#establishes mind control over the soldiers

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

Naturally, W.I.T. rushes in where fools dare not,

and the alien spaceship attacks them, establishing control over the soldiers’ minds.

[sl-ut]

i like it better

was gonna wait to post this but i decided to go ahead with it in honour of me graduating with my bachelor’s degree (first gen. university grad!!!) yesterday and starting my new job today!!! i watched thunderbolts* last week and i loved it and i love bob even more.

pairing: robert “bob” reynolds x fem!enhanced!reader

description: every member of the thunderbolts* are struggling with having friends for the first time in… ever, for the most part. the team is shocked to find out that, for some reason, bob is having the easiest time with it. aka, four times the team notices a budding romance, and one time they all realize they’re late to the conclusion.

warnings: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THUNDERBOLTS* but not crazy so read at your own risk, reader DOES have a backstory but it’s not detailed in this (i’m considering making this a non-chronological or plot-based series about this pairing i love them smmmm pls lmk if i would be wasting my time or not lol), golden retriever x black cat vibes, slight age gap (r is early-mid 20s, i assume bob is supposed to be late 20s maybe early 30s?), reader has similar powers to wanda–lightly detailed in this fic, swearing, mentions of past addictions and substance use, reader has BEEF w john walker and everyone loves it, READER REFERRED TO BY CODENAME PANDORA

words: 6.4K

date posted: 16/5/25

Despite all of their differences, the Avengers had been able to establish a certain level of respect and friendliness amongst one another–Bucky wasn’t sure of how they had been able to do it. From what he’d heard and experienced, Steve and Tony had butt heads with one another more times than they could count, and that’s saying a lot considering that one of them was a self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy, and philanthropist. Clint seemed to be a wild card, not often around enough to be on anyone’s permanent bad side, while Natasha was notoriously good at playing both sides with every member of the team. Bucky Barnes was certain that he would not have lasted more than a week with that crew before they were tearing each other apart, which was quite evident in the way that the team quite literally tore themselves apart when he came into the picture, but somehow, some way, a group of assassins, super soldiers, and gods were able to find some sort of commonality for the sake of team morale, so why couldn’t he do the same with this team?

He inarguably had more in common with this group than Steve had with the others. He, Yelena, and Alexei were highly trained assassins; he and John both super soldiers who, at one point, worked for the U.S. government; he and Ava were both the results of some lab experiments thanks to SHIELD aka HYDRA and both had a tendency to stick to themselves; he and Bob–well, he wasn’t sure that he had anything in common with Bob aside from the crippling mental illness that accompanied a not entirely consensual superhero lifestyle. However, there was one final member of the team that he had more in common with than any of the rest, and she was the one he found the most difficult to break through to. 

The girl had been saved from a HYDRA base not too long after the Battle of Sokovia, where she’d been held hostage and used as a lab experiment for the vast majority of her life. She was only a kid then, barely old enough to have a valid driver's license, but Steve had taken her under his protection just as he had done with Bucky. Her powers had been unstable, a failed attempt to recreate the exact abilities of Wanda Maximoff without the use of the mind stone, but when Steve, Nat, and Bucky had been forced to go on the run, Shuri was able to create some sort of blockers for her mind, to isolate her abilities from use so she no longer had to fear losing control. Now, here he was over five years later, compact onto a superhero team with her, though she no longer the tortured child he had once promised his best friend that he would protect, and he wasn’t entirely certain as to how she had regained her powers, but she had grown to have a steely wall between herself and the other New Avengers, as they had been deemed, especially with him.

On one hand, he could understand that the girl had been traumatized, much like he had, but instead having no fond childhood memories to look back on except for the few months that she had been able to stay at the Avengers Compound with Steve. But on the other hand, he was growing increasingly frustrated with the attitude that she had developed–snarky, bratty, and bold; the teenage phase that she’d been denied of now surfacing during her twenties. She could be unpredictable, either making her presence known through witty comments or ignoring any of their existences, which made it especially stange to Bucky when he began to pick up on certain tendencies she had when it came to Bob. 

If Bucky were asked to describe Bob in three words, they would be um, uh, and nice. Bob was the nicest of the group, though that was no great feat when you considered exactly what sort of people had been assembled into the team, but Bucky knew relatively little about him. He was the most dangerous of them all without question, but still for whatever reason had settled into the role as a walking punching bag with little fight. He was awkward, easily embarrassed, an easy target for the others to pick at when he did something wrong. When they had all initially moved into the tower, he was the only one who had made much of an effort to befriend anyone, but he could never seem to hold eye contact with the fiery young woman in fear of taking a verbal lashing, like the others often did, and yet he never did. 

In fact, while he made an effort to avoid being in her path, she more often than not diverted it so that he was her final destination. On an empty floor of the tower where she could isolate herself just about anywhere, as she normally would choose to do, she would seek out wherever he was and silently join him in whatever he was doing.

The first time Bucky noticed it, he was returning from the gym. He’d sent a nod in Bob’s direction as he stepped out of the elevator, then halted in his tracks as his gaze shot back to the scene before him; she was curled up on one end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her as her eyes scanned the pages of the novel in her lap, meanwhile Bob had taken up the space at the other end of the couch, sitting so stiff that Bucky wondered if the girl had held him at gunpoint just before Bucky entered the room. She didn’t even spare the super soldier a glance, only turning the page as he sent a questioning look to the shaggy-haired man, whose eyes widened even further in an effort to convey his own uncertainty with her presence.

Bucky moved on, stepping into the kitchen just across the room to find himself something to snack on, making sure to keep a close eye on the girl–he wasn’t sure whether or not he should start planning Bob’s funeral.

Bob finally broke the awkward silence, stunning the man in the kitchen. Bob had relatively stuck to the practice of speaking when spoken to, but Bucky was certain that he’d never seen Bob speak to her since moving into the tower. 

“I can put something else on, if you want,” he smiled awkwardly at her, eyes flickering between her and the screen, “I’m not really watching it anyways.”

“Don’t be stupid, Bob,” she said as she glanced up at him, and Bucky was certain he saw the slightest curve of her lips as she met Bob’s gaze, “you’re like halfway through. I like this one, anyway.”

Bucky’s eyes moved to the flatscreen on the wall, across from where they were seated, brow furrowing in confusion as his thoughts tumbled through his lips before he could truly process them, “You told me you hated this movie when I watched it last week.”

Her gaze turned to him, sharpening as she narrowed her eyes, “Maybe I just hate when you watch it.”

Bob’s face flushed red as she turned back to her book without another word, awkwardly sipping on his glass of pop as Bucky frowned. He shook his head at the young woman, having learned to let her words roll off his back rather than letting them fester, snatching the first thing he found in the fridge and fleeing the scene, praying that Bob did not ruin whatever sort of good mood he’d put her in so that this wouldn’t be the last time he saw him. 

***

Alexei was the kind of guy that people either loved or hated. He could be loud, obnoxious, sometimes even straight up belligerent, and had possibly the worst ability to read the room that anyone had ever seen. However, he was the most outwardly friendly member of the team, oftentimes being the leading force behind any group activities. He was still a target of the young woman, of course, but rather than taking it as a personal offense, as he mocked Bucky and John for doing, he found some enjoyment in the girl’s taunting. Any time one of her digs was sent his way, she was met with boisterous laughter and usually some sort of unnecessary physical contact. 

He understood very little when it came to the lives of young women, but he was a girl dad at heart. She somewhat reminded him of his Natasha when she was a young girl–which made more sense to him when he discovered that she had been taken in by the late Black Widow and her teammates before the blip. He found himself flocking to her more than any of the others–save for Yelena, of course, claiming that he had no interest in training with anyone but the strongest of the New Avengers.

He came to understand the regular routines of the others who lived in the tower, especially when it came to who was going to be in the training facility and when. He liked that she tended to go later in the morning, allowing him to sleep in later than if he were looking to spar with any of the others, usually sauntering in with a loud greeting, jokingly challenging her to a spar that he would inevitably lose. The Red Guardian was a force to be reckoned with, but no amount of serum could fight off this sort of power. Truthfully, he would have hoped to take on Sentry again, but Bob and the others had been very adamant that Sentry was not to be brought back until they found a way for Bob to better control his abilities, and the young woman was the next best thing. 

Sparring usually ended with the large Russian knocked on his ass, barely having landed a single swing at his opponent as she stood on the opposite end of the mat, barely a drop of sweat on her brow and the only sign of fatigue having been a result of using her powers. Though, as they returned to the main common area afterwards, Alexei would always announce to the others that he had been bested, but it had been a well-fought match. 

“I almost had her,” He grinned as he took a long drink out of the liquor bottle he’d conjured up out of seemingly nowhere, “next time I win, you will see.”

“I’m sure,” the girl droned, turning to where Ava sat at the dining table, “where’s Bob?”

Ava shrugged, raising a brow curiously, “Haven’t seen him. Why?”

“I told him we would go get bagels.”

“I would love to get bagels,” Alexei rose back up to his feet, “I will join.”

“No you won’t,” The girl turned sharply on her heel, “I think you could have better things to do than bother me all day.”

The Guardian, undeterred by her words, chuckled joyously, “Of course, of course. Bring me blueberry.”

As if he had sensed that she had been looking for him, Bob appeared in the doorway of the common area, eyes flickering between Alexei and Ava with a breathy hi before he turned his attention to the woman standing with her arms crossed. His face flushed under her intimidating stare as he began to wring his fingers in front of him nervously.

“Hi,” he breathed.

“Hi,” she echoed back to him, “I was just looking for you.”

If possible, he blushed even more, the pink tint of his cheeks deepening into a burnt shade of red, “Oh, uh, you were?”

Ava tilted her head curiously at his reaction, not entirely sure if Bob was nervous or petrified at her words, though she wouldn’t blame him for either.

“Yeah,” she rolled her eyes, “You still want a bagel or what?”

Relief streaked across his face as he realized why the girl had been looking for him, “Oh, yeah, yeah. Whenever you’re ready.”

She nodded, pushing past his figure in the doorway, “Good, I’m starving. Let me grab my coat.”

The moment she was out of earshot, or so he assumed, Alexei called out to Bob to grab his attention, “Psst, Bob. Bring me bagel. Blueberry.”

Bob smiled awkwardly before he nodded, jumping as the girl appeared beside him once more, now bundled in a soft brown coat, taking his hand in her own as she all but dragged him towards the elevator without another glance to the others. Bob turned quickly to offer a bashful wave to his teammates before they disappeared around the corner. 

Ava huffed as they left her sight, “Now what was that about?”

Alexei looked at her with his brow furrowed, crossing his thick arms over his chest, “What? I wanted bagel.”

***

Contrary to Bucky’s belief, the young woman actually did consider some of her teammates to be her friends. While her words were often interpreted as nasty insults that were better left ignored, something that she was more apt to respect was the way that Yelena and Ava were able to give it back to her. It was a respect that they earned from her, and she them, leading to a friendship based on past traumatic experiences and forced proximity. When she wasn’t revelling in her loneliness, she was usually in the company of one of the two older women–or her most recent choice of companion, but even then, it did not mean she had given up her frequent enjoyment of alone time. 

Yelena was an early riser, often having slept barely two hours the night before. The three women had spent the last week on an assignment, only returning an hour earlier. The plane made for a rough sleep, though the black eye that Yelena was sporting certainly didn’t help.

She entered the kitchen, finding Ava already seated at the dining table as she dug into a plate heaped with an assortment of breakfast foods. The counter was decorated with a few larger plates piled with eggs, bacon, sausages, and toast served up buffet-style. Behind the counter, Bob was muttering to himself as he messed with the new espresso machine that Bucky had ordered.

“Morning,” the Russian sighed, wasting no time in piling her own plate with food. She’d survived on granola bars and beef jerky for the last week, so a hot, home-cooked breakfast was a vision akin to heaven in her eyes, even if it had been made by Bob–he was getting better, but he was no Gordon Ramsay. 

He turned to glance over his shoulder, smiling softly at the sight of the blonde, “Oh, hi Yelena. How was the mission?”

 “It was okay, boring. Way too easy,” she eyed him curiously as he turned back to the machine, “I thought you didn’t drink coffee, Bob.”

Ava smirked as she spoke through a mouthful of eggs, “It’s for his girlfriend.”

He whirled around at this, eyes wide as a familiar red flush crept up his neck and crawled across his cheeks. His mouth gaped at the two women, seemingly unable to string together the words to defend himself from their taunting stares.

“She’s not–I’m–We–”

“Oh my god,” Yelena laughed, “I had no idea you had it in you, Bob.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“No, but you want her to be,” Ava added. “You love her.”

“Who loves who?” Alexei appeared in the kitchen as well, eyes lighting up at the sight of the prepared spread of food, clapping Bob on the shoulder before loading up his own plate, “Bob, I could kiss you.”

“No one loves no one,” Bob frowned, stammering over his words, “I mean, we–”

“Bob loves Pandora,” Ava said again to Alexei, who made a noise of approval through his mouthful of food.

“Oh, this?” Alexei asked, “This I already know.” 

The other third all turned to him in bewilderment, exclamations of surprise leaving their mouths.

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Yelena asked, a look of betrayal on her face as she launched a piece of toast at her father.

“He doesn’t know anything,” Bob demanded, looking like he could faint at any moment, “she’s not my girlfriend.”

“Whatever you say, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, finally tucking into her food with the exact excitement of someone who hadn’t eaten a hot meal in a week. 

Then came the woman in question, floating in through the kitchen like a spirit with her hair wet from the long, hot bath she’d taken upon their return. The others froze, unsure of whether she had heard what they had been talking about prior to her entry. She wore a pair of black leggings, tucked into a pair of long wool socks beneath her favourite pair of slippers, torso hidden beneath a worn grey sweatshirt–one that Bob was able to recognize all too well. 

“Morning,” he beamed at her, her presence seemingly soothing the embarrassment he’d been faced with as a result of their acknowledgment of his feelings for her, “I, uh, I made breakfast. And coffee, how you like it.”

The girl peered up at him before reaching for the mug that he had offered in her direction, taking a slow sip before a small smile crawled onto her lips as she thanked him. The others watched as she turned to put together her own breakfast, but their eyes were all trained on the shaggy-haired man, following his own gaze as he observed her silently, mulling over her wet hair, down the slopes of her cheeks while they glistened in the soft morning light from her hydrating skin care routine. Her shoulders, covered in the heavy sweatshirt that he wasn’t even sure of how or when she had taken it out of his closet. 

To Bob, she was always the most gorgeous woman on earth, whether she wore her fitted suit or bundled up to combat the bitter nature of New York City, but he always found her the most beautiful when she was home, dressed comfortably and considerably less guarded, where he got to really know her for more than her own trust issues. When she made herself malleable to love, where she allowed him past her guarded walls. Everything that they’d each experienced in the past, all of the trauma that they’d been forced to endure–it was all out in the open and safe, both learning to rely on one another’s presence to feel fully at ease. The only bit his team members were wrong about was about her being his girlfriend–they’d never gotten quite that far, so they had never even made their feelings clear to one another. He wanted more, but he was happy to take things as slow as she needed. 

Ava and Yelena exchanged a glance across the table, flickering between the pair as they joined them at the table, Bob finally picking at his own breakfast as he settled into the seat next to her. He seemed content as they both tucked into their food, silently sharing a few glances as the others finally changed the topic of conversation. 

Though none of them were ready to let Bob away with this for much longer. 

***

John Walker was inarguably the least liked member of the New Avengers, not that he did very much to help with that. He was rude to his teammates, often quite selfish, and quite possibly the most arrogant man in New York City. For someone who boasted about his achievements in the military and as team captain of his high school football team, you might think that he might put some more effort behind his ability to work as a team. After taking on the role of Captain America, however, John quickly learned that he didn’t tend to play well with others. 

When he’d first moved into the tower, he had assumed that, having once already housed the former team of Avengers, there would be ample space for the entire team without encroaching on his personal space. While that was generally true, one thing that John couldn’t help but notice was that, particularly at night, his enhanced hearing often picked up any sounds on his floor, mainly from the neighbouring bedroom, which belonged to Bob. This meant that he was subjected to Bob’s insistent pacing, humming, and occasional snoring when he finally fell asleep, but more recently he had noticed a particular increase in talking. He wasn’t able to make out any words or phrases being said, but the muffled sound of his voice was enough to keep him up at night. He had even brought it up to Bob with a lingering concern of him speaking to Sentry at night, as he’d been known to do before, only to be met with a sputtering, blushing mess, claiming to just be sleeptalking. 

One night, though, John had had enough. The talking, the giggling, John could not figure out what the hell Bob could possibly have going on to sound so happy at two in the morning, but he was going to put an end to it. 

His fist met the door with force, not caring about whether or not he might be waking up any of the others as he impatiently waited for Bob to answer the door, though his anger quickly dissipated into utter confusion as the door swung open to reveal the one person in the world who he actively avoided interacting with. 

“Can I help you, Walker?”

He squinted his eyes at her, taking in her appearance as she stood before him in her pyjamas, hair pushed out of her face by a fluffy leopard print headband and her face coated in some slimy green substance, “Uh, yeah. Where’s Bob?”

The door creaked open a little further to reveal the man in question, appearing at her side with a matching green sludge on his face with his own shaggy brown hair pushed away with a similar fluffy blue headband. 

He smiled bashfully at the supersoldier at the door, “Oh, hi John. What’s up?”

Walker’s eyes flickered between the pair, brow furrowed in surprise, “If I cared a little more I might ask the same thing. It’s two a.m., can this not wait?”

The girl narrowed her eyes at him, “It can’t actually.”

Bob’s eyes widened in shock at her defiance, “I mean, we’re almost done–”

“No we’re not,” she interrupted him, “we’ve still got five steps left in our skincare routine.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” John asked, his patience wearing impossibly thin, “Could you two just finish braiding each other’s hair and shut up already?”

“And why don’t you go take a nap on the freeway?”

“Woah–hey,” Bob bit back his own laugh at the girl’s words, wanting to both deescalate the building tension and stay on her good side; altercations between these two usually only ended one way, which was John a beating without the young woman having to so much as lift a finger. “We’re almost done, Walker. Hell, we’d probably be done by now if it weren’t for this conversation.”

John looked at Bob in surprise as the girl let out a sharp laugh, equally shocked at his words. Bob could be quite snarky when he wanted to be, but he was also somewhat of a peacemaker among his teammates; these weren’t the type of people where fighting would result in bad blood and arguments, it could end in the destruction of the building and a funeral or two. But, that didn’t mean he was unable to have his own issues with his teammates, and one thing he was truly tired of was taking so much shit from the man who was Captain America for all of two minutes.

“You heard him, Walker,” she smirked up at him victoriously, “beat it. We’ll keep it down, wouldn’t want you to miss out on your precious beauty sleep. Lord knows you need it.”

The door slammed shut, rattling with the force of it as it narrowly missed the tip of his nose. The trek back down the hall felt fuzzy to John as he pondered the interaction he’d just had with the pair, even as he laid in the darkness of his room. 

What was she doing in his room at this hour? Since when are they so close? Was Bob wearing a face mask? Why–

What in God’s name are those noises?

***

Valentina had always been a nuisance to the members of the New Avengers, even long before the team even existed. Sure, her involvement in their lives was what had brought them together and helped form a certain bond between them, and had she not done so then there would not have been anyone there to defend New York City from Sentry–though there also wouldn’t be a Sentry if it weren’t for Valentina either. But now that she wasn’t even truly in control of the New Avengers, she still seemed to be keeping one hand on the wheel at all times. 

The personalities of the team didn’t match up very well. Most of them were explosive, manipulative, and deeply traumatized, but one thing that Valentina seemed to put extra importance behind was the idea of team bonding time to promote better unity. In truth, she didn’t really care whether the team got along or not, she just wanted to ensure that they were perceived as unified by the public and by potential threats.

Thus brought the team to be sitting in the living room, arranged in a circle around the wooden coffee table with a deck of cards arrayed across the surface. Nothing brought a group of individuals together like a game of Uno, right? Well, when the individuals were specially trained to conspire and betray one another, perhaps that wasn’t the case. 

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” Bucky groaned as the young woman dropped yet another plus four into the centre pile, “there’s no way you’re not cheating. Where are you getting all of these cards?”

“Magic,” she said, shrugging as she took the last swig from her can of Diet Coke. 

The Winter Soldier let out a sharp exhale through his nose before reaching out to pluck four more cards from the quickly dwindling deck. Next to him, Yelena barely paid attention to the game as she tossed her own card down, eyes trained on the man across from her as he shifted nervously under her stare. Bob wasn’t entirely sure of why Yelena and Ava had been so aggressively staring him down all evening, but he had a feeling that it had something to do with his feelings for the younger woman sitting next to him, he was only hoping that they wouldn’t be bold enough to bring it up in front of the rest of the team–especially her.

Pandora pushed herself back onto her haunches, fingers curling around the empty can as she glanced over at him, nodding at his nearly empty glass of water, “Want another?”

A small, bashful smile curved onto his lips, nodding graciously as she grabbed his glass and stood to her full height, turning to head towards the kitchen. 

“I could use another beer,” John called after her, shaking his empty bottle in her direction.

“Great, the fridge is full of them whenever you’re ready,” she didn’t even spare him a glance over her shoulder as she turned the corner and disappeared out of sight.

Without missing a beat, Yelena leaned forward. For a moment, Bob thought she was about to reach across the table to peek at the missing girl’s abandoned cards that she had set on the table, so he quickly reached out and pressed his hand against the cards to keep them firmly in their place. 

Yelena looked at him in confusion for a moment, which quickly developed into an expression of betrayal, “Bob! You thought I was going to cheat? Who do you think I am?”

His eyes widened as he registered the offense in her voice, quickly moving his hand away, “Oh, sorry. It just, I don’t know, looked like you were.”

“I can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“You told me not to,” he stared blankly at her. 

She scowled at him, but waved it off, “Have you done anything yet?”

“Done what?” John inserts himself.

“None of your business,” Ava scolded him before turning back to Bob, “well?”

A bloom of red pinched at Bob’s cheeks as he shook his head, “N-no I haven’t. There’s nothing to do.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Bucky asked, glancing between the two women and Bob. 

Bob watched Bucky nervously as Yelena vaguely described the investigation that she and Ava had taken upon themselves to conduct. Regardless of the current state of their relationship, Bucky had known the girl since she was a teenager, and had promised his “late” best friend that he would watch out for her, so he was still considerably protective over her (though anytime he tried to show any sign of this he would have a near encounter with the nearest and heaviest object she could hurl his way). 

Bucky’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he turned his gaze to Bob, “You and her? No way.”

Bob furrowed his brow in concern, “I mean, is–I don’t think it’s that outrageous.”

“I wouldn’t believe it either if I hadn’t been hearing them in his room at all hours of the night,” John chimed in, resting his chin on his closed fist as he portrayed his sudden interest in the topic. 

“What?” The others all exclaimed in unison, turning frantically from John to Bob, who’s entire face and neck were now burning. 

“We were just doing skincare!”

Yelena barked out a laugh while Bucky furrowed his brow impossibly further, lips curling in confusion. 

“Come on now, Bobby,” John grinned condescendingly, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

“It is,” Bob demanded, “look, I don’t know what you want me to say but–”

“What’re you guys talking about?” the girl in question asked as she rounded the corner again, resuming her seat on the floor as she placed two fresh glasses of water on the table, one in front of Bob and one for herself. 

The New Avengers all shared an uncertain glance. Sure, they could out Bob right then and there, and the deed would be done. They would become a couple and the team could be spared the next however many weeks before Bob finally explodes from infatuation. Or, of course, they could out him and then have to deal with the aftermath of the young woman not reciprocating his feelings, destroying the strongest relationship that both of them had been able to make since joining the team, and taking away the only calming factor that either of them were able to find to subdue their powers. It was a gamble, and for most of them, it probably wasn’t worth–

“We’re talking about Bob’s love for you, of course!” Alexei roared, joining the conversation for the first time since she’d left–he, of course, had chosen straight vodka for his drink of choice, and while it was nearly impossible for him to get drunk off of it, he’d been able to get his hands on just enough to make him tipsy.

The entire team stared at the large Russian man in disbelief. He’d been half asleep for the last hour, having spent a large majority of the afternoon convincing every member of the team to come spar with him. A cobalt blue shimmer surrounded the young woman for only a second, disappearing just as quickly as it had appeared–a reaction of her shock and slight embarrassment, akin to Bob’s beet red cheeks. 

“Dad!” Yelena hissed, “you weren’t supposed to tell her.”

Bob stuttered a slow response, a few jumbled words that truly didn’t make any sense whatsoever. The others sat quietly, soaking in the suddenly chokingly awkward air in the room while Alexei argued to defend himself. 

“What?” he asked, then turned back to the girl, “I tell truth, he talks about you all the time.”

She was silent for a moment, narrowed eyes scanning her teammates so closely that they were a little concerned that she was about to snap on them.

“Well, I would hope so. We’ve been together for months.”

“What?” Bucky barked.

Yelena scoffed out a weak, “Since when?”

“You have?” Ava jolted forward in shock, while John choked on his last swig of beer. 

“We have?”

She turned to meet the wide, teary eyes of Bob. Her expression softened as she took in his appearance, lips appearing dry from his insistent chewing, the colour of his cheeks softening into a dark pink shade rather than the red that had formed out of embarrassment. She reached across, taking his hand in her own and stroking the back of it with her thumb.

“You didn’t know?” She tilted her head in amusement, “Bob, I’ve been sleeping in your bed every night for months.”

Bucky lurched forward, “Okay, a little less info please, some of us don’t need to know the details.”

She squinted at him, “Cram it, Tin-Tin. I’m not talking to you.” 

“I mean,” Bob coughed, lowering his voice to feign some privacy as if he weren’t in a room with highly trained and enhanced individuals, “I never asked–not that I don’t want to–it’s just, I never got to ask you.”

She raised her brows at him, “Yes you did.”

“He did?” John gasped, finding himself much more intrigued by the situation than he ever could have expected. 

She ignored him, “Yeah, right after the fourth of July, remember? You told me you liked being with me.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant–” Bob stammered, blood draining from his face as he noticed the slight recoil of rejection in her body language, her grip on his hand loosening as if she meant to pull away. He tightened his own hold, “I do like being with you, I just didn’t know that’s how you took that. But I would like to. Be with you, I mean.”

A small smile curved onto her lips, and perhaps if she wasn’t sitting in front of an audience, she may have granted him a full grin as she squeezed his hand, “Good. In that case, I’m telling people that I’m the one who asked you.”

Bob nodded, turning to glance at his teammates bashfully, all of whom seemed to be in utter disbelief of what they were witnessing, “Yeah, me too.”

“Ahh, young love,” Alexei sighed, settling into the couch cushions as he slung an arm over Yelena and John’s shoulders on either side of him, “go on, Bob, kiss her.”

“Alright,” Bucky stood up, tossing his cards onto the table, “that’s enough of all the mushy-gushy. I’m going to bed.” he paused hesitantly as he turned to head down the hall, glancing down at the young woman, “I’m happy for you, kid. But let’s keep it PG, yeah?”

She rolled her eyes, “You better hurry up, wouldn’t want the geriatric unit putting out a search party.”

BONUS

This was, without a doubt, the most comfortable Bob had felt since he’d first moved into the tower. Laying in his bed, freshly showered, ceiling fan on, and the woman he hadn’t even known he was dating curled into his side with her head on his chest and wearing clothes entirely from his closet. She wasn’t asleep yet, he knew by the way that her fingertips were slightly twitching against the fabric of his shirt. She liked to fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat; she'd told him many times that she found it soothing and helped her drift off to a slumber that wasn’t entirely plagued by nightmares. In turn, her weight on his chest seemed to help with his anxiety, like a weighted blanket that was suspiciously girlfriend-shaped. 

He spoke her name into the darkness of the room, waiting to hear her soft hum of recognition to continue, “I can’t believe we’ve been dating this whole time.”

She let out a quiet giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t know we were dating this whole time. I literally sleep on top of you every night.”

He let out a breathy laugh, “Yeah, well…”

“And I let you make out with me all the time.”

“I know–wait, you let me? You haven’t been enjoying it?”

She turned her head to stare up at him, chin settling into the groove of his pec comfortably as she smirked at him, “Well I did at the time, when I thought you were making out with your girlfriend, but now that I know you were actually just making out with some random chick?”

“It wasn’t just some random chick,” he argued, “it was some neighbour chick. I’d seen her around.”

She pinched his side through his t-shirt, causing him to squirm underneath her, “Oh really? I guess that means I was just making out with some nerd I’ve seen around then, huh?”

He smirked, glad for the darkness of the room and it’s ability to conceal his blush from her, “I think I like it better when you call me your boyfriend.”

She turned her head again, returning to her original position as her cheek nestled against his chest, lips gently pressing against the white cotton.

“Yeah, I like it better, too.”

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ mad with need ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ you want him so bad that you feel like you’re going crazy so he indulges you┊3.0k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: smut!! dom logan & sub reader┊x wade wilson too, age gap, dirty fantasies from a horny reader (who is actually insecure about herself), size difference, no prep we’re dying like nicepool, riding & unprotected piv, breeding/creampie, a bit rushed i need this out my wips

➤ author's note: okay so this is actually the very first logan fic i started, but i have no idea why it took me so long to finish it? it’s a bit all over the place, but i hope some people enjoy anyway!

has he realized you were there and simply testing your self-control, or is he just being so effortlessly sexy again that you aren’t sure if you’re in love or jealous? was there any other reason for him to be laid out on the beat-up couch like something to feast on when he was simply holding a bottle of liquor in one hand to sip on and flipping through the channels of a barely-working box television with a remote in the other? why else would he be so delectable around a known pervert(s, wade is just as bad as you are, just more focused on the possible destruction of his home rather than the pansexual panic between you and logan plaguing him) if not to tempt you?

you’re constantly fawning over the sight of him and letting out dreamy sighs which have become more common lately than you would like to admit, swearing that you could gaze upon him for every second of the day and not tire of it. they say “god gives his most difficult battles to his strongest soldiers”, yet the battle assigned to you is restraining yourself from pouncing on him at the very moment and begging to suck his cock. you know that you’re horny most hours of the day and also kinda a brazen whore, but the way he makes you wet in record time should be worthy of a gold olympic medal.

every time his lips wrap around the rim of the glass bottle, you can’t help but imagine them somewhere else. the image of his handsome face between your legs and scruffy facial hair coated in your slick while he ravishes you haunts your mind whenever you try to sleep, yet the phantom sensation of his tongue on you while his nose stimulates your clit helps you rest in the end. you bet that he would be great at eating pussy too, with his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude— god. 

he’s also so jacked that even when he’s resting, his muscles still seem to bulge with prominent veins like a nurse’s wet dream and it has you downright drooling. now that the sleeves of his suit were gone, you could see how beefy his arms were, and seeing any inch of his skin had you acting up like a victorian man seeing a woman’s ankles for the first time. he could probably crush your skull like an egg if you ever found yourself head-locked in them (you’ve seen him do it to wade out of irritation, and you’ve never been so jealous).

and not to mention how peggable his shapely ass is, there’s really no limit to all the things you want to try with him if you were given the chance—

“are you finished staring?” his gruff voice brought you back to reality, refocusing your vision as he made a slight gesture to his body with one of his rare smirks, “like what you see?” it’s a rhetorical question, he knows how good he looks despite his age and you have already made your attraction towards him well-established. 

you don’t need to say anything, he can tell what you’re thinking as clearly as day, so you don’t bother making any dirty remarks like usual and just walk out the room. you paced around the house for a minute or two to calm yourself down until you eventually ran into wade. “oh my god,” you cupped your face with your hands, eyes becoming big and round as if you were going to cry, “i want him so bad, i feel like i’m gonna lose my mind if i don’t fuck him!”

“well, why haven’t you? i know for a fact that my presence isn’t enough to stop you from climbing him like a tree, so spill it!”

“uhhhh,” you pointed your fingers together to exaggerate self-consciousness, “what if… what if he doesn’t like me and just sees me as some annoying, excessively horny kid?”

“can you believe this bitch?” he scoffed, looking at the invisible audience that was always watching before grabbing your shoulders and violently shaking you, “listen here missy, he definitely likes you— i have yet to see that man smile at anything else that isn’t your face and comments that rival jjk twitter fans in vulgarity! why are you suddenly getting cold feet now when you’re such a player? you’re suddenly screaming, crying, and throwing up over peanut whom you’ve been hitting on non-stop since we found him?!”

“i don’t know! it’s different, he’s my hero, and— i know it’s hard for you to believe, but he’s not even half the asshole my previous flings were. besides, he so fucking hot—”

“yeah, but he’s also so fucking old— his dick is probably all shriveled up—” the sound of the said man clearing his throat made him jump out of his skin, slowly turning his head to look at the older man before giggling nervously and waving his hands around in some form of awkward greeting. even if he can regenerate and wounds are more like papercuts, the last thing he wanted was to get stabbed in the balls by his adamantium claws again for making such a comment. “ahaha, how much did you hear…?”

“enough,” he grunted, turning his attention to you, “and you’re coming with me.”

“huh—?” there was hardly a moment for you to properly react before he suddenly bent down to grab you by the waist and toss you over his shoulder, “you’re not even gonna ask me to dinner first?!” you must have looked like a fish out of the water with how your mouth was agape with surprise, and you heard him genuinely chuckle in amusement. both from the fact that you didn’t see this coming after all you’ve been saying to him as well as the fact that he could pick you up and throw you around like you weighed nothing.

“well, you didn’t exactly greet me with a ‘hello’ before shamelessly undressing me with your eyes when we first met, now did you?” you couldn’t see if he was smiling or not considering that you were upside-down. the current angle only gave you a close-up view of his perfect ass (not that you were complaining, you need to know his squat routine), unsure if the heat on your face was from the embarrassment of him calling you out or simply from the blood rushing to your head.

“what about me? are you lovebirds really going to leave me all by myself, lonely and yearning for the companionship of another while you two fuck like rabbits?”

“ahh, go fuck yourself.” the grin on his face dissipated the moment he opened his mouth, but it wasn’t enough to ruin his mood as he carried you away to the closest bedroom available, quickly flinging you on the bed without a bother to be careful when handling you since he knew that you could and have taken worse as deadpool’s sidekick. “why are you so nervous? think i don’t want you as much as you want me?”

“wait, actually?” your usually confident facade of the overly forward flirt was faltering more and more by the second.

“you’re so busy ogling my body that you haven’t even noticed the way i look at you, huh?” it’s obvious logan was an absolute beast of a man, but when he cages you with his arms between his bulky frame and the mattress, you feel like a little field mouse against a lion. the way your pupils dilate as you look up at him with adorned excitement has him so fucking feral, heat stirring in his stomach and blood rushing to his cock. he traced over your outfit, admiring how the skin-tight leather hugged your curved. “wearing such a slutty little things that leaves nothing to the imagination, and you expected me not to think about pinning you down and fucking you until you pass out?”

you shivered at his words, arousal pooling in your underwear and warmth spreading throughout your body under your skin. this cheeky son of a bitch can smell it too, the sweet smell of desire, sensing how needy you are for his touch and how your pussy is just begging for his attention. 

as much as he wanted to rip your clothing off and pound into you like there was no tomorrow, he wanted to take his time to properly treasure the cute sidekick who has been reminding him how it feels to be a man again, young and unafraid to pursue the woman of his dreams and treat her right the way that countless of others failed to do. (you’re going to laugh hysterically at him later on down the line when you hear him say that, never thinking you could be the object of anyone’s affection past a one-night stand, but the look in his eyes makes you realize he’s telling the truth and you’ll get all flustered over it.) 

you can taste the alcohol from earlier when he kisses you and moan into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer, all teeth, tongue, and animalistic want. he ran a hand down your torso to reach the zipper of your suit, undoing it in one swift motion, exposing your bare chest to his eager eyes.

“no bra?”

“i don’t need it when the suit— ah!” 

he cut you off, not caring about the intricacies of how the costume supported everything when he would only get distracted, moving his lips to take one of your perk nipples in his mouth and sucking like it was going to give him milk or something while pinching the other one in between his fingers. he’s like a kid on christmas playing with his new toy: palming at your breasts, cupping and squishing them together, and realizing that his large hands could practically cover them entirely.

“fuckk, you’re so pretty, doll,” he drawled, letting go of your teat with a ‘pop’ and kissing your neck before making you gasp by sinking his teeth into your skin. you gasped at the sudden sensation, deep enough to leave a lasting indent but not deep enough to draw blood, as he soothed the fresh wound by licking it with his tongue. everyone was going to know that you were his, especially that motherfucker he knows is listening in on the other side of the door with his cock in his hands.

 “logan…” you rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

“what is it, princess?” it was a nickname he has used plenty of times, yet it felt completely different in such a sexually charged situation, so much more intimate in a way that you feel your heart racing even faster than before and a rush of energy within. 

“need you…” you murmured.

“come on, a little louder, you need to use your words.” 

“fucking hell,” you covered your face with your hands, trying to ignore the way your cheeks burned, “i need you, logan! i’m gonna go crazy if you don’t fuck me right now!”

“hm, is that so?” he had been resting on his side up until now, laying on his back and lifting you up with both hands under your arms. you found yourself sitting pretty in his lap, straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. “why don’t you work for it then? work for what you wanted so badly this entire time?”

you inhaled sharply, looking down at this fine specimen of a mutant under you made of pure muscle and adamantium with a noticeable tent in his pants, a cocky grin gracing his features daring you to continue. only a fool wouldn’t take up his challenge. biting the inside of your mouth, you began to fully strip yourself of all clothing, kicking it off to the side to be forgotten and showing off your beautiful bare body that logan has been dreaming about since the moment he met you. “take your clothes off too,” you huffed, “it’s not fair for me to be the only one naked.”

he hummed in agreement, taking off the upper half of his yellow and blue-detailed suit, revealing his rippling abs and pecs— age has yet to make a dent in his physique, he doesn’t even look real. he’s not going to remove the bottom half though, both because you’re already on top of him and because you still need to “work for it.” 

experimentally, you rolled your hips on his bulge, feeling a twinge of amusement when he visibly had to clench his jaw to prevent a moan from slipping out. he’s just as pent-up as you are, no matter how hard he’s trying to hide it right now. you fiddled with the metal of his zipper for a moment before pulling it down, motions fidgety with nerves yet still determined to see this through. 

your eyes widen at the sight of his fully erect cock, noting instantly that he’s bigger than any other guy you’ve been with, yet still feeling your mouth water at the size and the vein trailing its underbelly. “is it even going to fit?” you manage to breathe out, reaching out to run a finger over the leaking tip and hearing him hiss.

“only one way to find out, but i think you can take it.” 

placing your hands on his shoulders for balance, you put his theory to the test and raised your body to sink yourself onto him, whimpering at the pleasurable stretch when you manage to make it past the tip. you’re so fucking soaked from your own thoughts and the few minutes of foreplay earlier that you didn’t even need his fingers to prep you, just using your slick as a form of natural lube and feeling him slip into you inch by inch.

“that’s it, doll, just like that,” he praised, the words going right to your head, really enjoying the show of you struggling to take all of him.

“mmhh, lo—” his name came out in a more whiny voice than expected with your eyes rolling back and nails raking into his skin. your thighs were aching with the constant repetitive motion of working yourself up and down his cock, taking one step back for two steps forward, more than halfway there yet unsure if you could handle it all when you felt so impossibly full already.

“shhh, i know, i know, sweetheart— just take your time, i’m not going anywhere.” his words are so sweet despite being a complete asshole by laying back and letting you do all the hard work, hands behind his head and everything while watching his cock slowly disappearing between your folds.

you look at him through glossy half-lidded eyes, brain turned to absolute mush, not even realizing that you had finally taken him to the base and was comfortably nestled on his cock. it took a few moments to adjust to his girth, breathing heavily with the swelling feeling of satisfaction developing within you. you have barely even started, and yet it was already so much better than anything else— he was so much better than anyone else. 

“you okay?” he waits for you to blink to process his words before nodding slightly, letting out a soft ‘yeah’ before your eyes went wide when he suddenly grabbed your waist and positioned you under him once again. you didn’t notice because you went dumb with dick (to put it bluntly), but he had been restraining himself from flipping you over to be on top or trying to buck his hips into you before you were ready. 

he then started thrusting into you at a relentless pace, your hands flying up to his biceps and clinging on for dear life to find purchase. there was no frame to go with this mattress you were resting on, but you were sure it would be banging against the wall until it broke if it was there. your eyes were screwed shut with your head thrown back into the pillow, letting out pathetic pitched moans along with stutters of his name as the orgasm in your stomach builds.

“aah, lo-logan!”

“don’t worry, i got you,” he lazily circled your clit with his thumb, feeling you clench even more tightly at the action, “just let yourself go, relax— cum for me, doll.”

you cried out as your climax washed over you, gushing all over his cock and the pants of his suit that neither of you bothered to take off earlier. it’s a shame that you ruined his clothing so soon when he just got this costume, but honestly, he likes it a lot better when the yellow is stained with the evidence of how good he made you feel.

the way your walls spasmed around him made him quickly follow suit, shooting ribbons of his seed into you and painting your insides white. perhaps he would have been able to hold on for a bit longer when he was younger, but he can’t find himself caring in the least when you were looking up at him like he was everything right now.

he leaned down to kiss you, slowly pulling out of you, being careful not to rest on top of you and crush you under his weight, generally being uncharacteristically sweet towards you in stark comparison to how he was rocking your world like you were the last two souls on earth just a minute ago.

“so… do you like me?” it was the tone he grew accustomed to when you and wade were teasing him, feeling you wrap your arms around him with a sigh and snuggling into his chest.

“yeah… i like you a lot more than you think…”

[etfrin]

⤷❝Dimwits and Stupid Dolls | Coriolanus Snow❞ˎˊ-

⇢☾Warning: NSFW | Snow is his own warning, dom sub undertones, pussy slapping, degradation, ownership kink, dubcon if you squint (not really coz reader loves it), overstimulation, masterbation (f. receiving), voyeurism if you squint, pinv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it dumbfucks), mentions of torture and killing | lmk if I forgot anything!

⇢☾Pairing: young president! Coriolanus x fem! Reader

⇢☾Summary: He's tired of stupid people and then he sees you fucking yourself stupid on your fingers instead of waiting for your husband to fuck you as you deserve, of course he has to punish you

⇢☾A/N: this was inspired by that one ask of what happens when Coryo sees reader touching herself and by the fact I want to be absolutely railed by Snow when he's angry

< m. list > < arranged marriage m.list > < bc: @cafekitsune > < tag list >

Coriolanus Snow prided himself on his perfection, his wit, the power he had, and the utter self-control he had established with time. But, the lord often gives his hardest battles to his toughest soldiers, and Coryo was no exception to that matter. His toughest battles came in the form of dimwits he had to deal with during work.

He wanted to shoot them all, melt their brains, perhaps even throw them into the games. He was seething by the time he had entered the manor. He hastily goes to his study, wondering if finishing the paperwork would make him feel better. It didn't. Of course, it fucking didn't.

He wanted to go to you, hear your laugh, have your arms around him, feel your lips against his. But a gentleman wouldn't show himself like this. His mind buzzed with hot red, his eyes in a glare he couldn't control.

It didn't even take him a second to change his mind when he saw you through the monitor of one of the cameras he had placed everywhere in the mansion. ‘Fuck it,’ he thinks as he sees you fucking your pussy with your fingers. Three fingers in, your hips bucking up to ride your digits. Your wrist was on your mouth, it was clear you were biting the flesh to stop whatever sound that was coming out, your eyes closed shut as your fingers continued to breach the entrance of your (his) pussy.

So not only he had to deal with dimwits all day, his slut of a wife couldn't even wait for him to fuck her into the mattress, you had to resort to your fingers instead of having patience. Coriolanus felt his pants tighten and his jaw clenched. He may not be able to kill those men, but a whore like you could certainly be punished for playing with what's his.

He went to the master bedroom, everyone averting his presence, knowing that they would be prey if they didn't. When he enters, you don't even realize his presence, too fucked with your fingers abusing your swollen clit. Your mess was all over the sheets. How many times have you cum like this? And yet you weren't satisfied. He's married to a slut indeed.

He walks up to the bed, in quiet steps so you don't become aware of his presence. Quickly enough, he got rid of his pants and boxers, not bothering with his shirt and vest. A gentleman would have taken everything, but you proved wrong to be worthy of that treatment right now.

Soon enough, he made aware of his presence by holding the wrist of the hand you were fucking yourself onto. You open your eyes, surprised by the touch. A whimper slips out of your mouth, the sound muffled as your lips are covered by your opposite hand. Your pussy squeezed your fingers, as you notice Coriolanus. His blue eyes were mad, feral even, his face a bit red but his lips had a smirk which indicated that he was going to enjoy this.

“Dolls should be played with,” he whispered, “but they shouldn't play with themselves, isn't that right, Dove? A good doll should wait for its owner to play.” You hastily remove the hand that was covering your sounds. “Coryo,” you whispered, your words broken with need.

“Wanted you so bad,” you said, “You were busy and… I missed you.” He felt guilt sprout in his mind, indeed with the games coming up, he hadn't spent much time with you. But both of you knew if you demanded it, he would have given his attention to you, even if it was only a minute he could spare.

“That doesn't excuse your action, pet,” he said, his hand pulling at your wrist making your fingers pop out of your slick cunt. “You were playing with what's mine. Fucking mine. Deal with the consequences.” He cups your pussy with his palm like it's the most precious thing, covering his hand in your juices. You closed your eyes, preparing for what was to come, your nerves at its most peak with sensitivity and anticipation. Smack, smack, smack.

You cried out of pain but mostly pleasure, a dizzying pleasure that filled your veins from the slaps Coryo was delivering onto your soaking wet cunt. Each slap was done with precision, the pleasure just high enough to gloss over the pain. The stings of the slaps make tears fall on your face. All the while he watches, he watches the way his hand hits your core, and the sheets get soaked with your essence. He watches as your body heats up more and more, your jaw slacked as you moan and whine, your eyes glazed but filled with love for him anyway.

Who knows how long after was he satisfied? Was it when you ended up sobbing into his chest, begging him to stop, that your pussy can't take it anymore, that it aches and you want to cum, cum, cum? You're so close and it's not enough, each slap hitting your clit perfectly, making your slit clench around nothing and gush more of your juices out. But he was satisfied as you sobbed and pleaded for him, his cock, and his forgiveness of your sins, that he had stopped his punishment for touching what's his. He tilts your head up and presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“That's my girl. How many times did you cum before I caught you, dove?” You hesitate to answer but whisper, “Fo-four, Coryo. But it wasn't enough. I need you. I need you, goddamn it. My love, my Coryo.”

A filthy rough kiss was all you received in answer, his fingers sliding inside your gummy walls. “Eight times should it then,” he smirks against your lips. You can't even begin to fathom what would happen later. Not when his fingers curve up just right against your g-spot, making you spasm around his fingers.

The first orgasm by him for the night.

“Fucking take it,” he whispered against your ear, his teeth biting your ear lobe, his hot breath against your sweaty skin. He grunts, “You do it, my doll,” as he fucks into you. Your legs hooked over his shoulders as his balls slapped your ass with every thrust. Skin meeting skin and the sound of it much louder than your moans. You were by your seventh orgasm by now, the bed sheets soaked below his cum and yours.

Every time you begged that you can't, he fucked into you harder and faster. “I can't- not anymore- I swear Coryo-” you whimper. His response is shutting you by biting your lower lip hard enough that you bleed and he sucks it all up. He groans into your mouth as he tastes it on his tongue. Everything else is ignored, and no encouragement is given. This was your punishment.

Fucking take it.

Current tag list: @stelleduarte @nowitsmissing @lifeonawhim @le-lena @dollfacedalls @motley-baby @champomiel @slytherinholland @randomstuff2040 @justacaliforniandreamer @emmalinemalfoy @hyuk4s @theamuz @watercolorskyy @littlebiwitchsworld @eir964 @skywalker1dream @darkangelkathiecookiesmith @ben-has-arrived @bucksdonkey @xyzstar @ellie-luvsfics @sunny-deary @daughter1of2anita3dearly @eir964 @nowsyhozey @ayaya-aa @serving-targaryen-realness

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

love(rs) and war | f. odair

masterlist

summary: request here — when you signed up to become a solider in the rebellion, you never expected to be plagued with dirty thoughts of your boyfriend, finnick. who would have thought someone could make tactical gear look so good? you aren’t too sure your self-control is strong enough to make it through the night, but things take a turn when you take a shift on watch.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, smut, thigh riding, manhandling, possessiveness, jealousy, unprotected p in v, risk of being caught, dirty thoughts/talk, mentions of war, angst, singular use of y/n please forgive me, gale, slow-burn-ish, emotional sex, teasing, fluff

notes: everyone say happy birthday to @odairsaurora

word count: 12.8k dear god

Becoming a soldier in the rebellion against the Capitol came with a lot of certitude and not exactly the good kind. The likelihood of encountering death was extreme. Making it out alive was possible; making it out unscathed wasn’t. Even if you survived, you would be left with a life-long mental scar as a reminder of everything you have endured.

You knew all this when you signed up.

Even with all that knowledge, there were still countless uncertainties. Like not knowing where you would be laying your head to rest at night. Not knowing if you would even survive to be given the chance to rest at night. Being in a constant state of fight or flight. Always looking over your shoulder to make sure a squad member hadn’t been lost to a Peacekeeper or a pod or a mutt. Making sure you hadn’t lost the love of your life. Finnick.

But those uncertainties were predictable in combat—an oxymoron you had managed to wrap your war-torn mind around.

Something you never could have predicted was the lust. The overwhelming, all-consuming desire for Finnick that had engulfed you like a tonne of bricks the moment the first explosive pod went off and your sense of safety plummeted six feet below the ground.

Fire erupted in the air between the two buildings Katniss had shot her arrow through. Everyone was crouched together, watching in awe as they witnessed the sadistic lengths Snow was willing to go in an attempt to keep the rebels from reaching him. Your heart was beating so fast and every loud boom caused by the destruction had you recoiling in on yourself.

Finnick too was watching beside you, wearing a boyish grin as his shoulders shook lightly with suppressed laughter. He always was more favourable to dark humour, finding hilarity in situations others would find disturbing. You found it strangely attractive.

As you stared at him, the initial shock of the explosion started to wear off until it was no longer registering in your mind. All you could focus on was the dangerous curve of his lips, wishing they were somewhere on your body. Anywhere.

When he realised you were staring at him, his smile dropped and was replaced with a look of concern. He leaned towards you, voice a whisper though loud enough to be heard over the blaze in the distance, “You okay?”

You weren’t sure how to tell him your body was pulsating with fear, adrenaline, and desire all at once, so you nodded and hummed a pitchy, “Mhm.”

You suspected it had something to do with the dangerous situation you were in. The possibility that any moment with him could be your last. With this information, your body seemed to switch into survival mode, only ‘survival mode’ seemed to mean it yearned to spend every possible second you had left with him. Which, yes, included wanting him to fuck your brains out every time he merely looked in your direction.

And the uniform, Jesus Christ, the uniform... Whoever designed it was a miracle worker. Quite literally.

In your eyes, nothing could have made Finnick look more attractive than he already was. That man radiated unparalleled beauty even on his worst days. But the second you saw him dressed head-to-toe in black tactical gear you knew you were sorely mistaken. He looked so commanding. So gorgeous.

So dominant.

Never, absolutely never had you been more attracted to anyone than you were to Finnick right at the moment. You felt like you had reverted to a younger version of yourself, the one before you were in a relationship—shy, flustered, and stuck in a state of constant lewd daydreams.

He was adorned in straps and pockets for weapons and equipment, chest protected by sleek black armour. The only skin he had uncovered was from his neck up and his hands, making that tiny sliver of exposure so much more alluring than it should have been. His right thigh was strapped with a gun holster that cinched around his muscular thighs. You couldn’t pinpoint why this made you so desperate to sit in his lap or straddle his thigh and just—

“It’ll be getting dark soon,” said Lieutenant Jackson, pulling you from your thoughts. “We need to find somewhere to settle in ‘til the morning. Streets’ll be even more dangerous at night.”

Nods of agreement echoed around the group. Messalla, you believed his name was, had mentioned there being a place nearby that could be used to camp out for the night. From avoiding hidden pods and scaling over rubble, it was clear what should have been a fifteen-minute journey would turn into an hour-long expedition.

Not that you were complaining.

Sure, that sounded selfish, but nobody was perfect, right? You were certain anyone else would feel the same if they got to spend an entire hour admiring their partner—who just happened to be Finnick Odair—looking incredible whilst doing something as ordinary as walking. His black cargo pants kept tightening around his thighs with each smooth step he took. He kept alternating between holding his trident beside him and over his shoulder, muscles flexing through the thick material of his jacket each time he switched positions.

Sometimes you accidentally found yourself falling behind in pace, a subconscious desire to just watch him walk. It would take him a few seconds before he realised you weren’t beside him anymore and then he would look back to find you staring in a flustered daze.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just regaining my energy,” you had replied.

He must’ve known it was a lie. He had to. Though if he did, he didn’t say anything about it, just simply raised an eyebrow and held out his hand for you to take, which you did.

His fingers interlaced with yours. “I can carry you if you want?”

“Thanks, but I think I might die of mortification.”

He laughed something deep and beautiful in response, voice vibrant as he spoke, “At least it’d be in my arms.”

It was such a disconcerting sentence, but the sound of his voice was so alluring that you were conflicted between feeling distressed and turned on.

Eventually, you ended up finding the location Messalla was talking about, discovering that it was a ransacked cocktail bar nearing the outskirts of the city. Everyone was quiet as they settled in, the atmosphere heavy with both purpose and apprehension. Not Finnick though. He was his usual lively self, managing to pull a few responses from various squad members with his charming banter, even gaining a few small smiles here and there.

It took everything in you not to jump into his arms and crush your lips against his whenever he wrapped a large hand around your waist as he stood beside you during briefings about strategy and navigating the city. He kept asking if something was wrong, kept giving you these funny looks in response to your strange behaviour, but you refused to tell him. It was wrong. Positively immoral.

You eventually sat together on a long leather stool, shoulders pressed up against one another, his hand wrapped innocently around your thigh in a need for constant connection. He kept trying to make conversation with you, but you could barely muster up a single sentence in response. Not with his hand touching you so. Not with him looking like that.

His hair was dishevelled in the most perfect way that not even a prep team could attempt to reconstruct it. In any other circumstance, your hands would have already found their way into his golden locks, tugging and scratching lightly to coax a pleasured sigh from his lips. In any other circumstance, your lips would have already attached themselves to the exposed skin of his neck, tracing the length of his artery with your tongue so he would be tilting his head to the side in a silent plea for more.

In any other circumstance, you would be sitting in his lap, hearing the rough material of his attire rustle against yours as you felt him thrust in and out of you.

You crossed your legs.

“What’s going on in that gorgeous head of yours?”

You blinked back into existence. Finnick was staring at you, his hand now interlocked with your own and stroking the side of your palm with his thumb. A ray of golden setting sunlight painted a strip of light across the lower half of his face, across his mouth. Your gaze flickered between his eyes and lips, lingering longer and longer on the latter. They stretched into a sweet, reassuring smile. He must have thought you were anxious.

“It’s okay to be scared, you know,” he continued. “Everyone here is scared. I’m scared. I know it may not look like it because I’m just so effortlessly calm and collected—” His expression morphed into faux-arrogance for a moment, lips smirking and eyes sparkling with smugness, and your stomach did a somersault “—but I am. So it’s okay to admit that you are too. I just need you to talk to me.”

You felt so guilty like you had just committed the worst crime in the world. He was on an entirely different wavelength to you, all concerned about your wellbeing meanwhile your thoughts were running rampant with lust. It bordered on nymphomania. You felt like the worst person alive. Why were you thinking about sex in a time like this? Why did Finnick have to be wearing tactical gear? Why, why, why, why, why?

The sudden need to confess was overwhelming and the way he was looking at you so intently wasn’t helping. Then his hand was back on your thigh and kneading it gently in encouragement.

Your thighs squeezed together. God help you if he felt it.

The confession was threatening to burst from the tip of your tongue: You just look so fucking sexy right now and I’m afraid that if I don’t feel you inside me soon I might actually die but I’m also terrified to tell you because I know I shouldn’t be feeling this way when we are literally in the middle of a war and the fact that you are so oblivious is turning me on so much more so please take me into a supply closet and fuck some sense into me before I lose my fucking mind—

Woah.

Could it be the effects of a pod? Did the Gamemakers release some sort of invisible gas that acted as an aphrodisiac which was lethal without relief? If that were true, wouldn’t everyone else be in the same boat as you were? Wouldn’t everyone else look as flustered and rigid as you did right now? Wouldn’t Finnick?

No. It was just you. Somehow that made it even worse.

Finnick’s brows arched inwards as he awaited your response. Your mind flashed back to another time when his brows were arching and lips were spilling filthy obscenities due to your own manipulation. Jesus fucking Christ, your stomach felt so tight it ached. You were throbbing at the thought of it.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The words were rising into your throat no matter how hard you tried to swallow them. Your mouth opened to speak, disregarding all the consequences that came with admitting such a thing in such an inappropriate situation. And then the sound of an engine in the distance suddenly cut you off.

Everyone moved onto their feet, on alert due to the incoming vehicle.

“Stand down everyone. It’s friendly,” said Jackson.

You weren’t too sure ‘friendly’ had been the right term as you watched Peeta step out of the rover Coin had sent him in.

His arrival brought with him a heightened sense of tension. There was no telling what state of mind he was in or when he was going to snap and become the violent hijacked version of himself. Finnick had decided to take on the responsibility of assigning himself Peeta’s guard to make sure he didn’t cause harm to anyone in the squad or himself. Also because that’s just who Finnick was. Selfless and kind.

And where Finnick went, so did you, meaning his already highly protective nature over you increased monumentally. He never let you out of his sight, always kept you within arms-length, and always kept a hand somewhere on your body. You really, really did try to contain yourself. You tried to suppress the heat flushing your entire body. Tried not to sigh every time his fingers pressed into your waist the slightest bit or whenever he curled his hand around your inner thigh and gave it a territorial squeeze as you sat beside each other on the leather couch. But it was so hard when he was acting so dominating over you.

Even Peeta who was aloof and struggling with his sanity half the time seemed to notice Finnick’s sudden possessiveness.

“Afraid I’m gonna try and take her off you, Finnick?” Peeta had said.

It was meant to be a joke, but the tone of his voice was so flat and devoid of life, it made you feel a little uneasy.

Finnick’s hold on you tightened ever-so-slightly and his jaw clenched. It must have been so strange for him. You hadn’t known Peeta before moving to District Thirteen, but Finnick did. You had heard stories of the boy who enjoyed baking and painting, who was known for his love for Katniss and his kindness that never wavered even when thrown into an arena and forced to murder other tributes.

That was the boy Finnick knew; the person in front of him now was a stranger.

Peeta must have sensed the tension he had caused as he averted his gaze. “Kidding.” And then a few seconds later, he murmured, “Sorry.”

You felt terrible watching as the little life he had in his eyes seemed to deflate even more than they had as he internally berated himself. How awful it must be to not have control over yourself, to be a broken shell of the person you once were. You couldn’t imagine the same happening to Finnick—the light he exuded dimming to a cold, dark, pale glow. The mere thought of it had your heart threatening to break in two.

Finnick’s grip on you relaxed and his eyes grew softer. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, empathy pervading his voice. He was quiet for a short moment before he started smiling softly to himself. “But Peeta—” Peeta’s attention was back on him “—just for future reference: sharing is caring is not a concept I apply to Y/N.”

For the first time since his rescue, you saw Peeta smile back at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

**********

Darkness had finally veiled the city, drenching the bar in ominous shadows and beams of silver moonlight. Silence filled the room apart from the occasional startled gasp or yelp as multiple squad members awoke from horrific nightmares. The very back of the bar was scattered with various sleeping figures, most lying on the floor in an attempt to remain unseen from any potential passers-by outside.

It was your shift on watch, hours twenty-two hundred to zero-one hundred. You were sitting on the same leather stool as earlier but now it was positioned so that you had a clear view of the streets outside.

Finnick had tried to convince Boggs to let him take your shift for you, being his usual chivalrous self and all. But much to his dismay, not even his charm and million-dollar smile could persuade that man. Then he offered to join you, but you refused. Spending time alonewith him atnight would have been disastrous; even during the day, you had a hard time keeping your feelings under wraps.

The final stretch was coming up with twenty minutes to go. The boredom was a killer, leaving you to alternate between scanning the streets and glancing over to where Finnick slept. Well, knowing him, he was probably wide awake worrying about you being left alone for three hours, picturing different anxiety-inducing scenarios behind his closed eyes.

One of his legs was arched whilst the other was extended flat on the floor. He had an arm behind his head acting as a pillow and his other hand was lying on his stomach, fingers subtly tapping in a wave-like pattern.

Definitely awake.

That little detail certainly fuelled your imagination, knowing he was right there lying awake with you on his mind whilst everyone else was probably asleep. What really had your mind buzzing was the fact that the hem of his jacket had ridden up, just barely exposing the tanned skin of his torso and the contour of his v-line which led down to his—wait, was he smiling?

Maybe it was just a trick of the light, but you swore his lips were curving into a small smirk. But that would mean he knew you were staring at him…

You turned back around to the streets, blushing deeply.

“No,” you murmured to yourself. “You’re just tired.”

Maybe you were, maybe you weren’t. But as you stared out into the night air, the only image that plagued your mind was one of Finnick fucking Odair smirking.

Goosebumps washed over your body, sensitive against the rough material of your attire. First, he was smirking, then he was taking you into his arms, then he was kissing you, caressing you, sliding a hand beneath your shirt, into your pants. You almost reached the part you enjoyed the most, but a troubling noise pulled you from your thoughts. A pair of footsteps.

Heavy and purposeful, they came from behind you.

Oh god, you thought, feeling the anticipation build exponentially inside you. He saw me looking. He knows. He knows what I’ve been thinking all day. He knows. What am I going to do? What am I going to say? What—

“Hey,” a deep voice said quietly.

You looked up to find Katniss’s blue-eyed counterpart standing beside the couch.

“Gale?”

Oh, thank god.

“Yeah.” He sat down beside you with a soft grunt. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Even he knew you were expecting Finnick. You shook your head at him as if the idea was absurd, but in reality, you were a little disappointed. Although your shoulders were only just now dropping back into a relaxed state, you found a deep part of yourself actually wanting Finnick to come and find you out. The anticipation, harrowing as it was, was also exhilarating.

All you could think about was him interrogating you, pulling answers from your lips with just a stern look. Towering over you in his black tactical gear, muscular arms crossed and shoulders broad. Teasing you in an unforgiving tone for thinking such dirty things about him even though you knew he was having the exact same thoughts.

Gale shifted beside you and you suddenly realised you had spoken in well over a minute.

You cleared your throat. “Can’t sleep?”

He stared straight ahead, breathing out a half-hearted chuckle as though your question was a fleeting amusement. “Course not.”

Gale was alright. He was a little too headstrong and insensitive at times, but he wasn’t terrible. Pretty much anyone who wasn’t Snow or stood with Capitol was alright in your books. Your boyfriend, on the other hand, didn’t like him one bit.

“You know if Finnick sees you, you’re in for it, right?” you warned, giving him a short glance.

“He doesn’t like me very much, does he?”

Your eyebrows raised, inhaling a deep breath as you recalled their brief history. The first time they met, Gale had believed Finnick was in love with Katniss—something the two of you found humour in almost religiously—and therefore, spent most his days shooting glares and making snide comments towards him.

It came as quite a shock to Gale when he discovered it wasn’t Katniss who Finnick was in love with, but you. How he hadn’t realised sooner was beyond the both of you as you and Finnick were pretty much attached to the hip. He got there in the end, at least.

First impressions were everything though. After that, Finnick never really grew to enjoy Gale’s presence too much. During field training for the rebellion, Fate decided to spur on their little feud even further by having you be paired up with Gale for training exercises. Neither of you was very happy about it in the beginning, wanting to be with each other’s loved ones instead. Shockingly, your shared time together sparked up a small friendship.

Finnick wasn’t the most approving.

“He thinks you like me,” you said.

He looked at you, brows furrowed. “I do like you.”

See? Even Gale couldn’t comprehend what you really meant because of how ridiculous it was. You shot him a knowing look.

His expression morphed into one of understanding. “Oh, as in like you like you. Really? Does he not know that I li—”

“Like Katniss? Yes, I’ve told him many times.”

“Well, I guess some people just won’t be told.”

You scoffed, recalling how he had the same way of thinking not too long ago. Oh, how the tables have turned. “That’s rich coming from you.”

Gale laughed quietly, nodding as his gaze moved back to the darkness. “Yeah, guess you’re right.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

Your head whirled to the side, heart jolting in your chest.

There Finnick was, standing beside the stool as he smiled politely at you and Gale, his eyes burning with anything but civility. Your heart dropped at the sight of him. Down into your stomach and then even further below in between your thighs.

His lips twitched as he looked between the two of you. His piercing eyes settled on yours for a moment; the way you gulped was almost comical.

“No,” Gale said cautiously. “Just passing time.”

Finnick nodded indifferently and averted his gaze as though he hadn’t a worry in the world. You knew better though. You knew there was a fire scorching just below his skin, boiling in his bloodstream—the common symptoms of jealousy. They were symptoms you knew all too well. People often had trouble keeping their eyes off him back in Thirteen. Sometimes their hands too. That’s when your jealousy turned to loathing. A feeling you and Finnick both shared whenever it happened.

“Then you won’t mind if I join you?” he asked, although it came out more like a command.

Was it wrong to find Finnick being jealous so attractive?

“Actually, I, uh,” Gale stammered, pushing himself up onto his feet, “I should probably be getting some sleep.”

You couldn’t blame his slight panic. Finnick could be incredibly intimidating when he wanted to be.

Gale shot you a tight parting smile and you mouthed an apology in return.

“Wise choice,” Finnick said as Gale walked past him and began making his way to the back of the bar. You were surprised neither of them knocked shoulders as he did. Though Finnick did add a sarcastic “Sweet dreams!” as you both watched Gale disappear into the shadows.

You turned back to Finnick to see him already looking at you, pride gleaming in his eyes. What a man.

“You’re such an ass.”

He smiled at you humorously. “Only to him.”

You shook your head. “He doesn’t even—”

“Like you? Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said, and a flash of a smile graced your lips at the way he cut you off the same way you did Gale. Always so in tune with each other. Honestly, it was a wonder you ever managed to have a conversation with one another. He sat down beside you, his legs brushing against yours. “Call me possessive. Maybe a little obsessed too.”

“A little?”

“Okay, very.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, smiling openly now, “the feeling’s mutual.”

He returned your smile with one of his own and for a second, for a tiny splinter of a second, you had a flicker of hope that you might be able to handle being alone with him after all.

“Well, I’d certainly hope so,” he murmured warmly.

Then his hand was sliding onto your thigh, fingers curling and kneading innocently.

It was like a fiery aura suddenly reignited around him, both magnetising and disastrously alluring. Your eyes widened slightly from his touch. That overwhelming attraction from before returned with a tenfold increase in intensity. It was so powerful that you had to look away.

A deafening silence settled between you. Despite this, your thoughts were thunderous; so loud that it was impossible to tune them out. He had to know what he was doing to you, how he was making you feel—it was practically scrawled in bold red writing across your forehead.

Your arms were folded over your lap, afraid that if you moved them you would lose control. You glanced at Finnick to see him staring out at the shadowed buildings with a thoughtful gaze. His jaw was set in place, angled perfectly like it had been chiselled with a file. That spot where his jawline and neck connected was just begging for the touch of your lips. Or was it the other way around?

Your eyes fell further to see his other hand resting on his own thigh, clad in now-tightly-fitted black cargo pants.

Big, veiny hands. Big, muscular thighs. Big, throbbing…

Oh, no, this was all too much. You were supposed to be fighting a war, not your own damn carnal urges.

“You’ve barely spoken to me today,” Finnick suddenly spoke in a gentle tone. The guilt increased. “If you’re feeling like this is too much to handle then there’s no shame in going back home.” Shame. Guilt. Too much. “We can return to base and get a hovercraft back to Thirteen. Both of us. I’ll be right by your side. Always.”

God, you loved him so much.

“I love you so much,” you accidentally exhaled.

His expression morphed into one of puzzlement, reflecting what you felt on the inside when the words slipped past your lips. “I love you too?” he chuckled.

You quickly tried to recompose yourself. “But—uh, it’s—it’s not that.”

“No?” He tilted his head. “What is it then?”

On the outside you were composed, disregarding the hot pink flooding your cheeks, although it was probably too dark to be seen. But on the inside, panicked mantras ricocheted from every corner of your mind over and over. A war between two sides, two voices that said, “Tell him” and “Don’t tell him” was raging. You were starting to grow tired of the constant indecision, the ever-present need to confess, and the unrelenting tightness in your stomach you felt whenever you so much as thought about him.

So finally, you decided to create a side of your own. You were going to show him.

Your eyes dropped to the hand curled around your thigh and you inhaled a silent deep breath. Tentatively, you unfolded your arms and moved to rest your hand on top of Finnick’s. He remained still, only watching your movements with curiosity. Your gaze trailed up his arm, over his broad shoulders, the tempting length of his neck, the sharpness of his jaw, and then finally landed on his hypnotically green eyes.

He was looking at you and you were looking at him. There was no point in trying to conceal the fervent darkness manifesting in your gaze nor how it kept dropping to his soft pink lips. He noticed. You knew he did because he too was starting to succumb to the darkness and, fuck, did it look incredible on him.

You hadn’t meant to do it—squeezing your thighs around his hand. It was just, the ache was growing too much for you to handle without relief, and he looked so damn good.

Finnick’s eyes squinted ever-so-slightly at your revealing gesture and they seemed to impossibly grow a shade darker.

“What have you been thinking about?” he asked slowly.

And it was at this point you were certain that he was finally coming to some understanding. It was easy to tell from his twisted smile and scrunched brows, the way he spoke as though he was baiting you into giving an answer he already knew.

Your lips parted as you stared up at him, finding your breaths to become shaky and slightly heavier as the tension thickened. Finnick’s fingertips pressed firmly into your inner thighs and you let out a quiet gasp.

He knows, he knows, he knows.

“Hm?” he pressed further.

Somehow the space between you and Finnick had closed drastically without you even noticing. His face was five or so inches away from yours, peering down at you with a smirk he was trying to repress. He smelled of sea salt and smoky debris though still had a hint of that one rich scent of cologne you always found so intoxicating.

“I’ve been…”

He was closer now. You could feel his breath fanning across your skin.

“You’ve been…?” he enticed, knowing he was making it so much harder for you to conjure the words.

Your hand was clutching his because if he so much as shifted a millimetre, you would lose it. You couldn’t move. Your eyes were on Finnick’s lips, watching as they grew closer and closer. How could he expect you to tell him anything when you were immobilised from his touch? How could he tease you so when you were very obviously having a hard time keeping yourself composed?

Instinctively, your head was beginning to tilt forward to give him easier access, even though you knew he wouldn’t give you anything unless you gave him an answer first. But you couldn’t tell him. You couldn’t. The words were there on the tip of your tongue, but they wouldn’t leave your mouth. And you were absolutely certain of this when the warm touch of his soft lips grazed your own.

It was too much. Too much and too wrong.

“I’m thinking…” you began with a whisper, feeling your lips ghost over his, “it’s your turn to keep watch, Solider.”

His eyes snapped up to yours as you pulled away.

Without a word, you rose to your feet, feeling Finnick’s hand slide off your thigh; for a split second, you regretted your decision. You turned away, inhaling shaky breaths as you attempted to round the corner of the leather stool. Anxiety buzzed through your entire body and rightfully so, because just as you made it around the bend, you heard a pair of rushed footsteps trailing after you.

Suddenly, an arm was wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you backwards.

A startled gasp made it halfway past your lips before a large hand was clamped over your mouth. The other, which had forced you backwards, was splayed across your lower abdomen—very much lower, mind you—and had your back trapped against the firm torso of your capture.

Your heart was already thrumming like a hummingbird inside your chest, but it just about gave out when you felt the hard length pressed against your backside.

Finnick’s words were hot in your ear. “That’s not fair, sweetheart,” he spoke, his tone disapproving and full of false offence. “You’ve been giving me the eyes all day, yet you can’t even admit it when I ask nicely?”

Horror ran cold through your blood and your eyes widened.

He must have sensed the rigidness in your body as the next sound that came from his mouth was a low chuckle. “What, you thought I hadn’t noticed?”

You were in shock. Borderline catatonic in his arms. Every time you crossed your legs whenever the pressure between them became too much. Every time you fell behind the group to watch him walk. Every time you stared at him imagining that he was pounding into you or had his mouth between your thighs. He knew. The whole fucking time, he knew.

The hand covering your mouth lowered to your neck and held it gently, thumb stroking a delicate trail over your skin as Finnick awaited your response. You were hastily scanning the room in front of you, praying that all its occupants were either dead asleep or blinded by the darkness.

“I didn’t mean to,” you squeaked out. “I tried to—to control it.”

Your head was turned abruptly and suddenly shadowed green eyes were peering down into your own.

“You didn’t mean to,” he mocked. “That’s what you tell yourself, sweetheart, but every time you looked in my direction, you were dragging me towards you.”

His hand, which was on your stomach, lowered a quarter inch and your own hand went flying to prevent it. Not because you didn’t want him to go any further, but because you were scared of having an… audible reaction that might reveal both you and Finnick to the group.

“And deep down that’s what you wanted, wasn’t it?” he continued.

Your lips were parted though not a single word could pass them. Your inner brows were cinched upwards, the speechlessness evident in your expression. Finnick quickly realised this was the case and his eyes twinkled with mischief under the moonlight.

He lowered his head into the space between your jaw and shoulders, pressing an agonisingly slow kiss to your neck. Your head automatically tilted to the side, a soft sigh escaping your mouth as your eyes closed.

He then returned to hover beside your ear. “Wasn’t it?” he asked again, the sound smooth like warm honey.

And you couldn’t help but submit to his trickery. “Yes,” you whispered, leaning into his chest as a silent plea for more.

“Tell me.”

Your eyes fluttered open. “What?”

His hand dipped much further below your lower abdomen and landed on the place which would surely have you both sent back to Thirteen if caught, but only for a fleeting moment. Before you had a chance to react, he had spun you around to face him.

From the way he was looking down upon you—so penetrative and depraved—you knew exactly how the night would end. For better or for worse. He was holding you tightly against his body, the only parts of yourself not touching him were your lips, although that would undoubtedly soon change.

“Tell me,” he said, lowering himself until his lips found your jaw, “what you’ve been thinking about—” Then he placed another kiss on the side of your neck “—all day.” And then he pressed another to your collarbone.

Your fingers had found themselves delving into his hair as he continued leaving hot kisses across your skin. The struggle to keep a whine or soft moan from slipping past your parted lips was excruciating. Finnick could definitely feel your struggle from the way you were lightly tugging at his hair.

“Tell me,” he repeated against your skin and you accidentally let a heavy, pleasured breath escape.

There was no point in denying him now.

“You just look so good, Finn,” you confessed.

You were certain you could feel him smiling into each kiss he placed. He only hummed to encourage you further, so you did.

“I’ve—I’ve never seen you in all black before or in tactical gear. And the way you’ve been acting towards me, so serious and protective and…” The word dominant was on your tongue, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to speak it aloud. “Seeing you like that really…” He finally lifted his head from your neck, lips now a deep peachy shade, gaze awaiting your words. You lowered your eyes bashfully for a moment before returning them to his. “…turned me on.”

He was grinning now. His head had tilted an inch to the side as though he hadn’t quite expected you to actually admit your thoughts. Where the sudden surge of confidence came from was unknown, but you welcomed it nonetheless. Finnick’s mouth opened to speak but it was then in that very moment that you decided why the hell not just get it all out at once?

So, you stood on your toes, placed a hand on the back of his neck, and brought him down to your lips to cut him off. You kissed him deeply, sensually, in a way that would muddle his thoughts and give you time to continue your confession. When you were done and saw that slightly dazed look in his eyes, you knew it had worked.

“I’m not finished,” you whispered.

All he could do was scoff quietly in disbelief. Hell, even you were in disbelief of yourself.

“At first, I thought somehow you had done it on purpose. You do love to tease me, don’t you?” you asked, although it was rhetorical. “But then I realised it wasn’t your doing. It was the designers back in Thirteen who I had to thank for putting you in something like this.” You slid a hand up his torso, over his chest, and then down the length of his bicep, and he watched you every step of the way.

“Maybe I should thank them myself if this is the effect it has,” Finnick said.

You kissed him again and he seemed to understand the meaning behind it: shut up. He nodded, smirking humorously, and you continued. “Do you know how hard it was for me to sit beside you and do absolutely nothing?” you asked, but he knew better than to answer. You pressed a hand to his chest and slowly began walking him backwards. “You did, didn’t you?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed back his words. He always liked being in control. But it was your turn now. He stared down at you, thoughts of sin visible in his eyes as you spoke.

“You knew the whole time,” you said. “But, you know, the idea I had of you being so clueless turned me on even more.” You continued walking him backwards until his legs hit the edge of the leather stool and he was forced to sit down and have you look down upon him. He looked good like that, you thought. “Especially whenever you put your hand on my thigh.”

With that being said, you lowered yourself onto Finnick’s thigh, straddling him with one leg on either side. Your hands were holding onto his broad, broad shouldersandhis arms automatically wound around your waist. He had this strange look on his face as he gazed up at you, a mix of admiration and love and… submission? Yes, submission.

You pushed his hair back from his forehead, fingers affectionately combing through the soft bronze strands. He only watched you in silence. Finnick Odair had never been rendered speechless in his life. Having it be first done so by you only made him love you so much more. He would daresay he was proud.

“Every time you put your hand on me, I imagined this,” you said, putting more of your weight on his thigh until you could feel the blissful pressure between your own. A hot shaky sigh left your mouth. “I… I imagined you holding me like this, looking at me the way you are right now.” A little smile stretched across his lips. “I didn’t think it would actually happen. Not like this. This is wrong.”

Finnick dragged your body closer to him and you suppressed the urge to moan. His brows were furrowed together with a look of firmness. “There’s nothing wrong with you loving me,” he finally spoke. “Nothing wrong with me loving you, either.”

“But in a time like this? A place like this?”

He didn’t miss a beat as he smirked and shrugged. “We just have to be quiet about it.”

You stared at him for a moment. He made it sound so simple, like doing something like this could be done with ease. There was a large group of people—soldiers, no less—thirty feet away from you. Yes, they were sleeping and, yes, the darkness was too blinding in the back of the bar to see a foot ahead of you, but still, if anyone somehow saw, that would be the end of your dignity.

Finnick seemed to notice the distant look in your eye. His hands moved down to your hips and he tensed the thigh you were straddling, holding you down on his leg as he bounced it once. The sound that came out of your mouth, a noise of shock and pleasure, almost made him laugh. What it did do was make him even harder than he already was.

“You’ve tortured me all day, Finnick,” you whined, pressing your forehead to his.

He brought a hand to your cheek, stroking the line of your cheekbone with tenderness. “And what is it that you think you have done to me every single day since we first met, sweetheart? I just had to make sure there wasn’t a power imbalance in this relationship, that’s all.”

“You’re cruel.”

“So cruel,” he agreed with the slightest teasing pout. “I’m just horrible, aren’t I?”

To emphasise his point, he brought both his hands back to your hips, held you down, and slowly began rocking you back and forth over his thigh. Your stomach dropped and pulsed and, christ, you wouldn’t have been surprised if it had turned inside out altogether. A moan, too loud for your comfort, left your mouth. You couldn’t help it. This was exactly what you had been daydreaming about all day.

“You are,” you whispered with a shaky breath. “Horrible, cruel, and—and incredibly frustrating…”

He tsked his tongue. “I know,” he cooed, continuing to force your hips to grind on his thigh. “Should I make it up to you?”

“I might go crazy if you don’t.”

He wore a lopsided grin. “Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

And as suddenly and beautifully as stars could collide, your lips were on his. It was like a bout of adrenaline had surged through your body. Your hands were in Finnick’s hair, desperately pulling him closer all while tugging at the strands so he would leave those deep, pleasured sounds on your lips.

His hands were everywhere. They had left your hips because it was clear that you were now doing to work of getting yourself off for him and now he was grasping at any place on your body he could reach. He had encircled your waist and pulled you tightly against him. He had held you by the back of the neck, by the jaw, by the neck. He had managed to undo your ponytail, letting your hair fall around your face like a barrier from the outside world.

He had slid his hands under your jacket and left a trail of warmth up your spine, fingers pressing into the ridges of your shoulder blades as his tongue factored in to deepen the kiss. You would never get used to it—how he managed to make every kiss and act of devotion feel like the first. You would never get used to Finnick’s love.

You held onto his shoulders, grinding yourself down over and over, feeling the firmness of his thigh and the roughness of your pants rub against your clit. Your lips parted from his for a mere second as you moaned. It felt so good yet still, you knew it could be even better. It was all too much—the sensations, the risk, the way Finnick looked—and still not enough. You wanted to be closer to him.

Your leg which was in between his was rubbing against his cock each time you moved. Even through all those layers of clothing you could feel it, hard and aching. All those sounds you knew he was keeping locked up inside, the deep guttural groans, the shaky moans, you wanted to hear them. Fuck, you so desperately wanted to hear them.

“Finn…” you sighed contently as you broke away from his lips.

Hips still grinding, you peered at him through your lashes. His eyes were closed, eyebrows scrunched together as though he were suppressing the pleasure he was feeling. Anywhere but here, you thought, why couldn’t we be anywhere but here?

“Finnick…” you whispered again.

He slowly opened his eyes, and you leaned your forehead against his. A heavy exhale left his body, one he must have been holding in. “God, you’re perfect,” he sighed and reached a hand up to cup your jaw. “I love you so much. Do you know how much I love you?”

Bombs were going off in your chest, each one exploding with every thump of your heart. It was fitting considering your circumstances. Finnick was so beautiful. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, and you loved him with every inch of your entire being and you wanted to say the words because this very well could be your last night alive together, but you weren’t too sure if you could speak without making any other type of noise.

So, you brought your lips back to his once more, kissing him oh so deeply and reverently. I love you, I love you, I love you. And then his touch was gone entirely.

You had slid off his thigh, now on your feet as you looked down at him. He looked almost pained to have you out of his arms and you were certain you looked the same, though it wouldn’t be for long. After a quick scan of the dark surroundings, you deduced that there was no way anyone could see you from the back of the bar. You returned your gaze back to Finnick.

Eyes unrelenting from his, you began slowly dragging down the zipper on your jacket. As it fell to the floor, you moved on to pulling your undershirt over your head. Finnick’s attention never wavered. He followed each and every movement you made, his chest inflating more heavily with each deep breath he took.

After unbuttoning your pants and letting them slide to the floor, you stepped out of the pile of clothing, completely bare except for your underwear and bra. It wasn’t exactly warm nor cold but being so exposed in the dead of night in a place you were supposed to be keeping watch while under the watchful wandering gaze of your love was bound to shroud your body in chills.

You hugged your arms around yourself.

Finnick simply looked at you as though you were the most, if not, the only beautiful thing that had ever graced the earth.

“Come here,” he said softly, holding out his hand.

The confidence you had previously felt simmered down into meek submission the second you had stripped bare in front of him. So, as you walked towards him, you couldn’t help but feel the timidness reveal itself in each of your steps. Your hand glided into his and he gently pulled you forward, guiding you to straddle his entire lap instead of just his thigh.

You could feel him pressing into you, his cock separated by mere millimetres of fabric from where you needed him most. It felt even more intimate to have his clothing against your exposed skin; you could feel the warmth of his body trapped within the threads of his pants and jacket and it seemed to ease your nerves.

He reached between your bodies and started to unzip his own jacket, but wasn’t the main reason you were in this position because of his clothing? Why would you want him to take them off?

Before he could unzip, you placed your hand over his. “No,” you said. “Leave it on.”

His eyes flickered silently between yours. “No one’s ever told me to keep my clothes on before,” he said, and you could tell by his confused smile that he was unsure whether to feel amused by the irony of your actions or saddened by his past with the Capitol.

It was easy for you to decipher your own feelings—your heart ached for him.

You leaned forward and took his face into your hands, pressing a kiss to his forehead, then both his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and finally to his lips. All you could do was hope he felt the immeasurable love you placed into each one.

“You are just as attractive with your clothes on as you are when they’re not,” you whispered.

And it was true. If he at any point decided he no longer wanted you to see him naked, you would respect it, you would understand it, and honestly, it just wouldn’t phase you. Because you knew that he would react the same if the roles were reversed. Because your love for each other surpassed the bounds of your physical bodies and you were certain at the dawn of time, he and you were two atoms revolving around one another with the same amount of gravity and reverence you shared now.

Finnick’s hands were now gliding up and down your back; it was like he was setting a fire beneath your skin. His eyes were staring into yours, so full of emotion that you weren’t sure whether or not you should continue.

“Tell me you don’t want this, Finn,” you said, “and we’ll stop.”

He shook his head and offered you a small smile. “I want this,” he said, earnestly. “I want you, sweetheart. Right here. Right now.” And then he was holding your face in his hands as well, bringing you closer. “Always.”

Just before his lips found yours, you whispered in response, in agreement, “Always.”

He was kissing you again, smothering you with love. You had never thought suffocation could feel so heavenly. Over and over, his lips captured yours, each movement deepening the kiss, making it grow in power until you were both gasping for air each time you had a brief respite.

You had only realised you were rolling your hips again when both you and Finnick were moaning into each other’s mouths and your clit started to grow sensitive from the friction of his bulged pants. It really didn’t take long at all for your stomach to begin tightening with pleasure.

You held onto his shoulders, using them to grind yourself faster on his lap as your need for release grew wilder by the second. But no matter how hard or fast you moved, it still wasn’t enough.

“I can’t wait anymore,” you murmured against his lips.

Your hands dropped down to the lower half of his body, pulling up the bottom of his jacket to reveal his belt. You fumbled with the clasp, hastily trying to unbuckle it. Finnick noticed your struggle and lifted his hips into your pelvis—dear fucking god—making it easier for you to tug the belt from the loops of his pants.

“Eager, huh?” he said with a smirk.

“You say that—” The belt hit the ground with a clink, and you winced “—as if you aren’t as well.”

“But I’m not the one with my hand down your pants, am I?”

You wanted to respond with some witty remark about not even wearing any pants, but you had already unzipped his flier and had your fingers curled around his cock. He cursed under his breath.

A winning smile stretched across your lips. “You were saying?”

You watched as his cock sprung past his flier, the length riddled with veins coming from the base and lining up to his warm pink tip which was already coated in a light shine. You would’ve made some teasing comment but given the soaked patch you had left over his groin, you decided otherwise.

As you stroked him up and down, Finnick wiped his hand over his mouth, muffling a groan into his palm. God, he was even worse than you. You loved it.

There was something so alluring about him being covered head-to-toe in black while having the most intimate part of himself exposed. Even more so when you were nearly naked in comparison. The scarce uncovered parts of his body had you feeling compelled to reach out and touch him. Your hand twisted around his cock with each pump and as it did, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to the hot skin of his neck.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

You sucked, he sighed and tilted his head to the side, and then you sucked again. The knowledge that the next day what you two had done would be obvious from the colours of red and purple hadn’t occurred to you yet. You just wanted to taste him. Taste the salt and sweetness of his skin, the unique flavour that made Finnick Finnick. And you wanted to feel him. Badly.

Leaning back, you found that his eyes were already on yours. It was clear at that moment you shared the same thoughts—and they were both dark and lustful. The emotional atmosphere from before had long since disappeared.

“I need you, Finnick,” you said.

He said nothing. He did nothing, all except for wearing the faintest expression of amusement as he stared at you. Why must he always make things so difficult for you? And why did he always look so good doing it? You increased your grip around him, giving his length another pump in the hopes he would react. All he did was swallow some noise of gratification.

Your stomach was pulsing with a burning desire, leading all the way down to your cunt which contracted around nothing.

“Please,” you begged, your other hand gripping onto his jacket. “It hurts.”

His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as he slowly scanned your body. If he continued looking at you that way, you thought you might actually ruin his pants with how wet you were. You were worried if he did nothing, if he simply stared at you like he was, you would come just from the heat of his gaze. And you didn’t want that. You wanted to come with him inside you.

He inhaled deeply and looked away as if your plea was something he genuinely had to ponder. The nerve he had. Then he looked back at you with the sexiest—or so you deemed at the moment—smile you had ever witnessed.

“Well…” he began, “you know how much I hate seeing you in pain.” Relief flooded through your entire body. He nodded his head as a gesture for you to sit up. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Without a second thought, you rose to your knees with the help of Finnick’s hands which were beneath your thighs. You were desperately fiddling with your underwear, unsure of how to go about taking it off. You tried to push it to the side, but the material wouldn’t stay; getting off of Finnick’s lap to take them off seemed unthinkable now, so having felt hopeless, you whimpered.

“Here,” Finnick said, and then he effortlessly ripped the fabric apart and pulled it from your body, exposing your heat to the tepid night air.

Shock came and left within milliseconds, your mind being too preoccupied with other matters to contemplate his sudden actions. Besides, going commando for the next few days didn’t seem too bad a price to pay for what was about to happen.

You guided his cock to your entrance, feeling the tip just barely push through your slick folds. The both of you watched as you sunk down on him, engulfing his entire length inside you and just as such, you both let your heads fall back and let out a quiet synchronised moan in response.

“Every time,” Finnick whispered ambiguously.

Though he didn’t need to elaborate for you to understand what he meant. Every time somehow managed to feel even better than the last. Every time you would forget how much you actually needed each other. Every time he was inside you, it felt like you were home.

“I know,” you breathed in response.

His hands were on your hips, acting as a guide as you rose, feeling his cock glide through your tight walls before you swallowed him whole once again. Your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck, chest brushing over his with each movement you made. It then came to your attention that the only piece of clothing you had left on was your bra.

The small amount of fabric hardly served you any purpose any more, considering the rest of your body was already on show for the whole world to see. Finnick seemed to have the same idea; he reached one hand up your back and used it to skilfully unhook your bra and slide it off your shoulders. Was it already mentioned that he did all of this one-handed?

Reality quickly set in when your bra fell to the ground—you were riding Finnick, completely naked, in the middle of a rebellion, while at heavy risk of being caught. Anyone else might have thought those string of words to be shameful, disturbing even, but for some odd reason, you no longer seemed to care. About any of it. All that mattered was that Finnick was inside you and he loved you as much as you loved him. Nothing else bore any significance.

You leaned back, so overwhelmed with pleasure that you had to close your eyes, hands still digging into his shoulders as your hips rolled and rose and sank, over and over. Finnick took this as an opportunity to bury his face between your breasts, leaving harsh kisses and moans that vibrated into your skin and hardened the peaks of your nipples.

Your fingers had tangled within the waves of his hair, unconsciously pushing him further into you because the things he could do with his mouth, things as simple as kissing, felt breathtaking. Literally. At this point, you were practically gulping air into your lungs because it felt like he was stealing your breath with each touch his lips made to your chest.

“Oh, god,” you whined, looking up to the sky above as if the heavens could somehow replenish you. Although, you weren’t sure they would be holding you in the highest regard in a moment like this.

Finnick was buried deep inside you as you stayed seated on his cock, unable to find the strength to push yourself upwards anymore. Now you were just rocking yourself indulgently back and forth on his lap, feeling his tip curve repeatedly into your walls and his pants rub harshly against your ass. The muscles in your stomach began tensing and you knew what was soon coming.

Your moans had started out breathless and soft, but as your movements continued, they began rising in pitch, in interval, and in volume. Finnick had no choice but to—heartbreakingly—leave your breasts and return to your mouth to stop the sounds from slipping out, however much they made his aching cock throb.

When it seemed like you had gotten yourself under control, he broke away from your lips to say, “Gotta stay quiet, baby, or else we’ll—” And then he quickly kissed you again to dampen another moan that he noticed was about to escape “—get caught.”

You gave him a sheepish look, biting your bottom lip to keep quiet. “I know, I’m sorry,” you rushed out in a single breath. “I can’t help it. Y’just so deep inside me. Feels so—”

He jerked his hips up, cock thrusting harshly and purposely up into you. Of course, you gasped loudly. That son of a bitch.

“Yeah?” he said, tilting his head to the side.

You sighed, shaking your head at him. “Asshole.”

He laughed and you could feel it rumbling in your own chest. His eyes were both sea-green and pitch black with darkness as he stared at you through the messy strands of hair strewn across his forehead. Believing he had no idea what he was doing to you all day was idiotic. Of course, he had known. Everything he ever did was in an attempt to rile you up and it always worked.

He knew he was attractive. He knew you found him painfully attractive. Fuck, why was he just so goddamn attractive?

“Hang on,” he said, tearing you from your thoughts.

“What?”

Your stomach lurched and suddenly your body was in the air. Technically, Finnick was still holding you in his arms, but still, you were in the air. Both his hands were curled beneath your thighs as he had stood up from the leather seat, hoisting you over six feet off the ground.

“Finnick!” you exclaimed with a half-whisper.

You were clinging onto his neck in fear of plummeting to the concrete ground. But, come on, this was Finnick. In what universe would he ever cause you any harm?

“Well, I’m not going to let you do all the work,” he said before kissing you sweetly, causing both your grasp on him to loosen and your body to practically melt into his. He pulled away once more, grinning like the devil he was. “If that’s alright with you?”

Your body bounced in his arms as he secured his hold on you and you couldn’t help but giggle.

“More than alright,” you said.

He pressed a light kiss to your nose and whispered, “Good,” and suddenly your back was up against something hard and cold and the brief light-hearted atmosphere had vanished.

Finnick’s body was pressed against yours, trapping you between himself and the concrete pillar which was behind you. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hardplace. His much wider and taller frame made you feel incredibly small in comparison, almost vulnerable in his strong arms, and you loved it. He had you completely concealed from anyone’s view, should they have regrettably walked by, which meant you would at least have a moment’s notice before your virtue was shredded to bits.

Now, back to being stuck between hard places. You hadn’t even noticed he had slipped out of you until he was holding himself in his hand, keeping you propped up against the wall with nothing but his other arm and his body strength, and was thrusting back inside you.

Blood was nearly being drawn from how hard you were biting your bottom lip because Finnick didn’t give you a chance to prepare yourself. His hands were digging into your ass and he was suddenly fucking you so hard, you were worried the concrete behind you would crumble under pressure. You were worried your willpower wasn’t strong enough to hold back the filthy moans threatening to tumble out.

How could you be quiet when all you wanted to do was show him how euphoric he was making you feel?

“How’s that, huh?” he asked roughly. “You like that, sweetheart?”

He was hitting just the right spot inside of you, angled perfectly and thrusting deeply. The skin of your back was scratching against the rough concrete surface with each of his thrusts and maybe it made you a little fucked up to admit it, but the pain of your skin being rubbed red raw while being fucked senseless was exhilarating.

Your head fell back against the wall, so hard the world was suddenly spinning on an axis. It was perfect. Finnick was perfect. Everything was perfect. Your eyes fluttered shut and everything of any other significance disappeared.

That is the only reason you allowed yourself to moan as loud as you did.

“Fuck!”

A large hand had been slapped over the entire lower half of your face and your own also jerked up to cover it in instant regret. Your eyes snapped wide open to see Finnick staring at you with the same visible alarm. You looked over his shoulder to scan for any sign of disturbance but after a few seconds, it became clear no one had heard you.

You looked back to Finnick, who, mind you, was still thrusting in and out of you though with a little less vigour. He was very clearly trying not to laugh. “I guess I’ll take that as a yes.”

You smiled against his hand which he took as a sign to lower it back to beneath your ass. First, you were grinning, then you were trying not to laugh and obviously failed, and then you were both trying to stifle your laughs together as if he wasn’t quite literally fucking you against a wall. The only thing that could break your spell of laughter was the need to bite down on your bottom lip to suppress another unwarranted moan.

Finnick pressed his body further against you, smiling wickedly as his cock pushed deeper inside you. You whimpered, fingernails creating red crescent moons on the back of his neck. He didn’t mind.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” he murmured.

You leaned forward to press a trembling kiss to his lips. “Love you too, Finn.”

“Mm,” he hummed, gratified.

Your legs, which were curled around his hips, tightened around him. If there was any way to bring him closer, you would have done it. If there was any way a person could crawl under someone else’s skin and live in their body, you would have been the first to do it. You would have been one with Finnick, wholly and devotedly. That was how much you needed him, how much you cherished him.

Whenever he was inside you, you truly were home.

You were clinging onto him in every way possible. His soft lips were back on yours, gluttonous with love and ardent lust. Your frantic hands were sliding over every part of his body they could reach. Your walls were contracting around his cock; even then, you were pulling him in further. It was all very messy, but it all felt very right.

The protective armour over his chest was rubbing against your bare breasts as your body bounced in his arms. The added stimulation was rendering you restless. That tight, blissful burn was starting to work its way up from your cunt and into your lower stomach, and you couldn’t stop moving. Your legs tightened and loosened around Finnick’s hips. Your chest expanded and inflated shallowly. Your fingers were practically clawing at Finnick’s clothes.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said breathlessly, and then your eyes were staring into his. A strand of hair fell across your face and he brought up a hand to tuck it back behind your ear. “It’s okay,” he repeated. “You can let go.”

Your knuckles were turning white from how hard they were grasping onto his clothed biceps. Like a beating heart, your lower body started pulsating—your stomach, between your legs, your thighs, all the way down to your toes. You were so close to spilling over the edge that everything suddenly became too overwhelming.

Tears sprung into your eyes, both of pleasure and sadness. Pleasure for the way he was making you feel as he thrust into you. Pleasure for the certainty that he loved you as you did him. But sadness for the uncertainty that this could be the last time you expressed your love for each other so intensely. Only the uncertainty wasn’t actually uncertainty.

Somewhere deep, deep inside you, there was a nagging feeling that this really was your last night together. Of course, you couldn’t rely on a nagging feeling as a tell for the future, but it was so strong. It felt so real.

You pulled him forward and crushed your lips to his, immediately falling into a smooth syrup-like rhythm with one another. It tasted sweet for a moment, a dessert consisting of whines from you and restrained groans from Finnick. But then a tear slipped from your eye and the sweetness turned salty.

Finnick pulled back to see the light shine coating your cheek.

He understood. He felt the same way.

“I love you so much,” he said, tenderly wiping away the tears on your skin.

Then he was kissing your shoulder, kissing across your collarbone, kissing up the fragile skin of your neck, the bone of your jaw, and finally back to your lips. Every kiss ravaged your entire being. His cock was curving right up into that sensitive cushiony spot inside you, sliding in and out of you and bringing a heightened sense of bliss each time. You could barely breathe.

It was too much. He was close too, you knew it. Beads of sweat were starting to collect in the strands of hair that had fallen across his forehead; his body leaned further into you, gradually losing strength as his own pleasure grew. He was staring at you the way he always did when he was inside you. Sinfully. Lovingly. And, God, he was breathing so heavily, his grunts and suppressed moans kept slipping through. It was heaven.

Another tear slipped from your eye; from which emotion, you weren’t sure. It didn’t matter because you felt incredible. Your whole body was buzzing, the tears kept slipping out, and your reddened parted lips kept letting shallow breaths and choked gasps escape.

“Fuck, I love you,” Finnick said again in a raw, shaky voice, and you wished you could’ve responded but he had already pressed his lips to your forehead and suddenly you were coming.

Your eyes were screwed shut, mouth agape though releasing no noise. You could feel your walls squeeze around his length, covering his cock entirely in sweet white fluid as he hastily continued slamming up into you. His head had fallen to your shoulder, mouth connected with your neck to muffle the guttural sounds he made into your skin as he too filled you up with his own warmth.

You had gone limp in his arms and somehow, he still managed to keep you upright. Existence sort of vanished for a moment or two. Everything and everyone were gone except for you and Finnick. You were pressed so hard up against one another that you were sure any second you would melt into one being.

Eventually, you started to come back down, and your mind started to fill with thoughts once more. Finnick had stilled inside you, catching his breath as he rested against your shoulder. He was trembling, skin warm and damp with sweat against yours. You put your hands on his shoulders, signalling for him to put you down so he could at least regain some amount of strength.

But you hadn’t realised your own problem. As soon as he helped you slip down onto your feet, your weakened legs buckled and gave out beneath you. Before the hard concrete ground could welcome you into its unforgiving arms, Finnick dropped swiftly and caught you in his first. He fell to his knees, cradling your naked form over his lap, arms shaking ever-so-slightly.

A horrible blush overcame you. Your hair was a mess, your face was coated in a light sheen, and you were still naked.

“Sorry,” you whispered, sheepishly.

He shook his head, smiling down at you as though you had nothing to apologise for. His brows did that little scrunch you found so adorable. “You okay?”

You nodded. Had anyone been able to witness the way Finnick Odair looked when he was gazing down at the person he loved, you were certain they would also agree that they were more than just okay. He looked like an angel. It wouldn’t be surprising if a pair of wings suddenly sprung out from his back.

Overcome with love, you reached up to his face, fingers gliding across his jaw. His dimples somehow deepened even more than they already were. You had never seen someone so happy in your life, especially within the confines of a war.

“I wish I could find a more profound way to show my love for you,” you whispered.

His lips twitched and it was as though you could feel his own heart leaping with affection in his chest. His eyes flickered between your own and you knew he was going to say something either witty or something that would have made your knees buckle had they not already done so.

“You don’t need to,” he said. “Your existence is profound enough.”

A few seconds went by before you understood his words—he could feel the immense love you had for him just from your mere existence. You didn’t need to do anything for him to see it, to feel it, or hear it. All you had to do was be by his side, to share the air he breathed. All you had to do was look at him and he could feel the power of it.

You rose into a sitting position, feeling Finnick’s arms curl protectively around your torso. Tears threatened to fill your eyes, but you willed them away. Instead, you planted a gentle kiss on his lips. When you pulled away, a light breeze blew against you, blowing your hair over your shoulders and forcing you to lean further into Finnick’s warm embrace.

“How about we get your clothes back on, hm?” he spoke softly.

You smiled cheekily in response. “I don’t think you’ve ever asked me to put my clothes on before.”

His lips stretched into a lopsided grin, eyes looking down at you with a playful glint as he recalled the very similar conversation you had earlier.

“Well, there’s always a first time for everything, isn’t there?” he teased, fingers lightly tracing the skin of your waist.

Finnick had assisted you with gathering your scattered clothes, even helping you with putting them back on despite your insistence that you were quite capable of doing it yourself. Secretly, you enjoyed it—the silent affection, the lingering touches as he pulled each piece of clothing over your skin. Even doing the simplest things together felt incredibly intimate.

As your arms slipped through your jacket sleeves, Finnick moved in front of you, zipping it up the front and moving on to clipping the overlay buttons. He had this look of pure concentration; anyone would think he was solving the world's hardest puzzle, not buttoning up a jacket. It was adorable.

“Finnick?”

His concentration didn’t waver. “Mm?”

There was a knot growing in your stomach, and it wasn’t the pleasant kind. You had felt it moments before when you were still up against the pillar, and as time ticked away and a new day was closely approaching, it only grew more potent. Every time you looked into Finnick’s eyes, it felt more imminent. Like an impending doom.

The only plausible explanation behind the feeling was one you couldn’t speak aloud. You couldn’t even ponder it for a second, fearing the weight of it would crush the fragile makings of your heart and soul.

You scanned his face, taking in every single feature you had grown to worship. “If I go back home at dawn—” Now his attention had flickered to you “—will you come with me?”

His hands stilled, momentarily confused by your words. This mission was his chance to finally gain back some sense of power that had been taken from him by Snow. Within the next few days, he would be watching Katniss shoot an arrow through the president’s heart and see the life leave his eyes. A few days prior, that would have been more important than anything.

But as he looked into your eyes and saw the life twinkle in the gloss of your irises, the love they held, the future they revealed—a future with you and him together—he quickly realised nothing was more important. And the intense pleading your gaze revealed absolutely shattered him. Nothing could ever be more important than you.

Finnick tenderly cupped your face in his hands. “I’ll follow you anywhere, sweetheart. You know that.”

And it was like a massive weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Like a dark ominous cloud looming overhead had finally dissipated and left you with an immeasurable amount of relief. You didn’t know what had caused the feeling or why it had been strong in Finnick’s presence, only that it felt right to be going home and have him come with you.

He leaned forward and kissed you gently, adoringly, and it took everything in you not to melt into his embrace. Your hands held onto his wrists, feeling his pulse thump with life beneath your fingertips. You loved him. You loved him so much that ‘love’ wasn’t even the right word for it anymore.

What he had said earlier came to mind­—how your existence was enough proof of your love for him. That seemed right.

“I exist for you, Finn,” you whispered.

The stars above were twinkling in his sea-green eyes, almost like little specs of bioluminescent plankton. You would happily drown in them if it were possible.

Finnick pressed his forehead against yours, arms snaking around your torso to hold you tightly against him. “I exist for you, too.”

The two of you returned home the next morning. And as the years went by, you continued to exist for one another back in District Four, free from judgement, from tyranny, from the Games.

You simply revelled in existence.

[navybrat817]

Indulgence

Pairing: Dom!Bucky Barnes x Sub!Female Reader Summary: When Bucky calls, you go to him. Word Count: Over 5.7k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, unprotected vaginal sex, D/s elements, bondage, aftercare, established arrangement, insecurities, pet names, longing, possessive behavior, world building, mix of canon and non-canon, slight feels (it's me, okay?), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: I'm very excited for this new AU, lovelies! There's a deep bond between these two, but we know the road to love isn't always easy. ❤️Beta read by the amazing @whisperlullaby, but any and all mistakes are my own. And thanks to @targaryenvampireslayer for listening to me ramble about this part. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You had only been asleep for an hour when your phone went off, your eyes barely open as you reached for the device and saw the familiar name appear. “Bucky?” You answered drowsily.

“Hey, angel,” he said roughly, the pet name bringing a sleepy smile to your face. It sounded like he hadn't gotten much sleep either. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s okay. I have tomorrow off,” you said, a bit more alert as you sat up. “Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, I got back a bit ago,” he replied, swearing under his breath. “It’s really late. I just…”

“Need me,” you finished for him, stretching your back as you stood up. If he wanted to tell you he made it home safely from his latest assignment, he would've sent you a text. You knew by now that a call meant he had to see you in person. “Give me a few minutes?”

“You sure? I understand if you’d rather go back to bed.”

“I’m not going to get any sleep until I know you will, too,” you said. It would drive you crazy. “I want to come over. Okay?”

You wondered if the call dropped since you didn't hear anything on the other end. “Okay. I’ll send a car,” he said. He never let you pay for a ride yourself. “Thank you,” he added so softly you almost missed it.

“You don't need to thank me,” you assured him, though you appreciated hearing it. “I’ll see you soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he promised, your heart skipping a beat before he hung up.

You brushed your teeth again before you changed out of your pajamas. The outfit didn't exactly matter. If it had, he would’ve told you what you wear. It wouldn't stay on long anyway. You sensed that this was a night for him to simply blow off some steam or release anything still pent up from his assignment.

You were more than happy to help.

“On my way.” You messaged him a few minutes later as you went out to the car.

You politely greeted the driver before gazing out the window. If anyone had told you months ago that you’d be sleeping with the former Winter Soldier, you would’ve laughed at them for saying something so crazy. You never expected to meet the man, let alone connect with him. That was your life now though. You were sleeping with Bucky Barnes.

But it wasn't that cut and dry.

“I’ll be outside.” He sent back.

You smiled to yourself as you thought about Bucky, the man searching for himself again. After years of enduring horrific pain and having no control over his actions, he felt lost once he was free. In his eyes, he would never be able to right all the wrongs of the atrocities he was forced to commit, but making amends for his past was a start. It wasn't enough though to heal the cracks from within. It couldn't stop him from plunging into the deep abyss of his mind where it once felt whole.

He had to find a way to feel semi-normal again. He needed to do something good for someone else outside of his heroic duties. And he had to do so in an environment where he could express himself openly, honestly, and authentically with a person he could trust.

That was where you came into the picture.

If Bucky called, no matter what time of day and you were available, you went to his place in a car he paid for. You stayed until you were both satisfied. A more crude way to think of it was that you helped him fuck out his frustrations and gave him a means to inflict pleasure on someone instead of hurt. It was a routine you were used to by now.

“You wanna be my angel?”

You may be his angel, but you weren't his girlfriend. He wasn't in a place to have a typical relationship. You weren't just a fuck buddy either. You were his submissive of sorts, along with his confidant and a way for him to find release and some sense of normalcy.

While he sometimes fucked you like a whore, he never once treated you like one. He cared for your well-being and checked in on you the way a boyfriend would. He kept his place stocked with your favorite snacks. You didn't sleep with anyone else and neither did he. You looked out for each other.

Unlike your last boyfriend.

As far as arrangements went, you could do much worse. There were rules set in place. Bucky was honest about his needs and helped you heal your wounds from the failure of your previous relationship. But the more time you spent with him, the more you wanted to be with him.

Was it a recipe for disaster?

The drive seemed faster than usual because before you knew it the car stopped in front of Bucky’s apartment building. Your pulse quickened when you saw the brunette standing by the door, donned in his usual leather jacket. Even from a short distance, he looked massive and heat bloomed in your core as you knew what was to come. He moved to the curb with more grace than a man his size should have, his hard blue eyes set on you through the glass before he opened the door.

His gaze practically set your heart on fire and it went full ablaze when he tenderly smiled. He was stunningly beautiful even in the dark of night. It almost hurt to look back at him.

You had it bad.

“Hey,” he said, offering you his gloved hand to help you out. You hardly ever saw him out without his vibranium hand covered. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hey,” you smiled softly, giving the driver a quick thanks before you got out. “You, too.”

Bucky's large hand moved to the small of your back as he gently led you toward the building and opened the door. He didn't like to linger outside for too long. Neither of you spoke as he guided you to his apartment on the first floor and you didn't push him to make small talk. It was a delicate arrangement and some nights didn't call for filler.

Still, you tried to get a read on his emotions. There was a stiffness to his stance, but he didn't appear upset or angry. You also didn’t spot any obvious injuries.

“Were you hurt?” You asked as he took his keys out. He was only gone for a couple of days, but you knew how dangerous the missions were.

He turned and stared at you, not at all surprised by your question since you always asked. “No, I didn’t get hurt,” he assured you, reaching up to scratch at the stubble on his chin. “But I can't exactly talk about it either. I’m sorry.”

You nodded in understanding. It was information you weren't privy to and you doubted he called tonight to talk about it anyway. He peeled back layers of himself, yet there was so much underneath that you didn't know about. You cared for him regardless.

“Bucky, you don't have to apologize for that,” you reminded him.

“I just feel bad. You can tell me about your work, but I can't always talk about mine,” he said, looking both ways before he poked his head into his apartment.

“My job isn’t as ‘exciting’ as yours,” you teased before he let you in.

Bucky had a nice place. The partially exposed brick walls paired well with the hardwood floors. Tasteful, but not extravagant. The thick curtains in the living room matched the drapes in his bedroom. Since he occasionally slept on the floor by the oversized chair, it helped to block out the sun. He didn't have much as far as decor, but he did have a piece of art that his best friend, Steve, drew hung up in the hall.

He also had a bowl that you made on the console to hold his keys, which he promptly set them in.

It meant something that he even let you into his apartment when others close to him had never been invited.

“Need anything to drink?” He asked, slipping his jacket and glove off.

He had an empty glass waiting on the kitchen island in case you did. While you indulged in a drink now and then, he wouldn't allow you to have too many. He refused to have sex with you if you were inebriated. Said it took consent away and you wouldn't be alert enough to use a safeword if necessary.

He wouldn't budge on that rule.

“No, thanks,” you answered, gazing at him.

His T-shirt strained against his biceps, one flesh and one vibranium. You could still smell his cologne from the small distance across the room, amber and cedarwood. Warm, comforting, dominating. All the things he was to you.

Not the monster he sometimes believed himself to be.

You eyed him as he poured himself a shot of whiskey, the need to soothe him coming forward when you caught a distant look in his eyes. He didn't even make a move to down his drink as he set his hands on the counter and stared off. Maybe he couldn't give you the details about what happened, but you could take care of him.

Because as much as he sometimes had to have control over you, both of you had power in your relationship.

“Bucky?” You gently called out, pulling him from his trance. “You can talk to me, even if you have to keep some things to yourself.”

His shoulders dropped as he sighed. “Three months.”

“I'm sorry?”

“Three months since we started this,” he answered.

You realized he was right when you remembered the date. It felt longer yet still brand new. “Yeah. Three great months,” you smiled.

A knot formed in your stomach when he didn't smile back. “And you still feel safe with me?” He asked, gripping the counter so hard you thought it might crumble in his hands. “You really trust that I won’t hurt you?”

Your smile slipped, the questions like a punch to the gut as you walked toward him. You stopped a foot in front of him to give him some breathing room as he made eye contact. Where had that come from? What happened to make him question that?

“Of course, I feel safe. Not only do I feel safe with you and trust you, I know that you won't hurt me. You will always take care of me,” you said with fierce determination, yet with a vulnerability you couldn't hide. “If I didn't believe that, I wouldn’t be here and I wouldn’t submit to you.”

You told him the same thing the day you two agreed on this arrangement. He wasn't your boyfriend, but he wasn't like your ex. He wouldn't just throw you away without a second thought or ignore your needs. You also had faith in him that he wouldn't harm you.

And as much as you trusted him, he trusted you that much more. If he didn't, he wouldn't have called you in the first place. That meant he still trusted himself around you.

He looked away and asked above a whisper, “Do you still think I'm a good man?”

“Yes,” you replied without hesitation, your heart aching when his jaw clenched. “Bucky, look at me, please.”

He slowly made eye contact with you, a storm swirling in his stare.

“You are a good man,” you stated, needing to reach the part of him that believed it. “And it doesn't matter how many times you ask me that, my answer isn't going to change. Ever.”

Bucky was silent, his breathing the only sound in the space. You were worried that you said the wrong thing before he pushed himself away from the counter. Instead of moving back when he approached, you stood firm, ready to brace the storm. You sometimes felt like a mouse confronted by a lion when he got close, but it sent a thrill through you. Because you meant what you said.

You trusted him and he made you feel safe.

“I just had to hear you say it,” he whispered as he cupped your face.

A fire lit within you as Bucky captured your mouth with his. There was care and tenderness beneath the hunger and you found yourself clinging to his arms as you kissed him back. No one before him had ever kissed you with such desire, such passion. It had you chasing his lips when he pulled away too soon.

“Now go to my room, get undressed, and kneel on the bed facing the headboard,” he ordered, his voice low and allowing the words to sink in just in case you had any objections. Because he was done talking and ready to play.

So were you.

It took you a moment to answer since you had to bite back a whine. “Yes, Sir,” you whispered, feeling his eyes on you as you walked to his bedroom.

You focused on keeping your breathing even as you shed your clothes, taking a moment to fold them before you set them on the chair in the corner. The only time you left your garments on the floor was if Bucky put them there or had you put on a show for him. It was his space and you respected it.

He hadn't told you how long to wait for him, but your heart thumped as you knelt on the queen sized bed. You didn’t see any toys as you glanced around, but there was water, snacks, wipes, and the soft blanket you loved waiting on the nightstand. It took a moment for you to spot that there was a blindfold and scarf on top of the blanket. Your womb clenched in anticipation, an exquisite feeling knowing your patience and obedience would reward you.

Bucky walked through the door a minute later and shut it behind him. The energy shifted completely, both of you ready for each other. As much as you wanted to lift your gaze and look behind you, you kept your eyes downcast as he approached the bed. He cupped your cheek once he was close enough and forced your eyes to meet his.

“My beautiful angel,” he whispered, brushing his thumb along your skin as you glowed from the praise. He reached for the scarf and ran his fingers across the silk as he glanced at you. “As much as I hate to cover those beautiful eyes of yours and restrain you, I want you to concentrate on my touch tonight. Just let me have you.”

A shiver rolled down your spine as you nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Hands behind your back,” he said, moving to secure them once you did so. The silk was soft against your skin, almost as soft as the kiss to your shoulder. After years of being restrained, you knew he felt guilty at times taking your control away. The difference was you gave yourself to him willingly. “Tell me your safewords.”

“Green is good. Yellow to pause,” you stated, testing the scarf. He never bound you too tight, but it was enough that you couldn’t slip your wrists free. “Red to stop."

“Good girl,” he praised, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. You turned your head a fraction so he could slot his lips properly over yours. Gentle, yet hot enough to melt your insides. “My good girl.”

He maneuvered you so you were in the middle of the bed and spread your knees a bit further apart. He joined you on his knees, still fully clothed. Casting your gaze down again, you bit your lip when you saw the prominent bulge in his pants. A hand came up to grasp your chin before you could stare for too long and lifted your head. If you were still wearing your panties, they would’ve dampened from his darkened gaze.

“So beautiful and all mine tonight,” he said.

“I’m yours, Sir,” you whispered, the word “always” unspoken.

“And I know you were staring,” he smirked, his fingers working the button and zipper of his jeans. His impressive cock sprang free once he pushed his underwear and pants down far enough and you wished you could lean down and swirl your tongue around the large head. “Greedy angel. Just desperate to have my cock in you.”

“Yes, Sir. Please,” you begged.

He made a show of lifting the blindfold before he slipped it over your head, your body tensing up when your world went dark. Sight was one of the senses you relied on the most. It helped you absorb most of the world around you. And now it was temporarily gone. It felt like your heart would burst from your chest as you breathed a bit heavier. But Bucky was there, softly touching your face until you relaxed.

“Breathe, angel. I’ve got you,” he whispered, drawing a gasp from you when his lips touched yours. His hands mapped your body, brushing along your breasts down to your thighs. You felt him everywhere. “Color?”

“Green,” you whispered as a hand moved around your back and forced you to arch. He was careful not to hurt your arms. “Please.”

Your head fell back with a moan as his lips closed around your nipple. You could practically feel that he looked up at you as he gently suckled. A wave of arousal crashed through you as he pinched the other. No one had ever lavished your body with such attention the way Bucky did.

“I love seeing you like this,” he murmured against the swell of your breast. “Helpless. Trembling. Needy.”

You didn't mean to let such a wanton moan escape, but he made you feel needed. He made you feel wanted. It was a beautiful thing to surrender to him.

“And I love that I'm the one you trust to take care of you.”

“I trust you with my life, Sir,” you moaned.

And your heart, even though he had the power to break it.

Your chest suddenly felt colder when Bucky pulled his mouth and hand away and you shook from the loss of his heat. His vibranium hand touched your torso to remind you he was close when he shifted closer to you on the bed. You gasped when he dragged his hand down and you were helpless to do anything but feel when it slid between your legs.

“You're doing so well for me,” he said, his teeth grazing your neck as his fingers spread your sopping folds. He teased you, letting you soak his metal fingers as you mewled. He lightly bit you again when he replaced his fingers with his cock, sliding along your slit, but not pushing inside you just yet. “You want me inside you? You need me to fuck you, don't you? Tell me.”

Your cheeks flamed as you whined. “I need you to fuck me, Sir,” you said, trying to widen your thighs to take him in more.

“I will. I'm going to give you everything you need,” he rumbled, gripping your hips with strong and capable hands to keep you still. “And you’re going to let me ruin your pretty little pussy with my cock.”

You panted with want at his possessiveness. Filthy words were something you never thought you’d hear from someone associated with The Avengers and they kicked your body into overdrive. You ached to have him split you open. “Ruin me, Sir.”

In one swift move he lifted you, pulled you into his lap, and buried himself to the hilt. Your mouth fell open as you let out a cry, every inch of his cock stretching and making itself at home in your welcoming cunt. You couldn't brace yourself on his shoulders with your hands behind your back. You couldn't see the ecstasy in his eyes as he let you adjust to his size, but you didn't have to. Not with the way he dug his fingers in and groaned against your shoulder.

He took you to heaven when he was inside you.

“Color,” he said against your skin, thrusting his hips up once.

“Green,” you moaned, reminding yourself to stay still when you wanted him to move. “So green.”

“Good girl,” he whispered, gently kissing up to your ear. “Keep being good while I bounce you up and down on my cock.”

Your eyes fluttered behind the blindfold as he pulled you up and slammed you back down on his cock. Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth and your heart beat frantically in your chest. It was difficult to string thoughts together, but they all went back to him and how good he made you feel. How he made you feel beautiful.

Flaws and all.

“It’s like your cunt was made for me, angel. Practically crying all over my cock,” his voice was smoky as sounds of pleasure tumbling from your lips. The next moan was softer when he slid a hand up to your neck, resting it there as the other kept your hips flush against his. “You deserve to feel good because you are good. So fucking good.”

Your lower lip trembled as a sob worked its way to your throat, “Thank you, Sir,” you whimpered before he squeezed.

“And I. Deserve. You.” He punctuated each word with a deep thrust. You didn’t have to see his face to know the fury that surfaced. “My angel. Mine.”

It overwhelmed you as he bounced you in his lap, sinking you down onto him again and again. His thrusts were almost unforgiving, but the hand on your throat didn’t tighten anymore. He couldn’t hurt you. He wouldn’t hurt you.

“I’m your angel, Sir,” you moaned as he reduced you to a needy wet mess.

“I wanna tear you apart,” he growled against your lips. “And put you back together so you still feel me when you fucking breathe.”

“Tear me apart, Sir,” you gasped, a plea for him to use you more. Your thighs hit his as he thrust up and all you could do was take it. He touched places inside you no one else could reach, physically and emotionally, and you never wanted it to stop. “Please!”

“Tell me you need me to come inside you and I’ll let you come,” he ordered, the hand on your neck squeezing a fraction. “Say it.”

“Come inside me, Sir,” you begged.

“Bucky,” he breathed against your lips. “Say. My. Name.”

Your next breath was shaky. He always had you call him “Sir” on nights like this. Why was this different?

Your orgasm began to crest, but you couldn’t let go until you gave him what he wanted. And he’d give you what you needed. “Come inside me, Bucky,” you exhaled. “Please.”

He swiped his thumb along your pulse with a deep groan, his cock still driving up into you. “I will after you come,” he promised, his tongue sliding past your parted lips and pulling away all too quickly. “C’mon, angel. Come for me. Show me you’re mine.”

The sob you tampered down earlier resuraced, wrenched from your throat as you came. Your release continued, practically leaking around his cock as tears slid out beneath the blindfold. You were beyond rational thought as pleasure spiraled through you, vaguely aware that he thrust through it to chase his own end.

“Good. Fucking. Girl.” He grunted, pulsing hotly inside you as he filled you up.

Both of you panted as you continued to drift from euphoria, your heart still beating wildly. You were warm, but your body shivered as he lifted you up. Your combined release slid from your aching cunt once he slipped free. You floated and wanted him to catch you, but you couldn’t put your arms around him.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered when you let out a whimper. He made quick work of untying your wrists so he could lay you down properly and wipe away the tears still on your cheeks. “I’m going to take the blindfold off.”

Your eyes stayed shut for a moment when Bucky removed it, but you cracked them open when you wanted to see him. Your vision slowly cleared as you blinked a few times, your mind still floating as he came into view. He called you an angel, but he was the one who had a halo around his head at the moment. A gorgeous angel who had unrightfully had his wings taken away. He smiled like he wanted to eat you alive, but his touch was nothing short of tender when he brought his hand to your face.

“So fucking beautiful. You did so well for me. Fuck, I just wanna clean you with my tongue and fill you up all over again,” he praised as you clenched around nothing and whined. As hot as it sounded, you needed a bit of rest after that. “Not tonight,” he smiled, keeping a hand on you as he grabbed a wipe.

A reason he had everything close by was because you craved his touch after sex. If he ever got too far away, you whimpered and reached for him. It made you feel needy, but he assured you that he needed to keep touching you just as badly.

It just wasn’t fair that he looked so composed.

Bucky continued to shower you with soft praise as he cleaned you up. It didn’t take him long before he wrapped the soft blanket around you, trembles moved through your entire body as he put his arms around you, too. He took aftercare very seriously. It was a way for you to feel cared for and nurtured while allowing your body and brain to return back to normal. He never wanted you to experience negativity or sadness after any sort of session, especially an intense one.

You were aware that he moved you closer in his arms and rested his cheek against the top of your head, but you weren't ready to speak yet. It always took you a minute to come back to yourself and he was never one to rush or push you. If relaxing in his embrace was what it took to return to the world, he was more than content to keep you in his arms.

At least, that was what he told you.

You opened your eyes after a few minutes. Your heartbeat was back to a steady rhythm, but you still weren't ready to move yet. You were warm and safe. Bucky was there to take care of you. But what about him?

Had you taken care of him?

Bucky had a faint smile on his face when you lifted your head, his shoulders relaxed and eyes soft. Like he was at ease with everything around him. “Welcome back, angel,” he whispered, peppering your face with light kisses.

“Hey,” you smiled tiredly, your voice a little hoarse as you brought a hand to his hair, happy that you could touch him again. Judging by the way his eyes slipped shut for a moment before he opened them, he missed your touch, too.

“You okay?”

“I am and so are you. You're okay.” It wasn't a question. Whatever haunted him earlier was gone.

For now.

He didn't tear his gaze away as he reached for the water behind him, which you gratefully accepted as he put it to your lips. “You amaze me, you know? You just came back to yourself, but you're talking about me being okay.”

“Isn’t that why you call me?” You asked with a small frown, taking another large sip. “To help you?”

His brows furrowed. “It’s not just about me. This is about you, too.”

You took one more drink before you could say something stupid. Yes, this was about you, too. How he didn't push too far. How he’d hold you after sex and talk with you because those things were important to you. How he made you feel cherished and wanted for a short while.

You just didn't want to admit that he was a constant in your mind. But would it be so wrong if you did? Even if he’d never date you, didn't he have a right to know how you felt?

Communication was key and you would have to eventually tell him if those feelings persisted.

“It’s about both of us and I just want you to be okay,” is what you said because it was the truth.

He set the water aside and cupped your cheek, his calloused hand a little cool, but nice. You almost wished you could hide from his knowing eyes, but he didn’t press you for more. “I am now,” he said, swallowing a little. “I just couldn't let you see me tonight.”

Worry filled his eyes like he may have upset you, but you shook your head. You had seen his scars, but he was never obligated to show you his body. “You're letting me see you now,” you said, scooting closer as he brought your wrist to his mouth to kiss it.

You thought about how the evening played out. How he asked if you thought he was a good man. How he demanded that you speak his name. And how he said he deserved you. Either something happened while he was gone or someone said or did something to get to him. You wished you knew what it was since he didn’t expand on what had been eating away at him before.

“And before you ask, you didn't hurt me,” you told him, knowing the question was coming. You appreciated that he cared enough to check.

He pressed a kiss to your temple. “Good because I’d never stop hating myself if I did,” he admitted, looking at the ceiling for a moment. “You don't deserve that kind of pain.”

Your heart swelled, not letting any past hurt enter your mind. He made you believe that you deserved better than what you had. It was a good feeling.

“Neither do you. And that's a reason why safewords exist. Both of us can use them,” you reminded him. Like aftercare, he took the words seriously. He listened to you. And if he ever got overwhelmed, he had every right to stop it the same way you did. “So no self-hate tonight.”

He huffed in mock annoyance. “Yes, ma’am. And speaking of self-hate,” he teased, tilting his head to look your way. “I really don’t want to go to therapy tomorrow.”

There was a forced calmness in his blue eyes as you assessed him. “You still don’t like your therapist,” you stated.

One of the conditions of his pardon was that he had to go to therapy. It was meant to help him process his thoughts and past experiences in order to work through them. Though he didn’t tell you what went on in his sessions as it was none of your business, he didn’t keep it a secret from you that the doctor was far from his favorite person.

You wondered if Bucky told her about you.

“What’s there to like?” He asked.

You smiled a little, knowing better than to poke the bear and say she probably wasn't that bad. “Well, being able to speak to someone who provides non-judgemental and empathetic support is one thing.”

“That’s why I like talking to you,” he said, the affection in his voice making your heart skip a beat.

“Oh,” you said, not sure what else to say.

Moments like that made you think he cared. No, that wasn’t right. You knew he cared about you. But hearing things like that made you feel like there was hope for more and he wasn’t ready for that.

Hope was both a wonderful and dangerous thing.

“Have you met anyone else?” He asked suddenly, moving his hand to your back.

It was a question Bucky asked every time he had you over. He said from the start if there was another man in your life that you’d rather be with, someone who could offer you more, he’d step aside. There wasn't anyone else. You didn't want anyone else.

And while it was admirable that he would walk away if that ever changed, your heart ached at the thought that he’d easily let you go. Because at the end of the day he wasn't ready for a relationship. Not yet.

Even if he was, who said he wanted one with you?

“No, I haven't met anyone,” you said, feeling the warm breath of his exhale against your skin as his hand moved up and down your back. It relaxed you more and you found yourself fighting a yawn. “Have you?”

“No,” he chuckled. The crinkles by his eyes made him look carefree. “Not since you saved me.”

You shut your eyes, afraid that tears would well up if you looked at him. “I didn't save you. All I did was buy you a coffee one afternoon,” you whispered dismissively.

That day changed your life.

“I’m going to let that slide since you're sleepy, but I’m going to remind you when you're wide awake that you did a lot more than that,” he spoke. He held you a little tighter when you stayed quiet. You were more tired than you thought. “Get some sleep, angel. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You let your eyes shut at his command. “Thank you for taking care of me, Bucky.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me.”

There was something else unspoken in the air, but a tender kiss to your forehead stopped you from reading too deeply into it.

In the morning, he’d send you back to your place after he made you breakfast. He’d text you later to make sure you were okay. He would continue to check in and you would do your best not to fall for him more. Because one day he wouldn't need you anymore. You didn't know when that day would come, but tonight you could indulge in the fantasy that Bucky wanted you to be his girl.

Permanently.

I just want these two happy and together. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[jaderabbitt]

Marching Forward / A New Kind of Love (I)

warning!! slight thunderbolts* spoilers under the cut! this chapter is mostly just the gala + flashbacks, so nothing that people haven't already been writing for pre-release of the movie.

pairing: Bucky x ex-girlfriend/ex-widow!Reader tags: pre-established break-up, flashbacks, idiots still in love, idiots still in lust, angst, hurt+comfort, canon-level comedy, curvy!reader*, grownasswoman!reader, slightly bratty but funny reader

*I specifically wrote reader as having curves/meat on her bones because she's supposed to be around 30-35 by thunderbolts*. MILF era reader but subtract the child is upon us. I also generally head canon that Bucky would prefer a curvier woman bc she's soft and can take more iykwim warnings: suggestive content, dirty talking, mentions of death, mentions of hopelessness, slightly toxic relationship (will get fixed later also reader is kinda the toxic one), mentions of domestic abuse*, self-deprecation, reader is explicitly a woman, slight physical descriptors for reader but nothing drastic like hair skin or eyes, playing fast and loose with timelines

*reader was trained by the Winter Soldier in the Red Room, like in the comics. obv, he has laid hands on her bc he had to. reader also comments in a flashback that she expects Bucky to get mad and hit her, but he would never post!WS.

summary: after being separated for three years, you and Bucky finally see each other once more. lots of things have changed - but, have you?

word count: around 2.2k

note: see end of fic for footnotes!

It was a wonder that they let six-year-olds as small as Yelena play a sport.  Most likely, it had something to do with the fact that you lived in a small town in Ohio—there probably weren't many six-year-olds around to sign up. The soccer team was interspersed with girls her age and a year above.

You and Natasha sat next to Melina on the field’s bleachers, watching Alexei coach what had to be the worst children’s soccer team in existence. There were a couple girls who just plain looked confused, as if they didn’t know how to play soccer—despite this being the team’s fourth game.

The sun beat down onto the field, making you squint and hold a hand over your eyes to see past the reflections off metal bleachers. You watched as your youngest sister crouched to catch the ball with her comically large goalie gloves on, ending up missing the ball by the tips of her fingers. The parents on the other team cheered and clapped, while Alexei had to try and damage control the disappointed parents and young kids on your side of the field.

You and Natasha fooled around, cracking jokes about the girl who had a mishap on the field last game. Melina had pinched your arm in condemnation when she overheard you two snickering about it.

It was days like these that you’d end up missing the most. You had many pains in your life, ones that you’d remember during witching hours of restless nights.

You could still feel Dreykov’s nasty hands gripping you to separate you from your sisters. 

You could still remember how it felt to snap a neck for the first time.

You could still remember the betrayal you felt when Natasha defected, and left you and Yelena behind.

You could still remember the salted taste of your tears as you stood at her grave.

But the one that hurt most of all?

You could still remember the glisten of Bucky’s grey-blue eyes when you glanced back at him that last night in your shared apartment. He made no move to stop you from leaving, and there was a finality to that.

He had given up. On you, and on your relationship together. 

—————————

“If you do not succeed, then you have no purpose. The Red Room does not keep things without purpose.” ¹

Madame B’s voice rang through your mind like a scourge—an affliction, threaded deep through the hollows of your soul.

Purpose.

A simple word, but one which haunted your waking moments.

What purpose did you have in this life? An assassin, reared from birth, was all you’d ever be.

You had been given a short taste of what it would’ve been like, had you been birthed by a womb which cared. One where your purpose was to be a loving daughter and sister, who could do whatever she wanted with her life. Maybe, one day, you would’ve even been a wife.

Maybe, just maybe–

Your sister would still be alive. And, maybe, you wouldn’t have this cavernous, yearning hole within your being, swallowing everything you are. 

“And where does that leave me, James?” You had finally broken. Your voice raised, a finger pointed accusingly at his chest. “I’m not like you. I’m not like Natasha was. I can’t pretend to be anything other than a killer wearing a hero’s face.” ²

You immediately regretted your choice in words when Bucky’s face fell. There was no anger, no frustration. 

It was nauseating. You wanted him to yell back at you, to get furious. Hit you, even. 

Instead, he looked at you as if you had just shattered his fragile heart– broken it into tiny shards that pierced from within his chest cavity.

“Is that how you see me?” 

You escaped your subconscious in the backseat of a car service, digging your nails into the meat of your exposed thigh and leaving white scratch marks behind, soon to be raised welts. The dress you wore had a slit, cut high enough to show skin when you walked, but low enough to not be considered indecent. Your garter held an inconspicuous dagger on the inside of your thigh; you weren’t going to be caught without any sort of weapon, but even you weren’t bold enough to attempt bringing a firearm within reach of several government officials. The brush of the blade’s handle against the skin of the opposite thigh when you walked brought a consistent comfort, a subtle reminder it was there.

A figure, curved and matured with age, filled out the dress’ silhouette like a second skin. The ripples of fabric followed your body’s command as a stilettoed foot hit the pavement of the sidewalk. Adjusting the void of black wrapped around your skin and gripping your clutch tightly to your side, you let out an exhale that you didn’t realize you were holding. The car that had dropped you off had pulled away the minute you shut the door, and the nearest subway entrance was at least a ten block walk that you weren’t going to attempt in four inch pumps.

Alas, all arrows pointed to you being unable to escape what was sure to be an exhausting night.

The black-tie event had since been underway by the time you arrived. Though, you figured that may work better in your favor; not many people would be looking for a late entry to the party. Your stilettos clicked against polished marble, eyes scanning the room with a practiced gaze. Your glasses were set low on the curve of your nose, letting the false lashes you wore flutter against skin uninterrupted. The makeup you had applied suddenly felt heavy on your pores as you spotted the reason for your attendance.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine–what a mouthful–stood at the opposite balcony, seeming to be having a heated discussion with her assistant. Over what? That wasn’t your business. Your business with the Contessa began whenever she opened her mouth to give you your assignment, and ended whenever you completed the contract. You refused to associate with the avaricious woman more than was necessary. 

And, so, you began to work your way over.

You barely made it halfway before an arm had shot out and pulled you into a side hall. Either your reflexes have dulled in your time away from the field, or the arm that gripped yours was inhumanly fast. You were hoping it was the latter–you aren’t sure you could translate your skills to other fields if you were losing your touch.

You struggled against the arm around your waist, which only furthered the strength of the grip. Your backside collided with the soft, lean muscle of a man’s front. You were truthfully attempting not to make a scene–there were a very many violent options that you had been trained in to break a hold like this, but you had been trying not to bring attention to yourself.

“Again,” you panted out, your ribcage surely bruised from being thrown around with ease likened to a child throwing a toy. The man in front of you didn’t care, however. Neither would an opponent in the real world. So, you once again assumed your position. The mechanical whirr of his silver arm echoed within the walls of the old Belarusian training room as he readied his stance.

You darted towards him, using your smaller stature to your advantage–he may have more advanced reflexes than a normal human, but his bulky mass and metal arm weighed him down. He had anticipated you to jump him head on again, so you knew you had to find a way to break his focus. As he reached out to grab you with his metal hand, you slid in between his spread legs. His arm instinctively went to grip your waist behind him once he felt your arms on his shoulders, so you used that to boost your momentum and twist your body up and around to his front. Your thighs closed around his head and squeezed, blocking his sight and hearing. As you brought an elbow up to slam down on his–quite frankly–hard head, you felt his hands reach up and grasp the curves of your backside. The boldness of the touch had shocked your system frozen. ³

A grunt left his lips, muffled by your crotch, and that was the only warning you received before the tingle of your spine communicated that gravity was approaching, and fast. You could only gasp for air as your back hit the training mat, stealing what breath you still had away.

The impact had loosened the vice grip of your thighs, but the Soldier’s body stayed in what you could only describe as a compromising position. His gaze locked onto yours, lips parted and breathing hot puffs of air into your intimate area, knees buckled underneath him, and palms still flat against your bottom. The black of his pupils nearly engulfed the blue of his irises–he looked ready to devour you.

“Hey, hey!,” a low rasp grumbled in your ear, the sound of your name breaking you out of your stupor, “It’s me!”

You almost fought his grip even harder, now knowing who it was that held you. “Bucky, what the fuck!” You hissed, his grip finally loosening enough for you to break out and spin around to face your unwanted captor. His arms raised and his shoulders hunched in, he tried to make himself look smaller–or innocent, rather–in a placating manner.

“Sorry,” he muttered, “force of habit.”

You couldn’t help but sigh, using the hand not clenched around your clutch to rub at your temple; you knew you would have to have this moment eventually tonight, you just hadn’t thought it would happen immediately.

“You look…good,” were the words that came out of his mouth. He winced immediately after, as if kicking himself for saying it.

One brow quirked up, you couldn’t help the quip from leaving your mouth.

“You look…older. Is that grey I see in your beard?” You pretended to squint and pushed your glasses up your nose, as if you were trying to get a closer look. ⁴

He let out a huff–the closest you’d get to a laugh–and the side of his lips curled up a bit. “Yeah, well, that’s what happens when you’re not put on ice for years at a time.”

His brow furrowed suddenly, pointing at the glasses on your face. “What’s with the…?”

You let out a chuckle at that, the back and forth between you feeling natural. Like old times.

“Creature comfort,” you shrugged. ⁵

Your eyes roved up and down Bucky’s body, inspecting the changes. The way he clearly had been less rigorous with strength training, but his body clung to muscle mass naturally. “It’s a good look on you. I’d say you age like fine wine, but considering you’re probably older than most aged wines being sold currently, I think I might insult some vineyards.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised at that, a smug smirk slowly lifting on his lips–

“That right?”

You could’ve sworn your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in closer, the notes of bergamot and cedar in his cologne suddenly becoming clear to your olfactory senses. You tried swallowing down the nerves growing in your throat, his eyes glancing down to the motion before slowly inspecting down your full figure and back up.

“You have no idea just how much you’re testing my restraint right now,” he murmured lowly, eyes hooded over as he looked down at you as if you were his prey for the night. Despite the added four inches from your stilettos, the bastard super soldier still towered over you.

“Bucky, I–”

“Ah, ah. You’re gonna turn that ass around, go do what you came here to do, and when you’re done, you’re gonna come back to my apartment with me and we’re gonna have a little chat.”

The commanding tone of his voice left no room for argument, but you found yourself testifying anyway.

“James, it’s been almost three years–”

You found yourself being manhandled, again, by your ex-boyfriend. He spun you around so that your back pressed against his chest again, his vibranium hand groping the swell of your ass. You had to bite down on your lower lip to prevent an embarrassing moan from escaping, watching people mingle around the hall without a notice or care in the world of what was happening just across the hall from them.

“And whose fault is that, hm?” He growled into your ear, “I haven’t seen my girl in three years. Not one call, text, or even a fucking email.”

“I’m not your girl anymore, remember?” You hissed out, rolling your eyes, despite knowing he couldn’t see it. “I haven’t been your girl since you let me walk out that door.”

“I didn’t let you do anything. You’re a grown fuckin’ woman and I respected your decision. If I were in the business of letting you do things, you’d be bent over that railing right now.”

“And become a scandalized Congressman? Is that truly worth it?”

“If it meant that I’d finally get a message through that thick fuckin’ skull of yours, then yes. I assassinated a U.S. President and still got voted in. A sex scandal could hardly scrape the bottom of the shit I’ve done.” ⁶

“Oh, please. You could’ve assassinated Hitler himself and there would still be a population of the American people who would try to get on your ass for having premarital sex.”

“Interesting foreplay this has been, I must admit–but you’re avoiding consequence by talking around the point.”

Well, shit. You were kinda hoping he hadn’t noticed.

¹ This is a line from “Sucker Punch” ! Dr. Gorsky fits the Red Room characterization so well imo.

² This was internal monologue from Bucky in Winter Soldier: Devil’s Reign. 

³ This is my poor attempt at describing the move Black Widow does on Bucky after he gets activated by Zemo in CA:CW. I always thought it’d be fun to make it more heated, seeing as how intimate of a position it looks without the context of a fight.

⁴ In my headcanon (bc truthfully I don’t know if they’ve ever confirmed this?), Bucky’s body ages with Sebastian Stan’s. So he’d be physically around his early 40s by the time Thunderbolts* happens. He’d be physically in his late 20s in Winter Soldier flashbacks, mid 30s in FATWS ones.

⁵ Can be implied that Reader doesn’t actually need glasses; this is relevant for later. If you do need glasses, this will also still work; it would just imply that Bucky was used to seeing her with contacts in. Could also just be read as a “Clark Kent Effect” where people don’t recognize a spy with glasses lmaoo.

⁶ I love Bucky “I Assassinated JFK And Got Away With It” Barnes.

[sollis-occasum]

you think i'm gone 'cause i left - anakin skywalker/darth vader x fem!jedi!reader (part 2 of 3)

a/n: you can read it as a stand-alone ♡

summary: when a ghost born from his past regrets returns to haunt him, darth vader has no choice but to confront it.

warnings: angst, no use of y/n, blood, mentions of death, mentions of torture, mentions of sex (no smut), reader is manipulating darth vader (but in a girlboss way), darth vader and darth sidious are their own warnings, no proofread, my english is the biggest warning.

word count: 2k

part 1

Darth Vader, who made the galaxy tremble with fear just by the idea of ​​his existence, had subdued leaders who were said to never bow down, destroyed kingdoms that were said to never be destroyed, and made even the proudest warriors beg for mercy. Ironically, the only person who could bring this Sith Lord, who struck fear into every beating heart, to his knees was the ghost of a woman whose heart had stopped years ago.

Was his master manipulating his thoughts to create an illusion of you in order to punish his failures? Or were you the reflection of a ghost trapped in this world because the parts of his soul that belonged to Anakin Skywalker were not ready to let you go?

Darth Vader had no answers to these questions. If there was one thing he knew, it was that you were haunting him and that you would not let go until his heart, which had become a mass that did nothing but pump blood, was numb and torn apart with pain and regret.

Your presence wasn't always this disturbing to be honest, at first he was taking a pleasure in seeing you that he couldn't even admit to himself. You were looking at him with a magnificent light in your eyes that even the greatest massacres and most brutal executions you had ever witnessed couldn't extinguish, you were smiling at him affectionately as if the man in front of you wasn't a war criminal but the little boy you entrusted your lightsaber to. Sometimes he felt a shiver as if you were running your hands over his armored shoulders, and this sweet feeling that covered his entire body reminded him of the times you spent together. Perhaps it was  your presence mixed with the air he breathed that prevented Darth Vader from taking complete control...

However, with each passing day in the empire of fear he and his master had established; with every innocent person he ruthlessly killed, with every enemy he tortured with disregard for their honor in the hope of getting information about his plans, the mask that had become the symbol of brutality was sticking more to the face underneath and his new identity was taking over him

While his burnt, torn body was trapped in an armor, the only thing that gave him a sense of freedom  was his memories of you. But they began to fade one by one, leaving nothing but the memory of your bloody body being dragged by a clone soldier. Your first meeting at the temple, the first time he held you in his arms at the weapons factory that had become a battlefield, the exchange of your lightsabers, the first mission you officially went on together, the first moment he realized he liked you, the first kiss you shared, the first night you spent together... All of them were so distant now.

Maybe that was why your ghost had also slowly begun to change. Your reflection no longer radiated the noble glow it had when you first appeared; your image was more colorless, paler. The sweet feeling he felt when you appeared had been replaced by a pain like an ice burn. You weren't even smiling. A disgusted expression that you only reserved for the most vicious criminals in the galaxy appeared on your face. Especially those eyes... Darth Vader had never seen even his greatest enemy look at him with such devastating hatred.

"You killed me," you said with great anger. "You are responsible for my death!"

Darth Vader had tried everything not to witness those words that had been echoing in his mind for years coming out of your lips. He had told you to leave, tried to ignore you, used the force to disperse your reflection... But you weren't leaving! No matter what he did, he couldn't get rid of you. Finally, he was about to ask his master for help, even if it meant enduring his punishment for being weak, when you asked a question he couldn't leave unanswered.

"Where's my lightsaber, Anakin?"

You were in the throne room of his fortress on Mustafar. Darth Vader was thinking deeply, leaning his arm on the edge of his throne and leaning his helmet on his hands, when he heard your hysterical voice. He reached for his lightsaber as a reflex, but he also knew that the only enemy who could stand against his saber, which was red as if referring to the blood he had shed, was you.

"Anakin... A name I haven't heard in a long time," he said with his robotic voice hiding his emotions. But he also knew that he couldn't hide his feelings from you. You knew his deepest desires and fears. You might have been living in different bodies, but you two were the same person.

You smiled mockingly as if he was a buffoon instead of a commander who had the galaxy wrapped around his finger. "You didn't think I would call you by that funny name your master gave you, did you? Please don't take offense, but you have the stupidest name out of all the Sith Lords."

"How dare you!?" he roared, raising his hand into the air and trying to throw you to the other side of the room with the help of the force, but nothing happened. You continued to stand tall. Apparently, even the force couldn't harm those who didn't belong in the world of the living.

"Do you really think you can get rid of me like that? It's surprising that a ruthless Lord like you can have such naive ideas."

Although you emphasized the word ruthless, an expression appeared on your face as if the anger of the man in front of you amused you.

"What are you and what do you want from me?"

You slowly shrugged your shoulders and started to wander around the throne room. Sometimes you would delicately run your fingers over the objects in the room and sometimes you would go behind the throne and watch the hellish view of Mustafar. There was a silence that Darth Vader, even the most fearless man in the universe, did not dare to break. Finally, you answered the question in a low voice, "Only you can know the answer." Obviously, the answer you gave was not satisfactory for you either.

"I could be your guilt or your regret. Maybe I am your remorse that you cannot silence. Who knows?"

"Nonsense." Darth Vader snapped. "I have no regrets about the past. Such feelings are only excuses for those who are weak enough to succumb to them."

"You may not have it, but Anakin Skywalker does. Maybe that's why you can't defeat him. The remnants of him you can't destroy are suffering, right? Even if you block your ears, you can hear his screams. The more you try to suppress him, the more he finds ways to survive. Look, his pain has created me: the only enemy you can't defeat."

"Shut up! You're not real!"

In a sudden move, he took his lightsaber and tried to separate your head from your body, but your reflection only waved for a few seconds.

"That's what I meant when I said the only enemy you can't defeat." You said with an exasperated tone and rolled your eyes. "Anyway, you've asked enough questions. Now answer my question. Where's my lightsaber?"

"Obi-Wan took it." he said with great passion. His hands clenched involuntarily as he said his former master's name. Even his robotic voice couldn't hide his hatred.

"Ah, I see. So you couldn't protect it. What a shame, it really was a beautiful lightsaber."

You slowly walked towards the throne and sat on the armrest. You tried to keep a sad expression, but it was obvious that the commander’s failures were amusing you. You began to gently run your hands over his shoulders. Even the touch of your abstract presence was enough to soothe him. You could feel him relax under his armor.

“I didn’t think you would give up the only thing I had left so easily.”

“We made a deal. First I saved your life, then you saved mine. After you paid your debt to me, I had no reason to protect the lightsaber.”

"So you're saying that our only bond was some stupid pact we made when we were kids? That the lies we told our masters just so we could spend time together, the kisses we shared, the nights we spent together meant nothing? Don't expect me to believe that, Anakin. If I were truly that worthless to you, you wouldn't have built this fortress on Mustafar as a monument to your failures, you wouldn't have found every clone trooper there that day and tortured them all to death, and most importantly, you wouldn't have sold your soul to your new master in order to save me."

Without waiting for him to respond, you removed your hands from his shoulders and gripped his chin tightly. Technically, you had no power over him, and your fingers had even passed through his mask, but Darth Vader had surrendered to you so much that he lifted his head slightly, just as you wished he would.

"Do you know what I'm actually thinking? Maybe your desire to be Palpatine's toy has nothing to do with me, Skywalker. You turned to the dark side to save me, didn't you? Nonsense! You were just looking for a new master, that's all."

These were words that were too degrading and humiliating for a Sith Lord like him, who was used to being feared and obeyed. He rose from his throne in a sudden movement and held his hands out to you. He knew that he could not harm you, but for the first time, he felt that his anger was harming him, not powering him. He had to do something to get rid of you! However, his desperate efforts to catch you were only making you laugh.

You sat down comfortably on the throne that was vacated by him and crossed your legs with confidence. Your hands were gripping the throne on either side as if you were its rightful owner.

"Look, you can't even sit on the throne, Anakin," you said. "How pathetic."

"The men your master has given you, or that stupid word added to your new name, mean nothing. No matter how much you deny it, you are nothing but a slave. When you were a child, you belonged to Watto, now you belong to Sidious."

Darth Vader clenched his hands into fists and held them up to his face, "I rule the galaxy," he shouted at you. But his voice was weaker, more insecure. You continued, enjoying the pleasure of hitting him in his most sensitive spot.

"No, your master rules the galaxy. You are merely one of his insignificant, dispensable puppets. You have no free will, you still have the soul of a slave. You need others to control you in order to survive. In the past, you needed Obi-Wan and my approval, now you look to your master for help. Because you destroyed everyone who ever cared for you for nothing, and no one else has accepted the monster your sins have created."

"Why are you punishing me like this?"

You had finally done it! The most powerful man in the galaxy, that magnificent figure who bowed to no one but his master, was now kneeling in front of you, his hands on his helmet as if to silence the thoughts in his mind. He was trying to stop Anakin Skywalker, whom he thought he had killed years ago, from taking control with the strength he got from your screams, but he couldn't.

"I am not punishing you, Ani. You are doing this to yourself. Do you want to get rid of me? Then go and avenge me. Make your crimes have meaning. You know who your enemy is."

tags: @circe143 @snowtargaryen @etheriaaly @ariskywlkr @tellybearryyyy @anisgurll

[undiagnosedcruelty]

IKEA Adventures

Pairing: skz!OT8 x reader

Genre: Crackfic

Summary: what was supposed to be a trip to IKEA to find a new table ends into a lifetime ban from the establishment.

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Content Warning: Chaos, shenanigans, food Coma, overeating, property damage, questionable decisions, chan losing his sanity, skz being menaces in IKEA.

Word Count: 6.7k

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EVERYTHING WRITTEN IS PURELY FICTION──NOTHING IS DIRECTLY RELATED TO ANY REAL LIFE EVENTS.

12:00 PM –

It was a peaceful morning at the Stray Kids dorm—until Jeongin destroyed the dining table.

To be fair, he hadn’t meant to break it. It wasn’t like he woke up and thought, You know what? Today seems like a great day to commit table homicide.

But when he decided—on a whim, with absolutely no prompting—to attempt a backflip off the couch, he severely miscalculated his landing. His foot slipped mid-air, sending him into a graceless, flailing nosedive. He crashed straight onto the dining table with the force of an anvil, and with a sickening crack, the wooden legs buckled. The entire table snapped clean in two, splinters flying like shrapnel.

For a moment, everything was silent except for the faint sound of Jeongin groaning from the wreckage, sprawled out like a fallen soldier on a battlefield.

Then—

“YANG JEONGIN!”

Cue Bang Chan absolutely losing his mind.

“WE JUST BOUGHT THAT TABLE LAST YEAR!” he wailed, grabbing his head like a man on the verge of a breakdown. “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW MUCH THAT COST?”

Jeongin, still lying among the debris, blinked up at him innocently. “…Uh. Oops?”

Lee Know stood over him with his arms crossed, looking about as impressed as a cat forced to wear a Christmas sweater. “Oops? Oops?” he echoed in disbelief. “You just obliterated our only dining table like some kind of reckless maniac.”

You crouched down next to the broken table and poked one of the snapped legs experimentally. “We can glue it.”

Lee Know’s deadpan stare could’ve cracked stone. “You cannot glue a whole table back together.”

“That’s quitter talk.”

“how about you quit breathing.”

Hyunjin, who had been filming the entire disaster with the enthusiasm of a nature documentary narrator, gasped dramatically. “Rest in peace, fallen soldier,” he said, zooming in on Jeongin’s dazed expression. “Your bravery will not be forgotten.”

Before murder could occur, Chan clapped his hands together, forcibly shifting into damage-control mode. “Alright! We’re going to IKEA. We’re buying a table, and we’re coming home. No distractions. No side quests.”

Han snorted. “Famous last words.”

And just like that, the real chaos was about to begin.

1:15 PM -

The moment you step through the glass doors of IKEA, it’s over.

The vast showroom stretches out before you—rows of perfectly arranged furniture, maze-like paths leading in every direction, and that distinct, artificial IKEA smell (a mix of sawdust, fresh textiles, and meatballs). The fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the battlefield you’re about to destroy.

Chan, blissfully unaware of the impending disaster, claps his hands together like a father about to wrangle his hyperactive children at a theme park. His face is filled with forced optimism—the kind that’s already cracking at the edges.

“Alright, listen up.” He levels each of you with a stern glare. “We are here for one thing—a table. No distractions. No shenanigans.”

He pauses and zeroes in on you and Han specifically, suspicion thick in his voice. “I mean it.”

You and Han exchange a glance.

And then, like two synchronized agents of chaos, you bolt in opposite directions.

Mission Failed.

“OH, COME ON—” Chan’s voice cuts off as he watches the disaster unfold in real-time.

Hyunjin immediately disappears into the showroom, drawn in by a particularly soft-looking couch. Felix beelines toward the plushie section like a man on a mission. Seungmin mutters something about “this is why we can’t have nice things” before walking off in the opposite direction.

Lee Know, completely unfazed, sighs and turns to Chan. “You should’ve just ordered the table online.”

You’re not even five minutes into the trip, and it’s already a mess.

Han has found himself a rolling office chair and is currently zooming through the aisles like a Formula 1 racer. Every so often, you hear a distant wheee! followed by the sound of furniture narrowly avoiding destruction.

Hyunjin is dramatically lying on a display bed, hands clasped over his chest like a tragic prince. “This is my new home now,” he declares to a very confused IKEA employee. “Tell my members I loved them.”

Changbin is trying to lift a desk as if he was benching weights in the gym with the excuse of “I want to see if it’s as heavy as its price”.

Felix is hugging an enormous shark plushie like it’s his long-lost twin. “I need this.” His voice is firm, his grip unrelenting.

Chan, who is now deep in regret, grabs the nearest shopping cart and storms through the aisles. “EVERYONE, BACK TO THE TABLE SECTION. NOW.”

No one listens.

Lee Know casually tests out dining chairs, completely unbothered.

Jeongin, still somehow the cause of all this, is poking at a fake plant with deep contemplation. “This is kinda nice. Maybe we should redecorate.”

Seungmin, the only responsible one left, sighs and takes out his phone. “I’m calling security.”

And somewhere in the distance, Han crashes into a display cabinet.

1:30 PM –

In the kitchen section of IKEA, Jeongin is committing what can only be described as a crime against Swedish hospitality.

The small bowl of free sample gummy bears sits innocently on the counter, meant for casual snacking. A normal customer might take one, maybe two, and move on with their day.

Not Jeongin.

No, Jeongin is hoarding them like a squirrel preparing for winter. With the finesse of a seasoned criminal, he shovels handfuls of gummies into his hoodie pockets. The rustling sound is borderline obscene. His eyes flicker left and right, scanning for employees like he’s about to be tackled by IKEA security.

“They can’t arrest me if I take all of these, right?” he whispers, his voice filled with equal parts excitement and sheer paranoia. The sugar rush is already in his bloodstream, fueling his terrible decision-making.

Seungmin, leaning against a fake kitchen counter, watches the crime unfold with the detached amusement of someone who wants to see their friend suffer but also wants to film it. “Not if they don’t catch you,” he says, sipping from an empty IKEA display mug like this is some high-stakes drama.

Jeongin nods, taking this as full legal confirmation of his innocence, and proceeds to shove one last handful of gummy bears into his sleeve for good measure.

Unfortunately, his luck runs out.

“Sir, you can’t take that many.”

Jeongin freezes mid-pocket-stuff, fingers clenched around a handful of evidence. Slowly, painfully, he turns his head.

Standing behind him is an IKEA employee, a middle-aged woman with the weary expression of someone who has seen too much. She is not angry. She is just tired.

Jeongin’s brain goes into maximum overdrive.

Fight or flight.

And, of course, he chooses flight.

“I’M TOO YOUNG FOR JAIL!” he screeches, bolting out of the kitchen section at full speed.

Seungmin, instead of helping, calmly takes out his phone and starts recording. “Natural selection in real-time,” he muses, zooming in on Jeongin’s desperate escape.

Aisles away, Chan is already on his last nerve trying to herd the group back together when Jeongin suddenly comes sprinting past him, arms flailing, hoodie bulging suspiciously with stolen gummy bears.

Then comes the IKEA employee. She isn’t running, just power-walking after him with the patience of a school librarian about to give someone detention.

Chan, exhausted beyond words, just squints. “…Why?”

Before he can even react, Han—who has no idea what’s happening but possesses the instincts of a chaotic raccoon—sees Jeongin running and immediately starts running, too.

“WHY ARE YOU RUNNING?” Chan shouts after him.

“I DUNNO, BUT IT SEEMS IMPORTANT!” Han yells back.

Felix, now cradling three plush sharks like they are his children, watches them pass and tilts his head. “Is this part of the plan?”

Lee Know, entirely unbothered, flips through an IKEA catalog like he’s reading the morning news. “No,” he says, turning a page. “But it’s hilarious.”

Seungmin, still filming, leans over to the deeply unamused IKEA employee standing next to him. “Would you like to press charges?”

The employee lets out the world’s heaviest sigh. “No. I just want him to put the gummies back.”

“Understandable,” Seungmin replies, nodding solemnly. “Have a nice day.”

1:35 PM – Jeongin is on IKEA’s watchlist.

2:27  PM -

In a stroke of pure, unfiltered genius, you and Han decide that IKEA’s living room display is no longer just a showroom—it is a kingdom.

With all the speed and determination of two unsupervised children in a toy store, you raid every available display for fort-building materials.

Han yanks pillows off the couches with a reckless whoosh, sending a few tumbling to the floor. You toss a blanket over a coffee table like an architect with zero structural integrity. Felix, despite having no idea what’s going on, dutifully drags over a decorative rug while whispering, “This feels illegal.”

It is. But you continue anyway.

By the time you’re finished, a masterpiece stands before you.

A magnificent fortress with thick pillow walls, a coffee-table ceiling, fake plants serving as "royal" décor, and an armchair throne fit for an IKEA king. The final touch? A ‘No Bang Chan Allowed’ sign, hastily scribbled on a stolen cafeteria napkin and proudly taped to the entrance.

Han, perched in his makeshift throne, surveys his kingdom with great dignity. He spreads his arms wide, voice booming.

“THIS IS NOW OUR KINGDOM!”

Felix, who has fully committed to the bit, immediately drops to one knee beside him, bowing his head like a knight swearing fealty. “My liege, we require sustenance.”

From the next aisle over, Chan—who has just walked in on this disaster—stares for a long, painful moment. Then, exasperated beyond words, he groans, “IKEA doesn’t sell food outside the cafeteria!”

Han nods solemnly, as if this is grave news. Then, after a pause, he sits back in his throne, strokes his chin, and declares, “THEN GET US A LAMP!”

Chan looks like he’s actively contemplating walking into traffic.

Lee Know, who has long since given up on all of you, watches this whole production before locking eyes with Changbin. Without a single word, both men marches forward and kicks down the entire fort.

There is no warning. No hesitation. No mercy.

The chair throne wobbles and topples over. The blanket walls collapse in slow motion. Pillows explode into the air like debris from a warzone.

Han gasps, clutching his chest like he’s just been mortally wounded. “BETRAYAL!”

Felix, clutching a fallen pillow like it’s a dying comrade, whispers, “We never saw it coming…”

You stare at the wreckage, hands on your hips, nodding slowly. “I mean. We can rebuild.”

“No, you cannot,” Lee Know deadpans, stepping over the ruins with zero remorse. “Because I will burn the next one down.”

“sorry dude, but we still need a table” Changbin reasons as he apologized half heartedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

Seungmin, arms crossed, watches the whole thing with the judgmental glare of a disapproving parent. “This is why we don’t have nice things.” he says for the second time today.

Meanwhile, Chan stands in the middle of the aisle, rubbing his temples, mentally calculating how much therapy costs.

He regrets everything.

3:00 PM –

At this point, you should have left.

You really, really should have.

But between everyone getting separated, Han and Hyunjin deciding that racing office chairs through the showroom was a necessary use of time, Felix getting lost in the rug section ("They’re so soft, I lost track of reality!"), and a heated, 45-minute argument over which table color would “spark joy,” time just… disappeared.

Then—

The lights dim. The soft hum of background music cuts off.

A voice comes over the loudspeaker, calm yet haunting.

“Attention shoppers: IKEA is now closed. Please make your way to the nearest exit.”

The entire group freezes.

Felix, still clutching a giant plush shark to his chest reaches a hand to hold Changbin’s arm as if to ground himself, slowly turns to the rest of you. His voice is barely a breath. “…Did we just get locked in IKEA?”

Seungmin, standing with his hands in his pockets like this was inevitable, nods. “Yes.”

There is a beat of silence. Then—

“WE’RE GONNA DIE HERE,” Hyunjin wails, throwing himself onto a display bed like a Victorian widow succumbing to despair. He pulls a faux fur blanket over himself dramatically. “Tell my family I loved them.”

“You live with them,” Lee Know says, unimpressed.

Jeongin, meanwhile, is already in survival mode. He has withdrawn into a corner, clutching his precious gummy bear stash like a dragon hoarding treasure. His eyes dart around suspiciously. “I’ll share these, but only if society collapses.”

Han, who is clearly viewing this as an opportunity rather than a disaster, clasps his hands together excitedly. “So, technically speaking… we own IKEA now, right?”

Chan, who has spent the last hours trying and failing to keep this group of menaces under control, slowly sits down on a display couch. His hands run through his hair, and then he just buries his face in his palms.

“This is my nightmare,” he mutters.

Changbin, after successfully escaping Felix’s grip on him, pats his shoulder sympathetically. “Look on the bright side, hyung.”

Chan lifts his head just enough to glare. “There is no bright side, Changbin.”

Felix tilts his head. “...Well. At least we don’t have to pick a table anymore?”

4:30 PM –

IKEA has fallen.

What was once a pristine, organized showroom is now a wasteland.

The place is unrecognizable. It looks less like a furniture store and more like the aftermath of a natural disaster. Display furniture lies toppled over, decorative plants are scattered across the floor, and a single floor lamp flickers weakly in the distance, its bulb struggling to hold on—much like Bang Chan’s sanity.

The obstacle course challenge started off as a simple game. A harmless little test of agility.

Han had challenged Hyunjin to see who could parkour through IKEA the fastest without touching the floor. One moment, they were leaping from couches to armchairs with the grace of trained assassins. The next? Absolute carnage.

Felix, egged on by pure chaos, decided to raise the stakes by dragging an office chair into the course and using it as a launchpad. His plan? Push off at high speed and land perfectly on a display bed.

His execution? A catastrophic disaster.

The wheels of the chair locked up mid-roll, sending Felix flying. He crashed into a bookshelf, which tipped over like a domino—taking down a whole row of neatly arranged home décor displays with it.

Hyunjin, mid-jump, saw the disaster unfold and panicked. He tried to change direction but accidentally landed on a glass coffee table. The table survived. Hyunjin’s dignity did not.

The challenge ended in an IKEA employee’s worst nightmare—a full showroom in total ruins.

5:56 PM –

After obliterating half the showroom and successfully reducing Bang Chan’s will to live, hunger struck like divine punishment. And there was only one logical solution—the IKEA cafeteria.

The moment you and Han stepped inside, the heavenly scent of buttery mashed potatoes, rich gravy, and freshly baked cinnamon rolls enveloped you like a warm embrace from destiny itself. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to glow a little brighter, almost like they, too, were guiding you toward your fate.

Han inhaled deeply, placing a reverent hand over his heart. His eyes shimmered with raw emotion. “Do you feel that?” he whispered, his voice thick with awe.

You nodded solemnly, stepping forward like a warrior embracing their divine calling. “It’s destiny.”

And then… all hell broke loose.

At first, things were civilized.

One plate of perfectly portioned meatballs.

Then another.

Then—purely for scientific purposes—you both decided to push the limits of modern dining by testing the structural integrity of a single tray.

How many cinnamon rolls could it hold before collapsing?

The answer? Seventeen. (Eighteen if you believed in yourself.)

Still within reason. Nothing criminal.

But then—the shift happened.

Han, staring at the trays of untouched food behind the glass counter, tilted his head in deep thought.

"Technically…" he mused, chopsticks hovering over his meatballs. "If the store is closed, does that mean this food is abandoned?"

Felix, sitting across from him, was already halfway through a cinnamon roll the size of a newborn’s head. He paused mid-bite, nodded solemnly.

"It would be wasteful to leave it."

You leaned forward. "You're saying…"

"I'm saying," Han said, his eyes gleaming with the reckless confidence of a man about to make terrible decisions, "we do our part to help."

And just like that—a feast began.

Plates piled high with meatballs, drowning in an ocean of gravy. Cinnamon rolls devoured at record-breaking speed. Someone (probably you) smuggled an entire cheesecake to the table like a grocery store criminal.

Changbin, who had originally walked in to “keep an eye on things,” was now sitting with two chocolate milk cartons in each hand, knocking them back like he was in a medieval tavern. Fully throwing away his role of trying to help his hyung take control of the situation and joining in on the chaos.

"DRINK, PEASANTS!" he declared, sloshing milk down his own shirt.

Felix, completely unfazed, continued to eat his cinnamon roll at a suspiciously fast pace.

"How are you even eating that fast?" you asked, watching him inhale yet another roll.

He paused for a single second, cheeks full, before whispering, "Practice."

 

At some point, someone (again, probably you) decided to introduce "The Ultimate Challenge"—an attempt to consume an entire bowl of mashed potatoes using only a cinnamon roll as a spoon.

It was going well.

Then, it wasn’t.

The cinnamon roll collapsed under the pressure, sinking into the mashed potatoes like a tragic shipwreck. Han—who had been watching with the intensity of an Olympic judge—gasped dramatically.

"Disqualified," he whispered, shaking his head.

You wiped your mouth with a stolen napkin. "I regret nothing."

By the time the others arrived, the cafeteria was a wasteland.

Trays picked clean. Forks and knives strewn across the table like the remnants of a battle. A single, lone meatball rolling sadly across the floor.

The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon, gravy, and poor decisions.

Jeongin, stepping into the scene, froze.

His eyes darted to the empty trays. Then to the unconscious pile of stuffed people around the table. Then back to the trays.

Slowly, he turned to you and Han.

"You ate everything?" he asked, voice filled with betrayal.

You and Han paused mid-bite.

"...Define ‘everything,’" Han said slowly, before stuffing another meatball into his mouth.

6:25 PM –

Jeongin, suffering from a devastating, meatball-induced food coma, had made a bold and questionable decision—he crawled into a shopping cart, curled up like a sleepy little gremlin, and promptly passed out.

At first, it was harmless. He lay there, peaceful, his hoodie pulled over his face, arms tucked under his head like a makeshift pillow. His cheek was squished against the plastic side, his expression one of pure, undisturbed bliss—like a man who had zero regrets about eating his weight in cinnamon rolls.

But then, the incident happened.

It started innocently enough.

Someone (again, probably you) spotted a nearby bin overflowing with IKEA’s famous stuffed sharks. And, naturally, like any sane and responsible person, you grabbed one and gently placed it on top of Jeongin.

It was funny—just him, peacefully snoozing, now wearing a shark as a blanket.

But then—Hyunjin happened…..well, hyunjin and Changbin.

Hyunjin, walking by at the worst possible time, saw this… and immediately took it as a challenge.

With zero hesitation and far too much enthusiasm, he grabbed another stuffed shark and stacked it on top.

Then another.

Then six more.

Then, Changbin decides to wrap his maknae in a thick, pink blanket that he found from who knows where.

Within seconds, the "innocent prank" had spiraled into an industrial-level shark burial operation.

Lee Know, casually strolling past, barely spared a glance. Without breaking stride, he grabbed a shark, gently placed it on the growing pile like an offering to the gods, and kept walking.

Felix, witnessing this escalation, did the only reasonable thing—he sprinted across the aisle, grabbed three sharks at once, and hurled them onto the pile with the accuracy of an Olympic athlete.

Han, already doubled over laughing, clutched his stomach. "Why does this look like a ritualistic sacrifice?"

“Shh,” Seungmin whispered, eyes twinkling with amusement. “He’s ascending.”

By the time anyone fully realized what had happened, it was too late.

Jeongin had been completely consumed by the shark army.

The only evidence of his existence?

One lone hand, sticking out from beneath the mountain of plush toys and blankets, twitching ever so slightly.

Every now and then, a muffled groan could be heard from deep within.

Felix, crouching beside the cart like a scientist conducting an important study, poked one of the sharks.

“Do you think he’s still alive under there?” he asked, completely serious.

You squinted at the pile, considering it. Then, with zero hesitation, you grabbed the handle of the cart and gave it a gentle push.

The cart wobbled slightly.

From the depths of the plush prison, there was a weak, distant grunt of protest.

“Yep,” you nodded, straightening up. “He’s fine.”

7:15 PM –

Lee Know had reached his limit.

After hours of chaos, destruction, and watching his so-called ‘friends’ ruin everything in their path, he made a choice.

He was not leaving.

Not now. Not ever.

When the group finally staggered into the wardrobe section—battle-worn and running on pure survival instincts—no one thought much about it when Lee Know drifted toward the displays. After all, the entire trip had been an unhinged mess; if anyone needed a second to mentally recover, it was him.

But then, just as Chan was painstakingly trying to form a last-minute escape plan, something strange happened.

Lee Know disappeared.

At first, no one noticed.

Then—

“…Where’s Lee Know?” Changbin asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

Everyone paused.

A soft thud echoed from one of the display wardrobes.

The entire group turned—slowly, cautiously.

Hyunjin frowned. “Did he just—?”

Another thump.

Han stepped forward first, treating the wardrobe like it was some kind of cursed artifact. He reached out, knocked lightly on the door.

“hyung?”

Silence.

Then—a voice.

A voice so emotionless, so hauntingly devoid of life, it sent a chill down everyone’s spine.

"I live here now."

A long, painful silence followed. Chan exhaled so deeply it sounded like his soul was trying to escape. “Come on, man. We’re leaving.”

A pause.

Then—firmly, unshaken:

“No.”

Felix, still munching on the last of his stolen cinnamon rolls, leaned in with genuine curiosity. “You’re seriously just gonna… stay?”

From inside the wardrobe, there was no hesitation.

"Yes."

Seungmin, more judgmental than concerned, tapped on the door with mild impatience. “At least pick a bigger one. That display says ‘compact storage.’ You’re gonna cramp up in there.”

A sudden, sharp kick rattled the entire wardrobe.

Threat detected.

“This is my home now,” Lee Know repeated, voice eerily steady, as if he had truly, deeply accepted his fate.

Han, doubling over, wheezed with laughter. “Bro, you’re literally speedrunning cabin fever.”

Felix wiped a tear from his eye. “You didn’t even bring snacks.”

“I have my pride,” Lee Know deadpanned.

Hyunjin, now fully invested, tapped on the wardrobe like it was a fish tank and peered through the gap between the doors.

“Are you, like… sitting on the floor? Or are you squatting?”

There was no response.

Just ominous silence.

Chan, who looked like he had aged fifty years in the last few hours, dragged his hands down his face. He took a long, measured breath, as if preparing for battle.

“Lee Know. Get out of the wardrobe.”

The wardrobe did not open.

Lee Know did not move.

The situation had escalated into a full-on hostage crisis. And Chan?

Chan had never known a pain quite like this.

7:38 PM –

It didn’t happen suddenly.

There was no shouting, no epic meltdown, no explosion of rage.

Just… acceptance.

Somewhere between Hyunjin using a floor lamp as a lightsaber, Han attempting to ‘surf’ on a rolling office chair, and Jeongin still being buried under an army of stuffed sharks, Bang Chan reached his limit.

His eye twitched. His shoulders sagged. The last shred of control he had over the situation dissolved into the void.

And with the slow, deliberate movements of a man who had lost all hope, he walked—no, shuffled—toward an empty space on the floor.

Then, with a deep, soul-crushing sigh, he simply laid down.

Flat. Face-first. Arms spread out.

Like a man surrendering to the universe.

He did not move.

He did not speak.

He just… existed.

For a few seconds, no one noticed. The chaos continued around him—Hyunjin still dramatically swinging the lamp around, Felix shoving the last of a cinnamon roll into his mouth, Han attempting to convince Seungmin that stealing a decorative clock was “just borrowing indefinitely.”

Then Changbin turned his head and blinked.

“…Hyung?” he called, frowning slightly.

No response.

Curious, he crouched down beside Chan’s unmoving form and gently poked his shoulder.

Nothing.

Changbin poked again. A little harder this time.

Still nothing.

Seungmin strolled over, hands stuffed in his hoodie pockets, looking at the scene like he had just stumbled upon roadkill.

“Yeah,” he said, after a moment of silent observation. “He’s done.”

Hyunjin finally lowered his (very illegal) weapon of choice and stood over Chan like a detective surveying a crime scene. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, squinting.

“We broke him.”

Han, who had somehow found an overturned ottoman to sit on like a throne, nodded proudly. “So… we’re all in agreement that this was the best IKEA trip ever, right?”

Changbin, still crouched beside Chan, tilted his head in thought as he chewed the last of his stolen cinnamon roll.

“I mean,” he said, after a pause. “It’s a strong contender.”

Meanwhile, Jeongin—still buried under a small army of stuffed sharks inside a shopping cart—let out a weak, muffled groan of suffering.

Lee Know, still inside a wardrobe somewhere, yelled, “I LIVE HERE NOW.”

Chan, hearing none of this, remained absolutely still.

It was unclear if he was actually conscious or if his soul had simply decided to temporarily vacate his body.

Either way, one thing was clear—

This man had officially given up.

8:00 PM -

Just as you were all basking in the aftermath of your greatest (and most illegal) IKEA adventure yet, the moment of reckoning arrived.

A sharp voice cut through the air, slicing through the silence like a blade:

“HEY! WHAT ARE YOU KIDS DOING HERE?!”

Every single one of you froze.

It was like time itself stopped.

Slowly—painfully slowly—you all turned toward the source of the voice.

Standing near the entrance of the showroom section were two IKEA security guards.

The first, a burly, no-nonsense man with arms crossed, was looking at you like a disappointed father about to lecture his delinquent children.

The second, a skinny guy clutching a half-empty coffee cup, looked significantly more tired—probably because this was not what he signed up for today.

Their eyes scanned the scene before them.

And to be fair, it was a lot to take in.

The showroom was in absolute ruins. (The obstacle course challenge had gone too far.)

An empty cafeteria. (You had eaten everything.)

Jeongin passed out in a cart, completely buried under stuffed sharks.

Lee Know still inside a wardrobe, refusing to leave.

Bang Chan, face-down on the floor, visibly questioning every life choice that led him here.

The second guard, staring blankly at the destruction, took a slow sip of his coffee.

“…What the hell happened here?”

Silence.

Then—

Felix, without thinking: “We live here now.”

The first guard blinked.

“…What?”

Seungmin, in the calmest voice possible: “We work here.”

The first guard narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? Then where are your uniforms?”

Hyunjin, dead serious: “Casual Friday.” it was a tuesday.

The second guard actually looked like he was considering it.

But then—the first guard pointed at Bang Chan, who was still facedown on the floor.

“Then what’s wrong with him?”

You all turned to Chan.

He hadn’t moved.

He wasn’t even trying to run.

He was simply lying there, absorbing the pain of existence.

Changbin, not missing a beat: “He’s on break.”

The second guard rubbed his temples. “Okay, no—this is—none of this is right.”

And that was when you realized:

You had exactly three seconds before they fully processed what was happening.

One.

You glanced at Han. Han glanced at you.

Two.

Your eyes darted to the nearest exit.

Three.

Han, voice barely above a whisper:

“RUN.”

Instantly, chaos erupted.

You and Han sprinted in opposite directions, diving behind furniture and weaving through the maze-like aisles. Changbin along withFelix, grabbed Jeongin’s cart and took off at full speed, wheels screeching against the tile floor.

The guards finally snapped out of their confusion.

“HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!”

But they underestimated your ability to thrive in chaos.

Lee Know, who had finally emerged from his wardrobe sanctuary, took one glance at the situation and immediately side-stepped out of the guards’ view, slipping into another aisle like a seasoned fugitive and finding a new wardrobe to lurk in.

Seungmin, meanwhile, casually walked past the guards, acting like he was just another customer who had definitely not been part of the disaster they were currently witnessing.

One of the guards nearly fell for it.

“Wait a second—hey! You were with them!”

Without missing a beat, Seungmin turned around and pointed at a random lamp. “Sir, this lamp is on sale. Do you have any in stock?”

The guard actually hesitated.

“…Huh?”

Using this brief window of confusion, Seungmin coolly slipped away.

Meanwhile, you and Han were full-speed dodging through IKEA’s maze-like layout, knocking over display pillows and decorative plants in your wake.

Han, breathless as he leaped over a couch: “WHY IS THIS STORE A LABYRINTH?!”

You: “IKEA WAS BUILT TO TRAP US.”

Behind you, the security guards were struggling to keep up.

“This is ridiculous,” one of them huffed, nearly tripping over a stray rug. “These kids are like—like roaches!”

Changbin, still pushing Jeongin’s cart at a frankly dangerous speed, swerved past an aisle of bookshelves, gripping the handle like a racecar driver. “WHY DOES IT FEEL LIKE WE ESCAPED FROM ROBBING A BANK??”

Jeongin, still mostly asleep under the mountain of stuffed sharks, stirred slightly.

“…Are we moving?” he mumbled.

Felix, skidding around a corner: “Buddy, we are FLEEING.”

Somewhere behind them, Chan finally peeled himself off the floor. He blinked, dazed, still processing what was happening.

Then—he saw the guards chasing everyone.

And with the deepest, most exhausted sigh of his life, he simply turned on his heel and started power-walking toward the exit.

He was done.

He was so done.

He didn’t even care if you all got caught.

At this point, he was ready to let IKEA have you.

9:00 AM –

Inside the security office of IKEA Headquarters, two guards sat in front of a row of monitors, shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. The air smelled faintly of stale coffee and regret.

A large TV screen displayed the security footage, frozen on the title:

“IKEA Incident Report”

A half-empty coffee cup sat abandoned on the desk, a silent witness to the sheer mental toll of what they were about to witness.

The first guard, a man who had seen too much, pinched the bridge of his nose. He hadn’t slept enough for this.

The second guard, eyes hollow, clicked ‘Play’ with the energy of a man who had already accepted his fate.

Clip #1 –

(Timestamp: 4:50 PM)

The footage opened on an aerial view of the showroom, which was, in short… ruined.

Han was dangling from a bookshelf, feet swinging wildly as he tried to climb higher.

Hyunjin, standing on a rolling office chair, used a broom to push himself forward like a gondola driver in Venice.

You, for some reason, were swinging from a ceiling display like a rogue circus performer.

Then—catastrophe.

The bookshelf wobbled dangerously before tipping over.

Han screamed in slow motion as he fell into a mountain of decorative cushions.

Hyunjin’s rolling chair shot straight into a stack of lamps, sending them crashing down like tragic dominoes.

You let go of the ceiling display at the worst possible moment and landed face-first onto a couch.

The first guard exhaled through his nose. He had no soul left.

The second guard, deadpan, took a sip of coffee.

“…That’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

Clip #2 –

(Timestamp: 6:00 PM)

The footage cut to the cafeteria, where the group had descended into pure gluttony.

Han was double-fisting meatballs like a man possessed.

You were shoveling mashed potatoes into your mouth using a cinnamon roll as a spoon.

Felix was eating at an alarming, possibly inhuman, speed.

Changbin, standing on a chair, was holding two cartons of chocolate milk above his head.

"DRINK, PEASANTS!" he bellowed, sloshing milk down his own shirt.

The camera zoomed in on Felix’s expression as he devoured his fourth cinnamon roll.

You could see the calculated precision in his chewing, the methodical way he reached for the next one without hesitation.

The first guard leaned forward slightly.

“…How is that kid eating that fast?”

The second guard, still blank-faced, took another slow sip.

“…He’s trained for this.”

The footage then cut to the aftermath—an empty cafeteria, trays wiped clean, and a single, lone meatball rolling across the floor in despair.

Clip #3 –

(Timestamp: 6:29 PM)

The security feed flickered to show Jeongin, peacefully curled up inside a shopping cart, fast asleep.

It was normal. At first.

Then—

A stuffed shark landed on top of him.

Then another.

Then six more.

Then pink blankets are added.

The camera cut to Lee Know, who walked past, paused, and without saying a word, gently placed another shark on top of the pile. Then, he continued walking like this was a perfectly normal Tuesday.

Within minutes, Jeongin had vanished beneath the mountain of plush sharks, only a single arm sticking out from the pile like some kind of tragic horror movie victim.

From deep within the pile, a soft, muffled groan of protest.

Felix crouched beside the cart, poking one of the sharks thoughtfully.

“Do you think he’s still alive under there?”

The footage zoomed in on you giving the cart a tiny push. It wobbled slightly.

A weak, muffled grunt.

You nodded. “Yep. He’s fine.”

The first guard blinked slowly.

“…Should we check under the stuffed animal displays later?”

The second guard shrugged. “…If he’s still there and wakes up, he wakes up.”

Clip #4 –

(Timestamp: 7:15 PM)

The camera switched to Lee Know walking into a display wardrobe and shutting the door.

Silence.

A long pause.

Then, a single thump from inside.

Everyone in the footage froze and slowly turned toward the wardrobe.

Han walked up and knocked lightly. “hyung?”

Silence.

Then, from within the wardrobe, a flat, monotone voice:

“I live here now.”

The footage zoomed in on Bang Chan, standing off to the side.

His soul visibly left his body.

Seungmin knocked again. “At least pick a bigger one. That display says ‘compact storage.’”

Lee Know’s knee slammed against the inside of the door in warning.

Chan, rubbing his temples, sighed heavily. “Lee Know. Get out of the wardrobe.”

Lee Know did not get out of the wardrobe.

The second guard blinked.

“…Did we check that wardrobe this morning?”

Silence.

Then, the first guard slowly reached for his radio.

Clip #5 –

(Timestamp: 8:00 PM)

The moment the guards entered the frame, chaos ignited.

You and Han looked at each other—then immediately bolted in opposite directions.

Felix, gripping Jeongin’s cart like a NASCAR driver, pushed it at full speed down an aisle.

Hyunjin dramatically flipped over a couch for NO REASON.

Lee Know vanished. Again.

Seungmin casually walked away, acting like he didn’t know these people.

The camera zoomed in on Bang Chan.

He was still facedown on the floor, unmoving.

The second guard let out a low whistle.

“Damn. That guy’s spirit is just… gone.”

Clip #6 –

(Timestamp: 8:15 PM)

The footage showed the entire group slipping past the guards, sprinting toward the emergency exit.

One of the security guards in the footage tripped over a misplaced stool, collapsing like a tragic Shakespearean hero.

The screen froze on his mid-fall expression.

The first guard sat back in his chair, exhaled heavily.

“…We are never getting paid enough for this.”

The second guard, without saying a word, took a long sip of his coffee, shut the monitor off, and walked out of the room.

END REPORT.

10:00 AM -

After what could only be described as a night of legendary stupidity, the group found themselves summoned to the IKEA front desk, where two security guards and the store manager stood waiting.

The manager, a middle-aged woman with the exhausted eyes of someone who had seen one too many customer meltdowns, pinched the bridge of her nose. In front of her sat a thick stack of incident reports, a printed screenshot of Hyunjin flipping over a couch, and a blurry security photo of Bang Chan lying facedown on the floor like a crime scene victim.

She did not look impressed.

“Alright.” She sighed. “Which one of you is responsible?”

Silence.

Then, in perfect synchronization, every single one of you turned to look at Bang Chan.

Still visibly broken from the experience, he barely had the strength to glare at you all before mumbling, “I hate you all.”

The manager did not care.

She flipped through the report, adjusting her glasses. “Vandalism. Property destruction. Unlawful consumption of IKEA goods. Reckless endangerment via rolling office chairs. Unauthorized fort construction. Smuggling an entire cheesecake—” She paused, blinking at the paper. “—How did you even manage that?”

You shrugged. “Talent.”

She was not amused.

With one final sigh of defeat, she pulled out a freshly printed document and placed it in front of you all.

In bold, capitalized letters, it read:

"OFFICIAL BAN NOTICE: YOU ARE NO LONGER WELCOME IN ANY IKEA ESTABLISHMENT. THIS DECISION IS FINAL."

“…Wait, we’re banned?” Changbin asked, horrified.

“For life,” she confirmed, crossing her arms.

Hyunjin clutched his chest dramatically. “No. No, this can’t be happening. You can’t do this.”

The manager raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I can. And I did.”

“Please,” Han pleaded, his voice filled with emotion. “IKEA is more than just a store. It’s a way of life.”

The manager deadpanned. “I don’t care.”

Seungmin, who had been suspiciously silent the entire time, suddenly stepped forward, adjusting his posture like a man about to negotiate world peace.

“Listen,” he began, smooth and diplomatic. “Mistakes were made. Desks were flipped. Forts were built. Meatballs were consumed. However—” He gestured vaguely. “Can we not reach a… mutual understanding?”

The manager stared at him like he had personally ruined her entire morning.

“No.”

Lee Know, leaning casually against the desk, took a different approach.

“What if—” he said, voice low, “we offered to work for IKEA for free to make up for the damages?”

The manager, without blinking, handed him a bill for thousands of dollars in damages.

Lee Know slid it back across the desk like it personally offended him.

“…Actually, never mind.”

At this point, Chan had completely given up. He didn’t even try to argue. He simply buried his face in his hands and let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Felix, ever the optimist, tried one last desperate plea.

“What if we promise—” he clasped his hands together “—to never do it again?”

The manager laughed. It was not a nice laugh.

“Get out.”

And so, after one final tragedy, the group left IKEA for the last time, permanently banned from ever stepping foot in the land of meatballs and modern furniture ever again.

As you walked toward the parking lot in disgraced silence, Hyunjin wiped away a fake tear.

“We had a good run,” he whispered.

Changbin placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “We’ll always have the memories.”

Bang Chan, still physically and emotionally destroyed, simply muttered: “I am never taking you guys anywhere ever again.”

[diamonddaze01]

get it in writing

pairing: csc x f!reader | wc: 2.8k au: rival ceos, suggestive | warnings: suggestive content a/n: part 2 of the contractual obligations universe

The merger was official. Your boards of directors had finally completed their long, meticulous work, and now, after years of bitter rivalry, you and Seungcheol were co-CEOs.

On paper, it made sense—two titans of industry combining forces to lead a company that was bound to dominate. But in practice? Well, it was chaos.

The board meetings had turned into an all-out war. You and Seungcheol’s every word was a battle for control. Every gesture felt like a challenge. During the last meeting, the tension had been so thick, you almost could’ve cut it with a knife.

"Do we really need another unnecessary project proposal?" Seungcheol had quipped, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the table as his eyes narrowed, scanning the presentation slides. His posture was rigid, like a soldier on guard, prepared for an attack.

You shot back without missing a beat. "Maybe you didn’t understand the numbers, Seungcheol. I thought you were good with projections." You leaned forward, lips pressed tight, eyes meeting his in a quiet challenge.

His eyebrow quirked, a smirk playing on his lips. "You might want to double-check that chart, because I’m pretty sure the only thing bloated here is your ego."

The air had crackled with tension, each of you fighting to establish dominance in the room. The board members had sat in silence, glancing between you both, waiting for someone to break the standoff. But neither of you would.

Later in the meeting, it escalated. He disagreed with your strategy for employee engagement, you questioned his unrealistic timelines, and soon enough, the words were flowing faster than your ability to keep them in check. You threw barbed jabs wrapped in business jargon; he countered with ruthless precision, both of you speaking over each other, unwilling to yield.

But the moment the meeting ended, when the board members filed out, the tension didn’t dissolve. It lingered in the air, thick and taut, crackling between you like a live wire.

You were organizing your papers, your hands still shaking slightly from the adrenaline of the argument. You barely registered the sound of his footsteps until you felt him close behind you—too close. The heat of his body pressed against your back before you could turn. One firm hand gripped your waist, the other landed on the door behind you with a loud thud, trapping you in place.

Your heart hammered in your chest, pulse quickening at the sudden proximity, your breath hitching in your throat as Seungcheol’s body curled around yours. His hand slid across the curve of your hip, his fingers warm and insistent. The sharp contrast of his heat against the coolness of the room made your skin prickle, every inch of you acutely aware of him.

Before you could react, his lips were on yours—crushing, demanding. The kiss was not gentle, not tender—it was all fire, all desire, and you were pulled under it. You didn’t think. You didn’t try to resist. Your hands slid up to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. His tongue swept into your mouth, deep and fast, and you answered him with equal hunger, a need you didn’t know was there until he ignited it.

His hands moved with purpose—one gripping your neck, tilting your head, the other slipping beneath your blazer, fingers tracing the exposed skin of your waist. The touch was hot, searing, and your body responded before your mind could catch up. You pressed into him, feeling the solid planes of his chest against yours, his breath hot against your skin. His lips were everywhere—on your neck, your jaw, trailing down to your collarbone, leaving a trail of heat that made your legs tremble.

But the fog of desire didn’t last long. Your mind, always the more practical part of you, kicked in. You broke away, your chest heaving, a sharp gasp breaking through your lips. The cold air of the room hit your flushed skin, making you shiver as you stepped back, trying to regain some control.

"We can’t do this," you said, your voice shaking with more than just the physical aftershocks of his kiss. It was unsteady, but there was no mistaking the seriousness of the words.

Seungcheol didn’t let you go. He was still pressed close, his breath warm against the side of your face, his fingers grazing the soft curve of your waist. "Why not?" His voice was low, rough, like the words themselves were reluctant to leave him. "You want it just as much as I do."

You swallowed hard, trying to steady yourself, but your pulse refused to slow. "We’re co-CEOs now. Our careers are on the line. This could… this could ruin everything."

Seungcheol pulled back slightly, but his eyes were intense, focused on you as though he could see through your layers, through the calm exterior you so carefully cultivated. He searched your face for something—approval? Agreement? But all he found was uncertainty. And that made the smirk on his lips twist into something darker, something more dangerous. "Then what do we do?"

You took a steadying breath, your mind racing for something that would make sense. "We need a contract," you said, voice steady but still low, almost a whisper, as though even saying the words aloud would make them more real. "A written agreement. A non-compete clause."

Seungcheol’s eyes darkened, his brow furrowing slightly. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or amused. You didn’t wait for a response, your heels clicking sharply on the polished floor, the sound echoing through the hallway like a countdown. Seungcheol, a step behind, matched your pace with ease, but there was an edge to his movements now—his hands, almost unconsciously, straightened his tie as if the action itself was meant to reign in something darker, a reminder to himself that he couldn’t act on the fire he was feeling, not just yet.

The door to your office clicked shut behind you, and instantly, you could feel his presence close in, like a wave breaking over you. The space between you and Seungcheol shrank, and his body hovered just behind you, his heat spilling over your skin like a heavy blanket. His hands came down on the desk, warm and firm, just inches from where you stood. Every shift in his stance seemed to draw you further into his orbit.

“Are you sure about this?” His voice was low, teasing, but there was a dangerous edge to it that didn’t quite reach your ears—it lingered in the tension vibrating between you two. “This whole... contract thing? Because I think we both know what happens when we mix business with pleasure.”

Before you could form a response, his lips were already at your neck, soft, warm, the faintest graze of them sending a shiver spiraling down your spine. Your pulse leapt in response, and though your mind screamed for control, your body reacted before you could even think—leaning into him for a brief, electric moment.

Seungcheol’s hand, warm and steady, cupped your cheek, his thumb grazing over your skin before pulling your face gently toward his. When his lips met yours, it wasn’t frantic or desperate—it was slow, deliberate, as if he were savoring the sensation of your mouth against his, the taste of you, something that was both familiar and unbearably new. His lips were firm, but there was a softness there, a restraint you hadn’t expected.

You pulled back with a breath that felt like it came from someone else, your hand instinctively finding its place against his chest, pushing lightly, almost apologetically. “No,” you murmured, though it came out softer than you intended, like a plea. “We can’t… not here. Not again.”

But Seungcheol didn’t back off. No, instead, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear with a teasing whisper that sent a wave of heat crashing through you. “No? You sure?” His hands, confident and unhurried, slid around your waist, pulling you against him, pressing his chest solidly against your back. His warmth seeped through the fabric of your blazer, your own breath hitching at the closeness.

You could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady against your ribs, his chest rising and falling with each breath, his scent overwhelming—earthy, intoxicating. You swore you could feel every inch of him, his presence, the weight of it, pulling you into a gravity you knew you couldn’t escape from.

“I’m serious,” you said, though it came out a little less certain than you wanted. Your heart was racing, thumping loudly in your chest as you tried to maintain the semblance of control. “We can’t let this become a distraction. We have a company to run.”

Seungcheol’s laugh was dark, low, and it reverberated through you, settling in the pit of your stomach. His lips traced a lazy line down your jaw, and you shivered despite yourself, your body betraying you in ways your mind couldn’t quite explain. “You say that,” he murmured against your skin, his fingers now teasing the curve of your side as they slipped under your blazer, “but I think you’re already distracted.” His hand was warm, intimate against the bare skin beneath your clothing, and you couldn’t hold back the involuntary shiver that ran through you.

You swallowed, your throat tight as you tried to focus on anything other than the heat of his touch, the weight of his body pressing so close to yours. “The contract,” you managed to say, your words coming out shaky, “We’ll make it official. Everything spelled out. No room for misunderstandings.”

Seungcheol pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and focused, lips still brushing against yours, as if his lips couldn’t quite leave you, not yet. He tilted his head, lips curling into that trademark smirk, the one that made your stomach do flips. “So… a business agreement, huh?” He leaned in just a fraction more, his breath warm against your lips. “I think that’ll be fun.”

You stepped back, your heels clicking on the floor in a sound that felt far too loud in the moment, breaking the physical connection, but the tension in the room lingered, thick and palpable. “First things first,” you said, trying to steady your racing heart, reaching for a pen on your desk. “We make sure there are boundaries. And those boundaries are… non-negotiable.”

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, his hands coming to rest on the desk as he leaned in, closing the distance between you once again. “Oh?” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear with that almost unbearable intimacy. “No ‘negotiating’ in the office either?”

Your breath hitched as his body pressed closer, the heat of him once again radiating through you. You could feel the muscles in his chest against your back, the undeniable firmness of him, and you tried to steady yourself, to hold on to your resolve. “None,” you managed, your voice trembling at the edges, but you refused to let go of the control you still had. "At least not until after hours."

Seungcheol chuckled softly, the sound vibrating low in his chest as he moved closer, his hands sliding slowly up your back. His body was impossibly close now, his warmth surrounding you like a heady cloud. You could feel the faint brush of his fingertips against the delicate fabric of your blouse, the light pressure of his touch sending a pulse of heat through you. "Well, well," he murmured, his lips grazing the side of your neck, the proximity making it almost impossible to think straight. "Looks like we’re going to need a lot more... amendments to this contract."

A shiver crawled up your spine at the sensation of his lips so near, and you bit your lip to steady yourself. The heat between you was undeniable, and you felt the flush creeping up your neck. Trying to regain some semblance of control, you quickly pulled a pen from your desk and scribbled the first terms of the agreement, your hand steady despite the pounding of your heart. "Let’s just get this in writing first," you said, your voice betraying a slight edge.

But Seungcheol wasn’t ready to let go just yet. His hands slid down your sides, sending an electric jolt of desire through you. Before you could protest, his lips found yours once more, this kiss not soft and teasing but urgent, demanding, like he couldn’t wait another second. It felt like an anchor in the storm of your emotions. The contract could wait—at least for a moment, at least until you could catch your breath.

When he finally pulled away, you exhaled a shaky breath, your heart racing in your chest. You struggled to ground yourself, trying to cling to the last remnants of professionalism. "No... shenanigans in the office," you said, voice tight with the effort it took to focus.

Seungcheol’s eyes gleamed with mischief, the teasing smirk never leaving his lips. He stepped closer, his chest pressing against your back, his heat radiating through your clothes. You could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as his breath ghosted across your ear. "None?" he breathed, the word sending a shiver of anticipation skittering down your spine. His hands slid down your waist, slow and deliberate, until his fingers brushed the curve of your hips.

You bit your lip to keep the tremor from your voice. "None," you repeated firmly, though it came out more like a breath than a command.

But Seungcheol didn’t let it slide. He leaned in closer, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. The warmth of his breath made you feel as though the air itself was thickening. His body pressed harder against yours, the sharp edges of his chest and the heat of his body sending a surge of awareness through you. "Okay. Maybe some... shenanigans," he whispered, his voice low and coaxing, teasing at your resolve. "In the office?"

You exhaled a shaky breath, your pulse quickening as your grip on the desk tightened, but before you could respond, his lips were on yours again. The kiss was deep, but controlled—gentle yet demanding, like he wasn’t going to let you back out of this. When he finally pulled away, you were left breathless, the air heavy with unspoken promises. Your heart raced, and you fought to maintain the cold, professional façade you’d been clinging to.

"Deal," you said, your voice tight with the effort to sound confident, your gaze meeting his with a determination that only barely masked the wild rush of emotions beneath. "But if we’re going to do this, we need a few more terms."

Seungcheol stepped back slightly, his smirk never wavering. "Such as?"

You moved toward the desk, taking a slow breath to steady yourself. The air between you still crackled with tension as you grabbed a pen and some paper. You felt your fingers shaking as you began writing, the terms coming to you in a daze. "No public displays of affection," you started, your voice clear despite the rapid beat of your heart. "No kissing in meetings. No making the staff uncomfortable."

Seungcheol raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. His arms crossed over his chest, and you couldn’t help but notice how the movement made his shirt stretch, outlining the strength beneath. "So no kissing in meetings, but outside of them, I can have my way with you?"

You met his gaze, locking eyes, trying to keep your composure, but the heat of the moment was making it harder to breathe. "That’s the general idea," you said, the words tasting foreign on your tongue as the weight of your own restraint was starting to slip.

He stepped forward again, his body crowding yours, his fingers lightly brushing over your shoulders, the touch sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin. He leaned in close, so close you could feel his breath on your ear, his lips brushing against the delicate curve. "What else?" he asked, his voice low and hushed, sending a thrill straight to your core.

You swallowed, your mind struggling to focus as his proximity made everything else feel distant. "Nothing that could jeopardize the company’s image. No—" you hesitated, feeling the weight of your own words. "—no long-term relationships that could be used against us."

Seungcheol chuckled, the sound low and rich, like the rumble of thunder before a storm. It was both familiar and maddening. "So we’re allowed to have short-term... affairs, then?" he teased, his lips brushing against your neck once more, his hands slipping around to the front of your shirt, the warmth of his touch sending a shiver through you.

You shot him a look, but couldn’t help the small, nervous laugh that escaped you. "Keep it professional. And we’ll make it work."

His lips lingered on your neck, his hand brushing your hair away from your face with a tenderness that contrasted with the teasing words. "I think I can handle that," he murmured, his voice a whisper against your skin. "I’m good at following contracts... as long as there’s something good at the end of it."

[demigod-shenanigans]

I’m never going to write this but I am so very intrigued by the concept of platonic!Jeyna in Tartarus and thought you guys might appreciate so:

-No idea what exactly the context here is but Reyna ends up following the Seven across the ocean a bit sooner than she does in canon and helps out during the end of MoA and she’s the one who ends up dangling over Tartarus

-And yes it absolutely has to be Jason coming to Reyna’s aid for the fall. Because it’s already established she’d do anything for him. She crossed an ocean for him in canon. But Jason’s whole thing since this all started has been that he chose Leo and Piper over Reyna/CHB over Camp Jupiter (or at least it felt that way to her). Their shared home isn’t his priority anymore. She isn’t his priority. She hasn’t been since he disappeared. She’s not expecting him to come to her aid.

-When she orders him to drop her, she expects him to listen like the proper Roman soldier that he should be. And then he doesn’t.

-There’s something very intriguing to me about the concept of “your only way to survive this situation is to trust a person with your life who you’re aware you’ve loved forever but who you don’t really know anymore”

-All his trust in her is muscle memory and all her trust in him is linked to a version of him that no longer exists. Least convenient place to get to know each other again!

Not super many thoughts on scenes but I do have two in mind:

1) at one point Reyna moves during a fight to cover Jason in a way that would have worked with CJ Jason but doesn’t with this one because his fighting style is more a mix of Greek and Roman now and one of them ends up hurt because of it

2) Jason is the one dealing with Akhlys and it startles Reyna really badly because she knows Jason goes off when necessary but seeing him so fiercely protective of her specifically in a way where he’s lost control entirely is both terrifying and pulling her right back to the moment when she killed her dad to protect Hylla. Potentially the thing that stops him is Reyna also losing control of her powers and having her terror bleed over into him.

[starshipsofstarlord]

making out with bucky

warnings. making out (duh), fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, some undressing, some grinding, implied smut (0.7k)

MINORS DNI (18+), I DO NOT CONTROL YOUR CONSUMPTION ON THIS BLOG 👻

divider credits. @cafekitsune

It was sensual, the rhythm of your lips and his moving in unison against each other, wishing for lack of breath to emancipate you. The two of you were seated on the couch, your body straddling his burly build, as his hands, vibranium and flesh, ran up your back, dipping beneath the fabric of your shirt. Your eyes were closed shut as you found yourself lost in the abyss of his touch, the entire world fading away in a blink of an eye.

Bucky felt grounded; this was his version of peace. There was no sound, except the small gasps that emitted between you, and his shuffling weight on the furniture as he found it impossible to pull you closer, but yet tried anyways. He was floating in his own derision of comfort, as though he was dream walking with the woman - you, who created absolute serenity in his mind. It made him feel as though his journey through strife and pain had all amounted to something.

It had lead to you, his partner in putting a stop on world threatening crime, the graced beauty that made his anxiety calm, the arms that he desired to have curled around him during slumber. He kissed you, one of his hands abandoning its course along your back as it ran through your locks, his tongue slipping into the depths of your mouth as he listened to your pulse. The thumping sounded in his ears as your noses met time and time again, your tongue swishing in matrimony as he focused on the steady beat that ran through your body.

Your head tilted at an angle as you pulled slightly away, eyes hooded as you opened them a fraction whilst your hands cupped the sides of his face that were shadowed with dark scruff, leaning back into him as though his lips were an addiction. With gentle motions your pecked his nose before returning to the pink parting of his mouth, his tongue swished at the corner of it as he gazed up at you, tracing the swollen petals of your face with his minstrel pupils. “I love you.” His words filled your head, causing you to smile, a sight that Bucky was unable to resist. You leant back in, conjoining together as you felt the affect you had on the soldier.

His breaths were becoming delightfully ragged as he attempted to compile his instincts to take this further; he and you were both enjoying each other despite being adorned in clothing, but he wanted to feel the heat of your skin against his, and run his palms over your ribcage with sufficient tenderness. You whined as he leant back, although you allowed him to remove your shirt, it being tossed upon the ground without much care for it.

Bucky hummed at the sight of your beauty, biting his lip as he stroked his tongue against the artery of your throat, moaning to himself as your hands found purchase in his hair, tugging at the locks as you ground yourself down, the denim that you each wore giving not enough friction, and so to make up for that, you pulled him back up, whispering an I love you against his lips as you resumed once again to suckling on his bottom lip. His eyelids fluttered shut, his fingers toying with the straps of your bra but not removing them.

“Fuck.” You whispered, grinding yourself down upon your boyfriend again, mindlessly rolling to the side of the couch, as you wantonly pulled him with you. As Bucky loomed above you, his dog tags swayed in the air, his henley securing the muscles of his body as you dragged him closer by wrapping your legs around his waist, your heads was sank into the cushions but you didn’t care, not when your partner ran his hands from yours to the bottom of his stomach, removing the article that had began this sidetracking of time.

It joined your own on the ground, the lampshades on the side tables creating shadows in the divots on his arms, his arms snaking around your waist as he held you, lips still exploring your own with dissipating patience. The swell of your mouth was heavenly, you could feel blood pumping through every part of your body, making your mind a little delirious as you refused air, tugging him farther into you as your desires grew larger with the infatuation that you felt for the man that had you caged in his caressing grip.

[bambisworlds]

the winter soldier's weakness

bucky and y/n have been free from Hydra for two years, trying to make a life of their own. but that becomes a struggle when bucky is framed for a bombing (3,036 word count)

*I might make this into a series :)

content warnings, mdni 18+

both bucky and user are victims of hydra, violence, husband!bucky, telekinetic!reader, telepathic!reader, established relationship, PTSD struggles, brief mention of sexual assault, kidnapping, psychological and physical torture, angst, let me know if i forgot anything x

my masterlist

Bucky and Y/n have been free from Hydra for nearly two years and are beginning to build their own lives. When Hydra took Bucky in the 1940s, they couldn't get him to break in the way they wanted. They weren't able to remove his humanity entirely. No matter how often they wiped his mind, Bucky never forgot his wife. His mind clung to her memory, and they knew they couldn't control him without her.

Growing up, Steve, Bucky, and Y/n were a trio—best friends. They were inseparable. But as time passed and they got older, Bucky and Y/n's friendship became romantic. Bucky and Y/n married shortly before Bucky was sent off to war.

Hydra kidnapped Y/n from her and Bucky's home in Brooklyn and began running experiments on her shortly after Bucky was brought into their containment. She developed similar abilities as Wanda Maximoff, but her power was inconsequential compared to what Wanda would come to be. Nevertheless, they used Y/n as a bargaining chip to get The Winter Soldier to cooperate; they made her his partner on his missions. Or, they would threaten to kill her if he didn't complete the missions he was sent on. Even in the dark ocean that was The Winter Soldier's mind, his subconscious still clung to his love for Y/n.

Y/n never became a hardened killer like Bucky; she, too, clung to her humanity. But she knew if she refused to complete her orders, she would be tortured or killed. Or worse, they would torture Bucky to punish her.

Y/n had been sent with Bucky when instructed to kill Steve Rogers and prevent him from stopping the Heli carrier launch. So, when all was said and done, Bucky dragged Steve and Y/n from the river. He left Steve behind but scooped Y/n up in his arms and set off with her. However, Steve doesn't know that the woman with Bucky is Y/n because she wears a mask like Bucky.

Ever since, the two have been trying to put the pieces of their new life together while overcoming their PTSD and mind control. They wanted to start over and be good people. The longer they went without getting their minds wiped, the more memories from their life together in the 1940s came back. All they wanted was to live a semi-normal life as husband and wife and leave their life with Hydra behind them.

Y/n and Bucky were having a typical day, or their version of normal, when they saw an article in the newspaper saying Bucky had bombed a building in Vienna. The two of them quickly returned to their apartment, preparing to flee and find somewhere off the grid to live, when Bucky stopped midstep, gripping Y/n's arm as his eyes landed on Steve Rogers, who stood in the middle of their apartment.

Steve turned to look at the two of them, and he flinched at the sight of Y/n, who was positioned protectively behind Bucky. "You're..." Steve muttered to himself as he looked at Y/n, blinking rapidly as if she would disappear. "You're alive." He gaped, and Y/n shifted on her feet nervously. "When I came out of the ice, I looked for you... they said you died of natural causes in 1998. But you're..." He swallowed roughly, trying to decipher if she even remembered him or if Bucky did, for that matter.

"Do you know me?" Steve asked the two of them. Bucky swallowed roughly, nudging Y/n further behind him. He wasn't sure of Steve's intentions. The last thing the two of them wanted was to be drug off to some facility and get their minds picked apart by doctors. Bucky would rather die than let Y/n be subjected to another form of captivity. She was struggling immensely with her PTSD, maybe more so than Bucky, and he refused to put her in a distressing environment like a psychiatric facility where the two of them would be separated. All they knew was each other.

"You're Steve. I read about you in a museum," Bucky says flatly, his metal hand resting possessively over Y/n's abdomen to keep her behind him.

"Is that all you know about me? What you read in the museum?" Steve asks, his voice trembling slightly as he looks between them. Y/n looked up at Bucky anxiously as they heard a voice say, 'They set the perimeter' in Steve's earpiece. An average person wouldn't have been able to catch it, but they both had enhanced hearing.

He's come to take us away. Y/n said telepathically to Bucky, jumping to conclusions. He's distracting us so they can trap us.

"The bombing... we didn't do it," Bucky says cautiously, his hand still blocking Y/n from moving closer to Steve.

"The people who think you did are coming here now, and they're not planning on taking you alive," Steve warns, and Bucky bristles.

"Nobody's laying a finger on her," Bucky says lowly, and Y/n shifts on her feet anxiously as she hears people outside their apartment.

Steve scrambles for something to say as the authorities surround the apartment, "You pulled me from the river, why?" he demands. Bucky ignores him, pulling Y/n against him in a protective gesture.

"We're getting out of here," Bucky mutters quietly to her, and she nods. Using her telekinetic abilities, she pulls her and Bucky's emergency bags across the room and into their hands. Bucky quickly puts on his backpack, and so does Y/n.

Y/n gasps, and Bucky cradles her head with his hands as two grenades get thrown through the window, but Steve quickly covers the grenades with his shield, stopping the blow.

Officers and agents begin to breach the apartment. Driven by pure instinct, Y/n begins to fling the men out of their way as Bucky leads her out, using his strength to force the men out of their path. "Stay behind me, baby," Bucky calls over his shoulder as he punches one of the men into the wall. Y/n glances back, catching a glimpse of Steve fighting off the men in her and Bucky's apartment.

Y/n takes Bucky's hand and uses her telekinetic powers to propel them flyingly down the many flights of stairs. Once they land on solid ground, Bucky takes her hand and hastily leads her towards the exit, punching his way through the row of men while Y/n shoves any other lingering threats out of the way with her powers.

The minute they step out of the apartment building, they're surrounded by hundreds of men with large guns and a helicopter hovering over them. In the middle of the wall of men was T'Challa. Bucky comes to a halt, Y/n bumping into his back. He spins around, grabbing Y/n's wrist to take her with him as he attempts to escape through the building, but Steve is blocking his way.

"If you fight it, you'll only make it worse," Steve tries to reason. Bucky's breathing was erratic, driven by the desire to keep Y/n out of harm's way. Y/n looked around at the people surrounding them, holding onto Bucky's jacket tightly.

"She's my wife, Steve," Bucky pleads with him, hoping he'll somehow give them a way to escape.

The agents close in on them, knocking Bucky and Y/n to their knees as they cuff them. The officers had unique cuffs designed to remove Y/n's mutant abilities so she couldn't use mind control on the men. She nearly fell forward once the cuffs were secure, growing weak from the debilitating handcuffs.

"Buck..." she mutters weakly.

"Take those cuffs off of her!" Bucky demands, fighting against the officers who were trying to subdue him. Hydra often used similar cuffs on Y/n so she couldn't escape, so he knew how weak they made her. Not to mention, they were a PTSD trigger for her.

"It's for our protection until you're both evaluated," one of the officers insists as they yank Y/n to her feet, her legs wobbling beneath her. Her breathing grows shallow as she realizes she cannot defend herself, panic brewing in her gut.

Seeing Y/n's distress, Bucky fights harder against the men as they restrain him. Bucky grunts angrily, realizing he can't fight off all these men, "I'm right here, doll. Just breathe, baby," Bucky calls to her, his voice shaking with barely contained rage, "You don't need to use those fucking cuffs on her," Bucky growls as they pull him to his feet.

"She's unstable. We can't risk her using her abilities on us," one of the men says as they start shoving Y/n and Bucky toward the transportation vehicles, tugging Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson behind them. Silent tears began to stream down Y/n's face as she tried to look over her shoulder at Bucky.

"I know, baby," Bucky said as he caught a glimpse of her face. "I'm right here, it's gonna be okay," he said, his voice tinged with desperation.

She nods slightly as she's shoved into the vehicle. She could see Steve, Sam, and T'Challa being put into a van behind theirs out of the corner of her eye.

The officers force Y/n and Bucky into the vehicle, strapping them into restraints so they could hardly move. Y/n's breathing was erratic, and her body trembled as they finished strapping her in. Hydra agents used to strap her down to partially keep her from escaping but also so she couldn't move when they did vile things to her.

They strapped Bucky into the seat opposite hers so they were facing each other. "Please, " Y/n whispered to herself, unsure of what she'd be pleading for.

Bucky's eyes bore into her face, "I'm right here with you, doll. I'm right here. Nothing's gonna happen while I'm here," he promised, his body trembling with the urge to touch her.

"I don't like this," Y/n says, her voice trembling. Bucky grimaced from her sob, the sound cutting through him like a knife.

"I know, but we're gonna be alright. We have each other. That's all we need," Bucky says to reassure her and himself. He knew he had to try to keep her calm.

"I heard them say they're going to separate us when we get there," she says shakily, "They're scared I'll influence your answers when they evaluate us."

When they arrived at the facility, the two were separated. Y/n was put in an office with Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson. Y/n sat at the table in the office, tapping her foot anxiously. She hasn't been away from Bucky for at least 70 years. Even when they were trapped in Hydra's facilities, they were still together.

"What happened? How are you alive?" Steve asks Y/n.

"Isn't it obvious?" she asks rhetorically as she watches the footage of Bucky getting evaluated.

"I'm sorry," Steve says earnestly. Y/n glances away from the screen, nodding in acknowledgment at Steve, before focusing back on the video of Bucky, "How did you end up with Hydra?" Steve asks cautiously.

Y/n sighs, fiddling with the cheap wedding band on her finger. She and Bucky got them not too long ago since they couldn't afford wedding rings. Hydra took their real ones away in the 40s, "After Bucky was subjected to all of the experiments, he became the perfect weapon. The only problem was he wouldn't obey them; even with his mind wiped, he kept trying to break free from where he was kept. To get to me," she says, "I guess they thought he would listen to them if I was under their control. So, they took me. The rest is history." she explains, looking back at the screen.

"Here's a receipt for your gear," Sharon Carter says as she enters the office, handing a paper to Sam.

"Bird costume? Come on," Sam scoffs.

"I didn't write it," Sharon says as she subtly turns the audio to the video on so they can hear. Y/n had tried to turn it on with her abilities, but the cuffs were still firmly placed on her wrists so that she couldn't access her powers. She was defenseless without them. She wasn't a skilled fighter like Bucky and didn't have super strength, either.

Y/n perks up in her seat as the audio comes through, "I'm not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions. Do you know where you are, James?" the interviewer asks, only to be meant with silence, "I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James."

"My name is Bucky," Bucky says weakly. Y/n fidgets in her seat. She wants to be with him and help him. She watches the screen intently, reading his every microexpression as Steve talks with Sharon and Sam.

"Why would Task Force release this photo to begin with?" Steve asks.

"Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?" Sharon suggests.

"Right. It's a good way to flush two people out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. You get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier." Steve says.

"He didn't bomb anything," Y/n says defensively.

"So, someone framed him to find him?" she asks.

"We looked for Bucky for two years and found nothing," Sam adds.

"We didn't bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads," Steve quips.

"Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would," Sharon says, and their heads turn toward the screen.

"You need to take these off me," Y/n begs Sharon as she rises from her seat, holding her wrists before her, "If Bucky turns into... him... I'll need to use my powers."

"I can't do that," Sharon says seconds before the building lights go off. Everyone freezes.

"Take them off!" Y/n demands shakily. Sharon sighs and types a code onto the cuffs, making them pop open. The minute the cuffs are off, Y/n's mind searches the facility for Bucky in an attempt to locate him. She knew he would be racked with guilt if he accidentally hurt someone. She wanted to stop that from happening.

"Sub-level five, East Wing," Sharon says, and Y/n immediately takes off in that direction. Steve and Sam are hot on her trail. While she runs through the halls and down flights of stairs, she tries to reach out to Bucky with her mind, but she's met with a mental wall. He wasn't Bucky anymore.

"I need to find him," Y/n says frantically as she rounds a corner, Steve and Sam trailing behind her, "And you can't be there when I do," she says firmly. Y/n stops in her tracks as she spots the interviewer lying on the floor, weakly asking for help. Rage boils up in her stomach, and she launches him up with her powers, yanking him over until he is hovering in front of her. He gasped for air, her powers cutting off his oxygen supply, "Where is he?" she demanded.

"Y/n, stop," Steve tries to reason, but he's thrown into the wall by The Winter Soldier. Y/n immediately drops the interviewer onto the floor with a thud and whirls around to face Bucky.

"Солдат! (soldier)," Y/n addressed Bucky. He froze at the sound of her voice, releasing Steve as he slowly turned to face her, "Он не наш враг. (he's not our enemy)," she said gently, approaching him cautiously.

"Y/n," Bucky mutters, standing like a statue as Y/n walks over to him.

She smiles softly, holding her hands up in a submissive gesture, "Ты знаешь, я бы никогда не причинил тебе вреда (you know I would never hurt you)," she says softly as she carefully takes one of his hands in hers, "Моя задача защитить тебя, а ты защитить меня (it's my task to protect you, and for you to protect me)," she says as she interlinks their fingers. Steve rose to his feet slowly, watching anxiously. Bucky's head snaps in Steve's direction, his hands quickly grabbing Y/n to yank her behind him.

"Нет, нет! Он не угроза (no, no! he's not a threat)," Y/n says quickly, tugging on the back of Bucky's shirt.

"Steve Rogers враг Гидры, угроза для вас (Steve Rogers is an enemy to Hydra, a threat to you)," Bucky says, his voice void of emotion.

"Нет (no)," Y/n says softly but firmly, turning Bucky to look at her, "Он твой друг (he's your friend)," she insists. Bucky's eyes scan over her face with an almost medical-grade sense. Y/n smiles softly, thinking he's understanding, until he lifts her and throws her over his shoulder. She yelps in surprise; Bucky punches Steve with his free arm, knocking him to the ground, "Bucky, stop!" Y/n says, fighting against his grip.

Bucky forces his way out of the building, holding Y/n firmly over his shoulder. In a moment of desperation, Y/n slips into Bucky's mind. She floods his thoughts with memories of them as children and teenagers, some including Steve, then memories of them together in Bucharest. Bucky stumbles slightly, still holding onto Y/n firmly.

Bucky shudders, letting out a shaky breath as he loosens his grip on Y/n so she can stand again. Bucky blinks rapidly as if he's trying to decipher what's real.

"It's okay," Y/n says gently, reaching up to rest her hand on the side of his face but he grabs her wrist roughly. His eyes snap to her face, and he lets out a puff of air. He realizes it's only her, and he releases her wrist. "You're safe," she says softly, resting her hand on his face.

"We're not safe as long as we're here," Bucky says gruffly, glancing around the building. Y/n lets out a shaky breath, rubbing the side of his face with her thumb, "I don't want to be a weapon anymore," he says with a tremble in his voice, "I want to live a life. With you," he swallows roughly.

Y/n smiles and stands on her tiptoes to rest her forehead against his, "We can live whatever life we want." she whispers. Bucky shuts his eyes, exhaling shakily.

Steve approaches the two of them cautiously, clutching his side from the harsh blow he received when Bucky knocked him to the ground, "I can help you," he says shakily, "I can help you hide. Please."

if you have any requests including the people on my masterlist please comment them below any of my posts or in my submissions!! (check here: about my blog  to see what things i'm not comfortable with in regards to requests <3)

[titleleaf]

[The Brutalist 2024 spoilers, discussion of depictions of sexual violence]

Man I am feeling moderately bonkers seeing people make an effort to detach Harrison’s assault of Laszlo from sexuality or desire — this is in general a legitimate and laudable approach to analyzing sexual violence especially in a workplace context, where sexual harassment and assault have been inappropriately rhetorically linked with desire and orientation from pretty much the first day of anyone having a job. (It’s shamefully common in rl court cases around workplace harassment for the accused harasser to go “how could it be sexual harassment, I’m not even attracted to the person!” which feels both like a dramatic misunderstanding of how that shit works and a slap in the face for their victim.) But from a language-of-cinema POV, I do think we get the very clear message that Harrison’s proprietary attitude toward Toth has a component of sexual jealousy. You can take pains to divorce that from sexual attraction by taking the moments establishing this jealousy (Harrison’s hostile reaction to the very reunion between Laszlo and Erszebet he so magnanimously and selflessly engineered, because he’s just such a good ally to the Jewish people, look, he even has a Jewish friend + him feeling the sudden need to demean Laszlo in front of his wife and put him down along overtly classed and racialized lines + him on the upper level looming over the impromptu quarry nightclub scene, watching Laszlo sharing an intimate moment with an Italian dance partner after being alienated all day by Laszlo’s warm and easy friendship with Orazio) as being about control, about him treating Laszlo’s possession of an independent sexuality he can’t control or own as an insult, but I don’t think it’s necessary to read him as completely unmoved by Laszlo sexually or romantically for that to be true.

It’s an act of violent domination because everything the Van Buren men do when it comes to money is an act of violent domination but this is also their relationship to sex across class lines — it feels like a very deliberate parallel to Zsofia’s assault by Harry, where Harry’s desire for her is inherently entwined with his superior position over her and the hostility he feels to her perceived withholding of the complete access he feels he deserves by right of birth. Her womanhood, her Jewishness, her financial dependence, and her foreignness are all overlapping states of subordination as far as Harry’s concerned, and it doesn’t seem coincidental that what Harrison says to Laszlo while he assaults him collapses all those same categories into one thing — that he owns him. It’s not that Zsofia or Laszlo aren’t attractive people, and the dangers that quality introduces into their lives are clear from the jump, Erzsebet’s letter about the ostensibly admiring but clearly really dangerous attention Zsofia gets from young Soviet soldiers and the queasy unevenly reciprocated attraction involved in the Miller & Sons triangulation that directly leads to Laszlo living on the street and forced to resort to Christian-supremacist charity.

Laszlo’s work and his mind are both commodities that Harrison feels entitled to access and exploit whenever he feels like it, and his cruelty toward Laszlo’s body is intimately related to that, but I don’t think he’s as unmoved by Laszlo in terms of erotic desire before that or that the assault is as much of a sudden surprising non sequitur as other people seem to have taken it. He’s obsessed with him and with imagining a connection between them from their second meeting. He clearly thinks his horrific $500 check story is a moment of personal disclosure and connection on par with Laszlo’s own painful acknowledgements earlier at dinner (which unlike the cursed check monologue appear totally spontaneous and unrehearsed) and I do think, on some level, he believes or wants to believe there’s something mutual in that. It’s jealous in the sense that he envies Laszlo’s attractive and extraordinary qualities, all the shit he himself can’t achieve, but idk man the vibes were there and rancid from the jump! He’s really fucking scary! It all felt pretty damn unified to me and telegraphed in advance. I find myself questioning "okay but what do people saying this (that the assault is some total baffling non sequitur blindside in the film's narrative flow) think is necessary for sexual violence against men to be a thing that happens" as well as "why is Harrison's obsession having a sexual dimension so hard for people to grasp when for his whole horrific VC Andrews-ass family, sexuality is linked to power and cruelty".

[navybrat817]

Puppy Dog Eyes

Pairing: William Miller x Female Reader

Summary: Will feels betrayed by someone he thought was his ally.

Word Count: Over 1k

Warnings: Fluff, humor, established relationship, talk of threats and interrogation, slight feels (it's me, okay?), William Miller (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by this post @ghotifishreads tagged me in. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Will counted the seconds in his mind as he stared his adversary down. Someone he should've considered an ally. Maybe even a friend. But now? He didn't recognize the beast in front of him.

He was used to people playing dirty behind enemy lines, but this? Betrayal in familiar territory? The sting was like a bullet to the gut.

“Before you test my resolve, I want you to know that I have forty three confirmed kills.”

A huff was the only reply he got.

Crouching down so he was at eye level, he huffed, too. His enemy was much smaller in size, but looks could be deceiving. “Now, I’m not going to hurt you. It wouldn't do either of us any good,” he said, tapping a finger against his thigh. “I just want to know why.”

He didn't get an answer. Only a defiant stare. The silent treatment. That was fine. Nothing he hadn't faced before. He had ways to make enemies talk if it came to that. And the puppy dog eyes wouldn't garner sympathy from him.

Battle had hardened him too much for that.

Shut down. Control. Manipulate. That’s what he did with his human instincts until he completed his mission.

Will continued the staring contest until the smaller one whined. It wasn't an answer, but it was a start. “You made this personal, you know. And I’ll throw you out in the rain if you push your luck,” he threatened, tilting his head to maintain eye contact. “No. You don't get to look away. Not after what you did. After I took you into my home.”

And how did he repay him?

“Honey?”

Your voice pulled Will’s attention away from the task at hand. “Yeah, baby?”

You leaned against the doorway, a smile tugging at your kissable lips. “Are you interrogating Bandit?”

Bandit, the puppy Benny got weeks ago. The puppy you offered to watch since his brother was going out of town for a few days and he didn't want to board him. The same little rascal who chewed up a pair of tennis shoes. New tennis shoes.

And hadn't touched a single one of his chew toys.

Will nodded to his ruined shoes. “You saw what he did.”

“I did and I'm sorry,” you said, though you had no reason to apologize. It wasn't like you chewed them up. “He’s a puppy and they’re going to do those kinds of things from time to time. Is it really worthy of an interrogation?”

“Yes, it is.” Bandit swung his head toward you and whimpered. “No, don’t you-”

“Aww. Is the former Captain bothering you?” You walked over and scooped him into your arms. The light golden puppy snuggled close, but looked at Will like he was taunting him. You had a soft spot for dogs and Bandit sensed that. Used it to his advantage.

“Taking his side?”

“I’m always on your side, Will,” you said, softening his resolve. “Now, Bandit, you know you aren't supposed to do that. Play with your toys, not shoes. Okay?”

Bandit barked. He actually barked for you. How did you do that?

“And apologize to Will,” you urged.

He barked again.

“Good boy,” you smiled as Will stood up and crossed his arms. “And don't worry, we won't throw you out in the rain.”

“I still might just to teach him a lesson,” Will half teased. “Or I can just put him in his cage.”

Bandit whined and hid his face. “Don’t you dare. He’s a puppy, not a soldier. And you were happy with watching him until now. Besides, he said he was sorry,” you said, giving Will your own set of puppy dog eyes.

You had a point. Bandit was a pretty well-behaved puppy, all things considered. He didn't bite. Didn't make a mess when he ate. Went to the door when he had to go outside. And he seemed content to sleep in his dog bed and didn't demand to sleep with the two of you.

“Fine. No cage,” he relented.

“Thank you. And I’m sure Benny will buy you a new pair of shoes once he gets back,” you added.

“Maybe,” he said. He wouldn't hold his breath to get new shoes or money for the damage done. He may be Benny’s big brother, but Benny adored his puppy and would likely blame him for leaving them out in the first place. He had a routine though. He put his shoes in the same spot after he exercised.

To be fair, he should've been more careful. He would be in the future. If anything, he could try to see the positive side of things and use this as a learning experience. That's what you tried to do when you ran into unfortunate situations.

“Is it a bad time to suggest we get our own puppy?” You asked, smiling as you lifted Bandit up higher and put his cheek against yours. “Chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice.”

Dogs did make for great companions. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't pictured the two of you having a kid and a dog for them to grow up with. Someone who would be a friend to and watch over his child.

“What do you think?” You smiled when he stayed quiet for too long.

He softly smiled. Most people couldn't sway him to do anything, but you had a way about you. Maybe it was because he loved you. “I’ll think about it.”

You put Bandit down before you leaned in and brushed your lips against Will’s. “Thank you.”

He went in for another kiss, but stopped when the words fully registered. “Wait.” He narrowed his eyes. “Did you say scratched up couch?”

“...Did I say that? I don't recall.”

“I remember everything you’ve ever said to me,” he told you.

You put a hand over your heart. “That is so romantic.”

“And you said ‘chewed up shoes and a scratched up couch aside, it might be nice’, so what exactly did he do to our couch?”

Your eyes widened as you took a step back. “Run, Bandit!”

And he did.

I couldn't help myself. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[plounce]

i need to make up my own headcanons about folk dravanian beliefs. i don't think there are a lot of organized beliefs, i think it's a lot of people reacting to ishgardian oppression and struggle by trying to go the complete opposite direction while also unintentionally continuing over their established cultural ideas of what religion entails + trying to imitate the scary stories they were told (which weren't aiming to be accurate, but instead to portray the "other side" in as monstrous a light as possible) (most of the horror we get in game regarding heresy is about the ishgardian punishment + creation of heresy - levequests! witchdrop!). i think ysayle was a great organizer of different factions of heretics and actually got them coordinated with dragons (ty echo!), although she has her own cult of shiva that she led. i don't think every strain of dravo-coerthan folk belief centers around shiva. blood drinking -> transformation. how much information was shared of the true origins of the war pre-ysayle's echo vision by the dragons to the people? were any specific dragons especially keen on using elezen soldiers? how much interaction between dragons and heretics was there anyway? mind-controlled scalekin vs turned elezen. hyurs???? what role did ex-ishgardian hyurs have in the various movements? where do heretics live? what do they eat? how much did the sharlayan colony know of and interact with them? how much do heretics (get to) go up to the churning mists? there are several spots in the CCH where the boundary to the void seems thin - how much do heretics interact with voidsent? allagan voidsent v dragon war. do the eorzean dragons hate voidsent/allagans as much as their eastern/southern siblings/cousins? did they know bahamut was stuck up there? did they know tiamat kept herself stuck in azys lla? gnath onemind & their noxious anti-dragon vapes vs dragon scalekin mind control. are transformed heretics able to be mindcontrolled? what other folk heroes do heretics have? what do they think of the rest of the twelve? ysayle's cult was into hraesvelgr - are any really into nidhogg? eye symbolism? any weird beliefs about au ra coming from the heretic side? lightning as the opposite of ice? nidhogg is lightning-aspected in opposition to shiva's ice. the boy and the dragon gay? the boy and the dragon gay: a literary analysis??????