#but I would love to sit in a dark room with no knowledge of the musical and be moved by it forever | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blythesarchives · 1 month ago

Text

To Where and Back Again. | B.B

summary: Bucky gets triggered to Winter Soldier mode, and his focus is on you.

a/n: This fic contains a brief scene of attempted SA. The scene will be marked by dividers. If you do not wish to read that bit, please skip the portions between the star dividers.

I'm not a huge fan of aggressive, 'dom!WS,' my perspective on him is completely different, but...I dunno. I figured I'd try the view that everyone seems to like more. My view on him as WS is extremely complex, and it changes depending on his healing stage. So I tried to keep true to my own views but also have some in there that people enjoy. If any Russian was translated wrong, please lmk. ;; wc: 8.4k

a/n post writing: I will not be writing this version of him again, I didn't enjoy it enough to write a dom!WS again. I considered not posting this, since I don't like how it came out, but I wanted to see if anyone enjoyed this version.

Alarms blared throughout the facility, their piercing sound echoing off metal walls as crimson emergency lights cast eerie shadows across empty corridors. In an instant, like a ghost melting into darkness, the soldier vanished from his holding cell without a trace.

No one stood a chance of apprehending him. Even Steve, with his enhanced abilities and intimate knowledge of his old friend's tactics, found himself outmaneuvered. The Winter Soldier moved with calculated precision, each step chosen to shake any pursuit. When he rounded that final corner, disappearing into the maze of hallways, Steve was left standing alone, the sound of his footsteps fading into silence.

Your heart ached with concern when you got the call he was gone.

Since relocating from his sparse, weathered apartment in Romania to your place in New York, Bucky had maintained a distance from others, choosing solitude over social interaction. Steve did try to interact, but his eagerness was too overwhelming at times and Bucky’s social battery wore out fast. Though he managed to function day to day, it was a constant struggle.

You became his anchor, sitting beside him on bundled blankets through countless nights as he huddled near the soft glow of a small lamp, piecing together fragments of his past, one memory at a time.

You were the one person he could truly lower his guard and feel secure around. Night after night, he would settle down to sleep on the floor beside your bed, finding comfort in proximity. Rather than leave him alone, you would join him there most nights, bringing blankets and pillows to make it more comfortable for him. Bucky protested each time, insisting you shouldn't abandon the comfort of your bed for his sake, but you could see in his eyes and feel in the way his body relaxed beside yours that your presence brought him peace.

So you continued to lay with him on the floor, besides, your carpeted bedroom was pretty comfortable.

When Steve's urgent call came through about Bucky's escape, a wave of intense nausea washed over you as overwhelming anxiety seized your entire body. The Winter Soldier's emergence after such a long period of dormancy filled you with dread.

The complex nature of his existence within Bucky's psyche remained too complicated to think about for long - whether he was a separate consciousness, an alternate personality, or something else entirely. You came to the conclusion that the Winter Soldier was indeed a separate identity, he was and wasn't Bucky. He had his own thoughts, his own way of thinking, his own demeanor.

And that made you extremely nervous.

You paced across your living room floor, unconsciously chewing your nails down to the quick as you tried to regain some semblance of composure.

He'd be fine...he'd be fine. He's smart, skillful, he knows how to stay out of sight and safe...he's survived worse situations before...

The persistent, gnawing fear of the soldier being captured refused to release its grip on your mind. Your thoughts spiraled into increasingly dark scenarios - heavily armed teams surrounding him, the soldier's violent resistance, and Bucky being forcibly restrained and dragged away to some unknown facility while fighting against his captors with every ounce of strength he possessed.

You really didn't want to think about it.

Steve tried his best to keep you informed of any developments, but information was frustratingly scarce. The Winter Soldier was a phantom that left no footprints, no evidence, no trail to follow. Each passing day, your heart ached with desperate wishes for his return. You constantly checked your doorstep, watching your window late into the night, hoping against hope that he would materialize there like he had so many times before. You would have settled for anything - a glimpse, a sign, even the smallest indication that he was still out there somewhere, anything at all.

The gnawing anxiety in your stomach had become an ever-present reminder of his absence. Try as you might to maintain some semblance of normalcy, your thoughts inevitably circled back to him like a compass finding true north.

Your mind raced with endless questions and scenarios, each one only making your anxiety worsen: Was he wandering the streets of some distant city? Had he found somewhere safe to lay low? Was he fighting his own battles somewhere, injured and alone?

Try as you might, your mind remained plagued.

Several weeks went by without a single notice of the soldier.

You were making your way back to your apartment complex from a nearby convenience store in the dimming evening light, carrying a small plastic bag with a few basic necessities. The street was eerily quiet, with only the distant sound of traffic and the occasional flutter of pigeons settling in for the night.

While you walked back along the familiar route, the hairs on the back of your neck suddenly stood up as rough, calloused hands grabbed you from behind, violently yanking you into the shadowy alley you were passing. The hands were merciless in their grip, tugging at your clothes and forcefully shoving you against the cold, rough surface of the brick building so he could get a better grip after disorienting you.

You felt the sharp kiss of cold steel against your throat, while another hand roughly yanked your hair back, exposing your neck further. The man who stood behind you pressed close, his hot breath spitting against your ear and cheek as he spoke. "Make this easy and don't lie to me. I know you got some money in there." His voice was low and unsteady, wavering between excitement and nervousness, like a predator who hadn't quite mastered their technique but knew enough to be dangerous.

The blade pressed harder against your neck, the cold metal beginning to warm against your skin as he repeated his demand for money with increasing urgency, the edge threatening to break skin.

You obliged without hesitation, knowing that you were alone in this dark alley with no witnesses or help in sight, desperately hoping that giving him all the cash you had would be enough to satisfy him into running off into the night. Your hands trembled uncontrollably as you reached into your wallet, fumbling with the bills before pulling them out and extending them backwards toward him.

He snatched the money away from your shaking fingers with an aggressive swipe, and you could hear the rustle of paper as he counted it in the dim light. "A hundred bucks and you're carryin' around a pretty expensive bag like that?" He asked gruffly, his voice filled with suspicious disbelief as he violently ripped your purse from your arm, the strap burning against your skin as it was torn away.

Bucky gave you that bag - a beautiful leather purse you had admired longingly through the mall window months ago. He had noticed your gaze and worked extra shifts for weeks, carefully saving every dollar until he could finally surprise you with it. The memory of his proud smile when he presented it to you made your heart ache. You couldn't bear the thought of it being stolen, not when it meant so much.

"Hey, give that back - I gave you all the money I had!" Your voice cracked with desperation as you lunged forward, fingers outstretched toward your purse. The attacker's response was swift as he laid a vicious backhand that sent you sprawling onto the ground. The rough cement scraped against your palms as you tried to push yourself up, your cheek throbbing where he had struck you. Through watering eyes, you could only watch helplessly as the stranger clutched your precious bag in his grimy hands.

Without warning, his heavy boot connected with your face with a sickening crack that sent waves of pain radiating through your skull. The impact left you reeling, your world spinning as an intense burning sensation spread from your nose throughout your entire sinus cavity. Your eyes immediately welled up with involuntary tears and squeezed shut against the agony. Instinctively, you covered your nose with one trembling hand, feeling the warm wetness of blood flowing freely between your fingers, soaking into both your palm and the sleeve of your jacket.

Before you could process what was happening, a rough hand seized your throat, forcefully pinning you against the cold, damp ground beneath. The man's grip tightened with calculated pressure - just enough to immobilize you while still allowing shallow breaths.

"You're turning out to be far more trouble than this thing is worth," he growled in frustration, carelessly tossing the bag into a murky puddle that had collected near the rusted dumpster. His eyes took on a predatory gleam as they raked over you, like a prize to be had. "I think I need to take something else from you instead...and since you're not wearing any jewelry I can see..." He let the threat hang in the air. "I'll just have to improvise."

The man raised the knife to your face, the cold steel barely grazed your skin as he traced it downward, following the curve of your neck until it reached your collarbone. "I think I know exactly what I want to take," he whispered, his voice thick with malice. “You’re gonna be a good little thing, and stay still.” His hand slipped beneath your top, making you recoil at the revolting sensation of his ice-cold fingers and the rough texture of his tattered, fingerless gloves against your skin. Your instinctive struggle against his touch only served to anger him further.

"I said stop moving!" he snarled, pressing the blade against your delicate skin with more force. The sharp edge bit into your sternum, leaving a shallow cut several inches long before he began using it to slice through the fabric of your top. Pure panic overwhelmed your senses as your eyes desperately darted to your discarded purse. Your thoughts turned to Bucky - his sudden absence, his unexplained disappearance when you needed him most.

The crushing weight of helplessness threatened to suffocate you.

Self-loathing crashed over you in waves as you lay there. You weren't someone extraordinary or remarkable - you had no special training or impressive skills. What little self-defense you knew was useless against an attacker who so drastically outmatched you in both size and strength, especially now that you were injured. Bitter regret filled your mind as you berated yourself for not training harder when you had the chance, for not carrying something - anything - to defend yourself with, even a simple taser.

As you tried to block out the horrifying sound of your clothing being torn apart by his blade, your gaze was drawn once again to your purse lying just out of reach. The memory of Bucky giving it to you surfaced - how nervous he had been that day, the way his fingers fidgeted anxiously as he watched you pull it from its gift wrap.

That precious memory stood out so vividly now, the way his eyes had lit up with pure joy at your reaction. It was a rare moment of unbridled happiness for him, his smile brighter and more genuine than you had ever seen before or since that perfect day. Normally so cloudy and heavy with silent burdens, you were the one who brought that smile to his face.

The thought of Bucky suddenly triggered an overwhelming rush of adrenaline that sharpened your senses to the situation, surging through your mind like an electric current. Fragmented memories cascaded through your consciousness as you channeled every ounce of strength into a desperate defensive maneuver, squirming and positioning your feet against your attacker's midsection before unleashing a powerful kick that sent him flying backward, his body crashing heavily onto the rain-slicked ground.

“GAH - you bitch!” The man let out a pained, strangled groan with a venomous spit of words, laying as the wind had been knocked out of him for several seconds.

With your heart pounding a tattoo against your ribcage, you frantically scrambled to reorient yourself, turning onto your stomach and pushing yourself up with trembling arms. Your fingers clutched desperately at the waterlogged purse as you launched into motion.

You managed to maintain your footing as you executed a sharp turn around the alley corner, your shoes striking rhythmically against the glistening sidewalk. You were running on pure instinct now, like a frightened deer fleeing from an approaching predator. Behind you, your pursuer's voice carried through the night air, a stream of vulgar threats and curses that seemed to tear from his throat with increasing rage.

Fear kept your gaze locked firmly ahead as you pushed your body to its limits, your sole focus on reaching the sanctuary of your apartment building. The shopping bag of groceries lay forgotten somewhere in the darkness behind you, abandoned in your desperate flight. Each labored breath sent sharp pains through your chest, the cut on your sternum bled and burned while warm blood continued to trickle from your nose, creating a pulsing ache that radiated through your skull with every footfall.

The familiar silhouette of your apartment building finally emerged from the darkness ahead, though in your panicked state, you remained oblivious to the fact that the sound of pursuing footsteps had long since faded into the night's silence.

You were trembling violently as you stumbled inside the building, your legs barely supporting your weight as panic coursed through your veins. The elevator wasn't even a consideration - your mind screamed at you to run up the stairs, to get inside your apartment where you'd be safe. Your fingers, surprisingly steady despite the rest of your body's betrayal, found the key without fail and slid it into the lock with a metallic scrape that sounded deafening in the empty hallway.

The door flew open under your desperate push, and you practically threw yourself across the threshold, slamming it shut with enough force to rattle the hinges. Your trembling hands fumbled with both locks, clicking them into place before you staggered backward, eyes fixed on the door as if it might disappear. Your lungs burned with each ragged breath, chest heaving as you tried to force air through a throat that felt too tight, too constricted. Each desperate gasp was a battle, your diaphragm spasming as it struggled to maintain any semblance of rhythm against your body's frantic demands for oxygen.

The weight of your rain-soaked purse slipped from your numb fingers, landing with a wet thud beside your dropped keys as your legs finally gave out. The survival response that had propelled you home began to ebb away as your brain registered the relative safety of your surroundings, leaving you crumpled on the floor like a marionette with cut strings. A fresh wave of nausea rolled through your body as you collapsed onto your back, and you pressed your heated skin against the cool ceramic tiles of the entryway, letting their solid presence anchor you to reality.

You remained motionless on the floor for a while, your consciousness focused solely on the relentless throbbing that pulsed through your nose with each heartbeat. The long laceration across your chest continued to weep blood, creating a warm, sticky sensation that contrasted sharply with your exposed skin. Your once-whole top now hung in tatters, split cleanly down the middle, leaving your torso vulnerable to the apartment's cool air that raised goosebumps across your flesh.

After the intense tightness in your lungs faded, you summoned the strength to push yourself up from the floor. You wanted a shower, to get all the grime off you, and you began the arduous process of removing your ruined clothing. Your soggy jacket hits the floor with a wet smack; your shirt, nothing more than scraps of fabric; and your pants, uncomfortably damp as they clung to your skin.

Standing naked in your bathroom, you stepped carefully into the shower, eager to feel clean from the dirt of the city and the hands that had been on you.

It wasn't until the shampoo made contact with your hand that you realized your palms were thoroughly scraped raw, the skin torn and angry. The sudden contact with the soap sent white-hot bolts of pain shooting through your nerve endings, making you inhale sharply through your teeth. You resisted the instinct to flick your hand and get the shampoo off, it would be pointless in the long run. You’d still have to wash yourself.

A string of colorful expletives escaped your lips in a harsh whisper, and you abandoned any notion of a thorough cleansing in favor of getting the ordeal over with as quickly as possible, your movements now hurried by the stinging sensation that refused to subside.

The warm towel you dried off with would've felt nice if you weren't still in pain, the soft fabric doing little to soothe your aching muscles. While you attempted to tend to your injured hands first, carefully examining the damage and considering what supplies you might need, your phone suddenly buzzed on the counter beside you. The notification that illuminated the screen came from Steve, a text message appearing with an American flag emoji, thoughtfully placed by his name as a joke when you first added him to your contacts.

'He's been spotted downtown in the commercial district. Going after him with a tactical team. Stay home until further notice. We will notify you immediately when he is in custody. - Steve Rogers'

You had to hold back an eye roll at his overly formal message style, your fingers awkwardly fumbling as you managed to type back a response using just two fingers that weren't bandaged.

'You don't have to put your name with every text message you send, you know. I have you saved as a contact in my phone, like everyone else does.'

A beat of silence followed, your thumb hovering over the keyboard before adding:

'Be careful.'

You didn't really mean those words of caution for him, though - your worries were entirely focused on Bucky. The Winter Soldier would stop at nothing to get away from any perceived threat or danger, and a group of heavily armed SHIELD agents pursuing him would definitely register as a serious threat in his fractured mind. You knew all too well that when cornered, his first and most deeply ingrained instinct is to kill, without hesitation or mercy.

Distracting yourself with the mounting frustration of attempting to bandage your own palms, you struggled for what felt like an eternity, trying different angles and approaches to wrap them securely enough. After about an hour of fumbling with the increasingly mangled gauze, your patience finally wore thin. You dropped the ruined medical supplies onto the bathroom counter with a defeated sigh, closing your eyes and taking several deep breaths to try to calm your rising frustration before you became too agitated to continue tending to your wounds.

The quiet but distinct sound of something shifting in the neighboring room made you freeze mid-breath, your senses suddenly heightened as your hearing narrowed in on the subtle noise. It sounded like something soft had been displaced - perhaps a throw pillow tumbling from your couch, landing with an almost imperceptible thud against the floor.

You did not own a pet. You lived alone in this apartment - well, right now you did, with Bucky on the loose.

Had the man that attempted to hurt you somehow manage to follow you here? The thought sent ice through your veins, remembering the helplessness you felt.

Your heart rate accelerated rapidly, pounding against your ribcage, but you couldn't hear the rush of blood in your ears as your senses remained hyper-focused and alert, straining to detect any additional sounds that might betray an intruder's presence in your home.

You did not have any weapons with you, scanning the bathroom frantically for anything that could serve as protection. Your eyes landed on the medicine cabinet where a simple disposable shaving razor sat innocently on the middle shelf. Not ideal, but in desperate times, a shaving razor would have to suffice if need be.

You remained completely still, ears straining in the silence as you listened intently for several minutes before gathering enough courage to peek out of the bathroom. The darkness of your apartment stretched before you like an endless void, and you silently berated yourself for not having the foresight to turn on the lights when you first heard the noise.

After you heard nothing more, you took another cautious peek, your head venturing just a little further past the bathroom door frame this time. The shadows revealed nothing unusual. Your bare feet made soft, pattering sounds as they carried you down the hallway, the plush material of the living room rug cushioning your step as you reached it.

Your attention was immediately drawn to one of the decorative throw pillows lying haphazardly on the floor, displaced from its usual position on the couch. You reached down to return it to its rightful place among the other cushions, sighing to yourself.

A thorough visual sweep revealed no obvious signs of forced entry. The windows remained securely locked, and nothing else appeared disturbed. You were probably just being paranoid from what happened earlier.

Somewhat relieved but still on edge, you turned to make your way back to the bathroom to resume tending to yourself when your blood ran cold. There, barely an arm's length away, stood a looming figure. Time seemed to freeze as he stared down at you, and the scream building in your throat was cut short when his arm shot out with lightning speed, fingers wrapping around your throat.

Terror coursed through your veins as your eyes instinctively squeezed shut, your mind convinced this was the robber from before, somehow finding you in your home like a hound tracking its prey.

His grip was calculated as he drew you closer - not crushing or aggressive, but firm enough so you had no chance of pulling away.

"Цветок [Flower]..." The voice that emerged was rough and coarse from disuse, scratching against his throat like sandpaper. You swallowed reflexively around his iron grip, your eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light until his features became clear enough to recognize.

"Bucky?" Your voice barely more than a frightened squeak, sounding small and fragile even to your own ears, every syllable quivering with poorly concealed terror as your wide eyes remained fixed on his face. "Wh...where have you been," You started to voice the countless questions that had plagued your thoughts for so long, but the words died in your throat.

This wasn't Bucky - at least, not the Bucky you knew. The evidence was written plainly across his features.

His eyes held an emptiness to them, like staring into the depths of a frozen lake - cold, bottomless, devoid of warmth or recognition. His brow was deeply furrowed in what might have appeared to be anger, but lacked the heat of genuine emotion behind it.

Instead, there was a disconcerting blend of confusion and vacancy in his expression, as though he was caught between two worlds - not fully present in either, yet not completely absent. The man before you existed in some twilight state between consciousness and programming, humanity and weapon.

"Soldat..." You strained, your voice barely above a whisper as you attempted to forge a connection with him. You had interacted with him like this before, spoken gentle words that seemed to pierce through his conditioning, successfully managed to calm his volatile state. Deep down, you knew that beneath layers of programming and conditioning, there remained a fragment of recognition. Even if the Winter Soldier was his own identity, you knew he saw you as someone significant…even if it were small.

His penetrating gaze slowly traveled downward, taking in every detail of your injured form. The thin fabric of your bra provided no concealment for the angry wound that carved its way across your sternum - that long, jagged cut that traced a cruel path downward before curving delicately beneath your right breast.

His eyes lingered on your nose, now painfully swollen and decorated with spreading bruises, dried blood still clinging to your skin. You could feel his attention shift to where your hands rested against his flesh arm, your palms raw and scraped up from the earlier struggle.

His eyes narrowed.

Without uttering a single word, he released your neck in favor of your arm and guided you down the dimly lit hallway toward the bathroom, where a thin sliver of light spilled through the partially opened door.

"Сидеть [Sit]," he commanded firmly, gesturing towards the toilet with a motion of his hand while his intense gaze bore into you. The warm lighting of the cramped bathroom cast stark shadows across his features as you carefully studied his appearance.

Your eyes traced over him - he appeared relatively intact, though somewhat disheveled. Despite your thorough examination, you couldn't detect any concerning injuries marring his form, no purple-black bruises blooming across exposed skin or telling tears in the fabric of his clothes. The only betrayal of his condition were the pronounced dark circles carved beneath his eyes, though their presence hardly surprised you given what you knew of his circumstances.

Without resistance, you followed his direction without protest, knowing that any sign of defiance could potentially trigger his volatile nature. Though he had come to view you as someone of significance, you remained acutely aware that he was far from domesticated - his actions still carried an air of unpredictability that kept you vigilant. His piercing gaze shifted to assess the scattered medical supplies you had left strewn about, his expression hardening slightly as he regarded you.

"Вы устроили беспорядок [You made a mess]," he remarked, his tone flat and uninflected as he gathered the discarded gauze in one fluid motion, depositing it into the waste bin beside the sink. Though the foreign words held no meaning to you, the disapproving edge in his voice suggested some form of criticism.

"I couldn't wrap my hands." Your words came out as a quiet explanation as you extended your palms for inspection. The skin was inflamed and angry, scattered with tiny abrasions where fragments of stone and the rough terrain had scraped against your flesh during your earlier ordeal. The soldier's attention dropped to examine your injuries, and without warning, he pulled you upright, maneuvering you against the counter's edge as his solid frame pressed firmly against your back.

The proximity made your throat feel tight, a shiver running down your spine at his closeness.

One warm hand, one cool hand, both encircled your wrists from behind, his grip firm but mindful. His thumbs pressed gently against the upper parts of your palms, just below where your fingers began, as he tilted your hands upward to examine the extent of the small wounds. His touch remained delicate as he rotated your wrists, ensuring he could thoroughly assess your palms from every angle. The damage was most severe at the heels of your palms, where the skin had been viciously torn away, leaving raw flesh exposed.

Despite the anxiety fluttering in your chest, you found yourself trusting him, even in this vulnerable state. He turned on the faucet, adjusting it until the water flowed in a gentle stream, and guided your injured palms beneath it. The cool water ran soothingly over your wounds for several long moments before he spoke. "Need disinfectant." He reached for that dreaded brown bottle, the white cap making a sharp click as he flipped it open. The harsh, medicinal smell immediately assaulted your nostrils, making your stomach turn.

"No, that stuff stinks and hurts-"

"Да [Yes]," his voice resonated deeply, the tone both authoritative and reassuring, "Keep still."

You instinctively tried to pull away at the last second, your body reacting to the anticipated pain, but your efforts were futile. The bubbling, burning sensation that erupted across your already raw and flayed palms was as excruciating as you expected, feeling like liquid fire dancing across your tender flesh. A sharp hiss of pain escaped through your clenched teeth as his metal hand maintained an unwavering grip on your wrists, while his right hand carefully but firmly continued pouring the peroxide over your wounds.

The thought crossed your mind that you desperately wished for any other kind of disinfectant - something gentler, less aggressive. There had been countless opportunities to purchase alternatives during your supply runs, yet somehow you had never gotten around to it.

Words of protest formed on your lips, but remained unspoken as he allowed the peroxide to bubble and foam on your palm. His eyes remained fixed on your injury, watching intently until the chemical reaction subsided before finally guiding your hands under the stream of cool water.

You sighed with relief, the pain running away with the water washing over the wound. Tears began to well up in your eyes, rapidly blinking in an attempt to disperse them before they could fall. The intensity of the peroxide's sting had caught you off guard, leaving you feeling frustrated at your own vulnerability.

It reminded you of being a kid again, having someone else tend to you was a memory long lost. Now it had been brought back in a wave of emotions, the smell, sensation, and situation all mixing together to stimulate all sorts of reactions from you.

The soldier's keen observation skills didn't miss your distress - they never did. His towering frame leaned closer, bringing with it a sense of protective presence. His thumb began drawing gentle, soothing circles against your inner wrist while he continued holding your hands beneath the running water. "Хорошая работа [Good job]," he murmured, his lips brushing your temple in a feather-light touch.

The foreign words were lost in translation, but somehow that didn't matter. The low, reassuring timbre of his voice was comfort enough, wrapping around you like a protective blanket against the lingering sting.

You let out a soft, shuddering breath when he repeated the process with the other wrist, the pain burning just as intensely as before. This time, an overwhelming wave of nostalgic longing washed over you, causing hot tears to stream steadily down your darkened cheeks, leaving glistening trails in their wake.

"Тише [Quiet]," he murmured under his breath to you, "Hush now..."

"It hurts," your voice trembled and cracked as you fought to maintain the stillness he required, but the surge of emotions proved too powerful to contain, breaking free despite your best efforts to hold them back.

"Скоро все закончится [It will all be over soon]," the soldier carefully held your wrist under the cool running water once the aggressive bubbling finally subsided, offering blessed relief to your burning skin.

Peroxide was the devil.

He guided you back to sit on the toilet lid, his fingers working with practiced precision as he applied a soothing layer of ointment to your tender palms before wrapping them in clean, sterile gauze. "Вам понадобится марля, которая не прилипает к ранам, и липкая лента, чтобы удерживать ее на месте [You'll need gauze that doesn't stick to wounds and tape to hold it in place]," he muttered under his breath, continuing his ministrations until both palms were thoroughly and professionally dressed.

The confused, gentle tilt of your head and furrowed brow made it clear you hadn't understood a single word of his Russian.

He arched a single dark brow slightly and gave a small, knowing shake of his head. "Nevermind. It is done."

He reached out to you, his experienced eyes carefully examining the laceration across your chest. He assessed the wound and identified its source without hesitation.

A blade - specifically a pocket knife.

Approximately 4 to 5 inches.

Serrated edges that showed signs of poor maintenance.

The cut began with a forceful, deep penetration that gradually lost power as it traced across the flesh, creating an uneven gash that grew increasingly superficial toward its terminus. The irregular pattern suggested an amateur attacker, likely in a rushed confrontation.

The soldier released a disapproving grunt as he began treatment, cleaning the wound with gentle dabs of a sterile cloth. You were grateful for this relatively gentle approach, preferring not to feel the searing sting of peroxide you'd endured earlier. His expression remained intensely focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he cleared away the blood and thoroughly disinfected the area before applying a protective dressing over the awkwardly positioned wound.

"There. Законченный [Finished]." He withdrew his hands and efficiently disposed of the used bandaging materials in the nearby waste bin. Your nose had sustained damage as well, he'd done what he could to clean it, despite the limited treatment options for that particular injury.

"Thank you," you whispered quietly, your voice barely audible as you watched him examine the bandage with intense concentration. His eyes remained fixed on his careful wrapping job, studying every fold and layer with methodical precision, as if to ensure it would stay.

When his gaze finally lifted to meet yours, the room fell into a heavy silence. He remained completely motionless for several long moments, his expression unreadable as he seemed to contemplate something. Then, he leaned forward in one fluid motion, his strong hands grasping your upper arms as he helped you to stand.

For a moment, you remained silent, gazing up into those pretty blue eyes of his, now devoid of the characteristic warmth and tenderness that Bucky typically reserved for you. They were cold, distant, unnervingly empty compared to what you had grown accustomed to, shadowed by the calculating precision of the soldier's mentality that had overtaken him.

He returned your stare with unwavering intensity, his lips pressed into a firm line, offering no words. Your mind raced with things you wanted to express, but the right words seemed elusive, slipping away before you could grasp them properly. The only thing you could consistently think of was the dreaded thought that he would disappear again.

"Don't go," you whispered to him, "Please...I can't...I can't lose you again." The fragile plea escaped your lips and caused your voice to waver, betraying the emotions that surged through you at the sight of him standing before you, inside your apartment after weeks of his disappearance.

Bucky, Winter, Soldat, whatever identity currently inhabited the familiar body of the man you knew—continued to observe you right back with an unreadable expression, not a single flicker of recognition or emotion disrupting the stoic mask he wore. His powerful hands maintained their unyielding grasp on your upper arms, fingers pressing into your flesh with surprising restraint.

When you attempted to shift position to get closer, his only response was to tighten his grip further, a barely perceptible furrow appearing between his brows.

Undeterred, you squirmed again, desperately seeking to establish a connection with the man you knew existed somewhere behind those vacant eyes. The bandages wrapped around your hands created an unwelcome barrier between you, limiting the skin on skin contact you craved.

You managed to reach his face within his grip, gently cradling his stubbled cheeks between your bandaged palms—trying to feel the warmth and texture of his skin through the layers of gauze as best you could, searching for any spark of the man you recognized. "Soldat..." you murmured in a hushed, intimate tone, your voice still carrying the slight quiver of emotional exhaustion and lingering fear.

You knew he liked to be addressed when he was there. Bucky’s name was always met with confusion or anger.

He heard his name on your lips and immediately shifted his grip, large hands moving to firmly encircle your waist. His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of your hips, the sudden change in contact drawing an involuntary gasp from your lips. He lifted you completely off the floor as though you weighed nothing more than a feather, and carried you across the room before dropping you onto the bed.

You fell with a soft grunt, the impact momentarily knocking the breath from your lungs. The soldier moved with predatory grace, climbing over your prone form the second you landed on the mattress. His metal hand reached out, cool fingers gripping your face gently despite their unyielding nature. His eyes assessed, observed you closely, seeming to catalog every minute reaction that flickered across your features.

"H-Hey, Soldat -" Your voice emerged as barely more than a whisper, much softer and more vulnerable than you had intended. The word hung in the air between you, unfinished and trembling. His flesh hand moved down your body, fingers trailing with purpose until they hooked firmly into the waistband of your pants. He yanked the loungewear down to your ankles in one swift motion, your mind began to race wildly with thoughts tumbling over one another.

What the hell was he doing? This unexpected intimacy felt foreign and unsettling. You had never been intimate with the soldier before—this cold, mechanical version of the man you knew—and it felt fundamentally wrong, like a violation of boundaries you hadn't even realized existed between you.

You knew what happened to him, to an extent, pieced together from fragments of trauma that Bucky had felt comfortable enough to share during his more lucid moments. The torture, the conditioning, the systematic dismantling of his humanity—all of it had left scars far deeper than the ones visible on his flesh. You had never shown any desire towards the soldier for precisely that reason, maintaining a careful emotional distance when he slipped into this alternate persona.

Yet here he was, effectively caging you against your own bed and undressing you as though following some internal protocol. Maybe he was confused about who you were or what situation he found himself in. Maybe he didn't really understand what he was doing at all, operating on some fragment of fractured memory. Maybe this was merely a conditioned response programmed into him after he was forced to tend to a handler's wounds or needs during a mission—a thought that made your stomach twist with a complex mixture of pity and dread.

"Замолчи [Shut up]," He threatened in a low, guttural tone that brooked no argument, the Russian syllables flowing with practiced ease from his lips. The command came right as he peeled your bottom half out of its remaining, lacy fabric, the delicate material offering no resistance against his determined hand.

He leaned down, pressing his face into your neck and smelling you, a deep, deliberate inhale as he closed his eyes and memorized every little bit of your unique scent—the subtle sweetness, the natural warmth, the faint traces of perfume that had faded throughout the day. It grounded him enough not to just fuck you right there, even if his cock was straining desperately within the confines of his jeans, the hardness urging for release against the denim.

His scruff tickled against your sensitive skin, the coarse hairs creating a delicious friction that bade you nearly arch your back in response. His blushed lips pressed firmly against your pulse point as he allowed them to feel how fast your heart was beating beneath the delicate surface, the rhythm increasing with each passing second under his touch.

"Ты нервничаешь [Are you nervous]?" He asked in a hushed tone, his voice barely above a whisper, his warm breath caressing your skin deliciously, though you still didn't understand the foreign words that fell from his lips. He seemed to chuckle at that, a low rumble in his chest that you could feel vibrating against you, knowing full well you didn't know what he was saying. "Silly flower," he rasped as he pulled away just enough to run his lips further down your jugular, tracing an invisible path with his mouth until finding that sweet, vulnerable junction between your neck and shoulder where he lingered.

Your lips parted to speak, but the words died in your throat as his mouth descended upon that sensitive spot and bit down. Your eyes flew wide open, pupils dilating in shock and something else entirely, as you felt his teeth take possession of your tender flesh. His tongue was hot and demanding, swirled languorously around the captured skin, creating maddening patterns while he suckled hard, his strong hands pinning you firmly against the mattress, leaving you at his mercy.

A loud, unrestrained moan escaped from deep within your chest, reverberating through your body as he claimed you with his mark. His teeth pressed deeper, nearly breaking the surface of your neck, before he finally released his hold with a wet, sloppy pop that echoed in the dim room. His possession bloomed across your skin - a mark so dark, so angry, so blatantly territorial that it stood as obvious as sin itself in his hungry gaze.

The freshly marked skin throbbed with your racing pulse, sending waves of sensation throughout your body as it was finally released from his mouth. A pleasant haziness settled over your mind, leaving you momentarily disoriented when he pulled away. Yet his appetite remained far from sated with just a single mark. The soldier’s right hand slid beneath your head, fingers carefully threading through the roots of your hair before tightening their grip and pulling back sharply, exposing the vulnerable column of your neck fully to his attention.

"Don't wilt on me now," he chuckled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble as he nipped his way along the exposed column of your throat. His lips curved into a self-satisfied smirk against your sensitive flesh as he felt your neck move beneath his mouth, bobbing visibly with a thick, nervous swallow that betrayed your anticipation for whatever he was going to do to you next.

He bit down, again and again, making a garden of blossoms emerge across your neck and collarbone, each and every mark darkening to a deep purple as he released the abused skin from his teeth. The sensation was an addicting balance between pleasure and pain, sending waves of it down your spine with every press of his mouth against your sensitive flesh.

"Красивый [Beautiful]," he whispered against your skin, his hot breath fanning across the fresh marks, his tone still as gruff as it was, lower pitched with growing lust that seemed to emanate from his very core.

He leaned back from your panting form, pupils dilated with desire as he was drinking in the sight of you disheveled and helpless underneath him. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, hair mussed and lips swollen from his earlier attentions. The strain in his jeans became too much for him to bear, the fabric stretched taut over his obvious arousal.

The need grew too great and pulled you up suddenly with strong hands gripping your shoulders, pushing you down to your knees in front of him as he grunted down at you with barely contained need. His hands fumbled, fingers trembling slightly in his haste as he was hastily bringing the zipper down and pushing his jeans and underwear far enough for himself to spring free from the confining fabric.

"Open," he commanded, his fingers roughly entangling in your hair as he forcefully pulled you closer to his throbbing member. The swollen head was uncomfortably flushed and engorged, beaded with translucent pearls of anticipation, gradually becoming too heavy to remain perfectly balanced against the tiny slit. The little droplets slowly descended, trickling down the underside of his tip, leaving a shiny, slick trail in their wake. They languidly formed long, delicate strings as gravity beckoned them downward.

You watched as it pulsed once more with urgency, the veins standing prominent against taut skin, silently but forcefully demanding you to do something to satisfy the need.

The soldier snapped a harsh demand at you in a guttural tone, the foreign syllables sharp and commanding in the tense silence between you. Though you didn't quite understand the specific word he uttered, the meaning behind it was crystal clear from his posture, his expression, and the commanding grip still firmly tangled in your hair. It didn't take a genius to know what he wanted.

You shyly opened your mouth and he pulled you closer, fingers tangling back up in your hair as he pushed his thick cock into your mouth without much patience. You instinctively tried to pull back a little, just for some relief, but he held you firm with an unwavering grip that left no room for retreat.

"Нет, оставайся там, где стоишь [No, stay where you are]," He grunted with commanding authority, his voice low and unyielding as he savored the sensation, feeling the pleasant warmth of your tongue against him and the soft tissue of your cheeks enveloping him completely.

His hips snapped quick and brutal against you, establishing an intense and unrelenting rhythm without any sort of gradual build up as he held your head firmly in place. His strong hands were tangled in your hair, gripping you with unwavering control as his pelvis repeatedly collided against your face. The coarse hair at his base created a constant friction against your sensitive skin with each thrust he gave and you could feel the subtle burning sensation beginning to build where he held you down against him.

"Да...да [Yes...yes]," he growled out deeply, his voice rough as he looked down at you struggling to stifle gags around him. Your small sounds echoed in the quiet room as you fought to maintain composure. Your saliva was pooling steadily, bubbling and glistening at the corners of your stretched mouth before trailing down in thin rivulets along your chin as he continued to piston himself.

His touch was significantly more aggressive than what you expected from him, catching you off guard. Bucky had shown a distinct hesitancy when it came to physical intimacy when you had shared intimate moments together in the past, his approach had been consistently tender and thoughtful, always prioritizing your comfort and pleasure above all else.

However, his usual demeanor was gone, you knew that. The gentle lover you knew, replaced by someone whose actions were marked by an almost primal urgency, his movements firm and relentless in their execution.

You choked as he pushed past what you could handle, his soft cockhead brushing against the flesh of your throat and pushing deep into you. Your eyes widened a little, feeling him bulging out your neck as he pushed his entire length inside you. But thankfully, before you panicked or choked too badly, he pulled you off him and gave you a few seconds to breathe again. You gasped, spitting excess precum out of your mouth as your chest heaved with breaths. You felt like your face was a mess, thick saliva coating your chin and lips, the somewhat salty taste of him in the back of your throat.

He pulled you back gradually, allowing you to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation each time. It was subtle, but it proved that part of Bucky had to be in him somewhere. Though initially it had been overwhelming, you found yourself becoming more accustomed to deepthroating him, but the natural reflex to gag remained persistent.

You couldn't help but notice how his deep, primal grunts of pleasure sent waves of desire coursing through your body, making your core pulse and belly grow hot. A small voice in your mind whispered that doing this with the soldier was wrong, but the pull between you was simply too powerful to resist, and you surrendered to him.

And it was worth it when his head fell back, pretty lips opening as his hips snapped once more and he let out a loud, pleasured groan.

His balls twitched and his cock pulsed against your tongue, filling your mouth with multiple ropes of hot cum. You had forgotten the sheer volume he produced each time, the way it filled your mouth almost faster than you could handle. You almost swallowed before he was done, your cheeks pooling with his seed. As he slowly withdrew from your throat, you could feel the warmth pooling heavily against your tongue. His eyes were dark from his pupils being fully dilated, watching you swallow every last drop he had given you.

The soldier watched you recover slowly, his intense gaze never leaving you as your breathing gradually steadied. After his own measured breaths had evened out, he deliberately knelt down before you and reached forward, cupping your blushed cheeks between his calloused hand and metal one.

You caught your breath, looking up at the mostly silent man, studying the diluted emotions that flickered across his guarded features. A deep-seated fear reminded you of the situation - the possibility that he might vanish again, that the real Bucky remained trapped somewhere beneath the cold front of the trained assassin who had been programmed to feel nothing.

But as the thought crossed your mind, he helped you up from your position on the floor and guided you to the bed.

The soldier pulled his pants back on after laying you on the bed, causing your apprehension to grow stronger about him disappearing again. But instead of leaving, he made his way to your bed and settled himself beside you. A deep, resonant grunt escaped him as he drew your form closer to his solid frame, securing you under his metal arm. The titanium was cold against your skin but gradually, the chill of the metal became less noticeable, almost familiar in its constant presence.

You laid with the soldier, your head nestled comfortably against his broad, muscular chest and felt completely safe and secure. The gentle rise and fall of his breathing, along with the aftermath of his brutal face fucking, had nearly lulled you to sleep when you felt the sudden vibration of your phone on the wooden bedside table. With a sigh, your arm stretched out, fingers wrapping around the device as you brought it closer to examine the notification that had interrupted your repose.

The screen illuminated to reveal a message from Steve, and you opened it with heavy-lidded eyes.

'We haven't found him yet, have you heard from him at all? Anything? -Steve Rogers'

'Again with the sign off Steve...' You thought to yourself.

Your fingers had barely hovering over the keyboard when the soldier's swift movement caught you by surprise. He plucked the phone from your grasp and deposited it on the far side of him, well out of your reach. "Нет [No]," he declared firmly but gently, his metal arm returning to its previous position as he drew you back against his chest, tightening his protective hold.

"Ignore it," he murmured softly against your hair, his voice carrying a hint of possessiveness beneath its gentle command. You couldn’t keep the small smile from tugging at your lips as you gave into him and buried yourself into his chest.

“Okay…”

Thanks for reading. -em 🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics | Image from Pinterest & cropped

2K notes · View notes

lovebugism · 3 days ago

Note

reader taking care of bob (thunderbolts) during a depressive episode? 🥹

ty for requesting!! — you like taking care of bob on his bad days. he isn't quite sure why (friends in love, fluff, thunderbolts spoilers, cw for mentions of depression and suicidal ideation | 1.4k words)

Bob has his bad days. And he’s not just talking about that stint in New York.

Sometimes he can’t get out of bed, can’t take care of himself, can’t go outside. There are days when he can’t find a reason to be an actual functioning human being, so he takes to rotting in his room — and trying not to suffocate beneath the crushing knowledge that the rest of the world is living on just fine without him.

He’ll hear the rest of the team laughing or otherwise arguing a floor below, while he hasn’t spoken a word all day because he can’t find the energy to. He’ll go to sleep without having left the four walls of his bedroom, or his bed for that matter, while fighting the black shroud of death that never quite seems to leave him.

It’s been that way his whole life: constant cycles of great days followed by the no-good-very-bad ones that he’s always distantly fearful might be the end of him. So Bob counts himself lucky that he’s got you for those days, and all the days in between.

“I think the blonde’s finally washed out,” you observe gently as you brush through his freshly washed curls. You get a whiff of the strawberry-scented shampoo with every swipe of the comb from where you sit just behind him on the bed. Bob, meanwhile, slouches on the floor between your legs and fiddles nervously with one of the many skincare products you’ve stacked beside him.

This is often what your “sleepovers” look like — which is what you call the many nights where the rest of the team’s out on a mission and you’re left babysitting the leftovers. (Bob’s almost certain you only call it that so you have an excuse to take care of him.)

“Really?” Bob hums distantly, fighting back a shiver. He’d much rather blame his chills on the water droplets falling from his hair and dampening the neck of his white t-shirt than the fact that he’s just not used to being touched so gently. Not used to being touched at all.

“Yeah,” you say with an audible smile. “I like your hair better this way.”

Bob scoffs pessimistically. “Shit brown?”

“It’s more like chocolate. Or chestnut, maybe— with little flakes of gold.”

Something in your words strikes him deep. Makes his chest go all warm and sparkly. He doesn’t know how you see such beauty in him when he can hardly look in the mirror without snarling in disgust most days. You still think he’s got so much good left in him, even after Valentina made him hurt you, even after he nearly took out a whole city without blinking.

He doesn’t get it.

In fact, the thought alone makes him so dizzy that his head starts to hurt.

“I— I’m sorry about this,” Bob apologizes through a breathy, awkward laugh. “Just— By the way.”

“Sorry about what?”

“You, you know, having to take care of me and everything.”

“Don’t apologize,” you giggle and drag the brush from his temple, around the curve of his ear, and down towards his neck. “I like taking care of you.”

“No, you don’t,” Bob chuckles with a stubborn shake of his head.

“I do. Honest.”

The mattress squeaks when you rise from it. Bob tilts his chin and peers up at you with a pair of dark, glittering eyes as you round him. “So… what?” he lilts with a shy half-smile. “You’d rather be here than off fighting crime with the New Avengers?”

“Yes,” you answer automatically, scoffing like it’s obvious, as you sit on the ground across from him. You settle between his parted legs with your own curled beneath you and twist the cap off of something that says deep hydrating face cream.

“I would much rather be here with you than god knows where with Walker trying to tell everyone what to do, and Ava and Yelena shouting at him, and Bucky trying to shout over all of them, and…”

You trail off. The lid unscrews with a quiet pop. You flash Bob a shy smile and a pair of squinted eyes. “Basically, what I’m saying is this is practically heaven compared to that.”

Bob’s face flares. He shakes his head and looks away. His eyes find a rogue piece of glitter in your carpet and lock there. “You don’t mean that…”

“Actually, I do—” You swipe two fingers through the white lotion and set it off to the side. “—Here. Look at me.”

You shift an inch towards him and lift a hand towards his face. Bob flinches on instinct despite wanting you so much closer. “Sorry,” he apologizes, ‘cause that’s his instinct, too.

Your eyes go wide and dart worriedly across his face. “Did I do something?”

“No! No, it’s not— It’s not you,” Bob stammers with his eyes squeezed shut. “It’s— It’s me. I don’t wanna…”

His voice breaks, fragile as glass, and he trails off. He doesn’t have the words for it — what he did to you, how he did it. He only knows that you saved his life, and touched his hand, and saw something that terrified you. He doesn’t know what it was, only that he won’t forget how frightened of him you looked.

You don’t look so scared of him now, though.

Instead, you look at him with your eyes wide and full of hope — like you love being this close to him, like you can’t wait to get closer.

“You won’t. I promise.”

This time, when you reach for him, you do it slowly. You give him ample time to stop you before you cup his jaw in your hand, slightly scruffy and still flushed from a steaming shower. You cradle his face in your palms without a vision of a long-gone horror flashing across your eyelids. You just feel safe. Warm. A strange sort of happy emotion that still makes you feel like crying.

“See?” you lilt with a sunshine smile.

Bob swallows hard as your fingertips swipe softly across his face. Your middle and ring fingers trace over the dark circles under his eyes in a feather-light touch as you rub in the moisturizer. Your fingertips follow his cheekbones as they rise to his temples before sliding down and across his stubbly jaw.

He keeps his eyes shut as he tries hopelessly to recall the last time he was ever touched this gently — if he ever has before — if he even deserves it.

“That day…” he starts suddenly, slowly. “You know, the day you guys found me…”

“Mhm?” you hum to egg him on.

“When you pulled me up out of that elevator…” Bob’s dark eyes flutter open again, swimming with honey and apprehension. “What did you see?”

He watches you falter, but only briefly. It’s a faint flicker in your eye that he wouldn’t have noticed if he didn’t already notice everything about you.

Your face twitches slightly, like his question single-handedly brings back the dreaded memories you’ve been trying to shove down for years.

“Uh, Hydra,” you stammer, swallowing hard and sitting back on your haunches. You can’t find the strength to meet his gaze, so you focus on your hands as you rub the remaining moisturizer into your palms. “I came back from a mission I couldn’t finish— A children’s hospital full of ‘failed test subjects’ that wanted me to get rid of, and I couldn’t do it… And they punished me for it.”

You decide to save him the gritty, bloody details of what had happened to you that day, but Bob still flinches like he knows everything you’re not telling him. He feels like he does, in a way.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles when he can’t find the words to say.

You flash him a quiet smile and a soft look beneath your lashes. “It’s not your fault.”

Bob scoffs an emotionless laugh. “Well, I mean, it kinda is—”

You reach suddenly for his face again, and his eyes go wide. Your touch is still as gentle as ever, but stern still, as you force him to meet your gaze. “It isn’t,” you repeat with an unyielding stare. “And, you know, despite the circumstances and everything, my life’s actually gotten a whole lot better since you’ve been in it.”

Bob’s face burns at your confession, even more so at your touch. “...Really?” is all he can squeak out.

“Really,” you echo with a firm nod.

He shifts awkwardly, uncomfortable in his skin, and tilts his cheek further into your palm “Like… Even on my bad days?” he mumbles, distantly dreading the answer.

“Especially on your bad days,” you laugh. “‘Cause you’re the only one that lets me braid your hair.”

“That’s the only reason why you like me?” Bob laughs, trying to play it cool even though his hopeful eyes give everything away. “‘Cause I let you braid my hair?”

You smile at his smiling. “Mhm. The only reason,” you nod, obviously playful in a way that makes his heart skip a beat (or three). “Nothing else at all.”

#published by bug #thunderbolts x reader #bob reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #bob reynolds x y/n #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x you #robert reynolds imagine #bob thunderbolts #sentry x reader #sentry x you #sentry x y/n #thunderbolts #thunderbolts imagine #marvel x reader #mcu drabble

983 notes · View notes

surielstea · 3 months ago

Text

A Lesson in Lust

Inspired by a request!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: When Reader fakes an orgasm Azriel has no choice but to teach her not to lie to him, but not with words.

Word count: 6.5k

A.Note: Please read the warnings!!! This is nasty, literally all smut, mdni.

I should have known better.

Should have known that Azriel, with all his centuries of honed observation and razor-sharp instincts—his ability to read people down to the slightest flicker of emotion—would notice.

I thought I had hidden it well, that he had been too lost in his own pleasure to realize I hadn't unraveled beneath him the way I usually did. That the tremor in my voice, the sharp edge of my cries, hadn't quite matched the ones before. I told myself he wouldn't catch the fleeting moment where my body had tensed but never truly shattered, where my release had been nothing more than an illusion painted for his sake.

I don't even know why I did it. Azriel had always been so attuned to me, so devoted to my pleasure. Maybe it was the exhaustion weighing down my limbs, the ache of an endlessly long day pressing against my bones. Maybe it was the way he had looked at me tonight—so desperate to bring me over the edge with him. I hadn't wanted to bruise his pride.

But he knows.

He doesn't say anything. Not as he cleans me up with steady, reverent hands, the warm cloth dragging over my skin with the same care he always gives me. Not as he helps me into my nightgown, his touch lingering a little longer than necessary. But I feel it. Feel it in the way his hazel eyes darken, their golden flecks burning as they study me in that quiet, unreadable way.

Still, he says nothing. Not when he turns off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into a cocoon of darkness. Not when I turn to him, pressing a soft kiss against his lips in an attempt to quell the unspoken weight between us.

He kisses me back, slow and deep, but his shadows betray him. They curl tighter around his frame, restless like they are whispering secrets meant only for him—secrets I cannot decipher.

He doesn't say anything for a long while. Holds onto the knowledge, lets it simmer beneath his quiet exterior, tucked away where I almost believe it will stay.

For a moment, I think I've gotten away with it.

But when morning comes, the silence finally fractures.

"Why did you fake it?"

The question lands like a stone in my chest, sending my heart into a frantic rhythm. His voice is steady—too steady. Like he's been awake all night just waiting to ask.

I blink at him tiredly, feigning confusion. "What?"

Azriel doesn't waver. "You didn't come. Why'd you fake it?"

Blunt. Direct. The weight of his stare alone is enough to pin me in place. He's clearly been sitting with this, turning it over in his mind, dissecting it in that way only he can. And now, he wants answers.

"I—I didn't—"

He tilts his head slowly, and my breath catches. Not a word passes his lips, but the movement alone is enough of a warning.

"Try again, love." His shadows swirl around us despite the morning light filtering through the curtains.

I stay silent.

Azriel exhales, his grip on my waist flexing. "I've been up all night trying to figure out why you'd feel the need to fake something like that. Especially with me." His voice is soft, but it cuts through me all the same. "And I can't. So tell me—why?"

"I didn't want you to feel bad," I murmur, barely above a whisper. "You treat me so well, all the time. I didn't want you getting hung up on this one night."

But here we were—doing exactly that.

His jaw tightens, tension carving sharp lines into his face. The early morning light filters through the curtains, soft and golden, but there is nothing soft about the way he's looking at me. Still, his hands find mine, fingers intertwining. The roughness of his scars against my skin is familiar. Comforting.

"Do you think so little of me?" The words are quiet, but no less devastating.

"No." I snap my gaze to his, panic flickering in my chest. "No, never, Az."

His thumb skims over my knuckles before he brings my hand to his lips, pressing a kiss there. "Then why lie?" he asks, the warmth of his breath lingering. "Do you not trust me to take care of you? Do you not want me to?"

His voice dips lower, and my stomach clenches. He truly had to be thinking about this all night to draw up these conclusions.

"I do," I rush to reassure him. "Of course I do. I was just—I was tired, that's all." I lean closer, brushing my lips against his in a gentle kiss.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't let go of my waist. But when he tilts his head, the look in his eyes shifts into something sharper. Something hungry.

"You tired now?"

His mouth finds mine again, deeper this time. Slow, deliberate, teasing.

I exhale softly. "No."

Azriel mirrors my smile, but there's something different about his. Something sharper. More feral.

"Good."

And before I can react, he's got me beneath him, arms pinned above my head, a wicked gleam in his hazel eyes.

A gasp catches in my throat as Azriel moves, fast and fluid, flipping me beneath him before I can so much as blink. My wrists are pinned above my head, his scarred fingers wrapped firmly around them, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress.

His wings flare slightly, blocking out the golden slant of morning light, leaving nothing but the two of us in the shadows. His shadows.

They curl around his frame like living threads of darkness, writhing in time with his slow, deliberate breaths. The way he looks at me now—hazel eyes molten, jaw tight, lips slightly parted—sends a shiver down my spine.

"You really thought I wouldn't notice, didn't you?" His voice is low, rough, but not angry. No, the way he says it—the way he watches me squirm beneath him—is something else entirely.

I swallow hard. "Azriel, I—"

"You were exhausted." He hums as if considering my excuse. "Didn't want to hurt my feelings." A soft scoff leaves him, his nose brushing the shell of my ear. "What a sweet little lie."

I shudder, my fingers flexing uselessly beneath his grip. "It wasn't—I just—"

"Didn't think I could handle the truth?" He trails a hand down my side, fingers whispering over the thin fabric of my nightgown, tracing every dip, every curve. "Or did you think I wouldn't take care of you properly?"

I shake my head quickly, but he catches my chin between his fingers, forcing me to look at him.

"You know I don't like being lied to, love," he murmurs, voice silken and dark. "Especially not about this, you forgot though."

His thumb drags over my bottom lip, and my breath hitches. He watches me, eyes burning, gaze sharp enough to cut.

"Let's fix that, yeah?"

His grip on my wrists tightens just as his free hand moves lower, skimming over my stomach, my thighs—slow, teasing, deliberate.

"You're going to be honest with me from now on." A soft kiss, barely there, pressed to my throat. "You're going to let me take care of you the way I always do." Another kiss, lower this time, lingering over my pulse.

"And you, love," he whispers, teeth grazing against my skin, "are going to learn exactly what happens when you try to keep something like that from me."

His shadows coil around my ankles, holding me in place, and then—

I lose the ability to think.

"Az," I breathe, my body arching instinctively beneath him, trying to chase the warmth of his touch. But he holds me still, his fingers barely skimming where I need him most, his shadows curling tighter around my wrists and ankles like they, too, are in on his cruel game.

Azriel hums, amused. "You sound a little desperate, love."

I glare at him, but it's hard to make it convincing when I'm squirming beneath him, my pulse racing, my breath coming too fast. "You're being cruel."

His lips curl at the accusation. "Am I?" His fingers dance along the edge of my nightgown, slipping just beneath it before retreating just as quickly, his touch featherlight. "Seems to me I'm just teaching a valuable lesson."

"You're insufferable."

Azriel chuckles, the sound low and sinful, sending a ripple of heat through me. "You weren't saying that last night."

Heat floods my face. "Maybe because last night, you weren't tormenting me."

His brows lift, feigning innocence. "And yet you didn't come. Seems to me you like the tormenting." He dips his head, kissing a slow, searing path along my collarbone. "But if you'd prefer, I could stop."

A smirk plays at his lips as he starts to pull away as if testing to see just how desperate I really am.

I scowl, tightening my legs around his waist, locking him in place. "Don't you dare."

His laughter is warm against my skin, and the next thing I know, his fingers are on my thighs, tracing slow, torturous circles. "That's more like it," he murmurs approvingly. "Now, tell me, love—" his lips ghost over the shell of my ear, his voice nothing but a delicious rasp, "—you going to fake it again?"

My brows furrow as I peer up at him through my lashes.

"No," Azriel grins, wicked and knowing. "I'm not going to stop until you're too wrecked to even think about faking it again."

A sharp inhale. A rush of heat.

His hands tighten, and his voice drops to a whisper, his words dripping with sinful promise.

His fingers move with calculated precision, unbuttoning my top one slow pop at a time. I help him shed it, my own hands sliding beneath his shirt, mapping the warm, golden skin stretched over taut muscle. The ink of his tattoos shifts under my touch as he pulls the fabric over his head and tosses it aside.

I lean in, capturing his lips, but he meets me halfway, claiming my mouth with a hunger that steals my breath. His tongue sweeps past my lips, exploring greedily, and I moan softly into him.

Then, suddenly, my wrists are pinned to the mattress, bound by the whisper-soft strength of his shadows. A gasp catches in my throat, my body instinctively tugging, but it's futile. Azriel merely smirks, his fingers skating down my sides, toying with the band of my panties, the heat of his touch sending sparks across my skin.

I lift my hips in a silent plea, urging him on, but he only chuckles, slow and deep. "Patience, love," he chastises, his fingers hooking beneath the fabric.

"Please," I whisper, desperate.

Azriel hums in approval but moves achingly slow, peeling the lace from my body like he has all the time in the world. His knuckles brush against my thighs as he drags them down, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

"I want you to feel everything," he murmurs, lips ghosting over my collarbone, where a faint mark from last night still lingers. A reminder. A promise.

"Az," I whine, shifting against the restraints, needing more, needing him.

He tsks, dark amusement glittering in his hazel eyes. "I know, I know," he coos, dragging his mouth along my skin, teasing me with every slow, lingering kiss. "But you can be patient can't you?"

I nod, breathless, eyes locked onto his as he trails lower.

"Good," he praises, but his voice dips into something more commanding. "And you understand I can't reward your bratty behavior?"

"Yes," I whisper.

His brows arch. "Yes, what?"

"Yes, sir."

Azriel's smirk is wicked, his satisfaction rolling off him in waves. "There's my girl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to my stomach before lowering himself further between my thighs. "Now stay still for me, yeah?"

I nod, back arching as I ready myself.

His breath is warm against my skin, teasing, taunting, and when his lips ghost over where I need him most, a helpless whimper spills from my lips. I tip my head back into the pillows, unable to watch, unable to handle the way he's taking his time, savoring the way I fall apart beneath him before he's even truly touched me.

"Sweet girl," he murmurs, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "So needy. Just couldn't get off, could you?"

I shake my head pitifully. "No," I manage, my voice barely above a breath.

He clicks his tongue, pressing a featherlight kiss to my inner thigh. "It's okay, love," he murmurs, and then his grip tightens on my hips, holding me still as he finally, finally drags his tongue through my slick folds.

A choked moan tumbles from my lips, my back arching further off the bed, but his shadows keep me grounded. He hums in approval against me, the vibration sending a fresh wave of heat coiling low in my stomach.

"Azriel," I moan, writhing, tugging uselessly at the darkness binding my wrists. "Please."

He smirks against me but doesn't answer, just hikes one of my legs over his shoulder, deepening his assault. His tongue flicks over my clit with precision, his mouth sealing around the sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking just hard enough to have me keening.

I can't move. Can't grind against him, can't chase the pleasure building inside me—because he's making sure that my release comes entirely from him.

That realization has me spiraling even faster.

"Az—Azriel, please," I gasp, my thighs trembling as the coil tightens, winding impossibly tight.

His grip on my hips bruises, his scarred fingers pressing into my skin as his tongue circles my clit again and again.

"Go ahead, love," he rasps against me, his voice thick with satisfaction. The vibrations of his words against my swollen, aching cunt are all it takes to send me over the edge.

I shatter, a sharp cry tearing from my throat as my orgasm crashes through me, my body locking up before melting into the mattress. My vision whites out, pleasure consuming me in wave after relentless wave.

Azriel doesn't stop. Doesn't let up. He guides me through it, slow and deliberate, savoring every aftershock.

"There it is," he murmurs, his lips pressing a final, lingering kiss to my sensitive folds before glancing up at me, utterly wrecked beneath him. "My girl looks so pretty when she comes."

The flat of his tongue gathers my arousal on his tongue, cleaning me. A soft, broken whimper is the only response I can manage.

But Azriel isn't done. Not yet. Not until I've learned my lesson.

I panted softly, still trembling as he kissed his way back up my body, his mouth hot and unrelenting against my flushed skin. Every inch of me is still humming from the waves of pleasure he's wrung out of me.

His lips trail over my breasts, pressing a kiss to one before he takes the stiff peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling in slow, torturous circles. The same tongue that had just shattered me now teases and soothes in equal measure, and I bow into his touch, a soft gasp spilling from my lips.

"Azriel," I rasp, tugging against my dark restraints.

His shadows hold firm, but he lifts his gaze to me through his lashes, those hazel eyes molten with desire. My breath catches, and I swear I feel the heat of his stare everywhere. His tongue flicks against my nipple, sharp and purposeful, and my thighs instinctively fall back open for him.

He smirks, releasing my breast with a wet pop before kissing his way up, up, until he finds my lips. He swallows my soft whimper as his tongue slides past my lips, letting me taste myself on him. The intimacy of it makes my head spin, and I kiss him back greedily, nipping at his lower lip when he pulls away.

His breath is warm against my mouth as he murmurs, "Inside?"

"Yes," I breathe, my voice barely more than a whisper. "I need you inside me."

His lips quirk up in a lazy, knowing smile. "Yeah? You need it?"

"Please," I whimper, my desperation laid bare.

Azriel hums, kissing me again, slow and deep, before pulling away. The sound of his belt unbuckling, the rustle of fabric as he shoves his pants down—it sends a thrilling pulse of anticipation through me.

I was so attuned to him, his sounds, the feel of him. The heat of him between my thighs, the way he strokes himself once, twice, teasing me with the promise of what's to come.

Then he's there, pressing the thick head of his cock against my slick entrance, and I nearly sob with need.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice dark with satisfaction as he teases me, sliding just the tip inside before pulling back. "So wet, so ready—"

"Az," I whine, my hips tilting, seeking him.

His hand presses down on my stomach, holding me still. "You take what I give you, love. Nothing more."

I moan at his words, at the sheer dominance in his tone, and then he pushes in, stretching me inch by inch until he's seated fully inside me. He takes his time, driving me wild in the process, each slow thrust pulling a desperate sound from my lips. My walls flutter around him, trying to draw him deeper, but he holds himself back, teasing, torturing.

By the time he finally sinks to the hilt, I'm panting, trembling beneath him, my body molded perfectly to his.

A low groan rumbles through his chest, his head dropping to the crook of my neck as he rolls his hips once, dragging a sharp gasp from me. "Fuck," he breathes, his voice wrecked. "So tight. Always so fucking perfect for me."

I whimper, my body adjusting to the delicious burn of being so completely filled, stretched to the limit around him.

Azriel pulls back slowly, almost entirely, before thrusting forward again, his pace agonizingly slow, like he's savoring the way I squeeze around him.

"You feel that?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my ear, his voice dark, wicked. "How deep I am?"

"Yes," I pant, my wrists straining against my restraints, desperate to touch him, to claw at his back, to do anything other than lie there and take it.

But that's exactly what he wants.

He rolls his hips again, dragging himself against that spot inside me that has my toes curling, my back arching off the bed.

"You lied to me, love," he reminds me, his tone thick with amusement, with something darker, more possessive. "So now I get to decide how long you last."

A whimper slips from my lips, and he chuckles, low and satisfied.

"You'll take what I give you," he murmurs, his fingers digging into my hips, holding me still even as I writhe beneath him. "And you'll thank me for it."

Then he pulls back and thrusts into me hard, setting a punishing rhythm that steals the breath from my lungs.

He grips my thighs, spreading me wider, fucking into me so deep I swear I can feel him everywhere, in my bones, in my blood.

"So good, you're always so good for me," he groans, his voice rough, barely held together. His restraint is a fragile thing, and gods, knowing I could break him with a single plea makes me throb around him.

"So cruel of me," he muses, his thrusts slowing, dragging out my torture, "to come inside this pretty pussy last night without making sure my girl got her release, hm?"

All I can do is whimper, my head tipping back, body trembling as he fucks me slow, deep, each deliberate roll of his hips making me feel every inch of him.

The rhythmic sound of the bed slamming into the wall and his low, guttural grunts fill the room, the air thick with heat, with the wet, obscene sounds of him driving into me. I bite into my lower lip to stop myself from sounding so damned desperate, but we both know—Azriel knows—just how wrecked I am.

The proof of it is between my thighs, soaking his cock, dripping down onto the sheets.

His hand slides down my stomach, his fingertips ghosting over my clit, not quite touching, just enough to make me sob in frustration.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice full of wicked delight. "Fucking dripping for me." His thumb swipes through my slick folds, pressing teasingly just above where I need him most. "So messy, love. So needy."

I whimper, arching into his touch, desperate for relief.

Azriel tuts, shaking his head. "Oh no, sweetheart. You don't get to come yet."

I whine, a broken, desperate sound, and he just chuckles, pulling his hand away entirely.

"You wanted to lie to me," he reminds me, his lips brushing over my jaw as his cock twitches inside me. "Now you get to feel what it's like to be left aching, desperate, needing."

I sob, my head thrashing against the pillow, but he just keeps fucking me, slow and deep, making me take every inch of him without giving me a single ounce of relief.

I fucking love it.

Azriel smirks against my throat, dragging his lips down the column of my neck, his cock still buried deep inside me, thrusting slow, deep, controlled. My body is writhing beneath him, my nails digging uselessly into my palms as his shadows keep me bound.

"Poor thing," he murmurs, nipping at the spot just below my jaw, his tongue soothing over the sting. "You sound so fucking desperate."

I whimper in response, my thighs trembling, my cunt clenching down around him in a futile attempt to pull him deeper, to coax him into fucking me the way I need.

He chuckles, low and dark, dragging his cock out so slow before sinking back in, every inch stretching me open again, every movement meant to drive me insane.

"You said you'd be good for me," he muses, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. "Said you understood why I had to punish you."

I nod frantically, my breath hitching as he rolls his hips again, the angle perfectly devastating.

"Then why," he murmurs, his lips brushing over my ear, "are you whining like a slut, love?"

A full-body shudder rolls through me at his words, and he laughs—a wicked, pleased sound—because he knows exactly what that does to me.

"Oh?" His grin is evident in his tone. "You like that?"

"Azriel," I rasp, my voice ruined, my body burning.

"Sir," he corrects smoothly, his hand wrapping around my throat, applying just the lightest pressure.

"Sir," I breathe, and fuck—I shouldn't be this turned on, shouldn't be this gone just from the way he's talking to me.

He hums in approval, dragging his nose along my cheek before whispering, "That's my girl."

And then he stops moving.

I let out a cry, bucking my hips, desperate for anything, but his grip on my throat tightens just slightly as a warning.

"Ah, ah," he tuts, shaking his head. "You'll take what I give you, remember?"

"Yes, sir," I whimper, my head falling back.

His thumb brushes over my lower lip. "Such a good girl." He tilts his head, pretending to consider something. "Maybe I should make you beg for it properly."

"I—" My voice catches as he barely rolls his hips, just enough for me to feel him inside me without giving me any real relief.

"I think I will," he murmurs, his thumb pressing against my lips. "Go on, love. Beg."

"Please, sir," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He tuts, shaking his head. "Oh, sweetheart, you're not even trying. You know you can do better than that."

He pulls out entirely, making me sob in frustration, in unbearable, aching need.

"Again," he commands, his tone all silk and steel.

"Please," I gasp, my back arching, my legs trembling. "Please, sir, I need you so bad, I—fuck—I can't—"

He groans, his cock twitching against my entrance, and finally—finally—he slams back inside me, knocking the breath from my lungs.

"That's it," he praises, setting a brutal, punishing rhythm that has my nails digging into my palms, my mouth falling open on a soundless moan. "That's my fucking girl."

I'm ruined beneath him, my body alight with pleasure, with torment, with the unbearable need to come. And he knows.

His hand drops between us, his fingers finding my clit, and I wail, my body bowing off the bed as he circles the swollen bud with just the right amount of pressure.

"You wanna come, love?" he murmurs, his breath hot against my skin.

"Yes, sir," I sob. "Please, please, please—"

His pace falters, just for a second.

"Fuck," he rasps, his cock twitching inside me. "You sound so pretty when you beg for me."

"Then please," I cry, the pleasure coiling so tight I can't take it anymore.

He presses his forehead against mine, his thrusts turning erratic, desperate.

"Come for me, love," he breathes. "Now."

And fuck—I shatter.

My orgasm crashes over me like a tidal wave, my body seizing, my back arching, my walls fluttering wildly around him as I scream his name.

But Azriel—he doesn't stop.

Not even for a second.

"That's it," he growls, his fingers still working my clit, dragging my pleasure out, making my body shake, making me wail. "Give me another one, sweetheart. I know you can."

My body jerks, as my breath stutters and my thighs tremble violently from the sheer intensity of my release, he just keeps going.

"Too much," I gasp, my body writhing beneath him, every nerve ending alight with unbearable pleasure. "Sir—"

His hand tightens around my waist, his hips still slamming into me, his cock dragging against that spot inside me that makes my vision white out.

I sob, my body tensing as another wave of pleasure builds, impossibly fast, impossibly sharp.

"What's wrong, love?" he murmurs, his lips brushing over the shell of my ear. "You were so eager for it just a moment ago."

His fingers press against my clit, rubbing tight, devastating circles, making my body twitch beneath him.

"I—fuck, I can't—"

Azriel just grins, leaning down to kiss my temple, so mockingly sweet.

"You can," he purrs, his voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "You were just begging for it, I know you can."

I whimper, my head tossing to the side, my brain too fogged to even process anything beyond the ruthless way he's using me.

"Look at you," he muses, his tone full of wicked amusement. "Fucked so dumb you can't even think straight."

I moan at his words, my legs trembling around his waist.

He laughs, low and mean, his fingers still ruthlessly working my clit, even as my entire body shakes from the overstimulation.

"What was that, love?" His teeth graze my jaw, sending another shudder down my spine. "You like being used like this?"

I sob, my head tossing back, unable to form words, unable to do anything with my hands and ankles bound. I loved it, he knew I loved it.

"Fuck," he groans, his thrusts growing erratic, his grip on my wrists bruising. "You're so fucking perfect like this—just my little plaything to fuck as I please."

I wail, my body burning, pleasure suffocating me as another climax threatens to rip through me. The pleasure was wringing me out dry.

His fingers press against my clit, merciless, relentless.

"You gonna give me another one, sweetheart?" His voice is taunting, his lips brushing over my ear. "Gonna come on my cock again, even though it's too much?" He mocks.

I nod frantically, tears slipping down my temples, my body convulsing from the unbearable pleasure.

He smirks, so fucking smug.

"That's what I thought," he murmurs. "My perfect little slut."

I gripe, clenching around him tightly.

Azriel moans, his cock twitching inside me, his thrusts growing sloppier, more frantic.

"One more," he growls, his hand wrapping around my throat, squeezing just right. "Give me one more, love. Be good for me."

I don't even have the breath to scream. And then he snaps his hips forward, his fingers moving faster, and I fucking lose it, another orgasm ripping through me, dragging me under, drowning me in white-hot bliss.

I just shatter, my body breaking apart, my vision going dark at the edges as pleasure obliterates me.

And Azriel—he fucking laughs, still thrusting, still pushing me, ruining me.

"That's my girl," he purrs. "Always so good for me."

Azriel pulls out slowly, almost tenderly, and I slump against the mattress, my body wrecked, trembling with the aftershocks of everything he's done to me. My wrists ache from pulling against the shadows, my legs barely responding to me as I try to catch my breath.

I think—finally. He's done.

But then his hands are on me again, flipping me onto my stomach in one fluid, effortless motion, his strength overpowering.

"Didn't think I was done, did you sweet girl?" he murmurs, his voice like a dark promise as he hauls me up onto my knees.

I barely have a second to process before his hand presses against my back, forcing my chest down, stuffing my face into the pillows.

I gasp, my arms pinned uselessly beneath me, my body still twitching from overstimulation as I feel him behind me—feel the hard press of his cock sliding between my soaked folds, teasing, not yet giving me what I know he's about to.

"Azriel," I mumble, my voice muffled against the pillows, wrecked and pleading.

He tuts at me, his grip tight as he spreads my knees wider, forcing me open for him.

"You think you can take another round?" His voice is full of mockery, his hand running slowly over my hip before gripping me there, holding me in place. "You've been so good for me, taking everything I've given you—you wouldn't let me down now would you?"

"No sir," I moan softly, my body already shuddering with anticipation as he lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging against my entrance.

I barely have time to pant out a desperate, "Sir," before he thrusts inside me, deep, the new angle making me see fucking stars.

I scream, my fingers clenching uselessly into the sheets as he fills me completely, pressing so deep it makes my entire body tremble.

"Fuck, that's better," he groans, his hands sliding up to grip my waist as he pulls out almost entirely before slamming back in, his pace instantly ruthless.

My mouth drops open in a silent moan, my mind blanking as he uses my body, fucking me like he owns me, like he's never going to stop.

"This is what you wanted, isn't it?" he murmurs, his voice dark, smug. "To be bent over like this, my cock so deep inside you, you can't even think?"

I sob against the pillows, my body already climbing toward another release, my overstimulated nerves sparking with unbearable pleasure.

Azriel just laughs, his hands gripping my hips as he forces my legs to stay open, refusing to let me close them, refusing to let me hide from how utterly ruined I am.

"You're so fucking perfect like this," he breathes, leaning down so his chest presses against my back, his teeth grazing my ear. "Taking me so well, love. My perfect slut."

I keen, my walls clamping down around him, my entire body melting under his words, his touch, his fucking torment.

"That's it," he purrs, his fingers sliding down between my legs, finding my clit, rubbing it in cruel little circles. "Come for me again, sweetheart. I want to feel you break on my cock."

He keeps his pace brutal even as I flutter around him, his grip on my hips unrelenting as he fucks me into the mattress, each thrust shoving me deeper into the pillows, like he's trying to mold me to the shape of his cock.

And all I can do is take it. Take the way he ruins me, the way he stretches me open again and again, making me feel so fucking full I can't even think.

"You hear yourself, sweetheart?" he taunts, his voice dark, drenched in amusement as he listens to the wrecked little sobs spilling from my lips. "Crying for me while you drip all over my cock like a good whore."

I sob again, pleasure and overstimulation making my body shake, making my mind fog over with nothing but him.

"F-fuck, Az," I whimper, my fingers clawing uselessly at the sheets.

His hand cracks against my ass, making me jolt forward on a choked-out cry.

"Sir," he corrects again, his tone firm, his free hand sliding up my back, tracing the arch his thrusts are forcing me into.

My walls clench around him so tight it drags a deep, filthy groan from his chest.

"You like that?" he purrs, smug as sin, rolling his hips in slow, torturous circles, making sure I feel every inch of him. "Like knowing I could fill this pretty little cunt up—watch you swell with my seed?"

I whimper, my toes curling at the thought, at the absolute filth pouring from his lips.

And then his hand is sliding down, pressing to my lower stomach—right where he's buried deep inside of me.

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, his fingers flexing as he feels where he's stretching me open, where he'd fill me up if he let himself go.

"Fuck," he breathes, his grip tightening on my hip as he thrusts again, shoving deeper just to feel the bulge of himself inside me. "So fucking deep, love. You feel that?"

I nod weakly, my eyes rolling back, my body trembling as another broken sob leaves my lips.

He laughs, wicked and cruel.

"Already so fucked out, aren't you?" he taunts, dragging his palm over my stomach, pressing harder just to make me feel how deep he is. "Poor little thing—just a dumb, desperate mess on my cock."

I keen, my legs shaking, my body completely wrecked and at his mercy.

He twitches, my body arching as he presses into a spot that makes my vision go white, my mouth falling open in a pitiful pant. "Sir, feels, so good," I whimpered.

"Yeah? Greedy girl, going to come again?" He taunted, lips brushing against my shoulder, his sweat-slicked chest kissing my bowed back.

"Please—can I?" His pace didn't slow, even if I knew he was getting closer, he grew more and more sloppy but he did not slow.

"Wait f'me, I'm almost there," He whispered into my skin.

I clenched around him, unable to help myself, wanting to help him get there. My arms shook, near to giving out as I panted into the bed sheets, gripping the pristine white cloth in my fist to stop myself from moving up on the bed.

He twitched inside of me again, growing eager. "Inside," I breathe softly. "Fill me," I beg.

"Yeah? Want me to claim this cunt?" He whispered, lips grazing over the shell of my ear.

"Please, sir," I beg, bottom lip wobbling.

"Okay love, come—come f'me," He chokes slightly, consumed by his need for release. I doubted I could hold onto that edge for much longer, and the sound that left me during that final orgasm was louder than the rest, primal in a way. He twitched once more, and as I clenched tightly around him from the cresting of my orgasm, he came too, painting my walls white with his thick release.

He thrust slowly, gently, easing me down from the white-hot high that still had my body trembling. My whimper was soft, and breathless, as he finally pulled from me, his release spilling from me, warm and slick against my thighs. If not for his steady hands cradling me, guiding me down onto the mattress, I might've collapsed completely.

"Not too much?" His voice was hushed, rough around the edges, like he was just as wrecked as I was, despite that Illyrian stamina keeping him upright. A calloused hand brushed through my likely tangled hair, tucking it behind my ear so he could see me clearly.

I tried to form words, but all I could manage was a breathless, "No." A slow inhale, then, "Felt s'good." My voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper, and even that much effort felt like too much.

He hummed softly, pressing a lingering kiss to my temple. "You did so good," he murmured against my skin before slipping his arms beneath me. I barely had time to react before I was in his embrace again, lifted with ease. "Let's get you cleaned up."

I nodded weakly, my limbs boneless, and let him carry me into the bathroom. The cool marble of the counter met the flushed heat of my skin, soothing, grounding. I watched him through heavy-lidded eyes, admiring him in this quiet aftermath. The way his jaw clenched in focus as he wrung out a damp cloth. The tenderness in his touch as he wiped me down, extra careful between my thighs. The contrast of his rough, battle-worn hands moving with such exquisite care.

He combed through my hair next, untangling the knots his fingers had left earlier, his motions steady, unhurried. Every stroke, every pass of his hands over my body, was reverent. Devotional.

He kissed me softly then, tasting of cedar and salt, of something uniquely him. His hands skimmed my sides, his touch a whisper of heat against my skin.

"Six times." His voice was smug, but quiet, like he was half-talking to himself.

I blinked up at him, dazed. "Hm?"

"You came six times." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk, his fingers tracing idle patterns along my thigh.

Heat flooded my already flushed cheeks, my stomach twisting with something like mortification and pride all at once. If he knew so easily, then surely he knew immediately last night when it wasn't real.

"You were counting?"

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. "Had to make up for last night."

I huffed a small, breathy laugh. "You did."

His smirk softened as he kissed me again. Slow. Deep. A promise.

"How do you know?" I murmured against his lips, pulling back just enough for our noses to brush. "When I come?"

His gaze darkened, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. "You make this pretty face," he said, voice dropping, thumb tracing my bottom lip. "You couldn't fake it if you tried."

I swallowed hard, heat pooling low once more.

"And you always moan my name," he continued, pressing a slow kiss to my throat. "Every single time." His lips dragged over my pulse, felt the way it jumped. "Without fail, it's always my name on your lips."

I could feel my blush creeping lower, my skin burning everywhere he touched.

"You didn't last night," he murmured, voice a lazy drawl like he was enjoying my embarrassment. "Wasn't hard to figure out."

I groaned, dropping my forehead against his shoulder, but I couldn't help but laugh at myself. He chuckled too, the sound a warm rumble against my skin.

I pressed a kiss to his temple, letting my hands roam down his back, enjoying the feel of his muscles beneath my touch.

"So," I mused, still breathless, still utterly spent. "Breakfast?"

General Taglist: @fxckmiup @olive-main @iluvyewman-blog @gaymistakeboi @glitterypirateduck @amara-moonlight @impossibelle @fauxdette @going-through-shit @glam-targaryen @hufflepuff-pa55 @sarawritestories @tele86 @rogerbarnesxx @azriels-shadowsinger @stinkinstuffie @sandramalikstyles-blog @sassyangel16 @lilah-asteria @starsinyourseyes @inloveallthetime @melsunshine @nighttimemoonlover @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @cumuluscranium @adharanotfound @azrielsmate3 @aelincaddel @hiddlestonspassionsackx @dee-writes-angst @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @pit-and-the-pen @mybestfriendmademe @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @circe143 @bubybubsters @joshysloshy @username199945 @ivy-34 @notsarareallynot @vixenshiftsvrs @aurorab99 @pey2618 @loving-and-dreaming @mmg777 @andreperez11 @thatacotargirl @123345566 @one-big-fangirl @moonslitluna @imyherondale @salvawhxres @bookishbabyyyy @anuttellaa @breadsticks2004 @azriels-human @mamita-vera @demetercabingreen-thumb @lorosette @daughterofthemoons-stuff @tothestarsandwhateverend @ahaha0246 @mellowmusings @mythicalcookie

2K notes · View notes

smutstationchoochoo · 2 years ago

Text

Desperate

COD Men x FemReader

Hear me out: a sex pollen fic where reader isn’t affected but he is and he is gone.

Word count: ~3.6k

A/N: It’s just the poorly written sex pollen drabble of my dreams, it’s fuck or die lads. Insert your favorite COD man here. Please forgive me for any spelling/grammar mistakes and my complete lack of knowledge regarding military things, all I know is that these men are hot and I love them.

Warnings: sex pollen, unprotected PIV (wrap it up), overstimulation, dubious consent (consent is sexy folks)

Banner credit: @cafekitsune

You all had been briefed at 0200. The flight to Berlin left at 0300 where the team would be infiltrating a terrorist hideout, a suspected manufacturing site for a new chemical agent. You were told that as long as you didn’t ingest it, you would be fine.

The fact that it had been made airborne was not in the fucking briefing.

The team had been split into pairs, you and he took the North side of the suspected warehouse. The size of it should have tipped you all off. Everything was running smoothly until 3 combatants had come from the door at the end of the corridor. He called for cover and ran ahead. You dropped two before he even got a stride in. The other he disarmed in seconds and then with a deafening crack, both men slammed through a door and into the resulting room. A brief struggle then silence. You heard him start to call the ok, his voice in the comm sounding clearer than earlier, then a noise, a pop, and the sound of air. You froze, watching a gas spill from the open door and dissipate immediately. Just when you started moving again, a growling, “Don’t,” tore through the comm. Then, the sound of ripping Velcro and something hard (his helmet you realized with a sickening drop) hitting the concrete floor echoed out to you. Soft murmurs that grew into angry outbursts of fuck fuck fuck transformed into one that became a groan of what sounded like complete and utter pain. You didn’t even have to think, the severity of the situation settled in. “It’s a gas,” you barked into the comms, “Northside hit, need medevac in 30, going dark.” You waited for confirmation, seconds after getting it and receiving news that the warehouse was almost cleared, you went to find him.

You knew what it did, you all did. Jokes had been made, smirks shared, but you all knew how bad it was. You weren’t even close to prepared. He was sitting against the far wall or rather pressed into it using it to keep his now shaking frame upright, gear strewn around the room, combatant on your immediate left with a mask (his mask, the masks you all were wearing just in fucking case) gripped in a dead hand, an empty canister mockingly sitting in the middle of the room.

You gripped the combatant by his legs and dragged him to the hall, before slamming the door shut upon reentry and grabbing a near chair to jam the door. You immediately began stripping yourself of your outer tactical gear until you both matched in only your boots, pants, and base shirts and then you turned your attention to him. Now kneeling by his side you took him in, looking for any other injuries noting nothing serious. That almost made you laugh with relief until you saw the front of his pants and him frantically palming the growing outline. You swallowed and quickly looked at his face shocked back to the reality of the current situation. The usually stoic, always larger than life, incredibly strong man in front of you was reduced to tears dripping from his now blown and hazy eyes, falling down flushed cheeks and landing on the front of his shirt that clung to his hyperventilating chest. You knew he had been shot, stabbed often, and left for dead a time or two, but this…

Shiny and new neurotoxin, you remembered the brief, attacks the nervous system, causing the mark to feel intense arousal and as if they have been lit on fire, specially formulated not only to cause pain but a complete and utter breakdown of will as victims often experience hallucinations and loss of self. If left in the system, it raises the core temperature until convulsions set in, and then heart attack occurs. Do not touch it.

No one had to ask how it was worked out of the system. Then again, they all believed they were too smart to touch the shit. Couldn’t do much about breathing it in when your mask was ripped from your face though.

Your hand pressed to his slick forehead now radiating heat, and feeling as if it could burn you like an open flame. At the touch of your blessedly cool hand, he hissed a low fuck through his gritted teeth, keening into your touch. You swallowed, hand tilting his cheek to look up at you when you asked, “Can I help?” His hair was sticking up at all angles from the helmet being hastily pulled from his head, and he looked up at you and gave one weak nod, “Please.”

Upon looking at the desperation pooling in those dark eyes (those eyes you often were caught staring at) any small reservations evaporated from your body under his burning gaze. You swiftly reached out, mercifully helping him escape from the now too-tight pants, the bite of his zipper. The moment your skin brushed against the head of him he was bucking up against it. You had to reach the other hand out to steady yourself against his shoulder, another touch that jutted his hips and had him twitching into your grip.

“Is- is this helping?” you croaked out, struggling to swallow, struggling to contain the wave of arousal that was threatening to course through you. He nodded, chin slack against his chest as he watched your hand work against him, moving up and down against the veins seemingly trying to break through his skin. No thoughts went through his mind other than the knowledge that you were jerking him off and that it felt so good that he could cry in relief. But then something shuddered within him, something loud and fast like a wildfire, burning just as much, and hot thick ropes of cum spilled over your hand. He couldn’t even cry out, it happened so fast. His breath was coming out in loud pants, when a new thought, the thought that he had just come in maybe thirty seconds flashed through his mind but it was quickly replaced with the horrible realization that the feeling of being on fire wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, out of control, containment measures failed. At this, he let out a sob as his hips moved of their own volition into your still soothing grip. It wasn’t enough, he knew, you knew, it wasn’t enough.

You stood, and he whimpered at the loss of your touch but all sound stopped in his throat when he watched you decisively unzip your pants and pull them down to your ankles underwear included, kicking off a boot, and one pant leg. When you straddled his lap he desperately pulled you down onto him, your exposed core grinding down where he wanted you, where he fucking needed you, that’s when he began to talk. Begging you to help him, saying that he’s sorry over and over, that he needs your help, incoherent babbling from a breaking mind, please it hurts so bad, I-I don’t, I can’t- fuck, I need you... All cool, calm, collectedness burnt to fucking ash. Just a man reduced to pure longing and want. A longing and want that might be what was threatening to kill him, not the toxin, just the build up over the days, weeks, months he had been around you threatening to crush him. He almost wants to die, this was never how it was supposed to be. He wanted it to be good for you, you deserve that, you deserve better, he could have given you better-

But now what was he? A heaving chest under a sweat soaked shirt beneath eyes that watch you like some feral animal. Hands wanting to claw at the clothing now so heavy, hot, and itchy against his burning skin, but instead were gripping onto your hips like it’s going to save him from burning to a crisp. The broken moans tearing their way from his throat when you line up his painfully hard cock to your entrance makes you throb, and then his choking cry as you slide down on him punches the air from your chest.

“Does this feel ok?” you panted out after a moment, struggling, trying not to drown in the pleasure of him stretching you, filling you. He couldn’t form the words, couldn’t even nod. His forehead falling to your shoulder in utter relief, mouth dropped open as he repeats your name over and over like an apology, a thanks, a goddamned prayer. How all he can do is sit there on the floor of some warehouse, back against a wall, the only thing resembling his usual strength is that ironclad hold he has on your hips as he helps you drag yourself up, then, accompanied by the tortuously obscene sounds of your wetness, back down. Brokenly pleading with you not to stop, don’t stop, fuck p-please don’t stop. You feel like molten heaven against his cock, your moans like angels (or devils, he’s too far gone to care at this point) singing through the blood rushing in his ears. One of your hands again steadies yourself on his shoulder, the other steadying him, an anchor point, with your achingly gentle hold on the nape of his damp neck (so gentle that it breaks his fucking heart, he wanted to give you more, you deserved more) as you ride him. Your hips rock once more, twice more, before his body seizes up with electricity that ricochets up his spinal cord and reverberates through his skull. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your hips, teeth grinding and eyes slamming shut, as he releases inside of you with a shattered cry. The sound of you gasping, now clutching, raking your fingers into him, has his hips continuing their rutting up into you, pushing his cum as deep as he can within your walls.

He stills for 10 seconds at most, panting breaths thunderous between you two, before pulling you into his chest, his hips slamming up into you, hard and hot as if he didn’t just fuck you until he could see every neuron firing behind his eyes. His hot open mouth finds your shocked one in a perfectly surprised “o,” more apologies pushing from his lungs and into yours between loud wet kisses as he listens (is blessed with thank you God) to you beginning to come apart. You couldn’t help it, as you ground down into his thrusts, even though you knew the threatening climax was going to be terrifying. Your breathing was ragged now as well, the air becoming harder and harder to drag into your lungs in between you cursing and moaning, and then- fucking hell- you’re at the precipice. Before you can even utter a syllable you are being flung over the edge. The pleasure rips through you, waves breaking against the rocky shore, with such intensity that it hurts, causing you to dig your nails into his skin, and bright spots to dance behind your closed eyes while the distant feeling of wetness registers from between you two. He explodes again with a gasp, feels you clench around him like a vice, his name, his real name, forcing its way from inside you and into his mouth with every pulse and it tastes so so good that he can’t stop, he never wants to stop, just filling you up until it drips from you, filling you with him because you’re his, his. Even when you both whimper and shudder with overstimulation, his arms shaking in their grip around you, he can only press his forehead to yours, rolling it desperately, as he begs for your forgiveness. I can’t stop, it won’t stop, I’ll make it good, please next time I’ll make it good.

“It is good,” you whisper to him with hitched breath from each thrust, trying to reassure him, “It’s ok, it’s ok.” You don’t know if he can hear you, his eyes are wild and don’t seem to even register that you are actually on top of him, that he’s inside of you, that he has made you yell out his name over and over and over. You don’t think he even knows what he is saying. Next time.

His own voice comes to him from somewhere far away, through the flames licking at his mind, please- fuckin’ hell please, just a little more- I just need one more, I need you, please don’t stop, I don’t want to stop nearly unrecognizable as he comes inside you again and again and again.

It isn’t until the medevac came and he was sedated that what just happened began to sink in. For a week, a fucking week, he’s in critical condition. No one talks about it, at least not in the way you all did before this. You saved him, you’re told. You don’t want to think about it, if you think about it then you think about how good it felt, how fucked it is that it felt good, and how everything is gone. If you think about all he said, you’d overthink, give meaning where there was none. He probably won’t be able to look at you anymore. You went to see him that first day. You sat next to him for mere minutes before bolting, the fear of him waking up and looking at you with disgust, telling you to get out in that icy voice you knew so well, sent you running straight to the mats to train until you wanted to scream. That’s all you did now, and that was where you decided you would stay until you died. That is until someone came and found you, told you he was awake, and that he had asked for you. The whole walk to the infirmary had adrenaline coursing through you, you wanted to run, to fight, to freeze right there in the hall and never move another fucking muscle. The thought of losing him, him being there but not wanting to be near you anymore made you feel sick. It had been so long, so long of repressing those feelings that flared in your chest when he smiled at you during sparring, the feeling of him seated next to you on a flight, his eyes catching yours just so you could stay with him. Well, you thought with dripping ire, that had literally and figuratively been fucked now hadn’t it?

You knocked, heard his gruff voice, and entered. You stopped dead in your tracks three steps into the room after mistakenly looking up and finding him staring at you from where he sat on the edge of the bed, already dressed, looking like he was about to head out on another call. You were desperately trying not to shake but your hands gave you away. You could take on a man twice your size without batting an eye but this?- you were terrified.

The moment you walked into the room, all his time that morning when he first woke thinking about what he would say to you, how he could face you, was knocked from his mind. You had saved his life. He never wanted that. He wanted to give it to you, it was yours after all. He didn’t know when it had become yours, every single part of him, but if he had to wager a guess it was the moment he found you in his life. And it might all be ruined.

The memories had started coming to him immediately after waking up, almost more clear and real now than in the moment. It jolted him awake so hard that the attending ran into the room for fear that his hammering heart had in fact given out. Once his breathing had calmed a little, he tried to sift through the fog. His recall of the smell of you, the arousal dripping from between your legs, mixed with your sweat and the familiar scent of your grapefruit and ginger shampoo, nearly pulled a groan from his chest. The soft touch of your hands, cool and strong against the fire that spread through his blood, had brought him back. The feeling of you breaking, the soft whines, the way you said his name… the things he had said, he couldn’t just shut the fuck up could he?

He had to bring his hands up to cover his eyes, willing the images to go away, just for a moment, please, he just needed some time, if only he had time- next time. Next time, he had told you. A desperate promise, a reassurance, trying to tell you that it wasn’t just the chemical coursing through him, it wasn’t just his hijacked nervous system. Did she know? Did she understand? That’s when he asked for you, without thinking, just wanting to see you, to explain. He had never been good with words unless it was biting sarcasm across comms or coolly delivering ultimatums in an interrogation. Then he remembered, the thing that sent his heart barreling through his chest for the second time, the machine next to him screaming. It is good, you had said, it’s ok, it’s ok, you had whispered.

He ripped the monitors off his chest, ignoring the doctor's protestations, found the clothes that had been brought in for him and got dressed. Now that you were standing here before him he was unsure. You looked scared, and he could count on one hand all the times he had seen you in such a state.

His staring was unnerving, more unnerving than if he had shouted, yelled, grabbed you, anything but this, this was fucking torture. You had to leave, just get off base, go somewhere, anywhere but here- the sudden sound of your name shook you from the reverie. The tone had your eyes finding his immediately.

He stayed seated, scared that if he stood, if he made his way to you, you would run, and you both knew that you were much quicker than him. If you ran, if you left, he would never catch up. Only when his knuckles began to ache did he realize how tightly he was gripping the edge of the mattress in an effort to keep himself there. It was hard to look at you and not remember the way you had looked when you pressed your hand to his forehead, when you had thrown your head back in pleasure, when you had grabbed his face when he was too exhausted to continue but thankfully no longer felt like he was burning alive. It was hard to remember and not stride across the room and hold you. He took a breath and forced his shoulders to relax in a way that he had done so many times before.

“I-,” he started, his voice cutting through the room, his normal voice, the one you recognized as him and it set you slightly at ease from sheer familiarity, “I’m so sorry.” Now he had to turn his eyes downcast.

“What?” Your response, the shock in your voice, forced him to look at you again. Your hands itched at your sides, confusion rippling across your face.

His eyes narrowed, he knew you so well. Always blaming yourself. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m sorry that happened, I’m sorry you were put in that position,” the word choice made him nearly cringe. He continued, “I never-I didn’t want it to happen that way.”

Your brain jolted, standing there in shocked silence, his words thundering through your ears accompanied by the pleading of next time.

He pressed on, desperately trying, “I know you, you’re going to think this was your fault. It wasn’t. There was nothing either of us could do, thank you for your, uh, help. Just- fuck, please just say some-,”

Shock still swept through you, the words escaped your mouth before you could think, “Did you mean it?” You figured by the way he leaned back that he knew what you were talking about. Then he held out a hand, palm up, an offering. Before you knew it, you had crossed the room, putting your hand in his and letting it gently pull you between his legs. His giant frame meant even sitting on the gurney that his gaze was level with yours, and those eyes searched your own when one word sounded through the room.

“Yes.”

This word broke you. One fucking word, one word that answered every glance between you two, every smile shared, a word you brokenly whispered into the night when you had a hand between your legs thinking about him knowing you shouldn’t. You hadn’t cried all week, but now the giant tears rolling down your cheeks felt like a release. When his free hand, warm and rough, swiped them away you couldn’t help leaning into it, just as he had done. All tension, all fear, dissipated from the room. That hand continued to just below your ear, cupping your neck, and gently pulling you forward to press his head against yours, eyes shutting, just resting there against each other in the moment.

“What the fuck are we gonna do?” you sighed.

You could feel the smirk that you knew was slipping across his mouth.

“Well, I did say next time.”

This time when you rode him with the small bed creaking beneath the movements, he stopped you any time you tried to speed up (it was your turn to beg and plead), keeping you at a languid torturous pace. That way the bastard had all the time in the world to whisper into your mouth, letting you taste each word, all the things he would do to you next time and all the times after that.

Thank you so much for reading, please let me know what you think! :)

9K notes · View notes

kerosenee-kisses · 8 days ago

Text

Friend You Can Keep | Zayne

summary: while preparing for final exams, you ask Zayne if he can help you brush up on your knowledge of human anatomy

cw: 18+, mdni, college au, afab reader, loss of virginity, oral sex (receiving), vaginal sex, fingering, lots of kissing, this is literally just self-indulgent love-making

wc: 3.7k

a/n: I started playing lads a few weeks ago after a lot of resistance (I'm afraid of spending money on them!!) I started playing for Sylus but Zayne really came out of nowhere and assumed the role of my husband. I'm obsessed with him!!

In my mind, I wrote this with a five-ish year age gap between Zayne and reader (reader a freshman/sophmore in college, Zayne in the first years of med school). That isn't explicitly stated here so choose your own adventure. I'm also of the opinion that Zayne would make sweet, sweet love to you to the soundtrack of true yearner R&B. Just me?

Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

Songs from your favorite R&B playlist emanate from your roommate’s speaker. You thought listening to the calm crooning from the nest of pillows and blankets that is your bed would help you study. But the music is more effective at lulling you to sleep, as are the sparkling fairy lights strung around the room’s perimeter. Maybe you should suck it up and turn the horrendous, overhead fluorescent lights on for this. Because the words in your textbook swim together the longer you try to focus on retaining them.

You rub your eyes hard; flashes of color undulate in the darkness of your closed eyelids beneath the pressure of your fingertips. When you open them again, somehow, the words rearrange themselves even more chaotically. It’s like looking for a prophecy in a bowl of alphabet soup.

“Is it possible I have late-stage dyslexia? Is that a thing?” you ask.

Zayne chuckles from his place at your desk. “I believe that’s an indication that you need a short break. And right on time, too.”

The timer on his phone goes off then, which he shuts off before it can complete one full blare of sound. He opens the desk drawer and takes out two candies. One for each of you.

“A reward for our diligence,” he says as he deposits a sweet into your hand.

“What? Where did these come from?” you ask as you unravel the foil wrapper. Candy didn’t survive in your dorm room long enough for you to have a stash to dip into for emergencies like today.

You have two more finals to study for before you can officially begin a much-deserved winter break. Your roommate had been your study buddy up until her first and only final yesterday. She left for home immediately after she’d submitted her exam, having decided that the papers assigned could easily be completed from the comfort of her own home. And while you were so happy for her and not at all jealous, it meant you were short a study buddy.

But Zayne, always dependable, offered to swing by and study with you when you’d met him for lunch earlier and bemoaned the fact that you would have to stay focused all by yourself. A herculean task if there ever was one.

“I managed to hide them while you were fiddling with the speaker. Otherwise, I doubt they would have survived more than ten minutes had you seen them.”

“Don’t be a hypocrite. Your sweet tooth can be just as bad,” you say.

You observe Zayne as he delicately pops his candy into his mouth, pushes his glasses back up, and continues to study through your break. He has some biochem final to prepare for. While he had told you he felt more than prepared for it before your complaints about being abandoned, he’s sitting here reviewing alongside you all the same. Your heart warms at how thoughtful he is. Sure, he loves to help everyone, but he always goes out of his way for you. Does he go out of his way for anyone other than you? You're too curious.

So curious, in fact, that you ask without thinking, “Don’t you have a girlfriend? Or someone you’re kinda into?”

Zayne blinks at you, slow and deliberate like a house cat, then shakes his head. Embarrassment and relief coalesce in your stomach. In an ideal world, you would shut the fuck up and go back to studying too.

But like the glutton for punishment that you are, you sit up on your knees and keep talking.

"Oh, ok. Good. Well, not good as in you should die alone but good in the sense that...well...You know what, can I ask you something without you freaking out? Like, you have to promise not to.”

Zayne swivels in the desk chair. A gift from him to you actually. Ergonomic and expensive, he’d replaced the standard rocking chair that the room was originally furnished with since he was concerned about the health of your spine as your future primary care physician.

Once he’s facing you completely, he says, “I would prefer not to promise something if I can’t guarantee that I’ll be able to follow through. That would not be fair to you.”

“You know what, you’re right. I’m sorry. You're always calm anyway so I have nothing to worry about. I think.”

Zayne watches you expectantly as you reach for a plushie to hold. Your mouth feels dry now that his attention’s on you. You’re not sure why you feel so nervous, he normally goes along with your schemes. This won’t be so different, right?”

“So, I was wondering if maybe you’d be...willing to have sex with me?” The words leave you in one breath.

Zayne stares at you blankly. You might have successfully broken the most collected person you know.

“Zayne? Did you hear me? I said would you–”

“I heard you the first time,” he says. His expression hardly betrays anything, but color spreads across his face, up his ears. If he didn’t have a turtleneck on you imagine his neck would be just as pink. “I apologize. I’m a bit taken aback. I certainly didn’t expect that to be your question.”

“It’s just feels like everyone my age has lost their virginity already. Obviously, I don’t need to have sex, but I’m intrigued, I guess. And I don’t want to do it with just anyone. And you’re not just anyone so–”

“I’m sorry to interrupt. I want to make absolute sure I’m understanding you correctly.” He clears his throat before asking, “You want me to take your virginity?”

You hug the plushie for dear life. “Well, yeah. You would be my first.”

Zayne takes a deep breath. You begin to worry about the state of his heart the longer you sit in silence. Because your own is pumping so hard you fear you’ll succumb to cardiac arrest if you’re lucky. Or maybe the earth will miraculously swallow you whole before that happens. You’ll even accept death by wanderer if it means escaping this conversation.

“May I ask why you wish to lose your virginity to me?”

Not a flat-out rejection. You can shelf the death wishes for now.

“Since you’re basically a doctor you know all about anatomy; safe to assume you know how it goes. And you’re hot so...why not?”

Zayne averts his gaze at your blunt assessment, and you can’t help but tease him a little.

“I thought we were working on accepting compliments.”

Zayne smiles faintly but still refuses to face you, “I have to say when it comes to accepting compliments, I’m not very good in front of you. But I suppose there’s a chance for you to teach me.”

“First lesson starts now. All you have to do is say ‘thank you’ or something.”

Your breath hitches when his eyes meet yours again. He’s caught you in his gentle yet captivating green gaze. In it, you see acknowledgment of what your relationship to each other could be. A desire to explore a new dimension of intimacy, one that goes beyond childhood friendship.

“I accept your compliment,” Zayne murmurs. His eyes drift to your slightly parted lips and you feel your skin prickle.

“This will be an opportunity to learn each other’s bodies together,” he says, almost distracted. He plucks the plushie from your grasp and carefully places it on the back-killing rocking chair beside your desk. “I only hope I can measure up to your expectations."

“Oh. Ok,” you manage to whisper. You didn’t think he would say no per say, but considering his immediate response you expected a little more resistance to the idea than this. And now you feel nervous, more than you had anticipated. This was your idea after all.

You go to remove your pajama bottoms, a seemingly imperceptible shake in your hands. But of course, nothing gets past Zayne. He stops you with a reassuring squeeze on your thigh.

“There’s no rush. This requires ample preparation. I would never want to hurt you,” he says, caresses the hinge of your knee. “Just, let me kiss you for a bit. Like this.”

Zayne brings the chair up to the edge of your twin xl and gives you a sweet peck. He gives you a few more before he brushes his lips against yours. You follow his lead, revel in the plush feel of his mouth as he kisses you. He rubs his palms along your thighs, squeezing them every so often. His tender touches embolden you as much as they relax you. You hesitantly touch your tongue to his bottom lip and Zayne moans into your mouth. The vibrations of such a gentle yet erotic sound travel through your whole body. You cup his cheeks to pull him closer, and Zayne gladly follows. He rises to his feet and crowds you into the corner of the bed until you’re on your back. He kisses you so thoroughly that you can taste the lingering sweetness of candy on his tongue when he licks into your mouth.

You slip one hand under his sweater, trace the ridges of his tight abdomen, no doubt the result of all those pull ups he does on the rare occasion you work out together. Zayne’s breath shudders against your mouth and you shiver in response. His receptiveness to your touch makes you desperate to feel even more of him. You grab the hem of his turtleneck and yank it upwards. He pulls away, reluctantly you think, grabs the shirt from between his shoulder blades and tugs it off. The action leaves his glasses askew and you remove them from his face with a giggle.

“I hope they’re not messed up now,” you say as you carefully put the lenses on yourself. They blur your vision some, but you clearly see Zayne swallow thickly when you smile up at him.

“I have an extra pair,” he says breathlessly before he removes them and goes right back to kiss you. More of his warmth seeps into you now that he removed his sweater. He presses his thundering chest against yours, and the delicious weight of him renders you pliant beneath him. You smooth your hands along the muscled plains of his back and moan. You can’t think straight in the face of such overwhelming affection. He hasn’t even touched you yet, really, and you already feel so ready for more.

But for some reason, a pang of guilt lances through your gut. Did you pressure Zayne into this? Are you taking advantage of his goodness, his kindness? You said it yourself, he goes above and beyond for you in all things. You would never forgive yourself if you ever made him do something he didn’t want to.

“Wait,” you say, and weakly push at his chest. A gossamer thread of your saliva stretches between both your lips, and your thoughts empty out of your head for a moment. Zayne’s eyes are as unfocused as yours as he looks down at you, cushioned in your fluffy pillows.

“Are you sure you’re cool with this?” you ask quietly.

Zayne takes hold of one of your wrists to drop a kiss to your palm that you feel all the way down to your clit. Does he want to kill you?

“Why don’t you touch me and find out.”

He most certainly does.

You gasp when he guides your hand to his hardened length. The fact that you could do this to him with just a few kisses turns you on immensely, makes you feel powerful. You squeeze him gently and he groans. You flick the button of his pants free, but he stops your second attempt at undressing before you can even yank his zipper down.

“Let me take what I desire first,” he says.

Zayne carefully unbuttons your pajama top, until your chest is fully exposed to him. You sit up slightly to remove it, and no sooner is it off than Zayne starts to knead and kiss at your breasts. He sucks one of your nipples into his mouth and you arch into him, mewling at the spike of pleasure that zings through you. He licks and teases it into a stiffened peak while he pinches and rolls the other between his fingers.

Once your nipples are wet and taut from his ministrations, Zayne trails deep kisses down the center of your spasming stomach. He grasps the waistband of your pants and tugs them down along with your underwear.

While most guys would look at you with lust clouding their gaze, Zayne looks at your naked body like he loves it. It’s enough to make you feel sheepish.

Zayne fits his broad shoulders beneath your slightly spread thighs and puts his mouth to your dripping core. You’re so stunned by the sight of his head between your legs that your brain goes fuzzy. Obviously, no one has kissed you here before. But you’d still be inclined to say that even if the opposite were true. Zayne full on makes out with your pussy. He licks and sucks at your clit with the sole purpose of making you cum hard. And your entire body sings with ecstasy.

He eases his index finger inside of your wet heat and you whimper at the intrusion. He searches for that spongy patch inside of you that has your back surging upward. Zayne coaxes more of your arousal out of you with his tongue on your clit and his finger massaging the soft walls of your cunt. You feel strange, like you need release, but you’re almost terrified. Your thighs close around Zayne’s head and he groans into your sex. The sound vibrates through you until you’re a quivering mess.

Zayne blindly reaches for one of your hands and squeezes. He licks and kisses you as you cum on his beautiful face with a loud cry of his name. He laps up as much of your essence as he can, and you twitch and whine all the while.

Your back falls onto the mattress once you come down from your high, the first orgasm that someone else has ever given you. You lift yourself up on your elbows to get a better look at him. He kisses your thighs, your hip bones, back up along your stomach so earnestly.

Zayne settles himself over you again and now pumps two of his long, elegant fingers inside of you. They curl against your sweet spot with the skill and precision of a surgeon, and you moan his name. When his thumb swipes at your clit you cum for him again, still so sensitive from your last climax. He kisses you through it. The taste of yourself is a little strange, but you don’t hate it. You deepen the kiss as you cum around his fingers. You didn’t think you could cum again so quickly, but Zayne is nothing if not efficient.

He removes his fingers from you so he can lay in between your twitching thighs. He rolls his clothed hips into your bare ones, and you meet his thrusts readily. The friction of his pants against your clit makes you feel delirious. Enough to remember what you had first asked of him.

“Zayne,” you sigh as he moves to kiss your cheek, your jaw, your neck. “Do you have a condom?”

He exhales against your ear; you just barely hold in a whimper.

“No, unfortunately. I haven’t had a need for them before now…I suppose we’ll have to reschedule,” he says, but makes no move to pull away from you.

“No! It’s ok!” You wince at your frantic tone. Way to go, Desperate. “I, um, grabbed a handful from the resource center before you came here. They’re in my bag.”

While he had thoughtfully replenished your stash of candy, you had shoveled way too many condoms into your backpack only an hour after your lunch date with him. Now he’ll probably think you're some sex-crazed degenerate or something. How embarrassing.

Regardless, you feel a teeny, tiny thrill at the knowledge that he doesn’t have any on him.

Zayne nods, presses one lingering kiss to your lips and goes to retrieve a condom from your backpack. You feel even more embarrassed when he returns with one embossed with a heart and the words ‘wrap it before you tap it.’ He doesn’t seem to pay much attention to that, however. Zayne removes his pants and his boxer briefs. His hard cock springs up against his abs and your mouth waters at the sight of it. Long and flushed and too pretty, you think. He settles back into bed, kneels in between your spread legs and tears the wrapper open.

You watch, wide eyed, as he rolls the latex over the glistening head and down the length of his cock. He lines himself up with your stretched entrance and makes eye contact with you. Despite the heat pulsing through your veins, you shiver. This does not go unnoticed.

“Anxious?” Zayne asks. He runs his fingers up and down your arm. Slow touches that soothe your frayed nerves. A reassurance, a reminder that he won’t let you feel anything you wouldn’t absolutely enjoy.

“Only a little,” you admit, “but I trust you more than anyone, so I think I’m more excited than anything.”

Zayne smiles down at you, small and sweet. You feel even more shy now.

“You know we can stop at any time,” he says even though his cock is straining against the condom. “You need only tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

You place a hand on his smooth cheek and smile up at him. His breath leaves him on a shaky exhale.

“I know that Zayne. Thank you. But I think I’m ready now.”

There’s a slight discomfort. A foreign pressure, a pinch, that he lets you acclimate to. There’s so much tension in his body as a result. You can’t help but feel endeared by how considerate he is of you always. Especially now.

He places his palm on your belly, and you jolt.

“Try to relax your muscles,” he says.

You slow your breaths, try to do as he says until the fullness of his cock feels less invasive, almost comforting. You focus on the intimacy of this moment, of your bodies connecting. Of him being the first person to ever give you pleasure of any kind.

“Mmm, good, just like that,” he groans. Who knew a voice could get you so hot. And not just his voice, those green eyes of his. He stares down at you so intensely you feel like you’ll melt into a puddle.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you ask meekly.

“You’re beautiful,” he states as certainly as he would a fact.

You hide your face behind your hands and whine for him to stop. Zayne laughs lowly and pulls your hands away.

“You helped me accept a compliment earlier,” he says, kisses one wrist. “And even teased me for being nervous.” A kiss to the other. He rests them on the back of his neck and regards you with an almost mischievous smile.

“Now it’s my turn to return the favor. Say ‘thank you’.”

Your chest is heaving. You can’t believe how seductive he’s being. And so effortlessly, too. Where did this side of him come from?

He lowers his face into your neck and all the air in the room vanishes when he kisses it.

“Won’t you accept my compliment? Or should I continue to tell you how lovely I find you? Say that your beauty is beyond measure? That you are my greatest treasure.”

Zayne lightly sucks on your pulse point. How does he expect you to speak? You can hardly function as is.

“I’m not nearly as patient as you think I am.” He nips at your neck, and you tense up.

“Thank you!” you yelp.

You feel his lips pull into a grin. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it? Or should I give you more compliments so you can practice?”

“Y-you can move now!”

Zayne kisses under your ear before he pulls his hips back and slowly grinds into you. His pelvis meets your sticky clit every time your bodies meet. He thrusts into you until your moans and sighs fill the humid air between you both.

You experimentally squeeze around his cock as he pulls away from you and he moans in concert with you.

“Did you want to see my like this?” he asks, voice hoarse as his cock pushes deeper into you. You arch up against him, your nipples grazing his chest. Zayne dips his head to take one of your pebbled nipples into his mouth again, sucking and biting at it affectionately. You wrap your legs around his trim waist and try to pull him even closer to you. He’s making you feel so good that you can hardly stand it. All you can focus on is Zayne. The way he fits so perfectly between your legs, the feel of his biceps under your hands. His crisp, clean scent sends your eyes rolling into the back of your head. You want even more of him.

You bury your hands in his hair, thick silk between your fingers, and tug. Zayne pulls off your breast with a wet pop and kisses you. He plasters his chest to yours as he rolls his hips into you. Your walls tighten up around him and he grits out your name. He wraps his arms around your waist tight and fucks into you so deep that you swear you see stars. So bright that you clench your eyes shut as pleasure takes hold of your whole body. It’s an ecstasy like no other.

“I love you, Zayne. I love you,” you babble mindlessly as you cum harder than before.

Zayne moans and ruts into your body erratically, desperately, until he seizes up and cums with you. Maybe you’re too caught up in the romantic atmosphere you accidentally created– sultry love ballads and low lighting–but you almost wish he had painted your walls instead of the condom.

He looks ethereal as pleasure contorts and relaxes his features, his muscles. Zayne takes your face between his hands and kisses you hungrily. Like he’ll never have another opportunity to. You’ll make damn sure that’s not the case.

"I adore you,” he says before he steals another kiss and your breath along with it. You both grip and pull at the other as if you could get any closer. You want to nestle in the marrow of his bones, dwell in the cavern of his heart.

“I want you to be mine. Only mine,” you whisper between kisses.

“I have always been yours. Only ever yours.”

#lads zayne #zayne love and deepspace #lnds zayne #l&ds zayne #love and deepspace #love and deepspace smut #lads smut #l&ds smut #lnds smut #love and deep space fic #zayne x reader #lads zayne x reader #lads zayne x mc #lads zayne x you #zayne my beloved #lads x reader #love and deepspace x reader #zayne smut #banner by cafekitsune

500 notes · View notes

goodboysweatertm · 4 days ago

Text

all's fair in love and medicine

Michael "Robby" Robinavitch x F!Doctor!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Dr. Robby teases you with some well aimed dirty talk before work and the two of you struggle to keep the building sexual tension from revealing your relationship while on the clock.

Word Count: 5,053

Warnings/Tags: Established Relationship, Vaginal Fingering, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, No condom but reader has an IUD don't worry, Dirty Talk, "Good Girl" is used liberally, Praise Kink, Slight Degradation Kink, Breast Play, Aftercare, one single spank

Not Beta Read

Note: Expressive Aphasia = a neurological condition where individuals struggle to produce language, even though they understand it.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Torture. That’s how you would describe this shift.

Usually, you get lost in it. The never ending ebb and flow of the emergency department. A wave that carries you from one patient to the next, from one test of your knowledge and skills to another.

But today, all you can think about is what Robby whispered to you this morning when you were still half-asleep and tangled up in each other.

“Be a good girl today and I’ll fuck you so good tonight.”

It rattles around your skull as you walk between trauma rooms, as you sit at a computer charting, when you stop to take a sip of water. The silky grate of his sleep-ridden voice. The warm press of his lips on the slope of your neck. And the heat of his hard body leaving you cold and wanting in bed when he so viciously got up to start the coffee machine.

The seconds feel like minutes, the minutes like hours. There’s a hum beneath your skin, a coiling tension that seems to build and build no matter how hard you try to throw yourself into your work.

Because he’s always there. His dark eyes finding yours across the room. The electric trail of his fingertips sliding across your back as you pass each other on the way to opposite trauma rooms. The stifling heat of his presence beside you as you assess a new patient.

You’ve always worked so well together. Both of you are so quickly able to leave your relationship at the door, to focus on the work. Today, however, you can hardly think of anything but getting home and jumping his bones.

A couple hours into the shift he has the absolute gall to ask you, “You doing okay? You seem a little tense.”

As if he isn’t the reason you feel like crawling out your own skin. Or shoving him into the nearest on-call room and having your way with him. But you can’t do either and so you settle on giving him a taste of his own medicine.

You lean in close, closer than you should out in the open of the ER like this. And you whisper, sickly sweet, “I’m being a good girl, aren’t I?”

You pull away from Robby, and look up at him with the most innocent eyes you can muster. The change in his demeanor is instantaneous and almost imperceptible. He’s hyper aware of the fact that you're surrounded by watchful eyes and yet he can’t help but be affected. You can see it in the rigidity of his spine, the slight tick of his jaw.

You don’t even give him the chance to respond, turning on your heel and away from the nurses’ station. His hand reaches for you before he can stop it, before he remembers himself. You feel Robby’s eyes boring into your back as you stride down the hallway, turning over your shoulder for a brief moment before the hall bends to find him standing exactly where you left him.

The next time you see each other is in the heat of a code. You’re climbing on top of the hospital bed, focused solely on the rhythm of your compressions. The room is a flurry around you and Robby breezes into the chaos to ask what he can do to help. But you’ve got it under control. The patient’s stats are rising, rhythm returning to that steady and all too familiar beep. There’s a chorus of exhales and nurses and doctors shuffle out and onto the next.

Robby reaches over to help you down from your position straddled on the bed, the warmth of his hands seeping through the sharp cotton of your scrubs. Before you know it, you're the only other people left in the room. A now stable patient seemingly in the hands of two very capable doctors.

Save for an unconscious woman, it's the first time you’ve been alone since you arrived to work this morning. At separate entrances and 8 minutes apart, like always.

The quiet of the room is deafening. You wonder if he can hear the pounding of your heartbeat. Neither of you say anything, the air thick with want.

You’re standing too close but you don’t move. You don’t dare look at his face, eyes focused on the string of his hoodie that trails down his chest. Scared of what you might do, what he might do now that you’re alone.

Robby fingers the hem of your scrub top and laughs, but there’s no humor in it.

“You’re not playing fair,” he grits out. You bite your lip but don’t say anything. He fists the hem of your top now and pulls you closer to him.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice low and dark. Your eyes snap to his, spine alight with anticipation. You know that voice and what it means. As much as his words read like a command, you can see the pure desperation in eyes. He’s a man hanging on by a very thin thread.

“I’m not the one who started the game,” you bite back. Raising your chin and baring your neck in the process. An invitation, a supplication.

Robby’s hand releases your top and presses into your waist, trailing upwards until it rests just beneath your bra. So close and yet so far from where you want it. You open your mouth, a plea on the tip of your tongue when Dana bursts in.

“Incoming trauma. Two teenagers pulled out of a burning building,” she calls out.

You’re angled away from the door and you know that she can’t see where Robby’s hand rests. But she can see how close you stand and you can hear the mirth in her voice at finding you both in this position.

“We’ll be right there,” Robby responds, his eyes never leaving your face. The door swings shut behind her and his jaw ticks as he shakes his head. He steps back and massages the bridge of his nose for a moment. When he opens his eyes once again they’re burning hot with need.

“You’re killing me,” he whispers. His hands placed on his hips to keep himself from reaching out for you again.

“How do you think I feel?” you ask, shifting between your feet. Wanting to move closer and further away at the same time. The decision is made for you when a stampede of nurses and doctors pass by the door, pulling you from the quiet tension of the room and back into the fray.

It’s not until there’s only two hours left in the shift that you actually have a chance to think again. And of course Robby is there to fill every open millimeter in your mind. You stand on opposite sides of the nurses’ station and he hasn’t quite noticed your arrival, stuck in conversation with an intern.

The doctor turns to go and Robby reaches his hands up to clasp them, bending his arms at the elbows so his fists rest between his shoulder blades for a deep stretch. The movement causes his sweatshirt and scrub top to ride up, revealing the skin of his soft lower belly and the wiry happy trail that disappears into his cargo pants.

Your mind goes blank, flashes white hot with pure desire. You absent-mindedly lick your lips and when you finally tear your eyes away to his face, you find he’s already looking at you. You’re caught.

His eyes are unreadable but dark and Robby all but prowls around the station to reach you. He relaxes his back against the counter beside you, one arm bent to rest on the vinyl surface and the other one, the one closer to you, hangs down between your bodies.

There’s a beat of silence before he speaks. His voice is low, and his words burn through you.

“I don’t know if you’re being good enough, honey,” he murmurs. Just barely loud enough for you to hear over the room around you.

You try not to react and you think you’re successful besides the way your knees wobble for a brief second. You think maybe you’re delirious and the shift is getting to you because he couldn’t possibly be saying this to you right here, right now. But Robby continues.

“I was gonna make you come on my tongue at least twice before I gave you my cock. But now, now I’m not so sure,” he says, voice as even and neutral as if he was telling you his lunch order. He doesn’t look at you and you don’t look at him.

You gulp and your lips part but no words come out. He fills the silence anyways.

“Maybe you shouldn’t get to come tonight,” he whispers. “I’m not sure you deserve it after you’ve had me half-hard this entire shift.”

Your eyes flash to his at that and you swear you can see glowing embers in his irises. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from begging.

“Maybe I won’t even touch you,” Robby rumbles. “Make you watch as I—”

Your hand darts out to grab his wrist so fast it’s almost a reflex. Nearly your entire body is tense now. The thought of spending the night without his touch to ease the tension that has been building for hours is too much for your fried brain to handle.

“Robby,” you grit out. “Please. ”

The corner of his mouth quirks up, self-satisfaction evident in his face.

“Ah there she is,” his voice carries praise now. “Guess my good girl came to work after all.”

The words wash over you like honey, the sparking fire in your belly replaced by warm, ambling lava. Your shoulders finally relax and Robby’s hand pulls his wrist from your grip so that he can interlace your fingers and squeeze. After a second they slip away.

Your eyes narrow at him.

“You, Doctor, are inhibiting my work,” you admonish now that the moment has passed.

His grin is full and he pushes off the counter with his palms up as a peace offering.

“Guilty as charged,” he admits as he backs away.

You pick up your discarded tablet and try to remember what you were looking for when Robby interrupted. After a moment, Dana comes to stand in front of you.

“What was that all about?” she questions, eyebrows quirked over her glasses.

“Oh, just discussing a patient,” you lie through your teeth, hoping she can’t see the way your skin still burns.

“Sure kid,” Dana relents, a knowing smile on her face. “Whatever you say.”

She departs, fielding questions as a couple of residents return from their patients. You blow a deep breath out and glance at the clock. 1 hour 53 minutes left in the shift. You roll your shoulders. You can do this.

The promise of sweet relief finally comes in the form of Jack Abbott marching through the emergency department doors. His arrival means that shift change is thankfully upon you, and not a minute too soon.

The night shift shuffles in behind him, their rested and renewed faces a stark contrast to the dozen or so hours you and all your fellow day-shifters wear.

You make your way to the nurses station to return your tablet and find Robby and Abbott embraced in what can only be described as a “bro hug.” As you put the device back on the charger you overhear the two talking.

“Okay, so that’s all for me. I’ll see you in 12,” Robby finishes recapping the shift. You can almost hear the way he shoves his hands into his zip-up pockets from his voice alone.

“You’re eager to get out of here,” Abbott remarks, and as you turn around you see the way his eyes dart between you and Robby. “Got a hot date or something?”

Robby looks over to meet your gaze for a moment, and you see the promise of what’s to come in them.

“Something like that,” he laughs, taut and almost painful, as you turn and make a beeline for the locker room.

You’re practically shoving your belongings into your tote, suddenly filled with renewed energy despite the draining shift you’ve endured. Robby enters the room as you’ve just about finished and doesn’t even check to see if he has everything in his backpack, just pulls it from the locker and slams the door shut.

In an uncharacteristic move, you make your way out of the emergency department together, forgoing the usual staggered exit by unspoken agreement. You’re so close your fingers brush with nearly every step but you don’t dare move further apart. You think the effort of doing so might actually kill you.

The silence between you stretches all the way to the car. Both of you a razor-thin edge away from losing control and knowing that if you break now, there’s no way you would make it out of this parking lot without scandalizing at least a couple of your coworkers.

Robby still opens the passenger door for you and slips your tote off your shoulder to place it in the backseat with his backpack as he always does.

The car ride is silent too, the quiet before the storm. At a red light you lock eyes and can’t help but smile at each other. He leans over to press a kiss to your forehead. A tender moment in the eye of the hurricane.

When you finally make it home, he carries your bags up the steps as you unlock the front door. The buzzing under your skin returns in full force now. Sweet anticipation crawls up your spine as you watch him hang your things in the entryway.

“Shower,” Robby bites out, breaking the tenuous quiet. He takes a step towards you.

“Alone,” you add and he stops, his eyes nearly begging. You know what will happen if you take one together and you want him in the warmth of your bed. For hours.

“Don’t even think about deep conditioning, Robinavitch,” you warn him and he struggles to bite back a smile as he scratches the back of his neck. You want, no need , to wash off the day but that doesn’t mean you can wait a second longer than you absolutely have to.

“Yes ma’am,” he agrees and you take off in opposite directions through the house, grateful for the guest bathroom in a way you never have been before.

You’re clinical and efficient as you scrub your body in the shower, not even waiting for the water to warm to your preferred temperature before jumping in. You barely towel off and definitely don’t bother to squeegee the glass shower door before you make your way to your bedroom, a robe haphazardly tied around you.

Robby is already there, pacing in just a towel tied loosely around his waist. The outline of his cock pushes against the fabric, half-hard, just like he said. Your eyes flick up from his waistline and you don’t bother hiding the smirk on your face.

“Guess you weren’t kidding,” you tease and relish in the tightening of his jaw.

“Jesus,” he groans and shakes his head, “You think this is funny or something?”

He stalks towards you and his fingers tangle in the tie at your waist.

“Maybe a little,” you bait him, and he falls for it. Robby rips the robe open and off your shoulders. His considerable hands settle on the soft skin of your hips. He grips them and pushes you towards the bed, somehow gentle and insistent all at once as he lowers you down onto it.

He follows a rivulet of water as it cascades down the slope of your tit with his thumb and quickly follows another with his tongue, deviating course to trace your nipple. You can‘t help the gasp that escapes you, and your back arches, pushing your body towards his open mouth. He gruffs a laugh out against your skin and now his whole mouth closes around your nipple.

He pops off one tightened bud and places open mouthed kisses across your sternum to reach the other. He doesn’t dare leave either wanting, his palm massaging whichever is neglected by the wet heat of his mouth.

It’s too much and not enough at the same time. You’ve been aching for him all day and he’s barely scratching the surface of the pure need inside you. You try to reach for the towel, hoping getting him all the way naked might speed things up. But he just swats your hands away.

“Greedy,” Robby mocks into your chest. He pushes up from your body and you feel the loss of him keenly. You buck your hips up into his but it doesn’t sway him.

“Good girls know how to be patient,” he chides as his thumb leisurely trails across your abdomen.

“I need more Robby, please,” you whimper. You can’t control the shifting of your hips or the tight grip your fists have on the comforter beneath you.

His hand trails further down your body, two fingers finally sliding down to your cunt to swipe through the pleasure dripping from you.

“Oh she needs more does she?” Robby taunts. He can see your expression begin to shift before it even happens, that pout you get when he makes you wait. You’re on the edge and he can tell.

“Okay honey,” he says and he gives it to you. Thrusts two thick fingers into your pussy without any warning and watches from above as your body arches obscenely off the bed, a moan pulled from deep inside you. The pace he sets is unrelenting and it’s exactly what you need. His other hand comes up to grip the back of your neck, grounding you. You grip his wrist.

Without ceremony he adds another finger, not stopping to give you a moment to adjust. The burn is delicious, pushing you towards a long-awaited peak. He curls his fingers inside you.

“Fuck–uh–uh–uh,” you hiccup. “Yes. ”

“My fingers feel good, baby?” he asks, breathless right alongside you.

You nod your head and don’t stop as his thumb moves to circle your clit. It’s the final push you need, your climax fast approaching.

“Was I good?” you whimper, thighs pressing together around his hand inside you. “Are you gonna let me come?”

You’re not sure you could stop it even if you tried but you don’t have to worry. Robby’s pace picks up, somehow, and the thumb on your clit presses down harder.

“Perfect,” he whispers, reverent. “You’re perfect.”

And that sends you over the edge. Robby swallows your scream with his mouth, your kisses messy and tactless but filled with aching passion. He keeps his rhythm through the aftershocks, working you through it as the pulses around his fingers taper out.

He pulls away from your mouth with a final press of his lips and you pant into the warm air. His fingers slide out of you with a squelch and you whimper at the loss. Robby brings his fingers to his mouth, eyes closing as his lips do, as if savoring the taste.

You hum and your arms reach out for him but his mouth moves down your body, like he’s searching for more, for the source of you. He’s gentle as he bends your legs to rest your feet on the bed, settling between your open thighs with his wrists around your ankles. He descends on your cunt without preamble. His mouth moves between your clit and your hole with ease and precision. It feels good, amazing, but it’s not what you want.

“No, baby, ” you cry out through the pleasure. “I want you.”

Robby doesn’t stop. His tongue curls into you, around your clit.

“I’m right here,” he murmurs when he comes up for air. His eyes peer up at you as his mouth continues its assault.

You push up onto your elbows and reach a hand down to thread through his hair. You tug his head back, pulling him off of your dripping pussy, mouth still hanging open and beard slick with you.

“No,” you command. “Inside me.”

That gets Robby moving, wiping your slick from his mouth on the inside of your thighs as he moves his body up yours. Your feet push at his towel, unraveling it from around him. He tosses it to the ground, careless.

He settles his weight over you. His lips press into your collarbone, into the slope of your neck, across the apple of your check. Finally he kisses you fully, deeply. The taste of you remains on his tongue.

There’s a shift of Robby’s hips as he notches his thick head into your aching hole and then he’s pressing inside. Wide and heavy, and almost too much to bear even with the slick that eases his entry. The inches keep coming, stretching you open in a way that feels indecent.

When you’ve finally taken every delicious inch and the tip of him presses into that spongy spot inside you, his head collapses into the juncture of your neck.

“So fucking good,” he mumbles into your taut skin.

You wiggle your hips, searching for more. His hands press them down into the bed with a huff. You whine and Robby lifts his head to find your eyes.

“Just give me a sec,” he pleads, completely undone by the feel of you. You’d be smug about the fact that he’s struggling not to come from just pushing inside you if you could feel anything beyond the raw and unadulterated stretch of him.

You’re trying to be patient but every second he’s not moving makes it harder and harder not to chase the pleasure that simmers beneath your skin. You sneak your hand down between your bodies to circle your clit. You get maybe two desperate swipes before Robby shoves your hand away and pulls out of you.

He thrusts back into you so hard and fast you think you might actually see stars. The noise that leaves your mouth sounds inhuman even to your own ears.

“Nu-uh honey,” Robby tuts, as he sets a pace that has you gasping with every thrust.

“Mine.”

The word is gritted through his teeth. Your hands come up to grip his biceps. Your nails dig into the thick muscle, looking for something to ground you.

“You just lie back and be good,” he rumbles. The words send warmth rushing through you. You can do that. You can be good for him.

Your hands glide across his shoulders, down his chest, and to his back. You pull his body closer to yours. The friction between your nipples and the hard and hairy lines of his chest sends sparks of pleasure coursing through you.

You’re almost at the peak of another orgasm and he can feel it with the way your walls are beginning to close in around his aching dick. Robby’s hand hooks under your right knee and hoists it up and past your hip, pressing it into the mattress and opening you up even more for him.

It feels ridiculously good and the sensation of being so stretched open has you babbling. A string of whiny pleases and whimpering moans followed by a singular plea.

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop.”

Robby’s thumb traces over the knee he holds hostage. His tender and soft touch, a juxtaposition to the way his cock slams into you.

“Wasn’t planning on it, sweetheart,” he teases and leans down to kiss the furrow between your brows.

Your orgasm explodes through you, feet kicking out and head tossed back with the sensation. Robby’s pace doesn't let up, just carries you through the waves of pleasure washing over you. Only when he’s wrung out every last squeeze of your cunt does he slow to a stop inside you.

He peppers kisses across your cheeks and nose and forehead as you pant and return back to your body. His tongue darts out to cull the droplets of sweat gathering at your hairline. Your moans are content as you bask in the afterglow.

“Good?” Robby asks as he noses at your ear.

You nod and mumble an affirmation.

“Soooooo good,” you sigh, words slurring.

He chuckles and suddenly you’re reminded of the fact that he’s still rock hard inside you.

“That’s my girl. I’m not done with you yet,” he rumbles as he pulls out of you, sticky and wet.

You whine. Didn’t he just say he wasn’t done with you.

Robby shushes you and he’s careful as he maneuvers you over and onto your knees. A warm palm on your back pushes your chest into the bed and you settle your cheek on a cool patch of sheets. Your spine stretches out as you relax into this new position.

“Just like that, baby,” Robby groans, settling behind you with a grip on your hips. “I’ve been waiting for this all fucking day.”

“Yeah? All day?” you ask, mirth back in your voice as you turn over your shoulder to look at him.

His jaw ticks and he presses his hard cock against the curve of your ass.

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” he grits out.

“Actually,” you taunt as you push back against his cock. “I think you’re the one who’s a pain in my aa –”

Your banter is cut short as Robby pushes into your wet and waiting cunt. You think you should be used to it by now but the stretch of him always catches you by surprise, has white hot bliss spreading through you like wildfire.

“That’s what I thought,” he hisses as he pumps in and out of you. “All I gotta do is put my cock in you and you can’t even speak.”

You try to respond but all that comes out is a gurgle of moans. He picks up his pace and his thrusts have you moving up the bed a couple inches.

“Guess I should have done this when you were mouthing off to me at central,” he huffs, panting with the effort of the tempo he’s set.

“Asking me if you were a good girl in front of the entire ER.” His palm comes down with a smack across your ass.

You keen and push back to meet his thrusts.

“Bet you would have liked that,” he laughs. “Come on baby, tell me what we look for when a patient presents with expressive aphasia.”

Is he seriously fucking quizzing you right now? That smug bastard. Your brain struggles for the answer. It’s on the tip of your tongue but every time you get close to the answer his cock hits that spot inside you that has your brain going blank.

“R-Robby, I can’t…I don’t–” you whimper into the bedsheets.

“I know, honey,” he coos from above you. “Maybe you’ll remember how much of a mess my cock makes you next time you want to be such a fucking tease at work.”

You clamp your cunt down around him. He grunts and his pace stutters.

“You s-started it,” you cry out. You squeeze around him again.

Robby’s tempo turns erratic and you know he’s close. You can feel yourself riding the edge of a third orgasm and you want him to come with you. You know just how to get him there.

“Dr. Robby,” you plead, voice breathy and sweet. You feel the way his fingertips dig into the plush skin of your lower back. “I want you to come inside me.”

He moans, breathes out a trail of curses. The way you say his name like that, the way you beg for his cum when you know it drives him fucking wild. Robby can no longer think of anything else.

“Please. I need it.” you beg.

With a final, brutal thrust his orgasm slams into him, and you shatter right alongside him. He spills deep inside you, warm cum coaxed from his impossibly hard cock by the fluttering of your tight cunt. Your name is a stuttered moan on his tongue.

He collapses on top of you, teeth finding purchase in your shoulder as you float back down to earth together. Robby eases his bite with a soft press of his lips and he’s tender as he rolls you onto your sides together. His hand slides up from your hip to splay across your belly and he nuzzles into the back of your neck.

You both hum when Robby slips his softening cock from you, his spend spilling out and down your thighs. He pulls you back into him as you stretch your legs out beneath you.

After your heart rates settle, Robby pushes up from the bed and stumbles into the bathroom. Knowing that if he’s done his job right, and he has, you won’t be able to walk over there by yourself just yet.

Warm and sated, you hear the tap run. And then he’s back, sliding a warm washcloth between your legs. You sigh at the care with which he cleans you, all the delicacy and precision of the incredible doctor you know him to be.

He settles back onto the bed beside you and pulls a blanket over your intertwined bodies. You nestle into Robby’s chest and his hands come to thread through your still damp hair, brushing it out behind you.

“I’m way too old to be trying to hide a boner at work,” he laughs into your hairline. You giggle and pull back so you can look in his beautiful, brown eyes.

“And whose fault is that, hmm?” you tease and the corners of his mouth quirk up. His thumb comes up to trace along your cheek. He leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips.

“I wish I could say I was sorry,” Robby smiles, “but fuck baby, you drive me crazy.”

“Ditto, old man,” you agree and he rolls his eyes. “Next time, save it for a day off, or at least shift change.”

He grins and pulls you closer.

“Yes doctor, right away doctor,” he sighs, always the theatric, in between kisses across your face. Now it's your turn to roll your eyes.

Bliss. That’s how you’d describe this post-sex cuddle in the bed you share.

Thank you for reading! This work is also posted on AO3

dr. robby save me.

...dr.robby.

save me dr. robby.

#michael “robby” robinavitch x reader #dr robby x reader #dr robby smut #michael robinavitch smut #dr robby x you #michael robinavitch x reader

432 notes · View notes

slttygeto · 2 months ago

Text

Gojo (Name) & Gojo Satoru Take A Couple’s Quiz | GQ

pairing: actor! satoru x singer! fem! reader

genre: fluff, slightly suggestive towards the end.

note: its been a whiiiile

📊 Video Stats

12M views | 200K likes | 35K comments

The set that your team had picked for this specific interview had a welcoming vibe to it. A living room set up, with a long creamy beige couch and matching armchairs facing one another. Separating the two was a round dark wooden table, with beautiful pink, yellow and white tulips threatening to spill out of their vase.

Before the camera starts rolling, you sit on one of the chairs whilst another person shuffles to take a seat on the other.

No pressure, just have fun

“Hi, I’m (Name),” you lean back in your seat, waving at the camera.

“And I’m Satoru,” the tall white haired man casts you a knowing look, and then you both speak.

“This is the GQ’s Couple’s Quiz.”

One would debate whether or not the latest single from an artist is their Hit song, or if the upcoming movie of a certain actor will have a good roll-out with all the promotion it was getting. But if there was anything the industry agreed on, it was the fact that you and Satoru were THE it couple.

Not just of the year, or the previous or even three years prior—you have been together for more than a decade, and the fact that you kept most of your relationship off the spotlight meant that this interview was a big deal to both of your fans.

Whilst Satoru was a famous, well respected actor in the industry who started out at a very young age, you had chosen singing as your career path. The two occupations rarely ever came together unless it was for fashion week or any other major event like the Oscars or the Met Gala. However, you were very proud to admit that you met your husband under adorable circumstances.

“Who should start?” You grab the cards from the round table and your husband gestures towards you with his left hand, making sure to flash his wedding ring at the camera.

“After you madame,” he makes an exaggerated bow and you snort.

“Oh wow, what a gentleman.” You say jokingly and he grins as he leans back in his seat.

You shuffle through the cards, deciding which question to go for first. You trusted your husband, you knew that there wasn’t anything he didn’t know about you. But it was fun to test his knowledge once in a while.

“Oh this is a good question,” you clear your throat. “Dear husband, how old was I when I knew that I wanted to be a singer.”

The white haired male answers almost immediately.

“4 years old.”

You giggle as you clap your hands. “Good job! You’ll get an extra point if you say which song I sang that made me fall in love with singing.”

Satoru pretends to be stretching, looking around the filming crew with a raised eyebrow. “Y’all see that? She’s making up her own rules as we go.”

And the crew laughs when you gasp, hitting him lightly with your cards. “Just answer! I’m giving you extra points.”

“I have nothing by Whitney Houston.” He says without missing a beat before covering his mouth and mumbling to the camera. “A little too ambitious, might I add.”

“Satoru!”

The two of you share a laugh and Satoru raises his hands to show that he surrenders, grabbing the back of your hand to kiss it. “Just kidding, you sound amazing.”

A decade and two kids later, the man still makes you blush like a highschooler.

“Okay, next question—oh I like this one!” You turn to the GQ team with a big smile. “You guys really took into consideration all of my questions.”

“And I’ll get it right this time.”

“We’ll see about that,”

Satoru sees the glint in your eyes and for a split second, his eyes land on your lips before locking with yours again.

“What outfit was I wearing when we first met?” You hide your face with the question cards, kicking your feet slightly as you watch the wheels in his head turn.

“Wait–”

“I knew you wouldn’t remember!”

“I do!” Satoru quickly jumps to defend himself. “Ugh, I’m just hesitant about the colors because it was literally sunset.”

It was sunset when you first met?

The two of you quickly realize Satoru’s slip, but neither of you is upset about it. All you do is nod before Satoru reaches towards you, grabbing your knee.

“This woman right here–”

“Satoru,” you warn him, but it’s harmless. You’re not actually angry, but you are wondering if it was actually time to share such a significant detail about your story together.

“Stood right in front of the sunset while I was trying to take a picture.” He squeezes your knee as he continues. “At first I was a little annoyed and half wondering ‘who the hell is that?’ and the other half recognized her.”

You hide your hot face with the cards.

“Then when I went to look at the picture I took, it was literally magical. She turned around when I said ‘excuse me?’ and my camera had caught the exact moment when she turned her head.”

A synchronized “awwww” echoed through the studio as you tried to calm your beating heart.

And you just happened to be on vacation together?

“Yeah, we didn’t even know. We only found out because of that picture.”

“And the rest is history,” your left hand, adorned with a gorgeous wedding ring, slowly finds his and you squeeze it.

After a couple of questions, it’s time for Satoru to be the one quizzing you. And he seems to be very excited about it.

“Alright,” he fixes the cards on his lap with a wide grin, casting you a knowing look. “You know what time it is.”

“It’s quiz timeee,” you say half enthusiastically and Satoru throws his head back as he laughs.

“You don’t sound excited at all!”

“I am! I just want to win!”

Satoru smirks before shuffling through the cards. “And maybe you will,”

“Please, you’re so competitive you don’t let your own sons win.”

The filming crew share a laugh and Satoru pretends to be offended as he places a hand on his chest. “Accusations!”

“Yeah yeah,” you wave your hands at him. “Go ahead.”

“Alright question number one,” he holds the card up to his face before clearing his throat. “I have always known that I wanted to be an actor, what was my very first project eve–”

“Jujutsu middle school art class project!” You answer loudly, almost jumping off your seat. “You were 12, had just purchased a camera and your teacher asked you to film something that inspired you. He didn’t expect you to include yourself acting in the video, and you ended up using it as your auditioning tape for your first official project ever.”

You give such a detailed answer that Satoru can’t help but lean in and kiss you all over your face while you squeal.

“My wife ladies and gentlemen,”

“You’re so cheesy,” you laugh as he leans back in his seat.

“Next question!” He shuffles through the cards again before finally landing on a good question. “What is my favorite album of yours?”

“Oh god,” you cover your face with your hands. “I know the answer, but it feels almost self-centered to bring up my music into this.”

Your husband lightly smacks your head with the cards and you chuckle lightly. “I know it’s my third studio album.”

He points towards the camera with a knowing grin. “Tell the audience why.”

And at first you hesitate, your face getting hotter and your hands clammy and sweaty. But eventually you give in with a nervous giggle. “..because you were in the studio with me when I was writing most of the songs.”

Your husband claps his hands, smirking at the camera knowingly. “If you know, you know.”

“You’re unbelievable!”

🗨️ Top Comments

💬 [satoruthestrongest]: GET A ROOOOOOM (2.3K likes)

💬 [somuchtosay]: time to relisten to the album…if you know what I mean (5k likes)

💬 [onehastogo]: I literally felt like I was thirdwheeling the entire time (7,3K likes) 💬 [(name)ntoru]: I have never in my life been so invested in a couple’s healthy relationship like theirs (1.8K likes)

💬 [sweetnsourchicken] replied to [(name)ntoru]: me too its actually concerning

💬 [alltheavocadoes]: the way she scolds him but he makes her nervous at the same time????(923 likes) 💬 [albumoftheyear]: satoru looks like he’s plotting baby number 3 with those looks (508 likes) 💬 [cmontryme]: the only couple ever (392 likes)

2025 © all works belong to @slttygeto. do not repost, translate or steal any of my works.

#moon's works #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #jujutsu gojo #jjk gojo #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk x you

1K notes · View notes

neontiger · 2 months ago

Text

shelter

♡ jason todd x reader

♡ fluffy angst. Jason Todd questions his ability to love and be loved.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

There was a time when you could sleep through the night sounds without stirring - every siren, every shout from the sidewalk, every blaring alarm rolled off your body without so much as a toe twitch.

Nothing was the same anymore. Not since Jason had entered, since you discovered what he did at night, who he was. Now you heard the mice in the walls and the wind on the glass. Always hanging off some precipice, always wondering, asking. Tonight?

Was it worth it? Mostly.

So it's a restless sleep you're pulled from when your phone rings. It jerks you into a sitting position and has your heart punching bruises against your rib cage, your hand reaching to the nightstand to answer before it stops.

One deep breath, to calm your heart, though it doesn't have the desired effect. Your voice still trembles. "Hello?"

"Hey. Did I wake you up?"

Jason sounds the same. His voice is always rougher behind the mask, but the image of him in your head has him without it. Somewhere alone in the darkness of Gotham. You imagine an alley; you don't really know where he goes on these nighttime patrols.

"No," you lie. Your eyes dart to the television, asking if you're still watching? "I was a watching a movie. Where are you?"

He grunts, a noncommittal noise meant to be the answer you're looking for. "I didn't mean to. Sorry."

"It's fine anyway, Jay. I don't mind you waking me." You settle back against the pillows. Habit keeps the spot on the side of the window open for him. "Are you coming over tonight?"

"I don't know."

His words, their tone, wash over you like ice water. Fixing the blanket over your shoulders does nothing. But you don't ask, don't overstep the boundaries he keeps around himself. Don't know how yet.

You're not imagining him right.

Not an alley. He's in an apartment. It's trashed, holes in the fabric of the couch, mold on the walls, trash scattered across the floor. Aside from him, there are two others, a woman and a child. He doesn't know them, but he hurts for them: she's blissed out on some new drug, and the kid's asleep without a care or the knowledge of where the night had taken Jason, or why that even matters to a kid like him. He doesn't know the mistakes that have been made. Not until the sun rises.

He wants to believe it's everything that's happened to him, that's why he's so angry, why he sometimes feels like a million pieces of broken glass trying to fit together again. Why control feels like such a far-off thing, always out of reach. His hands react before the rest of him catch up, and he wants to act like it's everything else - his mother, his father, dying and coming back, Bruce - to blame.

Because if it's on him, then that means he has to be the one to admit it. He has to be the one to fix it.

"Jason." Your voice is soft, like a pillow against his ear. He's woken you up, he knows, and he hates himself for that. He shouldn't have called. Didn't want to talk anyway, but hearing you is fixing something inside him.

"Go back to bed," he says. "I have to take care of some things. You have work tomorrow?"

A little noise, hmm, from your pursed lips. He knows it, makes him smile. The woman nearby moans softly. "Maybe," you say. "Feeling like I might be getting sick, though. Maybe I should skip, just in case."

He's ruining you. Upending your life and throwing it off course, and how undeserving he was of that privilege. This needed an end. It would only get worse from here, and you would end up hating him, or dead.

That thought cuts like a light through the fog. Blinding. Consumes him, swirls in his skull. He looks up at the woman again, and how deserving he is of this scene - of this particular mess he's made, not even considering the kid in the other room who no longer has a father, soon won't have a family at all. Another life destroyed.

Can't destroy yours. This has to end and it has to be now. Better to be hated than speaking at your funeral.

Jason swallows. "I...we need to talk."

"Then come over," you say. "I miss you. I'm worried. You don't sound good."

The words don't come. He's not sure what to say.

"If something happened, you can tell me. Or not, if you're not feeling up to it. I'm not going to act like I understand or I know, like, the shit you do, but you need a space to talk, I'd like to be that space."

Again, he can't answer. He listens not just to your voice but to the sounds you make on the line: the bed complaining as you shift, the rustle of the blanket. And he decides, maybe not yet. Maybe a little longer.

Cruel, that. You deserve more. He can't give it.

"How much longer will you be?" You ask, as if this is the most normal thing.

"Might be morning before I get to you," Jason says. "Don't wait up."

You laugh, and he can't help but smile. "You're not the boss of me. Besides, I don't think I can fall back to sleep. Your fault. I'm not complaining though."

Just a little longer, then he'd figure out a clean break. "Alright. I'll try to be quick."

"Careful over quick, okay?"

"Yeah. Sure." His fingers tighten on his phone. There's words he wants to say but he knows he shouldn't, if only because it will make things worse in the end. "I'll see you soon."

"I'll be waiting. Be careful, Jay. I want you home."

Home. Was that you?

"I will. Go back to sleep," he says, again, for no reason. Bids you goodbye and hangs up finally to deal with the situation in front of him. More lives he's about to ruin.

•───────•°•❀•°•───────•

The sun is shaking sleep from her eyes by the time Jason makes it to you, appearing on your fire escape with a soft thud. The sound pulls you from your show, and you watch his grand entrance: prying open your window and slipping inside, still in uniform, mask and hood concealing his face. You leave the warmth of the bed to help him undress wordlessly, and retrieve from your closet clothes he's left here.

"Sorry I'm late." He tugs on a pair of sweatpants while you catefully arrange his uniform on the armchair by the window.

"Better late than never." You close the distance between the two of you, wrapping your arms around his waist before standing on tiptoes to kiss him. "Tired?"

He nods. "Long night."

That's all he'll tell you, and for now you have no option but to accept it. It's fine.

You wonder what he thinks, as he slips into bed with your, pulls the covers up and you into his arms. What goes through his head. Tonight, he smells like iron and gunpowder, like he does so many nights. Maybe that's part of it; there's things he's done he doesn't want forgiveness for. How do you deal with a man like that? One who sees himself in the most undeserving light?

It's confusing, and there were times to give it up, but those have long passed. Now his future is mapped on yours.

You brush your fingers lightly over the scar that cuts down the center of his abdomen. "I love you, Jason," you whisper, words light kisses to his neck.

He hugs you tighter. He won't say it, and that, too, is fine for now. There is always tomorrow, and there always will be.

In time, sleep will come for you both: you first, then Jason. But for now he lays awake, holding you as your lips part and eyes close, your body relaxing into exhaustion again. He thinks about too many things. Can't calm his thoughts.

But maybe there is tomorrow. Maybe for now, you can be his home.

#jason todd #red hood #dc comics #dc #jason todd x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x fem!reader #batfam #jason todd x you #jason todd fluff #jason todd angst #red hood x you #red hood x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x fem!reader #red hood fluff #red hood angst

391 notes · View notes

larcenywrites · 1 year ago

Text

For Love, We Sin the Most

Nightcrawler x Reader

Technically spoilers if you read any x-men anthology and haven't made it through second coming/ haven't read quest for nightcrawler. I don't get into many details or stay very canon anyway lol

Word count: 2,650

Summary: The resident catholic is having a hard time settling with the terms of his resurrection and just trying to feel again.

When Rachel frantically called on you to find Nightcrawler, you probably preferred to find him in battle, fighting demons. Luckily, on a Sunday morning, you knew exactly where to look first, creaking open the large wooden door just enough to pass through into the small lobby. The lights were off, but there was low singing from further inside. You would have proceeded to peek past that second set of doors, but the quick flick of blue that curled out from the sunlight and into the shadows nearby finished your investigation for you.

Well, you did, in fact, find him fighting demons.

This would normally be the part where you'd tease him about being terrible at hiding, but you didn't need to see his face to hold your tongue. Instead, you found a nearby panel of switches, flooding his side of the room in low light. Without the darkness, he could no longer blend and hide, but he didn't recoil. Hunched over, his hands were clasped together on his knees, and his tail tightly curled over his feet. You approached him wordlessly. You could tell he was focused but not on you, proven when he crossed himself right on cue. A cue you hardly heard yourself.

He continued to sit still for a few minutes. Obviously, he knew who stood before him. Otherwise he would have hid. Taking a deep breath, you placed a hand on his shoulder. "Shouldn't you be attending the service?" You asked softly.

"I," he finally choked out after several moments. "I'm not sure I am allowed to anymore." His words, although quiet, dripped with despair. For him, this welcoming foyer was his ancient narthex, created for those who weren't allowed into the sanctuary but still wished to listen to its sermon.

"Have you spoken to a Father about it?" Without further knowledge, you can only suggest a priest.

"And what would I say?" Kurt raised his voice in his anguish and grimaced at his own volume. "What would he say?" He tagged on, much quieter this time. He practically curled into himself as if he were cold. You sighed sadly at the sight, looking away. A small staircase in the corner caught your interest and gave you another idea. Reaching your hands down to his, you unfurled his hands from one another and took them into yours. At the gesture, he finally lifted his head to look at you. It took all you could not to take his sad face in your hands instead.

"I think he would tell you to come in," you reply in a gentle whisper. You smile down at him as you barely tug him towards you, convincing him to stand. When he finally does, you study him. His black blazer and black slacks, his white button-up shirt. A few top buttons were messily undone, but it only made him more handsome. Silently, with a hand in his, you led him up those wooden steps. Your intuition was right when they opened into a high balcony overlooking the inner room. That narrow gallery stretched against the wall was mostly dark, with only the tops of stained glass windows bleeding in light over the single row of benches. There was a reason someone like him chose such a dark, unpopulated church.

As you began to leave the doorway, deadweight stopped you in your tracks. Looking back, a pair of downcast yellow eyes glowed under the wooden arch. Naturally, he blended into the shadow. You came back to him, taking his other hand and settling between him and the wall. At the very least, maybe it would help for him to see this place again, you figured. You let him listen, watching him closely as he watched the floor.

And what a horrible day for a sermon about heaven.

"I saw it, you know," he barely spoke up, accent whispering like a snake. "Paradise." He said the word hauntingly, not with any grandeur nor remorse. He turned his head as he spoke, looking down at the alter, but he seemed distant. Perhaps in memory. The light of the window caught his eye and reflected brilliant pale yellow. In the darkness, the other was like fire.

"And yet you came back," you whispered back. Even you weren't quite sure what you meant by it, but he knew it wasn't merely an observation. Contemplating, he stared down into the room. The priest below continued, but you only wanted to hear whatever else Kurt had to say.

"There were many reasons I did what I did," he soon continued, still not looking at you. "Did it the way I did." He never told you the full story, not even Logan knew. You waited for more, but he didn't respond. He probably didn't want to talk about it—at least, not for another few minutes.

"I never thought that love would be my greatest sin," he finally said. "I wanted so badly to come back," he nearly sobbed, quickly putting his hand over his mouth to keep from interrupting the service below. He gathered himself for a few moments.

"To this place," he continued, "to my friends," he sighs before turning towards you, his fiery orbs still refusing to meet your gaze, "to you." Even when you cupped his cheek in your hand, his hand you left behind followed, fingers wrapping around your wrist. "That it would be greater than my love for God," he started but didn't finish when his voice began to rise again. By now he was rambling about things you hardly understood, but you hung on to every word.

"You said it yourself," you gently tease, more loving than lighthearted. "There is no love without sin." With a soft smile, your touch on his cheek stroked over the fur on his neck and drifted over what bare upper chest those undone buttons revealed. You knew you shouldn't, not here, but as his expression only grew more somber, you found yourself sliding your hand further, reaching the space above his heart for only a second before frantic yet gentle fingers pulled you away, afraid of what you'd find.

Or the lack thereof.

You couldn't stand to see him so sad, not even willing to look at you. As the preaching continued somewhere down below, something about fulfillment, there was really only one thing on your mind as you continued to watch his pained eyes. "Do you miss it?" You didn't mean to let your emotion ring in your tone as you whispered— doubt, disappointment, sadness. He picked up on it, raising his face once more to meet your gaze. Solemn eyes panicked, realizing his mistake. With a change of posture, he stepped closer, grasping your arm and placing your palm over his chest again. "Not in the same way I missed here," he reassured you. His eyes were still sad, but so earnest. You could feel the metal cross hanging from his pendant with how hard he pressed your palm into his chest. You both stared at one another in silence, but understanding.

Something about the word doom was quietly uttered through the archway.

"I realize now that I had already found Paradise," he proclaimed longingly, leaning in slightly. Though flattered, you only half-smiled.

"You shouldn't talk like that here," you whispered, cupping his jaw. "Surely it's a sin."

And he'd already cut his path of redemption short enough.

"And yet it would be a sin not to." His tone was almost desperate. He leaned in closer, head tilted dangerously close to a kiss. You began to protest, but his grip on your arm tightened in defiance. "My soul is already adrift elsewhere," he hissed in a hurried whisper, "and He has no use for my body." He shook his head in defeat, tilting his chin to kiss the hand that held him before looking back up. "So if it's all I have left, I will use it to worship who does." His voice cracked against your lips, and he practically fell into you.

Your back hit the wall with a thud that made you panic, but any protest of his name was muffled and lost between his lips. He could only follow what made him feel at the moment, and he'd come to his senses later, but right now, he was desperate to atone for his sins in a different way. It was a long, suffocating kiss that was touch-starved, hardly focused on any particular pleasure other than the need for your warmth. Despite knowing your current circumstances, you relaxed into him, taking your hand from his face and gripping the soft, indigo curls on the back of his head. He took that as his cue to press into you impossibly more, knees knocking with yours as you both nearly buckled from his weight.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to catch his breath, warm breath fanning against your cheek a few times before eagerly diving back in. This time, he moved with you. Your noses knocked each time he rolled his head to find his favorite angle, and, in annoyance, you tried to hold him still with your hand on his neck and your grip on his hair. In response, his lips parted, tongue lapping at your top lip and tentatively touching yours when you let him in.

His grip on your waist was harsh, almost as if he was scared that if he let go even a little, he might lose this moment forever. As if he couldn't hold you enough, his tail joined in, wrapping itself beneath your ass and tightly snaking around your waist. You felt him smile into the kiss when you pet over the peach fuzz of his tail before he abruptly pulled away from your lips, tongue sliding over your bottom lip as he withdrew into your neck. Sweetly, he kisses your pulse. And you know where he's going.

"We should 'port somewhere else," you suggest softly. The light kisses on your neck become open-mouthed and wet, showing you just what he thinks about your suggestion. You catch the words reunion with God bouncing off the wall, and you weren't sure if the devil himself said it or the clergyman was sermonizing below. You tilted your head back for him at the prickling feeling of his fangs.

With a mind of their own, your hands worked down the rest of the button on his shirt, splaying your fingers through the velvety fluff of his chest, barely able to feel the warm beating of his heart. At least you knew that he was alive, in some way or another.

Making sure you could feel all of him, you pushed his blazer and shirt off his shoulders, feeling him down and scratching over his abs just the way he used to like it, and he tensed them just the way you remember.

When his hands left your hips to slide off his clothes, they came back to do the same to you, sliding under your top and over your bare skin. You let him undress you, and eventually, you both stood nude.

Even after being… gone for so long, he remembered just where to touch you. He held your hips flush with his while licked over your nipple, pawed between your legs, and tickled your inner thigh with the curling of his fuzzy tail. Feeling boneless, the wall helped him to hold you up while you focused on covering your mouth to muffle your pleasured moans and sighs.

You were suddenly spun around, strong arms wrapped tightly around you as they swiftly lowered you to the wooden floor. Kurt's lithe form settled between your legs, back bowed as he bent down to mouth over your stomach. On his knees, he worshiped you carnally, hands gripping over-excitedly at your thighs and waist.

Fingers around your wrist pulled your hand from your mouth, quickly replaced with that crushing pair of full lips again. Some would say he was desecrating holy ground, but Kurt would say quite the opposite. In a nest of clothes, right there in the dark loft of his place of faith, he took you. Whether it was because he was most comforted here or because he was angry at the circumstances, his hips pumped into you with a fervor that had you clawing into his back and biting his shoulder to muffle your whines.

The floor was cold and hard and uncomfortable as he rocked you back and forth, but he was the opposite— warm and soft and lovingly fucking you into the ground. Luckily, the pious music drifting through the doorway covered up the sound of his cock slapping into you and his hissing moans as you bit and carved the punishment of love into his skin.

You were ripped from his shoulder when he sat up, not even bothering to cover your gasping moan at the change in angle. Blunt nails dug into your skin as he held your hips, making your legs squirm and draw up behind him with the overstimulated pleasure.

It was like a perverse religious painting, with his cross pendant wildly swinging above you and fangs gleaming along with his eyes; his tail, pointed like a devil's, bound your legs around his waist. This was heaven to him right now, watching you arch your back off the ground and eyes fluttering heavily as you both found that perfect sweet spot.

It was when you came on him that his glowing eyes beheld the glorious sight he was searching for. He kept going, desperate to keep the image of your moaning, parted lips in his mind, and keep the feeling of your warm cream that dripped over his cock. "Oh~ mein gott," he growled at the way you tightened around him. You could almost laugh at the way he said it if you weren't busy trying to recover. "(Y/N)," he panted and spoke your name like gospel. "My dearest."

Your only response could be a meek whimper of his name, but it was enough when you weakly rolled your head to look up at him. If you couldn't tell by the way his brows raised and furrowed, you knew that he was right on the edge by the constriction of his tail around your ankles, keeping you bound around him while he came, throbbing, deep inside you.

It was quiet now, aside from panting and the sounds of the congregation conversing and slowly departing that same creaking door that got you here in the first place. You felt you could finally relax and close your eyes when the last of the noise was shut out with the door, and you could finally stretch out your legs again as you felt his tail unravel. He had the same idea, stretching out his legs when he fell into your side. He let you have your space, but that sneaky tail laid loosely over your thigh.

You felt a sort of regret for him as you turned to take in the proper view of his nude form lying elegantly in your bed of disheveled clothes, wishing to know what this meant for him… but you weren't going to ask, letting him bask in release— whatever kind it was. You reached for his pendant, twirling the chain between your fingers and observing the discoloration of the metal cross. Without even opening an eye, he took your attention away from it with a touch, making you hold his hand against his chest instead.

"I-" You eventually break the silence but pause, unsure what excerpt you should say. It gets his attention, eyes lifting to look into yours. You muster a smile. "I'm glad you're back," you say softly, simply. Despite the circumstances, despite what it meant, despite what it's already done to you, you wanted to add, but his own bittersweet smile already knew what you meant.

"Me too," he whispered and brought your hand up from his chest to kiss your knuckles. "Me too, my dear."

2K notes · View notes

dragonsbluee · 1 year ago

Text

I need everyone to acknowledge the fact that KRS!Cale is a MASSIVE bookworm. He's able to thrive in Birth of a hero because he read it and enjoyed it. (yesyes record helps him, but you can't ignore the fact that he knows the characters, not just the plot. That comes from liking the thing you're reading!)

Give me the young master spending his afternoons reading under the shade of a tree with a new book series and absolutely devouring it in one sitting. He's missed being able to read a whole series and not having to hunt for the next books through a destroyed city.

Give me Cale with a little notebook full of books he'd like to read, the titles collected from the people he talks to. He'll read anything or at least try it out, but fantasy remains his favourite genre.

He also writes little opinion blurbs for his favourtie books, or jots down quotes and favourite lines. Sure his record ability means that he doesn't really have to, but it's an old habit he enjoys.

Cale, who starts collecting books on his travels, just one or two from every place he visits. His friends and allies pick up on this and start bringing him books they think he'd like. Cale has a very speicifc and rare smile when someone gifts him a book. Its small, but it somehow takes over his entire face, and you can almost see his eyes sparkle in delight. It quickly becomes a smile everyone looks forward to.

Cale, who never turns down a book given as a gift, and so he starts picking up bits of knowledge from across the continent. He learns about the edible plants in the Jungle, the different variations of marble and stone throughout the Roan Kingdom, the fables and myths of the Dark Elves. He keeps them on a shelf in his room in the super rock villa, and every once in a while, the kids pick one to have read to them. When the shelf is full, Eruhaben pulls some out from his hoard as a gift to Cale. They're almost too gaudy, but Eruhaben enchants them to protect the books from dust, damage, and pests. Cale spends an entire day reorganizing his collection.

He never thought he would be able to build his own personal library, but here he is.

Cale loves to compare the books he has in this world and the ones he knew before. Sometime in the future, he sits down and uses record to copy out his favourite series. He gifts it to Choi Han so he can have a small piece of home he never got to experience.

It becomes known that the best way to get Cale to stop and actually take a break is to plop a kid on his lap and give him a book he's been looking forward to. One year for his birthday, Alberu gives Cale free rein to explore the palace's secret library. They find him curled up in a corner a couple hours later surrounded by stacks of books.

Cale is 100% the type of person to insist that more libraries should be available to the public so that he can read easily when travelling to different places. It's definetly not because he wants more kids to be able to learn how to read, and he was able to grow into loving books because of his local library.

#please i need more bookworm cale #he's a nerd your honour #tcf #cale henituse #trash of the counts family #headcanons #tcf headcanons #raon miru #don't forget that og!cale liked to read to!#one of the first things krs!cale does is go to bilos and ask for a book to read and something to drink #lout of the count’s family

1K notes · View notes

sincerelybubbles · 2 months ago

Text

spencer reid x bubbly!reader || an ode to quiet mornings

spencer is beautiful in the morning light — how can you not admire him? (or, spencer spends the night for the first time on accident and reader can’t help but pine over him, even though she already has him)

warnings: fluff. reader watches spencer sleep for a min. pining (returned?? reader has Feelings). self-indulging on writing more bubbly!reader bc i love them even if i haven’t posted much of their background yet <3

You wake to the gentle hush of morning, to the kind of stillness that only exists in the fragile space between dreams and daylight.

The sheets are soft against your skin, warmed by the presence beside you, by the slow, steady rise and fall of a chest that is not your own. The air hums with the scent of sleep—linen and skin, the faintest trace of Spencer's shampoo clinging to the pillowcase.

And then—him.

Spencer Reid, bathed in young sunlight.

It stretches across his skin in soft golden ribbons, pools in the hollow of his throat, kisses the high plane of his cheekbone. His hair is an unruly halo against your pillow, a tangle of gold and chestnut, curls twisting in every which direction like he’s been carried here by some soft current in the night. His face, usually marked with quiet tension, with the weight of knowledge, of worry, is at ease.

Neither of you planned for Spencer to spend the night but talking and cooking turned into you showing him your favorite movie, then him showing you a documentary. Before you could catch yourself, you were asleep with your fingers tangled with his, resting on the couch with your head against your shoulder.

“Stay,” you had whispered when he gently shook you and guided you to your room.

Who was he to say no — his warmth, his light, sleepy eyes cast in want for him to simply sleep next to you entrancing him to nod, mouth agape, and tug off his shirt to lay next to you.

Too exhausted, you hadn’t the chance to truly see him last night. Now,you drink him in like a scholar bent over their life's work, taking note of every delicate detail, committing them to memory with careful reverence. The curve of his lashes, long and dark where they rest against his cheek. The parting of his lips, just barely, like he might murmur something in sleep. The way his hands, hands that have flipped through countless pages, that have traced the jagged edges of unspeakable horrors, now lie open and weightless against the sheets—unguarded.

You wonder when the last time was that he slept like this. If he ever allows himself to.

A breath catches in your throat.

You shouldn’t be watching him like this, shouldn’t be staring like he’s something fragile, something rare. It’s too soon, a lucid you would have seen that last night.

But how could you not use this moment to your advantage? Timelines be damned, spencer was in your bed and still. Resting.

Spencer is always moving, always thinking, always somewhere else, his mind miles ahead of his body, lost in a thousand winding corridors of thought. But now—here, in your bed, in the quiet embrace of morning—he is still.

And it feels like a gift.

You let yourself reach, slow, hesitant, brushing the pad of your fingers against his wrist where it rests beside yours. His skin is warm, blood thrumming just beneath the surface, a quiet rhythm, a song you have never been privy to until now.

You could stay like this forever, drinking in the sight of him, letting yourself marvel at the impossible softness of Spencer Reid.

But then he stirs, lashes fluttering, the quiet beginning to give way to something new.

And your breath hitches, because you don’t know what will happen when he wakes. Your relationship is fresh, cracked egg still sitting in the nest, accompanied by fresh chirps of new life. How will he react to you, as vulnerable as he is, hair messy and eyes earnest?

Spencer stirs, shifting beneath the sheets, and you hold your breath without meaning to.

His brow twitches first, the faintest crease breaking across his forehead, as if even in sleep, his mind refuses to rest. Then, his fingers flex against the sheets, curling and uncurling before stilling once more. You watch, transfixed, the way one might watch the first breaking wave of a tide—held captive by the inevitable pull of it, the way it swells before it finally, finally reaches the shore.

He does not wake fully at first. Instead, he breathes deeper, shifting onto his side, his face now turned toward you, and you are caught in the gravity of him.

Spencer, so often bound by movement, by thought, by the weight of the world pressing into his shoulders, is here. With you. A slow inhale. A soft exhale. The gentle sweep of his breath fanning against your cheek, warm and steady, tethering you to the moment.

You felt similarly the first time you kissed, caught in the moment of the rain and your spilling laughter enveloping you both.

The light spills over his features in pieces, tracing the slope of his nose, kissing the bow of his lips, catching in the delicate hollow between his collarbones where the sheets have slipped just slightly. You have never seen him like this. Not without the strain of his mind running miles ahead of his body. Not without the slight tremor in his fingers when the adrenaline finally wears off after a case.

No, this is something else.

This is softness.

This is Spencer at rest, unburdened, untouched by the horrors of the world for just a little longer.

Something inside you aches with it, with the sheer quiet beauty of it all.

You long for, hope for, wish for inside of your bones and seeping into the marrow, that you might have this for time to come. Again and again you want to watch him slowly wake up.

You feel the crushing pressure of love aching at your ribs, too soon to let free quite yet but too insurmountable to ignore.

Your fingers twitch at your side, longing to reach for him. To map out the expanse of him the way he has mapped out whole histories, whole worlds, in his mind. To press your palm against his chest, just to feel the slow, steady drum of his heartbeat, to know for certain that he is real, that he is here.

You have him, Spencer, in the way you strove for in the past weeks. Flirty comments and wide smiles have gotten you here and you can’t imagine surviving without it now.

And then—

He shifts again, this time closer, breath hitching, a quiet sound escaping from the back of his throat. Your own breath stumbles over itself in response.

His lashes flutter.

A pause, the universe holding its breath.

And then, hazel eyes blink open, slow and unfocused at first, the golden light catching in their depths, making them rich and warm, like honey left out in the sun.

For a moment, he does nothing. Just blinks, still tangled in the arms of sleep. Then, his gaze finds you, truly finds you, and something like recognition flickers through the haze of waking.

He exhales, slow and deep.

And then—Spencer smiles.

It’s soft, lazy with sleep, untouched by self-consciousness. A real smile, the kind that belongs to no one but you in this moment.

“Good morning,” he murmurs, voice thick and warm, like molasses melting slow over the morning.

And you, caught in the golden glow of him, can only whisper back—

“Good morning, handsome.”

339 notes · View notes

httpuckdrop · 2 months ago

Note

Hii! I have an angst/smut request for Will Smith, but please don’t write this if you're uncomfortable doing so because I know some people are simply because he is on the younger side. Anyway, I was thinking Will, even though he's doing super well as a rookie, he's constantly compared to Macklin, and maybe one night it's just hitting him super hard and he's insecure, thinking that reader might want someone like Mack more than she wants him, and after finally getting him to talk to her, she basically worships him and shows him that she loves him for him, and not anyone else. I’m thinking a slightly sub!Will. Please and thank you!

made this into a kinda blurb thingy... hope that's okay!! and i really hope you enjoy, thank you so much for requesting aaaa i had so much fun writing this 🥰

it was a rough game for will.

not only was it yet another pointless game from his side – the third in a row, even – and he felt like nothing else really worked out for him, either. his passes always ended up on his opponents' sticks, and he had several critical misses in the defense.

macklin, on the other hand, had a great game. two goals plus one assist. and while will should be happy for his close friend having a good game, he just can't. he would never admit it himself, but he's jealous – and even insecure.

will is confident in most parts of his life. he knows he's a fairly good-looking dude (though you disagree – he's unfairly good-looking), he has a lot of friends, he's a great hockey player – and he even has a lovely partner who's open about how much she cares about and loves him. but today, it's like all of that knowledge is washed away. today, everything is terrible.

it doesn't help that the first thing he saw when leaving the locker room after the game was you hugging mack and congratulating him on a good game. the fact that mack looked at you with those puppy eyes of his as you stroked his hair doesn't make the situation better, either.

the game ended up in an overtime loss, at home, and of course will had been on the ice when the sharks surrendered the final goal. it's no surprise to you that he's completely silent as he drives home, and you're not shocked when he drops his hockey bag by the front door and beelines for the bedroom the second you walk inside, either. you decide to give him some time and space, because you know it usually helps. but when he doesn't come out for 30 minutes, you can't help but follow him.

"sweetheart?" you ask as you step into the dark bedroom. the lights may not be on, but you know he's not sleeping yet. you know that his mind is running with replays of every action from the night. "do you want to talk for a bit?"

"what even is there to say?" he groans after a few moments of silence. "i was terrible."

"you weren't terrible," you counter, making your way over to the bed and sitting down next to him. "everyone has bad days. even players as good as you."

"but not players as good as mack."

his words make you frown. "why would you bring him up now?"

"because he's ten times the player i am." despite the complete darkness, you can make out the features of his face; his distinct jawline, his cute nose, his pretty eyes that are staring straight up into the ceiling. "because you'll leave me for someone better."

"excuse me?" you almost choke on the air. "what are you talking about?"

"why would you not want someone like mack? an actually good player, and…"

his words trail off when you lean down a little, caressing his cheek with your hand. "because he's not as gorgeous as you," you whisper, leaning down to give his lips a fleeting peck. "and because he isn't as good of a kisser."

after a longer kiss, will speaks up again. "and how do you know that he's not a good kisser? you ever tried it?"

you're glad to see a smile finally return to his lips, even though it's a teasing grin, and yet you can't help but slap his shoulder playfully. "shut up, i'm trying to be romantic." he holds his hands up in surrender, gaze stuck on you as you climb onto his lap. his arms snake around your waist as he feels your mouth on his yet again, your lips melting against his. "i wouldn't want someone like mack, because he probably doesn't have as sexy of a body as you do," you mumble against him, hands trailing down his front before tugging on the hem of his t-shirt.

he helps you pull it off his body, resting down again with his hands steady on your waist. he inhales shakily, adams apple bobbing in his throat as you trace kisses down his bare chest and muscular stomach.

"his skin isn't as kissable as yours is," you hum, biting down gently on the side of his ribs. "doesn't taste as good as you do." when you scoot down a little, your ass brushes along the hardening length in his pants, and you let out a little chuckle. "shit, are we eager already?" you roll your hips down on him, eyebrows raised.

will watches you with a dazed expression, and it takes him a few seconds too many to register your words. when he does, he lets out a huff of a laugh himself, nodding erratically. "definitely," he says, voice breathless from anticipation, his fingers digging into your sides.

your hands find his zipper, pulling it down almost insanely slowly. "and finally," you continue, eyes finding his again. "he couldn't make me feel as good as you do." you drag his pants down his thighs, his boxers following along, and the cold air makes his erection twitch before your warm palms wrap around him. "no one makes me feel as good as you do. you make me feel so full, you hit every spot deep inside of me, stretch me out so well…"

a shiver shoots down his spine and his eyes flutter closed instantly. as one of your hands lazily strokes him up and down, your other hand lands on his chest as you lean up to be face-to-face with him again. your nose brushes against his once, before you press a featherlight kiss to his lips.

"you gonna make me feel good tonight, baby? in the way only you can?"

there's no way he could say no to that.

273 notes · View notes

pumkinzee · 25 days ago

Text

BED CHEM ˏˏ PERCY JACKSON - MDNI!

summary: you try to seduce Percy with your clumsiness, and in the end it all ends up in the chemistry in bed that you've had since you started dating.

pairing: Percy Jackson x gn!reader

tw: smut, first time, whining, inexperience, unprotected sex (this is fiction, beware!) the reader has no gender

⌑ - English isn't my first language so I'm using a translator and my basic knowledge of the language!

𝐑equest 𝐨pens! + 𝐫ules!

You were a little dumb, just a little, but you had a big heart. It was thanks to your clumsiness that you couldn't notice the signals that Percy was sending you. For example, the time you were at the campfire surrounded by campers, you were sitting on a log, apart from the rest roasting marshmallows, telling horror stories and singing.

Percy snaked his hand up your thigh and kept it there for a while, tracing your exposed skin thanks to your shorts, then he brought his hand up dangerously and...you jumped, moving from your spot because a mosquito had bitten you on the other leg.

There was also the time when you were playing on the same team to capture the flag, he had cornered you against a tree while he started flirting and to some extent you had taken the hint! but then you diverted the topic like any demigod with ADHD would do and disappeared all the tension that Percy had worked so hard to create.

And finally! That time after dinner when he whispered to you “I want dessert” as he leaned in to kiss your jaw and you responded “we can steal cookies!” walking away innocent? Ouch, he had blue balls.

Well, he was patient because he loved you. Oh, I must have loved you so much.

But you finally realized his intentions! You were playing truth or dare with your friends, among them a few Aphrodite girls. When the nozzle of the bottle landed on you the eyes of everyone in the room flew in your direction, making you chuckle nervously not knowing what to say. One of the Aphrodite girls smiled machiavellianly and blurted out the question without thinking about the consequences.

“Are you a virgin?”

Your cheeks flushed with burning embarrassment and you had to clear your throat. "M-Me? Well, the thing is...okay, yes, I am.”

Everyone in the room remained silent, some even gasped in disbelief. Little by little, truth or dare was forgotten.

“HE HAS NEVER PROPOSED TO YOU?”

"Of course!" One of your friends interrupted, responding to Aphrodite's girl. “I saw them that night at the bonfire!”

“What night at the bonfire?” You inquired. All eyes returned to you. "What?"

"Haven't you two done nothing yet?”

“D-Do what?”

“Oh, gods.” Your friend put her arm around your shoulders. “Today is going to be a long night for you two.”

Cabin three wasn't the warmest, its color selection was never the best, all those blue tones made it dark and cold at night. Percy was bored in his cabin, completely bored, he hated curfews and that you couldn't stay with him. With him, in bed. He ran his hands over his face and pushed any perverted thoughts out of his head, but it wasn't that easy.

There was something about your innocence regarding his sexual approaches and intentions that made him extremely horny, he had to remind himself to be a gentleman, that you had your limits, that pushing you against his bed beneath him was wrong. Very badly.

But, in his defense, He was a hormonal teenager who was beginning to despair at the touch of his lover. Then, he remembered that he had a hand, and with all the shame in the world and the little dignity he had left, he decided to use it.

He started rubbing his crotch with his hand, starting to breathe a little heavier. He didn't like touching himself directly without first warming up, so he gritted his teeth and continued rubbing his palm, beginning to hiss as the speed increased. He was desperate, longing to get hard so he could touch himself properly.

He began to imagine that it was your hand instead of his, which made him throw his head back until it hit the pillows, letting out a small moan as he remembered that he was alone.

He rolled his eyes, a satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he felt he was hot enough and had tortured himself enough, reaching into his boxers and moving his hips for friction.

“PERSEUS!” You shouted, kicking open the door to his cabin. “I just realized I'm the stupidest person in the world!”

Your scream startled him enough to pull his hand out of his pants and cover himself with the sheet, sitting on the bed against the headboard. He watched you pacing in circles, with a sort of irritation and embarrassment, seeing as your cheeks were red. His breathing was still labored from his previous activities, but he managed not to get your attention.

"What?" He gasped, managing to moderate his breathing with one last sigh. "What happened?"

Deciding to stop being stupid, you approached his bed, climbing onto it and almost sitting on his lap if it weren't for the fact that it wasn't your purpose. You pointed an accusing finger at him. "How long have you been thinking to fuck me?"

His eyes widened in surprise, and his face turned red. It caught him completely off guard. The sheet began to rise again as his cock instantly hardened at your sudden honesty and your finger pointing at him.

"W-what? No! I meant... Shit!"

“I knew it, everyone knew it except me!” You sat on his lap, on something hard, to be exact, you covered your face with your hands.

He swallowed nervously, feeling your weight rest directly on his now rock-hard erection. "H-Hey, y-you're making me look like a pervert." He chuckled, though he was tongue-tied, hands hanging awkwardly at his sides before finally finding a place to rest on your hips.

"It's not fair! Everyone notices except me."

Percy let out a sigh, ignoring how good it felt that you were unconsciously rubbing against him, creating delicious friction on his now aching cock. He smiled understandingly and gave you a kiss on the forehead.

"Hey, calm down. You're overthinking it too much." He laughed, clearing his throat. “Sometimes you're just…clueless.”

“Clueless.” You repeated, almost as a mockery of yourself. “How clueless?”

“Long enough to accidentally sit on my cock, baby.”

Your cheeks lit up like freshly set off fireworks, just as you were about to refuse, Percy cupped your cheeks with his hands and leaned in to kiss you. What started as a tender comforting kiss gradually turned into a more passionate kiss, with Percy licking your bottom lip to ask for access. You gasped, opening your mouth and letting his tongue slide inside your mouth, tangling with your tongue until it took over.

His hands moved from your cheeks to your waist, his thumbs tracing lazy patterns, his fingers trailing down to the hem of your shirt, hiding under it and caressing your skin: you both broke away from the kiss, panting and pulling your foreheads together, made eye contact until he decided to say the inevitable

“Can…can I take this from you?”

You nodded, biting your lip. You pulled away slightly and Percy removed your pajama shirt, leaving it on the floor. His hands shook inevitably as he traced his fingers down your sides and every exposed bit of skin he'd ever seen. He licked his lips.

You stole a kiss from him, now you being the one trailing your hands down to the hem of his shirt, you didn't even have to ask, he pulled away from the kiss to desperately fast pull his shirt off over his head, leaving it on the floor next to yours.

He didn't have much body hair but he wasn't hairless either, he counted a happy trail and some chest hair.He blushed in embarrassment, remembering that he hadn't shaved that morning, you, on the other hand, licked your lips, unable to look away from...him.

You leaned in to kiss his neck, he tilted his head back instinctively, growingling in pleasure as he let you shape a path of kisses, bites and a couple of marks down his neck and chest, his pajama pants tightening as you reached his abdomen.

You kept making out for a while longer, groping the ground with your hand on his chest and his on your waist, almost moving down to your ass.

“Do we have protection?” You whispered, practically against his lips.

“I have a big sword." He responded, smiling mischievously.

You smiled back, smashing your lips against his again. You reached out to reach his nightstand, starting to rummage through the drawers, soon you stopped paying attention to the kiss and walked away a little, frowning.

“Where are the condoms?”

It took him a moment to understand what you were saying, his face turning red. “Oh, you meant that protection." He tried to joke, though nervousness leaked into his voice, shifting uncomfortably beneath you.

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you ok?"

“Y-Yes, I'm fine, I'm fine.” He rolled his eyes, still smiling strangely. "Well-"

“Percy, where are the condoms?”

“We don’t have any.”

There was a long awkward pause with eye contact involved.

“I wasn't planning on having my first time today.” He added.

You sat on the bed, each on one end, nervous. If there was no condom, there would be no sex, right? That was what his mom had taught him about sex education, a very awkward talk about how to take care of himself, and now he would suddenly have his first time with the love of his life and he didn't have a single contraceptive.

"Dry sex?" you suggested.

He shook his head. "I want something real."

"Oral?" you said again, but quickly changed your mind. "No, not oral, I want something inside." You said to yourself. "Toys?"

"We don't have any."

"How about we fuck...without a condom?"

Percy's eyes widened as he turned to look at you, dumbfounded with surprise. He shut it quickly, swallowing saliva with difficulty. "Wait... wait a second." He held up a hand, his voice barely a whisper. "Are you seriously suggesting we... we have unprotected sex?"

You blushed, lowering your gaze for a few moments, before plucking up your courage and raising it again, looking at him. "What...what else do we do?"

"I mean, you're right, but..." Percy's voice trailed off as he considered. He knew he should say no, that it was irresponsible and dangerous. But the idea of finally being inside you without any barriers was incredibly tempting. "Fuck," he muttered, running his hand through his hair again. "Fine.”

You lay back on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows and unconsciously spreading your legs, Percy's breath caught at the sight of you sprawled on his bed, an irresistible invitation at the sight of you now completely naked. His eyes darkened with lust and he licked his lips unconsciously. Percy removed his pants and boxers, biting his lip as he moved, reaching between your legs. He lined himself up at your entrance, leaning down to bring your foreheads together, kissing you Eskimo tenderly.

"I love you." He whispered with bated breath. "I'm gonna go in slowly."

You nodded, almost letting out a squeal as you spread your legs wider, inviting him into you. You brought his hands up and rested them on your shoulders, biting your lip as you looked down, watching his member throb, desperate to bury itself inside you.

"Shit," he cursed under his breath, his heart pounding at the thought of bareback sex. "Last chance to change your mind," he warned, clutching his throbbing erection in his hand. "I'm not exactly small." He positioned himself at your entrance.

"Okay." You gasped in anticipation, reassuring him. You brought one of your hands up to his cheeks, giving him a comforting kiss. "I can take it.”

Percy's eyes bore into yours and he sensed the need and love in your gaze. It was all the permission he needed. He held your hips tightly and slowly penetrated you, inch by inch. He moaned deeply as he felt your warmth enveloping him completely.

He bottomed out completely, the sensation was overwhelming. No condom could compare to this sensation. You moaned so loud you swore the nymphs outside the cabin had heard you. You pulled your head back, ran your hands up from his cheeks to his shoulders, scratching the skin as you arched your back on the bed.

"My God," he whispered, standing still for a moment to maintain control. "Jesus Christ..." A shudder ran through him. "Don't move, just... don't move."

Percy stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity, trying to calm himself. But every second that passed only made the sensation more intense. You rolled your eyes, feeling tears gather at the corners of your eyes, reached out and dug your nails into his shoulders again, giving him a scratch, reacting by moving your hips slightly.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he gasped, digging his fingers into your hips. "It's just... fuck, you're so tight and hot and.... goddamn." He leaned over you, his chest heaving with labored breathing.

"Can you move, p-please move."

"I'm trying not to cum already. Just... give me a second," he gasped, closing his eyes tightly. Slowly, with agonizing slowness, he withdrew almost completely before sinking back down, a shudder running through his body. "Holy Shit!"

"Holy shit!" you shrieked, feeling the tears pooling at the corners of your eyes spilling down your cheeks.

Percy paused, kissing your cheeks, standing still inside you so you could both get used to the sensation. He gasped, pulling out before entering deeply again slowly, not wanting to hurt you, he moaned hoarsely, grabbed your leg and put it over his shoulder, gaining a better angle to enter even deeper into you.

He whimpered, feeling a spasm that made him lay his forehead against your shoulder.

“Damn it,” you cursed as the slight movement set him off. He lunged again, slamming you deep and making you tremble beneath him. “Too sensitive!” he hissed, standing still again.

“You're too sensitive? I'm the one with a dick inside!” you moaned, squirming.

Percy couldn't help but let out an airless chuckle, he almost came again until his tip was the only thing inside you and he buried himself deep, stifling a moan as he concentrated on biting into your shoulder and neck. He mimicked these movements a few more lunges until he finally managed to establish a steady rhythm that balanced comfort with pleasure, for it had stopped hurting you when Percy thrust in and out as it had at first.

You rolled your eyes as Percy's cock pressed a precise spot in you, arching your back and scratching his back, aware that they would surely leave a mark the next morning.

“”Th-there, r-right there!‘’

“Fuck.”" He gasped, picking up speed, his hand wrapping your leg over his shoulder more possessively. “Y-you're so tight.”

“Shit...more.”

“More? Holy shit, you're going to make me...F-FUCK!”

With a higher pitched moan than you thought his voice would allow him to utter, long strings of semen shot out inside you, filling you completely, you felt it like an eternity, feeling that warm liquid building up inside you and later it would fill you with trouble, but, just, later.

You both gasped quite a lot, Percy pulled away from the hollow of your neck and spread loving kisses all over your face, making you chuckle despite being extremely overstimulated.

“I love you.” He gave you an Eskimo kiss. "Gods, I love you, you're the best. You feel so fucking good."

“I love you too.” You wrapped your arms around his neck, giving him a messy but love-filled kiss. “You're huge.”

“I warned you.”

“Shut up, don't even start.” You laughed out loud, giving him another messy loving kiss.

He cleaned you up with his powers, since you were both a sticky mess, promised himself that next time he would give you better aftercare, changed the sheets and gave you some of his shirts to wear, getting into bed with you lying against his chest. He stroked your hair as he told you little insignificant stories that didn't even make sense, he was just rambunctious and still somewhat stimulated, so once he felt calmer and better assimilated that you two had had your first time, he gave you a kiss on your forehead.

“Good night, my love.” He murmured into your hair, realizing you were already sound asleep. He gently closed his eyes. “I love you.”

a/n: it cost me a lot to do this, tumblr wouldn't stop bothering me with their "content warnings" (pinche tumblr me la pelas) and because I have no idea how to make smut. I'm asexual, so be patient with me, I HOPE YOU GUYS LIKED IT

©pumkinzee

241 notes · View notes

bread-crum206 · 4 months ago

Note

hi! this is my first ask, I hope you write it. I just had an idea going about. What if reader's a doctor, the same doctor who treated Hwang In-ho's wife? With the limited resources she was provided, she tried her best, but failed to save his wife. Reader's a nice, kind doctor, but after failing to save her, reader just slipped deeper and deeper into despair, and started to drink away all her fortune, and ended up in the Squid Games. Hwang In-ho immediately recognizes reader and vows to end her, but somehow feels himself drawn to her, wanting to destroy her, even more. But, as he joins the game as 001, Reader opens up to him and he sees true regret in reader's eyes. Things start to change, and In-ho feels a dark, deep attraction towards Reader. That's all! It's okay if you don't want to write about it. Thank you!<3

Forbidden Emotions

Hwang In-ho/Frontman x reader

Summary: Haunted by failure, a fallen doctor finds herself in the deadly arena of the Squid Games. Hwang In-ho, hidden behind the mask of the Front Man, recognizes her — the one who failed to save his wife. He should hate her, but a darker pull complicates his intentions.

The room feels suffocating as you sit in the dim light, holding the empty glass in your hand. The soft clink of the ice cubes against the glass echoes in the silence. You hadn’t meant for it to go this far, but the weight of your failure is a constant burden.

You tried everything to save Hwang In-ho’s wife. You poured every ounce of knowledge, every technique you knew into her care, but none of it was enough. The moment her pulse faded away, something inside you died too. You failed not only a patient, but a family, and a man who would never forgive you for it.

Days bled into weeks, weeks into months, as your life spiraled further. The hospital let you go, and with it, so did your self-worth. In the dim corners of your thoughts, you heard his voice again—Hwang In-ho’s voice, sharp with anger, accusing you, blaming you for the death of the woman he loved.

The alcohol came soon after. A glass here, another there. It soothed the sting, numbed the regret, and before you knew it, you were slowly drinking away every piece of yourself. Your wealth evaporated, your career crumbled, and the world you had known no longer existed.

One day, when the debts finally caught up with you, when the choices had been made and there was nowhere else to go, you found yourself in the same hell that had taken so many others—the Squid Games.

The first time you laid eyes on him again, it was like a punch to the gut. Hwang In-ho, number 001 plastered on his chest. He hadn’t changed, except for the coldness in his eyes that made your heart freeze. He was sitting among the other players, his cold, calculating demeanor standing in sharp contrast to your own fractured state. You barely recognized him at first, but when his eyes met yours, you knew.

He had been watching you from the moment you entered. His gaze pierced through you, and you could feel the heat of his anger. You had caused his wife’s death, and there was no way he would ever let you forget it.

“I remember you,” he says, his voice a low growl. “The doctor who killed my wife.”

The words cut deep, but the worst part isn’t the accusation—it’s the way his eyes burn with the desire for vengeance. Yet, there’s something else lurking there too, something you can’t quite place.

In-ho’s hatred festers, consuming him. He came to the Squid Games for a singular purpose: to make sure you paid. But even as he plots your downfall, there’s an undeniable pull toward you—a desire to see you suffer.

As the game begins and you are thrust into a deadly series of challenges, In-ho finds himself growing closer to you, observing your struggle with a twisted mixture of pity and contempt. He sees the shame in your eyes, the weight of the regret you carry like a shadow, and it gnaws at him.

One night, when the bloodshed subsides and the survivors take a brief reprieve, you finally let your guard down. You pour out your pain in front of him, something you never expected to do.

“I never wanted this,” you whisper, your voice raw, trembling with remorse. “I didn’t kill her. I just… I couldn’t save her. And it destroyed me.”

For the first time, In-ho sees you as more than the failure he accused you of being. You aren’t just the doctor who failed his wife—you’re a woman broken by your own guilt.

His own anger begins to unravel as he watches you fall apart. The very rage that once consumed him now seems misplaced, and something darker begins to grow in its place. An attraction—dangerous, twisted, and impossible to ignore.

The more he watches you, the more he can’t resist the pull. He joined the game for vengeance, yes—but now, he’s here for something else. Something he doesn’t fully understand. The twisted mix of hate, regret, and undeniable attraction to the woman who has destroyed his life.

It’s inevitable. The Squid Games are no longer about survival for him. It’s about you.

And as he finds himself standing at the edge of the game, his eyes never leaving you, In-ho realizes that whatever dark path lies ahead, it will be shaped by you. He has no choice but to follow it—to destroy you, and perhaps, to destroy himself in the process.

———————

Much like Oh Il-nam, In-ho ‘dies’ in one of the games. You hear the gunshot, hear the splatter of blood, but you can’t bring yourself to look, so you stay facing the wall.

You feel like you’ve killed him, first his wife, and now him. They’re both your fault. Even though you knew it wasn’t.

———————

The games drag on, each one more brutal and harrowing than the last. But amidst the bloodshed, there’s a peculiar twist in the unfolding chaos. In-ho, despite his initial resolve to end you, finds himself watching you more intently than ever. Every movement, every fragile moment of vulnerability only deepens his obsession.

He can’t understand it. Why is he drawn to you? Why does he feel this burning, unrelenting pull toward you, despite everything? The desire for vengeance had once been all-consuming, a fire that had driven him to join this deadly game. But now? Now, there’s something else—something darker, more complex.

As the final rounds of the game near, In-ho’s gaze never leaves you. The other players have been whittled down, but you remain—surviving by sheer grit and determination, the same qualities that once defined him. You’ve proven yourself worthy of a chance, despite the twisted circumstances.

In the final moments of the game, when the last of the players fall, In-ho makes a decision. He can’t let you die—not like this. Not after everything that has happened. So, when the game ends, he orders his guards to spare you, despite the bitter, gnawing hatred that still lives in his heart.

They escort you to his office, a stark, cold room that has seen too many dark moments. The door closes behind you with a heavy thud, and you stand there, disoriented, your face a mixture of confusion and exhaustion.

You look up at him, your eyes wary but relieved. “Why?” you ask, your voice hoarse from the strain of the games.

“I told you,” In-ho’s voice is cold, but there’s something beneath it. Something raw. “I haven’t forgotten what you did. But I can’t let you die here. Not after everything.”

You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Instead, your gaze flickers around the room, landing on the polished desk, the chair where he sits, the sharp, sterile environment that feels like a cage. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating.

In-ho’s eyes remain locked on you. He ordered you to be brought here, but now that you’re before him, he doesn’t know what to do. There’s an unspoken question in the silence between you: What now?

And then, as though the dam has finally broken, he speaks again, his voice lower, almost reluctant. “Do you even understand the pain you’ve caused me? My wife—she died under your care.”

You flinch, the guilt surging back with a force that almost takes your breath away. “I didn’t kill her,” you whisper, your voice shaking with the weight of the truth. “I tried. I tried everything to save her. But… but I couldn’t. And I’ve been living with that every single day since.”

His gaze softens, just slightly, but the anger still simmers beneath the surface. “I don’t know what you want me to say,” he mutters, his fists clenching. “She’s dead because of you.”

Your heart sinks, the words like a knife in your chest. You know he won’t understand. How could he? You’re just the doctor who couldn’t save his wife, a failure in his eyes. He’ll never see the truth—that it wasn’t your fault. Not unless he lets go of the anger, the bitterness that’s eaten him alive since that day.

You take a step closer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry,” you say, your eyes brimming with unshed tears. “I couldn’t save her. But I didn’t kill her. I would’ve given anything to bring her back.”

In-ho stares at you, the anger still lingering in his chest, but now mixed with something else. Confusion. Desire. He doesn’t understand why, but there’s something in your words, something in your eyes that makes the ache in his chest twist. His wife is gone, yes, but here you are—broken, just like him—and he can’t ignore the pull. It’s as if your pain is a shared burden, and despite all the hatred, he finds himself unable to look away.

Before he can stop himself, he moves toward you, closing the space between you in an instant. His hand reaches up, brushing against your cheek, fingers trembling just slightly.

Your breath catches in your throat, your body instinctively leaning into the touch. You’ve been living in a haze of regret for so long, and in this moment, it feels like he understands. For a brief second, it isn’t about the game. It isn’t about the failure. It’s about something deeper. Something you both share.

In-ho’s lips are on yours before he can think, a rough, desperate kiss full of rage, longing, and the confusion that’s been building between you. His hands pull you closer, as though he could erase the distance that has always separated you, even before the games began.

You kiss him back, your mind spinning, but your heart starting to race. The kiss is desperate, almost reckless, but it’s also filled with something raw—something you both need, even if you don’t fully understand it.

When you finally break apart, breathless and tangled in each other’s gaze, In-ho looks at you with a mixture of shock and something darker. His expression is conflicted, torn between the anger that drove him here and the pull that now binds him to you.

“You’re still the doctor who couldn’t save her,” he says, his voice rough, his chest rising and falling as if he’s just run a marathon. “But there’s something about you… I can’t stop feeling it.”

You take a shaky breath, your body still thrumming with the intensity of the kiss. “I didn’t kill her,” you repeat, your voice firm now, despite the tumult inside you. “I couldn’t save her. But I didn’t kill her.”

In-ho’s eyes search yours, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he can’t control. He’s angry, yes. But there’s something else—something that makes him want to destroy you… and protect you at the same time.

“I don’t know what this is,” he says, his voice softer now, a mixture of uncertainty and fascination. “But I can’t walk away from you. Not now.”

And in that moment, you both realize something: despite the pain, despite the tragedy, you are drawn together by forces beyond your control. The game, the anger, the past—it doesn’t matter. What matters now is the undeniable connection between you, no matter how twisted or dark it might seem.

And as In-ho stands there, wrestling with the ghosts of his wife’s death and the overwhelming desire to possess the woman who had once been her savior, he knows one thing for certain: he isn’t finished with you yet.

———————

Hi!! Here it is! I hope you liked it! This was fun to write so let me know if you want more and even something a little spicy 🌶️

#in ho x reader #squid game #squid game x y/n #squid games x reader #x reader #frontman x reader #the front man #squid game x reader #smut

303 notes · View notes

anyaeras · 8 months ago

Text

Wrapped || A.Harkness

Pairing : Dom!Agatha x Innocent!sub reader

Summary : over working yourself is no good, now Agatha pulls you away from studying the traditional way so that she can help you learn something in a less traditional setting.

Warnings : Dom!Agatha ,, Sub!afabReader ,, they/them pronouns mostly ,, slight!mommy kink ,, rope ,, bondage ,, sex toys ,, vibrator ,, strap!on sex ,, impact play ,, pussy!spanking ,, loads of Pet names ,, established relationship ,, enhanced!strap ,, potions/drugging ,, dumbafication ,, innocent play ,, degrading ,, praising ,, teacher x student

Masterlist @anyaeras

──────────────────────

Y/n was a young witch, they had realized her gift, not too long ago and was in need for a teacher, someone to guide them through the knowledge of witchcraft learning the control and elegance of their powers.

After i'm doing quite a bit of research and searching, they ended up at Agatha's doorstep and shockingly, one of the greatest witches had taken them in as their apprentice.

Time went by and the younger witch started to become extremely close to her mentor, the ones teacher student relationship had now expanded to a less platonic relationship.

"Y/n, did you finish that reading on potions I asked you to do?" Agatha's voice called from down the hall, y/n was sat in the office reading just as she was told.

"Almost Miss" y/n called back trying to focus yet the young witch was cramming in so much information while also continuously getting distracted.

Agatha footsteps could be heard as she made her way upstairs to the office, the Burnette, which stopped in the door way, taking in the site of her little apprentice. Agatha would notice how they seemed distracted, struggling to focus on their work, overstimulated falling behind their normal routine, she was aware y/n often would go to long without breaks stressing themself out which seems to be the case.

Agatha finally moved closer to y/n, closing the old textbook and taking it to place it on a desk nearby.

"Let's go dear" Agatha spoke her hand reaching out for y/n's deciding they were done for the day.

"But I'm not-" y/n tried to argue but was cut off by Agatha's sharp hush.

Agatha pulled y/n into her master bedroom, the room elegantly decorated, a bag was sitting on the bed, to which Agatha had walked over to grab.

"I got you a gift while I was out, try it on for me?" Agatha asked softly her voice almost above y/n, as she carried herself with such a strong demeanor.

"Of course!" Y/n said in response innocent as ever, going into the in-suite bathroom to change, what was shocking was how little the garment covered, the pristine white lace looked so lovely on y/n's skin, elegant designs covered both of her breast while a more thin see-through pattern left ruffles on the edges. The bottom of the set was matching with white lace, it was soft on y/n's body but left little to the imagination, the back had ruffles at the end which made y/n smile as Agatha clearly put thought behind this gift.

Walking out y/n stood in Agatha's gaze, the witch had the same old cheeky grin on her face looking at y/n's body.

"You're just adorable!" Agatha cooed making y/n's face blushing a bright scarlet tone.

"Come here my little lamb" Agatha beckoned using her index finger curling it in motion to bring y/n to her.

Y/n obliged as they moved over to were Agatha sat in an elegant dark wooded chair with dark fabric in the centers. A chest which often remained clothes was open next to Agatha which pipe y/n's interest.

Agatha smirked and brought y/n over to the chest, and gently pushed her to look down into the mysterious box.

"This is for a little game I want to play with you, dear."

She began taking ropes of various colours out of the chest, and held them in one hand.

"Do you trust me,little lamb?" She asked, looking into y/n's eyes.

Waiting for y/n to give some sort of confirmation that they trusted Agatha enough for her to continue. After the witch put some purple rope in y/n's hand. "Do you know how to tie a harness, dear?" Agatha asked as her face had a cheeky smirk plastered on it.

"No this is new" Y/n replied as they watched Agatha get more excited, looking over their body as Agatha had left them standing in just the pretty lingerie set.

"That is quite alright, my lamb. I will teach you." The dark hard witch replied cooing softly at her subs innocents.

She began to slowly put ropes around y/n's frame, making a rope chest harness. First, she went around the outside of her under-bust, then between her legs, coming out the front and looping at the back again between her legs. She tied it off, then gently held y/n up to look at the mirror

"Look, my pretty little lamb, do you like it?" Agatha asked her voice silky as she admired her work.

With a nod y/n as well admired the cozy and artistic work Agatha had left tied to their body.

Agatha smiled, and gently turned y/n around so they would look up at her.

"So pretty, and such a good little lamb." Agatha praised her voicing cooing followed by her laugh. The witch ran her lengthy fingers through y/n's hair a sinister smirk looking down at y/n's wrapped up as purple decorated their body still.

"Tell me my dear, are you ready to play?" Agatha smirked leading the bound girl to lay down on the bed.

"Such a pretty little thing but, this lace is just in my way" Agatha purred using her magic to remove the garment from y/n's body leaving y/n wearing nothing except the purple harness which wrapped around their body still, accentuating her tits and ass so nicely with the way Agatha tied it. Agatha watched as y/n's face grew darker as Agatha's eyes scanned over their body, her hands tracing with one finger the lines of the rope.

"Now, let's play, except this game will be very educational let's see how much you actually paid attention to that chapter you were to read" Agatha smirked cruel as she knew she didn't let y/n even finish reading it.

"You'll be rewarded for your correct answers, but make one mistake and you'll be punished my little lamb" Agatha spoke with a fake pout, she went back over to her chest grabbing out some other toys. Agatha's magic produce the textbook floating above both of them, so Agatha could read off of it.

"What's the scientific name for a potion witch and or maker?" Agatha asked starting off easy, turning on a vibrator as she placed in on y/n's clit, using some of the extra rope to tie it into place while she kept reading from the book. Y/n's breathing started to hiccup before turning heavier from the pressure on her most sensitive spot.

"Umm an alchemist!" Y/n managed to get out the vibration continued as Agatha smiled at y/n's answer.

"Good girl" Agatha praised as she continued to quiz the squirming girl below her.

"Now what is the most common ingredient in potions?" Agatha quizzed again once more the girl thought for a moment her brain a little gone from the low vibrations Agatha had pressed onto her puffy clit.

"Areca nut! I swear that's it mommy" y/n moaned out as she bucked her hips trying to get more.

"Wow aren't you so smart how about we try a harder one, get this one right and you can cum dear" Agatha spoke yet the look on the women's face as she flipped the pages made y/n shiver.

"What's the most powerful love and lust inducing potion" Agatha asked with a fake serious expression. Y/n's face fell as they struggled to figure out what the answer was.

"Aww and to think you were my best student, but look at you bent over at my will? You can't even tell me the name of a simple potion little lamb" Agatha degraded y/n making the younger witch whine just wanting to be played with by Agatha.

With the wave of Agatha's hand the book disappeared, and a small potion appeared. Agatha untied the vibrator turning it off and setting it to the side giving a fake sympathy pout to y/n when they whined at the actions.

Agatha lifted y/n's head softly using her thumb to push past the subs lips, forcing them to open their mouth, Agatha took this to advantage pouring the potion into them. It seemed within seconds y/n's body was reacting stronger to Agatha's simple touches, all of their senses heightened, lust coursing through all the way to y/n's center.

Agatha's fingers pinched at y/n's nipples watching as the girl squealed in responds.

"Aww so sensitive now. Maybe if you would've paid attention, you would've known that potion and what it does sweetie" Agatha teased as her fingers moved to slip across y/n's cunt, they we're absolutely dripping as a moan fell from their lips due to such a simple touch.

Agatha continue to tease the girl, using her magic to produce a strap between her own legs after she removed her clothing. A vibrator in hand as well.

"Now, you got it wrong so it's time to take your punishment like the dumb little lamb you are" Agatha muttered as she started to stroke the enchanted strap which sat between her own legs. The size alone was larger than what y/n was used to making them a little nervous.

"I know you can take it for me dear, don't worry" Agatha cooed lining herself up before starting to inch inside of y/n's greedy cunt.

" it's too big mommy" y/n wined but was quickly shut down.

"No baby you're just being dumb it's not to big you can handle it" Agatha said as she held the vibrator on y/n's clit to ease them a bit while pushing the fake cock fully into their hole.

"God you're so tight" Agatha said with her breathing heavy, feeling the way their subs pussy clenched around her length. Agatha only took a moment before starting to move rutting into y/n's body the vibrator pushing harsh down on y/n's clit making them let out such a high pitched moan almost squealing as their legs shook around Agatha. The Domme was well aware of when her little sub was close and right as y/n was about to go over the edge everything stopped.

"Tsk tsk tsk, little lamb didn't even think to ask mommy if you could cum, first you don't know the answer, then you try and cum without permission?" Agatha teased y/n knowing her brain was off and the potion that she gave her made her 10 times more sensitive.

"Mommy Im sorry please don't stop I'll be good" y/n begged only to receive a shaken head in response.

"I think you know better, looks like mommy will have to punish you baby" Agatha laughed at her needy sub grabbing more rope, y/n's arms and chest have long been bound yet now Agatha was tying her legs open to the bed frame.

"This needy cunt seems to keep getting you in so much trouble it's like it controls your brain" Agatha teased as she grabbed a riding crop. That action alone made y/n start squirming and whining out a strain of apologies, yet Agatha wasn't giving in in it.

"Take your punishment like a good girl" Agatha muttered out before ordering before a sharp slap from the crop landed on y/n's cunt. The lewd sounds that came from y/n made Agatha feel all hot and bothered herself. The woman continues until she at least got to 15 slaps deciding y/n's little cunt had enough of the abuse. Y/n's face had tear marks as their body was so sensitive and their clit was throbbing between their folds.

"Aww look at you little lamb you just wanna cum don't you?" Agatha cooed as y/n nodded the needy little thing was so desperate.

"You took your punishment so well I guess I think I can reward you finally for all your hard work" Agatha teased her hand cupping y/n's face as she spoke down to them keeping up with the consistent degrading and praises.

"Please fuck me use me mommy I'll learn I promise" y/n knew how to get Agatha going and it worked, the women lined back up in a swift thrust shoving her cock deep into y/n's hole, not giving them anytime to adjust before pulling all the way out then ramming back in.

"Fuck come on baby let go for me" Agatha spoke trusting harshly as she rubbed y/n's abused clit with her free hand pulling them both to the edge, y/n's moans grew louder, her legs shook and her body shook as they struggled to hold themself together until Agatha finally let them cum.

Y/n came her jaw dropping open and eyes rolling back from finally being able to release all her pent up energy. While Agatha did the same cumming inside of y/n, making their orgasm even more violent.

After they both came down Agatha finally pulled out, smiling down at her fucked out witch.

Removing the toys from the bed and her body before putting it back in her chest. Agatha put on a quick t-shirt before going back to y/n, as y/n calmed down Agatha started to untie the purple ropes which still wrapped around y/n's body.

"You did so so good little lamb, so good" Agatha praised softly as she fully untied the subs body, before finishing cleaning up, helping them dress as well in on of her big t-shirts.

"What do you need from me?" Agatha asked as she brushed some of y/n's hair out of their face. Y/n replied by just cuddling into Agatha.

For now that was enough, Agatha held y/n for as long at they needed, wrapped up in each other.

456 notes · View notes