching the ordeal unfold.

Once they’re done, everyone leaves you and Kaji alone. He holds your hand and you rub your thumb along his hand.

“I’m sorry,” he croaks after he watches you silently for a moment. Anguish is written in his eyes.

“. . . Just hold my hand,” you whimper. "That always makes it better, right?" What choice does Kaji have but to comply?

He gives your hand a firm squeeze and you lean against him. He kisses your hair and you fall asleep, your body exhausted, but protected at last.

A/N: I wanted to do so many other characters for this, so lemme know if you want a part two!

[entitled-fangirl]

Mind and Body.

Cregan Stark x chronic illness Targaryen!reader

Summary: Cregan visits King's Landing, spotting a princess who'd been hidden away due to her constant illness. He's enamored.

A/n: based on an ask!

Masterlist

...........................................

"Lord Stark," Alicent greeted. "How wonderful for you to journey so far."

There was an agreement for the Warden to visit every five years to ensure his loyalty to the Realm and vice versa. Not that King Viserys was ever worried about Cregan. But the North was far and it was important to each side to check on the development of the other.

"'Tis only my duty to the North," he answered. 

The two walked quietly to the council room. Viserys had quickly grown ill, so most business would be conducted there. When he was well enough to go.

Which meant Alicent and Otto were in charge of their meetings when the king was absent.

…

The initial greeting was pleasant, even if the king was slowly decaying in front of him.

But Cregan had been free to wander around the castle as their guest. The next talk of business would not be until the morning, so he decided to take advantage of that.

The sun was beginning to set, just a hint of the dark creeping onto King's Landing. Cregan stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Even their cold nights here were hotter than the chill of a warm Northern day.

"Princess, surely you should rest!"

His head snapped back towards the open doors behind him. His curiosity was beyond peaked. Princess Helaena was fine. He'd given her a brief nod and a polite acknowledgement hours ago.

And soon enough, a ghostly presence passed by the doorway. Cregan felt his breath catch.

Silver hair. Grey complexion. And a gown and cloak that dragged with every step.

He was struck.

Her guard followed behind, a resigned look in his eyes.

"I feel fine," her voice softly commented. It was weak, like she never used it.

As they journeyed down the corridor, the voices faded and Cregan found himself following them.

"You've still yet to regain your strength from your scare last week. You'll catch a chill," her guard reprimanded. His armor clunked together with each step, a reminder of the life he abided by.

She was like a gust of wind that chilled you from the bottom to top of your spine. And Cregan quite enjoyed the cold.

"I only wish to leave my chambers for a moment." Her movements were slow and lethargic, yet graceful and calculated. 

"You should have waited for me to gather your boots. I have no doubt the stone is freezing over. Please."

Cregan noted just how comfortable this guard was with telling the Princess off. They'd obviously gotten to know one another well.

She released a ragged sigh, pausing in her steps to look over her shoulder. "I-" She froze completely at the sight of Cregan behind them. She hadn't even heard him following, and he didn't make himself known.

Her guard followed her line of sight with ease, immediately moving into a defensive position at the sight of the large stranger.

"Forgive me," Cregan immediately covered, holding his hands out to show he wasn't a threat. He took cautious steps forward more into the light of the nearest window so he could be more seen. "My curiosity got the better of me."

Her guard turned, relying on the princess for her answer to the situation. It was up to her, after all.

Her head tilted to the side and she stepped past him to close in on Cregan.

As she neared, he noticed just how shallow her cheeks were sunken in. The grey in her complexion was an unwelcome one. Her eyes held a dullness to them, despite the intensity of their gaze. 

"Cregan Stark, my princess," he greeted, tipping his head down and holding out a hand. He only hoped she'd accept it.

She stared for a while before remembrance ran through her. "Stark of the North. Right." She took his invitation, a shaky hand falling on his.

He noted how cold they were. But he stashed that fact away and kissed her knuckles gently as any gentleman should.

He also noted the ready look in the guard's eyes. Like he'd pummel him just for stepping a toe out of line.

"I can't say I've had the pleasure of meeting you," Cregan continued, letting her hand fall back to her side. "How the Crown has hidden a pretty girl away, I cannot understand."

For once, her lips quirked up on the ends, a soft breath escaping her nose. She finds his comment humorous. "You mustn't lie."

True, she's a bit worse for wear, but she still holds the Targaryen beauty that's so coveted. 

"I have not yet," he insists. "Nor do I intend to."

She gets antsy, unsure what to say. Her guard catches on and steps up to the pair. "Excuse us, Lord Stark. Princess Y/n much needs her rest."

"Of course. Excuse my ignorance. Please." His last word is directed right at her as if assuring she'd understand that he meant no harm in his actions before.

She still doesn't speak, only staring as her guard gently turns her back to where they were coming from. "Please start moving back to your room. I will catch up with you in a moment."

She doesn't fight, beginning the willowy trek back to her room. Slow steps once again.

Both watched until she turned the corner, and her guard's worried face switched immediately to questioning. "Ser Criston Cole, Commander of the City Guard," he introduced himself. "Might I ask your reason for following the princess?"

"I only saw her pass through the doorway. Curiosity truly got the better of me. I've not seen her around-"

"-and you won't," Criston finished. "Between you and I, it would be better if you forgot her entirely."

The Stark was thrown off by Criston's sudden aggression. And so he got defensive. "The Crown cannot simply hide away a vital member of its lineage!"

Criston grabbed Cregan's collar with both fists. "I'd warn you to walk away from this now." He was older than him, clearly trying to use that as an intimidation tactic.

Too bad nothing intimidated the Wolf of the North.

"And if I do not?"

"The Crown doesn't take it lightly when its weakest member is targeted."

"What is wrong with her?"

Criston, realizing his intimidation is doing nothing, lets go of him. He gives a glare that clearly says 'none of your fucking business' and begins to walk off in the direction of the princess. "Stick to snow and barbarianism, Cregan Stark!" He calls over his shoulder.

If anything, the guard's gall encourages Cregan. He loves a challenge.

…

The next time he spotted her was while sparring. The training courtyard of King's Landing was very different from that of Winterfell, but he took the opportunity to train with gratitude. 

It was quite amusing to see Cregan sweating profusely in a thin tunic while the others wore multiple layers.

Not that he would brag about his adherence to the cold. Out loud, anyway. In his head was different.

And when his eyes wandered up the castle walls, there she was. 

Seated in a comfortable chair on her tiny balcony that was clearly drug in and out every night she sat. She was covered in a thick fur, but there she was. Maybe the outdoor air brought her comfort. Her handmaiden brushed through the woman's overly shiny locks.

It was hard to tell exactly what she was looking at, but it was clearly in his direction, so he did his best to avoid staring.

Easier said than done.

Every few hits, he'd find himself looking up to make sure she was still there. She truly felt like a ghost, potentially disappearing now that he'd spotted her.

But she didn't. She only watched from above.

…

By the fifth day of meeting with Alicent and Otto, he brought it up.

"I also couldn't help but notice the princess you keep hidden from sight. I want to ask about her."

Alicent had been waiting for this. Criston had tattled on the man that first night. 

Otto was more amused. "Ah yes. I believe it's time we spoke of her. For once."

The queen gripped the chair tightly, earning a small 'tsk' from her father. "What is there to say? She's sickly."

Cregan leaned forward in his chair. "Why keep her locked away from the people?"

"She is not-" Alicent calmed herself and began again. "She is not 'locked away.' She is too ill to attend matters. That is all I wish to say of it."

"Humor the boy," Otto reprimanded. "Once you've spotted her, she's hard to forget."

"Forgive me for my bluntness," Cregan continued. "What illness does she carry?"

Alicent forced herself to keep speaking. "The maesters don't know. We've brought in every kind of maester and septon we could find. It just… comes and goes like the tide. You've not seen her at her healthy side, and for that, I am sorry. She can be a joy when she feels alive."

"She looks like death, no doubt," Otto asked Cregan.

"Like she's seen through its eyes," he agreed. "But not completely dead. There's still a small flame."

Otto liked that answer, smiling. "I like that. Now, back to the North…"

Cregan couldn't wait for the next sighting.

…

Had he stayed up late in the library, just hoping to see a glimpse of her during the dark hours? Yes. But he wouldn't admit that to anyone.

But it paid off. 

Like clockwork, she journeyed through the open doorway to the library, pausing when she spotted Cregan.

And she changed her course, moving into the room.

He felt that gust up his spine again, though it eased within moments.

She looked a little better. There was just a tiny increase of color to her cheeks than the last encounter.

Perhaps she was getting better.

"Do you always watch the men train from your balcony?" He braved to ask. He wanted the answer. He needed to hear if it was a special occurrence for him.

"No," her soft answer came.

He felt thrill warm his face. "Then why do it now?"

"I had to… cool myself. I was feverish."

Well, now he feels like a dick for trying to flirt with a woman close to death.

"Forgive me. I meant no offense."

"'S alright." Her attention turned to the vast shelves aligning the walls. 

He looked around too, though not in that direction. "Where's Ser Criston?"

She manages a smile and gazes back at him. "Think I can't outrun my guard dog?"

He exhales with a guilty look. "I truly don't believe you can, Princess."

"Good. You're right." She moves past him. "He was excused for the night. I snuck out during guard change."

"Quick," he remarked, watching her journey one of the large wooden tables there and sit. "I want to know more about you."

"There is not much to know." She rested her head in her hand. "Though, I can entertain your questions enough."

"Alright. Your age."

"Eight and ten."

He nodded. That was only a two years difference. "Have you always been sick?"

"No. I developed a horrid fever when I was four. No one thought that I'd make it. And I never really recovered. I've been stuck in this… state."

"And the kingdom just… forgot?"

She shrugs. "When the King never announced the recovery of his daughter… they make assumptions."

"Do they believe you to be dead?"

"I don't know what they believe. I don't talk to them."

A sadness filled Cregan at her declaration. He was beginning to realize just how much he takes his health for granted. He couldn't imagine a day without greeting his people. It felt like a stake in his heart. "Then I apologize for disrupting that when I spotted you in the hall that night. I should have kept to myself."

"No," she mused. "I'm grateful that you did not."

His head tilts. "Truly?"

She grows a tired smile. "I've never met a Northerner."

"And now that you have?"

Her eyes lazily travel over his body, taking her time to appreciate every part. When her eyes met his again, her smile only grew.

…

Cregan's three week stay was now entering its final week. He had found himself over and over again running into the silver-haired princess.

He tried to keep their meetings stashed away in his mind, but the look Otto gave him over dinner had told him he'd done a poor job of it.

So, there they all sat. Cregan Stark and the Targaryen dynasty- Otto and Alicent, Aegon II, and Aemond. Helaena found herself often staying within her chamber, eating with her young children. Sometimes eating with her ill sister when the two grew lonely.

Cregan was never good at small talk. He was a man that always got straight to the point. And the arrangements between the Crown and the North were at a standstill. It caused a light tension over the food.

They just couldn't agree. With the death of Viserys nearing, Cregan wished for reassurance that the next King or Queen would hold the North's arrangements. Alicent's word wasn't enough to reassure him. He needed more.

But that argument was hours ago, and now they all sat awkwardly over their plates.

Cregan had managed to bond with Aemond briefly over discussions of blacksmiths and longswords. It was something he knew well, and the prince clearly had an interest in it. It was better than sitting in silence.

Aegon had no interest whatsoever. He drank away his worries, no doubt planning his next trip out into the night.

"We all heard the rumor," Aemond mused through his quirked lips.

"Rumor?" Stark asked, sipping from his cup.

At the sudden question, each of the royals heads tipped up. They needed to know the truth.

Aemond smirked and leaned forward. His voice lowered. "That you killed a bear with nothing but a club and your hands."

He looked around the table, seeing everyone's eyes on him. He cleared his throat and set his goblet down with a light thud. 

A nod.

A collective intimidated breath fell across the table.

Aemond was impressed. He tipped his cup to the Northman and took a swig.

"Your Grace," a guard interrupted, bowing his head. "Princess Y/n," he announced.

Cregan didn't catch the others reactions, instead turning as much as he could in the direction of the door.

He'd feasted with them for over two weeks and only now did the ill princess join them.

She had color to her cheeks now, the light pink standing out beautifully. Lively. 

She was finally in a gown fit for a princess, deciding to uphold her appearance. 

She clearly wanted to be there.

It was quiet as each step echoed until she reached the seat next to Aegon. The prince reached out, tugging her chair back to encourage her to sit.

Now seated across from Cregan, her eyes met his.

And she smiled.

"It's good to see you up," Otto announced. "I didn't dare to think you'd recovered this well."

She watched the servants tend to her. "Neither did I, but Criston was nearing the idea of simply locking me in my room to get me to rest."

They all found that relatively amusing. Except for Alicent, who only stared with a guilty look. They all knew the queen was sleeping with the Commander of the Guard. She ordered him around like a dog, having him watch her ill daughter like a hawk.

"It is," Cregan spoke, clearing his throat again, "It is good to see you." His voice was softer, clearly meant for her. His eyes took her in a way the gods would scorn. Like she was something to worship.

When healthy, he thought she was a version of the earth itself. Like the warmest day in Winterfell when the wind was just cool enough to remind you to be awake. Or the beauty of falling snow. It bites when you get too close, but he wouldn't be frightened of death in its embrace. She was not sunshine or light, but she was beautiful in her own way, dragging death alongside her wherever she went.

His eyes only left hers when he heard Aegon clear his throat obnoxiously. 

"Sister, I thought you were dining with Helaena tonight?"

"The twins were… rather tiring today and she wished to rest instead."

He nodded, accepting that answer, but his eyes were trained on Cregan now, squinting as if he could read him. His fingers picked the meat off of a bone on his plate absentmindedly.

Alicent was about the same, recognizing the longing look in the Wolf's eyes.

…

The princess had excused herself early from dinner, still not entirely up to the usual standard of supping like the others.

That gave Cregan no excuse when Alicent dismissed everyone except for him.

So here he is, stuck sitting at the large table and Alicent paces around it like a lion and its prey.

"I don't like the way you look at her," she started. "She is ill. Have you no morals?"

"Like what?" Cregan challenged. "Look at her in what way?"

"Like you want her."

Her bluntness is not something he expected. He's a bit thrown off. But the queen isn't entirely wrong. "Your Grace-"

"-Do not give her false hope," Alicent says in a lower tone. A pleading one. "She cannot take a heartbreak. She cannot take any outside occurrences tormenting her. She'd surely die."

In truthfulness, Cregan had not considered what would happen if she did grow attached, only for him to leave. The thought hurts. "I mean no harm to her. She is magnificent."

Alicent pauses like the words were poison. "Do not lie to me." Her anger grows. "She is ill. She will always be ill. She'll spent her life in her chamber, in her bed. Do not act like that is not the case."

"Meaning what, my queen?"

"That she could never be a wife."

…

The queen's words had haunted Cregan more than he cared to admit. He mostly hated that she might be right.

When he saw the princess again the next day, she was more chipper than he'd ever seen her before. 

"Lord Stark!" She greeted, her steps a bit quicker than before, though still not he'd consider fast.

He gave a brief smile, continuing his walk down the corridor.

Her face fell a bit. "I-Is something wrong?"

"No. I'm only rushing to meet with your mother."

She sighed, trying to keep up with him. "I thought you did not meet again until the morrow."

"You'd be correct in that."

His tone was matter of fact, no room for the gentle pronunciations he'd used before. It was clearly hurting her. It hurt him, too. But he was on a mission.

So she stopped, watching the Northerner walk away with heavy footsteps.

…

He threw the doors open, not waiting for the guards to do it. "I've decided you're wrong."

It was a bold move, causing the Queen to stand and frown. Not many challenged her, especially in this way. To arrange a meeting midday and then enter in this fashion? Suicide.

Otto was amused, not moving from his seat. He gestured to a chair in encouragement.

But Cregan stood, his hands flat on the tabletop. "You've promised the agreement will continue to the next ruler in line, and I said I could not take your word. That I needed more proof of your insistence. Well, I know what I want."

"I appreciate a man who is bold, Lord Stark, but I implore you not to make demands of the Crown," Otto tried to ease.

"No," Cregan began again, his anger turning to Otto. "Though I doubt there will be much fight to this demand. After all, it seems you will not notice its absence."

"And what is that?"

He paused. "The princess. The one hidden away from prying eyes. I will make her my wife. If she'll have me."

Otto was genuinely not expecting that. Alicent grew angry. "That is my daughter! You will not take her away like a bartered cow!"

"That was not my intention. But fine. Let me rephrase." The Wolf rolled his shoulders back, standing tall before the two. " I wish to court your daughter. No alliance involved. No quill to parchment. No deals. This is not part of our agreement."

"How is it not?"

"If you let me court her, it means you have faith in the North. In me. I don't need a parchment to say that."

Otto sighed. "Let me get this clear. You wish to marry a princess of whom will spend her life half dead?"

Cregan shrugged. "Half dead is half alive. And I like the odds. I like her."

"Surely she won't last in the North," Alicent reasoned. "The second the air seeps through your window, she'll die."

"The same way she's dying here?"

That shut Alicent up.

"There are great maesters in the North. They know the effects of the cold on the body. I have no fear of that. I'll tend to the fires in her chamber myself if I must- even collect the wood myself if you're so frightened. I am no idiot. I can keep her alive and happy."

The two considered the man's proposal. It was a strange one. But they recalled the look between him and her at dinner the night before.

"She'll never give you children," Alicent said with remorse.

He nodded. "I'm prepared to deal with that."

Otto look to the Queen, giving a tilt of his head.

She sighed. "If she wants you, she's yours."

…

Three days left in his stay, and he had spent two days without seeing her.

He didn't wish to go to her chamber. She deserved the privacy. That and… he didn't know where it was. 

So instead, he resorted to staying up late, hoping she'd appear. 

She didn't.

…

Criston Cole passed Cregan, a glare in his eyes.

Cregan followed, grabbing the guard from behind and pinning him against the wall. "Where is she?"

Criston hissed through his teeth. "Why do you assume I've hidden her?"

"Tell me."

He spit in the Wolf's face.

Cregan only blinked, the rest of his face unflinching. "Where is she?"

"In her room. Where she always is," he seethed.

Cregan's head tilted menacingly.

Criston continued. "West wing. Up the stairs, the door at the end."

He slammed the guard against the wall one more time for good measure, then stormed off.

…

He knocked on the door, and her handmaiden answered. "Oh. You're not the maester."

He frowned. "The maester?"

A soft voice came from inside the room, catching the handmaiden's attention. She nodded and opened the door for him.

He stepped in.

The princess laid on her bed, looking quite literally like death. It was worse than the first time he'd sighted her.

She was thinner, her cheeks sunken in again, her skin the dull grey he hated. Her hair was greased with sweat. Yet at the sight of him, she tried to give a weak smile.

Nearing her side, he sighed. "I had… I had no idea, Princess."

Her handmaiden moved to the other side of the bed, going back to dabbing the princess's forehead with a wet cloth. 

Y/n hummed at the chill. "'S alright."

"So, these are the ill spells you were speaking of." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes," she sighed. "'S so sudden."

"I see that." He reached out to her hand, brushing his fingers over hers. He didn't want to overstep. But she was the one to intertwine their fingers. 

He spent the rest of the day in there, leaving when the maester entered. He stopped him, leaning in to speak lowly to the doctor. "I want you to feed her meat. Lamb, pig, I do not care. But have it brought to her."

…

The maester did as he commanded. And the next day when Cregan visited, she was chipper.

Was she entirely well? No. But the protein had her sitting up in bed, speaking to her handmaiden as her hair was being braided.

It warmed Cregan.

He grinned when he entered, sitting at her side comfortably now. "You look much better."

"I feel better," she smiled. "The maester said you helped."

"That's ridiculous. What do I know about health?"

But they both knew. They all knew.

"Mother told me something odd."

He froze. "Oh?"

"That you wish to marry me."

He took a deep breath, trying desperately to calm his nerves. Perhaps she's rejecting him.

"Is that true?"

He nodded, his fingers playing with hers. "It is. If you'll have me."

She smiled, gently waving her handmaiden off now that her hair was done. The girl left with a knowing grin.

"I'll have you, Cregan Stark."

He cupped her face, brushing his thumb over the light pink in her cheeks. "Then I am a lucky man."

…

And in the North, she blossomed. 

He kept a steady diet of red meat for her, watching as she no longer spent every day in their chamber, even getting to journey out to the courtyards and sit through petitions. 

The two spent every night cuddled under the furs of their bed. The fire always burned, he made sure of it. 

Her mind loved Cregan, and now her body could too.

................................................

Taglist: @alyssa-dayne @twinkletwinklenotastar @kidd3ath @yujyujj @misswynters @cosmosnkaz @sithapprentice @kaniromi @lovemesomevesey @its-jackie-bb @thorins-queen-of-erebor @kingdomzeldaquest @nyxbranwenn @callsignwidow @a1lexh-blog @alyssa-dayne @ethereal-athalia @ashovertheriver @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @dozcan123 @wangjiangelangel @kamitargaryen @aegonswife @lv7867 @helpmedecideaname @cherryheairt @classicsimpforaaronwarner @purple-1995

[harmonysanreads]

Anatomy Of A Hug

ᯓᡣ𐭩 ft. Phainon, Mydei, Anaxa

Heads Up : Soft Yandere themes, Anaxa needs to see a therapist, Written before version 3.1, My Delusions I guess. I merely missed them a lot and decided to write something silly quickly orz.

-; ੈ♡˳ PHAINON

In the simplest terms, Phainon hugs with his everything. He's not shy to initiate skin-contact, will press himself to you accordingly — unless you voice out discomfort. He's diligent in wrapping his arms around your person securely, should you fancy melting in the bliss he offers. Though, his dexterity with hugs was honed through practice. In the beginning, the strength of a seasoned warrior had been more prevalent. A good amount of discussion (read: pleading to breathe) and experimentation snapped him out of the rush of pleasantries and reminded him of how precious a person he was dealing with.

Front hugs, back hugs, side hugs, bear hugs — he's okay with whatever you're comfortable with. His personal preference is going through all kinds of hugs he knows of manually ; first to shield you from all the evil that preys on your vulnerability, then scooping you up from the pull of gravity, a hearty squeeze to assure you of his protection, followed by a thrilling spin that will repel all bad thoughts out of your orbit. Until all the vestiges of weariness and stress have been replaced clean with the smiles he so adores.

Phainon is not one to be satisfied with short exchanges of warmth, the duration of these hugs tend to be quite long — or, as long as he can get away with before he has to commit to a Hero's responsibilities. Just as he initiates hugs with all of his soul, he expects the same when it comes to receiving them. Phainon prefers to be coddled, held with a promise of protection, ironically. Allow him to kneel and bring him close to your heart, weave your fingers through his hair, soothe the tension in his shoulders and he'll abandon the Flame-Chase altogether.

It's impossible to stir him in those moments, unless your safety happened to be at stake. As such, it's best for you to bid farewell to any other plans. Once he has memorized the nature of this exchange well, he goes beyond and utilizes it to deal with other nuisances. You cannot blame him, not when it has been proven that distracting you with a hug deters both the interference and yourself from paying heed to a mere passer-by. Sometimes his hug offers a bit less comfort and appears more as a shackle. Should you think to point this out, bear this in mind — your embrace is the last thread keeping his sanity intact.

-; ੈ♡˳ MYDEI

You must not care for your life at all, or at least, that's the thought Mydei found himself having when he was faced with the gesture. While the Crown Prince was not ignorant of the existence of a hug, he merely never had the opportunity to be properly acquainted with it. Not that it was necessary to know of it either, he can't win battles by hugging his opponents now, can he? As such, his reaction had been quite the spectacle when you initiated it. Begin by asking if he'd like a hug (throw in a ‘my prince’ at the end, sweetly), if his expression doesn't change then that means a ‘yes’, approach him calmly and wrap your arms around him next — be patient, he'll eventually reciprocate, given that you read the cues right.

If Mydei has to express affection, he'll do so in his own ways. It's already enough of an inconvenience that whenever he thinks of you, his head becomes blurred with clouds of emotions he's unable to decipher. That mushy sensation he feels inside whenever you have the audacity to hug him is just unfiltered agony to his mind. The journey to getting him less repulsed to the gesture has to be fueled by patience and understanding. Only when it clicks in his head that the feelings your hugs incite are not so dissimilar from the ones he gets by indulging in a plate of golden honeycakes does he warm up to the gesture.

Even then, Mydei is very particular about his preferences. Wave goodbye to the dream of spooning the prince any time soon, he's made it clear that that privilege is reserved for him alone. He'll always pull your head towards his chest and headlock you in place. If it's not possible to do so while standing, he'll sit down and gather you on his lap even — but he'll never allow his field of vision to be obstructed. Allowing this already renders you both vulnerable to attacks, he'll reason. He needs to remain vigilant, for the sake of your safety ; not that he'll translate the intention word by word.

Despite your efforts, you've discovered that ridding the prince of his stiffness is near-impossible, even if it's in private. His is not a life that's seen much comfort. Pay attention to the minute shifts in his eyes and you'll realize that the actual reason for his stilted posture, is because of the restraint he's exercising in unleashing his strength. It is a valid concern, he won't even need both of his hands to kill you. Death has rejected him countless times but awaits your departure in anticipation, he's merely mindful of its preying gaze.

-; ੈ♡˳ ANAXA

You are one fearless fellow if you initiated a hug with Anaxa, or you simply don't care about the fact that he's renowned as the scholar who most people are happy to avoid. The scholar in question would most likely call you an idiot though, you really need a thorough lesson in deciphering which men you must never approach. Not that he will be giving it, his time and energy are not to be wasted on such trivial concerns. Although he won't deny, with this brazen act, you've proven yourself to be a bit above the notion of ‘trivial’.

You think approaching the scholar is not so different from trying to befriend a cat, failure in the beginning is inevitable — only through persistence can you triumph. It's a task alone to try to acquaint yourself with him, getting him accustomed to physical affection might just be an acid test. The scholar has had no need for a rudimentary touch of another's skin, he'll say with a dignified hiss. But if you're observant, you'd know it's just a ruse to hide the depth of the depravation he's not allowing himself to acknowledge.

After much trial and error, when he finally bends to your efforts and accepts a hug, he's stiff and awkward, unsurprisingly. His hands wander as if settling on one place would burn his skin, face firmly hidden in the crook of your neck in what you can only assume is embarrassment. You would've teased him about the fierce flush on his ears and nape, if he hadn't ended the contact upon realizing his behavior. The scholar didn't dare face you for the next week, reflecting upon the incident vigorously.

Initially, his hugs were short, filled with muttered complaints to distract you from the firmness of his grip. The increasing average duration and his waning unwillingness towards the gesture did not go unnoticed by him at all. He knows the basic biological cause and it served as his rationale for quite a while. Yes, the reward system's activities are all there is to it, surely he possesses enough willpower to end this indulgence any time he wishes.

What he didn't anticipate though was you beating him to it, baffling him with your sudden consideration for his personal space. You are cruelty incarnate, conditioning him to this banal addiction and leaving him to deal with the consequences by himself? Now that is one preposterous claim to marvel at. It's wise if you cease pushing the man and retract your words. And if you don't? You're more than welcomed to repeat your jest at the firing point of his gun.

[honeydazai]

୨୧·࣭࣪̇˖ sending them suggestive pictures while they're at work

feat.: Dazai, Chūya, Ranpo, Fukuzawa, Fyodor, Sigma

content: nsfw, female reader, spanking, sexting, oral sxx, masturbation, semi public

It's not unusual for DAZAI to tap away on his phone during work hours, so no one — except for Kunikida, who still hasn't given up on glaring — pays it any mind when his smirk widens at his screen. What remains a secret, however, is that he's not looking at some funny tweet but instead at your tits, the blue lace of your bra making for a pleasant contrast in colour.

He's awfully smug about the whole ordeal, really; also, who is he not to play along? He definitely sends you not only some appreciative words back, but also a picture of his own, featuring either his hands — he does know that you're quite fond of his fingers, after all —, his face — because you can never complain about that! —, or his by now half-hard dick, pressing against his trousers, even though taking soft nudes borders on workplace indecency. Oh, and your pictures are definitely saved and stored away on his phone for later usage.

[new message from Dazai] “someone's needy, harassing me during work hours! just kidding bella!! you're so cute xx stunning too! how am i supposed to listen to kunikida any longer when you're so so pretty? :( ill call out sick, be there in 20 x”

CHŪYA really doesn't expect to see anything but a picture of a dog you saw outside or of a particularly pretty flower when he spares a brief glance at his phone during a Port Mafia meeting. It's already disrespectful, though he doesn't plan on anyone noticing the miniscule action — that is, until he all but chokes on his coffee at the photo of you, legs spread wide, two fingers deep inside of yourself, wearing not only his favourite lingerie set, but also one of his ties.

He tries hard to ignore the way everyone stares at him when he, all too abruptly, excuses himself to the bathroom, his face bright red. In the safety of a stall, he really can't do anything but shove his trousers to his knees, one hand immediately closing around his dick while he types your number into his phone with his free one — and while he might snap at you, oh so flustered, he's also so damn turned on that he can barely focus on anything but the sound of your voice and your photo.

“Fucking Hell, babe—, God, with how Mori was looking at me, I bet he knew what was up. Fuck—, send me another one, please, I'm so damn close, ah—”

Business meetings aren't RANPO'S favourite way to spend time. They're awfully boring, making him huff and sigh when he has to sit through them — though this one gets a lot more interesting the moment he clicks on a text message from you. He raises an eyebrow at the sight of your panties, pure lace and hiding not even the slightest bit just how wet you are, thighs glistening, though that's about all the physical reaction he's going to show. The fact that his dick strains against his trousers is no one's business.

He is, however, quick to text you back, amusement dripping from his messages, and if Fukuzawa wasn't already watching him with sharp eyes, he'd sneak away to the bathroom to call you. For now, you'll just have to do with sexting — this meeting is going to go on for a while, especially if he won't soon start contributing, and he's unfortunately got better things to do.

[new message from Ranpo] “having fun without me? youre so mean. at least send me more pics im dyin g here... maybw bend over or— ooo i know, we bought that toy a while ago, right? why don't you use that one for me, doll....”

FUKUZAWA sucks in a sharp breath the second his eyes fall onto your form clad in nothing but one of his yukatas, and even though he attempts to remain calm, he's already blushing, arousal churning low in his stomach. Really, he was just trying to take a miniscule break from all the paperwork he's facing — besides, the cat ringtone signaling your message did sound rather urgent! —, though now he's not certain whether he can focus on it again.

He ends up typing “This is most inappropriate.” in response, though he never sends it, instead replacing it with a “You look stunning.”, only to never send that one either. In the end, he just quits work a little earlier that day and hurries home faster than he'd ever want to admit, cheeks still flushed with arousal when he joins you in bed, immediately slotting himself between your pretty thighs, long fingers spreading your folds apart and into your cunt to prepare you — only to realise you've long done that yourself. How convenient. He might reprimand you a little afterwards, though both of you realise it's not to be taken seriously. When he's honest with himself, he rather liked that photo — and he'll definitely keep it.

“That was awfully inappropriate. Darling, you know I enjoy getting to hear from you during the day, and yet — what? I didn't mind you wearing my clothing in the slightest. I was worried about someone from the Agency seeing the picture. In fact, wear my clothes again whenever you feel like it. Please do. You looked quite irresistible.”

It's almost unfair just how seemingly unbothered FYODOR is. When checking his phone during a Decay of Angels meeting, aware that you know not to contact him except for important reasons, he merely glances at the photo lewdly depicting your raised skirt and the curve of your behind before putting it back into his pocket. Really, it's downright adorable that you're attempting to tease him — you should know better by now, darling.

While he doesn't bother with a response, he certainly makes sure to pay attention to you when he returns home. And, oh, the next time you want to toy with him, he sure hopes you remember this very moment, of you bent across his lap, his hand coming down ever so often on your butt, on the soft skin of your upper thighs, making you cry out with every slap. The marks, at least, will serve as a nice reminder, especially when you keep forgetting to thank him for every hit.

“There we go, dear. Ah, ah — don't cry now. This is what you wanted, is it not? My undivided attention — and you certainly have it, now. Which number were we on again? Tell me, darling, or we will have to start over, I'm afraid.”

The second SIGMA spares a quick glance at his phone, only to stumble upon a rather revealing picture you just sent him — and, God, 'rather revealing' is an understatement when he's able to see just how wet you are, thighs spread for the camera —, his face heats up significantly, earning him some odd looks from the other men he's currently in a meeting with. In a desperate attempt to regain professionalism, he clears his throat, trying to simply continue, but it's as if every thought has been erased from his mind and was replaced by you.

When getting home that evening, he's calmed down considerably, cheeks still warm with the memory of you being this bold, though his sudden calmness might just change when you expect him in that exact same position, legs wide apart, the smile on your face teasing — and who is he not to end up on his knees in front of you, tongue flattening against your cunt while both of you let out breathy moans? In the end, he's all but begging you to return the favour.

“Ah, God, I'm close. At least finish me off, please—, you were really cruel today, dear. Make it up to me? Please? Oh, fuck—”

join my tag list here!! | ko-fi 💜 | comms!

tag list: @irethepotato @beandaifuku , @the-foreigner , @ranpobb, @arixsux, @dei-lilxc , @atsyushi @satoruislove @pastelsbaby @marina-and-the-memes @texchou @shiggysredhead @savagemickey03 @rosepxtlz @nikolaiswife @okura-s @ladykatakuri @lunerenzo @berywritesstuff @xelia25 @yuuotosaka3 @double-black-dazai @alice0blog

@pigeons-are-rad @cicada-teeth @dzaixchuu @hanakotheghost @shinwifexx @rhaeena @Moonssandstars @violet-19999 @iheartpixiedust

@fyodorstolenushanka @ttaiyaki @itsnovariella @black-rose-29 @fyodorscumsock @ayshaashaya @qxxstuff @serenareiss @atsvsh1 @dilucshandholder @reiikonee @1-800-mocha @xvocadooo @hexiisexii @cupxfcxffee @jodidann @Happymoon16 @yumidepain @nchuuyahq @janeinerz @Aaronthegreatestsimp @fanfiction-waifu @KimxKiba @Morigumy @villainouspotential

@ashthemadwriter-uwu @mrsdostoevsky @nikolaisgoofyahhhat @yeonwoomyheartbelongstoyou @hellgirlwhore @c4xcocoa @lyrstybsd @angelsrunes @wuaoqu @disa-ster @aspookyscaryghost @nikolaisboner @urgodmoon @polish-anon @arisu-chan4646nsfw @eroscastle @somnobun @birbysaur @Senpaible @hyunlixie143 @dababyurmom @4nthonyyliving @mariaace @mello0cat @rheeeeeeeesiees @squigglewigglewoo @rainy-dazie @itzashlyn123

[corroding-time]

I gotchu bro

part two to this

gentleman top male reader x horny boyfriend. nsfw.

-

So let’s say you finally get the hint - or maybe not. I bet he has to outwardly and directly tell you. Straight up confront you because his subtle coy techniques and methods weren’t working at all. It’d go something like this:

The two of you’d just be cuddling, after another one of his attacks to try and provoke you. You might be scrolling on your phone, or doing your work, he’s holding tight to you and staring off to the distance, spacing out. Then he’d suddenly snap his head towards you. “Babe.” He’d say. You look at him and ask what.

“Let’s have sex.”

You cough and sputter, choking on air. Did he really have to say it so directly? “You didn’t understand any of my advances…” he pouts. “So I thought the best way to get what I want is to be upfront.”

And of course you agree, because you never refuse your boyfriend.

-

Sex with you was so… uninteresting.

His heart thumped with excitement as he thought- would you be rough? Would you be harsh? Unrelenting with him that even when he begs you to stop, you keep going? He was hoping to see a meaner, feral side to you.

But to his shock, you were as kind as normal- if anything, even kinder. He was disappointed. He thought that everyone has a different side to them during sex. But you… You were all prim and proper, using a generous amount of lube, wearing a condom, prepping him nice and thoroughly. You entered gently, so slowly. You held him like glass. Wouldn’t move until he was comfortable- and when he lied that he was, you grabbed his face, squishing it and telling him to stop lying. That was the ‘roughest’ you had been with him, ever. You held him close, going at a pace that would pleasure him but not hurt him. And that was the worst part- you were still so considerate- always going out of your way to accommodate him. Always in positions that he wouldn’t get hurt in, probing and poking places that would give him most pleasure, making sure he was ok. When you started off, he thought he wouldn’t get anything from this.

But for some reason, he didn’t know why, he loved it.

He came very shortly after you entered him, he had never felt so… full. It has been a while since the last time he had vanilla sex… He begged you to continue and you did. Every time he came, you’d stop after he seemed done, caressing him and wiping the sweat off of him, pushing his hair back and kissing him and telling him how much you loved him and that if he wanted to stop, you would, then switch positions every time he told you to keep going. He started crying tears halfway through from the overwhelming amount of pleasure he was feeling- it was always a mix of pain and pleasure, he never knew it could just be pleasure. You stop and worriedly wipe his tears, but he pleads that you continue.

After a while, you stopped humoring him and said it was enough. As you pull away and out, he grabs you and begs you not to. You kiss his forehead, telling him that he was clearly tired and that it wasn’t good for him. He was trembling all over, eyes hazy, body weak and obviously out of it.

He reluctantly let you pull out- and he realized. You never changed the condom, not once. “Babe! You didn’t cum even once! Was I… not good enough for you?” He bit his lower lip as his eyes started tearing up again, this time out of hurt. You kiss him and tell him no, don’t ever say that, he was perfect and you didn’t deserve him. Reassuring that you did feel immense pleasure, it’s just that you wanted to focus on him tonight. He frowned, but seeing how rock hard and how much you were leaking when you took off the condom, he knew you were telling the truth. When he insisted he get you off, you refused, saying he was going to pass out any moment, given the toll cumming so many times had taken on his body. As you take him to the bathroom, he can’t help but feel bad. One of the goals tonight was to see you come undone. He was hoping to see how you would look and act when you were out of it. Next time, he thought. Next time he’d be sure to get you to cum.

He was already planning the next advance to get you worked up.

[pedgito]

𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Jesse (TLOU) x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | During a tense moment, Jesse has a devastating realization.

author's note | built around this request - this fit with an idea i already had sorta half outlined a couple weeks ago. this is unbeta'd, so if there's any mistakes just let me know!

content warning | 18+ MDNI, established friendship, loss of parents mention, tommy/joel being a father figure to reader, angst, unrequited feelings come to the surface, teasing, reader taking care of jesse in small ways, protected piv, very earnest dirty talk lmao, mentions of past relationships - can be pictured as either game or show jesse, i just adore young.

word count — 4.3k

He’s witnessed the best and worst of you.

And you, him.

The worst being when you parents died during a night attack on Jackson, a group of clickers hitting a weak point of Jackson’s bordering walls—you were lucky enough to survive because you were staying at Tommy and Maria’s that night, watching Benjamin while they used the freed up time to treat themselves to some normalcy, a date.

Jesse had held you in his arms while you cried, ordered by Tommy to stick close with you and Benjamin while he and a few other patrolmen dealt with the bodies, gave them a proper burial.

Tommy hadn’t meant to take you in so quickly, but you often drifted to his home for comfort.

Maria sensed the deep abandonment you felt, also realizing how much Benjamin clung to your presence. It helped relieve some of their worry knowing you had something to distract yourself and that they could catch up with more of the repairs around Jackson while you kept their son busy.

Eventually, you’re old enough for patrol.

Tommy starts you out with Joel, similar to his brother, he treats you with a soft, but firm guiding hand and after six months of consistent patrolling, Tommy pairs you up with Jesse.

Though, with minor hesitation.

He’s your leader for group patrols, but as you show more interest in wanting to go out in pairs, he was the safest bet—Tommy was also quick to pick up on the spark of friendship you had with him.

Shy and quiet, but there was trust.

He’d also given Jesse the talk about keeping you safe.

The sort of protect her with your life or it was his ass type deal.

Jesse isn’t surprised to see how well you handle patrol, killing infected without even a flinch, rolling with any punches thrown your way—you’ve always been strong.

He’s only surprised by how easily you’ve become the closest thing to family outside of his own, and Dina, who he seemed to have a tumultuous relationship with most of the time.

You never judged, only listened, joked with him about their unsteadiness on occasion.

Were they on? Were they off? It was always a gamble.

Based on the way his head was bowed, trudging around the snowy property without speaking a word, they were off—like…off off. Usually it lasted a couple days, sometimes a week, but he’s been this way for a month, looking increasingly more somber as time went on.

He never went into his and Dina’s fights—what they were about or who, why he often distanced himself from you when they were together despite his habit of sneaking in a few patrols with you just for the ease of it.

Everything was easy with you.

You’re always checking on him, fussing over him—Jesse doesn’t seem to mind, almost expecting it with how much he’s received from his mother or Dina, but with you, it was less about undermining him.

He felt reassured, knowing you didn’t worry about him in the same way they did, fearful of his fearless nature, carrying some of that yourself, you just wanted to keep him sharp and let him know that you had his back.

That’s why you spot it first—the fraying strap on his thigh holster, one good tug away from snapping in half.

"You’re gonna rip that thing and then whine about it the whole ride back," you break the silence, staring at him until his eyes drop to his leg, stopping in place as you’re already dropping to your knees in front of him without waiting for permission, “do you have any tape left? I know we stopped using it for marking but Joel likes to keep it in his pack and—”

Jesse chuckles low in his throat, his stomach doing a strange flip as you settle into the cold, wet snow without a care. "I’m not a whiner,”

"You are absolutely a whiner," you fire back easily, fingers working the strap loose from the buckle. Your gloves slip awkwardly against the leather, so you peel them off and toss them aside, “a goddamn cry baby, actually.”

Bare fingers are quicker, more precise.

Jesse swings his pack over his shoulder and digs through it quietly, pulling out an unpleasantly colored green role of tape and hands it to you, finding amusement in the scrunch of your nose in disgust as you spot the shade, “Gross,” you mutter, ripping it apart with your teeth as you situate the holster until it feels secure enough and tape it excessively.

“What a great thing to say while you’re down there,” Jesse jokes, shaking his head with a furrow in his brow as he slips his backpack back on, “really boosts egos, you know?”

“Who’s boosting your ego?” you ask accusatory, the slick smirk following like clockwork.

You don't even realize you’ve braced your free hand on the inside of his thigh for balance, fingertips pressing lightly into the warm, solid muscle there, even through the fabric of his cargo pants, peering up at him in question, “S’not me.”

Jesse does realize, though.

It was a strange feeling, fleeting, a glimpse of you he’s never seen before.

Every muscle in his body goes tight, locked up like you’ve got a knife to him instead of the gentleness of your touch. He’s breathing slow and shallow, willing himself to stay still as you lean in, tilt your head as you secure the holster in place properly, nearly eye level with his groin and focused entirely on fixing him.

Like you always do.

For a moment, he forces himself to look away, hands settled into his jacket pockets as he squints under the bright winter sky, praying the snow would blind him for a brief moment.

When his eyes do finally flick down, he catches the way your brows draw together in concentration, the way your mouth tugs into a little frown, your teeth biting into your bottom lip. 

And for a moment, so briefly Jesse thinks he’s gone insane, he imagines you making that face for him in a specific way that he blames on the frustration that has built within him the past few weeks and immediately hates himself for it.

"Almost done," you say softly, tugging at the wrinkled fabric of his pants until the holster is fit properly again, glancing up curiously.

That's when it hits him like a pile of fucking bricks.

You're looking up at him from between his knees, face soft despite the harsh breeze of snow, hands finding purchase with confidence on his body, almost surgical. Calculated.

There's nothing flirty about it. Nothing intentional. Nothing sexual.

Yet still, he can’t breathe.

You make a small noise of satisfaction, a squeak that Jesse wouldn’t have heard had he not been so tuned in to your every move, smiling as you stand, additionally fixing his beanie on his head for good measure and only a small attempt to tease him.

You slap his chest lightly as he stares, attempting to break him out of his strange stupor and it takes everything in Jesse to not grab your hand, curl his fist around your wrist, and drag you back into the building where your other supplies lay dormant in wait for the night to come.

Instead, he stays frozen. You're already shifting to stand, brushing snow from your knees, acting as if nothing was wrong—because for you, there wasn’t. But, you notice Jesse’s silent gaze as he follows your movement and you pause, waving a playful hand in front of his face.

"You good?" you ask, cocking your head at him.

"Yeah," Jesse says after a moment of hesitation, almost as if he had to force it out. He clears his throat, forces his eyes away from your mouth as you notice his gaze linger there. "Yeah. Thank you.”

Weird, you think. 

But, Jesse had a strange sense of humor on occasion, assuming this was just a ploy to fuck with you, unsettle you a bit. 

Though, something lingers as you step away, feeling his gaze return as you turn your back.

It seemed better to be left unspoken.

–

The fire crackles as you feed it a few more broken twigs, coaxing the flames higher to battle the cold. You shiver, pushing aside your dirty plates from dinner, pulling your sleeves over your hands as you sit back on your heels and cross your legs, sitting snug beside him against the wall.

And Jesse’s quiet.

He’s been quiet.

Strained quiet, not cautious like there was an impending sense of danger looming.

It was the kind of quiet that screamed avoidance.

"Careful, stare too long and you’re gonna scare the fire out," you tease him, nudging his foot with your boot, his hands curling into fists against his knees at the totally and completely normal gesture on your end.

Jesse snorts— but it isn’t him, a little too forced. "I’m just thinking…bored, you know?"

This was ridiculous—and unfortunately for Jesse, you had always been a straight shooter.

Plainly, you confront him, turning slightly in place to face him, "You’ve been acting weird ever since I fixed your thigh holster. Did I make you uncomfortable? Because, if you’re ever bothered by it, you can tell me—"

Jesse glances at you once, then down, and guiltily back up at you.

He doesn’t even have a response. He’s locked up, cornered.

“It doesn’t bother me,” Jesse offers eventually.

“Well, something is—you’re never this quiet with me,” you point out, resisting the urge to nudge him with a finger, scared he might scurry away.

“It’s really fuckin’ stupid, actually,” Jesse decides, forcing out an awkward, quiet laugh.

“Hey, tell me,” you urge him gently, your eyes widening with earnestness and Jesse hates that look—it is impossible to counter, seeing the creeping sense of emotion in your eyes.

Jesse avoids your gaze and shifts where he sits, propping his elbows on his knees, intertwining his fingers as he stared into the fire like it might spare him from answering and cause him to burst into flames.

"It wasn't anything you did," he says after a minute, voice low. "You were just—"

He cuts himself off, huffing out a breath of disbelief that he was having to admit this to you.

You lean in a little closer without thinking, hand curling around his forearm thoughtlessly, chasing after the words he won't give you.

"Jesse, just spit it out," you prod, a laugh mixed in with your sincerity.

Jesse lets out a slow, rough exhale, the kind that sounds like it's been sitting in his chest all day. 

"You were just lookin' at me," he says finally, looking at you with a sudden weariness you’ve never seen with him, "Touchin' me. And I—"

Oh.

Oh.

But, Jesse would be lying if he said this was just a lapse of judgment.

There had been hints for a while, sprinkled throughout your friendship.

Both of you cared a little more than just friends, but left the heaviness of that unspoken.

“I touch you a lot,” you joke lightly, hoping to ease his worry and maybe even convince yourself of something you weren’t sure you were ready to face; deep down, there was always that flutter in your stomach when Jesse smiled at you, but you often brushed it off.

He was your best friend—it was natural.

“Someone’s gotta take care of your shit,” you continue, pointing at the tattered strap of his backpack, “this shit is a damn hazard.”

He almost laughs.

But Jesse’s still tense, jaw working like he's fighting a war inside his mind. 

You see the exact moment he gives up trying to hide it too—when he turns to look at you fully, really looks at you, and there’s nothing friendly about it.

You reach for him instinctively, your hand scratching over his cheek with blunt nails, gentle as you feel him lean into the caress, “Jesse,” you say quietly, his name loaded with emotion.

Respect, trust, fear, admiration.

“Tommy would fuckin’ kill me,” Jesse jokes, “Shit, Joel, too.”

“I’m not their kid,” you counter, “I’m not a kid. S’that what you’re worried about? Them?”

“I’m not really worried about them,” he says quietly, his voice tight, but it’s a half-truth.

Tommy did scare him on occasion, knowing how protective he had grown over you, “I’m worried about this,” He pauses, swallowing hard. "We’re friends, I like that. I’d die without it, I think."

He pauses for a moment, then suddenly, it flows out.

“I saw you, looking up at me,” Jesse shakes his head, “on your knees—”

You snicker softly, “O-kay,” you’re beginning to understand now.

You’re not sure why, but you move. 

Not to him, rather in front of him, stripped of your jacket and the front of your top droops slightly as you shift to your knees and offers a full view of your chest, hands curling around his boots.

“What are you thinking now?” you ask curiously, hands curling over his knees as you move in closer, his legs spreading to accommodate you as you scoot forward on your knees.

“This isn’t funny,” Jesse retorts, sinking as far back into the wall as physically possible before you’re settled back on your legs, spread out underneath his, his feet planted as you rest your hands against his knees.

“I’m not laughing, am I?” you challenge him, “Seriously, what are you thinking right now?

“I can’t even,” Jesse shakes his head in disbelief, “I don’t know—”

“I’m trying to test temporary insanity as an option,” you offer, though it was mostly a joke—you were just fishing, curious of how often he thought about you in such a way, “it could have just been a lapse in judgement, so let me hear it,” you lean into his space, tilting your head to meet his as he turns away, “what are you thinking about?”

There’s a subtle glance at your face that leads to your chest and Jesse, if you would let him, would have you spread out over his lap without a moment of hesitation—but there is hesitation.

“Jesse,” you tease, singsong in the way you say his name.

And then he moves.

It’s fast—so fast that you barely register it until his hand is gripping your wrists and pulling you toward him. The movement is fierce, raw, acting purely on feeling, without thinking.

His grip on your wrist is firm, possessive, as he leans in close, pulling you to him as you settle in his lap without needing to be directed, his lips so close that you can feel them even before they touch you, breathing hot against your mouth.

The moment he gives in, it isn’t gentle or kind. It’s a collision of everything that’s been building between you two, all the unspoken emotions, the buried desires that neither of you have acknowledged until now, laying dormant.

His kiss is hungry, demanding, and when you try to pull back, his other hand comes up to cup the back of your head, keeping you there, gasping softly into his mouth. Your entire world spins at a dizzying speed as you exhale a breathless laugh of disbelief into the kiss.

When you finally pull away, it’s only enough to catch your breath, face close enough for your nose to bump against his cheek, the closeness almost sending you reeling again. 

He’s still holding your wrists, this time with one hand as the other squeezed tenderly at the back of your head, yearning to pull you in close again, like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he lets go.

He’s ready to mutter an apology or excuse, but you don’t let him.

You move quickly, shifting slightly as you lean back, tugging at his wrists, guiding his hands down your chest and over your stomach, under the fabric of your shirt until his hands make contact with bare skin.

Jesse swears he’s going to die from the simplicity of it all—again, how easy things felt with you—the soft skin there, the way you settle back into his legs, the curve of your ass grazing his lap, aware of how hard his cock was against you.

You smirk at the way his gaze heats with his explorative touches, it was clear that he only needed the push and reassurance, his lips parting to release a long sigh.

“Say it,” you urge him, knowing exactly what he looked like when he was keeping something to himself, itching to speak his mind.

Jesse groans, a low, needy sound that makes your stomach flip, “Shit,” he says, “you’re gonna tease me for sayin’ it, I just know—”

“No, no,” you assure him, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips that quickly heats, shoving his beanie aside as you toss it to the floor, running your fingers into his hair, “I won’t.”

“I’m thinkin’,” He begins, chasing your lips as you pull away, “about how bad I want to fuck you right now—jus’ right here, it might fuckin’ kill me.”

You grin, satisfied with his answer and the hoarse, raw way he delivers it, “Then maybe you should,” you breathe, “ya know, fuck me.”

Jesse pulls you in further, his hands sliding over your hips and up the center of your back, between your shoulder blades as he lifts your top over your head, giggling at how quickly his face presses between your breasts, mouthing gently at the swell of skin, so soft and supple.

Within his distraction, you reach for your bag, unzipping the small pocket in the front to reach for the small roll of foil squares you kept squared away—it was a long story, actually.

Jesse doesn’t let it slide either, hearing the sound and pausing immediately as he looks over his shoulder. His face a mix of amusement and disbelief.

“Oh, don’t fucking look at me like that,” you go on the defense immediately with a playful smile, “I know you have some in your bag, too.”

Jesse knew briefly of a small stint you had with one of the men who filtered through patrol and watchtower patrol through the seasons, having found you in an awkward situation or two that didn’t give away much, always finding you after.

Either way, you were both guilty.

Jesse opens his mouth to speak, but you slap your hand to muffle any noise.

“Stop talking,” you order as he peels your bra off without trouble, swatting your hand away as his mouth latches immediately to your chest, tongue slick against your nipple, “and oh—fuck me—”

He can’t tell whether it was a demand or a pleading moment of desperation, it didn't really matter.

You’re already pulling at his coat, fumbling with the zipper as he drags you closer into his lap, his mouth never lulling in the attention he’s giving you, his teeth dragging over the tender skin of your chest as he lets out a desperate groan when your hips rub impatiently down against him.

It’s urgent, now, how he moves, almost frantic as he paws at the button of his jeans, the rasp of his zipper loud above the sound of your sharp breaths and the crackle of fire—you work in tandem, standing to slip your jeans and underwear down your hip, both of you too caught up to let the moment breathe as you settle back over him, stripped naked and vulnerable despite his state of dress, but you’ve never felt more secure.

You watch with a quiet smile as he fumbles to rip the packet open with shaky, adrenaline fueled hands, slipping the latex over his hardened cock, gripping himself at the base as you rise higher on your knees and extend your palm out in front of your mouth and spit into it with a lingering eye contact that could undo Jesse on the spot, bringing your hand to your cunt to smear the saliva between your folds, aching for the stretch of him, underestimating the stretch until the head of his cock is pressed against you, both of you releasing a slow breath as his hand searches for your hip, squeezing gently as you sink down onto his length.

You still suddenly, adjusting to the way he fills you.

It’s overwhelming how quickly the two of you had gotten here.

Jesse grips your hips tightly, distracting your fleeting thoughts, lifting you off of him with a strong grip before dragging you back down with a low moan of his own when your nails dig into his shoulders through his shirt.

He holds you with a sudden possessiveness that leaves you crying out softly against his cheek, rocking his hips up to meet your rhythm as you bounce over him, his eyes barely leaving your face as he watches you fall apart on his cock, eyes wide and wondrous as earlier that day, the subtle twitches to your face when he brushes a spot so sensitive inside of you, gasping sharply.

The pace is desperate, both of you burning hot with the urgency of a handful of years building up like a house that finally caught fire, crumbling down to nothing but this moment, and the slide of him inside you is so slick, his body molding against your own, hands fitting perfectly against your body as he moans softly into the shared space between you, head lulling back against the wall as you follow, yearning for closeness.

"Jesus," he breathes, almost awed, the warmth of you wrapped around him, the tightness, the way you're taking the reins when he finds himself distracted, your hips dragging in slow, languid rolls over him. "jesus fuckin' christ, baby," 

The drag of his cock inside you is intense and fulfilling, your hands planted firmly against his chest, twitching into the fabric of his shirt to brace yourself as you ride him, his wandering and squeezing grasps to pull you impossibly closer indicative of how close he was.

“You like me fussing over you” you tell him breathlessly, fingers twisting into his hair to tilt it back, his eyes landing on you through a heavy, heated gaze as he huffs a laugh through his nose, “don’t you?”

He nods without a moment of hesitation.

“I take such good care of you, huh?”

You aren’t expecting the words to set him off, but they do.

You squeal at the quickness with which he moves, snatching your backpack with quick thinking as he lays you out on the cold ground, your gasp melting into a loud as he quickly, smoothly situations himself between your legs again and pushes inside of you, his hand curling around the back of your neck to tilt your chin up, jeans hanging low around his legs as he settles on his knees to create a mind-numbing angle as he thrusts into you.

“I feel it,” he whispers cockily, your cunt squeezing around him at his words, “you feel it?”

You nod dumbly as he continues to speak, “She loves me,” he tells you, “god—she’s squeezing me so tight,”

There’s something about it that breaks the line of reality, feeling as if this was all some dream, that there was no way Jesse knew your body this well, like it hadn’t been craving him from the start.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” Jesse orders, though it was more pleading, ultimately followed by the simple word, “please—fuck, please—”

He’s locked on the quick work of your hands, legs spread around and locked behind his back, his cock sinking inside of your greedy cunt with needy thrusts, chasing a high that he didn’t want to end.

When it did, it was slow.

You come apart with a cry, his mouth hot against your neck as he groaned into you, your cunt squeezing him like a vice as your body worked through the aching pulses of pleasure and it was few more long, sharp thrusts before he followed, fingers digging harshly into the skin of your thigh as he slowed himself to a gentle rock of his hips as he spilled into the condom.

When the high settles, you can’t help but laugh, feeling his head slump against your chest as he echoes your elation, “I think we fucked through your patrol slot,” he says through a heavy sigh, pulling out of you with a slight wince.

You grab at his wrist, glancing at his watch.

Sure enough.

“Oh no, we’re going to be devoured by clickers,” you say jokingly, a grin spreading across your face, pausing for a moment to shrug, “worth it.”

Jesse helps you redress with an unspoken protectiveness when you’ve both let the moment settle and pass, painfully reminiscent of the way you’ve cared for him before under entirely different circumstances, realizing how easily it was for your mind to wander like Jesse’s had.

“Tommy’s so gonna know,” Jesse speaks after a while, “Dude’s a fuckin’ knower.”

“No,” you snort softly, “you’re just a terrible liar. Just keep shit simple.”

“Dina was right,” he says quietly, reaching for the rifle leaning against the wall to take watch for his turn, “We were both never fully invested with what we had, she never really said why, but—”

“It isn’t something we have to dive into right now, Jesse,” you assure him, “or, ever.”

You bend down to grab Jesse’s beanie before handing it over.

“We’re still friends, that doesn’t have to change,”

Unfortunately, for Jesse, he knew that wasn’t possible.

He’d been missing something for a while, he just hadn’t realized it was something that had been with him the entire time.

You.

[poguehearted77]

OBX Season 5: Payback for Maybank - masterlist

Actor! Au Pairing: Actress! Reader x Drew Starkey Your Character: Piper Monroe, a jack of all trades whose hustle was making a living as an arms dealer in Morocco. Until a group of foreigners find her with an appetite for revenge, and she decides to tag along.

These can be read in any order, the season summary is just to give you some background on the character and role you played in the final season. In this mini series you'll get to see what really goes on behind the scenes.

Lmk if you want to be added to the tag list <3

Season Summary: This season, the Pogues are back, and their hunt for Chandler Groff leads them through the scorching sands of Morocco—and straight into your path, a mischievous arms dealer with secrets as deep as your scars. Due to your betrayal, the Pogues are ambushed and barely survive, saved only by your last-minute change of heart. Even after your redemption and display of loyalty, Rafe still doesn’t trust you, and in your uneasy alliance, he keeps you close, sometimes too close. Tension crackles between you, with moments where his knife is at your throat, yet something unspoken simmers beneath the surface. In the final episode, as danger closes in, confessions boil over when you and Rafe find yourselves held hostage by the leader of the mercenaries, Finch. During your time in bondage, you connect on feelings of solitude and regrets, but you see a spark in him when he mentions a girl back home, a reason to keep fighting. It's a race against time before Finch comes back to kill you. To both your frustration, critical thinking and strategic camaraderie are necessary for your escape. When you find yourselves stuck in a sticky situation amidst your escape, you make the ultimate sacrifice for Rafe, reminding him, “You have someone to live for,” before initiating a human diversion in a suicide mission, giving Rafe the chance to make it back to the Pogues, giving him a second chance.

Below the cut you’ll find my masterlist of life behind the scenes of season 5. Including premiere appearances, bloopers, red carpets, interviews and your budding romance with Drew.

Lights, Camera, Action! -> It's your first day on set and your nerves are through the roof but the cast makes you feel at home. You practice your lines, but the sparks between you and Drew are unscripted.

Between the Lines -> It's the little things that go on behind the scenes between you and Drew that makes your chemistry electric.

Co-Star Confessions-> The cast takes you along for a trip to take a lie detector test. The jokes are rolling and the tea starts to spill.

Portugal Nights-> The day was tense. Rehearsals were much more heated than the lines intended and the thin rubber band of restraint holding you both apart was bound to snap, and it finally does.

The Wrap Party-> Filming is over and that's a wrap for Outer Banks. Things get emotional but Drew knows how to cheer you up.-coming soon (January 2025!)

Limelight -> Due to your smaller role in the season compared to the main cast, you only had a few solo interviews but not without a few surprises. -coming soon

Wardrobe Malfunction-> You and Drew were scheduled to make it to the red carpet by 8 sharp, but not everything goes as planned.-coming soon

Ship Wars-> The fans are back at it again, and the shipping continues. Debating that Piper and Rafe should've had a romantic arc. You and Drew are given a special interview to address them.-coming soon

The Power Couple-> Drew finally made things official, so you began to have your fun with the fans and let them put the pieces together.-coming soon

The After Party-> The champagne is bubbly in your systems when you and Drew are stumbling into your hotel room after the party.-coming soon

I do not own or take credit for the characters or cast of outer banks. These are all pure fiction and do not accurately reflect the cast.

[livingdxadwriter]

Hands On

Dr Michael “Robby” Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Summary: when innocent flirting and longing looks turn into hiding in the on call room. Porn with a lil plot

Warnings: explicit sexual content, minors dni, unprotected sex, p in v, creampie, fingering, little bit of exhibitionism if you squint, fucking in the hospital, he talks her through it, age gap (yk the drill, reader is 35+, robby is 50), established relationship, brief mentions of reader having hair long enough to braid, mentions of Robby being taller

WC: 4.2k

A/N: yay! Finally some more Robby smutties! This was mostly just me being horny and too tired to write convoluted plot. I did get some requests so I’ll work on them as soon as I finish the semester. But for now I wanted to feed yall so you wouldn’t forget me. Enjoy :)

i want to note that this was inspired by this post by @abbotjack so some dialogue bits are inspired by their post. Also thank you to @wittyjasontodd for putting up with my insanity and for encouraging having a quickie with this old man in the middle of a shift <3

This was so agonizing. You didn’t know what demon possessed your soul or why you were so flustered and bothered. All fucking day, from the moment you woke up. In his bed, tangled up underneath his sheets. You didn't know if he was the cuddling type, but you woke up in his arms, on his chest, every time. And this time? You wanted to fucking stay there. All over him. You could feel it, crawling in your skin, perpetually warm even after you shrugged your hoodie off your shoulders like it had offended you. You were hyper aware of his presence at any given moment. If you heard his voice, your head was snapping in that direction. He came in to assist with a patient? You gravitated toward the side he was on to be as close to him as possible. You even got lucky a few times when he was hovering over you, standing behind you to look over your shoulder. It was subtle, always professional, but he would never stand this close to another resident unless he was doing the procedure himself. He could watch from a distance, but he didn’t, because he could tell. 

You were on hour five of your twelve hour shift when you managed to sneak into the doctors lounge to munch on a granola bar and attempt to down your lukewarm coffee. You sat for a collective two minutes when Robby came through the door. Suddenly your pulse spiked and you nearly choked at the sight of him. He was on his phone, typing something, black framed glasses sitting on his pretty nose. Your eye nearly twitched. Why you were having such visceral reactions to seeing your boyfriend today, you didn’t know. You offered him a smile nonetheless, slightly nudging your head at the empty chair next to you. The lounge was empty aside from you, anyway. 

“You hiding?” He shot you a look, a tiny eyebrow raise making you smile a bit. Yes, from you, you thought. You nodded slowly as you chewed on your bar. 

“Maybe.” You mumbled quietly, eyeing him as he leaned back on the chair, casually sliding down it until his knee was touching yours under the table. You jolted the slightest bit, blinking at him, but you otherwise didn’t comment. 

Robby was a very observant man. Call it age, call it wisdom, call it whatever, but it didn’t take him long to be able to read your body language like an open book he read for the sole purpose of his amusement. Your fluttering eyelashes, your bottom lip tucked between your teeth, your opposite leg bouncing incessantly. The way you damn near shuddered every time he barely touched you. Whether it was a subtle hand on your lower back when he walked away from assisting with your patient, or your shoulder just barely touching his arm as you talked to him in the hallway. Or how you nearly kneed the table just now. You were aching for something you couldn’t have, and it was driving you to madness. 

“Me too, I saw Gloria in the hallway.” He shuddered, shaking his head aggressively, which made you let out a giggle. God, he loved all your sounds, every one. 

“Want it?” You offered the last bit of your granola bar as you sat in that familiar silence that was often shared between people who had already said everything needed to be said. You sat in silence a lot, you didn’t need to fill it with small talk, but today you were painfully aware of his presence, his warm brown eyes lingering on you every once in a while, his knee touching yours. A subtle act, nothing more than a gesture of affection. But today, god, it would be your breaking point. You quickly realized turning your head to look at him would be a mistake. 

“Uh-huh. Thank you.” He happily and graciously accepted your offering, one hand lifting his glasses off his face and set down on the table as he grabbed your bar with the other. It was the most normal thing he could ever do, he did it all the time, it wasn’t like he wore his glasses for everything. But the simple act as he so unbothered munched on your leftovers made you dig your nails into your palm. “You did really good on that car crash patient, by the way. Readjusting a hip dislocation and a sternum fracture is pretty damn impressive.” 

You nibbled on your bottom lip, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise. It always took you aback when he so casually praised you, it always left you a flustered fucking mess. “Mmm, really?” 

“Mhmm, yeah.” He replied, nonchalant. He blinked at you slowly, big brown eyes swallowing you whole. You could hear your breath as he slowly leaned in, stopping when your shoulders touched. 

“Are you gonna kiss me right now?” You dared to ask, which made him slip the tiniest grin. 

“No. But you want me to, don’t you?” He was toying with your sanity, a straight face meeting your fragile demeanor. You knew he would never display such affections so openly where you could be seen. Yes, everyone in the ER was well aware of your relationship, but that didn't mean he would shove it in their faces. But that didn’t mean you didn't  wish he would just grab you by your hair and kiss you silly. “If you want something, you ask for it.”

“You are so evil for that, I hope you know that.” You sighed out, a little unevenly, not amused in the slightest. He let out a dry chuckle, head tilted at you.

“I'm not doing anything.” He shrugged, the slightest bit of amusement lacing his tongue, but his expression remained stoic, probably to tease you even more. You found no humor in this, and you kicked his knee with your own under the table. “Okay, ow.”

You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to berate him a little about the torture you have been enduring all day and that would continue to endure until you got home because how dare he not stay in bed with you like you begged him to that morning, but just as you were, the door of the lounge opened and Dana peaked her head inside. She shot you a suspicious look, but neither of you said anything. 

“Alright break time’s over. Langdon needs you in trauma one,” she shot Robby a knowing look, to which he simply sighed, choosing not to comment. And then she looked at you, “and you, you can take the auto versus pedestrian that’s coming.” 

So much for your little coffee break. You shot Robby a look that was a reminder that this conversation was not over and he would be hearing from you for the rest of your shift. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

You managed to compose yourself for the most part. Sure, you were a little amped up, a bit hot and bothered, your cheeks were a little flushed and your heart raced every time Robby was in the same room as you, but, you promised yourself you would finish your shift before you actually jumped his bones. And your plan has been working so far.

You were just leaving a patient’s room when you saw Robby, annoyance and a little irritation written all over his face.

“What happened to you?” You chuckled a little as he shot you a pointed look. You definitely noticed that his hoodie was gone and his scrubs were suspiciously a size too small for him. This was definitely not helping your issues today.

“Bleeding ulcer, apparently they failed to mention they had a cough when I was doing the exam. I had to change scrubs and now I have to try and get that blood off my hoodie.” He sighed out a groan, rubbing the back of his hair a little exasperated. You held in your laugh and simply gave him a sympathetic look. 

“I can try to wash it off when we get home.” You offered, knowing he hated throwing away hoodies when they got stained. He shot you a half smile and nodded. But you still couldn't overlook the way the sleeves were tight on his biceps, riding up more than normal, which revealed the slightest bit of his tattoos. And you definitely noticed the way they fit a little too short on his torso. “Couldn't find scrubs your size?”

“No, actually. All they had was medium. And of course, I didn’t bring a fucking spare today.” you could see how this predicament would be quite annoying, you, too, would be annoyed if your scrubs were too tight. But you were definitely enjoying this a little too much. Teasing him back was also a bonus.

“Don’t let Myrna catch you looking like this.” You snorted, bringing the back of your hand to cover your mouth. You had to bite down your lip to muffle your laugh at the glare he shot you. He tilted his head at you, eyes narrowed the slightest bit like he was plotting. 

“Don't start.” He warned you, voice low and leveled. You leaned your chin on your hand and shrugged. 

“No, really, it's a good look. Definitely one way to bring up your patient satisfaction scores. Whore yourself out a little bit. You’re definitely popular among a certain demographic.” You truly wanted to keep a straight face but the way he looked at you the more you teased him made you swallow a bit. Like he was considering whether or not to drag you by your arm somewhere. He found it so rich that you said that, like you weren't damn near fifteen years younger than him.

“Don’t you have patients? There’s plenty of people in the waiting room if you’re bored.” He said blankly, arms folded over his chest. You caught him subtly trying to fix his sleeve on his bicep and your eye nearly twitched, your lips curled up into the tiniest grin.

“Okay fine, Jesus. You're such a grumpy old man. You need a vacation or something.” You gave him one last jab as you started to walk away, but not before he shot you the sharpest glare, his jaw so tight you thought he would dislocate it.

“I swear to g—” you shrugged at him, blowing him a kiss over your shoulder as you all but ran away from his wrath. He chuckled dryly, shaking his head at himself as he plotted just how he was going to get back at you. It didn't take him long to devise a plan. With the one thing you were choosing to tease him about.

You balanced the ipad on one hand as you motioned around different points on the screen with each word you spoke. Mel stood beside you, she helped assist on your auto versus pedestrian case. She was always so sweet, so polite, she didn't mind your racing mouth or your chaotic explanations. 

“There’s a pretty substantial cranial fracture right here,” you pointed at the results from the head CT and X-ray you ordered. Your eyes sometimes wandered as you waited a few seconds for whoever it was you were on a case with to match your racing mind. Your eyes ultimately found your boyfriend sitting at his workstation, glasses sitting on his nose as he typed. Thank the lord you could multitask as well as you could. “I also saw some rib fractures on the left side, we should keep an eye out for pneumothorax and possible hemothorax.” 

Robby always noticed when you entered a room, he wasn't sure what it was, but he always knew where to look for you in a crowd. When he looked up from his computer, he saw you with Mel. You made brief eye contact as you spoke to Mel. it wasn't fully conscious, not entirely malicious, but it did work in his favor, perhaps. 

“What do we look for if there’s a possible pneumothorax?” You knew that she knew perfectly, but Robby always encouraged active teaching. You were listening, you truly were, until your eyes wandered again and you caught a glimpse of Robby stretching. Nothing strange about that, other than the fact that you caught in perfect view the way his scrubs rid up his stomach. You don't think anyone else cared nor noticed, but you went absolutely mental. Catching a glimpse of his thick happy trail was definitely the last straw holding your sanity together.

“Doctor…?” You heard Mel—sweet soul—say your name with a bit of concern. You swallowed a bit, trying to ignore the heat rushing to your cheeks and the racing of your stupid heart. You felt like a horny teenager. Is this what it has come to? Getting horny at the sight of your boyfriend's happy trail? Or was it the way he held his arms behind his head, further testing the strength of those scrubs? Fuck. You looked at her and gave her a strained smile. 

“Yeah, perfect. I have to go check on a patient, I’ll come get you in a bit to check on our patient, ‘kay? ‘Kay.”

An hour hadn't gone by when you realized you couldn’t take it anymore. You were hot and bothered, face flushed and warm to the touch. You were thanking the Gods that it seemed to have slowed down for now, nobody was grabbing you to assist on bleeding patients. You were waiting on some lab results. Which gave you even more time to think about how horny you were, as juvenile as it was. You were praying he would have mercy on you. You caught him walking out of a patient’s room, unbothered, blissfully unaware of your torment. Or maybe it was entirely conscious. You didn't know, or frankly, cared. You aggressively typed into your phone. He was pretty quick about answering, he almost never answered immediately.

Come. Here. 

Robby looked up from his phone, searching around the crowds of patients and staff, until his eyes landed on you. He tilted his head at you, curiosity in his eyes. He had the tiniest grin on his lips as he met you in the middle. He read your face with curiosity, amusement, even. Wide-eyes, fluttering eyelashes, bottom lip pulled between your teeth, god you looked a mess and he hadn't even touched you.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” He tilted his head at you, leaning down a bit to your level. The pet name was definitely adding insult to injury. He never addressed you by anything other than your name at work. He truly wanted to drive you mad. And he had the audacity to even ask. You oughta beat him up just for that. 

“Shut up, just come.” You spoke in a hush, tone sharp and laced with frustration. You grabbed his wrist without saying another word, making sure that nobody was actually paying attention to what was happening. Robby said nothing as he allowed you to drag him, realizing where you were going where you turned the corner next to the lockers. 

You dragged him inside the empty on-call room. You let out the loudest, most exasperated sigh as soon as he shut the door behind him.

“Do you have any fucking idea the day I’ve had? I just—“ You stopped in the middle of the room, a short breath leaving your heavy chest, your eyes all but pleading. “I just want you, please?”

“Honey,” his voice was low, steady, almost like a warning, with a head tilt as you heard the soft click of the lock. “You know we don’t do that.” Quickies were absolutely not Robby’s thing. A quickie in the ER? Recipe for disaster.

“I know!—” You gritted your teeth at your volume, immediately biting down on your lip. God, you felt so pathetic. Robby met you in the middle, crowding your space, and for a second your brain short circuited at the way he looked down at you. “I know, I just need you right now. I need you inside me and I don’t think I can wait another six hours.”

Who was he to ever deny his sweet girlfriend anything when she asked so nicely?

“Hmm, yeah?” His voice was barely above a whisper, raspy and baritone in your ear. You were this close to fainting. You felt dizzy, flustered and bothered, all at once. “You’re just needy today, hm?” You completely lost it when he grabbed your jaw, long fingers sprawled across your neck as he forced your head back to meet his lips. The moan that left your throat was so pathetic as he made you back up against the closest wall. 

His mouth just felt so good against yours, almost as good as his free hand finally touching your flushed skin. He didn’t waste any time, much to his dismay, but he had you at home anyway. This was about pure and raw release. He could make love to you in the warm embrace of your own bed, right now, he was okay with just fucking you. 

“You really want it, right here?” He spoke with the slightest bit of amusement laced with anticipation, he knew the answer, but he just wanted to hear it out of your pretty lips. Anticipation sat heavy on your chest, your breath heavy as he slipped his hand into your scrubs.

“Yes, yes, I want you to take me right here, please, please,” shame? You didn't know her. You would do and say anything to get what you so desperately needed. Robby was always so calculated, observant, with everything he did. He watched for your microexpressions, your little sighs and whimpers. They were always so gratifying to him. He took in the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head when his long fingers brushed your sensitive clit and easily slipped inside you.

“Fuck, you are so wet. Have you been like this all day?” There was a bit of humor in his tone, teasing as he fucked you with his fingers. You bit down on your lip, keeping your noises to a minimum as you bunched up the front of his scrubs around your hand. 

“Michael, please.” Words left you in a halt, breathless as your head fell forward against his chest. You wanted to hide how pathetic you looked, jaw hanging wide open, face flushed and glowing with a thin layer of sweat. But Robby loved looking at you, he loved memorizing the ruined fucking mess he made of you. His free hand found the back of your hair to force you to meet his eyes.

“Look at me just like that,” he wanted to focus you, ground you, remind you that it was him making you feel this way. His fingers left you empty, pulsing and throbbing. 

Out of breath, you watched as he dragged your scrubs down until they pooled by your feet, you unconsciously stepped out of one leg, but your panties were still on. You held your breath in your chest as he slowly pulled the soaked fabric to the side and a groan rumbled in his chest at the sight of your swollen clit and glistening thighs. Oh, that was all for him, and he was going to make good on that. He pulled his throbbing cock out of his scrubs fast, and while still keeping eye contact, you braced for what was about to come your way. Without a word, and still holding your panties to the side, he slides into you in one thrust that has you sliding up the wall. There was no, take it slow, or adjust to it. It was so sudden you gasped so loud you swore whoever walked by heard it.

“Uh-uh, quiet. I need you quiet, baby.” His hand was on your mouth, stifling your sweet little sounds as he drove into you. His other hand found your thigh and he was lifting your knee as high as it could go until only your heel was touching his shoulder. You wanted to fucking scream. “You wanted this, so now you take it, but you take it quietly.” 

His weight was pinning you against the wall as he drilled into you, his hand still covering your mouth. He could hear your little gasps, your high pitched moans each time his cock brushed up that one spot inside your walls that made your thighs shudder. His small sighs of exhaustion were right in your ear, a reminder that he, too, was trying desperately to hold himself together, and was failing by the second. 

“You were just so desperate for it. Wanted this so bad? Hm?” His conceding words were in your ear, raspy and out of breath. Your brain has completely turned off, there wasn't a single thought in that head of yours other than the feeling of his cock filling you exactly how you wanted. Deep strokes that have completely ruined you, broken your mind. Just how he liked it. His hand left your mouth just to make you answer him. “You can use your words.”

“Yes, god, yes, I couldn’t think about anything else.” Your voice was broken, desperate, completely overwhelmed with how good he was making you feel. This was the one thing in this world you didn't have to think about, he thought for you, he could take over and make you forget about the world around you and that drove you mental.

“You just wanted to be fucked like you deserved, trust me I know.” His words were sharp, like the way he drove into you. It wasn’t fast, but it was deep, intense and with purpose. He had no need to run in circles, he knew what he needed to do, and like with everything else he was infuriatingly good at, he did it with purpose. You, fucked. That was it. “I want you to feel me for the rest of your fucking shift. Remember what it feels to be just mine.” 

Just mine, he repeated, like a mantra. A reminder that he had to share you with everyone else in this fucking place. But when it was just the two of you? He could take over every little intricate part of your mind, of your body, all of it was just for him. And you let him. You begged him to. And for that? He would fuck you stupid every single time.

It felt like an eternity, it truly did. Every agonizing minute one closer to being caught or heard. Though you had to admit that only added to your purely animalistic arousal. Your trembling hands grabbed and pulled at whatever you could. You dug your nails into his torso under scrubs with one, holding him each time he rutted his hips against yours. Your forehead was leaning on his collarbone, and he didn't even bother to redirect you this time. You clutched his shoulder like vice and you were sobbing into his scrubs as your orgasm hit you way too soon for your liking. It was absolutely delirious, left you sputtering and absolutely wrecked. You were hoping your sounds didn't pass the door.

“Just like that, breathe through it.” His words only added to your delirium. His voice, his rough hands, his authoritative presence, it fucking wrecked you and you were afraid you would never be able to come back from it. You were ruined and only he could have you now. “Fuck, you’re going to kill me. You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”

His words grounded you. His voice. His hands cradling the back of your head as he fucked you through it. And he didn’t stop until he filled you, and when he did, it was with a breathy moan that got lost in your hair. He held you there until he felt your body collapse over his chest. Without saying a word he carried you to the makeshift bed everyone slept on when they were on call. He sat you down, amusement circling in his pretty brown eyes at the sight of you so cock-drunk. You half assed lifted your scrubs up your thighs but stopped when Robby grabbed your hand.

“Let me clean you first at least.” He chuckled quietly, to which you replied with a quiet oh. The neat braid your hair had stayed in for the past six hours was completely fucked, hairs sticking out everywhere. It was a lost cause. He was always so gentle when he cleaned you, so delicate and tender, a true juxtaposition of the predicament that led you here. “Next time? Wait until the end of our shift.” He wasn’t scolding you. It was more of a, we did something we weren't supposed to, tone.

“I know.. I’m sorry, I don’t know what was wrong with me today.” You were a bit sheepish, shifting and grimacing each time he touched you. As your eyes were down, you caught a glimpse of the angry red marks forming just underneath his scrubs. Wide-eyed, you reached to lift his scrubs and winced at the red nail marks that covered his side and stomach. “Ohhh, wow, my nails aren't that long, are they?”

“Uh, yes, yes they are hun.” He replied, mostly unbothered. You should see the ones you left on his back when he didn't have a shirt, he thought. “I hope no one asks.” He finished his thought with an awkward smile and raised eyebrows. “Oh, and by the way, maybe get yourself together before going back out? You looked like you got fucked.”

The next six hours of your life were going to be the longest of your fucking life, for sure.

[sunghoonswhore]

Park Sunghoon (kinks + positions)

PAIRING: sunghoon x fem!reader

GENRE: smut

WORD COUNT: 1.2k

WARNING: 18+ content, slight exhibitionism, multiple orgasms, slight overstimulation, choking/breath play, standing backshots, missionary, dirty talk (sunghoon calls the reader slut, cunt) I think that's all

A/N: hi again lmao this one feels SO SO SO rushed to me for some reason but I'm posting it nonetheless so once again, if it feels weird or like poorly just POINT IT OUT but have a lovely read ahead <333

Kinks: exhibitionism, breath play, overstimulation

Positions: backshots, missionary

Your face was pressed against the cold glass of the balcony door as Sunghoon’s dick drilled inside you from the back and his hand held your hair up in a messy ponytail in his fist with your head pulled back to rest on his shoulder. Standing backshots were his favourite thing in the world. “Our neighbours must be having one hell of a show” he whispered against your ear, so close that his lips brushed against your earlobe. 

“Ye-es ngh” Your body could only grunt in response when you felt him pry your legs open even more to reach into your hole deeper if that were possible. His other hand reached down your body and stopped at your clit where he began circling figure eights on the bundle of nerves, doubling the amount of pleasure that he was giving you while rearranging your insides with his cock.

“You about to come huh?” you felt him groan out while his hand kept working on your clit and your hair being pulled to keep you in place. “Ah- yes aahh” Broken moans were spilling out of your mouth with every thrust of his that seemed to deepen every time he pushed in. “Tsk tsk tsk” You could see his reflection in the glass door against which you were pressed, a smug grin on his face, relishing in your pleasure. 

“Fucked you too dumb didn’t I?” he asked while mocking a pout as he licked a wet stripe up your left cheek. The coil in your stomach seemed to tighten and snap at any given moment with the way he sped up the speed of his fingers abusing your clitoris. He laughed at your almost half-conscious state, your eyes half-hooded as your body spasmed with pleasure when he hit that spot inside you. Coming undone on his cock, you could only feel him drilling inside you throughout your high.

“I’m gonna fill you up so much you’re gonna be leaking my cum for days you fucking cunt” Hearing his harsh words you could only see white, the pleasure becoming too much as your legs gave out, but he held you hoisted up against the balcony door through which absolutely anyone could see the way Sunghoon was fucking your brains out. With your eyes rolled to the back of your head and clit so sensitive you could cry, you felt his hips stutter against your ass indicating that he was close too. “In-Inside” somehow you managed to croak to which you received a harder pull on your hair, he pulled on your hair a little as he shot his load inside you, filling you up to the brim and delivering one last deep thrust making sure to not waste even a drop of it. 

You could feel the ropes of warm white liquid being fucked into you from behind as he loosened his grip on your hair, your scalp burning with the after-effects and your body limp, leaning against the door. You felt him picking you up and throwing you onto the bed, legs sore from being forced open for 2 orgasms already. Your brain was too fogged to comprehend what was happening in front of you when you felt the mattress dip by the sides of your head. “You didn’t think we were done yet, did you?” he whispered in your ear. 

Sunghoon was on top of you, his elbows supporting his body weight as he slowly but sensually took your lips in for a hungry kiss, his tongue pushing inside your mouth and exploring every bit of it and sucking on your tongue. A string of saliva connected your lips when he pulled back to look at your face with beads of sweat here and there. 

You let out a panicked gasp when his tip rubbed your slick between your folds as white spilt out from your pussy from the last orgasm. One of his hands slid down your body, reaching down to where your bodies were connecting as he guided his still-hardened shaft inside your sensitive cunt. “Take it like the little slut you are huh?” he grunted before immediately pushing his whole length in without a warning, knocking the air out of you as the new position allowed his tip to kiss your cervix just at the right spot. 

Feeling an emptiness as he pulled out, you couldn’t recover from the previous thrust when he pistoned back in, hitting that spot again that whitened your vision with pleasure each time his tip brushed against it. “N-no more a-aah please-” you couldn’t even finish saying when you felt his fingers wrap around your throat, applying pressure just enough to make you gasp for air, blurring your vision with immense pleasure as his pace quickened, squelching sounds could be heard with each thrust as he fucked your mixed cum back into your hole.

“Give me one more yeah?” he said while releasing your throat just enough for you to catch your lost breath before he tightened his grip again. His hips were slamming into yours continuously, your body digging into the mattress each time pushed in harshly. You could only shake your head in response when he suddenly released his grip from your throat and his hand immediately reached down to rub urgent circles on your already swollen and sensitive clitoris. 

A string of incoherent moans spilt from your throat when he deepened his thrusts and rubbed your clit, pushing your body to another orgasm that you felt approaching soon. Your pussy clenching around him in response to the stimulation and sucking him even deeper into your hole. “Cum for me slut” he said as you came around him for the 3rd time tonight. Your warm cum was leaking out of you as he kept thrusting inside you, chasing his own high which wasn’t that far as you kept clenching around him. “S-stop Sungh-” you were about to say but his palm was placed against your lips, muffling your cries for him to stop. 

“Love. watching. You. fall. Apart. On. My. Cock.” he said after every thrust that built up to his orgasm and he finally shot his seed in you, filling you up to the brim and pushing all your cum mixed with his inside you with one especially deep thrust. 

You felt his forehead drop onto yours while he caught his breath, panting from the intense orgasm he just had, his dick still sensitive inside of you when he pulled out with a sharp hiss and sitting on his knees with your legs spread wide, white spilling out of your hole as he pushed it back in with his fingers, “gotta keep it all inside hm?” he said while looking at your fucked out expression, letting out a mocking laugh when he saw you looking at him with a tired smile on your lips when looking at him. 

“You got some real nerve smiling down at me while your pussy’s quite literally leaking of my cum” he said while standing up and getting a box of tissues from the side table to clean both of you up.

It was days like this when you were reminded of how high your boyfriend’s sex drive was.

Nonetheless, you enjoyed every second of nights like these.